by Epictetus
What, then, is it which makes a man free from hindrance and his own master? For wealth does not do it, nor a consulship, nor a province, nor a kingdom, but something else has to be found. What, therefore, is it which makes a man free from hindrance and restraint in writing? — The knowledge of how to write. — And what in playing on the harp? — The knowledge of how to play on the harp. — So also in living, it is the knowledge of how to live. Now you have already heard this, as a general principle, but consider it also in its particular applications. Is it possible for the man who is aiming at some one of these things which are under the control of others to be free from hindrance? — No. — Is it possible for him to be free from restraint? — No. — Therefore, it is not possible for him to be free, either. Consider then: Have we nothing which is under our own exclusive control, or is everything in that state; or are some things under our control and others under the control of others? — How do you mean? — When you want your body to be whole, is the matter under your control, or not? — It is not. — And when you want it to be well? — Nor that, either. — And to live or to die? — Nor that, either. — Therefore, your body is not your own possession, it is subject to everyone who is stronger than you are. — Granted. — And your farm, is it under your control to have it when you want, and as long as you want; and in the condition that you want? — No. — And your paltry slaves? — No. — And your clothes? — No. — And your paltry house? — No. — And your horses? — None of these things. — And if you wish by all means your children to live, or your wife, or your brother, or your friends, is the matter under your control? — No, nor that, either.
Have you, then, nothing subject to your authority, which is under your control and yours only, or do you have something of that sort? — I do not know. — Look, then, at the matter this way, and consider it. No one can make you assent to what is false, can he? — No one. — Well, then, in the region of assent you are free from hindrance and restraint. — Granted. — Come, can anyone force you to choose something that you do not want? — He can; for when he threatens me with death or bonds, he compels me to choose. — If, however, you despise death and bonds, do you pay any further heed to him? — No. — Is it, then, an act of your own to despise death, or is it not your own act? — It is mine. — So it is your own act to choose, or is it not? — Granted that it is mine. — And to refuse something? This also is yours. — Yes, but suppose I choose to go for a walk and the other person hinders me? — What part of you will he hinder? Surely not your assent? — No; but my poor body. — Yes, as he would a stone. — Granted that, but I do not proceed to take my walk. — But who told you, “It is your own act to take a walk unhindered”? As for me, I told you that the only unhindered thing was the desire; but where there is a use of the body and its co-operation, you have heard long ago that nothing is your own. — Granted that also. — Can anyone force you to desire what you do not want? — No one. — Or to purpose or plan, or, in a word, to deal with the impressions that come to you? — No, nor that, either; but he will hinder me, when I set my desire upon something, from achieving what I desire. — If you desire something which is your own and not subject to hindrance, how will he hinder you? — Not at all. — Who, then, tells you that the man who sets his desire upon what is not his own is free from hindrance?
Shall I not, then, set my desire on health? — No, not at all, nor on anything else which is not your own. For that which is not in your power to acquire or to keep is none of yours. Keep far away from it not merely your hands, but above all your desire; otherwise, you have delivered yourself into slavery, you have bowed your neck to the burden, if you admire anything that is not your own, if you conceive a violent passion for anything that is in subjection to another and mortal. — Is not my hand my own? — It is a part of you, but by nature it is clay, subject to hindrance and compulsion, a slave to everything that is stronger than you are. And why do I name you the hand? You ought to treat your whole body like a poor loaded-down donkey, as long as it is possible, as long as it is allowed; and if it be commandeered and a soldier lay hold of it, let it go, do not resist nor grumble. If you do, you will get a beating and lose your little donkey just the same. But when this is the way in which you should act as regards the body, consider what is left for you to do about all the other things that are provided for the sake of the body. Since the body is a little donkey, the other things become little bridles for a little donkey, little pack-saddles, little shoes, and barley, and fodder. Let them go too, get rid of them more quickly and cheerfully than of the little donkey itself.
Once prepared and trained in this fashion to distinguish what is not your own from what is your own possession, the things which are subject to hindrance from those which are free from it, to regard these latter as your concern, and the former as no concern of yours, diligently to keep your desire fixed on the latter, and your aversion directed toward the former, then have you any longer anyone to fear? — No one. — Of course; what is there to be fearful about? About the things that are your own, wherein is the true nature of good and evil for you? And who has authority over these? Who can take them away, who can hinder them, any more than one can hinder God? But shall you be fearful about your body and your property? About the things that are not your own? About the things that are nothing to you? And what else have you been studying, from the very outset, but how to discriminate between what is your own and what is not your own, what is under your control and what is not under your control, what is subject to hindrance and what is free from it? For what purpose did you go to the philosophers? That you might no less than before be unfortunate and miserable? You will not, then, in that case, be free from fear and perturbation. And what has pain to do with you? For fear of things anticipated becomes pain when these things are present. And what will you any longer passionately seek? For you possess a harmonious and regulated desire for the things that are within the sphere of the moral purpose, as being excellent, and as being within your reach; and you desire nothing outside the sphere of the moral purpose, so as to give place to that other element of unreason, which pushes you along and is impetuous beyond all measure.
