THE GOLDEN SAYINGS OF EPICTETUS
Translated and Arranged by Hastings
Crossley
Fragments Attributed to Epictetus
Are these the only works of
Great is God, for that He hath given us
such instruments to till the ground withal: Great is God, for that He hath
given us hands and the power of swallowing and digesting; of unconsciously
growing and breathing while we sleep!
Thus should we ever have sung; yea and
this, the grandest and divinest hymn of all:—
Great is God, for that He hath given us a
mind to apprehend these things, and duly to use them!
What then! seeing that most of you are
blinded, should there not be some one to fill this place, and sing the hymn to
God on behalf of all men? What else can I that am old and lame do but sing to
God? Were I a nightingale, I should do after the manner of a nightingale. Were
I a swan, I should do after the manner of a swan. But now, since I am a
reasonable being, I must sing to God: that is my work: I do it, nor will I
desert this my post, as long as it is granted me to hold it; and upon you too I
call to join in this self-same hymn.
How then do men act? As though one
returning to his country who had sojourned for the night in a fair inn, should
be so captivated thereby as to take up his abode there.
"Friend, thou hast forgotten thine
intention! This was not thy destination, but only lay on the way thither."
"Nay, but it is a proper place."
"And how many more of the sort there
may be; only to pass through upon thy way! Thy purpose was to return to thy
country; to relieve thy kinsmen's fears for thee; thyself to discharge the
duties of a citizen; to marry a wife, to beget offspring, and to fill the
appointed round of office. Thou didst not come to choose out what places are
most pleasant; but rather to return to that wherein thou wast born and where
wert appointed to ba a citizen."
Try to enjoy the great festival of life with other men.
But I have one whom I must please, to whom
I must be subject, whom I must obey:—God, and those who come next to Him.
He hath entrusted me with myself: He hath made my will subject to myself alone
and given me rules for the right use thereof.
Rufus used to say, If you have leisure to
praise me, what I say is naught. In truth he spoke in such wise, that each of
us who sat there, though that some one had accused him to Rufus:—so
surely did he lay his finger on the very deeds we did: so surely display the
faults of each before his very eyes.
But what saith God?—"Had it
been possible, Epictetus, I would have made both that body of thine and thy
possessions free and unimpeded, but as it is, be not deceived:—it is not
thine own; it is but finely tempered clay. Since then this I could not do, I
have given thee a portion of Myself, in the power of desiring and declining and
of pursuing and avoiding, and is a word the power of dealing with the things of
sense. And if thou neglect not this, but place all that thou hast therein, thou
shalt never be let or hindered; thou shalt never lament; thou shalt not blame
or flatter any. What then? Seemth this to thee a little thing?"—God
forbid!—"Be content then therewith!"
And so I pray the Gods.
What saith Antisthenes? Hast thou never
heard?— It is a kingly thing, O Cyrus, to do well and to be evil spoken
of.
"Aye, but to debase myself thus were
unworthy of me."
"That," said Epictetus, "is
for you to consider, not for me. You know yourself what you are worth in your
own eyes; and at what price you will sell yourself. For men sell themselves at
various prices. This was why, when Florus was deliberating whether he should
appear at Nero's shows, taking part in the performance himself, Agrippinus
replied, 'But why do not you appear?' he answered, 'Because I do not even
consider the question.' For the man who has once stooped to consider such
questions, and to reckon up the value of external things, is not far from
forgetting what manner of man he is. Why, what is it that you ask me? Is death
preferable, or life? I reply, Life. Pain or pleasure? I reply, Pleasure."
"Well, but if I do not act, I shall
lose my head."
"Then go and act! But for my part I
will not act."
"Why?"
"Because you think yourself but one
among the many threads which make up the texture of the doublet. You should aim
at being like men in general—just as your thread has no ambition either
to be anything distinguished compared with the other threads. But I desire to
be the purple—that small and shining part which makes the rest seem fair
and beautiful. Why then do you bid me become even as the multitude? Then were I
no longer the purple."
If a man could be throughly penetrated, as
he ought, with this thought, that we are all in an especial manner sprung from
God, and that God is the Father of men as well as of Gods, full surely he would
never conceive aught ignoble or base of himself. Whereas if Cæsar were to adopt
you, your haughty looks would be intolerable; will you not be elated at knowing
that you are the son of God? Now however it is not so with us: but seeing that
in our birth these two things are commingled—the body which we share with
the animals, and the Reason and Thought which we share with the Gods, many
decline towards this unhappy kinship with the dead, few rise to the blessed
kinship with the Divine. Since then every one must deal with each thing
according to the view which he forms about it, those few who hold that they are
born for fidelity, modesty, and unerring sureness in dealing with the things of
sense, never conceive aught base or ignoble of themselves: but the multitude
the contrary. Why, what am I?—A wretched human creature; with this
miserable flesh of mine. Miserable indeed! but you have something better than
that paltry flesh of yours. Why then cling to the one, and neglect the other?
Thou art but a poor soul laden with a lifeless body.
The other day I had an iron lamp placed
beside my household gods. I heard a noise at the door and on hastening down
found my lamp carried off. I reflected that the culprit was in no very strange
case. "Tomorrow, my friend," I said, "you will find an
earthenware lamp; for a man can only lose what he has."
The reason why I lost my lamp was that the
thief was superior to me in vigilance. He paid however this price for the lamp,
that in exchange for it he consented to become a thief: in exchange for it, to
become faithless.
But God hath introduced Man to be a
spectator of Himself and of His works; and not a spectator only, but also an
interpreter of them. Wherefore it is a shame for man to begin and to leave off
where the brutes do. Rather he should begin there, and leave off where Nature
leaves off in us: and that is at contemplation, and understanding, and a manner
of life that is in harmony with herself.
See then that ye die not without being
spectators of these things.
You journey to
Will you not then perceive either who you
are or unto what end you were born: or for what purpose the power of
contemplation has been bestowed on you?
"Well, but in life there are some
things disagreeable and hard to bear."
And are there none at
If what philosophers say of the kinship of
God and Man be true, what remains for men to do but as Socrates
did:—never, when asked one's country, to answer, "I am an Athenian
or a Corinthian," but "I am a citizen of the world."
He that hath grasped the administration of
the World, who hath learned that this Community, which consists of God and men,
is the foremost and mightiest and most comprehensive of all:—that from
God have descended the germs of life, not to my father only and father's
father, but to all things that are born and grow upon the earth, and in an
especial manner to those endowed with Reason (for those only are by their
nature fitted to hold communion with God, being by means of Reason conjoined
with Him)—why should not such an one call himself a citizen of the world?
Why not a son of God? Why should he fear aught that comes to pass among men?
Shall kinship with Cæsar, or any other of the great at
I do not think that an old fellow like me
need have been sitting here to try and prevent your entertaining abject notions
of yourselves, and talking of yourselves in an abject and ignoble way: but to
prevent there being by chance among you any such young men as, after
recognising their kindred to the Gods, and their bondage in these chains of the
body and its manifold necessities, should desire to cast them off as burdens
too grievous to be borne, and depart their true kindred. This is the struggle
in which your Master and Teacher, were he worthy of the name, should be
engaged. You would come to me and say: "Epictetus, we can no longer endure
being chained to this wretched body, giving food and drink and rest and
purification: aye, and for its sake forced to be subservient to this man and
that. Are these not things indifferent and nothing to us? Is it not true that
death is no evil? Are we not in a manner kinsmen of the Gods, and have we not
come from them? Let us depart thither, whence we came: let us be freed from
these chains that confine and press us down. Here are thieves and robbers and
tribunals: and they that are called tyrants, who deem that they have after a
fashion power over us, because of the miserable body and what appertains to it.
Let us show them that they have power over none."
And to this I reply:—
"Friends, wait for God. When He gives
the signal, and releases you from this service, then depart to Him. But for the
present, endure to dwell in the place wherein He hath assigned you your post.
Short indeed is the time of your habitation therein, and easy to those that are
minded. What tyrant, what robber, what tribunals have any terrors for those who
thus esteem the body and all that belong to it as of no account? Stay; depart
not rashly hence!"
Something like that is what should pass
between a teacher and ingenuous youths. As it is, what does pass? The teacher
is a lifeless body, and you are lifeless bodies yourselves. When you have had
enough to eat today, you sit down and weep about tomorrow's food. Slave! if you
have it, well and good; if not, you will depart: the door is open—why
lament? What further room is there for tears? What further occasion for
flattery? Why should one envy another? Why should you stand in awe of them that
have much or are placed in power, especially if they be also strong and
passionate? Why, what should they do to us? What they can do, we will not
regard: what does concern us, that they cannot do. Who then shall rule one that
is thus minded?
Seeing this then, and noting well the
faculties which you have, you should say,—"Send now, O God, any
trial that Thou wilt; lo, I have means and powers given me by Thee to acquit
myself with honour through whatever comes to pass!"—No; but there
you sit, trembling for fear certain things should come to pass, and moaning and
groaning and lamenting over what does come to pass. And then you upbraid the
Gods. Such meanness of spirit can have but one result—impiety.
Yet God has not only given us these
faculties by means of which we may bear everything that comes to pass without
being crushed or depressed thereby; but like a good King and Father, He has
given us this without let or hindrance, placed wholly at our own disposition,
without reserving to Himself any power of impediment or restraint. Though
possessing all these things free and all you own, you do not use them! you do
not perceive what it is you have received nor whence it comes, but sit moaning
and groaning; some of you blind to the Giver, making no acknowledgment to your
Benefactor; others basely giving themselves to complaints and accusations
against God.
Yet what faculties and powers you possess
for attaining courage and greatness of heart, I can easily show you; what you
have for upbraiding and accusation, it is for you to show me!
How did Socrates bear himself in this
regard? How else than as became one who was fully assured that he was the
kinsman of Gods?
If God had made that part of His own
nature which He severed from Himself and gave to us, liable to be hindered or
constrained either by Himself or any other, He would not have been God, nor
would He have been taking care of us as He ought . . . . If you choose, you are
free; if you choose, you need blame no man—accuse no man. All things will
be at once according to your mind and according to the Mind of God.
Petrifaction is of two sorts. There is
petrifaction of the understanding; and also of the sense of shame. This happens
when a man obstinately refuses to acknowledge plain truths, and persists in
maintaining what is self-contradictory. Most of us dread mortification of the
body, and would spare no pains to escape anything of that kind. But of
mortification of the soul we are utterly heedless. With regard, indeed, to the
soul, if a man is in such a state as to be incapable of following or
understanding anything, I grant you we do think him in a bad way. But
mortification of the sense of shame and modesty we go so far as to dub strength
of mind!
If we were as intent upon our business as
the old fellows at
Well, as it was, what did he do? Ere ever
he entered the city, he was met by a despatch from the Emperor. He took it, and
forgot the whole of his resolutions. From that moment, he has been piling one
thing upon another. I should like to be beside him to remind him of what he
said when passing this way, and to add, How much better a prophet I am than
you!
What then? do I say man is not made for an
active life? Far from it! . . . But there is a great difference between other
men's occupations and ours. . . . A glance at theirs will make it clear to you.
All day long they do nothing but calculate, contrive, consult how to wring
their profit out of food-stuffs, farm-plots and the like. . . . Whereas, I
entreat you to learn what the administration of the World is, and what place a
Being endowed with reason holds therein: to consider what you are yourself, and
wherein your Good and Evil consists.
A man asked me to write to
True instruction is this:—to learn
to wish that each thing should come to pass as it does. And how does it come to
pass? As the Disposer has disposed it. Now He has disposed that there should be
summer and winter, and plenty and dearth, and vice and virtue, and all such
opposites, for the harmony of the whole.
Have this thought ever present with thee,
when thou losest any outward thing, what thou gainest in its stead; and if this
be the more precious, say not, I have suffered loss.
Concerning the Gods, there are who deny
the very existence of the Godhead; others say that it exists, but neither
bestirs nor concerns itself nor has forethought for anything. A third party
attribute to it existence and forethought, but only for great and heavenly
matters, not for anything that is on earth. A fourth party admit things on
earth as well as in heaven, but only in general, and not with respect to each
individual. A fifth, of whom were Ulysses and Socrates are those that
cry:—
I move not without Thy knowledge!
