Discourses
Epictetus
Epictetus. The Works of Epictetus, His Discourses, in Four Books, the Enchiridion, and Fragments. Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, translator. New York: Thomas Nelson and Sons. 1890.
There is an assertion of the philosophers which may perhaps appear a paradox to many; yet let us fairly examine whether it be true,—that it is possible, in all things, to act at once with caution and courage. For caution seems, in some measure, contrary to courage; and contraries are by no means consistent. The appearance of a paradox in the present case seems to me to arise as follows. If indeed we assert that courage and caution are to be used in the same instances, we might justly be accused of uniting contradictions; but in the way that we affirm it, where is the absurdity? For if what has been so often said, and so often demonstrated, be certain, that the essence of good and evil consists in the use of things as they appear, and that things inevitable are not to be classed either as good or evil, what paradox do the philosophers assert, if they say, Where events are inevitable, meet them with courage, but otherwise with caution? For in these last cases only, if evil lies in a perverted will, is caution to
But we are in the same condition with deer; when these in a fright fly from the plumes [which hunters wave], whither do they turn, and to what do they retire for safety? To the nets. And thus they are undone, by inverting the objects of fear and confidence. Thus we, too. When do we yield to fear? About things inevitable. When, on the other hand, do we behave with courage, as if there were nothing to be dreaded? About things that might be controlled by will. To be deceived, then, or to act rashly or imprudently, or to indulge a scandalous desire, we treat as of no importance, in our effort to bring about things which we cannot, after all, control. But where death, or exile, or pain, or ignominy, is concerned, then comes the retreat, the flutter, and the fright. Hence, as it must be with those who err in matters of the greatest importance, we turn what should be courage into rashness, desperation, recklessness, effrontery; and what should be caution becomes timid, base, and full of fears and perturbations. Let one apply his spirit of caution to things within the reach of his own will, then he will have the subject of avoidance
Euripides, Fragments.—H.
- Death is no ill, but shamefully to die.
Courage, then, ought to be opposed to death, and caution to the fear of death; whereas we, on the contrary, oppose to death, flight; and to these our false convictions concerning it, recklessness, and desperation, and assumed indifference.
Socrates used, very properly, to call these things masks; for as masks appear shocking and formidable to children from their inexperience, so we are thus affected with regard to things for no other reason. For what constitutes a child? Ignorance. What constitutes a child? Want of instruction; for they are our equals, so far as their degree of knowledge permits. What is death? A mask. Turn it on the other side and be convinced. See, it doth not bite. This little body and spirit must be again, as once, separated, either now or hereafter; why, then, are you displeased if it be now? For if not now it will be hereafter. Why? To fulfil the course of the universe; for that hath need of some things present, others to come, and others already completed.
What is pain? A mask. Turn it and be convinced.
This weak flesh is sometimes affected by harsh, sometimes by smooth impressions. If suffering be beyond endurance, the door is open; till then, bear it. It is fit that the final door should be open against all accidents, since thus we escape all trouble.
What, then, is the fruit of these principles? What it ought to be; the most noble, and the most suitable to the wise,—tranquillity, security, freedom. For in this case we are not to give credit to the many, who say that none ought to be educated but the free; but rather to the philosophers, who say that the wise alone are free.
How so?
Thus: is freedom anything else than the power of living as we like?
Nothing else. Well; tell me then, do you like to live in error? We do not. No one who lives in error is free.
Do you like to live in fear? Do you like to live in sorrow? Do you like to live in perturbation?
By no means.
No one, therefore, in a state of fear, or sorrow, or perturbation, is free; but whoever is delivered from sorrow, fear, and perturbation, by the same means is delivered likewise from slavery. How shall we believe you, then, good legislators, when you say, We allow none to be educated but the free? For the
What, then; when any person hath turned his slave about before the consul,[*](The prescribed form of manumission.—H.) has he done nothing?
Yes, he has.
What?
He has turned his slave about before the consul.
Nothing more?
Yes. He pays a fine for him.
Well, then; is not the man who has gone through this ceremony rendered free?
Only so far as he is emancipated from perturbation. Pray, have you, who are able to give this freedom to others, no master of your own? Are you not a slave to money; to a girl; to a boy; to a tyrant; to some friend of a tyrant? Else why do you tremble when any one of these is in question? Therefore, I so often repeat to you, let this be your study and constant pursuit, to learn in what it is necessary to be courageous, and in what cautious; courageous against the inevitable, cautious so far as your will can control.
But have I not read my essay to you? Do not you know what I am doing?
In what?
In my essays.
Show me in what state you are as to desires and aversions; whether you do not fail of what you wish, and incur what you would avoid; but, as to these
Why? Did not Socrates write?
Yes; who so much? But how? As he had not always one at hand to argue against his principles, or be argued against in his turn, he argued with and examined himself, and always made practical application of some one great principle at least. These are the things which a philosopher writes; but such commonplaces as those of which I speak he leaves to the foolish, or to the happy creatures whom idleness furnishes with leisure, or to such as are too weak to regard consequences. And yet will you, when opportunity offers, come forward to exhibit and read aloud such things, and take a pride in them?
Pray, see how I compose dialogues.
Talk not of that, man, but rather be able to say, See how I accomplish my purposes; see how I avert what I wish to shun. Set death before me; set pain, a prison, disgrace, doom, and you will know me? This should be the pride of a young man come out from the schools. Leave the rest to others. Let no one ever hear you waste a word upon them, nor suffer it, if any one commends you for them; but admit that you are nobody, and that you know nothing. Appear to know only this, never to fail nor fall. Let others study cases, problems, and syllogisms. Do you rather contemplate death, change, torture, exile; and all these with courage, and reliance upon Him
Consider, you who are going to take your trial, what you wish to preserve, and in what to succeed. For if you wish to preserve a mind in harmony with nature, you are entirely safe; everything goes well; you have no trouble on your hands. While you wish to preserve that freedom which belongs to you, and are contented with that, for what have you longer to be anxious? For who is the master of things like these? Who can take them away? If you wish to be a man of modesty and fidelity, who shall prevent you? If you wish not to be restrained or compelled, who shall compel you to desires contrary to your principles; to aversions contrary to your opinion? The judge, perhaps, will pass a sentence against you, which he thinks formidable; but can he likewise make you receive it with shrinking?
