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  THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS:
  BEING THE ‘ENCHEIRIDION
  OF EPICTETUS,’ WITH SELECTIONS
  FROM THE ‘DISSERTATION’
  AND ‘FRAGMENTS.’


  The name Epictetus is pronounced _ep’’ik-ti’tus—e_ as in
  _get_, first _i_ as in _habit_, second _i_ as in
  _police_, _u_ as in _but_.


  TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK,
  WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY
  T. W. ROLLESTON.

  NEW YORK
  HOME BOOK COMPANY,
  45 VESEY STREET.




INTRODUCTION.


But for the zeal and ability of one disciple we should not now possess
any trustworthy account of the teaching of Epictetus. For, like not a
few other sages, he wrote nothing—his teaching was purely oral,
delivered, in the form of lectures or discourses, to the students who
came to him to receive their education in philosophy. One of these
students was Flavius Arrianus, afterwards Senator and Consul of Rome,
named by Lucian “one among the first of Roman men,” and known to us
chiefly as author of the best history of Alexander the Great which was
produced in antiquity. That history is still extant, but posterity owes
Arrian still more abundant thanks for the copious notes of the teaching
of Epictetus which he took down from his master’s lips in Nicopolis.
This record he afterwards published in eight books (whereof only four
now remain), entitled the _Dissertations of Epictetus_; and out of these
he drew the materials for compiling the little work, the _Encheiridion_,
or Manual, of Epictetus, by which this philosopher has hitherto been
most generally known.[1]

It is clear that the _Dissertations_ were not regarded by Arrian as a
satisfactory representation of the teaching of his master; that he
published them, indeed, with much reluctance, and only when it appeared
that unless he did so, certain imperfect versions of his records would
be established as the sole sources of authoritative information about
Epictetus. These circumstances are explained in a dedicatory letter to
his friend Lucius Gellius, prefixed to the edition of the
_Dissertations_ which Arrian finally resolved to issue. I here translate
this document in full:—

   “Arrian to Lucius Gellius, hail.

   “I did not write [in literary form and composition,
   συγγράφειν] the words of Epictetus in the manner in which
   a man might write such things. Neither have I put them
   forth among men, since, as I say, I did not even write
   them. But whatever I heard him speak, those things I
   endeavored to set down in his very words, so to preserve
   to myself for future times a memorial of his thought and
   unstudied speech. Naturally, therefore, they are such
   things as one man might say to another on the occasion of
   the moment, not such as he would put together with the
   idea of finding readers long afterwards. Such they are,
   and I know not how without my will or knowledge they fell
   among men. But to me it is no great matter if I shall
   appear unequal to composing such a work, and to Epictetus
   none at all if any one shall despise his discourse; for
   when he spoke it, it was evident that he had but one
   aim—to stir the minds of his hearers towards the best
   things. And if, indeed, the words here written should do
   the same, then they will do, I think, that which the
   words of sages ought to do. But if not, yet let those who
   read them know this, that when he himself spoke them, it
   was impossible for the hearer to avoid feeling whatever
   Epictetus desired he should feel. But if his words, when
   they are merely words, have not this effect, perhaps it
   is that I am in fault, perhaps it could not have been
   otherwise. Farewell!”

The style of the _Dissertations_, as they have reached us, answers very
well to the above account of their origin and purpose. They contain much
that the world should be as little willing to neglect as anything that
Greek philosophy has left us; but they contain also many repetitions,
redundancies, incoherencies; and are absolutely devoid of any sort of
order or system in their arrangement. Each chapter has generally
something of a central theme, but beyond this all is chaos. The same
theme will be dwelt on again and again in almost the same phrases;
utterances of majestic wisdom are imbedded in pages of tedious argument,
and any grouping of the chapters according to a progressive sequence of
ideas will be looked for in vain.

Under these conditions it was evident that the teaching of Epictetus
could never win half the influence which its essential qualities fitted
it to exercise. And accordingly, as another and better vehicle for this
influence, Arrian compiled and condensed from the _Dissertations_ the
small handbook of the Stoic philosophy known as the _Encheiridion of
Epictetus_. This little work has made Epictetus known to very many whom
the _Dissertations_ would never have reached. It had the
distinction—unparalleled in the case of any other Pagan writing, if we
except the doubtful _Sententiæ_ of Xystus—of being adopted as a
religious work in the early Christian Church. Two paraphrases of
it—still extant—one of which was specially designed for the use of
monastic bodies, were produced about the sixth century A. D., in which
very few changes were made in the text, beyond the alteration of Pagan
names and allusions to Scriptural ones.

About the same time it was made the subject of an elaborate and lengthy
commentary by a Pagan writer, Simplicius, wherein chapter after chapter
is dissected, discussed, and explained. It was elegantly rendered into
Latin by the well-known scholar of the Renaissance, Angelo Politian, who
dedicated his translation to Lorenzo de’ Medici. Down to the present
day, as numerous translations testify, it has remained the most usual
means of access to the thought of Epictetus.

But inestimable as the _Encheiridion_ is, he who knows it alone has
gained nothing like all that Epictetus has to give. It is a compendium;
and although much more stirring and forcible than is usual with such
works, it cannot give us the wealth of interesting allusion, reflection,
humor, the bursts of eloquence, the abrupt and biting style, the vivid
revelations of personal feeling, which marked the teaching of Epictetus
in the form in which he delivered it. It seems, therefore, that to make
him as accessible as he can be to those for whom such things have any
value or interest, it were necessary to produce from the _Encheiridion_
and the _Dissertations_ a third work, which should have the advantages
of each. This is what I have endeavored to do in the present work. In it
the whole of the _Encheiridion_ is given, and the divisions of
subject-matter into which the _Encheiridion_ falls have been observed by
the division of my translation into five Books, corresponding with the
natural divisions of the _Encheiridion_—Book I., treating of the first
principles of the Stoic philosophy; Book II., dealing with the general
application of these principles to life; Book III., with man’s relations
to his fellow-man; Book IV., with his relations to God; Book V.,
containing, besides a couple of concluding chapters, chiefly practical
counsels of behavior on various particular occasions, and _obiter dicta_
on the use of the faculties. Such is the scheme of arrangement suggested
by the _Encheiridion_; and I have filled it in by setting among the
chapters of the _Encheiridion_ chapters or passages from the
_Dissertations_, selected for their relevancy to the matter in hand. In
fact, I have reversed the process by which the _Encheiridion_ came into
being. It was condensed out of the _Dissertations_: I have expanded it
again by drawing into it a large quantity of material from the original
work, and subjecting the new matter thus gained to the system and order
of sequence which I found to prevail in the _Encheiridion_. The passages
or chapters taken from the _Dissertations_ are those which seemed to me
most characteristic of the philosophy or the personality of Epictetus,
and I have made it my aim to omit nothing which is essential to a full
and clear understanding of the message he had to deliver to his
generation. Of course there is plenty of room for differences of opinion
as to the manner in which this conception has been here carried out; but
I hope that the present attempt may do something to win a larger
audience for his teaching than former editions could, in the nature of
the case, obtain. If this hope should prove to be well founded, I shall
expect, some day, to give the present English version a counterpart in a
Greek text arranged on the same lines.

I may add here that the reader will find an Index at the end of this
volume, in which every paragraph is referred to its original source in
the _Dissertations_, _Encheiridion_, or _Fragments_—the references
applying to Schweighäuser’s standard edition of Epictetus.[2]

As regards the style of my translation, I hope the tinge of archaism I
have given it will be felt to suit the matter. I could think of no idiom
so varied, so flexible even down to its use of various grammatical
forms, so well suited alike to colloquy, or argument, or satire, or
impassioned eloquence, as Elizabethan English.

So much to make the plan of the present work understood; and the reader
may perhaps wish that I would now leave him to the study of it. But
there is much in Epictetus the significance of which will not appear to
any one who is unacquainted with the general system of Stoic philosophy
which formed the basis of Epictetus’s ethical teaching. And I hope that
the reader will prefer to have such information as is necessary given
him in the form of a general introduction rather than in that of a
multitude of notes.

The founder of the Stoic philosophy was Zeno, a native of Cyprus, who
taught in Athens, about 300 B. C., in that frescoed arcade, or Stoa,
which gave its name to his school. His birthplace is worth noting, for
Zeno lived at the beginning of that epoch, himself one of the first
products of it, in which the influence of the East became strongly
apparent in Greek thought; the period called Hellenistic in
contradistinction to the purely Hellenic period which ended in the
conquests of the Macedonians. In many ways the conditions of life in the
Hellenistic period formed the most favorable _milieu_ possible for the
development of Greek thought upon the only lines which, after Aristotle,
it could fruitfully pursue; and this not in spite of, but even because
of, the great degradation of political and social life from which all
Hellendom then suffered. What the democratic polities were like, on
which was laid the problem of confronting Philip of Macedon, we may
conjecture from the history of the best known and assuredly not the
worst of them, Athens. And the best type of Athenian whose rise to power
was favored by the conditions of this time and place was Demosthenes:
Demosthenes, the grand historical warning to all peoples against
committing their destinies to professional orators; the statesman whose
doubtless real veneration for his country and her past served only to
make him a more mischievous counselor in her present difficulties; whose
splendid power as a wielder of words was scarcely more signal than his
incapacity and cowardice when he was called upon to match those words
with deeds. Athens, entangling the Thebans in an alliance against
Macedon, and then leaving them to face Alexander alone; deifying
Demetrius the Besieger for driving out a Macedonian garrison, and
allotting him the Parthenon itself to be his lodging and the scene of
his unspeakable profligacies; murdering Phocion, the one man who dared
to bring sincerity and virtue to her service—Athens was a type of the
Greek States of this epoch: too unprincipled for democratic government,
too contentious for despotism, too vain to submit to foreign rule, too
lacking in valor, purpose, union, to resist it with effect.

Whatever the causes of the change may have been, the conditions of
public life in this Hellenistic period were certainly very different
from those which prevailed, albeit with decadence, before that vast
breaking up of boundaries and destruction of political systems involved
in the Macedonian conquests. The successful and inspiring conflict with
Persia waged by the Hellenic States had for a time made all Greek hearts
to beat with one aspiration, and had brought to the front a race of
leaders who were capable of subduing the Greek democracies to their own
steadfast and statesmanlike purposes. Public life was then not only a
possible but even the most natural career for a man of talent and
probity. The small size of the Greek States gave almost every such man
an opportunity of action, and so keen and universal was the interest in
politics that it threatened to lead Greek philosophy into a region in
which philosophy is very apt to lose its vitalizing connection with
human consciousness and experience, and to stiffen into barren
speculation. In a word, man, as an individual, began to be too much lost
sight of in the consideration of man as a citizen; his uses, his duties,
the whole worth and significance of his life, came to be estimated too
exclusively by his relations to the visible society about him. It was
when the great Stoic Chrysippus found himself obliged to stand aloof
from all participation in politics—“For if I counsel honorably I shall
offend the citizens, and if basely, the Gods”—that such men as he were
led to ask themselves: Is there then any sphere of human endeavor out of
the reach of the tyranny of circumstance? If I cannot be a citizen, what
am I worth then simply as a man? If I can be nothing to my fellows, what
can I be to God? To a state of things, then, which, speaking broadly,
made public life impossible to honest men, we owe the noblest ethical
system of antiquity; to the enforced concentration of thought upon the
individual we owe a certain note of universality till then absent from
Hellenic thought.