Considering all these things, the good and
true man submits his judgement to Him that administers the Universe, even as
good citizens to the law of the State. And he that is being instructed should
come thus minded:—How may I in all things follow the Gods; and, How may I
rest satisfied with the Divine Administration; and, How may I become free? For
he is free for whom all things come to pass according to his will, and whom
none can hinder. What then, is freedom madness? God forbid. For madness and
freedom exist not together.
"But I wish all that I desire to come
to pass and in the manner that I desire."
—You are mad, you are beside
yourself. Know you not that Freedom is a glorious thing and of great worth? But
that what I desired at random I should wish at random to come to pass, so far
from being noble, may well be exceeding base.
You must know that it is no easy thing for
a principle to become a man's own, unless each day he maintain it and hear it
maintained, as well as work it out in life.
You must know that it is no easy thing for
a principle to become a man's own, unless each day he maintain it and hear it
maintained, as well as work it out in life.
What then is the chastisement of those who
accept it not? To be as they are. Is any discontented with being alone? let him
be in solitude. Is any discontented with his parents? let him be a bad son, and
lament. Is any discontented with his children? let him be a bad
father.—"Throw him into prision!"—What
prision?—Where he is already: for he is there against his will; and
wherever a man is against his will, that to him is a prision. Thus Socrates was
not in prision, since he was there with his own consent.
Knowest thou what a speck thou art in
comparison with the Universe?—-That is, with respect to the body; since
with respect to Reason, thou art not inferior to the Gods, nor less than they.
For the greatness of Reason is not measured by length or height, but by the
resolves of the mind. Place then thy happiness in that wherein thou art equal
to the Gods.
Asked how a man might eat acceptably to
the Gods, Epictetus replied:—If when he eats, he can be just, cheerful,
equable, temperate, and orderly, can he not thus eat acceptably to the Gods?
But when you call for warm water, and your slave does not answer, or when he
answers brings it lukewarm, or is not even found to be in the house at all,
then not to be vexed nor burst with anger, is not that acceptable to the Gods?
"But how can one endure such
people?"
Slave, will you not endure your own
brother, that has God to his forefather, even as a son sprung from the same
stock, and of the same high descent as yourself? And if you are stationed in a
high position, are you therefor forthwith set up for a tyrant? Remember who you
are, and whom you rule, that they are by nature your kinsmen, your brothers,
the offspring of God.
"But I paid a price for them, not
they for me."
Do you see whither you are
looking—down to the earth, to the pit, to those despicable laws of the
dead? But to the laws of the Gods you do not look.
When we are invited to a banquet, we take
what is set before us; and were one to call upon his host to set fish upon the
table or sweet things, he would be deemed absurd. Yet in a word, we ask the
Gods for what they do not give; and that, although they have given us so many
things!
Asked how a man might convince himself
that every single act of his was under the eye of God, Epictetus
answered:—
"Do you not hold that things on earth
and things in heaven are continuous and in unison with each other?"
"I do," was the reply.
"Else how should the trees so
regularly, as though by God's command, at His bidding flower; at His bidding
send forth shoots, bear fruit and ripen it; at His bidding let it fall and shed
their leaves, and folded up upon themselves lie in quietness and rest? How
else, as the Moon waxes and wanes, as the Sun approaches and recedes, can it be
that such vicissitude and alternation is seen in earthly things?
"If then all things that grow, nay,
our own bodies, are thus bound up with the whole, is not this still truer of
our souls? And if our souls are bound up and in contact with God, as being very
parts and fragments plucked from Himself, shall He not feel every movement of
theirs as though it were His own, and belonging to His own nature?"
"But," you say, "I cannot
comprehend all this at once."
"Why, who told you that your powers
were equal to God's?"
Yet God hath placed by the side of each a
man's own Guardian Spirit, who is charged to watch over him—a Guardian
who sleeps not nor is deceived. For to what better or more watchful Guardian
could He have committed which of us? So when you have shut the doors and made a
darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone; for you are not
alone, but God is within, and your Guardian Spirit, and what light do they need
to behold what you do? To this God you also should have sworn allegiance, even
as soldiers unto Cæsar. They, when their service is hired, swear to hold the
life of Cæsar dearer than all else: and will you not swear your oath, that are
deemed worthy of so many and great gifts? And will you not keep your oath when
you have sworn it? And what oath will you swear? Never to disobey, never to
arraign or murmur at aught that comes to you from His hand: never unwillingly
to do or suffer aught that necessity lays upon you.
"Is this oath like theirs?"
They swear to hold no other dearer than
Cæsar: you, to hold our true selves dearer than all else beside.
"How shall my brother cease to be
wroth with me?"
Bring him to me, and I will tell him. But
to thee I have nothing to say about his anger.
When one took counsel of Epictetus, saying,
"What I seek is this, how even though my brother be not reconciled to me,
I may still remain as Nature would have me to be," he replied: "All
great things are slow of growth; nay, this is true even of a grape or of a fig.
If then you say to me now, I desire a fig, I shall answer, It needs time: wait
till it first flower, then cast its blossom, then ripen. Whereas then the fruit
of the fig-tree reaches not maturity suddenly nor yet in a single hour, do you
nevertheless desire so quickly, and easily to reap the fruit of the mind of
man?—Nay, expect it not, even though I bade you!"
Epaphroditus had a shoemaker whom he sold
as being good-for-nothing. This fellow, by some accident, was afterwards
purchased by one of Cæsar's men, and became a shoemaker to Cæsar. You should
have seen what respect Epaphroditus paid him then. "How does the good
Felicion? Kindly let me know!" And if any of us inquired, "What is
Epaphroditus doing?" the answer was, "He is consulting about so and
so with Felicion."—Had he not sold him as good-for-nothing? Who had
in a trice converted him into a wiseacre?
This is what comes of holding of
importance anything but the things that depend on the Will.
What you shun enduring yourself, attempt
not to impose on others. You shun slavery—beware of enslaving others! If
you can endure to do that, one would thing you had been once upon a time a
slave yourself. For Vice has nothing in common with virtue, nor Freedom with
slavery.
Has a man been raised to tribuneship?
Every one that he meets congratulates him. One kisses him on the eyes, another
on the neck, while the slaves kiss his hands. He goes home to find torches
burning; he ascends to the Capitol to sacrifice.—Who ever sacrificed for
having had right desires; for having conceived such inclinations as Nature
would have him? In truth we thank the Gods for that wherein we place our
happiness.
A man was talking to me to-day about the
priesthood of Augustus. I said to him, "Let the thing go, my good Sir; you
will spend a good deal to no purpose."
"Well, but my name will be inserted
in all documents and contracts."
"Will you be standing there to tell
those that read them, That is my name written there? And even if you could now
be there in every case, what will you do when you are dead?"
"At all events my name will
remain."
"Inscribe it on a stone and it will
remain just as well. And think, beyond Nicopolis what memory of you will there
be?"
"But I shall have a golden wreath to
wear."
"If you must have a wreath, get a
wreath of roses and put it on; you will look more elegant!"
Above all, remember that the door stands
open. Be not more fearful than children; but as they, when they weary of the
game, cry, "I will play no more," even so, when thou art in the like
case, cry, "I will play no more" and depart. But if thou stayest,
make no lamentation.
Is there smoke in the room? If it be
slight, I remain; if grievous, I quit it. For you must remember this and hold
it fast, that the door stands open.
"You shall not dwell at
Nicopolis!"
Well and good.
"Nor at
Then I will not dwell at
"Nor at
Nor at
"You shall dwell in Gyara!"
Well: but to dwell in Gyara seems to me
like a grievous smoke; I depart to a place where none can forbid me to dwell:
that habitation is open unto all! As for the last garment of all, that is the
poor body; beyond that, none can do aught unto me. This why Demetrius said to
Nero: "You threaten me with death; it is Nature who threatens you!"
The beginning of philosophy is to know the
condition of one's own mind. If a man recognises that this is in a weakly
state, he will not then want to apply it to questions of the greatest moment.
As it is, men who are not fit to swallow even a morsel, buy whole treatises and
try to devour them. Accordingly they either vomit them up again, or suffer from
indigestion, whence come gripings, fluxions, and fevers. Whereas they should
have stopped to consider their capacity.
In theory it is easy to convince an
ignorant person: in actual life, men not only object to offer themselves to be
convinced, but hate the man who has convinced them. Whereas Socrates used to
say that we should never lead a life not subjected to examination.
This is the reason why Socrates, when
reminded that he should prepare for his trial, answered: "Thinkest thou
not that I have been preparing for it all my life?"
"In what way?"
"I have maintained that which in me
lay!"
"How so?"
"I have never, secretly or openly,
done a wrong unto any."
In what character dost thou now come
forward?
As a witness summoned by God. "Come
thou," saith God, "and testify for me, for thou art worthy of being
brought forward as a witness by Me. Is aught that is outside thy will either
good or bad? Do I hurt any man? Have I placed the good of each in the power of
any other than himself? What witness dost thou bear to God?"
"I am in evil state, Master, I am
undone! None careth for me, none giveth me aught: all men blame, all speak evil
of me."
Is this the witness thou wilt bear, and do
dishonour to the calling wherewith He hath called thee, because He hath done
thee so great honour, and deemed thee worthy of being summoned to bear witness
in so great a cause?
Wouldst thou have men speak good of thee?
speak good of them. And when thou hast learned to speak good of them, try to do
good unto them, and thus thou wilt reap in return their speaking good of thee.
When thou goest in to any of the great,
remember that Another from above sees what is passing, and that thou shouldst
please Him rather than man. He therefore asks thee:—
"In the Schools, what didst thou call
exile, imprisionment, bonds, death and shame?"
"I called them things
indifferent."
"What then dost thou call them now?
Are they at all changed?"
"No."
"Is it then thou that art
changed?"
"No."
"Say then, what are things
indifferent?"
"Things that are not in our
power."
"Say then, what follows?"
"That things which are not in our
power are nothing to me."
"Say also what things you hold to be
good."
"A will such as it ought to be, and a
right use of the things of sense."
"And what is the end?"
"To follow Thee!"
"That Socrates should ever have been
so treated by the Athenians!"
Slave! why say "Socrates"? Speak
of the thing as it is: That ever then the poor body of Socrates should have
been dragged away and haled by main force to prision! That ever hemlock should
have been given to the body of Socrates; that that should have breathed its
life away!—Do you marvel at this? Do you hold this unjust? Is it for this
that you accuse God? Had Socrates no compensation for this? Where then for him
was the ideal Good? Whom shall we hearken to, you or him? And what says he?
"Anytus and Melitus may put me to
death: to injure me is beyond their power."
And again:—
"If such be the will of God, so let
it be."
Nay, young man, for heaven's sake; but
once thou hast heard these words, go home and say to thyself:—"It is
not Epictetus that has told me these things: how indeed should he? No, it is
some gracious God through him. Else it would never have entered his head to
tell me them—he that is not used to speak to any one thus. Well, then,
let us not lie under the wrath of God, but be obedient unto
Him."—-Nay, indeed; but if a raven by its croaking bears thee any
sign, it is not the raven but God that sends the sign through the raven; and if
He signifies anything to thee through human voice, will He not cause the man to
say these words to thee, that thou mayest know the power of the
Divine—how He sends a sign to some in one way and to others in another,
and on the greatest and highest matters of all signifies His will through the
noblest messenger?
What else does the poet mean:—
I spake unto him erst Myself, and sent
Hermes the shining One, to check and warn him,
The husband not to slay, nor woo the wife!
In the same way my friend Heraclitus, who
had a trifling suit about a petty farm at Rhodes, first showed the judges that
his cause was just, and then at the finish cried, "I will not entreat you:
nor do I care what sentence you pass. It is you who are on your trial, not
I!"—And so he ended the case.
As for us, we behave like a herd of deer.
When they flee from the huntsman's feathers in affright, which way do they
turn? What haven of safety do they make for? Why, they rush upon the nets! And
thus they perish by confounding what they should fear with that wherein no
danger lies. . . . Not death or pain is to be feared, but the fear of death or
pain. Well said the poet therefore:—
Death has no terror; only a Death of
shame!
How is it then that certain external
things are said to be natural, and other contrary to Nature?