But if you wish to retain possession of outward things too, your body, your estate, your dignity, I advise you immediately to prepare yourself by every possible preparation; and besides, to consider the disposition of your judge and of your adversary. If it be necessary to embrace his knees, do so; if to weep, weep; if to groan, groan For when you have once made yourself a slave to externals, be a slave wholly; do not struggle, and be alternately willing and unwilling, but be simply and thoroughly the one or the other, _ —free, or a slave; instructed, or ignorant; a game-cock, or a craven; either bear to be beaten till you die, or give out at once; and do not be soundly beaten first, and then give out at last.
If both alternatives be shameful, learn immediately to distinguish where good and evil lie. They lie where truth likewise lies. Where truth and nature dictate, there exercise caution or courage. Why, do
For this reason it is absurd to call upon me for specific advice. How should I know what to advise you? Ask me rather to teach you to accommodate yourself to whatever may be the event. The former
Who is your master? Whosoever controls those things which you seek or shun.
Diogenes rightly answered one who desired letters of recommendation from him: At first sight he will know you to be a man; and whether you are a good or a bad man, if he has any skill in distinguishing, he will know likewise; and if he has
We ought, therefore, in life also to have something analogous to this skill in gold; that one may be able to say, like the assayer, Bring me whatever piece you will, and I will find out its value; or, as I would say with regard to syllogisms, Bring me whomsoever you will, and I will distinguish for you whether he knows how to solve syllogisms, or not. Why? Because I can do that myself, and have that faculty which is necessary for one who can discern persons skilled in such solutions. But how do I act in life? I sometimes call a thing good, at other times bad. What is the cause of this? Something contrary to whit occurs to me in syllogisms,—ignorance and inexperience.
Just as he was once saying that man is made for fidelity, and that whoever subverts this subverts the peculiar property of man, there entered one of
What, then; are not women made by nature accessible to all?
I admit it; and so is food at table accessible to those who are invited. But, after it is distributed, will you go and snatch away the share of him who sits next you; or slyly steal it, or stretch out your hand, and taste; and if you cannot tear away any of the meat, dip your fingers and lick them? A fine companion! A Socratic guest indeed! Again, is not the theatre common to all the citizens? Therefore come, when all are seated, if you dare, and turn any one of them out of his place. In this sense only are women accessible by nature; but when the laws, like a good host, have distributed them, cannot you, like the rest of the company, be contented with your own share, but must you pilfer, and taste what belongs to another?
But I am a man of letters, and understand Archedemus.
With all your understanding of Archedemus, then, you will be an adulterer and a rogue; and instead of a man, a wolf or an ape. For where is the difference?
The materials of action are variable, but the use we make of them should be constant.
How, then, shall one combine composure and tranquillity with energy; doing nothing rashly, nothing carelessly?
By imitating those who play at games. The dice are variable; the pieces are variable. How do I know what will fall out? But it is my business to manage carefully and dexterously, whatever happens. Thus in life too, this is the chief business, to consider and discriminate things, and say, Externals are not in my power; choice is. Where shall I seek good and evil? Within; in what is my own. But in what is controlled by others, count nothing good or evil, profitable or hurtful, or any such thing.
What, then; are we to treat these in a careless way?
By no means; for this, on the other hand, would be a perversion of the will, and so contrary to nature. But we are to act with care, because the use of our materials is not indifferent; and at the same time with calmness and tranquillity, because the materials themselves
This you may see to be the practice of those who play skilfully at ball. No one strives for the ball itself, as either a good or an evil; but how he may throw and catch it again. Here lies the address, here the art, the nimbleness, the skill; lest I fail to catch it, even when I open my breast for it, while
What do you mean?
When he joked at his trial. Tell me, said he, Anytus, how can you say that I do not believe in a God? What do you think demons are? Are they not either the offspring of the gods, or compounded of gods and men? Yes. Do you think, then, that one can believe there are mules, and not believe that there are asses? This was just as if he had been playing at ball. And what was the ball he had to play with? Life, chains, exile, a draught of poison, separation from a wife, and leaving his children orphans. These were what he had to play with; and yet he did play, and threw the ball with address. Thus we should be careful as to the play, but indifferent as to the ball. We are by all means to manage our materials with art,—not taking them for the best, but showing our art about them, whatever they may happen to be. Thus a weaver does not make the wool, but employs his art upon what is given him. It is another who gives you food and property, and may take them away, and your paltry body too. Do
How, then, are some external circumstances said to be according to nature; others contrary to it?
Only when we are viewed as isolated individuals. I will allow that it is natural for the foot (for instance) to be clean. But if you take it as a foot, and not as a mere isolated thing, it will be fit that it should walk in the dirt, and tread upon thorns; and sometimes that it should even be cut off, for the good of the whole; otherwise it is no longer a foot. We should reason in some such manner concerning ourselves. Who are you? A man. If then, indeed, you consider yourself isolatedly, it is natural that you should live to old age, should be prosperous and healthy; but if you consider yourself as a man, and as a part of the whole, it will be fit, in view of that whole, that you should at one time be sick; at another, take a voyage, and be exposed to danger; sometimes be in want; and possibly die before your time. Why, then, are you displeased? Do not you know that otherwise, just as the other ceases to be a
What, then; must I, at one time, go before a tribunal; must another, at another time, be scorched by a fever; another be exposed to the sea; another die; another be condemned?
Yes; for it is impossible, in such a body, in such a world, and among such companions, but that some one or other of us must meet with such circumstances. Your business, then, is simply to say what you ought, to order things as the case requires. After this comes some one and says, pronounce that you have acted unjustly. Much good may it do you; I have done my part. You are to look to it, whether you have done yours; for you may as well understand that there is some danger in that quarter also.
A process of reasoning may be an indifferent thing; but our judgment concerning it is not indifferent; for it is either knowledge, or opinion, or mistake. So the events of life occur indifferently, but the use of it is not indifferent. When you are told, therefore, that these things are indifferent, do not, on that account, ever be careless; nor yet, when you are governed by prudence, be abject, and dazzled by externals. It is good to know your own qualifications and powers; that, where you are not qualified, you may be quiet, and not angry that others have there the advantage of you. For you too will think it reasonable, that you should have the advantage in the art of reasoning; and, if others should be angry at it, you will tell them, by way of consolation, This I have learned, and you have not. Thus too, wherever practice is necessary, do not pretend to what can only be attained by practice; but leave the matter to those who are practised, and do you be contented in your own serenity.