But stoicism was not the only product of the speculation of this period.
Side by side with it there started into being two other systems of
philosophy, the necessity for combating which was doubtless of immense
service to its development. These were Epicureanism and Pyrrhonism; and
as the reader will find Epictetus much concerned with each of them, it
may be desirable that I should give some brief account of their cardinal
doctrines.

Epicurus was an Athenian. After some residence in Lesbos and Lampsacus,
he began to teach in his native city about the year 306 B.C. His ethical
views, which are all that concern us here, were of a distinctly
unelevating nature. Pleasure, ἡδονή, was pronounced to be for each man
the end and aim of his being, and the only rational motive of action.
This, however, was not the pleasure of the voluptuary—its highest forms,
according to Epicurus, were gained in ἀταραξία and ἀπονία—that is, a
cheerful and unanxious temperament, with leisure for contemplation, ends
not attainable by the criminal who lives in constant fear of detection,
or the luxurious liver in whom satiety produces disgust and weariness.

Certain bodily conditions were, however, regarded as objects in
themselves, and partaking of the nature of the absolutely good; and all
entanglement in human relationships was discountenanced for the
disturbance and distress which such relationships were liable to cause.
These doctrines were put in practice by their teacher in inuring himself
to a hermit-like simplicity and abstemiousness of life; and his life was
philosophically consistent with his doctrines, for it is clear that the
end of Pleasure will be most surely gained by him who has fewest wants
to gratify. But though the lives of Epicurus and his immediate followers
were exceptionally sober and strict, the total effect of his doctrine
could not but have been evil. They were purely egoistic in this
tendency—they centered each man’s activity and interest upon himself
alone, they bade him take no thought for any other earthly or heavenly
thing, and taught him that this ideal of indifference was realized in
its full perfection by the Gods, who dwelt apart in divine repose while
blind necessity had its way with human destiny.

Pyrrho of Elis, a rather earlier teacher than Zeno or Epicurus, who
is said to have studied philosophy under Indian Gymnosophists and
Chaldean Magi, was the originator in European thought of a great and
permanent philosophic movement. His school was inspired by the _Geist
der stets verneint_, and the term Skeptic was first devised to describe
its attitude. Its strength is in a discovery which inevitably takes
place when men begin to reflect upon their own mental operations—the
discovery, namely, that, given a perceiving mind and a perceived object,
it is always possible for the former, if it has the power of
introspection, to doubt whether it has received a really true and
faithful impression of the latter. How can we be assured that external
objects are as we perceive them? How can we even be assured that there
is any principle of constancy in their relations to our consciousness?
The senses often delude us; we are convinced, in dreams, of the reality
of appearances which, nevertheless, have no reality—why may not all
perception be a delusion? Why may not even our sense of the validity of
inference and of the truth of the axioms of geometry be a pure
hallucination? With these searching questions the Skeptic cut at the
root of all belief, and the problems which they raise have dominated
philosophy down to the present day. Nor in two thousand years has any
logical answer to them ever been found. Lotze, the last thinker of
really first-rate powers that the world has seen, practically abandons
all inquiry into theories of perception, and starts with the
_assumption_ that we are living in a kosmos, not a chaos; that the
order, coherence, reason in things to which consciousness testifies, are
realities. In antiquity, I may add, the profound problems raised by
Pyrrhonism do not seem to have been very profoundly apprehended either
by the Pyrrhonists or their opponents. The latter had nothing better to
appeal to than that notoriously feeble resource, the _argumentum ad
hominem_. If the Pyrrhonist distrusted the evidence of his senses, they
asked, why did he avoid walking over precipices or into the sea, or eat
bread instead of earth, or in any way make choice of means for ends? The
Pyrrhonist’s answer was equally superficial. It anticipated the famous
formula of Bishop Butler. Probability, argued they, was the guide of
life—having observed certain results to follow from certain
antecedents, the prudent man will shape his course in life accordingly,
although, as a matter of theory and speculation, he may refuse to
believe in the constancy of nature. This answer involves a clear
inconsistency. It involves even a greater assumption than that which the
Pyrrhonist refused to make as to the credibility of his perceptions—the
assumption of the credibility of his recollections. To the
thorough-going Skeptic there is no such thing as past experience—he is,
as it were, new-born at each instant of his life.

Such, in outline, were the systems against which the Stoic philosophy
had to make good its position in the ancient world. From the first there
seems to have been no doubt of its ability to do so, although,
unhappily, the records which have been preserved of the teaching of its
earliest days are few and obscure. The writings of Zeno, the founder of
Stoicism, and of Chrysippus, his immediate successor in the leadership
of the school, have utterly perished, while of Cleanthes, the third of
the early Stoic teachers, very little remains beyond the profound and
majestic Hymn to Zeus, of which I have given a translation in this work.
The complete loss of the hundreds of treatises produced by Chrysippus is
especially to be regretted, as he appears to have taken the main part in
giving shape and system to the Stoic philosophy. “Had Chrysippus not
been, the Stoa had not been,” was a proverbial saying which testifies to
his fame. However, from the accounts of ancient philosophers in Diogenes
Laertius, from Plutarch, Seneca, Cicero, and a few other authorities, we
can learn pretty clearly what the framework of the Stoic system had
grown to be long before Epictetus began to study it.

In antiquity, a philosophic system was expected to have something to
say for itself on three different branches of study—Logic, Physics
(which included cosmogony and theology), and Ethics. We think of the
Stoics chiefly in connection with the last-named of these subjects, but
they were no less eminent in the others, and Chrysippus, in particular,
was held to have done so much for the science of logic that a saying was
current—“If there were dialectic among the Gods, it must be the
dialectic of Chrysippus.” Of the Stoic contributions to this science,
scarcely any record remains.

Of their physical system, however, much is known, and the reader of
Epictetus needs to be acquainted with its general features. These were
borrowed from an earlier thinker, Heracleitus, whose central doctrine
was that the universe was an eternal flux and transition; everything was
in a state of becoming, _ein Werdendes_. At the beginning of things, so
far as they can be said to have any beginning, is the Deity in his
purest manifestation, which, be it observed, is a strictly material one,
a sublimated and ethereal fire, αἰθεῶδες πῦρ. In this fire dwelt the
divine creative thought and impulse. The first step in that process of
differentiation in which development consists is the production of
vapor, which condensed into water. Two elementary forces play their part
in these operations—a movement towards within, and a movement towards
without, the one a densifying, the other an expanding and straining
force (τόνος). The former gives us solidity in matter, the other the
qualities and energies of matter. Thus, by various degrees of density,
we get earth, water, atmospheric air, and from air, the common element
of earthly fire; and these elements in their various combinations, with
their various attributes and powers, gradually produce the successive
stages of organic life. Though all these proceed from the substance of
the Divine Being, the Stoics recognized, in the derived substance which
make up the universe as we have it now, various degrees of purity, of
affinity to their original source. Man’s body, for instance, with its
passions and affections, lies comparatively far from the divine; but his
soul is a veritable ray of the primitive fire, _Deus in corpore humano
hospitans_. The popular mythology of the day was entirely rejected by
the Stoics, although, as Professor Mahaffy points out, they never
attempted to “discredit orthodoxy,” but, on the contrary, used its myths
and ceremonies with the utmost reverence as vehicles of profound
religious truths. But they certainly believed in intelligences above
man, yet below the one Supreme Being; thus the stars and the lightning
(the reader will observe the allusions in the Hymn of Cleanthes) are in
some sense divinities, by virtue of the supposed purity of their fiery
essence.

Thus from the one primitive divine element the Kosmos, with all its
hierarchy of being, is evolved. But in the Stoic system πάντα ῥεῖ,[3]
there is no continuance in any one condition. As in the normal life of
all earthly creatures there comes a certain climax or turning point,
after which the forces of decay gain slowly but surely on those of
growth and resistance, so also runs the history of the universe which
includes them all. One by one the steps by which it was formed shall be
retraced, and the derived substances which compose it consumed and
re-absorbed by that from which they sprang. From matter in its grossest
form to its purest, from earth and stone and water to the highest
intelligence in men and dæmons and Gods, nothing shall escape this doom
of dissolution; everything shall yield up its separate existence, until
at last the indestructible element of that primeval fire is again the
sole being that remains, and Zeus is “alone in the conflagration,”
self-contemplating in the solitudes of thought. But this is not the end.
There is no end. The plastic impulse again resumes its sway, and soon
another cycle of world-development and world-destruction begins to run
its course. In the language of Seneca, “When that fatal day, that
necessity of the times, shall have arrived, and it seems good to God to
make an end of old things and ordain the better, then shall the ancient
order be revoked and every creature be generated anew, and a race
ignorant of guilt be given to the earth.”

This was the general physical system on which all Stoics were agreed,
although there were differences of opinion upon minor points; such as
how far these successive cycles resembled each other? some asserting
that they did so in the minutest detail, others only in their larger
features. It was a system, for all its superstitions, not without
grandeur and truth. At bottom it expressed a sense of that phenomenon of
ebb and flow, systole and diastole, the action and counteraction of
balanced forces, which is perhaps the profoundest law of life.

Two questions arise in connection with the Stoic cosmogony, which we
must briefly discuss before proceeding farther. Are we justified in
terming their view of the universe a materialistic one? and what was
their doctrine of the destinies of the human soul? Now it is certainly
the usual practice among writers on philosophy to reckon the Stoics as
materialists, and it is unquestionably true that they denied the
possibility of any existence which was not corporeal. Strong as they are
on the supremacy of the human soul over the human body, sharp as is the
line with which they divide these elements, yet the distinction is a
moral, not a metaphysical one—each is an actual material substance. But
we shall be seriously mistaken, nevertheless, if we place them in the
same class with the scientific materialists of the present day.
According to the latter, Thought is no necessary moment in the universe,
but merely a product of certain accidental combinations of matter, a
product which, when these are dissolved, must disappear from existence,
without leaving a trace of its presence behind. Again, according to most
modern opponents of the materialistic view, Thought has an independent
and immortal being—it existed before matter was, and would continue to
exist if all matter were annihilated. The Stoic view differed from each
of these modern theories. It held Thought and Matter to be eternal,
inseparable, and, indeed, strictly identical. Being in its primitive and
purest form was fire, a corporeal substance, but one exhibiting
consciousness, purpose, will.