Why, just as it might be said if we stood
alone and apart from others. A foot, for instance, I will allow it is natural
should be clean. But if you take it as a foot, and as a thing which does not
stand by itself, it will beseem it (if need be) to walk in the mud, to tread on
thorns, and sometimes even to be cut off, for the benefit of the whole body;
else it is no longer a foot. In some such way we should conceive of ourselves
also. What art thou?—A man.—Looked at as standing by thyself and
separate, it is natural for thee in health and wealth long to live. But looked
at as a Man, and only as a part of a Whole, it is for that Whole's sake that thou
shouldest at one time fall sick, at another brave the perils of the sea, again,
know the meaning of want and perhaps die an early death. Why then repine?
Knowest thou not that as the foot is no more a foot if detached from the body,
so thou in like case art no longer a Man? For what is a Man? A part of a
City:—first of the City of Gods and Men; next, of that which ranks
nearest it, a miniature of the universal City. . . . In such a body, in such a
world enveloping us, among lives like these, such things must happen to one or
another. Thy part, then, being here, is to speak of these things as is meet,
and to order them as befits the matter.
That was a good reply which Diogenes made
to a man who asked him for letters of recommendation.—"That you are
a man, he will know when he sees you;—whether a good or bad one, he will
know if he has any skill in discerning the good or bad. But if he has none, he
will never know, though I write him a thousand times."—It is as
though a piece of silver money desired to be recommended to some one to be
tested. If the man be a good judge of silver, he will know: the coin will tell
its own tale.
Even as the traveller asks his way of him
that he meets, inclined in no wise to bear to the right rather than to the left
(for he desires only the way leading whither he would go), so should we come
unto God as to a guide; even as we use our eyes without admonishing them to
show us some things rather than others, but content to receive the images of
such things as they present to us. But as it is we stand anxiously watching the
victim, and with the voice of supplication call upon the
augur:—"Master, have mercy on me: vouchsafe unto me a way of
escape!" Slave, would you then have aught else then what is best? is there
anything better than what is God's good pleasure? Why, as far as in you lies,
would you corrupt your Judge, and lead your Counsellor astray?
God is beneficent. But the Good also is
beneficent. It should seem then that where the real nature of God is, there too
is to be found the real nature of the Good. What then is the real nature of
God?—Intelligence, Knowledge, Right Reason. Here then without more ado
seek the real nature of the Good. For surely thou dost not seek it in a plant
or in an animal that reasoneth not.
Seek then the real nature of the Good in
that without whose presence thou wilt not admit the Good to exist in aught
else.—What then? Are not these other things also works of God?—They
are; but not preferred to honour, nor are they portions of God. But thou art a
thing preferred to honour: thou art thyself a fragment torn from
God:—thou hast a portion of Him within thyself. How is it then that thou
dost not know thy high descent—dost not know whence thou comest? When
thou eatest, wilt thou not remember who thou art that eatest and whom thou
feedest? In intercourse, in exercise, in discussion knowest thou not that it is
a God whom thou feedest, a God whom thou exercisest, a God whom thou bearest
about with thee, O miserable! and thou perceivest it not. Thinkest thou that I
speak of a God of silver or gold, that is without thee? Nay, thou bearest Him
within thee! all unconscious of polluting Him with thoughts impure and unclean
deeds. Were an image of God present, thou wouldest not dare to act as thou
dost, yet, when God Himself is present within thee, beholding and hearing all,
thou dost not blush to think such thoughts and do such deeds, O thou that art
insensible of thine own nature and liest under the wrath of God!
Why then are we afraid when we send a
young man from the Schools into active life, lest he should indulge his
appetites intemperately, lest he should debase himself by ragged clothing, or
be puffed up by fine raiment? Knows he not the God within him; knows he not
with whom he is starting on his way? Have we patience to hear him say to us,
Would I had thee with me!—Hast thou not God where thou art, and having
Him dost thou still seek for any other! Would He tell thee aught else than
these things? Why, wert thou a statue of Phidias, an Athena or a Zeus, thou
wouldst bethink thee both of thyself and thine artificer; and hadst thou any
sense, thou wouldst strive to do no dishonour to thyself or him that fashioned
thee, nor appear to beholders in unbefitting guise. But now, because God is thy
Maker, is that why thou carest not of what sort thou shalt show thyself to be?
Yet how different the artists and their workmanship! What human artist's work,
for example, has in it the faculties that are displayed in fashioning it? Is it
aught but marble, bronze, gold, or ivory? Nay, when the Athena of Phidias has
put forth her hand and received therein a Victory, in that attitude she stands
for evermore. But God's works move and breathe; they use and judge the things
of sense. The workmanship of such an Artist, wilt thou dishonor Him? Ay, when
he not only fashioned thee, but placed thee, like a ward, in the care and
guardianship of thyself alone, wilt thou not only forget this, but also do
dishonour to what is committed to thy care! If God had entrusted thee with an
orphan, wouldst thou have thus neglected him? He hath delivered thee to thine
own care, saying, I had none more faithful than myself: keep this man for me
such as Nature hath made him—modest, faithful, high-minded, a stranger to
fear, to passion, to perturbation. . . .
Such will I show myself to you
all.—"What, exempt from sickness also: from age, from
death?"—Nay, but accepting sickness, accepting death as becomes a
God!
No labour, according to Diogenes, is good
but that which aims at producing courage and strength of soul rather than of
body.
A guide, on finding a man who has lost his
way, brings him back to the right path—he does not mock and jeer at him
and then take himself off. You also must show the unlearned man the truth, and
you will see that he will follow. But so long as you do not show it him, you
should not mock, but rather feel your own incapacity.
It was the first and most striking
characteristic of Socrates never to become heated in discourse, never to utter
an injurious or insulting word—on the contrary, he persistently bore
insult from others and thus put an end to the fray. If you care to know the
extent of his power in this direction, read Xenophon's Banquet, and you will
see how many quarrels he put an end to. This is why the Poets are right in so
highly commending this faculty:—
Quickly and wisely withal even bitter
feuds would he settle.
Nevertheless the practice is not very safe
at present, especially in
"Can you tell me, sir, to whose care
you entrust your horses?"
"I can."
"Is it to the first corner, who knows
nothing about them?"
"Certainly not."
"Well, what of the man who takes care
of your gold, your silver or your raiment?"
"He must be experienced also."
"And your body—have you ever
considered about entrusting it to any one's care?"
"Of course I have."
"And no doubt to a person of
experience as a trainer, a physician?"
"Surely."
"And these things the best you
possess, or have you anything more precious?"
"What can you mean?"
"I mean that which employs these;
which weights all things; which takes counsel and resolve."
"Oh, you mean the soul."
"You take me rightly; I do mean the
soul. By Heaven, I hold that far more precious than all else I possess. Can you
show me then what care you bestow on a soul? For it can scarcely be thought that
a man of your wisdom and consideration in the city would suffer your most
precious possession to go to ruin through carelessness and neglect."
"Certainly not."
"Well, do you take care of it
yourself? Did any one teach you the right method, or did you discover it
yourself?"
Now here comes in the danger: first, that
the great man may answer, "Why, what is that to you, my good fellow? are
you my master?" And then, if you persist in troubling him, may raise his
hand to strike you. It is a practice of which I was myself a warm admirer until
such experiences as these befell me.
When a youth was giving himself airs in
the Theatre and saying, "I am wise, for I have conversed with many wise
men," Epictetus replied, "I too have conversed with many rich men,
yet I am not rich!"
We see that a carpenter becomes a
carpenter by learning certain things: that a pilot, by learning certain things,
becomes a pilot. Possibly also in the present case the mere desire to be wise
and good is not enough. It is necessary to learn certain things. This is then
the object of our search. The Philosophers would have us first learn that there
is a God, and that His Providence directs the Universe; further, that to hide
from Him not only one's acts but even one's thoughts and intentions is
impossible; secondly, what the nature of God is. Whatever that nature is
discovered to be, the man who would please and obey Him must strive with all
his might to be made like unto him. If the Divine is faithful, he also must be
faithful; if free, he also must be free; if beneficent, he also must be
beneficent; if magnanimous, he also must be magnanimous. Thus as an imitator of
God must he follow Him in every deed and word.
If I show you, that you lack just what is
most important and necessary to happiness, that hitherto your attention has
been bestowed on everything rather than that which claims it most; and, to
crown all, that you know neither what God nor Man is—neither what Good or
Evil is: why, that you are ignorant of everything else, perhaps you may bear to
be told; but to hear that you know nothing of yourself, how could you submit to
that? How could you stand your ground and suffer that to be proved? Clearly not
at all. You instantly turn away in wrath. Yet what harm have I done to you?
Unless indeed the mirror harms the ill-favoured man by showing him to himself
just as he is; unless the physician can be thought to insult his patient, when
he tells him:—"Friend, do you suppose there is nothing wrong with
you? why, you have a fever. Eat nothing to-day, and drink only water." Yet
no one says, "What an insufferable insult!" Whereas if you say to a
man, "Your desires are inflamed, your instincts of rejection are weak and
low, your aims are inconsistent, your impulses are not in harmony with Nature,
your opinions are rash and false," he forthwith goes away and complains
that you have insulted him.
Our way of life resembles a fair. The
flocks and herds are passing along to be sold, and the greater part of the
crowd to buy and sell. But there are some few who come only to look at the
fair, to inquire how and why it is being held, upon what authority and with
what object. So too, in this great Fair of life, some, like the cattle, trouble
themselves about nothing but the fodder. Know all of you, who are busied about
land, slaves and public posts, that these are nothing but fodder! Some few
there are attending the Fair, who love to contemplate what the world is, what
He that administers it. Can there be no Administrator? is it possible, that
while neither city nor household could endure even a moment without one to
administer and see to its welfare, this Fabric, so fair, so vast, should be
administered in order so harmonious, without a purpose and by blind chance?
There is therefore an Administrator. What is His nature and how does He
administer? And who are we that are His children and what work were we born to
perform? Have we any close connection or relation with Him or not?
Such are the impressions of the few of
whom I speak. And further, they apply themselves solely to considering and
examining the great assembly before they depart. Well, they are derided by the
multitude. So are the lookers-on by the traders: aye, and if the beasts had any
sense, they would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder!
I think I know now what I never knew
before—the meaning of the common saying, A fool you can neither bend nor
break. Pray heaven I may never have a wise fool for my friend! There is nothing
more intractable.—"My resolve is fixed!"—Why so madman
say too; but the more firmly they believe in their delusions, the more they
stand in need of treatment.
—"O! when shall I see
Friend, lay hold with a desperate grasp,
ere it is too late, on Freedom, on Tranquility, on Greatness of soul! Lift up
thy head, as one escaped from slavery; dare to look up to God, and
say:—"Deal with me henceforth as Thou wilt; Thou and I are of one
mind. I am Thine: I refuse nothing that seeeth good to Thee; lead on whither
Thou wilt; clothe me in what garb Thou pleasest; wilt Thou have me a ruler or a
subject—at home or in exile—poor or rich? All these things will I
justify unto men for Thee. I will show the true nature of each. . . ."
Who would Hercules have been had he
loitered at home? no Hercules, but Eurystheus. And in his wanderings through
the world how many friends and comrades did he find? but nothing dearer to him
than God. Wherefore he was believed to be God's son, as indeed he was. So then
in obedience to Him, he went about delivering the earth from injustice and
lawlessness.
But thou art not Hercules, thou sayest,
and canst not deliver others from their iniquity—not even Theseus, to
deliver the soil of
If a man would pursue Philosophy, his
first task is to throw away conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to
learn what he has a conceit that he already knows.
Give me but one young man, that has come
to the School with this intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause,
and says, "All else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life
free from hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as
a free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that may
come to pass!" Point out such a one to me, that I may say, "Enter,
young man, into possession of that which is thine own. For thy lot is to adorn
Philosophy. Thine are these possessions; thine these books, these
discourses!"
And when our champion has duly exercised
himself in this part of the subject, I hope he will come back to me and
say:—"What I desire is to be free from passion and from
perturbation; as one who grudges no pains in the pursuit of piety and
philosophy, what I desire is to know my duty to the Gods, my duty to my
parents, to my brothers, to my country, to strangers."
"Enter then on the second part of the
subject; it is thine also."
"But I have already mastered the
second part; only I wished to stand firm and unshaken—as firm when asleep
as when awake, as firm when elated with wine as in despondency and
dejection."
"Friend, you are verily a God! you
cherish great designs."