Go, for instance, and pay your court to such a person. How? I will not do it abjectly. So I find myself shut out; for I have not learned to get in at the window, and finding the door shut, I must necessarily either go back, or get in at the window. But speak to him at least. I am willing. In what manner? Not basely at any rate. Well, you have failed. This is not your business, but his. Why do you claim what belongs to another? Always remember what is your own, and what is another’s, and you will never be disturbed.
Hence Chrysippus rightly says: While consequences are uncertain, I will keep to those things which will bring me most in harmony with nature; for God himself hath formed me to choose this. If I knew that it was inevitable for me to be sick, I would conform my inclinations that way; for even the foot, if it had understanding, would be inclined to get into the dirt. For why are ears of corn produced, if it be not to ripen? And why do they ripen, if not to be reaped? For they are not isolated, individual things. If they were capable of sense, do you think they would wish never to be reaped? It would be a curse upon ears of corn not to be reaped, and we ought to know that it would be a curse upon man not to die; like that of not ripening, and not being reaped. Since, then, it is necessary for us to be reaped, and we have at the same time understanding to know it, are we angry at it? This is only because we neither
My life is in danger from Caesar.
And am I not in danger, who dwell at Nicopolis, where there are so many earthquakes? And when
Ay, and my convictions also.
What, your own? How so? Can any one compel you to have any convictions contrary to your own inclination?
But the convictions of others too.
And what danger is it of yours, if others have false convictions?
But I am in danger of being banished.
What is it to be banished? Only to be somewhere else than at Rome.
Yes; but what if I should be sent to Gyaros?[*](A place of banishment.—H.)
If it be thought best for you, you will go; if not, there is another place than Gyaros whither you are sure to go,—where he who now sends you to Gyaros must go likewise, whether he will or not. Why, then, do you come to these, as to great trials? They are not equal to your powers. So that an ingenuous young man would say, it was not worth while for this to have read and written so much, and to have sat so long listening to this old man. Only remember the distinction between what is your own and what is not your own, and you will never claim what belongs to others. Judicial bench or dungeon, each is but a place,—one high, the other low; but your will is equal to either condition, and if you have a mind to keep it so, it may be so kept. We shall then become
From an unseasonable regard to divination, we omit many duties; for what can the diviner contemplate besides death, danger, sickness, and such matters? When it is necessary, then, to expose one’s self to danger for a friend, or even a duty to die for him, what occasion have I for divination? Have not I a diviner within, who has told me the essence of good and evil, and who explains to me the indications of both? What further need, then, have I of signs or auguries? Can I tolerate the other diviner, when he says, This is for your interest? For does he know what is for my interest? Does he know what good is? Has he learned the indications of
What, then, is it that leads us so often to divination? Cowardice; the dread of events. Hence we flatter the diviners. Pray, sir, shall I inherit my father’s estate? Let us see; let us sacrifice upon the occasion. Nay, sir, just as fortune pleases. Then if he predicts that we shall inherit it, we give him thanks, as if we received the inheritance from him. The consequence of this is, that they impose upon us.
What, then, is to be done?
We should come without previous desire or aversion; as a traveller inquires the road of the person he meets, without any desire for that which turns to
God is beneficial. Good is also beneficial. It should seem, then, that where the essence of God is, there too is the essence of good. What then is the essence of God,—flesh? By no means. An estate? Fame? By no means. Intelligence? Knowledge? Right reason? Certainly. Here, then, without more ado, seek the essence of good. For do you seek that quality in a plant? No. Or in a brute? No. If, then, you seek it only in a rational subject, why do you seek it anywhere but in what distinguishes
What then? Are not all these likewise the works of the gods? They are; but not primary existences, nor parts of the gods. But you are a primary existence. You are a distinct portion of the essence of God, and contain a certain part of him in yourself. Why then are you ignorant of your noble birth?
Why, then, are we afraid, when we send a young man from the school into active life, that he should behave indecently, eat indecently, converse indecently with women; that he should either debase himself by slovenliness, or clothe himself too finely? Knows he not the God within him? Knows he not in what company he goes? It is provoking to hear him say [to his instructor], wish to have you with me. Have you not God? Do you seek any other, while you have him? Or will He tell you any other things than these? If you were a statue of Phidias. as Zeus or Athena, you would remember both yourself
But it will be said: What need of this lofty look, and dignity of face?
I answer, that I have not yet so much dignity as
Iliad, 1.526
- My promise is irrevocable, sure.
Such will I show myself to you; faithful, modest, noble, tranquil.
What, and immortal too, and exempt from age and sickness?
No. But sickening and dying as becomes the divine within me. This is in my power; this I can do. The other is not in my power, nor can I do it. Shall I show you the muscular training of a philosopher?
What muscles are those?
A will undisappointed, evils avoided, powers duly exerted, careful resolutions, unerring decisions.
These you shall see.
It were no slight attainment, could we merely fulfil what the nature of man implies. For what is man? A rational and mortal being. Well; from what are we distinguished by reason? From wild beasts. From what else? From sheep, and the like.
Take care, then, to do nothing like a wild beast; otherwise you have destroyed the man; you have not fulfilled what your nature promises. Take care too, to do nothing like cattle; for thus likewise the man is destroyed.
In what do we act like cattle?
When we act gluttonously, lewdly, rashly, sordidly, inconsiderately, into what are we sunk? Into cattle. What have we destroyed? The rational being.
When we behave contentiously, injuriously, passionately, and violently, into what have we sunk? Into wild beasts.
And further, some of us are wild beasts of a larger size; others little mischievous vermin, such as suggest the proverb, Let me rather be eaten by a lion.
By all these means, that is destroyed which the nature of man implies.
For when is a conjunctive proposition sustained? When it fulfils what its nature implies. So then the sustaining of such a proposition consists in this, that its several parts remain a series of truths.
When is a disjunctive proposition sustained? When it fulfils what its nature implies.
When is a flute, a harp, a horse, or a dog, preserved in existence? While each fulfils what its nature implies.