As to the question of the Stoic view of the immortality of the human
soul, it does not seem to me to deserve so much discussion as it has
received from some commentators. It is obvious that the soul must, in
the end, share the lot of all other existences, and be resolved into the
Divine Being which was its source. The only question that can arise is
whether this resolution takes place at the moment of death, or whether
the sense of personal identity persists for a certain period beyond that
event; and this question, which Epictetus appears to have been wise
enough to leave an open one, is philosophically of very little
importance. The soul is immortal, the individual perishes; this is the
conclusion of Stoicism, and if we know this, there is little else it can
much concern us to know.

The reader who desires to gain a thorough knowledge of Hellenistic
philosophy, and of the social and political conditions in which it
throve, will find what he seeks in two works to which I have to express
my large indebtedness. One is Zeller’s _Philosophie der Griechen_
(_Epikureer_, _Stoiker u. Skeptiker_),[4] a monument of German research
and erudition, in which vast masses of original material for the study
of this most interesting, but neglected, epoch of the development of
European intellect have been brought together, and interpreted with more
than German lucidity and method. The other is Professor Mahaffy’s recent
volume, _Greek Life and Thought_, a study of the Hellenistic period in
various aspects, which the scholar will not read without profit, nor the
lay-reader without pleasure.

We turn now to that department of the Stoic philosophy with which the
reader of Epictetus is most concerned—its Ethics.

The ethical question resolves itself into a search for the supreme
object of human endeavor, the _Summum Bonum_, the absolute and essential
good. This, for the Stoic, embodied itself in the formula, “to live
according to Nature.” But what is Nature? The will of God, as revealed
in the heart and conscience of those who seek to know it, and
interpreted through the observation in a reverent and faithful spirit of
the facts of life.

Going into the subject more precisely we find certain criteria of moral
truth established, προλήψεις, as they were called, that is, primitive,
original conceptions, or, as I have rendered them in my translation,
“natural conceptions,” dogmas by which all moral questions can be tried.
If we inquire into the source of these προλήψεις, we shall find
ourselves mistaken in our disposition to think that the Stoics regarded
them as innate ideas. Innate they are not, for the Stoics held the soul
at birth to be a _tabula rasa_, or blank page, which only experience
could fill with character and meaning. But as Seneca says in his
inquiry, “Quomodo ad nos prima boni honestique notitia pervenerit,”[5]
although Nature alone could not teach us these things, could not equip
us with the knowledge of them before we entered upon life, yet the
“seeds” of this knowledge she does give us; the soul of every man has
implanted in it a certain aptness or, indeed, necessity to deduce
certain universal truths from such observation and experience as are
common to all mankind; and these truths, the προλήψεις, though not
strictly innate, have thus an inevitableness and dogmatic force not
possessed by those which one man may reach and another miss in the
exercise of the ordinary faculties, by argument, study, and so forth. By
these natural conceptions the existence and character of God, and the
general decrees of the moral law, are considered to be affirmed. If we
inquire further how the Stoic explained the fact that some of these
so-called inevitable and universal conclusions are denied in all
sincerity by men like Epicurus, who were neither bad nor mad, we strike
upon the difficulty which confronts all systems that aim at setting up
any absolute body of truth, expressible in human language, in place of
that partial, progressive, and infinitely varied revelation of God’s
mind and purpose to which the uncolored facts of the world’s religious
history seem to testify.

The natural conceptions, as I have said, contain the primary doctrines
of ethics. None of these are more important for the Stoic than that
which declares essential Good to lie in the active, not the passive side
of man; in the will, not in the flesh, nor in anything else which the
will is unable to control. But a certain relative and conditional
goodness may lie in matters which are yet of no moment to the spiritual
man, to that part of him which seeks the essential good. And we must
note that when Epictetus speaks of certain things as good or bad or
indifferent, he is generally speaking of them in their relation to the
spiritual man, and in the most absolute and unconditional sense. No evil
can happen to the essential part of man, to that side of him which is
related to the eternal and divine, without his own will. Hence the death
of a beloved friend, or child, or wife, is no evil; and if it be no
evil, we are forbidden to grieve for it, or, in the most usual phrase
with Epictetus, we are not to be troubled or confounded by it,
ταράσσεσθαι. But if this utterance should shock our natural feelings, it
will do something which assuredly Epictetus never meant it to do. It is
the soul of man which these events cannot injure, and it is the soul
which is forbidden to think itself injured by them. Such love of the
individual as may be embraced in the larger love of the All, of
God—such grief for bereavements and calamities as does not overwhelm
the inner man (ii. 19) in a “wave of mortal tumult,” and dull his vital
sense of the great moral ends which he was born to pursue, is repeatedly
and explicitly admitted by Epictetus. Thus, in iii. 2, we have him
arguing against Epicurus that there are certain natural sympathies
between man and his kind, and even convicting Epicurus himself of a
secret belief in these sympathies. Epicurus had dissuaded his followers
from marriage, and the bringing-up of children, on account of the grief
and anxiety which such relations necessarily entail. Not so the
Stoics—they pressed their disciples to enter into the ordinary earthly
relationships of husband, or wife, or citizen, and this without
pretending to have found any means of averting the natural consequences
which Epicurus dreaded, although they did profess to have discovered
something in man which made him equal to the endurance of them. Again,
although the condition of ἀπάθεια, of inward peace, of freedom from
passions, is again and again represented by Epictetus as the mark of the
perfect sage, we are told that this ἀπάθεια is something quite different
from “apathy”—a man is not to be emotionless “like a statue.” And a
third passage confirming this view is to be found in Book I., ch. xi.
(Schweighäuser), where the conduct of a man who was so afflicted by the
illness of his little daughter that he ran away from the house, and
would hear news of her only through messages, is condemned, not for the
affection and anxiety it proved, but for its utter unreasonableness.
“Would you,” asks Epictetus, “have her mother and her nurse and her
pedagogue, who all love her too, also run away from her, and leave her
to die in the hands of persons who neither love nor care for her at
all?” There is a grief which is really a self-indulgence, a barren,
absorbing, paralyzing grief, which, to the soul possessed by it, makes
every other thing in heaven and earth seem strange and cold and trivial.
From such grief alone Epictetus would deliver us, and I think he would
have accepted Mr. Aubrey de Vere’s noble sonnet on _Sorrow_ as a
thoroughly fit poetic statement of Stoic doctrine on this subject:—

  “Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
  God’s messenger sent down to thee; do thou
  With courtesy receive him; rise and bow;
  And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
  Permission first his heavenly feet to lave;
  Then lay before him all thou hast, allow
  No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow,
  Or mar thy hospitality; no wave
  Of mortal tumult to obliterate
  The soul’s marmoreal calmness: Grief should be
  Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate,
  Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free,
  Strong to consume small troubles; to commend
  Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.”

But the grief that shall do this is a grief that must be _felt_. And
Epictetus assuredly never meant to offer the Stoic philosophy as a mere
stupefying anodyne. Make the man a Stoic, and something yet remains to
do—to make the Stoic a man. One of these purposes was not more the
concern of Epictetus than the other. And he pursued both of them with a
strength, sincerity, and sanity of thought, with a power of nourishing
the heroic fiber in humanity, which, to my mind, make him the very chief
of Pagan moralists.

It is no purpose of mine to fill this preface with information which the
reader can gain without doubt or difficulty from the author whom it
introduces, and therefore I shall leave him to discover for himself what
the positive ethical teaching of Epictetus was like. Nor is it,
unhappily, possible to say much upon another subject on which Epictetus
gives us little or no information—his own life and circumstances.
Arrian wrote a biography of him, but it is now entirely lost, and the
biographical details which have been collected from Simplicius, Suidas,
Aulus Gellius, and others are very scanty. He was born at Hierapolis, in
Phrygia, and became, how is unknown, a slave of Epaphroditus, a freedman
and favorite of Nero, who is recorded to have treated him with great
cruelty. One day, it is said, Epaphroditus began twisting his leg for
amusement. Epictetus said, “If you go on you will break my leg.”
Epaphroditus persisted, the leg was broken, and Epictetus, with
unruffled serenity, only said, “Did I not tell you that you would break
my leg?” This circumstance is adduced by Celsus in his famous
controversy with Origen as an instance of Pagan fortitude equal to
anything which Christian martyrology had to show;[6] but it is probably
a mere myth which grew up to account for the fact mentioned by
Simplicius and Suidas that Epictetus was feeble in body and lame from an
early age.

Epaphroditus was probably a very bad master, and as a favorite and
intimate of Nero’s must have been a bad man; but we have to thank him
for the fact that Epictetus, while yet a slave, was sent to attend the
philosophic lectures of Musonius Rufus, an eminent Stoic of Rome, whom
both Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius mention with great respect. The
system of philosophic training had been at this time long organized.
There were masters of repute everywhere, who delivered their instruction
in regular courses, received a fixed payment for the same, and under
whom crowds of young men assembled from far and near to study science
and ethics—to receive, in short, what corresponded to a university
education in those days. The curious circumstance that a slave like
Epictetus could participate in advantages of this kind is generally
explained as the result of a fashionable whim which possessed Roman
nobles at this time for having philosophers and men of culture among
their slaves. Professor Mahaffy, in his _Greek Life and Thought_ (p.
132), commenting on the summons of the two philosophers, Anaxarchus and
Callisthenes, to console Alexander after his murder of Cleitus,
observes, that it was probably usual to call in philosophers to minister
professionally in cases of affliction. From this, to making a
philosopher a regular adjunct to a large household, even as the baron of
later times kept a fool, the step is not great. But Epaphroditus, one
thinks, must have had frequent reason to rue the choice he made in
Epictetus, if he expected his domestic philosopher to excuse his
misdeeds as Anaxarchus did those of Alexander on the occasion above
mentioned.

In the year 94 A. D. the emperor Domitian issued a decree expelling all
philosophers from Rome—an easily explainable proceeding on his part if
there were any large number of them who, in the words of Epictetus, were
able “to look tyrants steadily in the face.” Epictetus must have by this
time obtained his freedom and set up for himself as a professor of
philosophy, for we find him, in consequence of this decree, betaking
himself to Nicopolis, a city of Epirus. Here he lived and taught to a
venerable age, and here he delivered the discourses which Arrian has
reported for us. He lived with great simplicity, and is said to have had
no servant or other inmate of his house until he hired a nurse for an
infant which was about to be exposed, according to the practice of those
days when it was desired to check the inconvenient growth of a family,
and which Epictetus rescued and brought up. The date of his death is
unknown.

