Discourses

There are some things which men confess with ease, and others with difficulty. No one, for instance, will confess himself a fool or a blockhead; but, on the contrary, you will hear every one say,

Conversing therefore with such men, thus confused, thus ignorant what they say, and what are or are not their ills, whence they have them, and how they may be delivered from them, it is worth while,

You have been fighting at home with your manservant; you have turned the house upside-down, and alarmed the neighborhood; and do you come to me with a pompous show of wisdom, and sit and criticise how I explain a sentence, how I prate whatever comes into my head? Do you come, envious and dejected that nothing has come from home for you, and in the midst of the disputations sit thinking on nothing but how your father or your brother may treat you? What are they saying about me at home? Now they think I am improving, and say, He will come back with universal knowledge. I wish I could learn everything before my return; but this requires much labor, and nobody sends me anything. The baths are very bad at Nicopolis; and things go very ill both at home and here.

After all this, it is said, nobody is the better for the philosophic school. Why, who comes to the school?

Very true; but if my child or my brother should die; or if I must die or be tortured myself, what good will these things do me? Why, did you come for this? Did you attend upon me for this? Was it upon any such account that you ever lighted your lamp, or sat up at night? Or did you, when you went into the walk, propose any delusive semblance to your own mind to be discussed, instead of a syllogism? Did any of you ever go through such a subject jointly? And after all, you say, theorems are useless. To whom? To such as apply them ill. For medicines for the eyes are not useless to those who apply them when and as they ought. Fomentations are not useless, dumb-bells are not useless:

To whatever objects a person devotes his attention, these objects he probably loves. Do men ever devote their attention, then, to [what they think] evils? By no means. Or even to things indifferent? No, nor this. It remains, then, that good must be the sole object of their attention; and if of their attention, of their love too. Whoever, therefore, understands good, is capable likewise of love; and he who cannot distinguish good from evil, and things

How so? I am not this wise person, yet I love my child.

I protest it surprises me that you should, in the first place, confess yourself unwise. For in what are you deficient? Have not you the use of your senses? Do you not distinguish the semblances of things? Do you not provide such food and clothing and habitation as are suitable to you? Why then do you confess that you want wisdom? In truth, because you are often struck and disconcerted by semblances, and their speciousness gets the better of you; and hence you sometimes suppose the very same things to be good, then evil, and lastly, neither; and, in a word, you grieve, you fear, you envy, you are disconcerted, you change. Is it from this that you confess yourself unwise? And are you not changeable too in love? Riches, pleasure, in short, the very same things, you sometimes esteem good, and at other times evil. And do you not esteem the same persons too alternately as good and bad, at one time treating them with kindness, at another with enmity; at one time commending, and at another censuring them?

Yes. This too is the case with me.

Well, then; can he who is deceived in another be his friend, think you?

No, surely.

Or does he who loves him with a changeable affection bear him genuine good-will?

Nor he, neither. Or he who now vilifies, then admires him?

Nor he.

Do you not often see little dogs caressing and playing with each other, so that you would say nothing could be more friendly? But to learn what this friendship is, throw a bit of meat between them, and you will see. Do you too throw a bit of an estate betwixt you and your son, and you will see that he will quickly wish you under ground, and you him; and then you, no doubt, on the other hand will exclaim, What a son have I brought up! He would bury me alive! Throw in a pretty girl, and the old fellow and the young one will both fall in love with her; or let fame or danger intervene, the words of the father of Admetus will be yours:—

1. You love to see the light. Doth not your father?
2. You fain would still behold it. Would not he?

Do you suppose that he did not love his own child when it was little; that he was not in agonies when it had a fever, and often wished to undergo that fever in its stead? But, after all, when the trial comes

Polynices

1. Where wilt thou stand before the towers?

Eteocles

1. Why askest thou this of me?

Pol.

1. I will oppose myself to thee, to slay thee.

Et.

1. Me too the desire of this seizes.

Such are the prayers they offer. Be not therefore deceived. No living being is held by anything so strongly as by its own needs. Whatever therefore appears a hindrance to these, be it brother or father or child or mistress or friend, is hated, abhorred, execrated; for by nature it loves nothing like its own needs. This motive is father and brother and family and country and God. Whenever, therefore, the gods seem to hinder this, we vilify even them, and throw down their statues, and burn their temples; as Alexander ordered the temple of Esculapius to be burnt, because he had lost the man he loved.

When, therefore, any one identifies his interest with those of sanctity, virtue, country, parents, and friends,

From this ignorance it was that the Athenians and Lacedemonians quarrelled with each other, and the Thebans with both; the Persian king with Greece, and the Macedonians with both; and now the Romans with the Getes. And in still remoter times the Trojan war arose from the same cause. Alexander [Paris] was the guest of Menelaus; and whoever had seen the mutual proofs of good-will that passed between them would never have believed that they were not friends. But a tempting bait, a pretty woman, was thrown in between them; and thence came war. At present, therefore, when you see that dear brothers have, in appearance, but one soul do

But if you hear that these men in reality suppose good to be placed only in the will, and in a right use of things as they appear, no longer take the trouble of inquiring if they are father and son, or old companions and acquaintances; but boldly pronounce that they are friends, and also that they are faithful and just. For where else can friendship be met, but

Well; but such a one paid me the utmost regard for so long a time, and did he not love me?

How can you tell, foolish man, if that regard be any other than he pays to his shoes, or his horse, when he cleans them? And how do you know but that when you cease to be a necessary utensil, he may throw you away, like a broken stool?

Well; but it is my wife, and we have lived together many years.

And how many did Eriphyle live with Amphiaraus, and was the mother of children not a few? But a bauble came between them. What was this bauble? A false conviction concerning certain things. This turned her into a savage animal; this cut asunder all love, and suffered neither the wife nor the mother to continue such.[*](Amphiaraus married Eriphyle, the sister of Adrastus, king of Argos, and was betrayed by her for a golden chain.—C.)