Where is the wonder, then, that manhood should be preserved or destroyed in the same manner? All things are preserved and improved by exercising their proper functions; as a carpenter, by building; a grammarian, by grammar; but if he permit himself to write ungrammatically, his art will necessarily be spoiled and destroyed. Thus modest actions preserve the modest man, and immodest ones destroy him; faithful actions preserve the faithful man, and the contrary destroy him. On the other hand, the contrary actions heighten the contrary characters. Thus the practice of immodesty develops an immodest character; knavery, a knavish one; slander, a slanderous one; anger, an angry one; and fraud, a covetous one.
For this reason, philosophers advise us not to be contented with mere learning, but to add meditation likewise, and then practice. For we have been long
For what difference does it make whether you discourse on these doctrines, or those of the heterodox? Sit down and comment skilfully on Epicurus, for instance; perhaps you may comment more profitable
Consider who you are. In the first place, a man; that is, one who recognizes nothing superior to the faculty of free will, but all things as subject to this; and this itself as not to be enslaved or subjected to anything. Consider, then, from what
Remember next, that perhaps you are a son, and what does this character imply? To esteem everything that is his, as belonging to his father; in every instance to obey him; not to revile him to any one; not to say or do anything injurious to him; to give way and yield in everything, co-operating with him to the utmost of his power.
After this, know likewise, that you are a brother too; and that to this character it belongs to make concessions, to be easily persuaded, to use gentle language, never to claim for yourself any non-essential thing, but cheerfully to give up these to be repaid by a larger share of things essential. For consider what it is, instead of a lettuce, for instance, or a chair, to procure for yourself a good temper. How great an advantage gained!
If, beside this, you are a senator of any city, demean yourself as a senator; if a youth, as a youth; if an old man, as an old man. For each of these names, if it comes to be considered, always points out the proper duties; but, if you go and revile your brother, I tell you that you have forgotten who you are, and what is your name. If you were a smith, and made an ill use of the hammer, you would have forgotten the smith; and if you have forgotten the brother, and are become, instead of a brother, an enemy, do you imagine you have made no change of one thing for another, in that case? If, instead of a man,—a gentle, social creature,—you have become a wild beast, mischievous, insidious, biting, have you lost nothing? Is it only the loss of money which is reckoned damage; and is there no other thing, the loss of which damages a man? If you were to part with your skill in grammar or in music, would you think the loss of these a damage; and yet, if you part with honor, decency, and gentleness, do you think that no matter
Of what sort do you mean?
Have we not a natural sense of honor?
We have.
Does he who loses this suffer no damage? Is he deprived of nothing? Does he part with nothing that belongs to him? Have we no natural fidelity; no natural affection; no natural disposition to mutual usefulness, to mutual forbearance? Is he, then,
What, then; shall not I injure him who has injured me?
Consider first what injury is; and remember what you have heard from the philosophers. For, if both good and evil lie in the will, see whether what you say does not amount to this: Since he has hurt himself by injuring me, shall I not hurt myself by injuring him? Why do we not make to ourselves some such representation as this? Are we hurt when any detriment happens to our bodily possessions, and are we not at all hurt when our will is depraved? He who has erred, or injured another, has indeed no pain in his head; nor loses an eye, nor a leg, nor an estate; and we wish for nothing beyond these. Whether our will be habitually humble and faithful, or shameless and unfaithful, we regard as a thing indifferent, except only in the discussions of the schools. In that case, all the improvement we make reaches only to words; and beyond them is absolutely nothing.
The beginning of philosophy, at least to such as enter upon it in a proper way, and by the door, is a consciousness of our own weakness and inability
If you think that you know how to apply your general
Upon its seeming so to me.
But it does not seem so to another; and does not ne too think that he makes a right application?
He does.
Is it possible, then, that each of you should rightly apply your principles, on the very subjects about which your opinions conflict?
It is not.
Have you anything to show us, then, for this application, beyond the fact of its seeming so to you? And does a madman act any otherwise than seems to him right? Is this, then, a sufficient criterion for him too?
It is not.
Come, therefore, to some stronger ground than seeming.
What is that?
The beginning of philosophy is this: the being sensible of the disagreement of men with each other; an inquiry into the cause of this disagreement; and a disapprobation and distrust of what merely seems; a careful examination into what seems, whether it seem rightly; and the discovery of some rule which shall serve like a balance, for the determination of weights; like a square, for distinguishing straight and crooked. This is the beginning of philosophy.
Is it possible that all things which seem right to all
Therefore, what seems to each man is not sufficient to determine the reality of a thing; for even in weights and measures we are not satisfied with the bare appearance, but for everything we find some rule. And is there, then, in the present case no rule preferable to what seems? Is it possible that what is of the greatest necessity in human life should be left incapable of determination and discovery?
There must be some rule. And why do we not seek and discover it, and, when we have discovered, ever after make use of it, without fail, so as not even to move a finger without it? For this, I conceive, is what, when found, will cure those of their madness who make use of no other measure but their own perverted way of thinking. Afterwards, beginning from certain known and determinate points, we may make use of general principles, properly applied to particulars.
Thus, what is the subject that falls under our inquiry? Pleasure. Bring it to the rule. Throw it into the scale. Must good be something in which it is fit to confide, and to which we may trust? Yes. Is it fit to trust to anything unstable? No. Is pleasure, then, a stable thing? No. Take it, then, and
But, if you are not quick-sighted, and one balance is insufficient, bring another. Is it fit to be elated by good? Yes. Is it fit, then, to be elated by a present pleasure? See that you do not say it is; otherwise I shall not think you so much as worthy to use a scale. Thus are things judged and weighed, when we have the rules ready. This is the part of philosophy, to examine, and fix the rules; and to make use of them, when they are known, is the business of a wise and good man.
What things are to be learned, in order to the right use of reason; the philosophers of our sect have accurately taught; but we are altogether unpractised in the due application of them. Only give to any one of us whom you will some illiterate person for an antagonist, and he will not find out how to treat him. But when he has a little moved the man, if he happens to answer at cross purposes, the questioner knows not how to deal with him any further, but either reviles or laughs at him, and says: He is an illiterate fellow; there is no making anything of him. Yet a guide, when he perceives his
How, then, did Socrates use to act? He obliged his antagonist himself to bear testimony to him; and wanted no other witness. Hence he might well say,[*](Plato, Gorgias, 69, and elsewhere.—H.) I give up all the rest, and am always satisfied with the testimony of my opponent; and I call in no one to vote, but my antagonist alone. For he rendered the arguments drawn from natural impressions so clear, that every one saw and avoided the contradiction. Does an envious man rejoice? By no means; he rather grieves. (This he moves him to say by proposing the contrary.) Well, and do you think envy to be a grief caused by evils? And who ever envied evils? (Therefore he makes the other say, that envy is a grief caused by things good.) Does any one envy those things which are nothing to him? No, surely. Having thus fully drawn out his idea, he then leaves that point, not saying, Define to me what envy is; and after he has defined it, You have defined it wrong; for the definition does not correspond to the thing defined.