And now, reader, I will take my leave of you with Arrian’s farewell
salutation to Lucius Gellius, which, literally translated, is _Be
strong_. If you need it, I know no teacher better able to make or keep
you so than Epictetus. At any rate, to give him a fair chance of doing
what it is in him to do for English-speaking men and women is something
I have regarded as a sort of duty, a discharge of obligation for his
infinite service to myself; which done to the utmost of my powers, the
fewest forewords are the best.


  T. W. R.




FOOTNOTES:

    [Footnote 1: _The Encheiridion of Epictetus_, Translated into
    English by T. W. Rolleston. Kegan Paul, Trench, & Co., 1881.]

    [Footnote 2: Epicteti Dissertationum ab Arriano Digestarum Libri IV.
    et ex Deperditis Sermonibus Fragmenta. Post Io. Uptoni aliorumque
    curas, denuo ad Codicum M Storum fidem recensuit, Latina Versione,
    Adnotationibus, Indicibus illustravit Johannes Schweighäuser,
    Lipsiæ. MDCCXCIX.

    Epicteti Manuale et Cebetis Tabula Græce et Latine. Schw.
    MDCCXCVIII.

    There are two excellent English translations of the whole extant
    works of Epictetus—one by Mrs. Carter, published in the last
    century, the other by the late George Long, M. A. (Bohn Series), to
    both of which, but especially the latter, I desire to record my
    great obligations.]

    [Footnote 3: πάντα ῥεῖ, all flows—the cardinal doctrine of the
    Heracleitean philosophy.]

    [Footnote 4: An English translation of this work has lately
    appeared.]

    [Footnote 5: Ep. 120. 4. ff.]

    [Footnote 6: Gregory Nazianzen, commenting on this narrative,
    remarks that it only shows how manfully _unavoidable_ sufferings may
    be borne.]




CLEANTHES’ HYMN TO ZEUS.[1]


   Most glorious of the Immortals, many named, Almighty
     forever.

   Zeus, ruler of nature, that governest all things with
     law,

   Hail! for lawful it is that all mortals should address
     Thee.

   For we are Thy offspring, taking the image only of Thy
     voice,[2] as many mortal things as live and move upon the
     earth.

   Therefore will I hymn Thee, and sing Thy might forever.

   For Thee doth all this universe that circles round the
     earth obey, moving whithersoever Thou leadest, and is
     gladly swayed by Thee.

   Such a minister hast Thou in Thine invincible hands;—the
     two-edged, blazing, imperishable thunderbolt.

   For under its stroke all Nature shuddereth, and by it
     Thou guidest aright the Universal Reason, that roams
     through all things, mingling itself with the greater and
     the lesser lights, till it have grown so great, and
     become supreme king over all.

   Nor is aught done on the earth without Thee, O God, nor
     in the divine sphere of the heavens, nor in the sea,

   Save the works that evil men do in their folly—

   Yea, but Thou knowest even to find a place for
     superfluous things, and to order that which is
     disorderly, and things not dear to men are dear to Thee.

   Thus dost Thou harmonize into One all good and evil
     things, that there should be one everlasting Reason of
     them all.

   And this the evil among mortal men avoid and heed not;
     wretched, ever desiring to possess the good, yet they nor
     see nor hear the universal Law of God, which obeying with
     all their heart, their life would be well.

   But they rush graceless each to his own aim,

   Some cherishing lust for fame, the nurse of evil strife,

   Some bent on monstrous gain,

   Some turned to folly and the sweet works of the flesh,

   Hastening, indeed, to bring the very contrary of these
     things to pass.

   But Thou, O Zeus, the All-giver, Dweller in the darkness
     of cloud, Lord of thunder, save Thou men from their
     unhappy folly,

   Which do Thou, O Father, scatter from their souls; and
     give them to discover the wisdom, in whose assurance Thou
     governest all things with justice;

   So that being honored, they may pay Thee honor,

   Hymning Thy works continually, as it beseems a mortal
     man.

   Since there can be no greater glory for men or Gods than
     this,

   Duly to praise forever the Universal Law.


   NOTE:

   The bracketed numerals in the text refer throughout to the Notes at
   the end of the volume; each chapter having, where notes are necessary,
   its own chapter of Notes.


THE TEACHING OF EPICTETUS.




_BOOK I._


CHAPTER I.

THE BEGINNING OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. Wouldst thou be good, then first believe that thou art evil.

2. The beginning of philosophy, at least with those who lay hold of it
as they ought and enter by the door,[1] is the consciousness of their
own feebleness and incapacity in respect of necessary things.

3. For we come into the world having by nature no idea of a right-angled
triangle, or a quarter-tone, or a semi-tone, 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 happiness and
misfortune, and what is our concern and what is not, and what ought to
be done and what not—who hath come into the world without an implanted
notion of these things? Thus we all use these terms, and endeavor to fit
our natural conceptions to every several thing. _He did well, rightly,
not rightly, he failed, he succeeded, he is unrighteous, he is
righteous_—which of us spareth to use terms like these? Which of us
will defer the use of them till he hath learned them, even as ignorant
men do not use terms of geometry or music? But this is the reason of it:
we come into the world already, as it were, taught by Nature some things
in this kind, and setting out from these things we have added thereto
our own conceit.[2] _For how_, saith one, _do I not know what is noble
and what is base_? Have I not the notion of it? Truly. _And do I not
apply it to things severally?_ You do apply it. _Do I not, then, apply
it rightly?_ But here lies the whole question, and here conceit entereth
in. For setting out from things confessed by all, they go on by a false
application to that which is disputed. For if, in addition to those
things, they had gained also this power of application, what would then
hinder them to be perfect? But now since you think that you apply
rightly the natural conceptions to things severally, tell me, whence
have you this assurance?

——“Because it seems so to me.”

But to another it seems otherwise—and he, too, doth he think his
application right or not?

——“He doth think it.”

Can ye, then, both be rightly applying the conceptions in matters
wherein your opinions contradict each other?

——“We cannot.”

Have you, then, aught better to show for your application, or aught
above this, that it seemeth so to you? But what else doth a madman do
than those things that to him seem right? And doth this rule suffice for
him?

——“It doth not suffice.”

Come, then, to that which is above seeming. What is this?

4. Behold, the beginning of philosophy is the observation of how men
contradict each other, and the search whence cometh 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?

——“Nay, then, not all things, but those that seem to us right.”

And why to you more than the Syrians, or to the Egyptians? Why more
than to me or to any other man? Not at all more. Seeming, then, doth not
for every man answer to Being; for neither in weights or measures doth
the bare appearance content 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? There is, then, a rule. And wherefore do we not seek
it, and find it, and, having found it, henceforth use it without
transgression, and not so much as stretch forth a finger without it? For
this it is, I think, that when it is discovered cureth of their madness
those that mismeasure all things by seeming alone; so that henceforth,
setting out from things known and investigated, we may use an organized
body of natural conceptions in all our several dealings.

5. 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? _Nay._ And hath pleasure any stability? _It hath 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 doth not
suffice, then take another. Is it right to be elated in what is good?
_Yea._ And is it right to be elated then 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.[3] 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 a wise and good man.




CHAPTER II.

ON THE NATURAL CONCEPTIONS.


1. The natural conceptions are common to all men, and one cannot
contradict another. For which of us but affirms that the Good is
profitable, and that we should choose it, and in all circumstances
follow and pursue it? Which of us but affirms that uprightness is
honorable and becoming? Where, then, doth the contradiction arise?
Concerning the application of the natural conceptions to things
severally. When one saith, _He did well, he is a worthy man_, and
another, _Nay, but he did foolishly_, then there is a contradiction
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 this be righteous or unrighteous, to eat the
flesh of swine. And ye can discover the same contradiction in the matter
of Achilles and Agamemnon. For call them before us: What sayest thou,
Agamemnon, Should not that which is right and fair come to pass?

——“That should it.”

And what sayest thou, Achilles, Doth it not please thee that what is
fair and right should be done?

——“Of all things this doth most please me.”

Then make application of your natural conceptions. Whence arose this
dispute? The one saith: _I am not bound to deliver up Chryseis to her
father._ And the other saith: _Thou art bound._ Assuredly one of them
must ill apply the conception of duty. And again the one saith:
_Therefore if I should deliver up Chryseis, it is meet that I take his
prize from one of you._ And the other: _Wouldst thou, then, take from me
my beloved?_ He saith: _Yea, even thine._ And _shall I alone, and I
alone, have nothing_? And thus ariseth the contradiction.

2. What is it, then, to be educated? It is to learn to apply the natural
conceptions to each thing severally according to nature; and further, to
discern that of things that exist some are in our own power[1] 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? Then is health not 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 cannot. And can such a one bear himself towards
his fellows as he ought? How is it possible that he should? For I have
it of 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 neighbor. 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 towards God? for if I suffer injury and
misfortune, it cannot be but He neglects me. And what have I to do with
Him if He cannot 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?[2] 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.




CHAPTER III.

THE MASTER-FACULTY.


1. Of all our faculties ye shall find but one that can contemplate
itself, or, therefore, approve or disapprove itself. How far hath
grammar the power of contemplation? Only so far as to judge concerning
letters. And music? Only so far as to judge concerning melodies. Doth
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 doth not? Clearly it is the
faculty which makes use of appearances. 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.

2. Thus the Gods, as it was fit they should, place that only in our
power 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? I indeed 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
was it possible that as regards these we should not 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 forget not now 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
appearances. Have a care, then, of this, hold this only for thine own,
and thou shalt never be hindered or hampered, thou shalt not lament,
thou shalt not blame, thou shalt never flatter any man.” What then? Do
these seem trifling matters? _God forbid._ Are you, then, not content
with them? _At least I pray the Gods I may be._[1]

3. But now having one thing in our power to care for, and to cleave to,
we rather choose to be careful of many things, and to bind ourselves to
many things, even to the flesh, and to possessions, and to brother and
friend, and child and slave. And being thus bound to many things, they
lie heavy on us and drag us down. So, if the weather be not fair for
sailing, we sit down distraught and are ever peering forth to see how
stands the wind. _It is north._ And what is that to us? _When will the
west wind blow?_ When it shall seem good to it, friend; or to Æolus. For
it was not thee, but Æolus whom God made “steward of the winds.”[2] What
then? It is right to devise how we may perfect the things that are our
own, and to use the others as their nature is. And what, then, is their
nature? As it may please God.




CHAPTER IV.

THE NATURE OF THE GOOD.


1. 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 husbandman. 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 towards what is neither good nor evil.
For as it is not lawful for the money-changer or the seller of herbs to
reject Cæsar’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 towards it, and from the
Evil. And never doth the soul reject any clear appearance of the good,
no more than Cæsar’s coin. On this hangeth every movement both of God
and man.

