by Epictetus
In the name of God, I ask you, can you imagine an Epicurean State? One man says, “I do not marry.” “Neither do I,” says another, “for people ought not to marry.” No, nor have children; no, nor perform the duties of a citizen. And what, do you suppose, will happen then? Where are the citizens to come from? Who will educate them? Who will be superintendent of the ephebi, or gymnasium director? Yes, and what will either of these teach them? What the young men of Lacedaemon or Athens were taught? Take me a young man; bring him up according to your doctrines. Your doctrines are bad, subversive of the State, destructive to the family, not even fit for women. Drop these doctrines, man. You live in an imperial State; it is your duty to hold office, to judge uprightly, to keep your hands off the property of other people; no woman but your wife ought to look handsome to you, no boy handsome, no silver plate handsome, no gold plate. Look for doctrines consistent with these principles of conduct, doctrines which will enable you to refrain gladly from matters so persuasive to attract and to overpower a man. If, however, in addition to the persuasive power of the things just mentioned, we shall have gone ahead and invented also some such doctrine as this of yours, which helps to push us on into them, and gives them additional strength, what is going to happen?
In a piece of plate what is the best thing, the silver or the art? The substance of the hand is mere flesh, but the important thing is the works of the hand. Now duties are of three kinds; first, those that have to do with mere existence, second, those that have to do with existence of a particular sort, and third, the principal duties themselves. So also in the case of man, it is not his material substance that we should honour, his bits of flesh, but the principal things. What are these? The duties of citizenship, marriage, begetting children, reverence to God, care of parents, in a word, desire, avoidance, choice, refusal, the proper performance of each one of these acts, and that is, in accordance with our nature. And what is our nature? To act as free men, as noble, as self-respecting. Why, what other living being blushes, what other comprehends the impression of shame? And it is our nature to subordinate pleasure to these duties as their servant, their minister, so as to arouse our interest and keep us acting in accordance with nature.
But I am rich and need nothing. — Why, then, do you still pretend to be a philosopher? Your gold and silver plate are enough to satisfy you; what do you need doctrines for? — Yes, but I sit too as judge over the Hellenes. — Do you know how to sit as judge? What has brought you to know that? — Caesar wrote credentials for me. — Let him write you credentials that will allow you to sit as a judge in music and literature; and what good will it do you? However this may be, there is another question, and that is, how did you come to be a judge? Whose hand did you kiss — that of Symphorus or that of Numenius? In front of whose bedroom door did you sleep? To whom did you send presents? After all, don’t you recognize that the office of judge is worth exactly as much as Numenius is? — But I can throw whom I will into prison. — As you can a stone. — But I can have beaten to death with a club whom I will. — As you can an ass. — That is not governing men. Govern us as rational beings by pointing out to us what is profitable, and we will follow you; point out what is unprofitable, and we will turn away from it. Bring us to admire and emulate you, as Socrates brought men to admire and emulate him. He was the one person who governed people as men, in that he brought them to subject to him their desire, their aversion, their choice, their refusal. “Do this; do not do this; otherwise I will throw you into prison.” Say that, and yours ceases to be a government as over rational beings. Nay, rather, say, “As Zeus has ordained, do this; if you do not do so, you will be punished, you will suffer injury.” What kind of injury? No injury but that of not doing what you ought; you will destroy the man of fidelity in you, the man of honour, the man of decent behaviour. You need not look for greater injuries than these.
CHAPTER VIII
How ought we to exercise ourselves to deal with the impressions of our senses?
As we exercise ourselves to meet the sophistical interrogations, so we ought also to exercise ourselves daily to meet the impressions of our senses, because these too put interrogations to us. So-and-so’s son is dead. Answer, “That lies outside the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.” His father has disinherited So-and-so; what do you think of it? “That lies outside the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.” Caesar has condemned him. “That lies outside the sphere of the moral purpose, it is not an evil.” He was grieved at all this. “That lies within the sphere of the moral purpose, it is an evil.” He has borne up under it manfully. “That lies within the sphere of the moral purpose, it is a good.” Now if we acquire this habit, we shall make progress; for we shall never give our assent to anything but that of which we get a convincing sense-impression. His son is dead. What happened? His son is dead. Nothing else? Not a thing. His ship is lost. What happened? His ship is lost. He was carried off to prison. What happened? He was carried off to prison. But the observation: “He has fared ill,” is an addition that each man makes on his own responsibility. “But,” you say, “Zeus does not do right in all this.” What makes you think so? Because He has made you capable of patient endurance, and high-minded, because He has taken from these things the quality of being evils, because you are permitted to suffer these things and still to be happy, because He has opened for you the door, whenever they are not to your good? Man, go out, and do not complain.
Hear how the Romans feel about philosophers, if you care to know. Italicus, who has a very great reputation among them as a philosopher, once, when I was present, got angry at his friends, as though he were suffering something intolerable, and said, “I cannot bear it: you are the death of me! you will make me just like him,” and pointed at me!