There are phrases repulsive and obscure to the illiterate, which yet we cannot dispense with. But we have no capacity at all to move them, by such arguments as might lead them, in following the methods of their own minds, to admit or abandon any position. And from a consciousness of this incapacity, those among us who have any modesty give the matter entirely up; but the greater part, rashly entering upon these debates, mutually confound and are confounded, and at last, reviling and reviled, walk off. Whereas it was the principal and most peculiar characteristic of Socrates, never to be provoked in a dispute, nor to throw out any reviling or injurious expression; but to bear patiently with those who reviled him, and thus put an end to the controversy. If you would know how great abilities he had in this particular, read Xenophon’s Banquet, and you will see how many controversies he ended. Hence, even among the poets, this is justly mentioned with the highest commendation,—
Hesiod, Theogony, 87.—H. But what then? This is no very safe affair now, and especially at Rome. For he who does it must not do it in a corer, but go to some rich consular senator, for instance, and question him. Pray, sir. can you tell me to whom you intrust your horses?
- Wisely at once the greatest strife to still.
When I see any one anxious, I say, what does this man mean? Unless he wanted something or other not in his own power, how could he still be anxious? A musician, for instance, feels no anxiety while he is singing by himself; but when he appears upon the stage he does, even if his voice be ever so good, or he plays ever so well. For what he wishes is not only to sing well, but likewise to gain applause. But this is not in his own power. In short, where his skill lies, there is his courage. Bring any ignorant person, and he does not mind him; but in the point which he neither understands nor has studied, there he is anxious.
What point is that?
He does not understand what a multitude is, nor what the applause of a multitude. He has learnt, indeed, how to sound bass and treble; but what the applause of the many is, and what force it has in life, he neither understands nor has studied. Hence he must necessarily tremble and turn pale. I cannot indeed say that a man is no musician, when I see him afraid; but I can say something else, and indeed many things. And first of all I call him a
How do you mean, without a legal adviser?
He knows not when he chooses what is not allowed him, and does not choose what is necessary; and he knows not what is his own, and what belongs to others; for if he did know he would never be hindered, would never be restrained, would never be anxious.
How so? Why, does any one fear things that are not evils? No.
Does any one fear things that seem evils indeed, but which it is in his own power to prevent?
No, surely.
If, then, the things independent of our will are neither good nor evil, and all things that do depend on will are in our own power, and can neither be taken away from us nor given to us unless we please,
Homer, Iliad, xiii. 281.—H.
- He crouching walks, or squats upon his heels.
Therefore Zeno,[*](Antigonus Gonatas, king of Macedon, had so great an esteem for Zeno, that he often took a journey to Athens to visit him, and endeavored, by magnificent promises, to allure him to his court, but without success. He gave it as a reason for the distinguished regard which he paid him, that, though he had made him many and very considerable offers, Zeno never appeared either mean or insolent.—C.) when he was to meet Antigonus, felt no anxiety. For over that which he prized, Antigonus had no power; and those things over which he had power, Zeno did not regard. But Antigonus felt anxiety when he was to meet Zeno, and with reason, for he was desirous to please him; and this
I am solicitous to please you.
For what? Do you know the rules by which one man judges of another? Have you studied to understand what a good and what a bad man is, and how each becomes such? Why, then, are not you yourself a good man?
In what respect am I not?
Because no good man laments or sighs or groans; no good man turns pale and trembles and says, How will such a one receive me; how will he hear me? As he thinks fit, foolish man. Why do you trouble yourself about what belongs to others? Is it not his fault if he receives you ill?
Yes, surely.
And can one person be in fault and another the sufferer?
No.
Why, then, are you anxious about what belongs to others?
Well; but I am anxious how I shall speak to him.
What, then; cannot you speak to him as you will?
But I am afraid I shall be disconcerted.
If you were going to write down the name of Dion, should you be afraid of being disconcerted?
By no means.
What is the reason? Is it because you have learned how to write?
Yes.
And if you were going to read, would it not be exactly the same?
Exactly. What is the reason?
Because every art gives a certain assurance and confidence on its own ground.
Have you not learned, then, how to speak? And what else did you study at school?
Syllogisms and convertible propositions.
For what purpose? Was it not in order to talk properly? And what is that but to talk seasonably and discreetly and intelligently, and without flutter or hesitation, and, by means of all this, with courage?
Very true.
When, therefore, you go into the field on horseback, are you anxious on being matched against one who is on foot,—you being practised and he unpractised?
Ay, but the person has power to kill me.
Then speak the truth, O unfortunate! and be not arrogant, nor take the philosopher upon you, nor conceal from yourself who are your masters; but while you are thus to be held by the body, follow the strongest. Socrates, indeed, had studied how to speak, who talked in such a manner to tyrants and
When a certain Roman came to him with his son, and had heard one lesson, This, said Epictetus, is the method of teaching; and ceased. When the other desired him to go on, he answered, Every art seems tedious, when it is delivered to a person ignorant and unskilful in it. The things performed by the common arts quickly manifest the use for which they were made; and most
So here we take it to be the work of one who studies philosophy, to bring his will into harmony with events; so that none of the things which happen may happen against our inclination, nor those which do not happen be desired by us. Hence they who have settled this point have it in their power never to be disappointed in what they seek, nor to incur what they shun; but to lead their own lives without sorrow, fear, or perturbation, and in society to preserve all the natural or acquired relations of son, father, brother, citizen, husband, wife, neighbor, fellow-traveller, ruler, or subject. Something like this is what we take to be the work of a philosopher. It remains to inquire, how it is to be effected. Now ,e see that a carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things; and a pilot, by learning certain. things, becomes a pilot. Probably, then, it is not sufficient, in the present case, merely to be willing to be wise and
Whence, then, are we to begin?