Now when you face things in this fashion, what man can inspire fear in you any longer? For what has one human being about him that is calculated to inspire fear in another human being, in either his appearance, or conversation, or intercourse in general, any more than one horse, or dog, or bee inspires fear in another horse, or dog, or bee? Nay, it is things that inspire man with fear; and when one person is able to secure them for another, or to take them away, then he becomes capable of inspiring fear.
How, then, is a citadel destroyed? Not by iron, nor by fire, but by judgements. For if we capture the citadel in the city, have we captured the citadel of fever also, have we captured that of pretty wenches also, in a word, the acropolis within us, and have we cast out the tyrants within us, whom we have lording it over each of us every day, sometimes the same tyrants, and sometimes others? But here is where we must begin, and it is from this side that we must seize the acropolis and cast out the tyrants; we must yield up the paltry body, its members, the faculties, property, reputation, offices, honours, children, brothers, friends — count all these things as alien to us. And if the tyrants he thrown out of the spot, why should I any longer raze the fortifications of the citadel, on my own account, at least? For what harm does it do me by standing? Why should I go on and throw out the tyrant’s bodyguard? For where do I feel them? Their rods, their spears, and their swords they are directing against others. But I have never been hindered in the exercise of my will, nor have I ever been subjected to compulsion against my will. And how is this possible? I have submitted my freedom of choice unto God. He wills that I shall have fever; it is my will too. He wills that I should choose something; it is my will too. He wills that I should desire something; it is my will too. He wills that I should get something; it is my wish too. He does not will it; I do not wish it. Therefore, it is my will to die; therefore, it is m
y will to be tortured on the rack. Who can hinder me any longer against my own views, or put compulsion upon me? That is no more possible in my case than it would be with Zeus.
This is the way also with the more cautious among travellers. A man has heard that the road which he is taking is infested with robbers; he does not venture to set forth alone, but he waits for a company, either that of an ambassador, or of a quaestor, or of a proconsul, and when he has attached himself to them he travels along the road in safety. So in this world the wise man acts. Says he to himself: “There are many robber-bands, tyrants, storms, difficulties, losses of what is most dear. Where shall a man flee for refuge? How shall he travel secure against robbery? What company shall he wait for that he may pass through in safety? To whom shall he attach himself? To So-and-so, the rich man, or the proconsul? And what is the good of that? He himself is stripped, groans, sorrows. Yes, and what if my fellow-traveller himself turn upon me and rob me? What shall I do? I will become a friend of Caesar; no one will wrong me if I am a companion of his. But, in the first place, the number of things I must suffer and endure in order to become his friend! and the number of times, and the number of persons by whom I must first be robbed! And then, even if I do become his friend, he too is mortal. And if some circumstance lead him to become my enemy, where indeed had I better retire? To a wilderness? What, does not fever go there? What, then, is to become of me? Is it impossible to find a fellow-traveller who is safe, faithful, strong, free from the suspicion of treachery?” Thus he reflects and comes to the thought that, if he attach himself to God, he will pass through the world in safety.
How do you mean “attach himself”? — Why, so that whatever God wills, he also wills, and whatever God does not will, this he also does not will. — How, then, can this be done? — Why, how else than by observing the choices of God and His governance? What has He given me for my own and subject to my authority, and what has He left for Himself? Everything within the sphere of the moral purpose He has given me, subjected them to my control, unhampered and unhindered. My body that is made of clay, how could He make that unhindered? Accordingly He has made it subject to the revolution of the universe — my property, my furniture, my house, my children, my wife. Why, then, shall I strive against God? Why shall I will what is not in the province of the will, to keep under all circumstances what has not been given me outright? But how should I keep them? In accordance with the terms upon which they have been given, and for as long as they can be given. But He who gave also takes away. Why, then, shall I resist? I do not say that I shall be a fool for trying to use force upon one who is stronger than I am, but before that I shall be wicked. For where did I get these things when I came into the world? My father gave them to me. And who gave them to him? Who has made the sun, who the fruits, who the seasons, who the union and fellowship of men one with another?
And so, when you have received everything, and your very self, from Another, do you yet complain and blame the Giver, if He take something away from you? Who are you, and for what purpose have you come? Did not He bring you into the world? Did not He show you the light? Did not He give you fellow-workers? Did not He give you senses also and reason? And as what did He bring you into the world? Was it not as a mortal being? Was it not as one destined to live upon earth with a little portion of paltry flesh, and for a little while to be a spectator of His governance, and to join with Him in His pageant and holiday? Are you not willing, then, for so long as has been given you, to be a spectator of His pageant and His festival, and then when He leads you forth, to go, after you have made obeisance and returned thanks for what you have heard and seen? “No,” you say, “but I wanted to go on with the holiday.” Yes, and so do the initiates in the mysteries want to go on with the initiation, and no duubt the spectators at Olympia want to see still other athletes; but the festival has come to an end; leave, depart as a grateful and reverent spectator departs; make room for others; yet others must be born, even as you were born, and once born they must have land, and houses, and provisions. But if the first-comers do not move along, what is left for those who follow after? Why are you insatiate? Why never satisfied? Why do you crowd the world?