CHAPTER IX
To a certain rhetorician who was going to Rome for a lawsuit
There came in to visit Epictetus one day a man who was on his way to Rome, where he was engaged in a lawsuit involving an honour to be bestowed on him. Epictetus asked what the reason was for the trip to the Capital, and the man proceeded to ask what opinion he had about the matter. If you ask me what you are going to do in Rome, says Epictetus, whether you will succeed or fail, I have no precept to offer. If, however, you ask how you are going to fare, I have this to say: If you have sound judgements, you will fare well; if unsound judgements, ill; since in every case the way a man fares is determined by his judgement. For what is it that made you eager to be elected patron of the people of Cnossos? Your judgement. What is it that impels you now to go up to Rome? Your judgement. And that in stormy weather, in danger, and at expense? — Yes, but I have to. — Who tells you that? Your judgement. Very well, then, if a man’s judgements determine everything, and if a man has unsound judgements, whatever be the cause such also will be the consequence. Do we all, then, have sound judgements, both you and your opponent? If so, then how do you come to disagree? But do you have sound judgements rather than he? Why? You think so. So does he, and so do madmen. This is a poor criterion. But show me that you have made any study of your own judgements and have paid attention to them. And as now you are sailing to Rome so as to become patron of the men of Cnossos, and you are not satisfied to stay at home and keep the honours which you had, but you have set your heart upon something greater and more conspicuous, so did you ever make a voyage for the purpose of studying your own judgements, and of rejecting one, if it is unsound? Whom have you ever visited for this purpose? What time have you set yourself, what period of your life? Review the periods of your life, all to yourself, if you are ashamed to do so before me. When you were a boy were you in the habit of examining your judgements? Did you not habitually do what you then did just as you do everything now? And when you grew to be a youth and were attending the lectures of the rhetoricians, and were yourself practising, what did you fancy that you yet lacked? And when you were a young man and began to take part in politics, and to plead cases yourself, and to have a good reputation, who any lo
nger seemed in your eyes to be your equal? Would you under any circumstances have submitted to be put through an examination on the charge that you had wretched judgements? Very well then, what do you wish me to say to you? — Help me in this affair. — I have no precepts to offer for this; and you too, if you came to me for this purpose, have not come to me as to a philosopher, but as to a vegetable-dealer, as to a cobbler. — To what end, then, do philosophers have precepts to offer? — To this end, that whatever happen, our governing principle shall be, and abide to the end, in accord with nature. Do you regard that as a trifle? — No; it is of the utmost moment. — What then? Does this require only a little time, and is it possible to acquire it on a passing visit? Acquire it, then, if you can!
Then you will say, “When I met Epictetus it was like meeting a stone, a statue.” Yes, for you took a look at me, and nothing more. The person who meets a man as a man is one who learns to understand the other’s judgements, and in his turn exhibits his own. Learn to know my judgements; show me your own, and then say you have met me. Let us put one another to the test; if I cherish any evil judgement, take it away; if you cherish one, bring it forward. That is what it means to meet a philosopher. Oh no; but your way is: “We are passing, and while we are hiring our ship, we have a chance to take a look at Epictetus; let’s see what in the world he has to say.” Then you leave with the remark: “Epictetus was nothing at all, his language was full of solecisms and barbarisms.” What else were you capable of judging, when you came in like that?
“But,” says someone, “if I devote myself to these things, I shall not own a farm any more than you do, I shall not have silver goblets any more than you, or fine cattle any more than you.” To all this it is perhaps enough to answer: “I do not need them; but you, even if you acquire many possessions, need still others, and whether you will or not, are more poverty-stricken than I am.” — What, then, do I need? — What you do not have; steadfastness, your mind in a state of conformity with nature, freedom from vexation of spirit. Patron or not patron, what do I care? But you care. I am richer than you are; I am not worried about what Caesar is going to think of me; I flatter no man for that purpose. All this is what I have as an offset to your silver plate, and your gold plate. You have furnishings of gold, but your reason, your judgements, your assent, your choice, your desire — of earthenware. But when I have these in a state of conformity with nature, why should I not take up logic also as a sort of hobby? For, I have plenty of leisure; my mind is not being dragged this way and that. What shall I do, seeing there is nothing that disturbs me? What have I which more becomes a man than this? You and your kind when you have nothing to do are restless, go to the theatre, or wander up and down aimlessly. Why should not the philosopher develop his own reason? You turn to vessels of crystal, I to the syllogism called “The Liar”; you to myrrhine ware, I to the syllogism called “The Denyer.” Everything that you already have seems small in your sight, but everything that I have seems important to me. Your strong desire is insatiate, mine is already satisfied. The same thing happens to the children who put their hand down into a narrow-necked jar and try to take out figs and nuts: if they get their hand full, they can’t get it out, and then they cry. Drop a few and you will get it out. And so do you too drop your desire; do not set your heart upon many things and you will obtain.