If you will give me leave, I will tell you. It is necessary, in the first place, that you should understand words.
So then! I do not understand them now? No. You do not. How is it, then, that I use them?
Just as the illiterate use the words of the learned, and as brutes use the phenomena of nature. For use is one thing, and understanding another. But if you think you understand them, bring whatever words you please, and let us see whether we understand them or not.
Well; but it is a grievous thing for a man to be confuted who has grown old, and has perhaps served through his three campaigns to a senatorship.
I know it very well. For you now come to me, as if you wanted nothing. And how can it enter into your imagination that there should be anything in which you are deficient? You are rich; and perhaps have a wife and children, and a great number of domestics. Caesar takes notice of you; you have many friends at Rome; you render to all their dues; you know how to requite a favor, and revenge an injury. In what are you deficient? Suppose, then, I should prove to you that you are deficient in what is most necessary and important to happiness; and that hitherto you have taken care of everything, rather than your duty; and to complete all, that you understand not what God or man, or good or evil, means? That you are ignorant of all the rest, perhaps, you may bear to be told; but if I prove to you that you are ignorant even of yourself, how will you bear with me, and how will you have patience to stay and be convinced? Not at all. You will immediately be offended, and go away. And yet what injury have I done you; unless a looking-glass injures a person not handsome, when it shows him to himself such as he is; or unless a physician can be thought to affront his patient, when he says to him: Do you think, sir, that you are not ill? You have a fever. Eat no meat to-day, and drink water? Nobody cries out here, What an intolerable affront! But if you say to any one: You exhibit feverishness in your desires, and low habits in what you shun;
This is the position we assume. As, in a crowded fair, the horses and cattle are brought to be sold, and most men come either to buy or sell; but there are a few who come only to look at the fair, and inquire how it is carried on, and why in that manner, and who appointed it, and for what purpose,—thus, in this fair [of the world] some, like cattle, trouble themselves about nothing but fodder. To all of you who busy yourselves about possessions and farms and domestics and public posts, these things are nothing else but mere fodder. But there are some few men among the crowd who are fond of looking on, and considering: What then, after all, is the world? Who governs it? Has it no governor? How is it possible, when neither a city nor a house can remain, ever so short a time, without some one to govern and take care of it, that this vast and beautiful system should be administered in a fortuitous and disorderly manner? Is there then a governor? Of what sort is he, and how does he govern? And what are we who are under him, and for what designed? Have we some connection and relation to him, or none? In this manner are the few affected, and apply themselves only to view the fair, and then depart. Well; and they are laughed at by the multitude? Why, so
Some, when they hear such discourses as these,
That we ought to be steadfast; that the will is by nature free and unconstrained; and that all else is liable to restraint, compulsion, slavery, and tyranny, imagine that they must remain immutably fixed to everything which they have determined. But it is first necessary that the determination should be a wise one. I agree that there should be sinews in the body, but such as in a healthy, an athletic body; for if you show me that you exhibit the [convulsed] sinews of a lunatic, and value yourself upon that, I will say to you, Seek a physician, man; this is not muscular vigor, but is really enervation. Such is the distemper of mind in those who hear these discourses in a wrong manner; like an acquaintance of mine, who, for no reason, had determined to starve himself to death. I went the third day, and inquired what was the matter. He answered, am determined. Well; but what is your motive? For if your determination
With difficulty this person was, however, at last convinced; but there are some at present whom there is no convincing. So that now I think I understand, what before I did not, the meaning of that common saying, that a fool will neither bend nor break. May it never fall to my lot to have a wise, that is. an untractable, fool for my friend. It is all
- The baths of Nero, and the Marcian water. p.1170
Where lies good? In the will. Where evil?
In the will. Where neither good nor evil? In things inevitable. What then? Does any one of us remember these lessons out of the schools? Does any one of us study how to answer for himself in the affairs of life, as in common questions? Is it day? Yes. Is it night, then? No. Is the number of stars even? cannot tell. When a bribe is offered you, have you learned to make the proper answer, that it is not a good? Have you exercised yourself in such answers as these, or only in sophistries? Why do you wonder, then, that you improve in points which you have studied; while in those which you have not studied, there you remain the same? When an orator knows that he has written well, that he has committed to memory what he has written, and that he brings an agreeable voice with him, why is he still anxious? Because he is not contented with what he has studied. What does he want then? To be applauded by the audience. He has studied the power of speaking, then; but he has not studied censure and applause. For when did he hear from any one what applause, what censure
Thus are we too affected. What do we admire? Externals. For what do we strive? Externals. And are we then in any doubt why we fear and are anxious? What is the consequence, then, when we esteem the things that are brought upon is to be evils? We cannot but fear; we cannot but be anxious. And then we say, Lord God, how shall I avoid anxiety! Have you not hands, foolish man? Has not God made them for you? You might as well kneel and pray to be cured of your catarrh. Take care of your disease, rather; and do not murmur. Well; and has he given you nothing in
Why, then, are we still surprised, if, when we waste all our attention on the mere materials of action, we are, in the manner of action itself, low, sordid, unworthy, timid, wretched, and altogether failures? For we do not care about these things, nor make them our study. If we had feared, not death or exile, but
No, indeed. For I do not desire to be pacified by a cake, but by right impressions. And what are they?
Such as a man ought to study all day long, so as not to be absorbed in what does not belong to him,—neither friend, place, nor academy, nor even his own body; but to remember the law, and to have that constantly before his eyes. And what is the divine law? To preserve inviolate what is properly our own; not to claim what belongs to others; to use what is given us, and not desire what is not given us; and when anything is taken away, to restore it readily, and to be thankful for the time you have been permitted the use of it; and not cry after it, like a child for its nurse and its mamma. For what does it signify what gets the better of you, or on what you depend? Which is the worthier, one crying for a doll, or for an academy? You lament for the portico and the assembly of young people, and such entertainments. Another comes lamenting that he must no longer drink the water of Dirce.[*](A beautiful clear river in Boeotia, flowing into the Ismenus. The Marcian water was conveyed by Ancus Marcius to Rome.—C.) Why, is not the Marcian water as good? But I was used to that. And in time you will be used to the other. And when you are attached to this too, you may weep again, and set yourself, in imitation of Euripides, to celebrate, in verse
Hence see the origin of Tragedy, when trifling accidents befall foolish men. Ah, when shall I see Athens and the citadel again? Foolish man, are not you contented with what you see every day? Can you see anything better than the sun, the moon, the stars, the whole earth, the sea? But if, besides, you comprehend him who administers the whole, and carry him about within yourself, do you still long after certain stones and a fine rock? What will you do then, when you are to leave even the sun and moon? Will you sit crying, like an infant? What, then, have you been doing in the school? What did you hear? What did you learn? Why have you written yourself down a philosopher, instead of writing the real fact? have prepared some abstracts, and read over Chrysippus; but I have not so much as approached the door of philosophy. For what pretensions have I in common with Socrates, who died and who lived in such a manner; or with Diogenes? Do you observe either of these crying, or out of humor, that he is not to see such a man, or such a woman; nor to live any longer at Athens nor at Corinth; but at Susa, for instance, or Ecbatana? For does he stay and repine, who may at any time, if he will, quit the entertainment, and play no longer? Why does he not stay, as children do, so long as he is amused? Such a one, no doubt, will bear perpetual banishment and a sentence of death wonderfully well! Why will not you be weaned, as children are; and take more solid food?