Whoever, therefore, among you studies either to be or to gain a friend, let him cut up all false convictions by the root, hate them, drive them utterly out of his soul. Thus, in the first place, he will be secure from inward reproaches and contests, from vacillation and self-torment. Then, with respect to others, to every like-minded person he will be without disguise; to such as are unlike he will be patient, mild, gentle, and ready to forgive them, as failing in points

A book will always be read with more pleasure and ease, if it be written in fair characters; and so every one will the more easily attend to discourses likewise, if ornamented with proper and beautiful expressions. It ought not then to be said, that there is no such thing as the faculty of eloquence; for this would be at once the part of an impious and timid person,—impious, because he dishonors the gifts of God; just as if he should deny any use in the faculties of sight, hearing, and speech itself. Has God then given you eyes in vain? Is it in vain that he has infused into them such a strong and active spirit as to be able to represent the forms of distant objects? What messenger is so quick and diligent? Is it in vain that he has made the intermediate air

Since, then, the Will is such a faculty, and placed in authority over all the rest, suppose it to come forth and say to us that the body is of all things the most excellent! If even the body itself pronounced itself to be the most excellent, it could not be borne. But now, what is it, Epicurus, that pronounces all this? What was it that composed volumes concerning the End, the Nature of things, the Rule; that assumed a philosophic beard; that as it was dying wrote that it was then spending its last and happiest day?[*](These words are part of a letter written by Epicurus, when he was dying, to one of his friends. Diog. Laert. 10.22.—C.The titles previously given are those of treatises by Epicurus.—H.) Was this the body, or was it the faculty of Will? And can you, then, without madness, admit

But to take away the faculty of eloquence, and to

Such is the present case. Because, by speech and such instruction, we are to perfect our education and purify our own will and rectify that faculty which deals with things as they appear; and because, for the statement of theorems, a certain diction, and some variety and subtilty of discourse are needful, many, captivated by these very things,—one by diction, another by syllogisms, a third by convertible propositions, just as our traveller was by the good inn,—go no further, but sit down and waste their lives shamefully there, as if amongst the sirens. Your business, man, was to prepare yourself for such use of the semblances of things as nature demands; not to fail in what you seek, or incur what you shun; never to be disappointed or unfortunate, but free, unrestrained, uncompelled; conformed to the Divine Administration, obedient to that; finding fault with nothing, but able to say, from your whole soul, the verses which begin,

1. Conduct me, Zeus; and thou, O Destiny.

While you have such a business before you, will you be so pleased with a pretty form of expression, or a few theorems, as to choose to stay and live with them, forgetful of your home, and say, They are fine things! Why, who says they are not fine things? But only as a means; as an inn. For what hinders one speaking like Demosthenes from being miserable? What hinders a logician equal to Chrysippus from being wretched, sorrowful, envious, vexed, unhappy? Nothing. You see, then, that these are merely unimportant inns, and what concerns you is quite another thing. When I talk thus to some, they suppose that I am setting aside all care about eloquence and about theorems; but I do not object to that, only the dwelling on these things incessantly, and placing our hopes there. If any one, by maintaining this, hurts his hearers, place me amongst those hurtful people; for I cannot, when I see one thing to be the principal and most excellent, call another so to please you.

When a certain person said to him, I have often come to you with a desire of hearing you, and you have never given me any answer; but now, if possible, I entreat you to say something to me,—Do you think, replied Epictetus, that as in other things, so in speaking, there is an art by which he who understands it speaks skilfully, and he who does not unskilfully?

I do think so.

He, then, who by speaking both benefits himself, and is able to benefit others, must speak skilfully; but he who injures and is injured, must be unskilful in this art. For you may find some speakers injured, and others benefited. And are all hearers benefited by what they hear? Or will you find some benefited, and some hurt?

Both.

Then those who hear skilfully are benefited, and those who hear unskilfully, hurt.

Granted.

Is there any art of hearing, then, as well as of speaking?

It seems so.

If you please, consider it thus. To whom think you that the practice of music belongs?

To a musician.

To whom the proper formation of a statue?

To a sculptor.

And do you not imagine some art necessary even to view a statue skilfully?

I do.

If, therefore, to speak properly belongs to one who is skilful, do you not see that to hear profitably belongs likewise to one who is skilful? For the present, however, if you please, let us say no more of doing things perfectly and profitably, since we are both far enough from anything of that kind; but this seems to be universally confessed, that he who would hear philosophers needs some kind of exercise in hearing. Is it not so? Tell me, then, on what I shall speak to you. On what subject are you able to hear me?

On good and evil.

The good and evil of what,—of a horse?

No.

Of an ox?

No.

What, then; of a man?

Yes.

Do we know, then, what man is; what is his nature, what our idea of him, and how far our ears are

Why then do you say nothing to me?

I have only this to say to you; that whoever is utterly ignorant what he is and wherefore he was born, and in what kind of a universe and in what society; what things are good and what evil, what fair and what base; who understands neither discourse nor demonstration, nor what is true nor what is false, nor is able to distinguish between them; such a one will neither exert his desires, nor aversions, nor pursuits conformably to Nature; he will neither aim, nor assent, nor deny, nor suspend his judgment conformably to Nature; but will wander up and down, entirely deaf and blind, supposing himself to be somebody, while he is nobody. Is there anything new in all this? Is not this ignorance the cause of all the errors that have happened, from the very origin of mankind? Why did Agamemnon and Achilles differ? Was it not for want of knowing what is advantageous, what disadvantageous? Does not one of them say it is advantageous to restore Chryseis to her father; the other, that it is not? Does not one say that he ought to take away the prize of the other; the other, that he ought not? Did they not by these means forget who they were, and for what purpose they had come there? Why, what did you come for, man,—to win mistresses, or to fight? To fight. With whom,—Trojans or Greeks?