2. 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.[1] For our opinions of this, when right,
make the will right, and when wrong make it evil. This law hath God
established, and saith, “If thou wouldst have aught of good, have it
from thyself.”

3. 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. What
difficulty have we now? _But direct me_, sayest thou. And why shall I
direct thee? hath not God directed thee? hath 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 command
didst thou receive from Him when thou camest 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 to use them, if not thyself?
But thyself can do it, and how? When thou art zealous about things not
thine own, and hast cast away the things that are.” With such counsels
and commands from Zeus, what wilt thou still from me? Am I greater than
he? am I more worthy of thy faith? But if thou hold to these things, of
what others hast thou need? _But perchance these are none of his
commands?_ Then bring forward the natural conceptions, bring the proofs
of the philosophers, bring the things thou hast often heard, bring the
things that thyself hast spoken, bring what thou hast read, bring what
thou hast pondered.




CHAPTER V.

THE PROMISE OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. 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, pursuits, 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.

2. 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
unwillingly, none shall harm you, you shall have no foe, for you shall
suffer no injury.

3. Aiming, then, at things so high, remember 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 won. Straightway, then, practice 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._




CHAPTER VI.

THE WAY OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. A certain Roman having entered with his son and listened to one
lecture, “This,” said Epictetus, “is the manner of teaching;” and he was
silent. But when the other prayed him to continue, he spake as
follows:—

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 pleasing. And 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. And 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 instructions; 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, nor 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 neighbor or fellow-traveler, 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.

2. We see, then, that the carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning
something, 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 something? We inquire, then,
what we have to learn?

3. The philosophers say that, before all things, it is needful to learn
that God is, and taketh 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
unto 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 do and speak the things that follow therefrom.[1]

4. Whence, then, shall we make a beginning? If you will consider this
with me, I shall say, first, that you must attend to the sense of
words.[2]

——“So I do not now understand them?”

You do not.

——“How, then, do I use them?”

As the unlettered use written words, or as cattle use appearances; for
the use is one thing and understanding another. But if you think you
understand, then take any word you will,[3] and let us try ourselves,
whether we understand it. But it is hateful to be confuted, for a man
now old, and one who, perhaps, hath served his three campaigns! And I
too know this. For you have come to me now as one who lacketh nothing.
And what could you suppose to be lacking to you? Wealth have you, and
children, and it may be a wife, and many servants; Cæsar knows you, you
have won many friends in Rome, you give every man his due, you reward
with good him that doeth good to you, and with evil him that doeth 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 behooved 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? Never—but straightway you will go away
in anger. And yet what evil have I done you? Unless the mirror doth evil
to the ill-favored 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 ailest nothing? Thou hast a fever:
fast to-day and drink water._ And none saith, _What an affront_. But if
one shall say to a man: _Thy pursuits art inflamed, thine avoidances are
mean, thy purposes are lawless, thy impulses accord not with nature,
thine opinions are vain and lying_—straightway he goeth forth and
saith, _He affronted me_.

5. 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 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 themselves 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 doth 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 it is
that these few are moved, and thenceforth study this alone, to learn
about the fair, and to depart. What then? they are mocked by the
multitude. And in the fair, too, the observers are mocked by the
traders; and had the cattle any reflection they would mock all those who
cared for anything else than fodder.




CHAPTER VII.

TO THE LEARNER.


1. 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 misfortune 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.

2. Turn away, then, your avoidance from things not in our power, and
set it upon things contrary to Nature which are in our power. And let
pursuit for the present be utterly effaced; for if you are pursuing
something that is not in our power, it must needs be that you miscarry,
and of things that are, as many as you may rightly aim at, none are yet
open to you. But use only desire and aversion, and that indeed lightly,
and with reserve, and indifferently.

3. No great thing cometh 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 bring
forth the fruit, and then ripen. When the fruit of a fig-tree is not
perfected 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.

4. To fulfill 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 thou do nothing like a wild beast, for if thou do, the man in thee
perisheth, thou hast not fulfilled his promise. Look to it, that thou do
nothing like a sheep, or thus too the man hath perished. _What, then,
can we do as sheep?_ When we are gluttonous, sensual, 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 hurtful, 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; whereby we may say, “Let me at least be eaten by a lion.”[1] But
through all these things the promise of the man’s nature has been
ruined.

5. For when is a complex proposition safe?[2] When it fulfills its
promise. So that the validity of a complex proposition is when it is a
complex of truths. And when is a disjunctive safe? When it fulfills its
promise. And when are flutes, or a lyre, or a horse, or a dog? What
marvel is it, then, if a man also is to be saved in the same way, and
perish in the same way?

6. But each thing is increased and saved by the corresponding works—the
carpenter by the practice of carpentry, the grammarian by the study of
grammar; but if he use 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 faithless by
faithlessness, the reviler by reviling, the angry by anger, the
avaricious by unfair giving and taking.

7. Know, that not easily shall a conviction arise in a man unless he
every day speak the same things and hear the same things, and at the
same time apply them unto life.

8. Every great power is perilous to beginners. Thou must bear such
things according to thy strength. _But I must live according to Nature?_
That is not for a sick man.[3] Lead thy life as a sick man for a while,
so that thou mayest hereafter live it as a whole man. Fast, drink water,
abstain for a while from pursuit of every kind, in order that thou
mayest pursue as Reason bids. And if as Reason bids, then when thou
shalt have aught of good in thee, thy pursuit shall be well. _Nay, but
we would live as sages and do good to men._ What good? What wilt thou
do? Hast thou done good to thyself? But thou wouldst exhort them? And
hast thou exhorted thyself?[4] Thou wouldst do them good—then do not
chatter to them, but show them in thyself what manner of men philosophy
can make. In thy eating do good to those that eat with thee, in thy
drinking to those that drink, by yielding and giving place to all, and
bearing with them. Thus do them good, and not by spitting thy bile upon
them.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE CYNIC.


1. One of his pupils, who seemed to be drawn towards the way of
Cynicism, inquired of Epictetus what manner of man the Cynic ought to
be, and what was the natural conception of the thing. And Epictetus
said: Let us look into it at leisure. But so much I have now to say to
you, that whosoever shall without God attempt so great a matter stirreth
up the wrath of God against him, and desireth only to behave himself
unseemly before the people. For in no well-ordered house doth 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 seeth 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;
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 came forth and pretended to the authority,
then either he would not gain it, or, gaining it, he would have been
shamed before many witnesses.

2. And about this affair, do thou take thought upon it earnestly, for it
is not such as it seemeth to thee. _I wear a rough cloak now, and I
shall wear it then;[2] 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 every one I meet with; and if I shall see one that
plucks out his hairs, I will censure him, or one that hath his hair
curled, or that goes in purple raiment._ If thou conceivest the matter
on this wise, far be it from thee—go not near it, it is not for thee.
But if thou conceivest of it as it is, and holdest thyself not unworthy
of it, then behold to how great an enterprise thou art putting forth
thine hand.

3. First, in things that concern thyself, thou must appear in nothing
like unto what thou now doest. Thou must not accuse God nor man; thou
must utterly give over pursuit, and avoid only those things that are in
the power of thy will; anger is not meet for thee, nor resentment, nor
envy, nor pity;[3] nor must a girl appear to thee fair, nor must
reputation, nor a flat cake.[4] 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 concealment have they. One shutteth the door,
placeth some one before the chamber; _if any one should come, say, He is
out, he is busy_. But in place of all these things it behooves the Cynic
to shelter himself behind his own piety and reverence; but if he doth
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 doeth, else he is gone, the Cynic
hath perished, the man who lived under the open sky, the freeman. He
hath begun to fear something from without, he hath begun to need
concealment; 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!

4. First, then, thou must purify thy ruling faculty and this vocation
of thine also, saying: Now it is my mind I must shape, as the carpenter
shapes wood and the shoemaker leather; and the thing to be formed is a
right use of appearances. 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
communion with the Gods.[5]

5. And, furthermore, when he hath thus fashioned himself, he will not be
content with these things, who is a Cynic indeed. 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 Chæronea.[6] For the Cynic is, in truth, a spy of the things that are
friendly to men, and that are hostile; and having 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.

6. 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
ye borne away? What do ye? Miserable as ye are! like blind men ye wander
up and down. Ye have left the true road, and are going by a false; ye
are seeking peace and happiness where they are not, and if another shall
show you where they are, ye believe him not. Wherefore will ye seek it
in outward things? _In the body?_ It is not there—and if ye believe me
not, lo, Myro! lo, Ophellius.[7] _In possessions?_ It is not there, and
if ye believe me not, lo, Crœsus! 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 but on these
men from without, and are dazzled by the appearance, 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.”—_Il._ x.

And what saith himself? “I am distraught,” he saith, “and I am in
anguish; my heart leaps forth from my bosom.”—[_Il._ x.] Miserable man!
which of thy concerns hath gone wrong with thee? Thy wealth? Nay. Thy
body? Nay; but thou art rich in gold and bronze. What ails thee then?
That part, whatever it be, with which we pursue, with which we avoid,
with which we desire and dislike, thou hast neglected and corrupted. How
hath it been neglected? He hath 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 goeth ill with something that is alien to him, he
saith, _Woe is me, for the Greeks are in peril._ O unhappy mind of thee!
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, doth 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 thee? canst thou not also die? _I can._ Wherefore, then, dost thou
lament: _Woe is me, a king, and bearing the scepter of Zeus_? There is
no unfortunate king, as there is no unfortunate God. What, then, art
thou? In very truth a shepherd; for thou lamentest even as shepherds do
when a wolf hath snatched away one of the sheep; and sheep are they whom
thou dost rule. And why art thou come hither? Was thy faculty of pursuit
in any peril, or of avoidance, or thy desire or aversion? _Nay_, he
saith, _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
Trojans?_ Of the Trojan? Of what manner of men? of wise men or fools? If
of wise men, why do ye make war with them? if of fools, why do ye heed
them?[8]

7. _In what, then, is the good, seeing that in these things it is not?
Tell us, thou, my lord missionary and spy!_ It is there where ye deem it
not, and where ye have no desire to seek it. For did ye desire, ye would
have found it in yourselves, nor would ye wander to things without, nor
pursue things alien, as if they were your own concerns. Turn to your own
selves; understand the natural conceptions which ye possess. What kind
of thing do ye take the Good to be? Peace? happiness? freedom? Come,
then, do ye not naturally conceive it as great, as precious, and that
cannot be harmed? What kind of material, then, will ye take to shape
peace and freedom withal—that which is enslaved or in that which is
free? _That which is free._ Have ye the flesh enslaved or free? _We know
not._ Know ye not that it is the slave of fever, of gout, of ophthalmia,
of dysentery, 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?

