Discourses

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

beautiful so far as it is developed suitably to its own nature; but since the nature of each is different, I think each of them must be beautiful in a different way. Is it not so?

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

such errors! I am told of one Polemo, who, from a most dissolute youth, became totally changed.[*](By accidentally visiting the school of Xenocrates.—H.) Suppose he did not think I should become a Polemo, he might nevertheless have set my locks to rights, he might have stripped off my bracelets and rings, he might have prevented my depilating my person. But when he saw me dressed like a—what shall I say?-he was silent. I do not say like what; when you come to your senses, you will say it yourself, and will know what it is, and who they are who adopt such a dress.

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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inscribed on the front of his temple, when no one heeds it?

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

thread in a garment. Do not expect me to be like the rest; nor find fault with my nature, which has distinguished me from others.

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

we show him, and how shall we advertise him? man to be seen, who would rather be a woman. What a scandalous show! Who would not wonder at such an advertisement? I believe, indeed, that these very persons themselves would; not apprehending that it is the very thing of which they are guilty.

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!

Surely, young man, we ought to pray for a succession of young men disposed and bred like you!

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.

Homer, Odyssey, 1.37. Hermes, descending from heaven, was to warn him. and the gods now, likewise, send a Hermes the Argicide as messenger to warn you not to invert the well-appointed order of things, nor be absorbed in fopperies; but suffer a man to be a man, and a woman to be a woman; a beautiful man to be beautiful as a man; a deformed man to be deformed as a man; for your personality lies not in flesh and hair, but in the Will. If you take care to have this beautiful, you will be beautiful. But all this while, I dare not tell you that you are deformed; for I fancy you would rather hear anything than this. But consider what Socrates says to the most beautiful and blooming of all men, Alcibiades. Endeavor to make yourself beautiful. What does he mean to say to him,—Curl your locks, and depilate your legs? Heaven forbid! But rather, Regulate your Will; throw away your wrong principles.

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

things what you are aiming to show in other ways. Do not you know that Diogenes exhibited some sophist in this manner, by pointing with his middle finger; [*](Extending the middle finger, with the ancients, was a mark of the greatest contempt.—C.) and when the man was mad with rage, This, said Diogenes, is the very man; I have exhibited him to you. For a man is not shown by the finger in the same sense as a stone or a piece of wood, but whoever points out his principles shows him as a man.

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,

an aversion from evil, and an indifference to what is neither good nor evil. For as a money-changer, or a gardener, is not at liberty to reject Caesar’s coin, but when once it is shown is obliged, whether he will or not, to deliver his wares in exchange for it, so is it with the soul. Apparent good at first sight attracts, and evil repels. Nor will the soul any more reject an evident appearance of good, than Caesar’s coin.

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

good into my own power, and given it me, like his own, uncompelled, unrestrained, and unhindered. But when any one deals in, coin different from this, then whoever shows it to him, may have whatever is sold for it in return. A thievish proconsul comes into the province. What coin does he use? Silver. Show it him, and carry off what you please. An adulterer comes. What coin does he use? Women. Take the coin, says one, and give me this trifle. Give it me, and it is yours. Another is addicted to other debauchery; give him but his coin, and take what you please. Another is fond of hunting; give him a fine pony or puppy, and he will sell you for it what you will, though it be with sighs and groans. For there is that within which controls him, and assumes this to be current coin.

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

have no slaves; but I will make as much uproar as I can unaided.

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.

But I would have Sophron crowned. Why, celebrate as many games as you will at your own house, Nemean, Pythian, Isthmian, Olympic, and proclaim him victor in all; but in public do not arrogate more than your due, nor seek to monopolize what belongs to all; or if otherwise, bear to be railed at, for if you act like the mob, you reduce yourself co an equality with them.

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

those controllable; and that if you do sometimes cry alas, it is not for what concerns your father or your brother, but yourself,—why do you any longer plead illness? Do not you know that both illness and death must overtake us? At what employment? The husbandman at his plough, the sailor on his voyage. At what employment would you be taken? For, indeed, at what employment ought you to be taken? If there is any better employment at which you can be taken, follow that. For my own part, I would be found engaged in nothing but in the regulation of my own Will; how to render it undisturbed, unrestrained, uncompelled, free. I would be found studying this, that I may be able to say to God, Have I transgressed thy commands? Have I perverted the powers, the senses, the instincts which thou hast given me? Have I ever accused thee, or censured thy dispensations? I have been ill, because it was thy pleasure, like others; but I willingly. I have been poor, it being thy will; but with joy. I have not been in power, because it was not thy will; and power I have never desired. Hast thou ever seen me saddened because of this? Have I not always approached thee with a cheerful countenance, prepared to execute thy commands and the indications of thy will? Is it thy pleasure that I should depart from this assembly? I depart. I give thee all thanks that thou hast thought me worthy to have a snare in it with thee; to behold thy works, and to join with thee in comprehending thy administration. Let death overtake me while I am thinking, while I am writing, while I am reading such things as these.

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.

Xenophon, Mem. 1.6.—H.

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

him to a gardener. Which of you, then, earnestly sets his heart on this? If you had, you would bear illness and hunger and death with cheerfulness. If any one of you has truly loved, he knows that I speak truth.

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

his body. But you will never frustrate his desire, nor make him incur his aversion. He engages in no combat but what concerns objects within his own control. How then can he fail to be invincible?

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.