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
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be right, we will stay, and assist your departure; but, if unreasonable, change it. We ought to keep our determinations. What do you mean, sir? Not all of them; but such as are right. Else, if you should fancy that it is night, if this be your principle, do not change, but persist, and say, We ought to keep to our determinations. What do you mean, sir? Not to all of them. Why do you not begin by first laying the foundation, inquiring whether your determination be a sound one or not, and then build your firmness and constancy upon it. For if you lay a rotten and crazy foundation, you must not build; since the greater and more weighty the superstructure, the sooner will it fall. Without any reason, you are withdrawing from us, out of life, a friend, a companion, a fellow-citizen both of the greater and the lesser city; and while you are committing murder, and destroying an innocent person, you say, We must keep to our determinations. Suppose, by any means, it should ever come into your head to kill me; must you keep such a 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
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to no purpose; I am determined. So are madmen too; but the more strongly they are determined upon absurdities, the more need have they of hellebore. Why will you not act like a sick person, and apply yourself to a physician? Sir, I am sick. Give me your assistance; consider what I am to do. It is my part to follow your directions. So say in the present case: know not what I ought to do; and I am come to learn. No; but talk to me about other things; for upon this I am determined. What other things? What is of greater consequence, than to convince you that it is not sufficient to be determined, and to persist? This is the vigor of a madman; not of one in health. I will die, if you compel me to this. Why so, man; what is the matter? am determined. I have a lucky escape, that it is not your determination to kill me. I will not be bribed [from my purpose]. Why so? am determined. Be assured, that with that very vigor which you now employ to refuse the bribe, you may hereafter have as unreasonable a propensity to take it; and again to say, am determined. As, in a distempered and rheumatic body, the humor tends sometimes to one part, sometimes to another; thus it is uncertain which way a sickly mind will incline. But if to its inclination and bent a spasmodic vigor be likewise added, the evil then becomes desperate and incurable.
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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
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is? What is the nature of each? What kind of applause is to be sought, and what kind of censure to be shunned? And when did he ever apply himself to study what follows from these lessons? Why do you wonder, then, if, in what he has learned, he excels others; but where he has not studied, he is the same with the rest of the world? Just as a musician knows how to play, sings well, and has the proper dress of his profession, yet trembles when he comes upon the stage. For the first he understands; but what the multitude is, or what mean the clamor and laughter of the multitude, he does not understand. Nor does he even know what anxiety itself is; whether it be our own affair, or that of others; or whether it be possible to suppress it, or not. Hence, if he is applauded, he is puffed up when he makes his exit; but if he is laughed at, the inflation is punctured, and subsides.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
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the present case? Has he not given you patience? Has he not given you magnanimity? Has he not given you fortitude? When you have such hands as these, do you still seek for aid from another? But we neither study nor regard these things. For give me but one who cares how he does anything, who does not regard the mete success of anything, but his own manner of acting. Who, when he is walking, regards his own action? Who, when he is deliberating, prizes the deliberation itself, and not the success that is to follow it? If it happens to succeed, he is elated, and cries, How prudently have we deliberated! Did not I tell you, my dear friend, that it was impossible, when we considered about anything, that it should not happen right? But if it miscarries, the poor wretch is dejected, and knows not what to say about the matter. Who among us ever, for such a purpose, consulted a diviner? Who of us ever slept in a temple, to be instructed [in a dream] concerning his manner of acting? I say, who? Show me one who is truly noble and ingenuous, that I may see what I have long sought. Show me either a young or an old man.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
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fear itself, we should have studied not to fall into what appears to us to be evil. But as the case now stands, we are eager and loquacious in the schools; and when any little question arises about any of these things, we are prepared to trace its consequences; but drag us into practice, and you will find us miserably shipwrecked. Let something of alarming aspect attack us, and you will perceive what we have been studying, and in what we are exercised. Besides, through this negligence we always exaggerate, and represent things greater than the reality. In a voyage, for instance, casting my eyes down upon the ocean below, and looking round me, and seeing no land, I am beside myself, and imagine that, if I should be shipwrecked, I must swallow all that ocean; not does it occur to me, that. three pints are enough for me. What is it, then, that alarms me,—the ocean? No; but my own impressions. Again, in an earthquake I imagine the city is going to fall upon me; but is not one little stone enough to knock my brains out? What is it, then, that oppresses and makes us beside ourselves? Why, what else but our own impressions? For what is it, but mere impressions, that distress him who leaves his country, and is separated from his acquaintance and friends and place and usual manner of life? When children cry, if their nurse happens to be absent for a little while, give them a cake, and they forget their grief. Shall we compare you to these children, then? p.1169
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
- The baths of Nero, and the Marcian water.