8. What then? have ye nothing that is free? _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, ye 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 adapt or intend anything? _No man._ In these
things, too, then, ye have something that is unhindered and free. This,
miserable men, must ye perfect; this have a care to, in this seek for
the Good.

9. _And how is it possible that one can live prosperously who hath
nothing; a naked, homeless, hearthless, beggarly man, without servants,
without a country?_ Lo, God hath sent you a man to show you in very deed
that it is possible. Behold me, that I have neither country, nor house,
nor possessions, nor servants; 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 ever I 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 ye fear and marvel at? Do I not treat them as my slaves? Who
that seeth me, but thinketh he beholdeth his king and his lord?

10. 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 every one that he may meet, or to show off his
shoulder.[9]

11. Dost thou see how thou art about to take in hand so great a matter?
Take first a mirror, look upon thy shoulders, mark well thy loins and
thighs. Thou art about to enter thy name for the Olympic games, O man;
no cold and paltry contest. Nor canst thou then be merely overcome and
then depart; but first thou must be shamed in the sight of all the
world; and not alone of the Athenians, or Lacedæmonians, or
Nicopolitans. And then if thou hast too rashly entered upon the contest
thou must be thrashed, and before being thrashed must suffer thirst and
scorching heat, and swallow much dust.

12. Consider more closely, know thyself, question thy genius,[10]
attempt nothing without God; who, if He counsel thee, be sure that He
wills thee 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 though he were the father or brother of all mankind. Not so, but if
one shall flog thee, stand in the midst and shriek out, _O Cæsar, what
things do I suffer in the Emperor’s peace! Let us take him before the
pro-consul._ But what is Cæsar to the Cynic? or what is a pro-consul? or
what is any other than He that hath sent him hither, and whom he
serveth, which is Zeus? Doth he call upon any other than God? Is he not
persuaded, whatsoever things he may suffer, that he is being trained and
exercised by God? Hercules, when he was exercised by Eurystheus, never
deemed himself wretched; but fulfilled courageously all that was laid
upon him. But he who shall cry out and bear it hard when he is being
trained and exercised by Zeus, is he worthy to bear the scepter of
Diogenes? Hear what Diogenes saith, when ill of a fever, to the
bystanders: _Base souls, will ye not remain? To see the overthrow and
combat of athletes, how great a way ye journey to Olympia; and have ye
no will to see a combat between a fever and a man?_ And will such an one
presently accuse God who hath sent him, as having used him ill—he who
was glorying in his lot, and held himself worthy to be a spectacle to
the bystanders? For of what shall he accuse Him: that his life is
seemly, that he manifests God’s will, that he showeth forth his virtue
more brightly? Come, then; and what saith 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.

13. And the young man having asked whether one that hath 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 scepter 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 thee that
whosoever 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 thee to be a Cynic, bethink thee rather of such a thing as this,
and cast about for a dainty dungheap whereon to have thy fever; and see
that it look away from the north, so that thou be not chilled. But thou
seemest to me to wish to retreat into somebody’s house and spend thy
time there, and be fed. What hast thou to do with undertaking so great a
matter?

14. _But marriage_, said he, _and the begetting of children,—are these
to be received 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 another, 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 hath lost that of the missionary, the spy, the herald of the Gods?
For see! he must needs observe a certain conduct towards his
father-in-law, and he hath 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 Cynicism 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 distractions. Where shall I
thenceforth find that king, whose business is the common weal?

  “Warden of men, and with so many cares.”
                                _Il._ ii. 25.

on whom it lies to oversee all men, the married, and parents, and who
useth 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—“thou hast a fever, thou a headache, thou the gout; do thou
fast, do thou eat, do thou avoid the bath, thou needest the knife, thou
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
instruments? 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._
Thou speakest of a circumstance that arose from love, and adducest a
wife who was another Crates.[11] But our inquiry is concerning common
marriages, and how men may be undistracted; and thus inquiring, we do
not find it, in this condition of the world, a purpose of chief concern
for a Cynic.

15. _How, then_, said he, _shall he still be preserving the community?_
God help thee! Whether do they best serve mankind 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, wherewith they concern themselves, and what duties they neglect?
And were the Thebans more benefited by as 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 Æolus,[12] 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 nothing 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,”[13] 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 marveled
if a Cynic will not marry nor beget children. Man! he hath begotten all
mankind, he hath all men for his sons, all women for his daughters; so
doth he visit all and care for all. Thinkest thou that he is a mere
meddler and busybody in rebuking those whom he meets? As a father he
doth it, as a brother, and as servant of the Universal Father, which is
God.

16. If it please thee, ask of me also whether he shall have to do with
affairs of public polity? Fool! dost thou 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, nor concerning
peace or war, but about happiness and unhappiness, about good-fortune
and ill-fortune, about slavery and freedom? And of a man that hath his
part in so great a polity will you ask me if he shall attend to public
affairs? Ask me also if he shall be a ruler; and again I shall say, Thou
fool, what rule can be greater than his?

17. And to such a man there is need also of a certain kind of body. For
if he shall appear consumptive, meager, and pale, his witness hath not
the same emphasis. Not only by showing forth the things of the spirit
must he convince 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 mischievous
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 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.

18. Much grace of body, then, must belong 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: _Thou art that Diogenes who thinkest there are no
Gods_, he replied, _And how may that be, seeing I hold thee hateful to
the Gods?_ And again, when Alexander 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.”[14]

19. 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 giveth this power. When he knows that he has
watched and labored for men, and lain down to sleep in purity, and sleep
hath 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

  “Lead me, O Zeus, and thou Destiny,[15]

and,

  “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 is in this state is no meddler or busybody, for when he
overlooks 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 cloak while you
reprove others, I say, get hence rather into a corner, and eat what thou
hast stolen—what are other men’s concerns to thee? For what art
thou—the bull of the herd? or the queen bee? Show me the tokens of thy
supremacy, such as nature hath given her. But if thou art a drone
claiming sovereignty over the bees, thinkest thou not that thy
fellow-citizens will overthrow thee, as bees do the drones?

20. And truly the Cynic must be so long-suffering as that he shall seem
to the multitude insensate and a stone. Him doth none revile, nor smite,
nor insult; but his body hath 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, doth he go down to
any contest 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 hath, 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 avoidance unsuccessful;
or his aim unfulfilled? doth 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,
nor tyrant; but of his body? yea; and of his chattels? yea, and also of
his authority and his honors. What, then, are these things to him? So
when one may seek to make him afraid on account of them—_Go hence_, he
saith to him, _and find out little children; it is to these that masks
are dreadful, but I know they are made of clay, and that inside them
there is nothing._

21. On such a matter art thou now meditating. Therefore, if it please
thee, in God’s name delay it yet awhile, and see first what ability thou
hast for it. For mark what Hector speaks to Andromache: _Go_, he saith,
_rather into the house and weave_—

                      “For war’s the care
  Of every man, and more than all of me.”
                                —_Il._ vi. 490.

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


END OF BOOK I.




_BOOK II._




CHAPTER I.

ON GENUINE AND BORROWED BELIEFS.


1. The master-argument seems to start from propositions such as
these:[1] There being a mutual contradiction among these three
propositions—(1) “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
contradiction, 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 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 defended. 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.

2. Now, if any one inquire of me, _And which of these dost thou hold?_
I shall answer 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. _And thyself?_ Nay, it is no affair of mine to try my own
thoughts, and to compare and estimate statements, and to form some
opinion of my own upon the matter.[2] 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 banquet, I shall amaze all the company by recounting
those who have written on it;—for Chrysippus wrote on it wonderfully in
his first book “On Possibilities;” and Cleanthes wrote a separate
treatise on it, and so did Archedemus. And Antipater wrote too, not only
in his book “On Possibilities,” but also separately in those on the
master-argument. 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.

3. 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 matters. Tell me
concerning good and evil things! Listen to him, then, with his—

  “Me to Ciconia brought the wind from Troy.”
                                 —_Od._ ix, 39.

_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 between these, as wealth, health, life,
death, pleasure, affliction._ And how do you know this? Because
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 difference 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 be shipwrecked? Hath 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 Cæsar 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 business
concerned with? Doth Cæsar 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 Philosopher, 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?”

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 pretenses when you sat in the school
of philosophy. Why did you deck yourself in others’ glory? Why did you
call yourself a Stoic?

4. Watch yourselves thus in the things that ye do, and ye shall see of
what school ye are. And the most of you will be found Epicureans, but
some few Peripatetics,[4] and those but slack. For where is the proof
that ye hold virtue equal to all other things, or indeed superior? Show
me a Stoic, if ye have one. Where or how can ye? But persons that repeat
the phrases of Stoicism, of these ye can show us any number. And do they
repeat those of the Epicureans any worse? and are they not equally
accurate in the Peripatetic? Who is, then, a Stoic? As we say that a
statue is Pheidian which is wrought according to the art of Pheidias,
show me a man that is wrought according to the opinions he utters! Show
me one that is sick and yet prosperous, 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 ye none
that is fully wrought out; then show me at least one that is in hand to
be wrought—one that even leaneth towards these things. Do me this
favor—grudge not an old man a sight that I have never seen yet. Think
ye 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 nor
envious, nor jealous, but—for why should I make rounds to say it?—that
desires to become 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 ye
cannot! Why, then, will ye 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?

5. And now I am your teacher and ye are being taught by me. And I have
this aim—to perfect you, that ye be unhindered, uncompelled,
unembarrassed, free, prosperous, happy, looking unto God alone in all
things great and small. And ye are here to learn these things, and to do
them. And wherefore do ye not finish the work, if ye have indeed such an
aim as behooves you, and if I, besides the aim, have such ability as
behooves 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
nature unhindered; this alone is unembarrassed. Wherefore, then, will ye
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 am to
blame, or else ye are; or, to speak more truly, both of us. What will
ye, then? Let us at length begin to entertain such a purpose among us,
and let the past be past. Only let us make a beginning: trust in me, and
ye shall see.




CHAPTER II.

THE GAME OF LIFE.


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

2. Things are indifferent, but the uses of them are not indifferent.
How, then, shall one preserve at once both a steadfast and tranquil
mind, and also carefulness of things, that he be not heedless or
slovenly? If he take the example of dice players. The numbers are
indifferent, the dice are indifferent. How can I tell what may be thrown
up? But carefully and skillfully to make use of what is thrown, that is
where my proper business 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 thee call nothing good nor evil, nor profitable nor hurtful,
nor any such term as these.

3. What then? should we be careless of such things? In no wise. For
this, again, is a vice in the Will, and thus contrary to Nature. But be
at once careful, because the use of things is not indifferent, and
steadfast and tranquil because the things themselves are. For where
there is aught 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 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.

4. 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.

5. Chrysippus, therefore, said well—“As long as future things are
hidden from me, I hold always by whatever state is the most favorable
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.”