"The question at stake," said
Epictetus, "is no common one; it is this:—Are we in our senses, or
are we not?"
If you have given way to anger, be sure
that over and above the evil involved therein, you have strengthened the habit,
and added fuel to the fire. If overcome by a temptation of the flesh, do not
reckon it a single defeat, but that you have also strengthened your dissolute
habits. Habits and faculties are necessarily affected by the corresponding
acts. Those that were not there before, spring up: the rest gain in strength
and extent. This is the account which Philosophers give of the origin of
diseases of the mind:—Suppose you have once lusted after money: if reason
sufficient to produce a sense of evil be applied, then the lust is checked, and
the mind at once regains its original authority; whereas if you have recourse
to no remedy, you can no longer look for this return—on the contrary, the
next time it is excited by the corresponding object, the flame of desire leaps
up more quickly than before. By frequent repetition, the mind in the long run
becomes callous; and thus this mental disease produces confirmed Avarice.
One who has had fever, even when it has
left him, is not in the same condition of health as before, unless indeed his
cure is complete. Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of the
mind. Behind, there remains a legacy of traces and blisters: and unless these
are effectually erased, subsequent blows on the same spot will produce no
longer mere blisters, but sores. If you do not wish to be prone to anger, do
not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend its increase. At first, keep
quiet and count the days when you were not angry: "I used to be angry every
day, then every other day: next every two, next every three days!" and if
you succeed in passing thirty days, sacrifice to the Gods in thanksgiving.
How then may this be
attained?—Resolve, now if never before, to approve thyself to thyself;
resolve to show thyself fair in God's sight; long to be pure with thine own
pure self and God!
That is the true athlete, that trains
himself to resist such outward impressions as these.
"Stay, wretched man! suffer not thyself
to be carried away!" Great is the combat, divine the task! you are
fighting for Kingship, for
Who then is a Stoic—in the sense
that we call a statue of Phidias which is modelled after that master's art?
Show me a man in this sense modelled after the doctrines that are ever upon his
lips. Show me a man that is sick—and happy; an exile—and happy; in
evil report—and happy! Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I
long to see one Stoic! Nay, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at
least see one in whom the process is at work—one whose bent is in that
direction. Do me that favour! Grudge it not to an old man, to behold a sight he
has never yet beheld. Think you I wish to see the Zeus or Athena of Phidias,
bedecked with gold and ivory?—Nay, show me, one of you, a human soul,
desiring to be of one mind with God, no more to lay blame on God or man, to
suffer nothing to disappoint, nothing to cross him, to yield neither to anger,
envy, nor jealousy—in a word, why disguise the matter? one that from a
man would fan become a God; one that while still imprisoned in this dead body
makes fellowship with God his aim. Show me him!—Ah, you cannot! Then why
mock yourselves and delude others? why stalk about tricked out in other men's
attire, thieves and robbers that you are of names and things to which you can
show no title!
If you have assumed a character beyond
your strength, you have both played a poor figure in that, and neglected one
that is within your powers.
Fellow, you have come to blows at home
with a slave: you have turned the household upside down, and thrown the
neighbourhood into confusion; and do you come to me then with airs of assumed
modesty—do you sit down like a sage and criticise my explanation of the
readings, and whatever idle babble you say has come into my head? Have you come
full of envy, and dejected because nothing is sent you from home; and while the
discussion is going on, do you sit brooding on nothing but how your father or
your brother are disposed towards you:—"What are they saying about
me there? at this moment they imagine I am making progress and saying, He will
return perfectly omniscient! I wish I could become omniscient before I return;
but that would be very troublesome. No one sends me anything—the baths at
Nicopolis are dirty; things are wretched at home and wretched here." And
then they say, "Nobody is any the better for the School."—Who
comes to the School with a sincere wish to learn: to submit his principles to
correction and himself to treatment? Who, to gain a sense of his wants? Why
then be surprised if you carry home from the School exactly what you bring into
it?
"Epictetus, I have often come
desiring to hear you speak, and you have never given me any answer; now if
possible, I entreat you, say something to me."
"Is there, do you think,"
replied Epictetus, "an art of speaking as of other things, if it is to be
done skilfully and with profit to the hearer?"
"Yes."
"And are all profited by what they
hear, or only some among them? So that it seems there is an art of hearing as
well as of speaking. . . . To make a statue needs skill: to view a statue
aright needs skill also."
"Admitted."
"And I think all will allow that one
who proposes to hear philosophers speak needs a considerable training in
hearing. Is that not so? The tell me on what subject your are able to hear
me."
"Why, on good and evil."
"The good and evil of what? a horse,
an ox?"
"No; of a man."
"Do we know then what Man is? what
his nature is? what is the idea we have of him? And are our ears practised in
any degree on the subject? Nay, do you understand what Nature is? can you
follow me in any degree when I say that I shall have to use demonstration? Do
you understand what Demonstration is? what True or False is? . . . must I drive
you to Philosophy? . . . Show me what good I am to do by discoursing with you.
Rouse my desire to do so. The sight of a pasture it loves stirs in a sheep the
desire to feed: show it a stone or a bit of bread and it remains unmoved. Thus
we also have certain natural desires, aye, and one that moves us to speak when
we find a listener that is worth his salt: one that himself stirs the spirit.
But if he sits by like a stone or a tuft of grass, how can he rouse a man's
desire?"
"Then you will say nothing to
me?"
"I can only tell you this: that one
who knows not who he is and to what end he was born; what kind of world this is
and with whom he is associated therein; one who cannot distinguish Good and
Evil, Beauty and Foulness, . . . Truth and Falsehood, will never follow Reason
in shaping his desires and impulses and repulsions, nor yet in assent, denial,
or suspension of judgement; but will in one word go about deaf and blind,
thinking himself to be somewhat, when he is in truth of no account. Is there
anything new in all this? Is not this ignorance the cause of all the mistakes
and mischances of men since the human race began? . . ."
"This is all I have to say to you,
and even this against the grain. Why? Because you have not stirred my spirit.
For what can I see in you to stir me, as a spirited horse will stir a judge of
horses? Your body? That you maltreat. Your dress? That is luxurious. You
behavior, your look?—Nothing whatever. When you want to hear a
philosopher, do not say, You say nothing to me'; only show yourself worthy or
fit to hear, and then you will see how you will move the speaker."
And now, when you see brothers apparently
good friends and living in accord, do not immediately pronounce anything upon
their friendship, though they should affirm it with an oath, though they should
declare, "For us to live apart in a thing impossible!" For the heart
of a bad man is faithless, unprincipled, inconstant: now overpowered by one
impression, now by another. Ask not the usual questions, Were they born of the
same parents, reared together, and under the same tutor; but ask this only, in
what they place their real interest—whether in outward things or in the
Will. If in outward things, call them not friends, any more than faithful,
constant, brave or free: call them not even human beings, if you have any
sense. . . . But should you hear that these men hold the Good to lie only in
the Will, only in rightly dealing with the things of sense, take no more
trouble to inquire whether they are father and son or brothers, or comrades of
long standing; but, sure of this one thing, pronounce as boldly that they are
friends as that they are faithful and just: for where else can Friendship be
found than where Modesty is, where there is an interchange of things fair and
honest, and of such only?
No man can rob us of our Will—no man can lord it over that!
When disease and death overtake me, I
would fain be found engaged in the task of liberating mine own Will from the
assaults of passion, from hindrance, from resentment, from slavery.
Thus would I fain to be found employed, so
that I may say to God, "Have I in aught transgressed Thy commands? Have I
in aught perverted the faculties, the senses, the natural principles that Thou
didst give me? Have I ever blamed Thee or found fault with Thine
administration? When it was Thy good pleasure, I fell sick—and so did
other men: by my will consented. Because it was Thy pleasure, I became poor:
but my heart rejoiced. No power in the State was mine, because Thou wouldst
not: such power I never desired! Hast Thou ever seen me of more doleful
countenance on that account? Have I not ever drawn nigh unto Thee with cheerful
look, waiting upon Thy commands, attentive to Thy signals? Wilt Thou that I now
depart from the great Assembly of men? I go: I give Thee all thanks, that Thou
hast deemed me worthy to take part with Thee in this Assembly: to behold Thy
works, to comprehend this Thine administration."
Such I would were the subject of my
thoughts, my pen, my study, when death overtakes me.
Seemeth it nothing to you, never to
accuse, never to blame either God or Man? to wear ever the same countenance in
going forth as in coming in? This was the secret of Socrates: yet he never said
that he knew or taught anything. . . . Who amongst you makes this his aim? Were
it indeed so, you would gladly endure sickness, hunger, aye, death itself.
How are we constituted by Nature? To be
free, to be noble, to be modest (for what other living thing is capable of
blushing, or of feeling the impression of shame?) and to subordinate pleasure
to the ends for which Nature designed us, as a handmaid and a minister, in
order to call forth our activity; in order to keep us constant to the path
prescribed by Nature.
The husbandman deals with land; physicians
and trainers with the body; the wise man with his own Mind.
Which of us does not admire what Lycurgus
the Spartan did? A young citizen had put out his eye, and been handed over to
him by the people to be punished at his own discretion. Lycurgus abstained from
all vengeance, but on the contrary instructed and made a good man of him.
Producing him in public in the theatre, he said to the astonished
Spartans:—"I received this young man at your hands full of violence
and wanton insolence; I restore him to you in his right mind and fit to serve
his country."
A money-changer may not reject Cæsar's
coin, nor may the seller of herbs, but must when once the coin is shown,
deliver what is sold for it, whether he will or no. So is it also with the
Soul. Once the Good appears, it attracts towards itself; evil repels. But a
clear and certain impression of the Good the Soul will never reject, any more
than men do Cæsar's coin. On this hangs every impulse alike of Man and God.
Asked what Common Sense was, Epictetus
replied:—
As that may be called a Common Ear which
distinguishes only sounds, while that which distinguishes musical notes is not
common but produced by training; so there are certain things which men not entirely
perverted see by the natural principles common to all. Such a constitution of
the Mind is called Common Sense.
Canst thou judge men? . . . then make us
imitators of thyself, as Socrates did. Do this, do not do that, else will I
cast thee into prision; this is not governing men like reasonable creatures.
Say rather, As God hath ordained, so do; else thou wilt suffer chastisement and
loss. Askest thou what loss? None other than this: To have left undone what
thou shouldst have done: to have lost the faithfulness, the reverence, the
modesty that is in thee! Greater loss than this seek not to find!
"His son is dead."
What has happened?
"His son is dead."
Nothing more?
"Nothing."
"His ship is lost."
"He has been haled to prision."
What has happened?
"He has been haled to prision."
But that any of these things are
misfortunes to him, is an addition which every one makes of his own. But (you
say) God is unjust is this.—Why? For having given thee endurance and
greatness of soul? For having made such things to be no evils? For placing
happiness within thy reach, even when enduring them? For open unto thee a door,
when things make not for thy good?—Depart, my friend and find fault no
more!
You are sailing to
Then you will say, "Yes, I met
Epictetus!"
Aye, just as you might a statue or a
monument. You saw me! and that is all. But a man who meets a man is one who
learns the other's mind, and lets him see is in turn. Learn my mind—show
me yours; and then go and say that you met me. Let us try each other; if I have
any wrong principle, rid me of it; if you have, out with it. That is what
meeting a philosopher means. Not so, you think; this is only a flying visit;
while we are hiring the ship, we can see Epictetus too! Let us see what he has
to say. Then on leaving you cry, "Out on Epictetus for a worthless fellow,
provincial and barbarous of speech!" What else indeed did you come to
judge of?
Whether you will or no, you are poorer
than I!
"What then do I lack?"
What you have not: Constancy of mind, such
as Nature would have it be: Tranquillity. Patron or no patron, what care I? but
you do care. I am richer than you: I am not racked with anxiety as to what
Cæsar may think of me; I flatter none on that account. This is what I have,
instead of vessels of gold and silver! your vessels may be of gold, but your
reason, your principles, your accepted views, your inclinations, your desires
are of earthenware.
To you, all you have seems small: to me,
all I have seems great. Your desire is insatiable, mine is satisfied. See
children thrusting their hands into a narrow-necked jar, and striving to pull
out the nuts and figs it contains: if they fill the hand, they cannot pull it
out again, and then they fall to tears.—"Let go a few of them, and
then you can draw out the rest!"—You, too, let your desire go! covet
not many things, and you will obtain.