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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?
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Will you never cease to cry after your mammas and nurses, whom the old women about you have taught you to bewail? But if I go away, I shall trouble them also. You trouble them! No; it will not be you; but that which troubles you too,—a mere impression. What have you to do then? Rid yourself of that impression; and if they are wise, they will do the same for theirs; or if not, they must lament for themselves.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,
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he went about extirpating injustice and lawless force. But you are not Hercules, nor able to extirpate the evils of others; nor even Theseus, to extirpate the evils of Attica. Extirpate your own then. Expel, instead of Procrustes and Sciron,[*](Two famous robbers who infested Attica. and were at last killed by Theseus.—C.) grief, fear, desire, envy, malevolence, avarice, effeminacy, intemperance. But these can be no otherwise expelled than by looking up to God alone, as your pattern; by attaching yourself to him alone, and being consecrated to his commands. If you wish for anything else, you will, with sighs and groans, follow what is stronger than you; always seeking prosperity without, and never able to find it. For you seek it where it is not, and neglect to seek it where it is.
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,
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censure, accuse; we judge and dispute about fair and base enterprises. And yet for what do we go to the philosophers? To learn what we suppose ourselves not to know. And what is this? Propositions. We are desirous to hear what the philosophers say, for its elegance and acuteness; and some with a view only to gain. Now it is ridiculous to suppose that a person will learn anything but what he desires to learn; or make an improvement, in what he does not learn. But most are deceived, in the same manner as Theopompus, the orator, when he blames Plato for defining everything. For, he says, did none of us, before you, use the words good and just; or did we utter them as empty sounds, without understanding what each of them meant? Why, who tells you, Theopompus, that we had not natural ideas and general principles as to each of these? But it is not possible to apply principles in detail, without having minutely distinguished them, and examined what details appertain to each. You may make the same objection to the physicians. For who of us did not use the words wholesome and unwholesome, before Hippocrates was born; or did we utter them as empty sounds? For we have some general conception of what is wholesome too, but we cannot apply it. Hence one says, let the patient abstain from meat; another, give it to him. One says, let him be bled; another, cup him. And what is the reason, but not being able to adapt the general conception of wholesomeness
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to particular cases? Thus, too, in life; who of us does not talk of good or evil, advantageous and disadvantageous; for who of us has not a general conception of each of these? But is it then a distinct and perfect one? Show me this.
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
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from the inevitable. Why then do you incur anything undesirable? Why are you unfortunate? When you desire anything, why does it not happen? When you do not desire it, why happens it? For this is the greatest proof of ill success and misery: I desire something and it does not happen; and what is more wretched than I? From such impatience Medea came to murder her own children,—a lofty action in this point of view alone, that she had a proper impression of what it was to fail of one’s aim. Thus I shall punish him who has injured and dishonored me; and what is so wicked a wretch good for? But how is this to be effected? I will murder the children; but that will be punishing myself. And what care I? This is the error of a powerful soul. For she knew not where the fulfilment of our desires is to be found; that it is not to be had from without, nor by altering the appointment of things. Do not demand the man for your husband, and then nothing which you desire will fail to happen. Do not desire to keep him to yourself. Do not desire to stay at Corinth, and, in a word, have no will but the will of God, and who shall restrain you; who shall compel you, any more than Zeus? When you have such a guide, and conform your will and inclinations to his, why need you fear being disappointed? Fix your desire and aversion on riches or poverty; the one will be disappointed, the other incurred. Fix them on health. power, honors, your country, friends, children,—in