6. 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 perception 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, have indignation 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 concerns 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
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 doom.[1] 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
thou goest down into Hades? they are all equal. But if thou wilt hear
the truth, the way the tyrant sends thee is the shortest. Never did a
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.

7. 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 doth it concern me? I have
left nothing undone that was mine to do; the problem is now another’s,
to wit, the captain’s. But now the ship is sinking! and what have I to
do? I do only what I am able—drown without terror and screaming 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 skillful
ball-players. None careth for the ball as it were 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 nervous as I catch and throw, what
kind of play is this? how shall one be steady? how shall he 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.

8. 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 Dæmons, who are they, think you? Are they
not sons of God, or a mixed nature between Gods and men?” And when this
was admitted—“Who, do you think, can hold that mules exist, but not
asses?”[2] 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 orphans. 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
indifference, as were it merely about a ball.




CHAPTER III.

THINGS ARE WHAT THEY ARE.


1. 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.

2. 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
slapping, the scolding, the pilfering; and then shall you take the
matter in hand more safely, saying straightway: _I desire to be bathed,
and maintain my purpose 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 maintain my purpose according to Nature.
And I shall not maintain it if I have indignation at what happens here._

3. The first difference between the vulgar man[1] and the philosopher:
The one saith, _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 saith, _for myself_. For nothing that the Will willeth 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 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 traveled a different 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 doth the tutor
check our desire, but he beats the cook. Man, we did not set thee to be
a tutor of the 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 hath not learned music, and in letters, one who hath not
learned letters, and in life, one undisciplined in philosophy.

4. 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 lieth. When, therefore, we are
hindered or troubled or grieved, never let us blame any other than
ourselves; that is to say, our opinions. A man undisciplined in
philosophy blames others in matters in which he fares ill; one who
begins to be disciplined blames himself, one who is disciplined, neither
others nor himself.

5. Be not elated in mind at any superiority that is not of yourself. If
your horse were elated and should say, _I am beautiful_, that would be
tolerable. But when you are elated and say, _I have a beautiful horse_,
know that it is at an excellence in your horse that you are elated.
What, then, is your own? This—to make use of the appearances. So that
when you deal according to Nature in the use of appearances, then shall
you be elated, for you will then be elated at an excellence that is your
own.




CHAPTER IV.

THREE STEPS TO PERFECTION.


1. There are three divisions of Philosophy wherein a man must exercise
himself who would be wise and good.[1]

The first concerns his pursuit and avoidance, so that he may not fail of
aught that he would attain, nor fall into aught that he would avoid.

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

The third is that which concerns security from delusion and hasty
apprehension, and, generally, the assenting to appearances.

Of these the chief and most urgent is that which hath to do with the
passions,[2] for the passions arise in no other way than by our failing
in endeavor to attain or to avoid something. This it is which 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 unable even to hear the doctrines of reason.

The second concerns that which is becoming to a man; for I must not be
passionless,[3] 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 security of the two others; so
that not even in dreams may any appearance that approacheth us pass
untested, nor in wine, nor in ill-humors. This, a man may say, is beyond
us. But the philosophers of this day, passing by the first and second
parts of philosophy, occupy themselves in the third, caviling, and
arguing by questions, and constructing hypotheses and fallacies. For,
they say, when dealing with these subjects a man must guard himself from
delusion. Who must? The wise and good man.

2. 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 neighbor
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 dost thou hear in fear and anxiety lest some one may despise
thee, and inquiring what men say about thee. And if some one come and
tell you that when 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 philosopher_.

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




CHAPTER V.

THAT A MAN MAY BE BOTH BOLD AND FEARFUL.


1. 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 fearfulness and with
boldness. For fearfulness seemeth in a manner contrary to boldness, and
contraries can never co-exist. But that which to many seemeth a paradox
in this matter seems to me to stand somehow thus: If we affirmed that
both fearfulness and boldness could be used in the very same things,
they would justly accuse us that we were reconciling what is
irreconcilable. But now, what is there so strange in this saying? For if
it is sound, what hath been so often both affirmed and demonstrated,
that the essence of the Good is in the use of appearances, and even so
of the Evil, and things uncontrollable by the Will have the nature
neither of good nor of evil, what paradox do the philosophers affirm if
they say that in things uncontrollable by the Will, then be boldness thy
part, and in things subject to the Will, fearfulness. For if Evil lie in
an evil Will, then in these things alone is it right to use fearfulness.
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 boldness. And thus
shall we be at one time both fearful and bold—yea, and bold even
through our fearfulness. For through being fearful in things that are
veritably evil it comes that we shall be bold in those that are not so.

2. But we, on the contrary, fall victims as deer do. When these are
terrified and fly from the scares, 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 moment, we work out our natural
boldness into swaggering, abandonment, rashness, shamelessness; and our
natural fearfulness and shamefastness into cowardice and meanness, full
of terror and trouble. For if one should transfer his fearfulness 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 unsettled and troubled. For death is not
fearful, nor pain, but the fear of pain or death. And thus we praise
him[1] who said:

   “Fear not to die, but fear a coward’s death.”

3. It is right, then, that we should turn our boldness against death,
and our fearfulness 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 in 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 never learned. For when he knows these
things he is nowise inferior to us. What is death? A bugbear. Turn it
round; examine it: see, it does not 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 the world may be
fulfilled; for it hath need 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 thou hast no advantage thereof, the
door is open;[2] if thou hast, then bear it. For in all events it is
right that the door should stand open, and so have we no distress.

4. Shall I, then, exist no longer? Nay, thou shalt exist, but as
something else, whereof the universe hath now need.[3] For neither didst
thou choose thine own time to come into existence, but when the universe
had need of thee.

5. What, then, is the fruit of these opinions? That which ought to be
the fairest and comeliest to those who have been truly
taught,—tranquillity, courage, and freedom. For concerning these
things, the multitude are not to be believed which say that those only
should be taught who are freemen, but the philosophers rather, which 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 ye choose, then, to live in sin? _We do not choose
it._ None, therefore, that fears or grieves or is anxious is free; but
whosoever is released from griefs and fears and anxieties is by that
very thing released from slavery. How, then, shall we still believe you,
most excellent legislators, when ye say, “We permit none to be taught,
save freemen?”[4] 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 Prætor,[5] has he done nothing?_
He has done something. _And what?_ He has turned round his slave before
the Prætor. _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 tranquillity of mind.
For thou, who art able to emancipate others, hast thou no master? is
money not thy master, or lust, or a tyrant, or some friend of a tyrant?
Why, then, dost thou tremble when thou art 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 fearful; bold in things beyond the Will, fearful in things
subject to the Will.




CHAPTER VI.[1]

THE WISE MAN’S FEAR AND THE FOOL’S.


1. 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 comprehend are borne in upon us. But that
ratification of them, which we name assent, whereby the appearances are
comprehended and judged, these are voluntary, and are done by human
choice. Wherefore 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 pale; not through any opinion of
evil that he has formed, but through certain rapid and unconsidered
motions that forestall 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
ratifies 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, doth the wise man differ 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 taking 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 color and
countenance have been changed, doth not then assent, but he retains in
its steadfastness and vigor the opinion he ever had of these
appearances, that they are in no wise to be feared, but affright only by
a false show and empty threat.

2. Such as is a dish of water, such is the soul; such as is the ray of
light that falleth on the same, such are the appearances. When the water
is moved, then the ray seemeth 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.[2]




CHAPTER VII.

APPEARANCES FALSE AND TRUE.


1. Appearances exist for us in four ways. Either things appear even 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 hath been taught
in philosophy.

2. 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[1] that afflict us, to them let us apply the remedy. If it is
the delusiveness of things, whereby that appeareth to be good which is
not so, to that let us seek for the remedy. If a habit afflicts us,
against that must we endeavor to find some remedy. And what remedy is to
be found against a habit? The contrary habit. Thou hearest the ignorant
when they say, _The wretched man is dead; his father is perishing 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 exercise
and constant usage of them; against the delusiveness of things have
clear natural conceptions ever burnished and ready.

3. 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 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_.[2] 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 ye 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 hindereth me. For man is so made by nature that he will not bear to
be deprived 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 hindereth me, I sit down and groan and rail on whomsoever 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?

4. 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 defense of general consent.[3] For if I had a suit about a
little piece of land, would I not call in another to argue for me?
Wherewith 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
thou 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 ye who
deny the truth of perception, what do ye other than I? Which of you,
desiring to go to the bath, ever went into a mill? _What then? Ought we
not, according to our abilities, to busy ourselves with the upholding
of general consent, and raising defenses against all that opposeth the
same?_ And who denies it? But let him do it that can, that hath leisure;
but he that trembleth, and is troubled, and his heart is broken within
him, let him spend his time on something different.




CHAPTER VIII.

HOW WE SHOULD THINK AS GOD’S OFFSPRING.


1. 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 wilt
thou say thou art an Athenian, and not rather name thyself from that
nook alone into which thy 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
thy ancestors has come down even to thee, that thou callest thyself
Athenian or Corinthian? Whoso, therefore, hath watched the governance of
the universe, and hath 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 hath 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 universe? wherefore not a son of God?
wherefore shall he fear anything that may come to pass among men? And
shall kinship with Cæsar, or with some other of those that are mighty at
Rome, be enough to let us live in safety 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_, saith one; _whence shall I have bread to eat?_

2. Art thou 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 fugitive slave die of hunger? But thou
tremblest and sleepest not of nights, for fear lest the necessaries of
life fail thee. Wretched man! art thou thus blind? and seest not the
road whither the want of necessaries leads a man? And whither leads it?
To the same place that a fever doth, or a falling rock—to death. Hast
thou not often said this to thy friends? and often read aloud these
things, and written them? and how often hast thou vaunted thyself that
thou wert at peace about death? _Yea, but my dear ones shall also suffer
hunger._ What then? Doth their hunger lead to any other place than
thine? Do they not descend where thou descendest? Is there not one
underworld for them and thee? Wilt thou 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; thou, it may be, an-hungered, 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 exceeding age? but freezing by night and day, and lying on the
ground, and eating only what is barely necessary, they come near to
being unable to die. Canst thou not transcribe writings? canst thou 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 thou art a philosopher. But at present suffer not even another man to
call thee so.

