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WIT AND WISDOM OF

EPICTETUS
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INTRODUCTION

St. Augustine called Epictetus the
most noble of Stoics, and if we may
judge of him by the utterances recorded
by his disciple, Flavius Arrian, who took
them down from his lips at Nicopolis,
we cannot help agreeing with this en-
comium. Arrian declares that they
were not put into literary form, were
merely " such things as one man might
say to another on occasion," but that
they represent the highest thought of
the Master who, when he spoke, had but
one aim — "to stir his hearers' minds
toward the best things."

Almost nothing is known of Epictetus'
life. He was born in Hieropolis, near
the Phrygian Meander. He became the
slave of Epaphroditus, whose character
may be surmised when it is stated that
he was the favourite of the Emperor Nero.
There is a legend to the effect that
Epaphroditus, who had himself been a
slave, was twisting Epictetus' leg for

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amusement. Epictetus remarked, " If
you persist, you will break my leg."
Epaphroditus went on and broke the leg.
Epictetus' only comment was : " Did I
not warn you that you would break my
leg ? "

However cruelly the master may have
treated the slave, he sent him to at-
tend the lectures on philosophy by Mu-
sonius Rufus, the son of a Roman knight,
and a very celebrated Stoic, whose works
have unfortunately all perished. Just
as Russian noblemen used to have
poets and musicians among their serfs,
so the Romans were proud to attach
philosophers and scholars to their reti-
nues. Often, undoubtedly, the prisoner
of war, sold as a slave, may have been
a man of more consequence than his
fortuitous owner. Nero, whose cruelties
and excesses were beginning to stir the
Romans to revolt, committed suicide
with the aid of Epaphroditus in 67
a. d. Epaphroditus himself was put to
death by Domitian, and when that cruel
emperor expelled all the philosophers
from Rome with the exception of Muso-

nius Rufus, Epictetus went to Nicopolis,
the city of Augustus, at the southwestern
extremity of Epirus. Here he lived to
a venerable old age in spite of his feeble
health and his lameness. He is said
to have been true to his own teachings, to
have lived with the utmost simplicity,
with no servant or other inmate of his
house. A story illustrating his kindness
of heart relates how he rescued an infant
that had been exposed to death by some
parent who had wished to check the
growth of his family. Epictetus took
the child and hired a nurse to care for it
and brought it up.

The philosophy of Stoicism, as ex-
pounded in the fragmentary sentences of
Epictetus, is unquestionably conducive
to a happy life, a life of serenity. It is
not strange that Epictetus should have
been adopted by the Christian Church :
the Encheiridion or Handbook has the
distinction of being the only pagan book
recommended to the religious. It de-
serves it. For it certainly helps men to
be manly, to endure afflictions without
repining, to take life as it comes, to be

ill

simple and duly humble, to be sympa-
thetic and unselfish. Its teachings are
inspiring. Such a book as this, coming
down to us through nineteen centuries,
is indeed a breviary treasure to be com-
mended for reading and meditation.

N. H. D.

THE TEACHING OF
EPICTETUS

BOOK I.
I.

THE BEGINNING OF PHILOSOPHY

If you would be good, then first be-
lieve that you are evil.

The beginning of philosophy, at least
with those who lay hold of it as they
ought and enter by the door, is the con-
sciousness of their own feebleness and
incapacity in respect of necessary things.

For we come into the world having by
nature no idea of a right-angled triangle
or of a quarter-tone, or of a semi-tone,

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but by a certain tradition of art we learn
each of these things. And thus those
who know them not, do not suppose
that they know them. But good and
evil, and nobleness and baseness, and
the seemly and the unseemly, and happi-
ness and misfortune, and what is our
concern and what is not, and what ought
to be done and what not — who has
come into the world without an im-
planted notion of these things ? Thus
we all use these terms, and endeavour
to fit our natural conceptions to every
several thing.

Behold, the beginning of philosophy
is the observation of how men contradict
one another, and the search whence
comes this contradiction, and the censure
and mistrust of bare opinion. And it is
an inquiry into that which seems, whether
it rightly seems ; and the discovery of a
certain rule, even as we have found a
balance for weights and a plumb line

for straight and crooked. This is the
beginning of philosophy. Are all things
right to all to whom they seem so ? But
how can contradictory things be right ?

No, not all things, but those that
seem to us right.

And why to you more than to the
Syrians, or to the Egyptians ? Why
more than to me or to any other man ?

Not at all more.

Seeming then does not for every man
answer to Being ; for neither in weights
or measures does the bare appearance
satisfy us, but for each case we have
discovered some rule.

And here then is there no rule above
seeming ?

And how could it be that there were
no evidence or discovery of things the
most necessary for men ? So there is a
rule. And why do we not seek it and
find it and, having found it, henceforth
use it without transgression and not so

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much as stretch forth a finger without
it ? For this it is, I think, that when
it is discovered cures of their madness
those that mismeasure all things by seem-
ing alone ; so that henceforth, setting
out from things known and investigated,
we may use an organised body of natural
conceptions in all our several dealings.

What is the subject about which we
are inquiring

Pleasure ?

Submit it to the rule, cast it into the
scales. Now the Good must be a thing
of such sort that we ought to trust in it ?

Truly.

And we ought to have faith in it ?

We ought.

And ought we to trust in anything
which is unstable ?

No.

And has pleasure any stability ?

It has not.

Take it then and fling it out of the
scales and set it far away from the place
of the Good.

But if you are dim of sight and one
balance does not suffice, then take an-
other.

Is it right to be elated in what is good ?

Yes.

And is it right to be elated in the
presence of a pleasure ? See to it that
thou say not it is right ; or I shall not
hold thee worthy even of the balance.
Thus are things judged and weighed
when the rules are held in readiness.
And the aim of philosophy is this : to
examine and establish the rules. And
to use them when they are known is the
task of an wise and good man.

II.

ON THE NATURAL CONCEPTION

The natural conceptions are common
to all men, and one can not contradict
another. For who of us but affirms
that the Good is profitable, and that we
should choose it and in all circumstances
follow and pursue it ? Who of us but
affirms that uprightness is honourable
and becoming ?

Where then does the contradiction
arise ?

Concerning the application of the
natural conceptions to things severally.
When one says, " He did well, he is a
worthy man," and another, " Nay, but
he did foolishly," then there is a con-
tradiction among men, one with another.
And there is the same contradiction
among the Jews and the Syrians and

the Egyptians and the Romans ; not
whether that which is righteous should
be preferred to all things and in all cases
pursued, but whether it be righteous or
unrighteous to eat the flesh of swine.

What is it then to be educated ?

It is to learn to apply the natural con-
ceptions to each thing severally according
to nature ; and further, to discern that
of things that exist some are in our own
power and the rest are not in our
own power. And things that are in our
own power are the will and all the works
of the will. And things that are not in our
own power are the body and the parts
of the body, and possessions and parents
and brethren and children and country
and, in a word, our associates. Where
now shall we place the Good ? To
what objects shall we apply it ?

To those which are in our own
power ?

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Then is not health good, and whole
limbs and life ? and are not children and
parents and country ? And who will
bear with you if you say this ? Let us
then transfer it to these things. Now,
can one be happy who is injured, and
has missed gaining what is good ?
He can not.

And can such a one bear himself
toward his fellows as he ought ?

How could he ? For I have it from
nature that I must seek my own profit.
If it profits me to own a piece of land,
it profits me to take it from my neigh-
bour. If it profits me to have a garment,
it profits me to steal it from the bath.
And hence wars, seditions, tyrannies,
conspiracies. And how shall I be able
to maintain a right mind toward God ?
for if I suffer injury and misfortune, it
can not be but he neglects me. And
what have I to do with him if he can not
help me ? And, again, what have I to

do with him if he is willing to let me
continue in the evils in which I am ?
Henceforth I begin to hate him. Why
then do we build temples and set up
statues to Zeus as we do to powers of
evil, such as Fever ? And how is he
now the Saviour and the Raingiver and the
Fruitgiver ? And verily, all this follows,
if we place anywhere in external things
the nature and being of the Good.

THE MASTER - FACULTY

Of all our faculties you shall find but
one that can contemplate itself, or,
therefore, approve or disapprove itself.
How far has grammar the power of
contemplation ?

Only so far as to judge concerning
letters.

And music ?

Only so far as to judge concerning
melodies.

Does any of them then contemplate
itself?

Not one.

But when you have need to write to
your friend, grammar will tell you how
to write ; but whether to write or not,
grammar will not tell. And so with the

musical art in the case of melodies ; but
whether it is now meet or not to sing or
to play, music will not tell.

What, then, will tell it ?

That faculty which both contemplates
itself and all other things.

And what is this ?

It is the faculty of Reason ; for we
have received none other which can
consider itself — what it is, and what it
can, and what it is worth — and all the
other faculties as well. For what else
is it that tells us that a golden thing is
beautiful, since itself does not ? Clearly
it is the faculty that makes use of ap-
pearances. What else is it that judges
of music and grammar, and the other
faculties and proves their uses and shows
the fit occasions ?

None else than this.

Thus the Gods, as it was fit they
should, place in our power only that

which is the mightiest and master thing,
the right use of appearances ; but other
things are not in our power.

Was it that they did not wish it ?

Indeed I think that had they been
able they had made over to us those
things also ; but this they could in no
way do. For being on the earth and
bound up with this flesh and with these
associates, how could we fail as regards
these to be hindered by external things ?

But what saith Zeus ?

" Epictetus, if it were possible, I
would have made both this thy little
body and thy little property free and
unhampered. But now forget not that
this is but finely tempered clay, and
nothing of thine own. And since I
could not do this, I have given thee a
part of ourselves, this power of desiring
and disliking and pursuing, avoiding and
rejecting, and, in brief, the use of appear-
ances. Have a care then of this, hold

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IV.

THE NATURE OF THE GOOD

The subject for the good and wise
man is his own master-faculty, as the
body is for the physician and the trainer,
and the soil is the subject for the hus-
bandman. And the work of the good
and wise man is to use appearances
according to Nature. For it is the
nature of every soul to consent to what
is good and to reject what is evil, and to
hold back about what is uncertain ; and
thus to be moved to pursue the good and
to avoid the evil, and neither way toward
what is neither good nor evil. For as
it is not lawful for the money-changer
or the seller of herbs to reject Caesar's
coin, but if one present it, then, whether
he will or no, he must give up what is

sold for it, so it is also with the soul.
When the Good appears, straightway
the soul is moved toward it and from
the Evil. And never does the soul re-
ject any clear appearance of the good,
any more than Caesar's coin. On this
hangs every movement both of God and
man.

The nature and essence of the Good
is in a certain disposition of the Will ;
likewise that of the Evil.

What then are outward things ?

Matter for the Will, about which
being occupied it shall attain its own
good or evil. How shall it attain the
Good ? Through not being dazzled
with admiration of what it works on.
For our opinions of this, when right,
make the will right, and when wrong
make it evil. This law has God estab-
lished, and says, " If thou wouldst have
aught of good, have it from thyself."

If these things are true (and if we are
not fools or hypocrites), that Good, for
man, lies in the Will, and likewise Evil,
and all other things are nothing to us,
why are we still troubled ? why do we
fear ? The things for which we have
been zealous are in no other man's
power; and for the things that are in
others' power we are not concerned.
And why shall I direct thee ? has not
God directed thee ? has he not given
thee that which is thine own unhindered
and unhampered, and hindered and
hampered that which is not thine own ?
And what direction, what word of com-
mand didst thou receive from him when
thou earnest thence ?

" Hold fast everything which is thine
own — covet not that which is alien to
thee. And faithfulness is thine, and
reverence is thine : who, then, can rob
thee of these things ? who can hinder
thee from using them, if not thyself?

."•EX3ER

THE PROMISE OF PHILOSOPHY

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Of things that exist, some are in our
own power, some are not in our own
power. Of things that are in our own
power are our opinions, impulses, pur-
suits, avoidances, and, in brief, all that
is of our own doing. Of things that are
not in our own power are the body,
possessions, reputation, authority, and,
in brief, all that is not of our own doing.
And the things that are in our own
power are in their nature free, not liable
to hindrance or embarrassment, while
the things that are not in our own
power are strengthless, servile, subject,
alien.

Remember, then, if you hold things
by their nature subject to be free, and

things alien to be your proper concern,
you will be hampered, you will lament,
you will be troubled, you will blame
Gods and men. But if you hold that
only to be your own which is so, and
the alien for what it is, alien, then none
shall ever compel you, none shall hinder
you, you will blame no one, accuse no
one, you will not do the least thing un-
willingly, none shall harm you, you shall
have no foe, for you shall suffer no
injury.

Aiming, then, at things so high, re-
member that it is no moderate passion
wherewith you must attempt them, but
some things you must utterly renounce,
and put some, for the present, aside.
For if, let us say, you aim also at this,
to rule and to gather riches, then you are
like, through aiming at the chief things
also, to miss these lower ends ; and shall
most assuredly miss those others, through
which alone freedom and happiness are

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won. Straightway, then, practise saying
to every harsh appearance — Thou art
an Appearance and not at all the thing
thou appearest to be. Then examine it,
and prove it by the rules you have, but
first and above all by this, whether it
concern something that is in our own
power, or something that is not in our
own power. And if the latter, then be
the thought at hand : It is nothing to Me.

VI.

THE WAY OF PHILOSOPHY

Every art is wearisome, in the learning
of it, to the untaught and unskilled.
Yet things that are made by the arts
immediately declare their use, and for
what they were made, and in most of
them is something attractive and pleas-
ing.

Thus when a shoemaker is learning
his trade it is no pleasure to stand by
and observe him, but the shoe is useful,
and moreover not unpleasing to behold.
The learning of a carpenter's trade is
very grievous to an untaught person
who happens to be present, but the work
done declares the need of the art.

But far more is this seen in music, for
if you are by where one is learning, it

will appear the most painful of all in-
structions ; but that which is produced
by the musical art is sweet and delightful
to hear, even to those who are untaught
in it. And here we conceive the work
of one who studies philosophy to be
some such thing, that he must fit his
desire to all events, so that nothing may
come to pass against our will, nor may
aught fail to come to pass that we wish
for. Whence it results to those who so
order it, that they never fail to obtain
what they would, or to avoid what they
would not, living, as regards themselves,
without pain, fear, or trouble ; and as
regards their fellows, observing all the
relations, natural and acquired ; as son
or father, or brother or citizen, or
husband or wife, or neighbour or fellow-
traveller, or prince or subject. Such we
conceive to be the work of one who
pursues philosophy. And next we must
inquire how this may come about.

"*S

We see, then, that the carpenter
becomes a carpenter by learning some-
thing, and by learning something the
pilot becomes a pilot. And here also is
it not on this wise ? Is it enough that
we merely wish to become good and
wise, or must we not also learn some-
thing ? We inquire, then, what we have
to learn.

The philosophers say that, before all
things, it is needful to learn that God is,
and takes thought for all things ; and
that nothing can be hid from him, neither
deeds, nor even thoughts or wishes ;
thereafter, of what nature the Gods are.
For whatever they are found to be, he
who would please and serve them must
strive, with all his might, to be like them.
If the Divine is faithful, so must he be
faithful ; if free, so must he be free ; if
beneficent, so must he be beneficent ; if
high-minded, so must he be high-minded ;
so that thus emulating God, he shall both

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do and speak the things that follow
therefrom.

What could you suppose to be lack-
ing to you ? Wealth you have, and
children, and it may be a wife and many
servants ; Caesar knows you, you have
won many friends in Rome, you give
every man his due, you reward with
good him that does good to you, and
with evil him that does evil. What is
still lacking to you ?

If, now, I shall show you that you
lack the greatest and most necessary
things for happiness, and that to this day
you have cared for everything rather
than for what behoved you ; and if I
crown all and say that you know not
what God is nor what man is, nor Good
nor Evil; — and what I say of other
things is perhaps endurable, but if I say
you know not your own self, how can
you endure me, and bear the accusation
and abide here ?