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short, on anything beyond the control of your will,—you will be unfortunate. But fix them on Zeus, on the gods; give yourself up to these; let these govern; let your powers be ranged on the same side with these, and how can you be any longer unprosperous? But if, poor wretch, you envy, and pity, and are jealous, and tremble, and never cease a single day from complaining of yourself and the gods, why do you boast of your education? What education, man,—that you have learned syllogisms? Why do not you, if possible, unlearn all these, and begin again, convinced that hitherto you have not even touched upon the essential point? And for the future, beginning from this foundation, proceed in order to the superstructure; that nothing may happen which you do not wish, and that everything may happen which you desire. Give me but one young man who brings this intention with him to the school, who is a champion for this point, and says, yield up all the rest; it suffices me, if once I become able to pass my life free from hindrance and grief, to stretch out my neck to all events as freely, and to look up to Heaven as the friend of God, fearing nothing that can happen. Let any one of you show himself of such a disposition, that I may say, Come into the place, young man, that is of right your own; for you are destined to be an ornament to philosophy. Yours are these possessions; yours these books; yours these discourses. Then, when he has
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thoroughly mastered this first class, let him come to me again and say, desire indeed to be free from passion and perturbation; but I desire too, as a pious, a philosophic, and a diligent man, to know what is my duty to God, to my parents, to my relations, to my country, and to strangers. Come into the second class too; for this likewise is yours. But I have now sufficiently studied the second class too; and I would willingly be secure and unshaken by error and delusion, not only when awake, but even when asleep; when warmed with wine; when diseased with the spleen. You are becoming as a god, man; your aims are sublime!
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,
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your intentions, your resolutions, your wishes, and endeavors are just what they were. You do not so much as seek for one to advise you, but are offended when you hear such things as these, and cry, An ill-natured old man! He never wept over me, when I was setting out, nor said, To what a danger are you going to be exposed? If you come off safe, child, I will illuminate my house. This would have been the part of a man of feeling. Truly it will be a mighty happiness if you do come off safe; it will be worth while to make an illumination. For you ought to be immortal and exempt from sickness, to be sure.
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
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you would be a reader, read; if a writer, write. But if you do not read for a month together, but do something else, you will see what will be the consequence. So after sitting still for ten days, get up and attempt to take a long walk, and you will find how your legs are weakened. Upon the whole, then, whatever you would make habitual, practise it; and if you would not make a thing habitual, do not practise it, but habituate yourself to something else.
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
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in the same state of health as before, unless he was perfectly cured; and the same thing happens in distempers of the soul likewise. There are certain traces and blisters left in it, which, unless they are well effaced, whenever a new hurt is received in the same part, instead of blisters will become sores.
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.
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This is the proper subject for exultation, and not one’s power in handling the syllogism.
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 So that, by Heaven! one might justly salute him, Hail! wondrous victor 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
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not suffer it to go on drawing gay pictures of what will follow; if you do, it will lead you wherever it pleases. But rather oppose to it some good and noble semblance, and banish this base one. If you are habituated to this kind of exercise, you will see what shoulders, what nerves, what sinews, you will have. But now it is mere trifling talk, and nothing more. He is the true athlete who trains himself to deal with such semblances as these. Stay, wretch, do not be hurried away. The combat is great, the achievement divine,—for empire, for freedom, for prosperity, for tranquillity. Remember God. Invoke him for your aid and protector, as sailors do Castor and Pollux, in a storm. For what storm is greater than that which arises from these perilous semblances, contending to overset our reason? Indeed what is the storm itself, but a semblance? For do but take away the fear of death, and let there be as many thunders and lightnings as you please, you will find that to the reason all is serenity and calm; but if you are once defeated, and say, you will get the victory another time, and then the same thing over again; assure yourself that you will at last be reduced to so weak and wretched a condition, you will not so much as know when you do amiss; but you will even begin to make defences for your behavior, and thus verify the saying of Hesiod:—
- With constant ills, the dilatory strive.
Works and Days, v. 383.—H.
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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
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propositions cannot be at once maintained, because of their mutual contradiction.
