Discourses

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

does not pronounce stealing to be evil, only the being found out in it; and prohibits it for no other reason, but because it is impossible to insure ourselves against discovery. But I say to you that, if it be done dexterously and cautiously, we shall not be discovered. Besides, we have powerful friends of both sexes at Rome; and the Greeks are weak; and nobody will dare to go up to Rome on such an affair. Why do you refrain from your own proper good? It is madness; it is folly. But if you were to tell me that you do refrain, I would not believe you. For, as it is impossible to assent to an apparent falsehood, or to deny an apparent truth, so it is impossible to abstain from an apparent good. Now, riches are a good, and, indeed, the chief instrument of pleasures. Why do not you acquire them? And why do not we corrupt the wife of our neighbor, if it can be done secretly? And if the husband should happen to be impertinent, why not cut his throat too, if you have a mind to be such a philosopher as you ought to be,—a complete one,—to be consistent with your own principles. Otherwise you will not differ from us who are called Stoics. For we, too, say one thing and do another; we talk well and act ill; but you will be perverse in a contrary way, teaching bad principles, and acting well.

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 public affairs. What will be the consequence of this? Whence are the citizens to come? Who will educate them? Who will be the governor of the youth? Who the master of their exercises? What then will he teach them? Will it be what used to be taught at Athens, or Lacedemon? Take a young man; bring him up according to your principles. These principles are wicked, subversive of a state, pernicious to families, not becoming even to women. Give them up, sir. You live in a capital city. You are to govern and judge uprightly, and to refrain from what belongs to others. No one’s wife or child, or silver or gold plate, is to have any charms for you, except your own. Provide yourself with principles consonant to these truths; and setting out thence, you will with pleasure refrain from things so persuasive to mislead and conquer. But if to their own persuasive force we can add such a philosophy as hurries us upon them and confirms us in them, what will be the consequence?

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.

Caesar has condemned him. This is inevitable, and so not an evil. He has been afflicted by it. This is controllable by Will; it is an evil. He has supported it bravely. This is within the control of Will; it is a good.

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

care to your principles. As you now take a voyage to Rome for the government of the Gnossians, and are not contented to stay at home with the honors you before enjoyed, but desire something greater and more illustrious, did you ever take such a voyage in order to examine your own principles and to throw away the bad ones, if you happened to have any? Did you ever apply to any one upon this account? What time did you ever appoint to yourself for it? What age? Run over your years. If you are ashamed of me, do it for yourself. Did you examine your principles when you were a child? Did not you act then as now? When you were a youth, and frequented the schools of the orators, and yourself made declamations, did you ever imagine that you were deficient in anything? And when you became a man and entered upon public business, pleaded causes, and acquired credit, whom did you then recognize as your equal? How would you have borne that any one should examine whether your principles were bad? What, then, would you have me say to you?

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

to Nature, whatever happens. Do you think this a small thing?

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.

Patron or no patron, what care I? But you do. I am richer than you; I am not anxious what Caesar will think of me; I flatter no one on that account. This I have, instead of silver and gold plate. You have your vessels of gold; but your discourse, your principles, your opinions, your pursuits, your desires, are of mere earthen ware. When I have all these conformable to Nature, why should not I bestow some study upon my reasoning too? I am at leisure. My mind is under no distraction. In this freedom from distraction, what shall I do? Have I anything more becoming a man than this? You, when you have nothing to do, are restless; you go to the theatre, or perhaps to bathe. Why should not the philosopher polish his reasoning? You have fine crystal and myrrhine vases; [*](And how they quaff in gold,Crystal and myrrhine cups, imbossed with gems.Paradise Regained, iv. 181. Myrrhine cups were probably a kind of agate described by Pliny, which, when burnt, had the smell of myrrh. See Teatro Critico, Tom. 6, disc. 4.6.—C.) I have acute forms of arguing. To you, all you have appears little; to me all I have seems great. Your appetite is insatiable; mine is satisfied. When children thrust their hand into a narrow jar of nuts and figs, if they fill it, they cannot get it out again; then they begin crying. Drop a few of them, and you will get out the rest. And do you too drop your desire; do not demand much, and you will attain.

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.

Pythagoras, Golden Verses, 40-44.[*](This is Rowe’s translation, as quoted by Mrs. Carter, but not precisely as given in Dacier’s Pythagoras (London, 1707), p. 165.—H.)

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

fever comes or not. What is it to be a philosopher? Is it not to be prepared against events? Do you not comprehend that you then say, in effect, If I am but prepared to bear all events with calmness, let what will happen? Otherwise you are like an athlete, who, after receiving a blow, should quit the combat. In that case, indeed, you might leave off without a penalty. But what shall we get by leaving off philosophy?

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

with Nature? Here is the test of the matter. Here is the trial of the philosopher; for a fever is a part of life, as is a walk, a voyage, or a journey. Do you read when you are walking? No, nor in a fever. But when you walk well, you attend to what belongs to a walker; so, if you bear a fever well, you have everything belonging to one in a fever. What is it to bear a fever well? Not to blame either God or man, not to be afflicted at what happens, to await death in a right and becoming manner, and to do what is to be done. When the physician enters, not to dread what he may say; nor, if he should tell you that you are doing well, to be too much rejoiced; for what good has he told you? When you were in health, what good did it do you? Not to be dejected when he tells you that you are very ill; for what is it to be very ill? To be near the separation of soul and body. What harm is there in this, then? If you are not near it now, will you not be near it hereafter? What, will the world be quite overturned when you die? Why, then, do you flatter your physician? Why do you say, If you please, sir, I shall do well? Why do you furnish an occasion to his pride? Why do not you treat a physician, with regard to an insignificant body,—which is not yours, but by nature mortal,—as you do a shoemaker about your foot, or a carpenter about a house? It is the season for these things, to one in a fever. If he fulfils these, he has what belongs to him. For it is not the business of a philosopher to take care of these mere externals,—of his wine, his oil, or his body,—but of his Reason. And how with regard to externals? Not to behave inconsiderately about them.

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.

Remember what the poet says of a guest,—

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

Homer, Odyssey, xiv. 54.—H.

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.

It is not everything difficult or dangerous that is a proper training, but such things as are conducive to what lies before us to do.

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

purpose, to balance a pole, or to go about with tent and implements [of exhibition]? If you are hasty, man, let it be your training to bear ill language patiently; and when you are affronted, not to be angry. Thus, at length, you may arrive at such a proficiency as, when any one strikes you, to say to yourself, Let me suppose this to be like grasping a statue. Next train yourself to make but a moderate use of wine,—not to drink a great deal, to which some are so foolish as to train themselves,—but to abstain from this first; and then to abstain from women and from gluttony. Afterwards you will venture into the lists at some proper season, by way of trial, if at all, to see whether these semblances get the better of you as much as they used to do. But at first flee from what is stronger than you. The contest between a fascinating woman and a young man just initiated into philosophy is unequal. The brass pot and the earthen pitcher, as the fable says, are an unfair match.

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;

but to say, Stop, let me see what you are and whence you come, just as the police say, Show me your pass. Have you that indorsement from Nature which is necessary to the acceptance of every 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.