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Never — but straightway you will go
away in anger. And yet what evil have
I done you ? Unless the mirror does evil
to the ill-favoured man, when it shows
him to himself such as he is, and unless
the physician is thought to affront the
sick man when he may say to him :
Man, dost thou think thou art not ailing ?
Thou hast a fever : fast to-day and drink
water. And none says, What an affront.
But if one shall say to a man : Thy pur-
suits are inflamed, thine avoidances are
mean, thy purposes are lawless, thy im-
pulses accord not with nature, thine
opinions are vain and lying — straightway
he goeth forth and says, He affronted
me.

We follow our business as in a great
fair. Cattle and oxen are brought to be
sold ; and the greater part of the men
come some to buy, some to sell ; and few
are they who come for the spectacle of
the fair, — how it comes to pass, and

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wherefore, and who are they who have
established it, and to what end. And so
it is here, too, in this assembly of life.
Some, indeed, like cattle, concern them-
selves with nothing but fodder ; even
such as those that care for possessions
and lands and servants and offices, for
these are nothing more than fodder.
But few are they who come to the fair
for love of the spectacle, what the world
is and by whom it is governed. By no
one ? And how is it possible that a
state or a house cannot endure, no not
for the shortest time, without a governor
and overseer, but this so great and fair
fabric should be guided thus orderly by
chance and accident ?

There is, then, one who governs.
But what is his nature ? and how does he
govern ? and we, that were made by him,
what are we, and for what are we? or
have we at least some intercourse and
link with him, or have we none ? Thus

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TO THE LEARNER

Remember that pursuit declares the
aim of attaining the thing pursued, and
avoidance that of not falling into the
thing shunned ; and he who fails in his
pursuit is unfortunate, and it is mis-
fortune to fall into what he would avoid.
If now you shun only those things in
your power which are contrary to
Nature, you shall never fall into what
you would avoid. But if you shun
disease or death or poverty, you shall
have misfortune.

No great thing comes suddenly into
being, for not even a bunch of grapes
can, or a fig. If you say to me now : I
desire a fig, I answer that there is need of
time : let it first of all flower and then

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bring forth the fruit and then ripen.
When the fruit of a fig-tree is not per-
fected at once, and in a single hour,
would you win the fruit of a man's mind
thus quickly and easily ? Even if I say
to you, expect it not.

To fulfil the promise of a man's nature
is itself no common thing. For what is
a man ? A living creature, say you ;
mortal, and endowed with Reason. And
from what are we set apart by Reason ?
From the wild beasts. And what others ?
From sheep and the like. Look to it,
then, that you do nothing like a wild
beast, for if you do, the man in you
perishes, you have not fulfilled his prom-
ise. Look to it, that you do nothing
like a sheep, or thus too the man has
perished. What, then, can we do as
sheep ? When we are gluttonous, sen-
sual, reckless, filthy, thoughtless, to what
are we then sunken ? To sheep. What
have we lost ? Our faculty of Reason.

And when we are contentious, and hurt-
ful, and angry and violent, to what are
we sunken ? To wild beasts. And
for the rest some of us are great wild
beasts, and some of us little and evil
ones.

Each thing is increased and saved by
the corresponding works — the carpenter
by the practice of carpentry, the gram-
marian by the study of grammar ; but if
he used to write ungrammatically, it must
needs be that his art shall be corrupted
and destroyed. Thus, too, the works of
reverence save the reverent man, and
those of shamelessness destroy him. And
works of faithfulness save the faithful
man, and the contrary destroy him.
And men of the contrary character are
strengthened therein by contrary deeds ;
the irreverent by irreverence, the faith-
less by faithlessness, the reviler by revil-
ing, the angry by anger, the avaricious
by unfair giving and taking.

Every great power is perilous to be-
ginners. You must bear such things
according to your strength. But I must
live according to Nature ? That is not
for a sick man. Lead your life as a
sick man for a while, so that you may
hereafter live it as a whole man. Fast,
drink water, abstain for a while from
pursuit of every kind, in order that you
may pursue as Reason bids. And if as
Reason bids, then when you have aught
of good in you, your pursuit shall be
well. Nay, but we would live as sages
and do good to men. What good ?
What will you do ? Have you done
good to yourself? But you would ex-
hort them ? And have you exhorted
yourself? You would do them good —
then do not chatter to them, but show
them in yourself what manner of men
philosophy can make. In your eating
do good to those that eat with you, in
your drinking to those that drink, by

VIII.

THE CYNIC

In no well-ordered house does one
come in and say to himself: I should
be the steward of the house, else, when
the lord of the house shall have observed
it, and see him insolently giving orders,
he will drag him forth and chastise him.

So it is also in this great city of the
universe, for here too there is a master
of the house who ordereth each and all :
" Thou art the Sun ; thy power is to
travel round and to make the year and
the seasons, and to increase and nourish
fruits, and to stir the winds and still
them, and temperately to warm the
bodies of men. Go forth, run thy
course, and minister thus to the greatest
things and to the least. Thou art a calf;

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when a lion shall appear, do what befits
thee, or it shall be worse for thee. Thou
art a bull ; come forth and fight, for
this is thy part and pride, and this thou
canst. Thou art able to lead the army
against Ilion ; be Agamemnon. Thou
canst fight in single combat with Hector ;
be Achilles. But if Thersites come forth
and pretend to the authority, then either
he would not gain it, or, gaining it, he
would be shamed before many witnesses."
And as to being a Cynic, take thought
upon it earnestly, for it is not such as it
seems to you. I wear a rough cloak
now, and I shall wear it then ; I sleep
hard now, and I shall sleep so then. I
will take to myself a wallet and staff,
and I will begin to go about and beg,
and to reprove everyone I meet with ;
and if I shall see one that plucks out his
hairs, I will censure him, or one that
has his hair curled, or that goes in pur-
ple raiment. If you conceive the matter

on this wise, far be it from you — go
not near it, it is not for you. But if
you conceive of it as it is, and hold
yourself not unworthy of it, then behold
to how great an enterprise you are put-
ting forth your hand.

First, in things that concern yourself,
you must appear in nothing like what
you now do. You must not accuse God
or man ; you must utterly give over pur-
suit, and avoid only those things that are
in the power of your will ; anger is not
meet for you, nor resentment, nor envy,
nor pity ; nor must a girl appear to you
fair, neither must reputation, nor a flat
cake. For it must be understood that
other men shelter themselves by walls
and houses and by darkness when they
do such things, and many means of con-
cealment have they. One shuts the
door, places someone before the cham-
ber; if anyone should come, say, He is
out, he is busy.

-«d

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But in place of all these things it be-
hoves the Cynic to shelter himself behind
his own piety and reverence ; but if he
does not, he shall be put to shame, naked
under the sky. This is his house, this
his door, this the guards of his chamber,
this his darkness. For he must not
seek to hide aught that he does, else he
is gone, the Cynic has perished, the man
who lived under the open sky, the free-
man. He has begun to fear something
from without, he has begun to need con-
cealment ; nor can he find it when he
would, for where shall he hide himself,
and how ? And if by chance this tutor,
this public teacher, should be found in
guilt, what things must he not suffer !
And fearing these things, can he yet
take heart with his whole soul to guide
the rest of mankind ? That can he
never : it is impossible !

First, then, you must purify your rul-
ing faculty, and this vocation of yours

\\3R

also, saying : " Now it is my mind I
must shape, as the capenter shapes wood
and the shoemaker leather ; and the
thing to be formed is a right use of ap-
pearances. But nothing to me is the
body, and nothing to me the parts of it.
Death ? Let it come when it will, either
death of the whole or of a part. Flee
it ! And whither ? Can any man cast
me out of the universe ? He cannot ;
but whithersoever I may go there will
be the sun, and the moon, and there the
stars, and visions, and omens, and com-
munion with the Gods."

And, furthermore, when he has thus
fashioned himself, he who is a Cynic
indeed will not be content with these
things. But know that he is an herald
from God to men, declaring to them the
truth about good and evil things ; that
they have erred, and are seeking the
reality of good and evil where it is not ;
and where it is, they do not consider ;

and he is a spy, like Diogenes, when he
was led captive to Philip after the battle
of Chaeronea. For the Cynic is, in
truth, a spy of the things that are friendly
to men, and that are hostile ; and hav-
ing closely spied out all, he must come
back and declare the Truth. And he
must neither be stricken with terror and
report of enemies where none are ; nor
be in any otherwise confounded or
troubled by the appearances.

He must then be able, if so it chance,
to go up impassioned, as on the tragic
stage, and speak that word of Socrates,
" O men, whither are you borne away ?
What do you ? Miserable ! like blind
men you wander up and down. You
have left the true road, and are going by
a false ; you are seeking peace and hap-
piness where they are not, and if another
shall show you where they are, you be-
lieve him not. Wherefore will you seek
it in outward things ?

In the body ? It is not there — and
if you believe me not, lo, Myro ! lo,
Ophellius.

" In possessions ? It is not there, and
if you believe me not, lo, Croesus ! lo,
the wealthy of our own day, how full of
mourning is their life !

" In authority ? It is not there, else
should those be happy who have been
twice or thrice consul ; yet they are not.
Whom shall we believe in this matter ?
You, who look on these men but from
without, and are dazzled by the appear-
ance, or the men themselves ? And what
say they ? Hearken to them when they
lament, when they groan, when by reason
of those consulships, and their glory and
renown, they hold their state the more
full of misery and danger !

" In royalty ? It is not there ; else
were Nero happy, and Sardanapalus ;
but not Agamemnon himself was happy,
more splendid though he was than Nero

or Sardanapalus ; but while the rest are
snoring what is he doing ?

" He tore his rooted hair by handfuls out."

And what does he himself

say

" I am distraught," he says, " and I
am in anguish ; my heart leaps forth from
my bosom." Miserable man ! which of
your concerns has gone wrong ? Your
wealth ? No. Your body ? No ; but you
are rich in gold and bronze. What ails
you then ?

That part, whatever it be, with which
we pursue, with which we avoid, with
which we desire and dislike, you have
neglected and corrupted. How has it
been neglected ? He has been ignorant
of the true Good for which it was born,
and of the Evil ; and of what is his own,
and what is alien to him. And when it
goes ill with something that is alien to
him, he says, " Woe is me, for the
Greeks are in peril."

r»*

0 unhappy mind ! of all things alone
neglected and untended. They will be
slain by the Trojans and die ! And if
the Trojans slay them not, will they not
still die ? Yea, but not all together.

What, then, does it matter ? for if it
be an evil to die, it is alike evil to die
together or to die one by one. Shall
anything else happen to them than the
parting of body and soul ?

Nothing.

And when the Greeks have perished,
is the door closed to you ? can you not
also die ?

1 can.

Wherefore, then, do you lament : Woe
is me, a king, and bearing the sceptre of
Zeus ? There is no unfortunate king,
as there is no unfortunate God. What,
then, are you ? In very truth a shep-
herd ; for you lament even as shepherds
do when a wolf has snatched away
one of the sheep ; and sheep are they

whom you rule. And why are you come
hither ? Was your faculty of pursuit in
any peril, or of avoidance, or your desire
aversion ?

Nay, he says, but my brother's wife
was carried away. Was it not a great
gain to be rid of an adulterous wife ?
Shall we be, then, despised of the Tro-
jans ? Of the Trojans ? Of what
manner of men ? of wise men or fools ?
If of wise men, why do you make war
with them ? if of fools, why do you heed
them ?

In what, then, is the good, seeing that
in these things it is not ? Tell us, thou,
my lord missionary and spy !

It is ihere where ye deem it not, and
where ye have no desire to seek it. For
did you desire, you would have found it
in yourselves, nor would you wander to
things without, nor pursue things alien,
as if they were your own concerns.
Turn to your own selves ; understand

.*re>

the natural conceptions which you pos-
sess. What kind of thing do you take
the Good to be ? Peace ? happiness ?
freedom ? Come, then, do you not
naturally conceive it as great, as precious,
and as incapable of being harmed ? What
kind of material, then, will you take to
shape peace and freedom withal — that
which is enslaved or in that which is free ?

That which is free.

Have you the flesh enslaved or free ?

We know not.

Know you not that it is the slave of
fever, of gout, of ophthalmia, of dysen-
tery, of tyranny, and fire, and steel, and
everything that is mightier than itself?

Yea, it is enslaved.

How, then, can aught that is of the
body be free ? and how can that be great
or precious which by nature is dead,
mere earth or mud ?

What then ? have you nothing that is
free ?

'..,■■!-.- -uy,!

iij**

It may be nothing.

And who can compel you to assent to
an appearance that is false ?

No man.

And who can compel you not to
assent to an appearance that is true ?

No man.

Here, then, you see that there is in
you something that is by nature free.
But which of you, except he lay hold of
some appearance of the profitable, or of
the becoming, can either pursue or avoid,
or desire or dislike, or adopt or intend
anything ?

No man.

In these things too, then, you have
something that is unhindered and free.
This, miserable men, must you per-
fect ; this have a care to, in this seek for
the Good.

And how is it possible that one can
live prosperously who has nothing ; a
naked, homeless, hearthless, beggarly

man, without servants, without a coun-
try ?

Lo, God hath sent you a man to show
you in very deed that it is possible.

Behold me, that I have neither coun-
try, nor house, nor possessions, nor serv-
ants ; I sleep on the ground ; nor is a
wife mine, nor children, nor domicile,
but only earth and heaven, and a single
cloak. And what is lacking to me ? do
I ever grieve ? do I fear ? am I not free ?
When did any of you see me fail of my
pursuit, or meet with what I had avoided ?
When did I blame God or man ? When
did I accuse any man ? When did any of
you see me of a sullen countenance ?
How do I meet those whom you fear
and marvel at ? Do I not treat them as
my slaves ? Who that sees me, but
thinks he beholds his king and his lord ?

So these are the accents of the Cynic,
this his character, this his design. Not
so — but it is his bag, and his staff, and

his great jaws ; and to devour all that is
given to him, or store it up, or to reprove
out of season everyone that he may
meet, or to wear his cloak half off his
shoulder.

Do you see how you are about to
take in hand sc great a matter ? First
take a mirror, look on your shoulders,
mark well your loins and thighs. You
are about to enter your name for the
Olympic games, O man ; no cold and
paltry contest. Nor can you then be
merely overcome and then depart ; but
first you must be shamed in the sight of
all the world ; and not alone of the
Athenians or Lacedaemonians, or Nico-
politans. And then if you have too
rashly entered upon the contest, you
must be thrashed, and before being
thrashed must suffer thirst and scorching
heat, and swallow much dust.

Consider more closely, know yourself,
question your genius, attempt nothing

5°

Jtt

without God ; who, if he counsel you,
be sure he wills you either to be great
or to be greatly plagued. For this very
agreeable circumstance is linked with the
calling of a Cynic ; he must be flogged
like an ass, and, being flogged, must love
those who flog him, as if he were the
father or brother of all mankind. Not
so, but if one shall flog you, stand in the
midst and shriek out, O Caesar, what
things do I suffer in the Emperor's
peace ! Let us take him before the pro-
consul.

But what is Caesar to the Cynic ? or
what is a pro-consul ? or what is any
other than He that has sent him hither,
and whom he serves, which is Zeus ?
Does he call on any other than God ?
Is he not persuaded, whatever things he
may suffer, that he is being trained and
exercised by God ? Heracles, when he
was exercised by Eurystheus, never
deemed himself wretched ; but fulfilled

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courageously all that was laid upon him.
But he who shall cry out and bear it
hard when he is being trained and exer-
cised by Zeus, is he worthy to bear the
sceptre of Diogenes ? Hear what Diog-
enes says, when ill of a fever, to the by-
standers : Base souls, will ye not remain ?
To see the overthrow and combat of
athletes, how great a way you journey to
Olympia ; and have you no will to see a
combat between a fever and a man ?