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
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good will it do him? He will be more trifling and impertinent than he is already. For what else have you gained by reading it? What conviction have you formed upon this subject? But you tell us of Helen, and Priam, and the isle of Calypso, something which never was, nor ever will be. And in these matters, indeed, it is of no great consequence if you retain the story, without forming any principle of your own. But we commit this error much more in dealing with moral questions, than upon such subjects as these.
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
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conduct yourself on shipboard? Remember these distinctions, when the mast rattles, and some idle fellow stands by you while you are screaming, and says: For heaven’s sake! talk as you did a little while ago. Is it vice to suffer shipwreck; or does it partake of vice? Would you not take up a log, and throw it at his head? What have we to do with you, sir? We are perishing, and you come and jest. Again, if Caesar should summon you to answer an accusation, remember these distinctions. If, when you are going in, pale and trembling, any one should meet you and say, Why do you tremble, sir? What is this affair you are engaged in? Does Caesar, within there, give virtue and vice to those who approach him? What, do you too insult me, and add to my evils? Nay, but tell me, philosopher, why you tremble. Is there any other danger, but death, or a prison, or bodily pain, or exile, or slander? Why, what else should there be? Are any of these vice; or do they partake of vice? What, then, did you yourself use to say of these things? What have you to do with me, sir? My own evils are enough for me. You say rightly. Your own evils are indeed enough for you; your baseness, your cowardice, and that arrogance by which you were elated, as you sat in the schools. Why did you assume plumage not your own? Why did you call yourself a Stoic?
Observe yourselves thus in your actions, and you
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will find of what sect you are. You will find that most of you are Epicureans; a few are Peripatetics, and those but loose ones. For by what action will you prove that you think virtue equal, and even superior, to all other things? Show me a Stoic, if you have one. Where? Or how should you? You can show, indeed, a thousand who repeat the Stoic reasonings. But do they repeat the Epicurean less well? Are they not just as perfect in the Peripatetic? Who then is a Stoic? As we call that a Phidian statue which is formed according to the art of Phidias, so show me some one person formed according to the principles which he professes. Show me one who is sick, and happy; in danger, and happy; dying, and happy; exiled, and happy; disgraced, and happy. Show him to me; for, by Heaven! I long to see a Stoic. But you have not one fully developed? Show me then one who is developing; one who is approaching towards this character. Do me this favor. Do not refuse an old man a sight which he has never yet seen. Do you suppose that you are to show the Zeus or Athena of Phidias, a work of ivory or gold? Let any of you show me a human soul desiring to be in unity with God; not to accuse either God or man; not to be disappointed of its desire, nor incur its aversion; not to be angry; not to be envious; not to be jealous; in a word, desiring from a man to become a god; and, in this poor mortal body, aiming to have fellowship with Zeus. Show him to me. But you cannot.
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Why then do you impose upon yourselves, and play tricks with others? Why do you put on a dress not your own, and walk about in it, mere thieves and pilferers of names and things which do not belong to you? I am now your preceptor, and you come to be instructed by me. And indeed my aim is to secure you from being restrained, compelled, hindered; to make you free, prosperous, happy; looking to God upon every occasion, great or small. And you come to learn and study these things. Why then do you not finish your work, if you have the proper aims, and I, besides the aim, the proper qualifications? What is wanting? When I see an artificer, and the materials lying ready, I await the work. Now here is the artificer; here are the materials; what is it we want? Is not the thing capable of being taught? It is. Is it not in our own power, then? The only thing of all others that is so. Neither riches nor health nor fame nor, in short, anything else is in our power except a right use of the semblances of things. This alone is, by nature, not subject to restraint, not subject to hindrance. Why then do not you finish it? Tell me the cause. It must be my fault, or yours, or from the nature of the thing. The thing itself is practicable, and the only thing in our power. The fault then must be either in me or in you, or, more truly, in both. Well, then, shall we at length begin to carry such an aim with us? Let us lay aside all that is past. Let us begin. Only believe me, and you shall see.