1. Intrusted with a nation and its cares,

But I am rich, as well as other people. What, richer than Agamemnon? But I am handsome too. What, handsomer than Achilles? But I have fine hair too. Had not Achilles finer and brighter? Yet he never combed it exquisitely, nor curled it. But I am strong too. Can you lift such a stone, then, as Hector or Ajax? But I am of a noble family too. Is your mother a goddess, or your father descended from Zeus? And what good did all this do Achilles, when he sat crying for a girl? But I am an orator. And was not he? Do you not see how he treated the most eloquent of the Greeks,—Odysseus and Phoenix,—how he struck them dumb? This is all I have to say to you; and even this against my inclination.

Why so? Because you have not excited me to it. For what

When one of the company said to him, Convince me that logic is necessary,—Would you have me, he said, demonstrate it to you? Yes. Then I must use a demonstrative form of argument. Granted. And how will you know, then, whether I argue sophistically? On this, the man being silent, You see, says he, that even by your own confession, logic is necessary; since without it, you cannot even learn whether it be necessary or not.

Every error implies a contradiction; for since he who errs does not wish to err, but to be in the right, it is evident that he acts contrary to his wish. What does a thief desire to attain? His own interest. If, then, thieving be really against his interest, he acts contrary to his own desire. Now, every rational soul is naturally averse to self-contradiction; but so long as any one is ignorant that it is a contradiction, nothing restrains him from acting contradictorily; but whenever he discovers it, he must as necessarily renounce and avoid it, as any one must dissent from a falsehood whenever he perceives it to be a falsehood; only while this does not appear, he assents to it as to a truth.

He, then, is gifted in speech, and excels at once in exhortation and conviction, who can disclose to each man the contradiction by which he errs, and prove clearly to him that what he would he doth not, and what he would not, that he doth. For, if that be shown, he will depart from it of his own accord; but, till you have shown it, be not surprised that he remains where he is; for he proceeds on the semblance of acting rightly. Hence Socrates, relying on this faculty,

A certain young rhetorician coming to him with his hair too elaborately ornamented, and his dress very fine, Tell me, said Epictetus, whether you do not think some horses and dogs beautiful and so of all other animals.

I do.

Are some men, then, likewise beautiful, and others deformed?

Certainly.

Do we pronounce all these beautiful the same way, then, or each in some way peculiar to itself? You will judge of it by this; since we see a dog naturally formed for one thing, a horse for another, and a nightingale, for instance, for another, therefore, in general, it will be correct to pronounce each of them

Agreed.

Then what makes a dog beautiful makes a horse deformed, and what makes a horse beautiful makes a dog deformed, if their natures are different.

So it seems.

For, I suppose, what makes a good Pancratiast[*](These are the names of combatants in the Olympic games. A Pancratiast was one who united the exercises of wrestling and boxing. A Pentathlete, one who contended on all the five games of Leaping, running, throwing the discus, darting, and wrestling.—C.) makes no good wrestler, and a very ridiculous racer; and the very same person who appears well as a Pentathlete might make a very ill figure in wrestling.

Very true.

What, then, makes a man beautiful? Is it on the same principle that a dog or a horse is beautiful?

The same. What is it, then, that makes a dog beautiful?

That excellence which belongs to a dog.

What a horse?

The excellence of a horse.

What a man? Must it not be the excellence belonging to a man? If, then, you would appear beautiful, young man, strive for human excellence.

What is that?

Consider whom you praise, when unbiassed by partiality; is it the honest or dishonest?

The honest.

The sober or the dissolute?

The sober.

The temperate or the intemperate?

The temperate.

Then, if you make yourself such a character, you know that you will make yourself beautiful; but while you neglect these things, though you use every contrivance to appear beautiful, you must necessarily be deformed.

I know not how to say anything further to you; for if I speak what I think, you will be vexed, and perhaps go away and return no more. And if I do not speak, consider what I am doing. You come to me to be improved, and I do not improve you; and you come to me as to a philosopher, and I do not speak like a philosopher. Besides, how could it be consistent with my duty towards yourself, to pass you by as incorrigible? If, hereafter, you should come to have sense, you will accuse me with reason: What did Epictetus observe in me, that, when he saw me come to him in such a shameful condition, he overlooked it, and never said so much as a word about it? Did he so absolutely despair of me? Was I not young? Was I not able to hear reason? How many young men, at that age, are guilty of many

If you should hereafter lay this to my charge, what excuse could I make? Ay; but if I do speak, he will not regard me. Why, did Laius regard Apollo Did not he go and get intoxicated, and bid farewell to the oracle? What then? Did this hinder Apollo from telling him the truth? Now, I am uncertain whether you will regard me or not; but Apollo positively knew that Laius would not regard him, and yet he spoke.[*](Laius, king of Thebes, petitioned Apollo for a son. The oracle answered him, that if Laius became a father, he should perish by the hand of his son. The prediction was fulfilled by Oedipus.—C.) And why did he speak? You may as well ask, why is he Apollo; why doth he deliver oracles; why hath he placed himself in such a post as a prophet, and the fountain of truth, to whom the inhabitants of the world should resort? Why is