And will such an one presently accuse
God who has sent him, as having used
him ill — he who was glorying in his lot,
and held himself worthy to be a spec-
tacle to the bystanders ? For of what
shall he accuse Him : that his life is
seemly, that he manifests God's will,
that he shows forth his virtue more
brightly ? Come, then ; and what says
he about death, about pain ? How did
he compare his own happiness with that
of the Great King ? nay, he thought

rather that there was no comparison.
For where there are confusions and griefs
and fears and unattained pursuits and
avoidance in vain and envy and rivalry
can the way to happiness lie there ? But
where rotten opinions are there must of
necessity be all these things.

And the young man having asked
whether one that has fallen ill shall
obey, if a friend desire that he will go
home with him and be tended : Where,
he said, will you show me the friend of
a Cynic ? For he himself must be even
such another, so as to be worthy to be
reckoned his friend. A sharer in the
sceptre and the royalty must he be, and
a worthy servant, if he will be worthy
of his friendship, as Diogenes was of
Antisthenes and Crates of Diogenes.
Or seems it so to you that whoever
shall come to him and bid him hail is
his friend ? and that he will think him
worthy that a Cynic shall go to his

house ? Thus, if it please you to be a
Cynic, bethink you rather of such a
thing as this, and cast about for a dainty
dungheap whereon to have your fever ;
and see that it look away from the north,
so that you be not chilled. But you
seem to me to wish to retreat into some-
body's house and spend your time there,
and be fed. What have you to do with
undertaking so great a matter ?

But marriage, said he, and the beget-
ting of children, — are these to be re-
ceived by the Cynic among his chief
purposes ?

Give me, said Epictetus, a city of
wise men, and perhaps no one will easily
come to the Cynic way : for whose sake
should he embrace it ? However, if we
do suppose such a thing, there is nothing
to hinder his marrying and begetting
children ; for his wife will be even such
another, and his father-in-law such an-
other, and thus will his children be

brought up. But things being as they
now are, as it were in order of battle,
must not the Cynic be given wholly and
undistracted to the service of God, being
able to go about among men, and not
bound to private duties, nor entangled
in ties which, if he transgress, he can no
longer preserve the aspect of honesty and
goodness ; and if he obey them, he has
lost that of the missionary, the spy, the
herald of the Gods ? For see ! he must
needs observe a certain conduct toward
his father-in-law, and he has somewhat
to render also to the rest of his wife's
kin and to his wife herself. And for the
rest, he is shut off from Cynism by the
care for sickness, or means of livelihood.
For one thing alone, he must have a
vessel for warming water for his little
child, where he may wash it in the bath ;
and wool for his wife when she has been
delivered, and oil and a couch, and a
drinking cup — already a number of

utensils — and other affairs and distrac-
tions. Where shall I thenceforth find
that king, whose whole business is the
common weal ?

" Warden of men, and with so many cares,"

on whom it lies to oversee all men, the
married, and parents, and who uses his
wife well, and who ill, and who wrangles,
and what household is well-ordered, and
what not ; going about as a physician and
feeling pulses — " you have a fever, you
a headache, you the gout ; do you fast, do
you eat, do you avoid the bath, you need
the knife, you the cautery ? "

Where is the place for leisure to one
who is bound to private duties ? Must
he not provide raiment for his children ?
yea, and send them to the schoolmaster
with their tablets and writing instru-
ments ? and have a bed ready for them,
since a man cannot be a Cynic from the
womb ? Else were it better to cast them

away at once than kill them in this way.
See, now, to what we have brought our
Cynic — how we have taken away his
kingship from him !

True, but Crates married.

You speak of a circumstance that
arose from love, and adduce a wife who
was another Crates. But our inquiry is
concerning common marriages, and how
men may be undistracted ; and thus in-
quiring, we do not find it, in this condi-
tion of the world, a purpose of chief
concern for a Cynic.

How, then, said he, shall he still be
preserving the community ? God help
you ! Whether do they best serve man-
kind who fill their own place by bringing
into the world two or three screaming
children, or those who, as far they may,
oversee all men, what they do, how they
live, wherefore they concern themselves,
and what duties they neglect ? And
were the Thebans more benefited by as

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many as left their little children behind,
or by Epaminondas, who died childless ?
And did Priam, who begat fifty good-for-
nothing sons, or Danaus, or iEolus,
better serve the community than Homer ?

Shall, then, the command of an army
or the writing of poems withdraw a man
from marriage and fatherhood, and he
shall not be thought to have gained noth-
ing for his childlessness, but the kingship
of a Cynic shall be not worth what it
costs ?

It may be we do not perceive his
greatness, nor do we worthily conceive
of the character of Diogenes ; but we
turn away our eyes to the present Cynics,
" watch-dogs of the dining-room," as Ho-
mer said, who in nothing resemble those
others, save perchance in breaking wind ;
but in no other thing. For else these
things would not have moved us, nor
should we have marvelled if a Cynic will
not marry or beget children. Man ! he

has begotten all mankind, he has all men
for his sons, all women for his daughters ;
so he visits all and cares for all. Think
you that he is a mere meddler and busy-
body in rebuking those whom he meets ?
As a father he does it, as a brother, and
as servant of the Universal Father, who
is God.

If it please you, ask of me also
whether he shall have to do with affairs
of public polity ?

Fool ! do you seek a greater polity
than that in whose affairs he is already
concerned ? Will it be greater if he
come forward among the Athenians to
say something about ways or means —
he, whose part it is to discourse with all
men, Athenians, Corinthians, Romans
alike, not concerning means or ways, or
concerning peace or war, but about happi-
ness and unhappiness, about good-for-
tune, and ill-fortune, about slavery and
freedom ? And of a man that has his

JA\

.-'•-.

part in so great a polity will you ask me
if he shall attend to public affairs ? Ask
me also if he small be a ruler ; and again
I shall say, You fool, what rule can be
greater than his ?

And to such a man there is need also
of a certain kind of body. For if he
shall appear consumptive, meagre, and
pale, his witness has not the same
emphasis. Not only by showing forth
the things of the spirit must he con-
vince foolish men that it is possible,
without the things that are admired of
them, to be good and wise, but also in
his body must he show that plain and
simple and open-air living are not mis-
chievous even to the body : " Behold,
even of this I am a witness, I and my
body."

So Diogenes was wont to do, for he
went about radiant with health, and with
his very body he turned many to good.
But a Cynic that men pity seems to be

SCSd

a beggar — all men turn away from him,
all stumble at him. For he must not
appear squalid ; so that neither in this
respect shall he scare men away ; but his
very austerity should be cleanly and
pleasing.

Much grace of body, then, must be-
long to the Cynic, and also quickness of
mind, else he is a mere clot of slime and
nothing else ; for he must be ready and
apt to meet all that may befall him.

Thus when one said to Diogenes :
You are that Diogenes who thinks
there are no Gods, he replied, And how
may that be, seeing I hold you hateful
to the Gods ? And again, when Alex-
ander stood beside him, as he was lying
asleep, and said :

" Not all night must a man of counsel sleep,"

he answered, ere he was yet awake :

'* Warden of men, and with so many cares."

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But before all things must his ruling
faculty be purer than the sun, else he
must needs be a gambler and cheater,
who, being himself entangled in some
iniquity, will reprove others. For, see
how the matter stands : to these kings
and tyrants, their spearmen and their
arms give the office of reproving men,
and the power to punish transgressors,
yea, though they themselves be evil ;
but to the Cynic, instead of arms and
spearmen, his conscience gives this power.
When he knows that he has watched and
laboured for men, and lain down to sleep
in purity, and sleep has left him yet
purer; and that his thoughts have been
the thoughts of one dear to the Gods, of
a servant, and a sharer in the rule of
Zeus ; and he hath had ever at hand that
line of Cleanthes,

Lead me, O Zeus, and thou Destiny,"

and,

u»*»-JJ|

" If thus it be pleasing to the Gods, so may
it be " —

wherefore, then, shall he not take heart
to speak boldly to his brothers, to his
children, in a word, to all his kin ? For
this reason, he that in this state is no
meddler or busybody, for when he over-
looks human affairs he meddles not with
foreign matters, but with his own affairs.
Else, name the general a busybody when
he overlooks his soldiers, and reviews
them, and watches them, and punishes
the disorderly. But if you have a flat
cake under your coat while you reprove
others, I say, get hence rather into a
corner, and eat what you have stolen —
what are other men's concerns to you ?
For what are you — the bull of the herd ?
or the queen bee ? Show me the tokens
of your supremacy, such as nature has
given her. But if you are a drone
claiming sovereignty over the bees,
think you not that your fellow-citizens

will overthrow you, as bees do the
drones ?

And truly the Cynic must be so long-
suffering as that he shall seem to the
multitude insensate and a stone. None
reviles him or smites him or insults
him ; but his body has he given to any
man to use at will. For he remembers
that the worse must needs be vanquished
by the better, whereinsoever it is the
worse ; and the body is worse than the
multitude — the weaker than the stronger.
Never, then, does he go down to any con-
test where it is possible for him to be
vanquished, but he yields up all that is
not his own, and contends for nothing
that is subject to others. But where
there is question of the will and the use
of appearances, then you shall see how
many eyes he has, so that you may say
that compared with him Argus was
blind.

Is his assent ever hasty ; or his desire

idle ; or his pursuit in vain ; or his avoid-
ance unsuccessful ; or his aim unful-
filled ? does he ever blame, or cringe, or
envy ? This is his great study and his
design ; but as regards all other things,
he lies on his back and snores, for all is
peace. There is no thief of his will,
or tyrant ; but of his body ? yea ; and
of his chattels ? yea, and also of his
authority and his honours.

What, then, are these things to him ?
So when one may seek to make him
afraid on account of them, — Go hence,
he says to him, and find out little
children ; to these are masks dread-
ful, but I know they are made of
clay, and that inside them there is noth-
ing.

On such a matter are you now medi-
tating. Therefore, if it please you, in
God's name delay it yet awhile, and see
first what ability you have for it. For
mark what Hector speaks to Andro-

mache : Go, he says, rather into the
house and weave —

"For war 's the care
Of every man, and more than all 't is mine."

Thus he knew where lay his own ability
and her incapacity.

■•':'•.'■'■ •"•If ^S=^

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^-4:/<^S

ON GENUINE AND BORROWED BELIEFS

The master argument seems to start
from propositions such as these : —
There being a mutual contradiction
among these three propositions —

(i) "Every past event is necessarily
true," and

(2) " An impossibility cannot follow
a possibility," and

(3) " Things are possible which
neither are nor will be true."

Diodorus, perceiving this contradic-
tion, made use of the force of the first
two in order to prove that nothing is
possible which neither is nor will be
true. And, again, one will hold these
two, (3) that a thing is possible which

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neither is nor will be true, and (2) that
an impossibility cannot follow from a
possibility ; but by no means that every
past thing is necessarily true, and thus
those of the school of Cleanthes appear
to think, whom Antipater strongly de-
fended.

But some hold the other two, (3) that
a thing is possible that neither is nor
will be true, and (1) that every past
event is necessarily true ; but maintain
that an impossibility may follow from a
possibility. But all three it is impossible
to hold at once, because of their mutual
contradiction.

Now, if anyone inquire of me, And
which of these do you hold ? I shall an-
swer him that I do not know, but I
have received this account, that Diodorus
holds certain of them, and I think the
followers of Panthoides and Cleanthes
certain others, and those of Chrysippus
yet others.

* ^^fcs^eSs'.

And yourself?

Nay, it is no affair of mine to try my
own thoughts, and to compare and esti-
mate statements, and to form some opin-
ion of my own upon the matter.

And thus I differ no whit from the
grammarians. Who was Hector's father ?
Priam. And his brothers ? Alexander
and Deiphobus. And their mother, who
was she ? Hecuba. That is the account
I have received. From whom ? From
Homer ; and I think Hellanicus has
written of them, and maybe others too.

And I ; what better have I to say
about the master argument ? But if I
am a vain man, and especially at a ban-
quet, I shall amaze all the company by
recounting those who have written on
it ; — for Chrysippus wrote on it won-
derfully in his first book " On Possibili-
ties ; " and Cleanthes wrote a separate
treatise on it, and so did Archedemus.
And Antipater wrote too, not only in

fr^EfrUa

mSsmk

his book, " On Possibilities," but also
separately in those on the master argu-
ment. Have you not read the work ?
No ! Then read it.

And what good will it do him to read
it ? He will become yet more of a
babbler and a nuisance than he is now,
for what else hath the reading of it done
for you ? What opinion have you
formed for yourself on the matter ?
Nay, but you will tell us all about Helen,
and Priam, and the island of Calypso,
that never existed, nor ever will.

And in Homer, indeed, it is no great
matter if you have simply mastered the
account, and formed no opinion of your
own. But in ethics this is even much
more often the case than in other mat-
ters. Tell me concerning good and
evil things ? Listen to him, then, with
his —

" The wind brought me from Troy unto
Kikonia."

. _ « • . * * ^ **A k Li

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• - *- - • » Vfc.« *?» * "J* «•

.-. . ~^ "*.•:-.•. < -

Of things some are good, some evil, and
some indifferent. Now the good things
are the virtues, and those that have the
nature of virtue, and the evil things the
vices, and those that have the nature of
vice ; and the indifferent things are be-
tween these, as wealth, health, life, death,
pleasure, affliction.

And how do you know this ? Be-
cause Hellanicus affirms it in his history
of the Egyptians ; for as well say this as
that Diogenes has it in his Ethics, or
Chrysippus, or Cleanthes. But have
you tested any of their sayings, and
formed an opinion for yourself? Show
me how you are wont to bear a storm
at sea. Do you remember the differ-
ence between good and evil when the
sail clatters, and some vexatious man
comes to you as you are shrieking, and
says —

" Tell me, by the gods, what

you were lately saying, Is it any vice to

e^e>

be shipwrecked ? Has it anything of
the nature of vice ? "

Would you not lay hold of a stick
and shake it in his face : Let us alone,
man ; we are perishing, and you come
to mock us !

And do you remember the difference
if you are accused of something and
Caesar sends for you ? If one should
come to you when you enter, pale and
trembling, and should say, " Why do
you tremble, man ? what is your busi-
ness concerned with ? Doth Caesar
there within dispense virtue and vice to
those who go in to him ? Why, you
will say ; must you too mock me in my
calamities ?

" Nevertheless, tell me, O Phi-
losopher, why you tremble — is it not
merely death that you are in danger of,
or imprisonment, or bodily suffering, or
exile, or disgrace ? What else ? Is it any
vice ? or anything of the nature of vice ? "

^lA*

And you will reply somewhat to this
effect : Let me alone, man ; my own
evils are enough for me.

And truly you say well, for your own
evils are enough for you ; which are
meanness, cowardice, and your false
pretences when you sat in the school of
philosophy. Why did you deck your-
self in others' glory ? Why did you call
yourself a Stoic ?

Watch yourselves thus in the things
that you do, and you shall see of what
school you are. And the most of you
will be found Epicureans, but some few
Peripatetics, and those but slack. For
where is the proof that you hold virtue
equal to all other things, or indeed supe-
rior ? Show me a Stoic, if you have
one. Where or how can you ? But
persons that repeat the phrases of Stoi-
cism, of these you can show us any
number. And do they repeat those
of the Epicureans any worse ? and are

they not equally accurate in the Peripa-
tetic ?

Who is, then, a Stoic ? As we say
that a statue is Pheidian which is
wrought according to the art of Phei-
dias, show me a man that is wrought
according to the opinions he utters !
Show me one that is sick and yet pros-
perous, in peril and prosperous, dying
and prosperous, in exile and prosperous,
in evil repute and prosperous. Show
him to me ! by the Gods ! fain would I
see a Stoic ! And have you none that is
fully wrought out ; then show me at least
one that is in hand to be wrought — one
that even leans towards these things.
Do me this favour — grudge not an old
man a sight that I have never seen yet.