Pittacus wronged by one whom he had it in
his power to punish, let him go free, saying, Forgiveness is better than
revenge. The one shows native gentleness, the other savagery.
"My brother ought not to have treated
me thus."
True: but he must see to that. However he
may treat me, I must deal rightly by him. This is what lies with me, what none
can hinder.
Nevertheless a man should also be prepared
to be sufficient unto himself—to dwell with himself alone, even as God
dwells with Himself alone, shares His repose with none, and considers the
nature of His own administration, intent upon such thoughts as are meet unto
Himself. So should we also be able to converse with ourselves, to need none
else beside, to sigh for no distraction, to bend our thoughts upon the Divine
Administration, and how we stand related to all else; to observe how human
accidents touched us of old, and how they touch us now; what things they are
that still have power to hurt us, and how they may be cured or removed; to
perfect what needs perfecting as Reason would direct.
If a man has frequent intercourse with
others, either in the way of conversation, entertainment, or simple
familiarity, he must either become like them, or change them to his own
fashion. A live coal placed next a dead one will either kindle that or be
quenched by it. Such being the risk, it is well to be cautious in admitting
intimacies of this sort, remembering that one cannot rub shoulders with a
soot-stained man without sharing the soot oneself. What will you do, supposing
the talk turns on gladiators, or horses, or prize-fighters, or (what is worse)
on persons, condemning this and that, approving the other? Or suppose a man
sneers and jeers or shows a malignant temper? Has any among us the skill of the
lute-player, who knows at the first touch which strings are out of tune and
sets the instrument right: has any of you such power as Socrates had, in all
his intercourse with men, of winning them over to his own convictions? Nay, but
you must needs be swayed hither and thither by the uninstructed. How comes it
then that they prove so much stronger than you? Because they speak from the
fulness of the heart—their low, corrupt views are their real convictions:
whereas your fine sentiments are but from the lips, outwards; that is why they
are so nerveless and dead. It turns one's stomach to listen to your
exhortations, and hear of your miserable Virtue, that you prate of up and down.
Thus it is that the Vulgar prove too strong for you. Everywhere strength,
everywhere victory waits your conviction!
In general, any methods of discipline
applied to the body which tend to modify its desires or repulsions, are
good—for ascetic ends. But if done for display, they betray at once a man
who keeps an eye on outward show; who has an ulterior purpose, and is looking
for spectators to shout, "Oh what a great man!" This is why
Apollonius so well said: "If you are bent upon a little private
discipline, wait till you are choking with heat some day—then take a
mouthful of cold water, and spit it out again, and tell no man!"
Study how to give as one that is sick:
that thou mayest hereafter give as one that is whole. Fast; drink water only;
abstain altogether from desire, that thou mayest hereafter conform thy desire
to Reason.
Thou wouldst do good unto men? then show
them by thine own example what kind of men philosophy can make, and cease from
foolish trifling. Eating, do good to them that eat with thee; drinking, to them
that drink with thee; yield unto all, give way, and bear with them. Thus shalt
thou do them good: but vent not upon them thine own evil humour!
Even as bad actors cannot sing alone, but
only in chorus: so some cannot walk alone.
Man, if thou art aught, strive to walk
alone and hold converse with thyself, instead of skulking in the chorus! at
length think; look around thee; bestir thyself, that thou mayest know who thou
art!
You would fain be victor at the Olympic
games, you say. Yes, but weigh the conditions, weigh the consequences; then and
then only, lay to your hand—if it be for your profit. You must live by
rule, submit to diet, abstain from dainty meats, exercise your body perforce at
stated hours, in heat or in cold; drink no cold water, nor, it may be, wine. In
a word, you must surrender yourself wholly to your trainer, as though to a
physician.
Then in the hour of contest, you will have
to delve the ground, it may chance dislocate an arm, sprain an ankle, gulp down
abundance of yellow sand, be scourge with the whip—and with all this
sometimes lose the victory. Count the cost—and then, if your desire still
holds, try the wrestler's life. Else let me tell you that you will be behaving
like a pack of children playing now at wrestlers, now at gladiators; presently
falling to trumpeting and anon to stage-playing, when the fancy takes them for
what they have seen. And you are even the same: wrestler, gladiator,
philosopher, orator all by turns and none of them with your whole soul. Like an
ape, you mimic what you see, to one thing constant never; the thing that is
familiar charms no more. This is because you never undertook aught with due
consideration, nor after strictly testing and viewing it from every side; no,
your choice was thoughtless; the glow of your desire had waxed cold . . . .
Friend, bethink you first what it is you
would do, and then what your own nature is able to bear. Would you be a
wrestler, consider your shoulders, your thighs, your lions—not all men
are formed to the same end. Think you to be a philosopher while acting as you
do? think you go on thus eating, thus drinking, giving way in like manner to
wrath and to displeasure? Nay, you must watch, you must labour; overcome
certain desires; quit your familiar friends, submit to be despised by your
slave, to be held in derision by them that meet you, to take the lower place in
all things, in office, in positions of authority, in courts of law.
Weigh these things fully, and then, if you
will, lay to your hand; if as the price of these things you would gain Freedom,
Tranquillity, and passionless Serenity.
He that hath no musical instruction is a
child in Music; he that hath no letters is a child in Learning; he that is
untaught is a child in Life.
Can any profit be derived from these men?
Aye, from all.
"What, even from a reviler?"
Why, tell me what profit a wrestler gains
from him you exercises him beforehand? The very greatest: he trains me in the
practice of endurance, of controlling my temper, of gentle ways. You deny it.
What, the man who lays hold of my neck, and disciplines loins and shoulders,
does me good, . . . while he that trains me to keep my temper does me none?
This is what it means, not knowing how to gain advantage from men! Is my
neighbour bad? Bad to himself, but good to me: he brings my good temper, my
gentleness into play. Is my father bad? Bad to himself, but good to me. This is
the rod of Hermes; touch what you will with it, they say, and it becomes gold.
Nay, but bring what you will and I will transmute it into Good. Bring sickness,
bring death, bring poverty and reproach, bring trial for life—all these
things through the rod of Hermes shall be turned to profit.
Till then these sound opinions have taken
firm root in you, and you have gained a measure of strength for your security,
I counsel you to be cautious in associating with the uninstructed. Else
whatever impressions you receive upon the tablets of your mind in the School
will day by day melt and disappear, like wax in the sun. Withdraw then
somewhere far from the sun, while you have these waxen sentiments.
We must approach this matter in a
different way; it is great and mystical: it is no common thing; nor given to
every man. Wisdom alone, it may be, will not suffice for the care of youth: a
man needs also a certain measure of readiness—an aptitude for the office;
aye, and certain bodily qualities; and above all, to be counselled of God
Himself to undertake this post; even as He counselled Socrates to fill the post
of one who confutes error, assigning to Diogenes the royal office of high
reproof, and to Zeno that of positive instruction. Whereas you would fain set
up for a physician provided with nothing but drugs! Where and how they should
be applied you neither know nor care.
If what charms you is nothing but abstract
principles, sit down and turn them over quietly in your mind: but never dub
yourself a Philosopher, nor suffer others to call you so. Say rather: He is in
error; for my desires, my impulses are unaltered. I give in my adhesion to what
I did before; nor has my mode of dealing with the things of sense undergone any
change.
When a friend inclined to Cynic views
asked Epictetus, what sort of person a true Cynic should be, requesting a
general sketch of the system, he answered:—"We will consider that at
leisure. At present I content myself with saying this much: If a man put his
hand to so weighty a matter without God, the wrath of God abides upon him. That
which he covets will but bring upon him public shame. Not even on finding
himself in a well-ordered house does a man step forward and say to himself, I
must be master here! Else the lord of that house takes notice of it, and,
seeing him insolently giving orders, drags him forth and chastises him. So it
is also in this great City, the World. Here also is there a Lord of the House,
who orders all thing:—
"Thou are the Sun! in thine orbit thou hast
power to make the year and the seasons;
to bid the fruits of the earth to grow
and increase, the winds arise and fall;
thou canst in due measure cherish with
thy warmth the frames of men; go make
thy circuit, and thus minister unto all
from the greatest to the least! . . ."
"Thou canst lead a host against Troy; be Agamemnon!"
"Thou canst meet Hector in single combat; be Achilles!"
"But had Thersites stepped forward
and claimed the chief command, he had been met with a refusal, or obtained it
only to his own shame and confusion of face, before a cloud of witnesses."
Others may fence themselves with walls and
houses, when they do such deeds as these, and wrap themselves in
darkness—aye, they have many a device to hide themselves. Another may
shut his door and station one before his chamber to say, if any comes, He has
gone forth! he is not at leisure! But the true Cynic will have none of these
things; instead of them, he must wrap himself in Modesty: else he will but
bring himself to shame, naked and under the open sky. That is his house; that
is his door; that is the slave that guards his chamber; that is his darkness!
Death? let it come when it will, whether
it smite but a part of the whole: Fly, you tell me—fly! But whither shall
I fly? Can any man cast me beyond the limits of the World? It may not be! And
whithersoever I go, there shall I still find Sun, Moon, and Stars; there I
shall find dreams, and omens, and converse with the Gods!
Furthermore the true Cynic must know that
he is sent as a Messenger from God to men, to show unto them that as touching
good and evil they are in error; looking for these where they are not to be
found, nor ever bethinking themselves where they are. And like Diogenes when
brought before Philip after the battle of Chaeronea, the Cynic must remember
that he is a Spy. For a Spy he really is—to bring back word what things are
on Man's side, and what against him. And when he had diligently observed all,
he must come back with a true report, not terrified into announcing them to be
foes that are no foes, nor otherwise perturbed or confounded by the things of
sense.
How can it be that one who hath nothing,
neither raiment, nor house, nor home, nor bodily tendance, nor servant, nor
city, should yet live tranquil and contented? Behold God hath sent you a man to
show you in act and deed that it may be so. Behold me! I have neither house nor
possessions nor servants: the ground is my couch; I have no wife, no children,
no shelter—nothing but earth and sky, and one poor cloak. And what lack I
yet? am I not untouched by sorrow, by fear? am I not free? . . . when have I
laid anything to the charge of God or Man? when have I accused any? hath any of
you seen me with a sorrowful countenance? And in what wise treat I those of
whom you stand in fear and awe? Is it not as slaves? Who when he seeth me doth
not think that he beholdeth his Master and his King?
Give thyself more diligently to
reflection: know thyself: take counsel with the Godhead: without God put thine
hand unto nothing!
"But to marry and to rear
offspring," said the young man, "will the Cynic hold himself bound to
undertake this as a chief duty?"
Grant me a republic of wise men, answered
Epictetus, and perhaps none will lightly take the Cynic life upon him. For on
whose account should he embrace that method of life? Suppose however that he
does, there will then be nothing to hinder his marrying and rearing offspring.
For his wife will be even such another as himself, and likewise her father; and
in like manner will his children be brought up.
But in the present condition of things,
which resembles an Army in battle array, ought not the Cynic to be free from
all distraction and given wholly to the service of God, so that he can go in
and out among men, neither fettered by the duties nor entangled by the
relations of common life? For if he transgress them, he will forfeit the
character of a good man and true; whereas if he observe them, there is an end
to him as the Messenger, the Spy, the Herald of the Gods!
Ask me if you choose if a Cynic shall
engage in the administration of the State. O fool, seek you a nobler
administration that that in which he is engaged? Ask you if a man shall come
forward in the Athenian assembly and talk about revenue and supplies, when his
business is to converse with all men, Athenians, Corinthians, and Romans alike,
not about supplies, not about revenue, nor yet peace and war, but about
Happiness and Misery, Prosperity and Adversity, Slavery and Freedom?
Ask you whether a man shall engage in the
administration of the State who has engaged in such an Administration as this?
Ask me too if he shall govern; and again I will answer, Fool, what greater
government shall he hold than he holds already?
Such a man needs also to have a certain
habit of body. If he appears consumptive, thin and pale, his testimony has no
longer the same authority. He must not only prove to the unlearned by showing
them what his Soul is that it is possible to be a good man apart from all that
they admire; but he must also show them, by his body, that a plain and simple
manner of life under the open sky does no harm to the body either. "See, I
am proof of this! and my body also." As Diogenes used to do, who went
about fresh of look and by the very appearance of his body drew men's eyes. But
if a Cynic is an object of pity, he seems a mere beggar; all turn away, all are
offended at him. Nor should he be slovenly of look, so as not to scare men from
him in this way either; on the contrary, his very roughness should be clean and
attractive.