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Did Socrates prevail upon all who came to him, to take care of themselves? Not upon the thousandth part; but being, as he himself declares, divinely appointed to such a post, he never deserted it. What said he even to his judges? If you would acquit me, on condition that I should no longer act as I do now, I would not accept it, nor desist; but I will accost all I meet, whether young or old, and interrogate them in just the same manner; but particularly you, my fellow-citizens, since you are more nearly related to me. Are you so curious and officious, Socrates? What is it to you, how we act? What say you? While you are of the same community and the same kindred with me, will you be careless of yourself, and show yourself a bad citizen to the city, a bad kinsman to your kindred, and a bad neighbor to your neighborhood? Why, who are you? Here one ought nobly to say, am he who ought to take care of mankind. For it is not every little paltry heifer that dares resist the lion; but if the bull should come up, and resist him, would you say to him, Who are you? What business is it of yours? In every species, man, there is some one quality which by nature excels,—in oxen, in dogs, in bees, in horses. Do not say to whatever excels, Who are you? If you do, it will, somehow or other, find a voice to tell you, am like the purple

What, then; am I such a one? How should I be? Indeed, are you such a one as to be able to hear the truth? I wish you were. But, however, since I am condemned to wear a gray beard and a cloak, and you come to me as a philosopher, I will not treat you cruelly, nor as if I despaired of you; but will ask you, Who is it, young man, whom you would render beautiful? Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly.

You are a human being; that is, a mortal animal, capable of a rational use of things as they appear. And what is this rational use? A perfect conformity to Nature. What have you, then, particularly excellent? Is it the animal part? No. The mortal? No. That which is capable of the mere use of these things? No. The excellence lies in the rational part. Adorn and beautify this; but leave your hair to him who formed it as he thought good.

Well, what other appellations have you? Are you a man or a woman? A man. Then adorn yourself as a man, not as a woman. A woman is naturally smooth and delicate, and if hairy, is a monster, and shown among the monsters at Rome. It is the same thing in a man not to be hairy; and if he is by nature not so, he is a monster. But if he depilates himself, what shall we do with him? Where shall

Of what have you to accuse your nature, sir, that it has made you a man? Why, were all to be born women, then? In that case what would have been the use of your finery? For whom would you have made yourself fine, if all were women? But the whole affair displeases you. Go to work upon the whole, then. Remove your manhood itself and make yourself a woman entirely, that we may be no longer deceived, nor you be half man, half woman. To whom would you be agreeable,—to the women? Be agreeable to them as a man.

Ay; but they are pleased with fops.

Go hang yourself. Suppose they were pleased with every debauchery, would you consent? Is this your business in life? Were you born to please dissolute women? Shall we make such a one as you, in the Corinthian republic for instance, governor of the city, master of the youth, commander of the army, or director of the public games? Will you pursue the same practices when you are married? For whom, and for what? Will you be the father of children, and introduce them into the state, such as yourself?

Oh, what a fine citizen, and senator, and orator!

Now, when you have once heard this discourse, go home and say to yourself, It is not Epictetus who has told me all these things,—for how should he?—but some propitious god through him; for it would never have entered the head of Epictetus, who is not used to dispute with any one. Well, let us obey God then, that we may not incur the Divine displeasure. If a crow has signified anything to you by his croaking, it is not the crow that signifies it, but God through him. And if you have anything signified to you through the human voice, doth he not cause that man to tell it to you, that you may know the Divine power which acts thus variously, and signifies the greatest and principal things through the noblest messenger? What else does the poet mean, when he says,—

1. Since we forewarned him,
2. Sending forth Hermes. watchful Argicide,
3. Neither to slay, nor woo another’s wife.

What is to be done with the poor body, then?

Leave it to nature. Another hath taken care of such things. Give them up to him.

What, then; must one be a sloven?

By no means; but act in conformity to your nature. A man should care for his body, as a man; a woman, as a woman; a child, as a child. If not, let us pick out the mane of a lion, that he may not be slovenly; and the comb of a cock, for he too should be tidy. Yes, but let it be as a cock: and a lion, as a lion; and a hound. as a hound.

There are three topics in philosophy, in which he who would be wise and good must be exercised: that of the desires and aversions, that he may not be disappointed of the one, nor incur the other; that of the pursuits and avoidances, and, in general, the duties of life, that he may act with order and consideration, and not carelessly; the third includes integrity of mind and prudence, and, in general, whatever belongs to the judgment.

Of these points the principal and most urgent is that which reaches the passions; for passion is produced no otherwise than by a disappointment of one’s desires and an incurring of one’s aversions. It is this which introduces perturbations, tumults, misfortunes, and calamities; this is the spring of sorrow, lamentation, and envy; this renders us envious and emulous, and incapable of hearing reason.

The next topic regards the duties of life. For I am not to be undisturbed by passions, in the same sense as a statue is; but as one who preserves the natural and acquired relations,—as a pious person, as . son, as a brother, as a father, as a citizen.

The third topic belongs to those scholars who are now somewhat advanced; and is a security to the other two, that no bewildering semblance may surprise us, either in sleep, or wine, or in depression. This, say you, is beyond us. Yet our present philosophers, leaving the first and second topics, employ themselves wholly about the third; dealing in the logical subtilties. For they say that we must, by engaging in these subjects, take care to guard against deception. Who must? A wise and good man. Is this really, then, the thing you need? Have you mastered the other points? Are you not liable to be deceived by money? When you see a fine girl, do you oppose the seductive influence? If your neighbor inherits an estate, do you feel no vexation? Is it not steadfastness which you chiefly need? You learn even these very things, slave, with trembling, and a solicitous dread of contempt; and are inquisitive to know what is said of you. And if any one comes and tells you that, in a dispute as to which was the best of the philosophers, one of the company named a certain person as the only philosopher, that little soul of yours grows to the size of two cubits instead of an inch. But if another comes and says, You are mistaken, he is not worth hearing; for what does he know? He has the first rudiments, but nothing more, you are thunderstruck; you presently turn pale, and cry out, will show what I am; that I am a great philosopher. You exhibit by these very

Let us see your principles too. For is it not evident that you consider your own Will as nothing, but are always aiming at something beyond its reach? As, what such a one will say of you, and what you shall be thought,—whether a man of letters; whether to have read Chrysippus or Antipater; and if Archedemus too, you have everything you wish. Why are you still solicitous, lest you should not show us what you are? Shall I tell you what you have shown yourself? A mean, discontented, passionate, cowardly person, complaining of everything, accusing everybody, perpetually restless, good for nothing. This you have shown us. Go now and read Archedemus; and then, if you hear but the noise of a mouse, you are a dead man; for you will die some such kind of death as—Who was it? Crinis;[*](Crinis was a Stoic philosopher. The circumstances of his death are not now known.—C.) who valued himself extremely too, that he understood Archedemus.