Think you that I would have you
show me the Zeus of Pheidias or the
Athene — a work all ivory and gold ?
Nay ; but let one show me a man's soul
that longs to be like-minded with God,

and to blame neither Gods nor men, and
not to fail in any effort or avoidance,
and not to be wrathful or envious, or
jealous, but — for why should I make
rounds to say it ? — that desires to be-
come a God from a man, and in this
body of ours, this corpse, is mindful of
his fellowship with Zeus. Show me
that man.

But you cannot ! Why, then, will
you mock yourselves and cheat others ?
Why wrap yourselves in others' garb,
and go about, like thieves that steal
clothes from the bath, with names and
things that in nowise belong to you ?

And now I am your teacher and you
are being taught by me. And I have
this aim — to perfect you, that you be
unhindered, uncompelled, unembarrassed,
free, prosperous, happy, looking unto
God alone in all things great and small.
And you are here to learn these things,
and to do them. And wherefore do you

not finish the work, if you have indeed
such an aim as behoves you, and if I,
besides the aim, have such ability as be-
hoves me ?

What is here lacking ? When I see
a carpenter, and the wood lying beside
him, I look for some work. And now,
here is the carpenter, here is the wood
— what is yet lacking ? Is the thing
such as cannot be taught ? It can. Is
it, then, not in our power ? Yea, this
alone of all things is. Wealth is not in
our power, nor health, nor repute, nor
any other thing, save only the right use
of appearances. This alone is by na-
ture unhindered ; this alone is unembar-
rassed. Wherefore, then, will you not
make an end ?

Tell me the reason. For either the
fault lies in me, or in you, or in the
nature of the thing. But the thing itself
is possible, and indeed the only thing
that is in our power. It remains that I

THE GAME OF LIFE

This above all is the task of Nature
— to bind and harmonise together the
force of the appearances of the Right
and of the Useful.

Things are indifferent, but the uses of
them are not indifferent. How, then,
shall one preserve at once both a stead-
fast and tranquil mind, and also careful-
ness of things, that he be not heedless or
slovenly ?

If he take example of dice players.
The numbers are indifferent. The dice
are indifferent. How can I tell what
may be thrown up ? But carefully
and skilfully to make use of what is
thrown, that is where my proper busi-
ness begins. And this is the great

task of life also, to discern things and
divide them, and say, " Outward things
are not in my power ; to will is in my
power. Where shall I seek the Good,
and where the Evil? Within me — in
all that is my own." But of all that is
alien to you call nothing good or evil
or profitable or hurtful, or any such
term as these.

What then ? should we be careless of
such things ? Not at all. For this,
again, is a vice in the Will and thus con-
trary to Nature. But be at once care-
ful, because the use of things is not
indifferent, and steadfast and tranquil
because the things themselves are. For
where there is anything that concerns
me, there none can hinder or compel
me ; and in those things where I am
hindered or compelled, the attainment is
not in my power, and is neither good
nor evil ; but my use of the event is
either evil or good, and this is in my

(Jjj/j///

power. And hard it is, indeed, to mingle
and reconcile together the carefulness of
one whom outward things affect, with
the steadfastness of him who regards
them not. But impossible it is not ;
and if it is, it is impossible to be happy.

Give me one man that cares how he
shall do anything — that thinks not of
the gaining of the thing, but thinks
of his own energy.

Chrysippus, therefore, said well —
" As long as future things are hidden
from me, I hold always by whatever
state is the most favourable for gaining
the things that are according to Nature ;
for God himself gave it to me to make
such choice. But if I knew that it were
now ordained for me to be sick, I would
even move to it of myself. For the
foot, too, if it had intelligence, would
move of itself to be mired."

For to what end, think you, are ears
of corn produced ? Is it not that they

may become dry and parched ? And the
reason they are parched, is it not that
they may be reaped ? for it is not to
exist for themselves alone that they come
into the world. If, then, they had per-
ception, would it be proper for them to
pray that they should never be reaped ?
since never to be reaped is for ears of
corn a curse.

So understand that for men it is a
curse not to die, just as not to be ripened
and not to be reaped. But we, since we
are both the things to be reaped and are
also conscious that we shall be reaped,
are indignant thereat. For we know
not what we are, nor have we studied
what concerns humanity, as those that
have the care of horses study what con-
cerns them.

But Chrysantas, when just about to
smite the enemy, forbore on hearing the
trumpet sounding his recall ; so much
better did it seem to him to obey the

i i mtf.

commander's order than to do his own
will. But of us not one will follow with
docility the summons even of necessity,
but weeping and groaning the things that
we suffer, we suffer, calling them our
doomi

What doom, man ? If by doom you
mean that which is doomed to happen to
us, then we are doomed in all things.
But if only our afflictions are to be called
doom, then what affliction is it that
that which has come into being should
perish ? But we perish by the sword,
or the wheel, or the sea, or the tile of a
roof, or a tyrant. What matters it by
what road you go down into Hades ?
they are all equal. But if you will hear
the truth, the way the tyrant sends you
is the shortest. Never did any tyrant
cut a man's throat in six months, but a
fever will often be a year killing him.
All these things are but noise, and a
clatter of empty names.

<*f

■»v

But let us do as in setting out on a
voyage. What is it possible for me to
do ? This — to choose the captain,
crew, the day, the opportunity. Then
a tempest has burst upon us ; but what
does it concern me ? I have left nothing
undone that was mine to do ; the prob-
lem is now another's, to wit, the cap-
tain's. But now the ship is sinking !
and what have I to do ? I do only
what I am able — drown without terror
and shrieking and accusing of God, but
knowing that that which has come into
being must also perish. For I am no
Immortal, but a man, a part of the sum
of things as an hour is of the day. Like
the hour I must arrive, and, like the
hour, pass away. What, then, can it
matter to me how I pass away —
whether by drowning or by a fever ? for
pass I must, even by some such' thing.

Now, this is what you shall see done
by skilful ball-players. None cares for

^JBfe

the ball as for a thing good or bad ; but
only about throwing it and catching it.
In this, then, there is rule, in this art,
quickness, judgment ; so that I may fail
of catching the ball, even if I spread out
my lap, and another, if I throw it, may
catch it. But if I am anxious and nerv-
ous as I catch and throw, what kind of
play is this ? how shall one be steady ?
how shall one observe the order of the
game ? One will call " Throw," " Do
not throw," and another, " You have
thrown once." But this is strife and
not play.

Thus Socrates knew how to play ball.
How ? When he jested in the court of
justice.

" Tell me, Anytus," he said, " how
say you that I believe there is no God ?
The Daemons, who are they, think you ?
Are they not sons of God, or a mixed
nature between Gods and men ? "

And when this was admitted —

re*

'ts.fffi

" Who, do you think, can hold that
mules exist, but not asses ? "

And thus he played with the ball.
And what was the ball that was there
thrown about among them ? Life,
chains, exile, a draught of poison, to be
torn from a wife, to leave children or-
phans. These were the things among
them that they played withal ; yet none
the less did he play, and flung the ball
with proper grace and measure. And so
should we do also, having the carefulness
of the most zealous players, and yet in-
difference, as were it merely about a
ball.

THINGS ARE WHAT THEY ARE

Each thing that allures the mind, or
offers an advantage, or is loved by you,
remember to speak of it as it is, from
the smallest things upward. If you love
an earthen jar, then think, I love an
earthen jar, for so shall you not be
troubled when it breaks. And when
you kiss your little child, or wife, think,
I kiss a mortal ; and so shall you not be
troubled when they die.

When you are about to take in hand
some action, bethink you what it is that
you are about to do. If you go to the bath,
represent to yourself all that takes place
there — the squirting of water, the slap-
ping, the scolding, the pilfering ; and
then shall you take the matter in hand

c^e>

more safely, saying straightway : I de-
sire to be bathed, and maintain my pur-
pose according to Nature.

And even so with each and every
action. For thus, if aught should occur
to cross you in your bathing, this thought
shall be straightway at hand : But not
this alone did I desire ; but also to main-
tain my purpose according to Nature.
And I shall not maintain it if I have in-
dignation at what happens here.

The first difference between the vulgar
man and the philosopher : The one says,
Woe is me for my child, my brother,
woe for my father ; but the other, if ever
he shall be compelled to say, Woe is
me, checks himself and says, for myself.
For nothing that the Will wills not can
hinder or hurt the Will, but itself only
can hurt itself.

If then, indeed, we too incline to this,
that when we are afflicted we accuse
ourselves, and recollect that nothing else

~7^

than Opinion can cause us any trouble
or unsettlement, I swear by all the Gods
we have advanced ! But as it is, we
have from the beginning travelled a dif-
ferent road. While we are still children,
if haply we stumbled as we were gaping
about, the nurse did not chide us, but
beat the stone. For what had the stone
done ? Ought it to have moved out of
the way, for your child's folly ? Again,
if we find nothing to eat after coming
from the bath, never does the tutor
check our desire, but he beats the
cook.

Man, we
tutor of the

did not set you to be
cook, but of our child -

him shall you train, him improve. And
thus, even when full-grown, we appear
as children. For a child in music is
he who has not learned music, and in
letters, one who has not learned let-
ters, and in life, one undisciplined in

It is not things, but the opinions
about the things, that trouble mankind.
Thus Death is nothing terrible ; if it
were so, it would have appeared so to
Socrates. But the opinion we have
about Death, that it is terrible, that it is
wherein the terror lies. When, there-
fore, we are hindered, or troubled, or
grieved, never let us blame any other
than ourselves : that is to say, our opin-
ions. A man undisciplined in philosophy
blames others in matters in which he
fares ill ; one who begins to be disci-
plined blames himself, one who is dis-
ciplined, neither others nor himself.

Be not elated in mind at any superiority
that is not of yourself. If your horse
were elated and should say, I am beauti-
ful, that would be tolerable. But when
you are elated and say, I have a beauti-
ful horse, know that it is at an excellence
in your horse that you are elated. What,
then, is your own ? This — to make

m*m

iffr'

THREE STEPS TO PERFECTION

There are three divisions of Philoso-
phy wherein a man must exercise himself
who would be wise and good.

The first concerns his pursuit and
avoidance, so that he may not fail of
anything that he would attain, or fall
into anything that he would avoid.

The second concerns his desires and
aversions, and, generally, all that it be-
comes a man to be, so that he bear him-
self orderly and prudently and not
heedlessly.

The third is that which concerns se-
curity from delusion and hasty apprehen-
sion, and, generally, the assenting to
appearances.

Of these the chief and most urgent is

that which has to do with the passions,
for the passions arise in no other way
than by our failing in endeavour to
attain or to avoid something. That
is what brings in troubles and tumults
and ill-luck and misfortune, that is the
cause of griefs and lamentations and
envies, that makes envious and jealous
men ; by which things we become un-
able even to hear the doctrines of
reason.

The second concerns that which is
becoming to a man ; for I must not be
passionless, like a statue, but maintain
all relations natural and acquired, as a
religious being, as a son, as a brother, as
a father, as a citizen.

The third is that which concerns men
as soon as they are making advance in
philosophy, which provides for the secu-
rity of the two others ; so that not even
in dreams may any appearance that ap-
proaches us pass untested, nor in wine,

nor in ill-humours. Th
say, is beyond us. But the philosophers
of this day, passing by the first and
second parts of philosophy, occupy them-
selves in the third, cavilling, and arguing
by questions, and constructing hypotheses
and fallacies. For, they say, when deal-
ing with these subjects a man must guard
himself from delusion. Who must ?
The wise and good man.

And this security is all you lack, then ;
the rest you have wrought out already ?
You are not to be imposed upon by
money ? and if you see a fair girl you can
hold out against the appearance ? and if
your neighbour inherits a legacy you are
not envious ? there is now, in short,
nothing lacking to you except to confirm
what you have ? Wretch ! these very
things do you hear in fear and anxiety
lest some one may despise you, and in-
quiring what men say about you. And
if someone come and tell you that when

fjflTV

it was discussed who was the best of the
philosophers, one present said, Such a
one is the greatest philosopher, your
little soul will grow up from a finger's
breadth to two cubits. And if another
who was present said, Nothing of the
kind ; it is not worth while to listen to
him ; for what does he know ? he has
made a beginning in philosophy and no
more, you are amazed, you grow pale,
and straightway you cry out, I will show
him who I am, that I am a great philos-
opher.

Out of these very things it is seen
what you are ; why do you desire to
show it by any others ?

THAT A MAN MAY BE BOTH BOLD AND
TIMID

To some it may perchance seem a
paradox, this axiom of the philosophers ;
yet let us make the best inquiry we can
if it be true that it is possible to do all
things at once with timidity and with
boldness. For timidity seems in a man-
ner contrary to boldness, and contraries
can never coexist. But that which to
many seems a paradox in this matter
seems to me to stand somehow thus :
If we affirmed that both timidity and
boldness could be used in the very same
things, they would justly accuse us that
we were reconciling what is irreconci-
lable. But now, what is there so strange
in this saying ?

For if it is sound, what has been so
often both affirmed and demonstrated,
that the essence of the Good is in the
use of appearances, and likewise so of
the Evil, and things uncontrollable by
the Will have the nature neither of good
nor of evil, what paradox do the phi-
losophers affirm if they say that in things
uncontrollable by the Will, then be bold-
ness thy part, and in things subject to
the Will, timidity. For if Evil lie in
an evil Will, then in these things alone
is it right to use timidity. And if things
uncontrollable by the Will, and that are
not in our power, are nothing to us,
then in these things we should use bold-
ness. And thus shall we be at one time
both timid and bold — yea, and bold even
through our timidity. For through being
timid in things that are veritably evil it
comes that we shall be bold in those that
are not so.

But we, on the contrary, fall victims

as deer do. When these are terrified
and fly from the beaters, whither do they
turn and to what do they retreat as a
refuge ? To the nets : and thus they
perish, confusing things to fear and
things to be bold about. And thus do
we also.

Where do we employ fear ? In things
beyond our Will. And wherein do we
act boldly, as were there nothing to
dread ? In things subject to the Will.
To be beguiled, then, or to be rash, or
to do some shameless act, or with base
greed to pursue some object — these
things concern us no whit if we may
only hit the mark in things beyond the
Will. But where death is, or exile, or
suffering, or evil repute, there we run
away, there we are scared. Therefore,
as it were to be looked for in those who
are astray in the things of greatest mo-
ment, we work out our natural boldness
into swaggering, abandonment, rashness,

&~*>£D

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***" mminiiiiuil |f

shamelessness ; and our natural timidity
and shamefastness into cowardice and
meanness, full of terror and trouble.

For if one should transfer his timidity
to the realm of the Will, and the works
thereof, straightway, together with the
intention of fearing to do wrong he shall
have it in his power to avoid doing it;
but if he use it in things out of our own
power and beyond the Will, then striving
to avoid things that are in others' power
he shall of necessity be terrified and un-
settled and troubled. For death is not
fearful, nor is pain, but the fear of pain
or death. And thus we praise Euripides,
who said :

*« Fear not to die, but fear a coward's death."

It is right, then, that we should turn
our boldness against death, and our ti-
midity against the fear of death. But
now we do the contrary : death we flee

from, but as to the state of our opinion
about death we are negligent, heedless,
indifferent.

These things Socrates did well to call
bugbears. For as to children, through
their inexperience, ugly masks appear
terrible and fearful ; so we are somewhat
the same way moved towards the

affairs of life, for no other cause than as
children are affected by these bugbears.
For what is a child ? Ignorance. What
is a child ? That which has
learned. For when he knows
things he is nowise inferior to us.
What is death ? A bugbear,
it round ; examine it
bite. Now or later that which is body
must be parted from that which is spirit,
as formerly it was parted. Why, then,
hast thou indignation if it be now ? for
if it be not now, it will be later. And
wherefore ? That the cycle of
world may be fulfilled ; for it has

never
these

see, it does not

of a present and of a future and of a
past.

What is pain ? A bugbear. Turn it
about and examine it. This poor body
is moved harshly, then again softly. If
you have no advantage thereof, the door
is open ; if you have, then bear it. For
in all events it is right that the door
should stand open, and so have we no
distress.