Boldly make a desperate push, man, as the saying is, for prosperity, for freedom, for magnanimity. Lift up your head at last, as being free from slavery. Dare to look up to God, and say, Make use of me for the future as Thou wilt. I am of the same mind; I am one with Thee. I refuse nothing which seems good to Thee. Lead me whither Thou wilt. Clothe me in whatever dress Thou wilt. Is it Thy will that I should be in a public or a private condition; dwell here, or be banished; be poor, or rich? Under all these circumstances I will testify unto Thee before men. I will explain the nature of every dispensation. No? Rather sit alone, then, in safety, and wait till your mamma comes to feed you. If Hercules had sat loitering at home, what would he have been? Eurystheus, and not Hercules. Besides, by travelling through the world, how many acquaintances and how many friends he made. But none more his friend than God; for which reason he was believed to be the son of God, and was so. In obedience to him,
What is the first business of one who studies philosophy? To part with self-conceit. For it is impossible for any one to begin to learn what he thinks that he already knows. We all go to the philosophers, talking at random upon negative and positive duties; good and evil; fair and base. We praise,
How shall I show it?
Apply it properly in detail. Plato, to go no further, puts definitions under the general head of useful; but you, under that of useless. Can both of you be right? How is it possible? Again, does not one man adapt the general conception of good to riches; another not to riches, but to pleasure or health? In general, unless we who use words employ them vaguely, or without proper care in discrimination, why do we differ? Why do we wrangle? Why do we censure each other? But what occasion have I to mention this mutual contradiction? If you yourself apply your principles properly, how comes it to pass that you do not prosper? Why do you meet with any hindrance? Let us for the present omit our second point concerning the pursuits and the duties relative to them; let us omit the third too, concerning assent. I waive all these for you. Let us insist only on the first,[*](The topic of the Desires and Aversions.—C.) which affords almost a sensible proof that you do not properly apply your principles. You desire what is possible in itself, and possible for you. Why then are you hindered? Why are you not in a prosperous way? You do not shrink
Nay; but I, for my part, desire to understand what Chrysippus says, in his logical treatise of the Pseudomenos.[*](The Pseudomenos was a famous problem among the Stoics, and it is this. When a person says, lie, does he lie, or does he not? If he lies, he speaks truth; if he speaks truth, he lies. Chrysippus wrote six books upon it.—C.) Go hang yourself, pitiful man, with only such an aim as this! What good will it do you? You will read the whole, lamenting all the while; and say to others, trembling, Do as I do. Shall I read to you, my friend, and you to me? You write amazingly well; and you very finely imitate the style of Plato; and you, of Xenophon; and you, of Antisthenes. And thus, having related your dreams to each other, you return again to the same state. Your desires and aversions, your pursuits,
Throwing away, then, I say, this self-conceit, by which we fancy we have gained some knowledge of what is useful, we should come to philosophic reasoning as we do to mathematics and music; otherwise we shall be far from making any improvement, even if we have read over all the compends and commentaries, not only of Chrysippus, but of Antipater, and Archedemus too.
Every habit and faculty is preserved and increased by correspondent actions; as the habit of walking, by walking; of running, by running. If
It is the same with regard to the operations of the soul. Whenever you are angry, be assured that it is not only a present evil, but that you have increased a habit, and added fuel to a fire. When you are overcome by the seductions of a woman, do not consider it as a single defeat alone, but that you have fed, that you have increased, your dissoluteness. For it is impossible but that habits and faculties must either be first produced, or strengthened and increased, by corresponding actions. Hence the philosophers derive the growth of all maladies. When you once desire money, for example, if reason be applied to produce a sense of the evil, the desire ceases, and the governing faculty of the mind regains its authority; whereas, if you apply no remedy, it returns no more to its former state, but being again similarly excited, it kindles at the desire more quickly than before; and by frequent repetitions at last becomes callous, and by this malady is the love of money fixed. For he who has had a fever, even after it has left him, is not
If you would not be of an angry temper, then, do not feed the habit. Give it nothing to help its increase. Be quiet at first and reckon the days in which you have not been angry. I used to be angry every day; now every other day; then every third and fourth day; and if you miss it so long as thirty days, offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to God. For habit is first weakened and then entirely destroyed. I was not vexed to-day, nor the next day, nor for three or four months after; but restrained myself under provocation. Be assured that you are in an excellent way. To-day, when I saw a handsome person, I did not say to myself, Oh. that I could possess her! and how happy is her husband (for he who says this, says too, how happy is her gallant), nor did I go on to fancy her in my arms. On this I stroke my head and say, Well done, Epictetus; thou hast solved a hard problem, harder than the chief syllogism. But if the lady herself should happen to be willing and give me intimations of it, and send for me and press my hand and place herself next to me, and I should then forbear and get the victory,—that would be a triumph beyond all the forms of logic.