Kings and tyrants have armed guards wherewith
to chastise certain persons, though they themselves be evil. But to the Cynic
conscience gives this power—not arms and guards. When he knows that he
has watched and laboured on behalf of mankind: that sleep hath found him pure,
and left him purer still: that his thoughts have been the thought of a Friend
of the Gods—of a servant, yet one that hath a part in the government of
the Supreme God: that the words are ever on his lips:—
Lead me, O God, and thou, O Destiny!
as well as these:—
If this be God's will, so let it be!
Why should he not speak boldly unto his
own brethren, unto his children—in a word, unto all that are akin to him!
Does a Philosopher apply to people to come
and hear him? does he not rather, of his own nature, attract those that will be
benefited by him—like the sun that warms, the food that sustains them?
What Physician applies to men to come and be healed? (Though indeed I hear that
the Physicians at Rome do nowadays apply for patients—in my time they
were applied to.) I apply to you to come and hear that you are in evil case;
that what deserves your attention most in the last thing to gain it; that you
know not good from evil, and are in short a hapless wretch; a fine way to
apply! though unless the words of the Philosopher affect you thus, speaker and
speech are alike dead.
A Philosopher's school is a Surgery: pain,
not pleasure, you should have felt therein. For on entering none of you is
whole. One has a shoulder out of joint, another an abscess: a third suffers
from an issue, a fourth from pains in the head. And am I then to sit down and
treat you to pretty sentiments and empty flourishes, so that you may applaud me
and depart, with neither shoulder, nor head, nor issue, nor abscess a whit the
better for your visit? Is it then for this that young men are to quit their
homes, and leave parents, friends, kinsmen and substance to mouth out Bravo to
your empty phrases!
If any be unhappy, let him remember that
he is unhappy by reason of himself alone. For God hath made all men to enjoy
felicity and constancy of good.
Shall we never wean ourselves—shall
we never heed the teachings of Philosophy (unless perchance they have been
sounding in our ears like and enchanter's drone):—
This World is one great City, and one if
the substance whereof it is fashioned: a certain period indeed there needs must
be, while these give place to those; some must perish for others to succeed;
some move and some abide: yet all is full of friends—first God, then Men,
whom Nature hath bound by ties of kindred each to each.
Nor did the hero weep and lament at
leaving his children orphans. For he knew that no man is an orphan, but it is
the Father that careth for all continually and for evermore. Not by mere report
had he heard that the Supreme God is the Father of men: seeing that he called
Him Father believing Him so to be, and in all that he did had ever his eyes
fixed upon Him. Wherefore in whatsoever place he was, there is was given him to
live happily.
Know you not that the thing is a warfare?
one man's duty is to mount guard, another must go out to reconnoitre, a third
to battle; all cannot be in one place, nor would it even be expedient. But you,
instead of executing you Commander's orders, complain if aught harsher than
usual is enjoined; not understanding to what condition you are bringing the
army, so far as in you lies. If all were to follow your example, none would dig
a trench, none would cast a rampart around the camp, none would keep watch, or
expose himself to danger; but all turn out useless for the service of war. . .
. Thus it is here also. Every life is a warfare, and that long and various. You
must fulfil a soldier's duty, and obey each order at your commander's nod: aye,
if it be possible, divine what he would have done; for between that Command and
this, there is no comparison, either in might or in excellence.
Have you again forgotten? Know you not
that a good man does nothing for appearance' sake, but for the sake of having
done right? . . .
"Is there no reward then?"
Reward! do you seek any greater reward for
a good man than doing what is right and just? Yet at the Great Games you look
for nothing else; there the victor's crown you deem enough. Seems it to you so
small a thing and worthless, to be a good man, and happy therein?
It befits thee not to be unhappy by reason
of any, but rather to be happy by reason of all men, and especially by reason
of God, who formed us to this end.
What, did Diogenes love no man, he that
was so gentle, so true a friend to men as cheerfully to endure such bodily
hardships for the common weal of all mankind? But how loved he them? As behoved
a minister of the Supreme God, alike caring for men and subject unto God.
I am by Nature made for my own good; not for my own evil.
Remind thyself that he whom thou lovest is
mortal—that what thou lovest is not thine own; it is given thee for the
present, not irrevocably nor for ever, but even as a fig or a bunch of grapes
at the appointed season of the year. . . .
"But these are words of evil
omen.". . .
What, callest thou aught of evil omen save
that which signifies some evil thing? Cowardice is a word of evil omen, if thou
wilt, and meanness of spirit, and lamentation and mourning, and shamelessness.
. . .
But do not, I pray thee, call of evil omen
a word that is significant of any natural thing:—as well call of evil
omen the reaping of the corn; for that means the destruction of the ears,
though not of the World!—as well say that the fall of the leaf is of evil
omen; that the dried fig should take the place of the green; that raisins
should be made from grapes. All these are changes from a former state into
another; not destruction, but an ordered economy, a fixed administration. Such
is leaving home, a change of small account; such is Death, a greater change,
from what now is, not to what is not, but to what is not now.
"Shall I then no longer be?"
Not so; thou wilt be; but something
different, of which the World now hath need. For thou too wert born not when
thou chosest, but when the World had need of thee.
Wherefore a good man and true, bearing in
mind who he is and whence he came and from whom he sprang, cares only how he
may fill his post with due discipline and obedience to God.
Wilt thou that I continue to live? Then
will I live, as one that is free and noble, as Thou wouldst have me. For Thou
hast made me free from hindrance in what appertaineth unto me. But hast Thou no
further need of me? I thank Thee! Up to this hour have I stayed for Thy sake
and none other's: and now in obedience to Thee I depart.
"How dost thou depart?"
Again I say, as Thou wouldst have me; as
one that is free, as Thy servant, as one whose ear is open unto what Thou dost
enjoin, what Thou dost forbid.
Whatsoever place or post Thou assignest
me, sooner will I die a thousand deaths, as Socrates said, then depart it. And
where wilt Thou have be me? At Rome of Athens? At Thebes or on a desert island?
Only remember me there! Shouldst Thou send me where man cannot live as Nature
would have him, I will depart, not in disobedience to Thee, but as though Thou
wert sounding the signal for my retreat: I am not deserting Thee—far be
that from me! I only perceive that thou needest me no longer.
If you are in Gyaros, do not let your mind
dwell upon life at Rome, and all the pleasures it offered to you when living
there, and all that would attend your return. Rather be intent on
this—how he that lives in Gyaros may live in Gyaros like a man of spirit.
And if you are at Rome, do not let your mind dwell upon the life at Athens, but
study only how to live at Rome.
Finally, in the room of all other
pleasures put this—the pleasure which springs from conscious obedience to
God.
To a good man there is no evil, either in
life or death. And if God supply not food, has He not, as a wise Commander,
sounded the signal for retreat and nothing more? I obey, I
follow—speaking good of my Commander, and praising His acts. For at His
good pleasure I came; and I depart when it pleases Him; and while I was yet
alive that was my work, to sing praises unto God!
Reflect that the chief source of all evils
to Man, and of baseness and cowardice, is not death, but the fear of death.
Against this fear then, I pray you, harden
yourself; to this let all your reasonings, your exercises, your reading tend.
Then shall you know that thus alone are men set free.
He is free who lives as he wishes to live;
to whom none can do violence, none hinder or compel; whose impulses are
unimpeded, whose desires are attain their purpose, who falls not into what he
would avoid. Who then would live in error?—None. Who would live deceived
and prone to fall, unjust, intemperate, in abject whining at his
lot?—None. Then doth no wicked man live as he would, and therefore
neither is he free.
Thus do the more cautious of travellers
act. The road is said to be beset by robbers. The traveller will not venture
alone, but awaits the companionship on the road of an ambassador, a quaestor or
a proconsul. To him he attaches himself and thus passes by in safety. So doth
the wise man in the world. Many are the companies of robbers and tyrants, many
the storms, the straits, the losses of all a man holds dearest. Whither shall
he fall for refuge—how shall he pass by unassailed? What companion on the
road shall he await for protection? Such and such a wealthy man, of consular
rank? And how shall I be profited, if he is stripped and falls to lamentation
and weeping? And how if my fellow-traveller himself turns upon me and robs me?
What am I to do? I will become a friend of Cæsar's! in his train none will do
me wrong! In the first place—O the indignities I must endure to win
distinction! O the multitude of hands there will be to rob me! And if I
succeed, Cæsar too is but a mortal. While should it come to pass that I offend
him, whither shall I flee from his presence? To the wilderness? And may not
fever await me there? What then is to be done? Cannot a fellow-traveller be
found that is honest and loyal, strong and secure against surprise? Thus doth
the wise man reason, considering that if he would pass through in safety, he
must attach himself unto God.
"How understandest thou attach
himself to God?"
That what God wills, he should will also;
that what God wills not, neither should he will.
"How then may this come to
pass?"
By considering the movements of God, and
His administration.
And dost thou that hast received all from
another's hands, repine and blame the Giver, if He takes anything from thee?
Why, who art thou, and to what end comest thou here? was it not He that made
the Light manifest unto thee, that gave thee fellow-workers, and senses, and
the power to reason? And how brought He thee into the world? Was it not as one
born to die; as one bound to live out his earthly life in some small tabernacle
of flesh; to behold His administration, and for a little while share with Him
in the mighty march of this great Festival Procession? Now therefore that thou
hast beheld, while it was permitted thee, the Solemn Feast and Assembly, wilt
thou not cheerfully depart, when He summons thee forth, with adoration and
thanksgiving for what thou hast seen and heard?—"Nay, but I would
fain have stayed longer at the Festival."—Ah, so would the mystics
fain have the rites prolonged; so perchance would the crowd at the Great Games
fain behold more wrestlers still. But the Solemn Assembly is over! Come forth,
depart with thanksgiving and modesty—give place to others that must come
into being even as thyself.
Why art thou thus insatiable? why thus
unreasonable? why encumber the world?—"Aye, but I fain would have my
wife and children with me too."—What, are they then thine, and not
His that gave them—His that made thee? Give up then that which is not
thine own: yield it to One who is better than thou. "Nay, but why did He
bring one into the world on these conditions?"—If it suits thee not,
depart! He hath no need of a spectator who finds fault with his lot! Them that
will take part in the Feast he needeth—that will lift their voices with
the rest that men may applaud the more, and exalt the Great Assembly in hymns
and songs of praise. But the wretched and the fearful He will not be displeased
to see absent from it: for when they were present, they did not behave as at a
Feast, nor fulfil their proper office; but moaned as though in pain, and found
fault with their fate, their fortune and their companions; insensible to what
had fallen to their lot, insensible to the powers they had received for a very
different purpose—the powers of Magnanimity, Nobility of Heart, of
Fortitude, or Freedom!
Art thou then free? a man may say. So help
me heaven, I long and pray for freedom! But I cannot look my masters boldly in
the face; I still value the poor body; I still set much store on its
preservation whole and sound.
But I can point thee out a free man, that
thou mayest be no more in search of an example. Diogenes was free. How so? Not
because he was of free parentage (for that, indeed, was not the case), but
because he was himself free. He had cast away every handle whereby slavery
might lay hold of him to enslave him, nor was it possible for any to approach
and take hold of him to enslave him. All things sat loose upon him—all things
were to him attached by but slender ties. Hadst thou seized upon his
possessions, he would rather have let them go than have followed thee for
them—aye, had it been even a limb, or mayhap his whole body; and in like
manner, relatives, friends, and country. For he knew whence they
came—from whose hands and on what terms he had received them. His true
forefathers, the Gods, his true Country, he never would have abandoned; nor
would he have yielded to any man in obedience and submission to the one nor in
cheerfully dying for the other. For he was ever mindful that everything that
comes to pass has its source and origin there; being indeed brought about for
the weal of that his true Country, and directed by Him in whose governance it
is.