Shall I, then, exist no longer ?

Nay, you shall exist, but as something
else, whereof the universe has now need.
For neither did you choose your own
time to come into existence, but when
the universe had need of you.

What, then, is the fruit of these opin-
ions ? That which ought to be the fair-
est and comeliest to those who have been
truly taught, — tranquillity, courage, and
freedom. For concerning these things,
the multitude are not to be believed who
say that those only should be taught who

IOO

are freemen, but the philosophers rather,
who say that those only are free who
have been taught.

How is this ?

It is thus — Is freedom anything else
than the power to live as we choose ?

Nothing else.

Do you choose, then, to live in sin ?

We do not choose it.

None, therefore, that fears or grieves
or is anxious is free ; but whoever is
released from griefs and fears and anxie-
ties is by that very thing released from
slavery. How, then, shall we still be-
lieve you, most excellent legislators, when
you say, " We permit none to be taught,
save freemen ? " for the philosophers
say, " We permit none to be free save
those who have been taught " — that is,
God permits it not.

So, when a man turns round his slave
before the Praetor and manumits him,
has he done nothing ?

t&.»x£>

IOI

;*r»v*

He has done something.

And what ?

He has turned round his slave before
the Praetor.

Nothing else at all ?

Yea, this too — he must pay for him
the tax of the twentieth.

What then ? has the man thus treated
not gained his freedom ?

No more than he has gained tranquil-
lity of mind. For you, who are able to
emancipate others, have you no master ?
is money not your master, or lust, or a
tyrant, or some friend of a tyrant ?
Why, then, do you tremble when you are
to meet with some affliction in this kind ?
And therefore, I say oftentimes, be these
things your study, be these things ever
at your hand, wherein ye should be
bold and wherein timid ; bold in things
beyond the Will, timid in things subject
to the Will.

I02

VI.

THE WISE MAN S FEAR AND THE FOOL S

The appearances by which the mind
of man is smitten with the first aspect of
a thing as it approaches the soul, are not
matters of the will, nor can we control
them ; but by a certain force of their
own the objects which we have to com-
prehend are borne in upon us. But that
ratification of them, which we name as-
sent, whereby the appearances are com-
prehended and judged, these are voluntary,
and are done by human choice. Where-
fore at a sound from the heavens, or
from the downfall of something, or some
signal of danger, or anything else of this
kind, it must needs be that the soul of
the philosopher too shall be somewhat
moved, and he shall shrink and grow

*J&* ,

V<C-

103

pale ; not through any opinion of evil
that he has formed, but through certain
rapid and unconsidered motions that fore-
stall the office of the mind and reason.
Soon, however, that philosopher doth
not approve the appearances to be truly
objects of terror to his soul, — that is
to say, he assents not to them nor rat-
ifies them ; but he rejects them, and casts
them out ; nor doth there seem to be in
them anything that he should fear. But
in this, say the philosophers, the wise
man differs from the fool, — that the fool
thinks the appearances to be in truth even
so harsh and rough as they seemed at
their first shock upon the soul ; and tak-
ing them, as at first, to be rightly dreaded,
he thus ratifies and approves them by
his assent. The philosopher, however,
though for a short time his colour and
countenance have been changed, does
not then assent, but he retains in its
steadfastness and vigour the opinion he

104

ever had of these appearances, that they
are in no wise to be feared, but affright
only by a false show and empty threat.
Such as is a dish of water, such is the
soul ; such as is the ray of light that falls
on the same, such are the appearances.
When the water is moved, then the ray
seems also to be moved ; but it is not
moved. And thus when a man's mind
is darkened and dizzy, it is not doctrines
and virtues that are confounded, but the
spirit on which they are impressed. And
if that is restored, so are they.

105

APPEARANCES FALSE AND TRUE

Appearances exist for us in four
ways. Either things appear as they
are ; or having no existence, neither do
they appear to have it; or they exist,
and appear not ; or they exist not, and yet
appear. So, in all these cases, to hit the
mark is the work of him who has been
taught in philosophy.

But whatever it be that afflicts us, it
is to that thing that the remedy is to be
applied. If it is the sophisms of the
Pyrrhonists and Academics that afflict
us, to them let us apply the remedy. If
it is the delusiveness of things, whereby
that appears to be good which is not so,
to that let us seek for the remedy.

If a habit afflict us, against that must

1 06

we endeavour to find some remedy. And
what remedy is to be found against a
habit ? The contrary habit. You hear
the ignorant when they say, The
wretched man is dead ; his father is per-
ishing with grief for him, or his mother ;
he was cut off, yea, and untimely, and in
a strange land.

Hearken, then, to the contrary words.
Tear thyself away from such utterances.
Against habit set the contrary habit.
Against the words of the Sophists have
the maxims of philosophers and the exer-
cise and constant usage of them ; against
the delusiveness of things have clear
natural conceptions ever burnished and
ready.

Whenever death may appear to be an
evil, have ready the thought that it is
right to avoid evils, and that death is
unavoidable. For what shall I do ?
whither shall I flee from it ? Let it be
granted that I am no Sarpedon, son of

107

Zeus, to speak in that lofty style : I go,
either to do great deeds myself, or to give
another the chance of doing them ; though
I myself fail I shall not grudge it to
another to do nobly.

Let it be granted that this is above us ;
still can we not at least rise to the height
of that ? And whither shall I flee from
death ? declare to me the place ; declare
to me the men among whom I shall go, to
whom death comes never near ; declare
to me the charms against it. If I have
none, what would you have me do ? I
cannot escape death — shall I not then
escape the fear of death ? shall I die
lamenting and trembling ?

In this is the source of suffering, to
wish for something, and that it should
not come to pass ; and thence it is that
when I am able to alter outward things
at my desire, I do so, but when not, I
am ready to tear out the eyes of him that
hinders me. For man is so made by

fcs*rej23-

108

nature that he will not bear to be de-
prived of the Good nor to fall into the
Evil. And in the end, when I am neither
able to alter outward things nor to tear
out the eyes of him that hinders me, I
sit down and groan and rail on whom-
ever I can, Zeus and the other Gods ; —
for if they neglect me, what have I to do
with them ?

Yea, but thou wilt be an impious man.

And how shall I be worse off than I
am now ? Here is the whole matter :
Remember that unless religion and profit
meet in the same thing, religion cannot
be saved in any man. Do not these
things mightily convince of their truth ?

Let the Pyrrhonist and the Academic
come and make their attack — I, for my
part, have no leisure for such discussions,
nor am I able to argue in defence of
general consent. For if I had a suit
about a little piece of land, would I not
call in another to argue for me ? Where-

tlhtHtt)

IO9

with shall I be satisfied ? With that
which concerns the matter in hand.
How perception takes place, whether by
the whole man or by parts, perhaps I
know not how to declare : both opinions
perplex me. But that you and I are not
the same I know very clearly.

Whence know you this ?

Never, when I wish to eat, do I carry
the morsel to another man's mouth, but
to my own. Never, when I wish to
take a piece of bread, do I lay hold of a
broom, but I always go to the bread, as
to a mark. And you who deny the truth
of perception, what do you other than I ?
Which of you, desiring to go to the bath,
ever went into a mill ?

What then ? Ought we not, accord-
ing to our abilities, to busy ourselves
with the upholding of general consent,
and raising defences against all that op-
pose the same ?

And who denies it ? But let him do

.*. <. . - ■■< i i i-

Ill

HOW WE SHOULD THINK AS GOD'S OFF-
SPRING

If those things are true which are said
by philosophers concerning the kinship of
God and men, what else remains for men
to do than after Socrates' way, who never,
when men inquired of him what was his
native country, replied Athens or Corinth,
but the universe. For why will you say
you are an Athenian, and not rather
name yourself from that nook alone into
which your wretched body was cast at
birth ?

Is it not plainly from the lordlier
place, and that which contains not only
that nook and all thy household, but also
the whole land whence the race of your
ancestors has come down even to you,

112

• sN *

l'Vv

that you call yourself Athenian or Corin-
thian ?

Whoever, therefore, has watched the
governance of the universe, and has
learned that the greatest and mightiest
and amplest of all societies is that which
is composed of mankind and of God ;
and that from Him have descended the
seeds not only to my father alone, nor
to my grandfather, but to all creatures
that are conceived and born upon the
earth (but especially to reasoning beings,
since to these alone has Nature given it
to have communion and intercourse with
God, being linked with Him through
Reason), — wherefore should such a one
not name himself a citizen of the uni-
verse ; wherefore not a son of God ?
wherefore shall he fear anything that
may come to pass among men ?

And shall kinship with Caesar, or with
some other of those that are mighty at
Rome, be enough to let us live in safety

113

and undespised and fearing nothing at
all ; but to have God for our maker and
father and guardian, shall this not avail
to deliver us from griefs and fears ?

But I have no money, says one
whence shall I have bread to eat ?

Are you not ashamed to be more
cowardly and spiritless than fugitive
slaves are ? How do they leave their
masters when they run away ? in what
estates do they put their trust ? in what
servants ? After stealing a little to serve
them for the first few days, do they not
afterwards journey by land and sea, and
make their living by one device after
another ? And when did ever any fugi-
tive slave die of hunger ? But you
tremble and sleep not of nights, for fear
lest the necessaries of life fail you.

Wretched man ! are you thus blind ?
and see not the road whither the want of
necessaries leads a man ? And whither
leads it ? To the same place that a fever

114

does, or a falling rock — to death. Have
you not often said this to your friends ?
and often read aloud these things, and
written them ? and how often have you
vaunted yourself that you were at peace
about death ?

Yea, but my dear ones shall also suffer
hunger.

What then ? Does their hunger lead
to any other place than yours ? Do
they not descend where you descend ?
Is there not one underworld for them
and you ? Will you not, then, be bold
in all poverty and need, looking to that
place whither the wealthiest of men and
the mightiest governors, yea, and even
kings and tyrants, must go down ; you,
it may be, hungry, and they bursting
with indigestion and drunkenness ?

How seldom is it that a beggar is seen
that is not an old man, and even of ex-
ceeding age ? but freezing by night and
day, and lying on the ground, and eating

«.\*f_

only what is barely necessary, they come
near to being unable to die. Can you
not transcribe writings ? can you not
teach children ? or be some man's door-
keeper ?

But it is shameful to come to such a
necessity !

Then first of all learn what things are
shameful, and afterwards tell us you are
a philosopher. But at present suffer not
even another man to call you so.

Is that shameful to you which is not
your own doing, whereof you are not the
cause, which comes to you without your
will, like a headache or a fever ? If your
parents were poor, or made others their
heirs, or are alive and give you nothing,
are these things shameful to you ? Is
this what you have learned from the
philosophers ? Have you never heard
that what is shameful is blamable ; and
that which is blamable ought to be
blamed ?

Il6

><i&k

But what man will you blame for a
work not his own, one that he himself
never did ? And did you make your
father such as he is ? or was it in your
power to correct him ? — is it given you
to do this ?

What then ? Ought you to desire
what is not given to you ? or to be
ashamed if you attain it not ? Or have
you been accustomed, in philosophy, to
look to others, and to hope for nothing
from yourself ?

Lament, therefore, and groan, and eat
your bread in fear, lest you have nothing
to eat on the morrow. Tremble for
your slaves, lest they steal, or run away,
or die. Live thus, now and ever, having
approached to the name only of phi-
losophy, and brought the precepts of it
to shame, as far as in you lies, showing
them to be worthless and useless to those
who adopt them ; you, who have never
striven to gain steadfastness, tranquillity,

:<v<

117

man

the sake of these things, but upon many
for the sake of learning syllogisms ; that
never tested for your own self any one
of these appearances : — Am I able to
bear it, or am I not able ? What, then,
remains for me to do ?

But, as if all went fairly and safely
with you, you abide in the final part
of philosophy, that which confirms
beyond all change — and wherein will
you be confirmed ? in cowardice, mean-
ness, admiration of wealth, in vain pur-
suit, and vain efforts to avoid ? These
are the things you meditate how to
preserve unharmed.

Should you not first have gained
something from Reason, and then forti-
fied this with safety ? Whom did you
ever see building a coping round about,
and never a wall on which to place it ?
And what door-keeper is set on guard
where there is no door ?

But your study is how to prove propo-
sitions— and what proposition? How
the billows of false reasonings may
not sweep you away — and away from
what ?

Show me first what thing you are
guarding, or measuring, or weighing ; and
afterwards the scales or the measuring-
rod. Or how long will you still be
measuring the dust ? Are not these the
things it behoves thee to prove : — what
it is that makes men happy, what makes
things proceed as we would have them,
how one should blame no man, accuse
no man, and fit oneself to the ordering
of the All ? Yea, prove me these !

But I do so, he says. See ! I resolve
you syllogisms. Slave ! this is the meas-
uring-rod — it is not the thing measured.
Wherefore now you pay the penalty for
philosophy neglected ; you tremble, you
lie awake at nights, you seek counsel on
every hand, and if the counsels are not

..—s.

kB&^"

119

pleasing to all men, you think they were
ill-counselled.

Then you fear hunger, as you suppose.
But it is not hunger that you fear — you
fear you will have no cook, or any one
else to buy victuals for you, or another
to take off your boots, or another to
put them on, or others to rub down, or
others to follow you about, so that when
you have stripped yourself in the bath,
and stretched yourself out as if you were
crucified, you may be rubbed to and fro,
and then the rubber standing by may say,
Turn him round, give me his side, take
hold of his head, let me have his shoulder ;
and then when you leave the bath and
go home you may shout, Is no one bring-
ing anything to eat ? and then, Take
away the plates, and wipe them.

This is what you fear, — lest you be
not able to live like a sick man. But
learn how those live that are in health —
slaves, and labourers, and true philoso-

120

phers ; how Socrates lived, who moreover
had a wife and children ; how Diogenes
lived ; how Cleanthes, who studied in
the schools and drew his own water.

If you would have these things, they
are everywhere to be had, and you will
live boldly. Bold in what ? In that
wherein alone it is possible to be bold —
in that which is faithful, which cannot be
hindered, which cannot be taken away.
But why have you made yourself so
worthless and useless that no one is will-
ing to receive you into his house or take

care of

you

Now if any utensil were thrown away,
and it were sound and serviceable, any
one that found it would pick it up and
think it a gain ; but no man would pick
you up, or count you anything but loss.
So you cannot so much as serve the
purpose of a watch-dog, or a cock ?
Why, then, will you still live, being such
a man as you are ?

121

Does any good man fear lest the
means of gaining food fail him ? They
fail not the blind, or the lame ; shall
they fail a good man ? To the good
soldier there fails not one who gives him
pay, nor to the labourer, nor to the shoe-
maker; and shall such a one fail to the
good man ?

Is God, then, careless of his instru-
ments, his servants, his witnesses, whom
alone he uses to show forth to the un-
taught what he is, and that he governs
all things well, and is not careless of
human things ? and that to a good man
there is no evil, either in life or in
death ?

How, then, when He leaves them
without food ?

How else is this than as when a good
general gives me the signal for retreat ?
I obey, I follow, praising my leader and
hymning his works. For I came when
it pleased him, and when it pleases him

122

I will go. In my lifetime also my work
was to sing the praise of God, both
alone to myself, and to single persons,
and in presence of many. He does not
provide me with many things, or with
great abundance of goods ; he will not
have me live delicately.

Neither did he provide so for Heracles,
his own son, but another man reigned
over Argos and Mykenai, while he
obeyed and laboured and was disciplined.
And Eurystheus was what he was — no
king of Argos and Mykenai, since he
was not king even of himself; and Her-
acles was lord and leader of all the earth
and sea, for he purged them of lawless-
ness and wrong, and brought in right-
eousness and holiness ; naked and alone
did he this.

And when Odysseus was shipwrecked
and cast away, did his need humble him
one whit or break his spirit ? But how
did he go out to the maidens, to beg for

_— i

123

:■> r#*

the necessaries of life, which it is held

most shameful to seek from another ?