How then is this to be effected? Be willing to approve yourself to yourself. Be willing to appear beautiful in the sight of God; be desirous to converse in purity with your own pure mind, and with God; and then, if any such semblance bewilders you, Plato directs you: Have recourse to expiations; go a suppliant to the temples of the averting deities. It is sufficient, however, if you propose to yourself the example of wise and good men, whether alive or dead, and compare your conduct with theirs. Go to Socrates, and see him placed beside his beloved, yet not seduced by youth and beauty. Consider what a victory he was conscious of obtaining; what an Olympic triumph! How near does he rank to Hercules![*](Hercules is said to have been the author of the gymnastic games, and the first victor. Those who afterwards conquered in wrestling, and the pancratium, were numbered from him.—C.) So that, by Heaven! one might justly salute him, Hail! wondrous victor![*](This pompous title was given to those who had been victors in all the Olympic games.—C.) instead of those sorry boxers and wrestlers, and the gladiators who resemble them.
By placing such an example before you, you will conquer any alluring semblance, and not be drawn away by it. But in the first place, be not hurried away by excitement; but say, Semblance, wait for me a little. Let me see what you are, and what you represent. Let me try you. Then, afterwards, do
Works and Days, v. 383.—H.
- With constant ills, the dilatory strive.
The science of the ruling argument[*](A logical subtlety.—H.) appears to have its rise from hence. Of the following propositions, any two imply a contradiction to the third. They are these: That everything past is necessarily true; that an impossibility is not the consequence of a possibility; and, that something is a possibility, which neither is nor will be true. Diodorus, perceiving this contradiction, combined the first two, to prove that nothing is possible, which neither is nor will be true. Some again hold the second and third,—that something is possible, which neither is nor will be true; and that an impossibility is not the consequence of a possibility; and consequently assert, that not everything past is necessarily true. This way Cleanthes and his followers took; whom Antipater copiously defends. Others, lastly, maintain the first and third,—that something is possible; which neither is nor will be true; and that everything past is necessarily true; but then, that an impossibility may be the consequence of a possibility. But all these three
If any one should ask me, then, which of them I maintain, I answer him, that really I cannot tell. But I have heard it related that Diodorus held one opinion about them; the followers of Panthaedes, I think, and Cleanthes, another; and Chrysippus a third.
What then is your opinion?
I express none. I was born to examine things as they appear to my own mind; to compare what is said by others, and thence to form some conviction of my own on any topic. Of these things I have merely technical knowledge. Who was the father of Hector? Priam. Who were his brothers? Paris and Deiphobus. Who was his mother? Hecuba. this I have heard related. From whom? Homer. But I believe Hellanicus, and other authors, have written on the same subject. And what better account have I of the ruling argument? But, if I were vain enough, I might, especially at some entertainment, astonish all the company by an enumeration of authors relating to it. Chrysippus has written wonderfully, in his first Book of Possibilities. Cleanthes and Archedemus have each written separately on this subject. Antipater too has written, not only in his Treatise of Possibilities, but especially in a discourse on the ruling argument. Have you not read the work? No. Read it then. And what
Talk to me concerning good and evil. Hear:—
Winds blew from Ilium to Ciconian shores.Homer, Odyssey, ix. 39. The expression became proverbial, signifying from bad to worse.—H.
Some things are good, some evil, and some indifferent. Now the good are the virtues, and whatever partakes of them; and the evil are vices, and what partakes of vice; the indifferent lie between these, as riches, health, life, death, pleasure, pain.
Whence do you know this?
[Suppose I say] Hellanicus says it, in his Egyptian History. For what does it signify, whether one quotes the history of Hellanicus, or the ethics of Diogenes, or Chrysippus, or Cleanthes? Have you then examined any of these things, and formed convictions of your own? How, for instance, would you
Observe yourselves thus in your actions, and you
Things true and evident must, of necessity, be recognized even by those who would contradict them. And perhaps one of the strongest proofs that there is such a thing as evidence is the necessity which compels even those who contradict it to make use of it. If a person, for instance, should deny that anything is universally true, he will be obliged to assert the contrary, that nothing is universally true. Foolish man, not so. For what is this but an universal statement?[*](Translation conjectural.—H.) Again, suppose any one should come and say, Know that there is nothing to be known; but all things are uncertain; or another, Believe me, for your good, that no man ought to be believed in anything; or a third, Learn from me that nothing is to be learned; I tell you this, and will teach the proof of it, if you please. Now what difference is there between such as these, and those who call themselves Academics,—who say to us, Be convinced that no one ever is convinced; believe us, that nobody believes anybody?
Thus also, when Epicurus would destroy the natural tie between mankind, he makes use of the very
What was it, then, that waked Epicurus from his sleep, and compelled him to write what he did; what else, but that which is of all influences the most powerful among mankind, Nature; which draws every one, however unwilling and reluctant, to its own purposes. For since, she says, you think that there is no tie between mankind, write out this doctrine, and leave it for the use of others; and break your sleep upon that account; and by your own practice confute your own principles. Do we say that Orestes was roused from sleep because driven by the furies; and was not Epicurus waked by sterner furies and avengers, which would not suffer him to rest, but compelled him to utter his own ills, as wine and madness do the priests of Cybele? So strong and unconquerable a thing is human nature! For how can a vine have the properties not of a vine, but of an olivetree; or an olive-tree not those of an olive-tree, but of a vine? It is impossible. It is inconceivable. Neither, therefore, is it possible for a human creature entirely to lose human affections. But even those who
What say you, philosopher? What do you think of piety and sanctity? If you please, I will prove that they are good. Pray do prove it; that our citizens may be converted, and honor the Deity, and may no longer neglect what is of the highest importance. Do you accept these demonstrations, then? I have, and I thank you. Since you are so well pleased with this, then, learn these contrary propositions: that there are no gods, or, if there are, that they take no care of mankind, neither have we any concern with them; that this piety and sanctity, so much talked of by many, are only an imposition of boasting and sophistical men, or perhaps of legislators, for a terror and restraint to injustice. Well done, philosopher. Our citizens are much the better for you. You have already brought back all the
And yet they who talk thus marry, and produce children, and engage in public affairs, and get themselves made priests and prophets. Of whom? Of gods that have no existence. And they consult the Pythian priestess, only to hear falsehoods, and interpret the oracles to others. Oh, monstrous impudence and imposture!
What are you doing, man? [*](What follows is against the Academics, who denied the evidence of the senses.—C.) You contradict yourself
What things, then, in your opinion, are good and evil, fair and base,—such things, or such things? But why should one argue any more with such as these, or interchange opinions, or endeavor to convince them? By Zeus! one might sooner hope to convince the most unnatural debauchees, than those who are thus deaf and blind to their own ills.