Wretch, why do you not let alone things that do not belong to you? These things belong to such as are able to learn them without perturbation; who can say, am not subject to anger, or grief, or envy. I am not restrained; I am not compelled. What remains for me to do? I am at leisure; I am at ease. Let us now see how logical inversions are to be treated; let us consider, when an hypothesis is laid down, how we may avoid a contradiction. To such persons do these things belong. They who are safe may light a fire, go to dinner if they please, and sing and dance; but you are for spreading sail just when your ship is going down.

The chief concern of a wise and good man is his own Reason. The body is the concern of a physician, and of a gymnastic trainer; and the fields, of the husbandman. The business of a wise and good man is to use the phenomena of existence conformably to Nature. Now, every soul, as it is naturally formed for an assent to truth, a dissent from falsehood, and a suspense of judgment with regard to things uncertain, so it is moved by a desire of good,

Hence depends every movement, both of God and man; and hence good is preferred to every obligation, however near. My connection is not with my father; but with good. Are you so hard-hearted? Such is my nature, and such is the coin which God hath given me. If therefore good is interpreted to be anything but what is fair and just, away go father and brother and country and everything. What! Shall I overlook my own good, and give it up to you? For what? am your father. But not my good. I am your brother. But not my good. But if we place it in a rightly trained Will, good must then consist in an observance of the several relations of life; and then he who gives up mere externals acquires good. Your father deprives you of your money; but he does not hurt you. He will possess more land than you, as much more as he pleases; but will he possess more honor, more fidelity, more affection? Who can deprive you of this possession? Not even Zeus; for he did not will it so, since he has put this

In this manner ought every one chiefly to train himself. When you go out in the morning, examine whomsoever you see or hear; and answer as if to a question. What have you seen? A handsome person. Apply the rule. Is this a thing controllable by Will or uncontrollable? Uncontrollable. Then discard it. What have you seen? One in agony for the death of a child. Apply the rule. Death is inevitable. Banish this despair, then. Has a consul met you? Apply the rule. What kind of thing is the consular office,—controllable by Will or uncontrollable? Uncontrollable. Throw aside this too. It will not pass. Cast it away; it is nothing to you.

If we acted thus, and practised in this manner from morning till night, by Heaven! something would be done. Whereas now, on the contrary, we are allured by every semblance, half-asleep; and if we ever awake, it is only a little in the school; but as soon as we go out, if we meet any one grieving, we say, He is undone. If a consul, How happy is he! If an exile, How miserable! If a poor man, How wretched he has nothing to eat!

These miserable prejudices, then, are to be lopped off; and here is our whole strength to be applied. For what is weeping and groaning? Prejudice. What is misfortune? Prejudice. What is sedition, discord, complaint, accusation, impiety, levity? All these are prejudices, and nothing more; and prejudices concerning things uncontrollable by Will, as if they could be either good or evil. Let any one transfer these convictions to things controllable by Will, and I will engage that he will preserve his constancy, whatever be the state of things about him.

The soul is like a vase filled with water; while the semblances of things fall like rays upon its surface. If the water is moved, the ray will seem to be moved likewise, though it is in reality without motion. When, therefore, any one is seized with a giddiness in his head, it is not the arts and virtues that are bewildered, but the mind in which they lie; when this recovers its composure, so will they likewise.

When the Governor of Epirus had exerted himself with improper eagerness in favor of a comedian, and was upon that account publicly railed at, and, when he came to hear it, was highly displeased with those who railed at him, Why, what harm, said Epictetus, have these people done? They have shown favoritism; which is just what you did.

Is this a proper manner, then, of expressing their favor?

Seeing you, their governor, and the friend and vicegerent of Caesar, express it thus, was it not to be expected that they would express it thus too? For if this zealous favoritism is not right, do not show it yourself; and if it is, why are you angry at them for imitating you? For whom have the many to imitate, but you, their superiors? From whom are they to take example, when they come into the theatre, but from you? Do but look how Caesar’s vicegerent sees the play! Has he cried out? I will cry out too. Has he leaped up from his seat? I too will leap up from mine. Do his slaves sit in different parts of the house, making an uproar? I indeed

You ought to consider, then, that when you appear in the theatre, you appear as a rule and example to others, how they ought to see the play. Why is it that they have railed at you? Because every man hates what hinders him. They would have one actor crowned; you, another. They hindered you, and you them. You proved the stronger. They have done what they could; they have railed at the person who hindered them. What would you have, then? Would you do as you please, and not have them even talk as they please? Where is the wonder of all this? Does not the husbandman rail at Zeus when he is hindered by him? Does not the sailor? Do men ever cease railing at Caesar? What, then; is Zeus ignorant of this? Are not the things that are said reported to Caesar? How then does he act? He knows that, if he were to punish all railers, he would have nobody left to command.

When you enter the theatre, then, ought you to say, Come, let Sophron be crowned? No. But rather, Come, let me at this time regulate my Will in a manner conformable to Nature. No one is dearer to me than myself. It is ridiculous, then, that because another man gains the victory as a player, I should be hurt. Whom do I wish to gain the victory? Him who does gain it; and thus he will always be victorious whom I wish to be so.