*' Even as a lion from his mountain home,
So went Odysseus trusting in his valour."
— Odyssey, vi. 130.

Trusting in what ? Not in fame or
wealth, but in his own valour — that is,
his opinions of the things that are and
are not in our power. For these alone
make men free and unhindered ; lift up
the heads of the abject, and bid them
look rich men and tyrants steadily in the
face. And this was the gift of the phi-

losopher ; but you will never go forth

A./SG

boldly, but trembling for your fine rai-
ment and silver dishes. Miserable man !
have you indeed thus wasted all your

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time till now ?

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124

A ^^p?

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^r^\

IX.

THE OPEN DOOR

For my part I think the old man
should be sitting here, not to devise how
you may have no mean thoughts, or
speak no mean nor ignoble things about
yourselves, but to watch that there arise
not among us youths of such a mind,
that when they have perceived their kin-
ship with the Gods, and how the flesh
and its possessions are laid upon us like
bonds, and how many necessities for the
management of life are by them brought
upon us, they may desire to fling these
things away for abhorred and intolerable
burdens, and depart unto their kin. And
this is what your master and teacher —
if, in sooth, you had any such — should
have to contend with in you, — that you
should come to him and say,

125

Epictetus, we can endure no longer
being bound to this body, giving it food
and drink, and resting it and cleansing
it, and going about to court one man
after another for its sake. Are not such
things indifferent and nothing to us ?
And is not Death no evil ? Are we not
in some way kinsmen of God, and did
we not come from him ? Let us depart
to whence we came ; let us be delivered
at last from these bonds wherewith we
are bound and burdened ! Here are
robbers, and thieves, and law courts, and
those that are called tyrants, which
through the body and its possessions
seem as if they had some power over us.
Let us show them that they have no
power over any man !

And to this it should be my part to
say, " My friends, wait upon God.
When he himself shall give the signal
and release you from this service, then
are you released unto him. But for the

■r.Ti w

S^l

e>*^£>

126

present, bear to dwell in this place,
wherein he has set you. Short, indeed,
is this time of your sojourn, and easy to
bear for those that are so minded. For
what tyrant or what thief is there any
longer, or what court of law is terrible to
one who thus makes nothing of the body
and the possessions of it ? Remain,
then, and depart not without a reason."

Some such part as this should the
teacher have to play towards the well-
natured among his disciples.

How long, then, are such injunctions
to be obeyed ? as long as it is profit-
able — that is to say, as long as I can do
what becomes and befits me. Then
some men are choleric and fastidious,
and say, " I cannot sup with this man,
to have to hear him every day telling
how he fought in Mysia."

I told you, brother, how I went up
the hill — then again I began to be be-
sieged. . . . But another says, " I pre-

fer to have my supper, and listen to him
prating as long as he likes."

And compare the gain on both sides
— only do naught in heaviness or afflic-
tion, or as supposing that you are in evil
case. For to this no man can compel
you. Does it smoke in the chamber ?
if it is not very much I will stay, if too
much, I will go out ; for remember this
always, and hold fast to it, that the door
is open.

You shall not live in Nicopolis.

I will not.

Nor in Athens.

I will not live in Athens.

Nor in Rome.

Neither in Rome.

Live in Gyara.

I will live in Gyara. But living in
Gyara seems to me like a great smoke.
I will depart, whither no man shall hin-
der me to dwell — for that dwelling
stands ever open to all.

128

§t§8J{Hgf

Only do it not unreasonably, not
cowardly, nor make every common
chance an excuse. For again, it is not
God's will, for he has need of such an
order of things, and of such a race
upon the earth. But if he give the
signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates,
we must obey him as our commander.

5>^s-";

129

KNOW THYSELF

If a man have any advantage over
others, or think himself to have it when
he has it not, it cannot but be that if he
is an untaught man he shall be puffed up
by it. Thus the tyrant says, I am mas-
ter of all.

And what can you give me ? Can
you set my pursuit free of all hindrance ?
How is it in you to do that ? For have
you the gift of never falling into what
you shun ? or never missing the mark
of your desire ? And whence have you
it ? Come, now, in a ship do you trust
to yourself or to the captain ? or in a
chariot, to anyone else than the driver ?
And how will you do with regard to

130

other acts ? Even thus. Where, then,
is your power ?

All men minister to me.

And do I not minister to my plate,
and I wash it and wipe it, and drive in a
peg for my oil-flask ? What then ! are
these things greater than I ? Nay, but
they supply certain of my needs, and
for this reason I take care of them. Yea,
and do I not minister to my ass ? Do I
not wash his feet and groom him ?
Know you not that every man ministers
to himself? And he ministers to you
also, even as he does to the ass. For
who treats you as a man ? Show me
one that does. Who wishes to be like
you ? who becomes your imitator, as
men did of Socrates ?

But I can cut off your head.

You say well. I had forgotten that
I must pay regard to you as to a fever or
the cholera ; and set up an altar to you,
as there is in Rome an altar to Fever.

* . .

131

K/-.^-i£j£? V* i-^*i

What is it, then, whereby the multi-
tude is troubled and terrified ? The
tyrant and his guards ? Never — God
forbid it ! It is not possible that that
which is by nature free should be
troubled by any other thing, or hindered,
save by itself. But it is troubled by
opinions of things. For when the
tyrant says to anyone, I will bind thy
leg, then he who sets store by his leg
says, Nay, have pity ! but he that sets
store by his own Will, If it seem more
profitable to you, then bind it.

" Do you not regard me ? "

I do not regard you. I will show you
that I am master. How can you be
that ? God has set me free ; or think
you that he would let his own son be
enslaved ? You are lord of my dead
body — take that.

" So when you come near to me,

you will not do me service ? '

Nay, but I will do it to myself; and

132

if you will have me say that I do it to
you also, I tell you that I do it as to my
kitchen pot.

This is no selfishness ; for every liv-
ing creature is so made that it does all
things for its own sake. For the sun
does all things for his sake, and so,
moreover, even Zeus himself. But when
he will be Raingiver and Fruitgiver and
Father of Gods and men, you see that
he may not do these works and have
these titles, without being serviceable to
the common good. And, on the whole,
he has so formed the nature of the rea-
soning creature that he may never win
any good of his own without furnishing
something of service to the common
good. Thus it is not to the excluding
of the common good that a man do all
things for himself. For is it to be ex-
pected that a man shall stand aloof from
himself and his own interest ? And
where, then, would be that same and

133

• Ssr -

act

single principle which we observe in all
things, their affection to themselves ?

So, then, when we act on strange and
foolish opinions of things beyond the
Will, as if they were good or evil, it is
altogether impossible but we shall do
service to tyrants. And would it were
to the tyrants alone, and not to their
lackeys also !

But what hinders the man that has
distinguished these things to live easily
and docile, looking calmly on all that is
to be and bearing calmly all that is past ?

Will you have me bear poverty ?

Come, and see what poverty is when
it strikes one that knows how to play the
part well.

Will you have me rule ?

Give me power, then, and the pains
of it.

Banishment ? Wherever I go, it shall
be well with me ; for in this place it
was well with me, not because of the

134

place, but because of the opinions which
I shall carry away with me. For these
no man can deprive me of. Yea, these
only are mine own, whereof I can not
be deprived, and they suffice for me as
long as I have them, wherever I be, or
whatever I do.

"But now is the time come to

die."

What say you ? to die ? Nay, make
no tragedy of the business, but tell it as
it is. Now is it time for my substance
to be resolved again into the things
wherefrom it came together. And what
is dreadful in this ? What of the things
in the universe is about to perish ? What
new, or what unaccountable thing is about
to come to pass ? Is it for these things
that a tyrant is feared ? through these
that the guards seem to bear swords so
large and sharp ?

Tell that to others; but by me all
these things have been examined ; no

135

has power on me. I have been
set free by God, I know his command-
ments, henceforth no man can lead me
captive. I have a liberator such as I
need, and judges such as I need. Are
you not the master of my body ? What
is that to me ? Of my property ? What
is that to me ? Of exile or captivity ?
Again, I say, from all these things, and
the poor body itself, I will depart when
you will. Try your power, and you
shall know how far it reaches.

But the tyrant will bind — what ?
The leg. He will take away what ?
The head. What, then, can he not
bind and not take away ? The Will.
And hence that precept of the ancients
— Know thyself.

Whom, then, can I still fear ? The
lackeys of the bedchamber ? For what
that they can do ? Shut me out ? Let
them shut me out, if they find me wish-
ing to go in.

136

^r^-— ~-^^ -^^^I^-^^CF^y^

■«

"Why, then, did you go to the

doors ? "

Because I hold it proper to join the
play while the play lasts.

\Jf\Ljj?j/

"■ ■■ nuw^ Liicii^ Mitiu you not oc
shut out ? "

Because if I am not received, I do not
wish to enter; but always that which
happens is what I wish. For I hold
what God wills above what I will. I
cleave to him as his servant and follower ;
my impulses are one with his, my pursuit
is one with his ; in a word, my will is
one with his.

There is no shutting out for me —
nay, but for those who would force their
way in. And wherefore do I not force
my way ? Because I know that no good
thing is dealt out within to those that
enter. But when I hear some one con-
gratulated on being honoured by Caesar,
I say, What has fortune brought him ?
A government ? Has it also, then,

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137

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brought him such an opinion as he
ought to have ? A magistracy ? Has
he also gained the power to be a good
magistrate ?

Why will I still push myself forward ?
A man scatters figs and almonds abroad ;
children seize them, and fight among
themselves ; but not so men, for they
hold it too trifling a matter. And if a
man should scatter about oyster-shells,
not even the children would seize them.
Offices of government are dealt out —
children will look for them ; money is
given — children will look for it; mili-
tary commands, consulships — let chil-
dren scramble for them. Let them be
shut out and smitten, let them kiss the
hands of the giver, of his slaves — it is
figs and almonds to me. What then ?
If you miss them when he is flinging
them about, let it not vex you. If a fig
fall into your bosom, take and eat it, for
so far even a fig is to be valued. But if

138

139

HOW WE SHOULD BEAR OURSELVES
TOWARD EVIL MEN

If that which the philosophers say is
true — that there is one principle in
all men, as when I assent to something,
the feeling that it is so j and when I
dissent, the feeling that it is not so ; yea,
and when I withhold my judgment, the
feeling that it is uncertain ; and likewise,
when I am moved toward anything, the
feeling that it is for my profit, but it is
impossible to judge one thing to be
profitable and to pursue another, to judge
one thing right and be moved toward
another — why have we indignation with
the multitude ? They are robbers, says
one, and thieves.

And what is it to be robbers and

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tr-.r-t^..

140

'■

(^YV^^S^i^^^^^'^S^^^^**/'^/^^^

thieves ? It is to err concerning things
good and evil. Shall we, then, have
indignation with them, or shall we pity
them ? Nay, but show them the error,
and you shall see how they will cease
from their sins. But if they see it not,
they have nothing better than the appear-
ance of the thing to them.

Should not, then, this robber, or this
adulterer, be destroyed ?

By no means, but take it rather this
way : This man who errs and is de-
ceived concerning things of greatest
moment, who is blinded, not in the
vision which distinguishes black and
white, but in the judgment which dis-
tinguishes Good and Evil — should we
not destroy him ? And thus speaking,
you shall know how inhuman is that
which you say, and how like as if you
said, Shall we not destroy this blind man,
this deaf man ?

For if it is the greatest injury to be

^S£* i n §\

•• -

141

deprived of the greatest things, and the
greatest thing in every man is a Will
such as he ought to have, and one be
deprived of this, why are you still in-
dignant with him ? Man, you should
not be moved contrary to Nature by the
evil deeds of other men. Pity him rather,
be not inclined to offence and hatred,
abandon the phrases of the multitude,
like " these cursed wretches." How
have you suddenly become so wise and
hard to please ?

Wherefore, then, are we indignant ?
Because we worship the things which
they deprive us of. Do not worship
fine raiment, and you shall not be wroth
with the thief. Do not worship the
beauty of a woman, and you shall not be
wroth with the adulterer. Know that the
thief and the adulterer have no part in

that which is

your

own,

but

that

which is foreign to you, in that which is
not in your power. These things if you

142

dismiss, and count them for naught, with
whom will you still be wroth ? But as
long as you value these things, be wroth
with yourself rather than with others.

Look now how it stands : You have
fine raiment, your neighbour has not ;
you have a window, and wish to air your
clothes at it. The neighbour knows
not what is the true good of man, but
thinks it is to have fine raiment, the
same thing that you also think. Then
shall he not come and take them away ?
Show a cake to greedy persons, and eat
it up yourself alone, and will you have
them not snatch at it ? Nay, but pro-
voke them not. Have no window, and
do not air your clothes. I also had lately
an iron lamp set beside the images of
the Gods ; hearing a noise at the door,
I ran down, and found the lamp carried
ofF. I reflected that the thief s impulse
was not unnatural. What then ? To-
morrow, I said, you will find an earthen

***»,

W&-

143

lamp. For a man loses only what he
has. I have lost a garment. For you
had a garment. I have a pain in my
head. Have you any pain in your horns ?
Why, then, are you indignant ? For
there is no loss and no suffering save
only in those things which we possess.

144

XII.

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE

Even as in a sea voyage, when the
ship is brought to anchor, and you go
out to fetch in water, you make a by-
work of gathering a few roots and shells
by the way, but have need ever to keep
your mind fixed on the ship, and con-
stantly to look round, lest at any time
the master of the ship call, and you must,
if he call, cast away all those things, lest
you be treated like the sheep that are
bound and thrown into the hold : So it
is with human life also. And if there
be given wife and children instead of
shells and roots, nothing shall hinder us
to take them. But if the master call,
run to the ship, forsaking all those things,

145

146

XIII.

THE MARK OF EFFORT

Seek not to have things happen as
you chose them, but rather choose them
to happen as they do, and so shall you
live prosperously.

Disease is a hindrance of the body,
not of the Will, unless the Will itself
consent. Lameness is a hindrance of
the leg, not of the Will. And this you
may say on every occasion, for nothing
can happen to you but you will find it a
hindrance not of yourself but of some
other thing.

What, then, are the things that oppress
us and perturb us ? What else than
opinions ? He that goes away and
leaves his familiars and companions and
wonted places and habits — with what
else is he oppressed than his opinions ?

147

L^tvj^^^^^^k

fciMluY.

Now, little children, if they cry because
their nurse has left them for a while,
straightway forget their sorrow when
they are given a small cake. Will you
be likened unto a little child ?

" Nay, by Zeus ! for I would

not be thus affected by a little cake, but
by right opinions."

And what are these ?

They are such as a man should study
all day long to observe — that he be not
subject to the effects of any thing that is
alien to him, either of friend, or place,
or exercises ; yea, even of his own body,
but to remember the Law, and have it
ever before his eyes.

And what is the divine Law ?

To hold fast that which is his own,
and to claim nothing that is another's ;
to use what is given him, and not to
covet what is not given ; to yield up
easily and willingly what is taken away,
giving thanks for the time that he has

? ' V.t?E>UB.

148

had it at his service. This do — or cry
for the nurse and mamma ; for what
does it matter to what or whom you are
subject, from what your welfare hangs ?
Wherein are you better than one who
bewails himself for his mistress, if you
lament your exercises and porticoes and
comrades, and all such pastime ? An-
other comes, grieving because he shall
no more drink of the water of Dirce.
And is the Marcian water worse than
that of Dirce ?

" But I was used to the other."

And to this also thou shalt be used ;
and when you are so affected toward it,
lament for it too, and try to make a verse
like that of Euripides :

'* The baths of Nero and the Marcian stream."

Behold how tragedies are made, when
common chances happen to foolish men !

" But when shall I see Athens

and the Acropolis again ? "

149

Wretched man ! does not that which
you see every day satisfy you ? Have
you anything better or greater to see
than the sun, the moon, the stars, the
common earth, the sea ?