CHAPTER X
How ought we to bear our illnesses?
When the need arises for each separate judgement, we ought to have it ready; at lunch our judgements about lunch, at the bath our judgements about a bath, in bed our judgements about a bed.
“Also allow not sleep to draw nigh to your languorous eyelids,
Ere you have reckoned up each several deed of the daytime:
‘Where went I wrong? Did what? And what to be done was left undone?’
Starting from this point review, then, your acts, and thereafter remember:
Censure yourself for the acts that are base, but rejoice in the goodly.”
And keep these verses on hand to use, not by way of exclamations, as we cry, “Paean Apollo!” Again, in a fever have ready the judgements which apply to that. Let us not, if we fall into a fever, abandon and forget all our principles, saying: “If I ever study philosophy again, let anything happen that will! I’ll have to go away somewhere and take care of my poor body.” Yes indeed, if fever does not go there too! But what is philosophy? Does it not mean making preparation to meet the things that come upon us? Do you not understand, then, that what you are saying amounts to something like this: “If I ever again prepare to bear quietly the things that come upon me, let anything happen that will”? It is just as if a man should give up the pancratium because he has received blows. The only difference is that in the pancratium a man may stop, and so avoid a severe beating, but in life, if we stop the pursuit of philosophy, what good does it do? What, then, ought a man to say to himself at each hardship that befalls him? “It was for this that I kept training, it was to meet this that I used to practise.” God says to you, “Give Me proof, whether you have striven lawfully, eaten what is prescribed, taken exercise, heeded your trainer.” After that, do you flinch when the time for action arrives? Now it is time for your fever, let it come upon you in the right way; for thirst, bear your thirst in the right way; to go hungry, bear hunger in the right way. It is not in your power, you say? Who is there to prevent you? Nay, your physician will prevent you from drinking, but he cannot prevent you from thirsting in the right way; and he will prevent you from eating, but he cannot prevent you from bearing hunger in the right way.
But am I not a scholar? — And for what purpose do you devote yourself to scholarship? Slave, is it not that you may be happy? Is it not that you may be secure? Is it not that you may conform to nature and live your life in that way. What prevents you, when you have a fever, from having your governing principle conform with nature? Here is the proof of the matter, the test of the philosopher. For this too is a part of life; like a stroll, a voyage, a journey, such is also a fever. I presume you do not read while taking a stroll, do you? — No. — No more than when you have a fever. But if you stroll in the right way, you perform what is expected of a stroller; if you have fever in the right way, you perform the things expected of the man who has a fever. What does it mean to have fever in the right way? Not to blame God, or man, not to be overwhelmed by what happens to you, to await death bravely and in the right way, to do what is enjoined upon you; when your physician comes to see you, not to be afraid of what he will say, and at the same time not to be carried away with joy, if he says, “You are doing splendidly”; for what good to you lay in that remark? Why, when you were well, what good was it to you? It means not to be downhearted, too, if he says, “You are in a bad way.” For what does it mean to be in a bad way? That you are close to a separation of the soul from the body. What, then, is terrifying about that? If you do not draw near now, will you not draw near later? And is the universe going to be upset when you die? Why, then, do you wheedle your physician? Why do you say, “If you wish, Master, I shall get well”? Why do you give him occasion to put on airs? Why not give him just what is his due? As I give the shoemaker his due about my foot, the builder his due about my house, so also the physician his due about my paltry body, something that is not mine, something that is by nature dead. These are the things that the moment demands for a man who is in a fever; if he meets these demands, he has what properly belongs to him. For it is not the business of the philosopher to guard these external matters — neither his paltry wine, nor his paltry oil, nor his paltry body — but what? His own governing principle. And how treat externals? Only so far as not to act thoughtlessly about them. What proper occasion is there, then, any longer for fear? What proper occasion, then, any longer for anger? Or for fear about things that are not his own concern, worthless things? For here are the two principles that you ought to have ready at hand: Outside the sphere of the moral purpose there is nothing either good or bad; and. We ought not to lead events, bu
t to follow them. “My brother ought not to have treated me so.” No; but it is for him to look to that. As for me, no matter how he behaves, I shall observe all my relations to him as I ought. For this is my part, the other does not belong to me; in this nobody can hinder me, the other is subject to hindrance.
CHAPTER XI
Some scattered sayings
There are certain punishments, assigned as it were by law, for those who are disobedient to the divine dispensation. “Whoever shall regard as good anything but the things that fall within the scope of his moral purpose, let him envy, yearn, flatter, feel disturbed; whoever shall regard anything else as evil, let him sorrow, grieve, lament, be unhappy.” Nevertheless, for all that we are so severely punished, we cannot desist.