I am ill here, said one of the scholars. I will return home.

Were you never ill at home, then? Consider whether you are doing anything here conducive to the regulation of your Will; for if you make no improvement, it was to no purpose that you came. Go home, then, and take care of your domestic affairs. For if your Reason cannot be brought into conformity to nature, your land may. You may increase you: money, support the old age of your father, mix in the public assemblies, and rule as badly as you have lived, and do other such things. But if you are conscious to yourself that you are casting off some of your wrong principles, and taking up different ones in their room; and that you have transferred your scheme of life from things not controllable by will to

But I shall not have my mother to hold my head when I am ill.

Get home then to your mother; for you are most fit to have your head held when you are ill.

But I used at home to lie on a fine couch.

Get to this couch of yours; for you are fit to lie upon such a one, even in health; so do not miss doing that for which you are qualified. But what says Socrates?

As one man rejoices in the improvement of his estate, another of his horse, so do I daily rejoice in perceiving myself to grow better.

In what,—in pretty speeches?

Use courteous words, man.

In trifling theorems? What do they signify? Yet, indeed, I do not see that the philosophers are employed in anything else.

Do you think it nothing, to accuse and censure no one, God nor man; always to carry abroad and bring home the same countenance? These were the things which Socrates knew; and yet he never professed to know, or to teach anything; but if any one wanted pretty speeches, or little theorems, he brought him to Protagoras, to Hippias; just as, if any one had come for potherbs, he would have taken

When he was asked how it came to pass, that though the art of reasoning might be now more studied, yet the improvements made were formerly greater? In what instance, answered he, is it now more studied; and in what were the improvements greater? For in what now is most studied, in that will be found likewise the improvements. The present study is the solution of syllogisms, and in this improvements are made. But formerly the study was to harmonize the Reason with Nature; and improvement was made in that. Therefore do not confound things, nor, when you study one thing, expect improvement in another; but see whether any one of us who applies himself to think and act conformably to Nature ever fails of improvement. Depend upon it, you will not find one.

A good man is invincible; for he does not contend where he is not superior. If you would have his land, take it; take his servants, take his office, take

Being asked what common-sense was, he answered: As that may be called a common ear which distinguishes only sounds, but that which distinguishes notes, an artistic one; so there are some things which men, not totally perverted, discern by their common natural powers; and such a disposition is called common-sense.

It is not easy to gain the attention of effeminate young men,—for you cannot take up custard by a hook,—but the ingenuous, even if you discourage them, are the more eager for learning. Hence Rufus, for the most part, did discourage them; and made use of that as a criterion of the ingenuous and disingenuous. For, he used to say, as a stone, even if you throw it up, will by its own propensity be carried downward, so an ingenuous mind, the more it is forced from its natural bent, will incline towards it the more strongly.

When the Governor, who was an Epicurean, came to him, It is fit, said he, that we ignorant people should inquire of you philosophers what is the most valuable thing in the world; as those who come into a strange city do of the citizens and such as are acquainted with it; that after this inquiry we may go and take a view of it, as they do in cities. Now, almost every one admits that there are three things belonging to man,—soul, body, and externals. It belongs to such as you to answer which is the best. What shall we tell mankind? Is it the flesh?

And was it for this that Maximus took a voyage in winter as far as Cassiope to accompany his son? Was it to gratify the flesh?

No, surely. Is it not fit, then, to study what is best? Yes, beyond all other things. What have we, then, better than flesh? The soul.

Are we to prefer the good of the better, or of the worse?

Of the better.

Does the good of the soul consist in things controllable by Will or uncontrollable?

In things controllable.

Does the pleasure of the soul, then, depend on the Will?

It does.

And whence does this pleasure arise,—from itself? This is unintelligible. For there must exist some principal essence of good, in the attainment of which we shall enjoy this pleasure of the soul.

This too is granted.

In what, then, consists this pleasure of the soul? If it be in mental objects, the essence of good is found. For it is impossible that good should lie in one thing, and rational enjoyment in another; or that, if the cause is not good, the effect should be good. For, to make the effect reasonable, the cause must be good. But this you cannot reasonably allow; for it would be to contradict both Epicurus and the rest of your principles. It remains, then, that the pleasures of the soul must consist in bodily objects; and that there must be the cause and the essence of good. Maximus, therefore, did foolishly, if he took a voyage for the sake of anything but his body; that is, for the sake of what is best. A man does foolishly too, if he refrains from what is another’s, when he is a judge and able to take it. We should consider only this, if you please, how it may be done secretly and safely, and so that no one may know it. For Epicurus himself

For Heaven’s sake represent to yourself a city of Epicureans. I do not marry. Nor I; for we are not to marry nor have children, nor to engage

In a sculptured vase, which is the best,—the silver, or the workmanship? In the hand the substance is flesh; but its operations are the principal thing. Accordingly, its functions are threefold,—relating to its existence, to the manner of its existence, and to its principal operations. Thus, likewise, do not set a value on the mere materials of man, the flesh; but on the principal operations which belong to him.

What are these?

Engaging in public business, marrying, the production of children, the worship of God, the care of parents, and, in general, the regulation of our desires and aversions, our pursuits and avoidances, in accordance with our nature.

What is our nature?

To be free, noble-spirited, modest. For what other animal blushes? What other has the idea of shame? But pleasure must be subjected to these, as an attendant and handmaid, to call forth our activity, and to keep us constant in natural operations.

But I am rich and want nothing.

Then why do you pretend to philosophize? Your gold and silver plate is enough for you. What need have you of principles?

Besides, I am Judge of the Greeks.

Do you know how to judge? Who has imparted this knowledge to you?