Yes, but I want my little children and my wife to be with me. — Are they yours? Do they not belong to Him who gave them? To Him who made your Will you not, therefore, give up what is not your own? Will you not yield to your superior? — Why, then, did He bring me into the world on these conditions? — And if they do not suit you, leave; God has no need of a fault-finding spectator. He needs those who join in the holiday and the dance, that they may applaud rather, and glorify, and sing hymns of praise about the festival. But the peevish and the cowardly He will not be distressed to see left out of the festival; for when they were present they did not act as though they were on a holiday, nor did they fill the proper rôle; but they were distressed, found fault with the Deity, with fate, and with the company; insensible to what had been vouchsafed them, and to their own powers which they had received for the very opposite use — high-mindedness, nobility of character, courage, and the very freedom for which we are now seeking. — For what purpose, then, did I receive these gifts? — To use them. — How long? — For as long as He who lent them to you wills. — But what if they are necessary to me? — Do not set your heart upon them, and they will not be necessary to you. Do not say to yourself that they are necessary, and they will not be.
This is what you ought to practise from morning till evening. Begin with the most trifling things, the ones most exposed to injury, like a pot, or a cup, and then advance to a tunic, a paltry dog, a mere horse, a bit of land; thence to yourself, your body, and its members, your children, wife, brothers. Look about on every side and cast these things away from you. Purify your judgements, for fear lest something of what is not your own may be fastened to them, or grown together with them, and may give you pain when it is torn loose. And every day while you are training yourself, as you do in the gymnasium, do not say that you are “pursuing philosophy” (indeed an arrogant phrase!), but that you are a slave presenting your emancipator in court; for this is the true freedom. This is the way in which Diogenes was set free by Antisthenes, and afterwards said that he could never be enslaved again by any man. How, in consequence, did he behave when he was captured! How he treated the pirates! He called none of them master, did he? And I am not referring to the name! it is not the word that I fear, but the emotion, which produces the word. How he censures them because they gave bad food to their captives! How he behaved when he was sold! Did he look for a master? No, but for a slave. And how he behaved toward his master after he had been sold! He began immediately to argue with him, telling him that he ought not to dress that way, or have his hair cut that way, and about his sons, how they ought to live. And what is there strange about that? Why, if he had bought a gymnastic trainer, would he have employed him as a servant, or as a master, in the exercises of the palaestra? And if he had bought a physician, or a master-builder, the same would have been true. And thus in every subject-matter, it is quite unavoidable that the man of skill should be superior to the man without skill. In general, therefore, whoever possesses the science of how to live, how can he help but be the master? For who is master in a ship? — The helmsman. — Why? Because the man who disobeys him is punished. — But my master is able to give me a sound flogging. — He cannot do so with impunity, can he? — So I thought. — But because he cannot do so with impunity, therefore he has no authority to do it; no man can do wrong with impunity. — And what is the punishment that befalls the man who has put his own slave in chains, when he felt like it? — The putting of him in chains; this is something which you will admit yourself, if you wish to maintain the proposition that man is not a wild beast but a tame animal. For when is a vine faring badly? When it is acting contrary to its own nature. When is a cock faring badly? Under the same conditions. So also man. What, then, is his nature? To bite, and kick, and throw into prison, and behead? No, but to do good, to work together
, and to pray for the success of others. Therefore, he is faring badly, whether you will or no, when he acts unfeelingly.
You imply, then, that Socrates did not fare badly? — He did not; it was his judges and accusers who fared badly. — Nor Helvidius at Rome? — No, but the man who put him to death. — How so? — Just as you too do not say that the cock which has won a victory, even though he be severely cut up, has fared badly, but rather the one who has been beaten without suffering a blow. Nor do you call a dog happy when he is neither in pursuit nor toiling hard, but when you see him sweating, suffering, bursting from the chase. What is there paradoxical in the statement, if we say that everything’s evil is what is contrary to its own nature? Is that paradoxical? Do you not say it yourself in the case of everything else? Why, then, do you take a different course in the case of man alone? But our statement that the nature of man is gentle, and affectionate, and faithful, is this not paradoxical? — No, that is not paradoxical, either. — How, then, does it come about that he suffers no harm, even though he is soundly flogged, or imprisoned, or beheaded? Is it not thus — if he bears it all in a noble spirit, and comes off with increased profit and advantage, while the other man is the one who suffers harm, the man who is subjected to the most pitiful and disgraceful experience, who becomes a wolf, or a snake, or a wasp, instead of a human being?
Come, now, and let us review the points on which we have reached agreement. The unhampered man, who finds things ready to hand as he wants them, is free. But the man who can be hampered, or subjected to compulsion, or hindered, or thrown into something against his will, is a slave. And who is unhampered? The man who fixes his aim on nothing that is not his own. And what are the things which are not our own? All that are not under our control, either to have, or not to have, or to have of a certain quality, or under certain conditions. Therefore, the body is not our own, its members are not our own, property is not our own. If, then, you conceive a strong passion for some one of these things, as though it were your immediate possession, you will be punished as he should be who fixes his aim upon what is not his own. This is the road which leads to freedom, this is the only surcease of slavery, to be able to say at any time with your whole heart.