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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
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thing he is destroying. For what says he? Be not deceived; be not seduced and mistaken. There is no natural tie between reasonable beings. Believe me. Those who say otherwise mislead and impose upon you. Why are you concerned for us then? Let us be deceived. You will fare never the worse, if all the rest of us are persuaded that there is a natural tie between mankind, and that it is by all means to be preserved. Nay, it will be much safer and better. Why do you give yourself any trouble about us, sir? Why do you break your rest for us? Why do you light your lamp? Why do you rise early? Why do you compose so many volumes? Is it that none of us should be deceived concerning the gods, as if they took any care of men; or that we may not suppose the essence of good consists in anything but in pleasure? For if these things be so, lie down and sleep, and lead the life of which you judge yourself worthy,—that of a mere worm. Eat, drink, debauch, snore. What is it to you, whether others think rightly or wrongly about these things? For what have you to do with us? You take care of sheep, because they afford their milk, their wool, and at last their flesh. And would it not be a desirable thing that men might be so lulled and enchanted by the Stoics as to give themselves up to be milked and fleeced by you, and such as you? Should not these doctrines be taught to your brother Epicureans only, and concealed from the rest of the world; who
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should by all means, above all things, be persuaded that we have a natural tie with each other, and that self-command is a good thing, in order that all may be kept safe for you? Or is this tie to be preserved towards some and not towards others? Towards whom, then, is it to be preserved,—towards such as mutually preserve, or such as violate it? And who violate it more than you, who teach such doctrines?
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
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have undergone a mutilation cannot have their inclinations also mutilated; and so Epicurus, when he had mutilated all the offices of a man, of a master of a family, of a citizen, and of a friend, did not mutilate the inclinations of humanity; for this he could not do, any more than the idle Academics can throw away or blind their own senses, though this be the point they chiefly labor. What a misfortune is it, when any one, after having received from Nature standards and rules for the knowledge of truth, does not strive to add to these, and make up their deficiencies; but, on the contrary, endeavors to take away and destroy whatever truth may be known even by them.
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
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youth to a contempt of the Deity. What! does not this please you, then? Learn next, that justice is nothing; that shame is folly; that the paternal relation is nothing; the filial, nothing. Well said, philosopher; persist, convince the youth; that we may have many more to think and talk like you. By such doctrines as these, no doubt, have our well-governed states flourished! Upon these was Sparta founded! Lycurgus, by his laws and method of education, introduced such persuasions as these: that it is not base to be slaves, rather than honorable; nor honorable to be free, rather than base! They who died at Thermopylae, died from such principles as these! And from what other doctrines did the Athenians leave their city?
[*](When the Athenians found themselves unable to resist the forces of the Persians, they left their city; and having removed their wives and children, and their movable effects, to Troezen and Salamis, went on board their ships, and defended the liberty of Greece by their fleet.—C.)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
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every day; and you will not give up these paltry cavils. When you eat, where do you put your hand,—to your mouth, or to your eye? When you bathe, where do you go? Do you ever call a kettle a dish, or a spoon a spit? If I were a servant to one of these gentlemen, were it at the hazard of being flayed every day, I would plague him. Throw some oil into the bath, boy. I would take pickle, and pour upon his head. What is this? Really, sir, I was impressed by a certain semblance so like oil as not to be distinguished from it. Give me the soup. I would carry him a dish full of vinegar. Did I not ask for the soup? Yes, sir; this is the soup. Is not this vinegar? Why so, more than soup? Take it and smell it, take it and taste it. How do you know, then, but our senses deceive us? If I had three or four fellow-servants to join with me, I would make him either choke with passion and burst, or change his opinions. But now they insult us by making use of the gifts of nature, while in words they destroy them. Those must be grateful and modest men, at least, who, while eating their daily bread, dare to say, We do not know whether there be any such beings as Demeter, or Core, or Pluto. Not to mention that while they possess the blessings of night and day, of the annual seasons, of the stars, the earth, and the sea, they are not the last affected by any of these things; but only study to give out some idle problem, and when they have thus relieved
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themselves, go and bathe; but take not the least care what they say, nor on what subjects, nor to whom, nor what may be the consequence of their talk,—whether any well-disposed young man, on hearing such doctrines, may not be affected by them, and so affected as entirely to lose the seeds of his good disposition; whether they may not furnish an adulterer with occasions of growing shameless in his guilt; whether a public plunderer may not find excuses from these doctrines; whether he, who neglects his parents, may not gain an additional confidence from them.
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.