Caesar has given me a commission.

Let him give you a commission to judge of music; what good will it do you? But how were you made a Judge? Whose hand have you kissed,—that of Symphorus, or Numenius? Before whose door have you slept? To whom have you sent presents? After all, do you not perceive that the office of Judge puts you in the same rank with Numenius?

But I can throw whom I please into a prison. So you may a stone.

But I can beat whom I will too.

So you may an ass. This is not a government over men. Govern us like reasonable creatures. Show us what is best for us, and we will pursue it; show us what is otherwise, and we will avoid it. Like Socrates, make us imitators of yourself. He was properly a governor of men, who controlled their desires and aversions, their pursuits, their avoidances. Do this; do not that, or I will throw you into prison. This is not a government for reasonable creatures. But Do as Zeus has commanded, or you will be punished, and be a loser.

What shall I lose?

Simply your own right action, your fidelity, honor, decency. You can find no losses greater than these.

In the same manner as we exercise ourselves against sophistical questions, we should exercise ourselves likewise in relation to such semblances as every day occur; for these, too, offer questions to us. Such a one’s son is dead. What think you of it? Answer: It is a thing inevitable, and therefore not an evil. Such a one is disinherited by his father. What think you of it? It is inevitable; and so not an evil.

If we train ourselves in this manner we shall make improvement; for we shall never assent to anything but what the semblance itself includes. A son is dead. What then? A son is dead. Nothing more? Nothing. A ship is lost. What then? A ship is lost. He is carried to prison. What then? He is carried to prison. That he is unhappy is an addition which every one must make for himself. But Zeus does not order these things rightly. Why so? Because he has made you to be patient? Because he has made you to be brave? Because he has made them to be no evils? Because it is permitted you, while you suffer them, to be happy? Because he has opened you the door whenever they do not suit you? Go out, man, and do not complain!

If you would know how the Romans treat philosophers, hear. Italicus, esteemed one of the greatest philosophers among them, being in a passion with his own people when I was by, said, as if he had suffered some intolerable evil, cannot bear it; you are the ruin of me; you will make me just like him, pointing to me.

A person came to him who was going to Rome on a lawsuit in which his dignity was concerned; and after telling him the occasion of his journey, asked him what he thought of the affair. If you ask me, says Epictetus, what will happen to you at Rome, and whether you shall gain or lose your cause, I have no suggestion as to that. But if you ask me how you shall fare, I can answer, If you have right principles, well; if wrong ones, ill. For every action turns upon its principle. What was the reason that you so earnestly desired to be chosen Governor of the Gnossians? Principle. What is the reason that you are now going to Rome? Principle. And in winter too, and with danger and expense? Why, because it is necessary. What tells you so? Your principle. If, then, principles are the source of all our actions, wherever any one has bad principles the effect will correspond to the cause. Well, then; are all our principles sound? Are both yours and your antagonist’s? How then do you differ? Or are yours better than his? Why? You think so, and so thinks he of his, and so do madmen. This is a bad criterion. But show me that you have given some attention and

Assist me in this affair.

I have no suggestion to offer for that. Neither are you come to me, if it be upon that account you came, as to a philosopher; but as you would come to an herb-seller or a shoemaker.

For what purposes, then, can the philosophers give suggestions?

For preserving and conducting the Reason conformably

No, but the greatest.

Well, and does it require but a short time, and may it be taken as you pass by? If you can, take it then; and so you will say, have visited Epictetus. Ay; just as you would visit a stone or a statue. For you have seen me, and nothing more. But he visits a man, as a man, who learns his principles, and, in return, shows his own. Learn my principles; show me yours. Then say you have visited me. Let us confute each other. If I have any bad principle, take it away. If you have any, bring it forth. This is visiting a philosopher. No, but It lies in our way, and while we are about hiring a ship, we may call on Epictetus. Let us see what he says. And then when you are gone, you say, Epictetus is nothing. His language was inaccurate, was barbarous. For what else did you come to criticise? Well; but if I employ myself in these things, I shall be without an estate, like you,—without plate, without equipage, like you. Nothing, perhaps, is necessary to be said to this, but that I do not want them. But if you possess many things, you still want others; so that whether you will or not, you are poorer than I.

What then do I need?

What you have not,—constancy, a mind conformable to Nature, and a freedom from perturbation.

We should have all our principles ready for use on every occasion,—at dinner, such as relate to dinner; in the bath, such as relate to the bath; in the bed, such as relate to the bed.

1. Let not the stealing god of sleep surprise,
2. Nor creep in slumbers on thy weary eyes,
3. Ere every action of the former day
4. Strictly thou dost, and righteously survey.
5. What have I done? In what have I transgressed?
6. What good, or ill, has this day’s life expressed?
7. Where have I failed in what I ought to do?
8. If evil were thy deeds, repent and mourn;
9. If good, rejoice.

We should retain these verses so as to apply them to our use; not merely to say them by rote, as we do with verses in honor of Apollo.

Again, in a fever we should have such principles ready as relate to a fever; and not, as soon as we are taken ill, forget all. Provided I do but act like a philosopher, let what will happen. Some way or other I depart must from this frail body, whether a

What, then; ought each of us to say upon every difficult occasion, It was for this that I exercised; it was for this that I trained myself? God says to you, Give me a proof if you have gone through the preparatory combats according to rule; if you have followed a proper diet and proper exercise; if you have obeyed your master; and after this, do you faint at the very time of action?