But if withal you mark the way of
him that governs the whole, and bear
him about within thee, will you still long
for cut stones and a fine rock ? And
when you come to leave the sun itself
and the moon, what will you do ? Sit
down and cry, like the children ?

What, then, were you doing in the
school ? What did you hear, what did
you learn ? Why did you write yourself
down a philosopher, when you might
have written the truth, as thus : — I
made certain beginnings, and read Chry-
sippus, but did not so much as enter the
door of a philosopher ?

For how should you have anything in
common with Socrates, who died as he
died, who lived as he lived — or with

i&r>s-.-,- !

ISO

JSU

Diogenes ? Do you think that any of
these men lamented or was indignant
because he should see such a man or
such a woman no more ? or because he
should not dwell in Athens or in Corinth,
but, as it might chance, in Susa or
Ecbatana ?

When a man can leave the banquet
or the game when he pleases, shall such
a one grieve if he remains ? Shall he
not, as in a game, stay only as long as
he is entertained ? A man of this stamp
would easily endure such a thing as per-
petual exile or sentence of death.

Will you not now be weaned as chil-
dren are, and take more solid food, and
cry no more after your mother and nurse,
wailing like an old woman ?

" But if I quit them I shall grieve

them."

Grieve them ? Never ; but that shall
grieve them which grieves you — Opin-
ion. What have you, then, to do ? Cast

ttj-.b

ISI

away your own bad opinion; and they, if
they do well, will cast away theirs ; if
not, they are the causes of their own
amenting.

Man, be mad at last, as the saying is,
for peace, for freedom, for magnanimity.
Lift up your head, as one delivered from
slavery. Dare to look up to God and
say : Deal with me henceforth as thou
wilt ; I am of one mind with thee ; I
am thine. I reject nothing that seems
good to thee ; lead me whithersoever
thou wilt, clothe me in what dress thou
wilt. Wilt thou have me govern or live
privately, or stay at home, or go into
exile, or be a poor man, or a rich ? For
all these conditions I will be thy advocate
with men — I show the nature of each
of them, what it is.

Nay, but sit in a corner and wait for
your mother to feed you.

Who would Heracles have been if he
had sat at home ? He would have been

152

Eurystheus, and not Heracles. And
how many companions and friends had
he in his journeying about the world ?
But nothing was dearer to him than God;
and for this he was believed to be the
son of God, yea, and was the son of
God. And trusting in God, he went
about purging away lawlessness and
wrong. But you are no Heracles, and
can not purge away evils not your own ?
nor yet Theseus, who cleared Attica of
evil things ?

Then clear away your own. From
your breast, from your mind cast out,
instead of Procrustes and Sciron, grief,
fear, covetousness, envy, malice, avarice,
effeminacy, profligacy. And these things
can not otherwise be cast out than by
looking to God only, being affected only
by him, and consecrated to his commands.
But choosing anything else than this,
you will follow with groaning and lamen-
tation whatever is stronger than you,

153

154

FACULTIES

Remember at anything that shall be-
fall you to turn to yourself and seek what
faculty you have for making use of it.
If you see a beautiful person, you will
find a faculty for that — namely, self-
mastery. If toil is laid upon you, you
will find the faculty of Perseverance. If
you are reviled, you will find Patience.
And making this your wont, you shall
not be carried away by the appearances.

155

C Viin l i^"N

li^^^^^^

■ jJl}I M^l'jfr

XV.

T^~jT"^~

RETURNS

Never in any case say, I have lost

such a thing, but I have returned it. Is

our child dead ? it is returned. Is your

wife dead ? she is returned. Are you

deprived of your estate ? is not this also

returned ?

" But he who deprives me of it

is wicked ! "

But what is that to you, through whom

the Giver demands his own ? As long,

therefore, as he grants it to you, steward

it like another's property, as travellers

use an inn.

^A^n^-itf^. osr^/Ht-^ jatLJ^

156

;*Vf

XVI.

THE PRICE OF TRANQUILLITY

If you would advance in philosophy
you must abandon such thoughts as, If I
neglect my affairs I shall not have the
means of living. If I do not correct my
servant he will be good for nothing. For
it is better to die of hunger, having lived
without grief and fear, than to live with
a troubled spirit amid abundance. And
it is better to have a bad servant than an
afflicted mind.

Make a beginning, then, in small mat-
ters. Is a little of your oil spilt, or a
little wine stolen ? Then say to your-
self, For so much peace is bought, this
is the price of tranquillity. For nothing
can be gained without paying for it.
And when you call your servant, bethink
you that he may not hear, or, hearing,

**ntH

157

i58

XVII.

A CHOICE

If you would advance, be content to
let people think you senseless and fool-
ish as regards external things. Wish
not ever to seem wise, and if ever you
shall find yourself accounted to be some-
body, then mistrust yourself. For know
that it is not easy to make a choice that
shall agree both with outward things
and with Nature, but it must needs be
that he who is careful of the one shall
neglect the other.

".-•>.■

i59

XVIII.

WHERE THE HEART IS THE BOND IS

You are a fool if you desire wife and
children and friends to live forever, for
that is desiring things to be in your
power which are not in your power, and
things pertaining to others to be your
own. So also you are a fool to desire
that your servant should never do any-
thing amiss, for that is desiring evil not
to be evil, but something else. But if
you desire never to fail in any pursuit,
this you can do. This, therefore, prac-
tise to attain — namely, the attainable.

The lord of each of us is he that has
power over the things that we desire or
dislike, to give or to take them away.
Whoever, then, will be free, let him
neither desire nor shun any of the things

1 60

that are in others' power ; otherwise he
must needs be enslaved.

Wherefore Demetrius said to Nero,
You threaten me with death, but Nature
threatens you.

If I am taken up with my poor body,
or my property, I have given myself
over to slavery ; for I immediately show
of my own self with what I may be cap-
tured. As when a snake draws in his
head, I say, Strike at that part of him
which he guards. And know that at
the part you desire to guard, there your
master will fall upon you. Remember-
ing this, whom will you still flatter or
fear ?

Think that you should conduct your-
self in life as at a feast. Is some dish
brought to you ? Then put forth your
hand and help yourself in seemly fashion.
Does it pass you by ? Then hold it not
back. Has it not yet come ? Then do
not reach out for it at a distance, but

:f<CL3

'-^5- 'L

161

wait till it is at your hand. And thus
doing with regard to children and wife
and governments and wealth, you will be
a worthy guest at the table of the Gods.
And if you even pass over things that
are offered to you, and refuse to take
of them, then you will not only share
the banquet, but also the dominion of
the Gods. For so doing Diogenes and
Heracleitus, and the like, both were, and
were reported to be, rightly divine.

162

XIX.

WE LAMENT NOT FROM WITHIN

When you see one lamenting in grief
because his son is gone abroad, or be-
cause he has lost his goods, look to it
that you be not carried away by the ap-
pearance to think that he has truly fallen
into misfortune, in outward things. But
be the thought at hand, It is not the
thing itself that afflicts this man — since
there are others whom it afflicts not —
but the opinion he has about it. And
as far as speech is concerned, be not
slow to fit yourself to his mood, and even
if so it be to lament with him. But
have a care that you lament not also
from within.

163

XX.

A MAN MAY ACT HIS PART BUT NOT
CHOOSE IT

Remember that you are an actor in a
play, of such a part as it may please the
director to assign you ; of a short part if
he choose a short part ; of a long one
if he choose a long. And if he will
have you take the part of a poor man or
of a cripple, or a governor, or a private
person, may you act that part with grace !
For it is yours to act well the allotted

part.

but to choose it is another's.

Say no more then How will it be with
me ? for however it be you will settle it
well, and the issue shall be fortunate.
What would Heracles have been had he
said, How shall I contrive that a great
lion may not appear to me, or a great
boar, or a savage man ? And what have

164

you to do with that ? if a great boar
appear, you will fight the greater fight ;
if evil men, you will clear the earth of
them.

But if I die thus ?

You will die a good man, in the ac-
complishing of a noble deed. For since
we must by all means die, a man cannot
be found but he will be doing somewhat,
either tilling or digging or trading or
governing, or having an indigestion or a
diarrhoea. What will you, then, that
Death shall find you doing ? I, for my
part, will choose some work, humane,
beneficent, social, noble. But if I am
not able to be found doing things of this
greatness, then, at least, I will be doing
that which none can hinder me from
doing, that which is given to me to do
— namely, correcting myself, bettering
my faculty for making use of appear-
ances, working out my peace, giving
what is due in every obligation of life ;

165

and if I prosper so far, then entering
upon the third topic of philosophy, which
concerns the security of judgments.

If Death find me in the midst of these
studies, it shall suffice me if I can lift
up my hands to God and say,

The means which thou gavest me for
the perceiving of thy government, and for
the following of the same, have I not
neglected : as far as in me lies, I have
not dishonoured thee. Behold how I
have used my senses, and my natural
conceptions. Have I ever blamed thee ?
was I ever offended at aught that hap-
pened, or did I desire it should happen
otherwise ? Did I ever desire to trans-
gress my obligations ? That thou didst
beget me I thank thee for what thou
gavest : I am content that I have used
thy gifts so long. Take them again, and
set them in what place thou wilt, for
thine were all things, and thou gavest
them me.

e-^-e»

1 66

**' ' ' ' :' '''■*'"■'/'

167

XXI.

DISTINCTIONS

,^r>*i

.'« ■■***■+

When a raven croaks a bad omen for
you, be not carried away by the appear-
ance ; but straightway distinguish with
yourself and say, None of these things
bodes aught to myself, but either to this
poor body or this wretched property of
mine, or to my good repute, or to my
children, or to my wife. But to me all
omens are fortunate, if I choose to have
it so. For whatever of these things may
come to pass, it lies with me to have it
serve me.

You may be always victorious if you
will never enter into any contest but
where the victory depends upon your-
self.

When you shall see a man honoured
above others, or mighty in power, or

1 68

otherwise esteemed, look to it that you
deem him not blessed, being carried away
by the appearance. For if the essence
of the Good be in those things that are
in our own power, then neither envy nor
jealousy have any place, nor you yourself
shall not desire to be commander or
prince or consul, but to be free. And
to this there is one road — scorn of
the things that are not in our own
power.

Remember : not he that strikes or he
that reviles does any man an injury, but
the opinion about these things, that they
are injurious. When, then, someone
may provoke you to wrath, know that
it is your own conception which has
provoked you. Strive, therefore, at the
outset not to be carried away by the
appearance ; for if you once gain time
and delay, you will more easily master
yourself.

Death and exile, and all things that

169

170

A MAN IS SUFFICIENT TO HIMSELF

If you set your heart on philosophy,
prepare straightway to be laughed at and
mocked by many who will say, Behold,
he has suddenly come back to us a
philosopher; or, How came you by that
brow of scorn ?

But cherish no scorn ; hold to those
things that seem to you the best, as one
set by God in that place. Remember,
too, that if you abide in that way, those
that first mocked you, the same shall
afterwards reverence you •, but if you
yield to them, you will receive double
mockery.

If it shall ever happen to you to be
turned to outward things in the desire to
please some person, know that you have
lost your way of life. Let it be enough

171

172

XXIII.

EVERY MAN FULFIL HIS OWN TASK.

Let such thoughts never afflict you as,
I shall live unhonoured, and never be
anybody anywhere.

For if lack of honour be an evil, you
can no more fall into evil through an-
other's doings than into vice. Is it, then,
of your own doing to be made a gov-
ernor, or invited to feasts ? By no
means. How, then, is this to be un-
honoured ? How should you never be
anybody anywhere, whom it behoves to
be somebody only in the things that are
in your own power, wherein it lies with
you to be of the greatest worth ?

But I shall not be able to serve my
friends. How say you ? to serve them ?
They shall not have money from you,

173

■^

I* Ss ■> ■

nor will you make them Roman citizens.
Who, then, told you that these were of
the things that are in our power, and not
alien to us ? And who can give that
which he himself has not ?

Acquire, then, they say, that we may
possess. If I can acquire, and lose not
piety, and faith, and magnanimity withal,
show me the way, and I will do it. But
if you will have me lose the good things
I possess, that you may compass things
that are not good at all, how unjust and
unthinking are you ! But which will you
rather have — money, or a faithful and
pious friend ? Then, rather take part
with me to this end ; and ask me not to
do aught through which I must cast
away those things.

But, he says, I shall not do my part
in serving my country.

Again, what is this service ? Your
country shall not have porticos nor baths
from you, and what then ? Neither has

174

she shoes from the smith, nor arms from
the cobbler ; but it is enough if every
man fulfil his own task. And if you
have made one other pious and faithful
citizen for her, are you, then, of no
service ? Wherefore, neither will you
be useless to your country.

What place, then, he says, can I hold
in the State ?

Whatever place you can, guarding
still your faith and piety. But if in
wishing to serve her you cast away these
things, what will you profit her then,
when perfected in shamelessness and
faithlessness ?

175

THE WORLD'S PRICE FOR THE WORLD'S
WORTH

Is some one preferred before you at a
feast, or in salutation, or in being invited
to give counsel ? Then, if these things
are good, it behoves you rejoice that he
has gained them ; but if evil, be not
vexed that you have not gained them ;
but remember that if you act not as
other men to gain the things that are
not in our own power, neither can you
be held worthy of a like reward with
them.

For how is it possible for him who
will not hang about other men's doors to
have a like reward with him who so
does ? or him who will not attend on
them with him who does attend ? or him

176

who will not flatter them with the flat-
terer ? You are unjust, then, and insa-
tiable, if you desire to gain those things
for nothing, without paying the price for
which they are sold.

But how much is a lettuce sold for ?
A penny, perchance. If any one, then,
will spend a penny, he shall have lettuce ;
but you, not spending, shall not have.
But think not you are worse off" than he ;
for as he has the lettuce, so you the
penny which you would not give.

And likewise in this matter. You are
not invited to some man's feast ? That
is, for you gave not to the host the
price of the supper ; and it is sold for
flattery, it is sold for attendance. Pay,
then, the price, if it will profit you, for
which the thing is sold. But if you will
not give the price, and will have the
thing, you are greedy and infatuated.

Will you have nothing, then, instead
of the supper ? You shall have this —

s-.f-.e3

177

>0 »>»l

"mm

?*vM

WAStf

■*«»«*

HilllifcilllllKill IIUM

not to have praised one whom you had
no mind to praise, and not to have
endured the insolence of his door-
keepers.

I78

XXV.

AIMS OF NATURE

The will of Nature is to be learned
from matters that do not concern our-
selves. Thus, when a boy breaks the
cup of another man, we are ready to
say, It is a common chance.

Know, then, that when your own is
broken, it behoves you to be as if it
were another man's. And apply this
even to greater things. Has another
man's child died, or his wife ? who is
there that will not say, It is the lot of
humanity. But when his own dies, then
straightway it is, Alas, wretched that I

But we should bethink ourselves what

179

i8o

i8i

J-

tl-

XXVII.

A MAN SHOULD BE ONE MAN

In every work you take in hand mark
well what must go before and what must
follow, and so proceed. For else you
shall at first set out eagerly, as not
regarding what is to follow ; but in the
end, if any difficulties have arisen, you
will leave it off with shame.

So you wish to conquer in the Olympic
games .? And I, too, by the Gods ; and
a fine thing it would be. But mark the
prefaces and the consequences, and then
set to work. You must go under dis-
cipline, eat by rule, abstain from dainties,
exercise yourself at the appointed hour,
in heat or cold, whether you will or no,
drink nothing cold, nor wine at will ; in
a word, you must give yourself over to
the trainer as to a physician. Then

182

in the contest itself there is the digging
race, and you are like enough to dislocate
your wrist, or turn your ankle, to swal-
low a great deal of dust, to be soundly
drubbed, and after all these things to be
defeated.