Ponder on this—on these convictions,
on these words: fix thine eyes on these examples, if thou wouldst be free, if
thou hast thine heart set upon the matter according to its worth. And what
marvel if thou purchase so great a thing at so great and high a price? For the
sake of this that men deem liberty, some hang themselves, others cast
themselves down from the rock; aye, time has been when whole cities came
utterly to an end: while for the sake of Freedom that is true, and sure, and
unassailable, dost thou grudge to God what He gave, when He claims it? Wilt
thou not study, as Plato saith, to endure, not death alone, but torture, exile,
stripes—in a word, to render up all that is not thine own? Else thou wilt
be a slave amid slaves, wert thou ten thousand times a consul; aye, not a whit
the less, though thou climb the Palace steps. And thou shalt know how true the
saying of Cleanthes, that though the words of philosophers may run counter to
the opinions of the world, yet have they reason on their side.
Asked how a man should best grieve his
enemy, Epictetus replied, "By setting himself to live the noblest life
himself."
I am free, I am a friend of God, ready to
render Him willing obedience. Of all else I may set store by
nothing—neither by mine own body, nor possessions, nor office, nor good
report, nor, in a word, aught else beside. For it is not His Will, that I
should so set store by these things. Had it been His pleasure, He would have
placed my Good therein. But now He hath not done so: therefore I cannot
transgress one jot of His commands. In everything hold fast to that which is
thy Good—but to all else (as far as is given thee) within the measure of
Reason only, contented with this alone. Else thou wilt meet with failure, ill
success, let and hindrance. These are the Laws ordained of God—these are
His Edicts; these a man should expound and interpret; to these submit himself,
not to the laws of Masurius and Cassius.
Remember that not the love of power and
wealth sets us under the heel of others, but even the love of tranquillity, of
leisure, of change of scene—of learning in general, it matters not what
the outward thing may be—to set store by it is to place thyself in
subjection to another. Where is the difference then between desiring to be a
Senator, and desiring not to be one: between thirsting for office and thirsting
to be quit of it? Where is the difference between crying, Woe is me, I know not
what to do, bound hand and foot as I am to my books so that I cannot stir! and
crying, Woe is me, I have not time to read! As though a book were not as much
an outward thing and independent of the will, as office and power and the
receptions of the great.
Or what reason hast thou (tell me) for
desiring to read? For if thou aim at nothing beyond the mere delight of it, or
gaining some scrap of knowledge, thou art but a poor, spiritless knave. But if
thou desirest to study to its proper end, what else is this than a life that
flows on tranquil and serene? And if thy reading secures thee not serenity,
what profits it?—"Nay, but it doth secure it," quoth he,
"and that is why I repine at being deprived of it."—And what
serenity is this that lies at the mercy of every passer-by? I say not at the
mercy of the Emperor or Emperor's favorite, but such as trembles at a raven's
croak and piper's din, a fever's touch or a thousand things of like sort!
Whereas the life serene has no more certain mark than this, that it ever moves
with constant unimpeded flow.
If thou hast put malice and evil speaking
from thee, altogether, or in some degree: if thou hast put away from thee
rashness, foulness of tongue, intemperance, sluggishness: if thou art not moved
by what once moved thee, or in like manner as thou once wert moved—then
thou mayest celebrate a daily festival, to-day because thou hast done well in
this manner, to-morrow in that. How much greater cause is here for offering
sacrifice, than if a man should become Consul or Prefect?
These things hast thou from thyself and
from the Gods: only remember who it is that giveth them—to whom and for
what purpose they were given. Feeding thy soul on thoughts like these, dost
thou debate in what place happiness awaits thee? in what place thou shalt do
God's pleasure? Are not the Gods nigh unto all places alike; see they not alike
what everywhere comes to pass?
To each man God hath granted this inward
freedom. These are the principles that in a house create love, in a city concord,
among nations peace, teaching a man gratitude towards God and cheerful
confidence, wherever he may be, in dealing with outward things that he knows
are neither his nor worth striving after.
If you seek Truth, you will not seek to
gain a victory by every possible means; and when you have found Truth, you need
not fear being defeated.
What foolish talk is this? how can I any
longer lay claim to right principles, if I am not content with being what I am,
but am all aflutter about what I am supposed to be?
God hath made all things in the world,
nay, the world itself, free from hindrance and perfect, and its parts for the
use of the whole. Not other creature is capable of comprehending His
administration thereof; but the reasonable being Man possesses faculties for
the consideration of all these things—not only that he is himself a part,
but what part he is, and how it is meet that the parts should give place to the
whole. Nor is this all. Being naturally constituted noble, magnanimous, and
free, he sees that the things which surround him are of two kinds. Some are
free from hindrance and in the power of the will. Other are subject to
hindrance, and depend on the will of other men. If then he place his own good,
his own best interest, only in that which is free from hindrance and in his
power, he will be free, tranquil, happy, unharmed, noble-hearted, and pious;
giving thanks to all things unto God, finding fault with nothing that comes to
pass, laying no charge against anything. Whereas if he place his good in
outward things, depending not on the will, he must perforce be subject to
hindrance and restraint, the slave of those that have power over the things he
desires and fears; he must perforce be impious, as deeming himself injured at
the hands of God; he must be unjust, as ever prone to claim more than his due;
he must perforce be of a mean and abject spirit.
Whom then shall I fear? the lords of the
Bedchamber, lest they should shut me out? If they find me desirous of entering
in, let them shut me out, if they will.
"Then why comest thou to the
door?"
Because I think it meet and right, so long
as the Play lasts, to take part therein.
"In what sense art thou then shut
out?"
Because, unless I am admitted, it is not
my will to enter: on the contrary, my will is simply that which comes to pass.
For I esteem what God wills better than what I will. To Him will I cleave as
His minister and attendant; having the same movements, the same desires, in a
word the same Will as He. There is no such thing as being shut out for me, but
only for them that would force their way in.
But what says Socrates?—"One
man finds pleasure in improving his land, another his horses. My pleasure lies
in seeing that I myself grow better day by day."
The dress is suited to the craft; the
craftsman takes his name from the craft, not from the dress. For this reason
Euphrates was right in saying, "I long endeavoured to conceal my following
the philosophic life; and this profited me much. In the first place, I knew
that what I did aright, I did not for the sake of lookers-on, but for my own. I
ate aright—unto myself; I kept the even tenor of my walk, my glance composed
and serene—all unto myself and unto God. Then as I fought alone, I was
alone in peril. If I did anything amiss or shameful, the cause of Philosophy
was not in me endangered; nor did I wrong the multitude by transgressing as a
professed philosopher. Wherefore those that knew not my purpose marvelled how
it came about, that whilst all my life and conversation was passed with
philosophers without exception, I was yet none myself. And what harm that the
philosopher should be known by his acts, instead of mere outward signs and
symbols?"
First study to conceal what thou art; seek
wisdom a little while unto thyself. Thus grows the fruit; first, the seed must
be buried in the earth for a little space; there it must be hid and slowly
grow, that it may reach maturity. But if it produce the ear before the jointed
stalk, it is imperfect—a thing from the garden of Adonis. Such a sorry
growth art thou; thou hast blossomed too soon: the winter cold will wither thee
away!
First of all, condemn the life thou art
now leading: but when thou hast condemned it, do not despair of
thyself—be not like them of mean spirit, who once they have yielded,
abandon themselves entirely and as it were allow the torrent to sweep them
away. No; learn what the wrestling masters do. Has the boy fallen?
"Rise," they say, "wrestle again, till thy strength come to
thee." Even thus should it be with thee. For know that there is nothing
more tractable than the human soul. It needs but to will, and the thing is
done; the soul is set upon the right path: as on the contrary it needs but to
nod over the task, and all is lost. For ruin and recovery alike are from
within.
It is the critical moment that shows the
man. So when the crisis is upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of
wrestlers, has matched you with a rough and stalwart antagonist.—"To
what end?" you ask. That you may prove the victor at the Great Games. Yet
without toil and sweat this may not be!
If thou wouldst make progress, be content
to seem foolish and void of understanding with respect to outward things. Care
not to be thought to know anything. If any should make account of thee,
distrust thyself.
Remember that in life thou shouldst order
thy conduct as at a banquet. Has any dish that is being served reached thee?
Stretch forth thy hand and help thyself modestly. Doth it pass thee by? Seek
not to detain it. Has it not yet come? Send not forth thy desire to meet it,
but wait until it reaches thee. Deal thus with children, thus with wife; thus
with office, thus with wealth—and one day thou wilt be meet to share the
Banquets of the Gods. But if thou dost not so much as touch that which is
placed before thee, but despisest it, then shalt thou not only share the
Banquets of the Gods, but their Empire also.
Remember that thou art an actor in a play,
and of such sort as the Author chooses, whether long or short. If it be his
good pleasure to assign thee the part of a beggar, a ruler, or a simple
citizen, thine it is to play it fitly. For thy business is to act the part
assigned thee, well: to choose it, is another's.
Keep death and exile daily before thine
eyes, with all else that men deem terrible, but more especially Death. Then
wilt thou never think a mean though, nor covet anything beyond measure.
As a mark is not set up in order to be
missed, so neither is such a thing as natural evil produced in the World.
Piety toward the Gods, to be sure,
consists chiefly in thinking rightly concerning them—that they are, and
that they govern the Universe with goodness and justice; and that thou thyself
art appointed to obey them, and to submit under all circumstances that arise; acquiescing
cheerfully in whatever may happen, sure it is brought to pass and accomplished
by the most Perfect Understanding. Thus thou wilt never find fault with the
Gods, nor charge them with neglecting thee.
Lose no time in setting before you a certain
stamp of character and behaviour both when by yourself and in company with
others. Let silence be your general rule; or say only what is necessary and in
few words. We shall, however, when occasion demands, enter into discourse
sparingly. avoiding common topics as gladiators, horse-races, athletes; and the
perpetual talk about food and drink. Above all avoid speaking of persons,
either in way of praise or blame, or comparison.
If you can, win over the conversation of
your company to what it should be by your own. But if you find yourself cut off
without escape among strangers and aliens, be silent.
Laughter should not be much, nor frequent, nor unrestrained.
Refuse altogether to take an oath if you can, if not, as far as may be.
Banquets of the unlearned and of them that
are without, avoid. But if you have occasion to take part in them, let not your
attention be relaxed for a moment, lest you slip after all into evil ways. For
you may rest assured that be a man ever so pure himself, he cannot escape
defilement if his associates are impure.
Take what relates to the body as far as
the bare use warrants—as meat, drink, raiment, house and servants. But
all that makes for show and luxury reject.
If you are told that such an one speaks
ill of you, make no defence against what was said, but answer, He surely knew
not my other faults, else he would not have mentioned these only!
When you visit any of those in power,
bethink yourself that you will not find him in: that you may not be admitted:
that the door may be shut in your face: that he may not concern himself about
you. If with all this, it is your duty to go, bear what happens, and never say
to yourself, It was not worth the trouble! For that would smack of the foolish
and unlearned who suffer outward things to touch them.
In company avoid frequent and undue talk
about your own actions and dangers. However pleasant it may be to you to
enlarge upon the risks you have run, others may not find such pleasure in
listening to your adventures. Avoid provoking laughter also: it is a habit from
which one easily slides into the ways of the foolish, and apt to diminish the
respect which your neighbors feel for you. To border on coarse talk is also
dangerous. On such occasions, if a convenient opportunity offer, rebuke the
speaker. If not, at least by relapsing into silence, colouring, and looking
annoyed, show that you are displeased with the subject.
When you have decided that a thing ought
to be done, and are doing it, never shun being seen doing it, even though the
multitude should be likely to judge the matter amiss. For if you are not acting
rightly, shun the act itself; if rightly, however, why fear misplaced censure?
It stamps a man of mean capacity to spend
much time on the things of the body, as to be long over bodily exercises, long
over eating, long over drinking, long over other bodily functions. Rather
should these things take the second place, while all your care is directed to
the understanding.
Everything has two handles, one by which
it may be borne, the other by which it may not. If your brother sin against you
lay not hold of it by the handle of injustice, for by that it may not be borne:
but rather by this, that he is your brother, the comrade of your youth; and
thus you will lay hold on it so that it may be borne.
Never call yourself a Philosopher nor talk
much among the unlearned about Principles, but do that which follows from them.