Now is your time for a fever. Bear it well. For thirst; bear it well. For hunger; bear it well. Is it not in your power? Who shall restrain you? A physician may restrain you from drinking, but he cannot restrain you from bearing your thirst well. He may restrain you from eating, but he cannot restrain you from bearing hunger well. But I cannot follow my studies. And for what end do you follow them, slave? Is it not that you may be prosperous, that you may be constant, that you may think and act conformably to Nature? What restrains you, but that, in a fever, you may keep your Reason in harmony

What occasion is there, then, for fear; what occasion for anger, for desire, about things that belong to others, or are of no value? For two rules we should always have ready,—that there is nothing good or evil save in the Will; and that we are not to lead events, but to follow them. My brother ought not to have treated me so. Very true; but he must see to that. However he treats me, I am to act rightly with regard to him; for the one is my own concern, the other is not; the one cannot be restrained, the other may.

There are some punishments appointed, as by a law, for such as disobey the Divine admnistration. Whoever shall esteem anything good, except what depends on the Will, let him envy, let him covet, let him flatter, let him be full of perturbation. Whoever esteems anything else to be evil, let him grieve, let him mourn, let him lament, let him be wretched. And yet, though thus severely punished, we cannot desist.

1. It were not lawful to affront a guest,
2. Even did the worst draw nigh.

This too you should be prepared to say with regard to a father, It is not lawful for me to affront you, father, even if a worse than you had come; for all are from paternal Zeus. And so of a brother; for all are from kindred Zeus. And thus we shall find Zeus to be the superintendent of all the other relations.

We are not to carry our training beyond Nature and Reason; for thus we, who call ourselves philosophers, shall not differ from jugglers. For it is no doubt difficult to walk upon a rope, and not only difficult, but dangerous. Ought we too, for that reason, to make it our study to walk upon a rope, or balance a pole,[*](A phrase occurs here which has greatly puzzled the commentators, but which evidently refers to the gymnastic exercise known as the perche-pole, where a pole is balanced by one performer and ascended by another.—H.) or grasp a statue? [*](Diogenes used, in winter, to grasp statues when they were covered with snow, as an exercise to inure himself to hardship. Diogenes Laertius.—C.) By no means.

And what is it that lies before us to do?

To have our desires and aversions free from restraint.

How is that?

Not to be disappointed of our desire, nor incur our aversion. To this ought our training to be directed. For without vigorous and steady training, it is not possible to preserve our desire undisappointed and our aversion unincurred; and therefore, if we suffer it to be externally employed on things uncontrollable by Will, be assured that your desire will neither gain its object, nor your aversion avoid it.

And because habit has a powerful influence, and we are habituated to apply our desire and aversion to externals only. we must oppose one habit to another: and where the semblances are most treacherous, there oppose the force of training. I am inclined to pleasure. I will bend myself, even unduly, to the other side, as a matter of training. I am averse to pain. I will strive and wrestle with these semblances, that I may cease to shrink from any such object. For who is truly in training? He who endeavors totally to control desire, and to apply aversion only to things controllable by Will, and strives for it most in the most difficult cases. Hence different persons are to be trained in different ways. What signifies it, to this

Next to the desires and aversions is the second class, of the pursuits and avoidances; that they may be obedient to reason; that nothing may be done improperly, in point of time and place, or in any other respect.

The third class relates to the faculty of assent and to what is plausible and persuasive. As Socrates said that we are not to lead a life which is not tested, so neither are we to admit an untested semblance;

In short, whatever things are applied to the body by those who train it, so may these be used in our training if they any way affect desire or aversion. But if this be done for mere ostentation, it belongs to one who looks and seeks for something external, and strives for spectators to exclaim, What a great man! Hence Apollonius said well, If you have a mind to train yourself for your own benefit, when you are choking with heat, take a little cold water in your mouth, and spit it out again, and hold your tongue.

It is solitude to be in the condition of a helpless person. For he who is alone is not therefore solitary, any more than one in a crowd is the contrary. When, therefore, we lose a son, or a brother, or a friend, on whom we have been used to repose, we often say we are left solitary, even in the midst of Rome, where such a crowd is continually meeting us; where we live among so many, and where we

What solitude is there then left; what destitution? Why do we make ourselves worse than children? What do they do when they are left alone? They take up shells and dust; they build houses, then pull them down; then build something else; and thus never want amusement. Suppose you were all to sail away; am I to sit and cry because I am left alone and solitary? Am I so unprovided with shells and dust? But children do this from folly; and shall we be wretched through wisdom?

Every great gift is dangerous to a beginner. Study first how to live like a person in sickness; that in time you may know how to live like one in health. Abstain from food. Drink water. Totally repress your desire for some time, that you may at length use it according to reason; and if so, when you are stronger

As bad performers cannot sing alone, but in a chorus, so some persons cannot walk alone. If you are anything, walk alone; talk by yourself; and do not skulk in the chorus. Think a little at last; look about you; sift yourself, that you may know what you are.

If a person drinks water, or does anything else for the sake of training, upon every occasion he tells all he meets, drink water. Why, do you drink water merely for the sake of drinking it? If it does you any good to drink it. do so; if not, you act

Of actions, some are performed on their own account; others from circumstances, others from complaisance, others upon system.

Two things must be rooted out of men, conceit and diffidence. Conceit lies in thinking that you want nothing; and diffidence in supposing it impossible that under such adverse circumstances you should ever succeed. Now, conceit is removed by confutation; and of this Socrates set the example. And consider and ascertain that the undertaking is not impracticable. The inquiry itself will do you no harm; and it is almost being a philosopher to inquire how it is possible to employ our desire and aversion without hindrance.

I am better than you, for my father has been consul.have been a tribune, says another, and you not. If we were horses, would you say, My father was swifter than yours; I have abundance of oats and hay and fine trappings? What now, if, while you were saying this, I should answer: Be it so. Let us run a race then? Is there nothing in man analogous to a race in horses, by which it may be decided which is better or worse? Is there not honor, fidelity, justice? Show yourself the better in these, that you may be the better as a man.