If, having considered these things,
you are still in the mind to enter for the
contest, then do so. But without con-
sideration you will turn from one thing
to another like a child, who now plays
the wrestler, now the gladiator, now
sounds the trumpet, then declaims like
an actor ; and so you, too, will be first an
athlete, then a gladiator, then an orator,
then a philosopher, and nothing with
your whole soul ; but as an ape you
will mimic everything you see, and be
charmed with one thing after another.
For you approached nothing with con-
sideration or regularity, but rashly, and
with a cold desire.

And thus some men, having seen a

v<*

183

philosopher, and heard discourse like that
of Euphrates (yet who indeed can say
that any discourse is like his ?) desire
that they also may become philosophers.

But, O man ! consider first what it is
you are about to do, and then inquire of
your own nature whether you can carry
it out. Will you be a pentathlos, or a
wrestler ? Then, scan your arms and
thighs ; try your loins. For different
men are made for different ends.

Think you, you can be a sage, and
continue to eat and drink and be wrathful
and take offence just as you were wont ?
Nay, but you must watch and labour,
and withdraw yourself from your house-
hold, and be despised by any serving
boy, and be ridiculed by your neighbours,
and take the lower place everywhere, in
honours, in authority, in courts of justice,
in dealings of every kind.

Consider these things — whether you
are willing at such a price to gain peace,

184

«r

freedom, and an untroubled spirit. And
if not, then attempt it not, nor, like a
child, play now the philosopher, then
the tax-gatherer, then the orator, then
the Procurator of Caesar. For these
things agree not among themselves •, and,
good or bad, it behoves you to be one
man. You should be perfecting either
your own ruling faculty, or your outward
well-being ; spending your art either on
the life within or the life without ; that
is to say, you must hold your place either
among the sages or the vulgar.

185

AGAINST THE EPICUREANS AND ACA-
DEMICS

Beliefs that are sound and manifestly
true are of necessity used even by those
who deny them. And perhaps a man
might adduce this as the greatest possi-
ble proof of the manifest truth of
anything, that those who deny it are
compelled to make use of it. Thus, if
a man should deny that there is any-
thing universally true, it is clear that he
is obliged to affirm the contrary, the
negation — that there is nothing univer-
sally true. Slave ! not even this — for
what is this but to say that if there is
anything universal it is falsehood ?

Again, if one should come and say,

"x~

1 86

Know that nothing can be known, but
all things are incapable of proof; or
another, Believe me, and it shall profit
you, that no man ought to believe any
man ; or, again, another, Learn from
me, O man, that it is not possible to
learn anything, and I tell you this, and
I will teach you if you will — now
wherein do such men differ from those
— whom shall I say ? — those who call
themselves Academics ? Assent, O men,
that no man can assent to aught ; believe
us that no man can believe anyone.

Thus Epicurus, when he would abol-
ish the natural fellowship of men with
one another, employs the very thing that
is being abolished. For what says he ?
Be not deceived, O men, or misguided
or mistaken — there is no natural fel-
lowship among reasoning beings, believe
me ; and those who speak otherwise de-
ceive us with sophisms.

What is that to you ? let us be de-

187

ceived ! Will it be the worse for you if
all other men are persuaded that we
have a natural fellowship with one an-
other, and that we should in all ways
maintain it ? Nay — but much the
better and safer.

Man, why do you take thought for us,
and watch at night for our sakes ? Why
do you kindle your lamp and rise early ?
why do you write so many books, lest
any of us should be deceived about the
Gods, in supposing that they cared for
men ? or lest anyone should take the
essence of the Good to be anything else
than Pleasure ? For if these things are
so, then lie down and sleep, and live the
life of a worm, where for you have judged
yourself fit ; eat and drink and cohabit
and ease yourself and snore.

What is it to you how other men
think concerning these matters, whether
soundly or unsoundly ? What have you
to do with us ? With sheep have you

►^efisv*

188

:<?

some concern, because they serve us
when they are shorn, and when they are
milked, and at last when they have their
throats cut.

Were it not, then, to be desired, if
men could be lulled and charmed to
slumber by the Stoics, and give them-
selves to you and the like of you, to be
shorn and milked ? These things should
you say to your brother Epicureans ; but
should you not keep them hidden from
other men, and seek in every way to per-
suade them above all things that we are
by nature social, and that temperance is
good ; in order that everything may be
kept for you ? ' Or should we preserve
this fellowship with some and not with
others ? With whom, then, should we
preserve it ? With those who also pre-
serve it toward us, or with those who
transgress it ? And who transgress it
more than you who set forth such doc-
trines ?

#v3

fr.Mg* Ha

189

What, then, was it that roused up
Epicurus from his sleep, and compelled
him to write the things he wrote ?
What else than Nature, the mightiest of
all powers in humanity ? Nature, that
drags the man, reluctant and groaning,
to her will.

For, says she, since it seems to thee
that there is no fellowship among men,
write this down, and deliver it to others,
and watch and wake for this, and be
thyself by thine own deed the accuser of
thine own opinions.

Shall we, then, say that Orestes was
driven by the Furies and aroused from
sleep, and did not crueller Furies and
Avengers rouse this man as he slum-
bered, and suffered him not to rest, but
compelled him, as madness and wine the
priests of Kybele, to proclaim his own
evils ? So mighty and invincible a thing
is man's nature.

For how can a vine be affected, and

i^JS-.y-i-.-:

. . »..■-> *-W fr? ,--,

>JSiL

190

not in the manner of a vine, but of an
olive ? Or how, again, can an olive be
affected not in the manner of an olive
but of a vine ? It is impossible, it
can not be conceived. Neither, then, is
it possible for a man wholly to lose the
affections of humanity, for even eunuchs
can not cut away from themselves the
desires of men. And thus Epicurus has
cut away all that belongs to a man as
father of a family, and as citizen, and
as friend ; but the desires of humanity
he has not cut away, for he could not ;
no more than these pitiful Academics
are able to cast away or to blind their
own perceptions, although this is the
thing that they have striven with all
their zeal to do.

How shameful is this ! that a man
having received from Nature measures
and canons for the recognition of truth,
should study not to add to them and
perfect them where they are wanting, but

e-Mb

I9I

the very contrary of this; if there be
anything that may lead us to the knowl-
edge of the truth, they strive to abolish
and destroy it.

What say you, philosopher ? religion
and holiness, what do you take them
for?

— ■ — " If you will, I shall prove that
they are good." So be it ; prove it then, in
order that our citizens may be converted
and honour the Divinity, and be no longer
neglectful of the greatest things.

" Now have you received the

proofs ? "

I have, and am thankful therefor.

" Now since you are exceedingly

well pleased with these things, hear the
contrary : There are no Gods, or if there
be, they have no care for men, nor have
we any communion with them ; and this
religion and holiness, whereof the multi-
tude babble, is the lying of impostors and
sophists, or of legislators, by Zeus ! for

192

XX:

the frighting and restraining of evil-
doers."

Well said, philosopher ! the citizens
shall have much profit of you ! you
have already brought back all our youths
to the contempt of sacred things.

" What now ? are these doctrines

not pleasing to you ? Learn, then, that
Righteousness is nothing, that Reverence
is folly, that a father is nothing, a son
nothing."

Well said, philosopher ! proceed, per-
suade the young, that we may multiply
the number of those who believe and
speak with you. From these teachings
have grown our well-governed States,
from these did Sparta spring, and these
beliefs, by his laws and discipline, did
Lycurgus plant among his people : —
That slavery is no more base than
honourable, nor to be free men more
honourable than base. Through these
opinions died those who fell at Ther-

193

mopyl;e, and through what others did the
Athenians forsake their city ?

Then those who speak such things
marry, and beget children, and take part
in public affairs, and make themselves
priests and augurs — of what? Of
beings that do not exist ! and they ques-
tion the Pythian oracle that they may
learn falsehoods ; and they declare the
oracles to others. O monstrous impu-
dence and imposture !

194

ON SLAVERY

A certain man having inquired how
one may make his meals in a manner
pleasing to the Gods, If he do it up-
rightly, said Epictetus, and considerately,
and equably, and temperately, and orderly,
shall it not also be thus pleasing to the
Gods ? But when you ask for hot water,
and the boy does not hear, or, hearing,
brings it only luke-warm ; or if he is not
even to be found in the house, then is it
not pleasing to the Gods if you refrain
from indignation, and do not burst with
passion ? How shall one endure such
fellows ?

Wretch, will you not bear with your
own brother, who is of the progeny of
Zeus, like a son sprung of the same seed

195

«&-

as yourself, and of the same heavenly
descent, but you must straightway make
yourself a tyrant, for the place of com-
mand in which you are set ? Will you
not remember who you are, and whom
you ruled — that they are kinsmen,
brethren by nature, the progeny of Zeus ?

But I have bought them, and they have
not bought me !

See you, then, whither you are looking
— toward the earth, toward the pit of
perdition, toward these miserable laws
of dead men ? but toward the laws of
the Gods you look not.

That which you would not suffer your-
self, seek not to lay upon others. You
would not be a slave — look to it, that
others be not slaves to you. For if you
endure to have slaves, it seems that
you yourself are first of all a slave. For
virtue has no communion with vice nor
freedom with slavery.

As one who is in health would not

196

197

III.

TO THE ADMINISTRATOR OF THE FREE
CITIES, WHO WAS AN EPICUREAN

The Administrator having visited him
(and this man was an Epicurean), It is
proper, said Epictetus, that ignorant
people like us should inquire of you that
are philosophers (as men who come into
a strange city make inquiry of the citizens
and those familiar with the place) what
is the chief thing in the world, to the
end that, having learned it, we may go
in search of it, and behold it, as men do
with objects in the cities.

Now, that there are three things with
which man is concerned — soul, and
body, and the outer world — scarce any
one will deny. It remains, then, for

198

men like you to answer which is the chief
of these things ? What shall we declare
to men ? Is it the flesh ? And was it
for this that Maximus sent forth his son,
and sailed with him through the tempest
as far as Cassiope, for somewhat that he
should feel in the flesh ?

But the Epicurean denying this, and
saying, God forbid, Epictetus said :

Is it not fit, then, that we should be
zealous about that, the chief thing ?

"Of all things most fit."

What, then, have we greater than the
flesh ?

"The soul," he said.

And the good of the chief thing, is it
greater than the good of the lower
thing ?

" The good of the chief thing is

greater."

And the good things of the soul, are
they in the power of the Will, or beyond
the Will ?

">;v:

199

" They are in the power of the

Will."

The pleasure of the soul, then, is
within the power of the Will ?

He assented.

And this pleasure itself, whence may
it arise? From itself? But this is incon-
ceivable ; for we must suppose some
original substance of the Good, whereof
the soul doth make us sensible when we
light upon it.

This, too, he admitted.

Wherein, then, are we sensible of
this spiritual pleasure ? for if it be in
spiritual things, the nature of the Good
is discovered. For the Good can not be
something different from the thing that
justly delights us ; nor, if the original
thing be not good, can anything be good
that proceeds from it ; for, in order that
the thing proceeding may be good, the
original thing must be good also. But
this you would never say, if you had

200

your wits, for so you would speak things
that agree not with Epicurus and the
rest of your opinions. It remains, then,
that we are conscious in bodily things of
this pleasure of the soul, and again, that
these are the original things and the very
substance of the Good.

Wherefore Maximus did foolishly if
he made his voyage for the sake of any-
thing else than the flesh ; that is, than
the chief thing. And any man does
foolishly who restrains himself from
others' good, if he be a judge, and able
to take them.

But, if you please, let us regard this
only, how it may be done secretly and
safely, and so that none may know it.
For neither does Epicurus himself declare
stealing to be bad, but only to be caught
stealing ; and because it is impossible to
be certain of no discovery, therefore he
says, You shall not steal.

But I say that if we steal with skill

\°* ^ i

20I

and discretion, we shall not be caught.
And, moreover, if we have powerful
friends among men and women at
Rome, and the Greeks are feeble, no
one will dare go thither on this score.
Why do you refrain from your own
good? This is foolish — this is absurd.
But not even if you tell me you do re-
frain will I believe you. For, as it is
impossible to assent to anything that
appears to be a falsehood, or to turn
away from what appears to be true,
even so it is impossible to withhold one-
self from anything that appears to be
good. But riches are a good, and, at all
events, the most potent means of pleas-
ure. Wherefore, then, not compass
them ? And why not corrupt our neigh-
bour's wife, if we may do it secretly ?
and also, if the husband talk nonsense
about it, let us fling him out ! If you
will be a true and perfect philosopher,
and obedient to your own doctrines, thus

202

must you do ; but if you do not, you
differ no whit from us that are called
Stoics. For truly we ourselves say one
thing and do another ; we speak fair
and honest things, and do vile ones.
But the opposite distemper will be yours
— a vile creed and honourable deeds.

And you think, God help you ! of a
city of Epicureans ? I do not marry.
Nor I ; for it is not right to marry, nor
beget children, nor take part in public
affairs.

What will come to pass then ?
Whence shall we have citizens ? who
shall educate them ? who shall be the
overseer of youth ? who the director of
gymnastics ? and how shall the youth
be trained up ? as the Lacedaemonians ?
or as the Athenians ?

Take me a youth, and bring him up
after these doctrines of yours ! Evils are
they, subversive of States, mischievous
to households, unbecoming to women.

203

Abandon them, man ! You dwell in a
chief city ; it is your part to rule, to
judge righteously, to refrain from other
men's goods ; nor must any woman
seem beautiful to you save your own
wife, nor vessel of gold or silver. Seek
for doctrines in harmony with these
words, from which setting out you may
with gladness abandon things so potent
to attract and overcome. But if beside
the seduction of these things we have
sought out some philosophy like this
that pushes us toward them, and con-
firms us in them, what shall come of
it?

In the graver's work, which is the
chief thing ? the silver or the art ?
The substance of the hand is flesh, but
the main things are the works of the hand.
The obligations, therefore, are also three
— those that concern us, first, in that
we are ; and second, as we are ; and
third, the main things themselves.

204

And thus in man, too, it is not meet
to value the material, this flesh, but the
main things. What are these ? To
take part in public affairs, to marry,
to beget children, to fear God, to care
for parents, and, in general, to pursue, to
avoid, to desire, to dislike, as each of
these things should be done, as Nature
made us to do. And how made she
us ? To be free, generous, pious. For
what other creature blushes ? what other
is capable of the sense of shame ?

And to these things let Pleasure be
subject as a minister, a servant, that she
may summon forth our ardour, and that
she also may aid in works that are ac-
cording to Nature.

" But I am a wealthy man, and

have no need of aught."

Why, then, do you profess philos-
ophy ? Your vessels of gold and ves-
sels of silver are enough for you ; what
need have you of doctrines ?

205

" But I am also a judge of the

Greeks ! "

Do you know how to judge — who
made you to know ?

" Caesar wrote me a commis-
sion."

Let him write you a commission to be
a judge of music, and what help will
it be to you ? And how did you become
a judge ? by kissing of what man's hand ?
Was it that of Symphorus or Nume-
nijs ? Before whose bed-chamber did
you sleep ? To whom did you send
gifts ? Do you not perceive, then, that
to be a judge is worth just as much as
Numenius is worth ?

"But I can cast into prison

whom I will."

As if he were a stone.

" But I can flog any man I

will."

As if he were an ass. This is no
government of men. Rule us as reason-

•T£>

206

ing beings ; show us what is for our
good, and we shall follow it ; show us
what is for our ill, and we shall turn
away from it ; make us emulators of
yourself, as Socrates made his disciples.
He, indeed, was one that governed men
as men, who made them subject unto
him in their pursuit and their avoidance,
their desire and dislike. Do this, do not
this, or I will cast you into prison. This
is not the rule of reasoning beings. But,
As Zeus has ordered, so act ; but if you
do not, you shall suffer loss and hurt.
What hurt? None other than this —
not to have done what it behoved you to
do. You shall lose faith, piety, decency
— look for no greater injuries than
these.

THE END.

mri ' ' ' ' * ' '-•**- * ■ ■ - n i -iirii1

207

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