Thus at a banquet, do not discuss how people ought to eat; but eat as you
ought. Remember that Socrates thus entirely avoided ostentation. Men would come
to him desiring to be recommended to philosophers, and he would conduct them
thither himself—so well did he bear being overlooked. Accordingly if any
talk concerning principles should arise among the unlearned, be you for the
most part silent. For you run great risk of spewing up what you have ill
digested. And when a man tells you that you know nothing and you are not
nettled at it, then you may be sure that you have begun the work.
When you have brought yourself to supply
the needs of the body at small cost, do not pique yourself on that, nor if you
drink only water, keep saying on each occasion, I drink water! And if you ever
want to practise endurance and toil, do so unto yourself and not unto
others—do not embrace statues!
When a man prides himself on being able to
understand and interpret the writings of Chrysippus, say to yourself:—
If Chrysippus had not written obscurely,
this fellow would have had nothing to be proud of. But what is it that I
desire? To understand Nature, and to follow her! Accordingly I ask who is the
Interpreter. On hearing that it is Chrysippus, I go to him. But it seems I do
not understand what he wrote. So I seek one to interpret that. So far there is
nothing to pride myself on. But when I have found my interpreter, what remains
is to put in practice his instructions. This itself is the only thing to be
proud of. But if I admire the interpretation and that alone, what else have I
turned out but a mere commentator instead of a lover of wisdom?—except
indeed that I happen to be interpreting Chrysippus instead of Homer. So when
any one says to me, Prithee, read me Chrysippus, I am more inclined to blush,
when I cannot show my deeds to be in harmony and accordance with his sayings.
At feasts, remember that you are
entertaining two guests, body and soul. What you give to the body, you
presently lose; what you give to the soul, you keep for ever.
At meals, see to it that those who serve
be not more in number than those who are served. It is absurd for a crowd of
persons to be dancing attendance on half a dozen chairs.
It is best to share with your attendants
what is going forward, both in the labour of preparation and in the enjoyment
of the feast itself. If such a thing be difficult at the time, recollect that
you who are not weary are being served by those that are; you who are eating
and drinking by those who do neither; you who are talking by those who are
silent; you who are at ease by those who are under constraint. Thus no sudden
wrath will betray you into unreasonable conduct, nor will you behave harshly by
irritating another.
When Xanthippe was chiding Socrates for
making scanty preparation for entertaining his friends, he
answered:—"If they are friends of ours they will not care for that;
if they are not, we shall care nothing for them!"
Asked, Who is the rich man? Epictetus replied, "He who is
content."
Favorinus tells us how Epictetus would
also say that there were two faults far graver and fouler than any
others—inability to bear, and inability to forbear, when we neither
patiently bear the blows that must be borne, nor abstain from the things and
the pleasures we ought to abstain from. "So," he went on, "if a
man will only have these two words at heart, and heed them carefully by ruling
and watching over himself, he will for the most part fall into no sin, and his
life will be tranquil and serene." He meant the words à ã
—"Bear and Forbear."
On all occasions these thoughts should be
at hand:—
Lead me, O God, and Thou, O Destiny
Be what it may the goal appointed me,
Bravely I'll follow; nay, and if I would not,
I'd prove a coward, yet must follow still!
Again:
Who to Necessity doth bow aright,
Is learn'd in wisdom and the things of God.
Once more:—
Crito, if this be God's will, so let it be. As for me,
Anytus and Meletus can indeed put me to death, but injure me,
never!
We shall then be like Socrates, when we
can indite hymns of praise to the Gods in prison.
It is hard to combine and unite these two
qualities, the carefulness of one who is affected by circumstances, and the
intrepidity of one who heeds them not. But it is not impossible: else were
happiness also impossible. We should act as we do in seafaring.
"What can I do?"—Choose
the master, the crew, the day, the opportunity. Then comes a sudden storm. What
matters it to me? my part has been fully done. The matter is in the hands of
another—the Master of the ship. The ship is foundering. What then have I
to do? I do the only thing that remains to me—to be drowned without fear,
without a cry, without upbraiding God, but knowing that what has been born must
likewise perish. For I am not Eternity, but a human being—a part of the
whole, as an hour is part of the day. I must come like the hour, and like the
hour must pass!
And now we are sending you to Rome to spy
out the land; but none send a coward as such a spy, that, if he hear but a
noise and see a shadow moving anywhere, loses his wits and comes flying to say,
The enemy are upon us!
So if you go now, and come and tell us:
"Everything at Rome is terrible: Death is terrible, Exile is terrible, Slander
is terrible, Want is terrible; fly, comrades! the enemy are upon us!" we
shall reply, Get you gone, and prophesy to yourself! we have but erred in
sending such a spy as you. Diogenes, who was sent as a spy long before you,
brought us back another report than this. He says that Death is no evil; for it
need not even bring shame with it. He says that Fame is but the empty noise of
madmen. And what report did this spy bring us of Pain, what of Pleasure, what
of Want? That to be clothed in sackcloth is better than any purple robe; that
sleeping on the bare ground is the softest couch; and in proof of each
assertion he points to his own courage, constancy, and freedom; to his own
healthy and muscular frame. "There is no enemy near," he cries, "all
is perfect peace!"
If a man has this peace—not the
peace proclaimed by Cæsar (how indeed should he have it to proclaim?), nay, but
the peace proclaimed by God through reason, will not that suffice him when
alone, when he beholds and reflects:—Now can no evil happen unto me; for
me there is no robber, for me no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full
of tranquillity; neither highway nor city nor gathering of men, neither
neighbor nor comrade can do me hurt. Another supplies my food, whose care it
is; another my raiment; another hath given me perceptions of sense and primary
conceptions. And when He supplies my necessities no more, it is that He is
sounding the retreat, that He hath opened the door, and is saying to thee,
Come!—Wither? To nought that thou needest fear, but to the friendly
kindred elements whence thou didst spring. Whatsoever of fire is in thee, unto
fire shall return; whatsoever of earth, unto earth; of spirit, unto spirit; of
water, unto water. There is no Hades, no fabled rivers of Sighs, of
Lamentation, or of Fire: but all things are full of Beings spiritual and
divine. With thoughts like these, beholding the Sun, Moon, and Stars, enjoying
earth and sea, a man is neither helpless nor alone!
What wouldst thou be found doing when
overtaken by Death? If I might choose, I would be found doing some deed of true
humanity, of wide import, beneficent and noble. But if I may not be found
engaged in aught so lofty, let me hope at least for this—what none may
hinder, what is surely in my power—that I may be found raising up in
myself that which had fallen; learning to deal more wisely with the things of
sense; working out my own tranquillity, and thus rendering that which is its
due to every relation of life. . . .
If death surprise me thus employed, it is
enough if I can stretch forth my hands to God and say, "The faculties
which I received at Thy hands for apprehending this thine Administration, I
have not neglected. As far as in me lay, I have done Thee no dishonour. Behold
how I have used the senses, the primary conceptions which Thous gavest me. Have
I ever laid anything to Thy charge? Have I ever murmured at aught that came to
pass, or wished it otherwise? Have I in anything transgressed the relations of
life? For that Thou didst beget me, I thank Thee for that Thou hast given: for
the time during which I have used the things that were Thine, it suffices me.
Take them back and place them wherever Thou wilt! They were all Thine, and Thou
gavest them me."—If a man depart thus minded, is it not enough? What
life is fairer and more noble, what end happier than his?
A life entangled with Fortune is like a
torrent. It is turbulent and muddy; hard to pass and masterful of mood: noisy
and of brief continuance.
The soul that companies with Virtue is
like an ever-flowing source. It is a pure, clear, and wholesome draught; sweet,
rich, and generous of its store; that injures not, neither destroys.
It is a shame that one who sweetens his
drink with the gifts of the bee, should embitter God's gift Reason with vice.
Crows pick out the eyes of the dead, when
the dead have no longer need of them; but flatterers mar the soul of the
living, and her eyes they blind.
Keep neither a blunt knife nor an
ill-disciplined looseness of tongue.
Nature hath given men one tongue but two
ears, that we may hear from others twice as much as we speak.
Do not give sentence in another tribunal
till you have been yourself judged in the tribunal of Justice.
If is shameful for a Judge to be
judged by others.
Give me by all means the shorter and
nobler life, instead of one that is longer but of less account!
Freedom is the name of virtue: Slavery, of
vice. . . . None is a slave whose acts are free.
Of pleasures, those which occur
most rarely give the most delight.
Exceed due measure, and the most
delightful things become the least delightful.
The anger of an ape—the threat of a
flatterer:—these deserve equal regard.
Chastise thy passions that they avenge
not themselves upon thee.
No man is free who is not master
of himself.
A ship should not ride on a
single anchor, nor life on a single hope.
Fortify thyself with contentment:
that is an impregnable stronghold.
No man who is a lover of money, of
pleasure, of glory, is likewise a lover of Men; but only he that is a lover of
whatsoever things are fair and good.
Think of God more often than thou
breathest.
Choose the life that is noblest, for
custom can make it sweet to thee.
Let thy speech of God be renewed day by
day, aye, rather than thy meat and drink.
Even as the Sun doth not wait for prayers
and incantations to rise, but shines forth and is welcomed by all: so thou also
wait not for clapping of hands and shouts and praise to do thy duty; nay, do
good of thine own accord, and thou wilt be loved like the Sun.
Let no man think that he is loved
by any who loveth none.
If thou rememberest that God standeth by
to behold and visit all that thou doest; whether in the body or in the soul,
thou surely wilt not err in any prayer or deed; and thou shalt have God to
dwell with thee.
Note.—Schweighüser's great edition
collects 181 fragments attributed to Epictetus, of which but a few are
certainly genuine. Some (as xxi., xxiv., above) bear the stamp of Pythagorean
origin; others, though changed in form, may well be based upon Epictetean
sayings. Most have been preserved in the Anthology of John of Stobi (Stobæus),
a Byzantine collector, of whom scarcely anything is known but that he probably
wrote towards the end of the fifth century, and made his vast body of extracts
from more than five hundred authors for his son's use. The best examination of
the authenticity of the Fragments is Quaestiones Epicteteæ, by R. Asmus, 1888.
The above selection includes some of doubtful origin but intrinsic
interest.—Crossley.
Chiefest glory of deathless Gods, Almighty for ever,
Sovereign of Nature that rulest by law, what Name shall we
give Thee?—
Blessed be Thou! for on Thee should call all things that are
mortal.
For that we are Thine offspring; nay, all that in myriad motion
Lives for its day on the earth bears one impress—Thy
likeness—upon it.
Wherefore my song is of Thee, and I hymn thy power for ever.
Lo, the vast orb of the Worlds, round the Earth evermore as it
rolleth,
Feels Thee its Ruler and Guide, and owns Thy lordship rejoicing.
Aye, for Thy conquering hands have a servant of living fire—
Sharp is the bolt!—where it falls, Nature shrinks at the shock
and doth shudder.
Thus Thou directest the Word universal that pulses through all
things,
Mingling its life with Lights that are great and Lights that
are lesser,
E'en as beseemeth its birth, High King through ages unending.
Nought is done that is done without Thee in the earth or the waters
Or in the heights of heaven, save the deed of the fool and the
sinner.
Thou canst make rough things smooth; at Thy voice, lo, jarring
disorder
Moveth to music, and Love is born where hatred abounded.
Thus hast Thou fitted alike things good and things evil together,
That over all might reign one Reason, supreme and eternal;
Though thereunto the hearts of the wicked be hardened and
heedless—
Woe unto them!—for while ever their hands are grasping at
good things,
Blind are their eyes, yea, stopped are their ears to God's Law
universal,
Calling through wise disobedience to live the life that is noble.
This they mark not, but heedless of right, turn each to his
own way,
Here, a heart fired with ambition, in strife and straining
unhallowed;
There, thrusting honour aside, fast set upon getting and gaining;
Others again given over to lusts and dissolute softness,
Working never God's Law, but that which wareth upon it.
Nay, but, O Giver of all things good, whose home is the dark cloud,
Thou that wields Heaven's bolt, save men from their
ignorance grievous;
Scatter its night from their souls, and grant them to come to
that Wisdom
Wherewithal, sistered with Justice, Thou rulest and governest
all things;
That we, honoured by Thee, may requite Thee with worship and
honour,
Evermore praising thy works, as is meet for men that shall perish;
Seeing that none, be he mortal or God, hath privilege nobler
Than without stint, without stay, to extol Thy Law universal.
THE END