3. Is that shameful to thee which is not thine own doing, whereof thou
art not the cause, which cometh to thee without thy will, like a
headache or a fever? If thy parents were poor, or made others their
heirs, or are alive and give thee nothing, are these things shameful to
thee? Is this what thou hast learnt from the philosophers? Hast thou
never heard that what is shameful is blamable; and that which is
blamable ought to be blamed? But what man wilt thou blame for a work not
his own, one that he himself never did! And didst thou make thy father
such as he is? or was it in thy power to correct him?—is it given thee
to do this? What then? Oughtest thou to desire what is not given to
thee? or to be ashamed if thou attain it not? Or hast thou been
accustomed, in philosophy, to look to others, and to hope for nothing
from thyself? Lament, therefore, and groan, and eat thy bread in fear,
lest thou have nothing to eat on the morrow. Tremble for thy slaves,
lest they steal, or run away, or die. Do thou live thus, now and ever,
who hast approached to the name only of philosophy, and hast brought the
precepts of it to shame, so far as in thee lies, showing them to be
worthless and useless to those who adopt them; thou, who hast never
striven to gain steadfastness, tranquillity, peace; that never waited
upon any man for the sake of these things, but upon many for the sake of
learning syllogisms; that never tested for thine 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 though all went fairly and safely with
thee, thou abidest in the final part of philosophy,[1] that which
confirms beyond all change—and wherein wilt thou be confirmed? in
cowardice, meanness, admiration of wealth, in vain pursuit, and vain
efforts to avoid? These are the things thou dost meditate how to
preserve unharmed.

4. Shouldst thou not first have gained something from Reason, and then
fortified this with safety? Whom sawest thou ever 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 thy study is
how to prove propositions—and _what_ proposition? How the billows of
false reasonings may sweep thee not away—and away from _what_? Show me
first what thing thou art guarding, or measuring, or weighing; and
afterwards the scales or the measuring-rod. Or how long wilt thou still
be measuring the dust? Are not these the things it behooves 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
one’s self to the ordering of the All? Yea, prove me these! _But I do
so_, he saith. _See! I resolve you syllogisms._ Slave! this is the
measuring-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 pleasing to
all men you think they were ill-counseled.

5. Then you fear hunger, as you suppose. But it is not hunger that you
fear—you fear you will have no cook, nor nobody else to buy victuals
for you, nor another to take off your boots, nor another to put them on,
nor others to rub you down, nor 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 bringing 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 laborers, and true philosophers; how Socrates
lived, who moreover had a wife and children; how Diogenes lived; how
Cleanthes that studied in the schools and drew his own water.[2] 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 hast thou made thyself so worthless and useless
that no one is willing to receive thee into his house or take care of
thee? But if any utensil were thrown away, and it was sound and
serviceable, every one that found it would pick it up and think it a
gain; but thee no man would pick up, nor count anything but damage. So
thou canst not so much as serve the purpose of a watch-dog, or a cock?
Why, then, wilt thou still live, being such a man as thou art?

6. Doth any good man fear lest the means of gaining food fail him? They
fail not the blind, nor the lame; shall they fail a good man? To the
good soldier there fails not one who gives him pay, nor to the laborer,
nor to the shoemaker; and shall such a one fail to the good man? Is God,
then, careless of His instruments, His servants, His witnesses, whom
alone He useth to show forth to the untaught 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, neither in life nor 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 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 doth not provide me with many things, nor with
great abundance of goods; He will not have me live delicately. For
neither did He provide so for Hercules, His own son, but another man
reigned over Argos and Mycenæ, while he obeyed and labored and was
disciplined. And Eurystheus was what he was—no king of Argos and
Mycenæ, who was not king even of himself; and Hercules was lord and
leader of all the earth and sea, for he purged them of lawlessness and
wrong, and brought in righteousness 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 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 valor.”
                          —_Odyssey_, vi. 130.

Trusting in what? Not in fame, nor wealth, but in his own valor—that
is, his opinions of the things that are and are not in our power.[3] For
these alone it is that make men free and unhindered; that 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 philosopher; but thou wilt never
go forth boldly, but trembling for thy fine raiment and silver dishes.
Miserable man! hast thou indeed thus wasted all thy time till now?




CHAPTER IX.

THE OPEN DOOR.


1. For my part I think the old man should be sitting here, not to
devise how ye may have no mean thoughts, nor 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 kinship 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 burthens, and depart unto their kin. And this is what
your master and teacher—if, in sooth, ye had any such—should have to
contend with in you,—that ye should come to him and say, _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 burthened!
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 ye released unto Him. But for the 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.

2. How long, then, are such injunctions to be obeyed? So long as it is
profitable—that is to say, so 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 besieged_.... But another saith, “I prefer to have my supper, and
listen to him prating as long as he likes.” And do thou compare the gain
on both sides—only do naught in heaviness or affliction, or as
supposing that thou art in evil case. For to this no man can compel
thee. Doth 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. _Thou shalt 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._[1] I will live in Gyara. But living in Gyara
seemeth to me like a great smoke. I will depart, whither no man shall
hinder me to dwell—for that dwelling stands ever open to all.

3. Only do it not unreasonably, nor cowardly, nor make every common
chance an excuse. For again, it is not God’s will, for He hath 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.




CHAPTER X.

KNOW THYSELF.


1. If a man have any advantage over others, or thinks himself to have
it when he hath 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 he that is
master 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 any one else than the
driver?[1] And how will you do with regard to 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 doth to the ass. For who treats you as a man?
Show me one that doth. Who wisheth to be like unto you? who becomes your
imitator, as men did of Socrates? _But I can cut off thy 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.

2. What is it, then, whereby the multitude 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 saith to any one, _I will bind thy leg_, then he who
setteth store by his leg saith, _Nay, have pity!_ but he that setteth
store by his own Will, _If it seem more profitable to you, then bind
it_.

——“Dost thou not regard me?”

I do not regard you. I will show you that I am master. How can you be
that? Me hath God set free; or think you that He would let His own Son
be enslaved? You are lord of my dead body—take that.

——“So when thou comest near to me, thou wilt not do me service?”

Nay, but I will do it to myself; and 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.

3. This is no selfishness; for every living creature is so made that it
doth all things for its own sake. For the sun doth all things for his
own sake, and so, moreover, even Zeus himself. But when He will be
Raingiver and Fruitgiver and Father of Gods and men, thou seest that He
may not do these works and have these titles, but He be serviceable to
the common good. And, on the whole, He hath so formed the nature of the
reasoning creature that he may never win aught of his own good without
he furnish 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 expected that a man shall stand aloof from himself and
his own interest? And where then would be that same and single principle
which we observe in all things, their affection to themselves?

4. So, then, when we act on strange and foolish opinions of things
beyond the Will, as though 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!

5. But what hinders the man that hath 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 knoweth how to play the part
well. Will you have me rule? Give me power, then, and the pains of it.
Banishment? Whithersoever I go, it shall be well with me for in this
place it was well with me, not because of the 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 cannot be deprived, and
they suffice for me as long as I have them, wherever I be, or whatever I
do.

6. ——“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 man hath power on me. I have been set free
by God, I know His commandments, henceforth no man can lead me captive.
I have a liberator[2] 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.

7. 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.

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

——“Why, then, didst thou go to the doors?”

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

——“How, then, shalt thou not be 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 congratulated on being honored by Cæsar, I say, What hath
fortune brought him? A government? Has it also, then, brought him such
an opinion as he ought to have? A magistracy? Hath 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; military
commands, consulships—let children 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 thou miss them when he is
flinging them about, let it not vex thee. If a fig fall into thy bosom,
take and eat it, for so far even a fig is to be valued. But if I must
stoop down for it, and throw down another man, or another throw me down,
and I flatter those who enter in, then neither is a fig worth so much,
nor is any other of the things that are not good, even those which the
philosophers have persuaded me not to think good.




CHAPTER XI.[1]

HOW WE SHOULD BEAR OURSELVES TOWARDS EVIL MEN.


1. 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; 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 towards 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 towards another—why have
we indignation with the multitude? _They are robbers_, one saith, _and
thieves_. And what is it to be robbers and 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 naught better than the appearance of the thing to them.

2. _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
deceived concerning things of greatest moment, who is blinded, not in
the vision which distinguisheth black and white, but in the judgment
which distinguisheth 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 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 indignant 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 offense and hatred, abandon the
phrases of the multitude, like “these cursed wretches.” How have you
suddenly become so wise and hard to please?

3. Wherefore, then, have we indignation? 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 thine own, but in that which is
foreign to thee, in that which is not in thy power. These things if thou
dismiss, and count them for naught, with whom shalt thou still be wroth?
But so long as thou dost value these things, be wroth with thyself
rather than with others.

4. Look now how it stands: You have fine raiment, your neighbor has not;
you have a window, and wish to air your clothes at it. The neighbor
knoweth 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 provoke 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, _thou
wilt find an earthen lamp_.[2] 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, have you indignation? For there
is no loss and no suffering save only in those things which we possess.




CHAPTER 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 constantly 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, and
looking not behind. And if thou be in old age, go not far from the ship
at any time, lest the master should call, and thou be not ready.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE MARK OF EFFORT.


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

2. 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.

3. What, then, are the things that oppress us and perturb us? What else
than opinions? He that goeth away and leaveth his familiars and
companions and wonted places and habits—with what else is he oppressed
than his opinions? 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. Wilt thou 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 anything that is alien to him, neither of
friend, nor place, nor exercises; yea, not 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 had it at his service. This do—or cry
for the nurse and mamma; for what doth it matter to what or whom thou
art subject, from what thy welfare hangs? Wherein art thou better than
one who bewails himself for his mistress, if thou lament thy exercises
and porticoes and comrades, and all such pastime? Another cometh,
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 thou art so affected
towards it, lament for it too, and try to make a verse like that of
Euripides—

  “The baths of Nero and the Marcian stream”[1]

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

4.——“But when shall I see Athens and the Acropolis again?”

Wretched man! doth not that satisfy thee which thou seest every day?
Hast thou aught better or greater to see than the sun, the moon, the
stars, the common earth, the sea? But if withal thou mark the way of Him
that governeth the whole and bear Him about within thee, wilt thou still
long for cut stones and a fine rock? And when thou shalt come to leave
the sun itself and the moon, what wilt thou do? Sit down and cry, like
the children? What, then, wert thou doing in the school? What didst thou
hear, what didst thou learn? Why didst thou write thyself down a
philosopher, when thou mightest have written the truth, as thus:—_I
made certain beginnings, and read Chrysippus, but did not so much as
enter the door of a philosopher_? For how shouldst thou have aught in
common with Socrates, who died as he died, who lived as he lived—or
with Diogenes? Dost thou 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 so long as he is entertained? A man of this
stamp would easily endure such a thing as perpetual exile or sentence of
death.

Wilt thou not now be weaned as children are, and take more solid food,
nor cry any more after thy mother and nurse, wailing like an old woman?

——“But if I quit them I shall grieve them.”

Thou grieve them? Never; but that shall grieve them which grieveth
thee—Opinion. What hast thou then to do? Cast away thy own bad opinion;
and they, if they do well, will cast away theirs; if not, they are the
causes of their own lamenting.

5. Man, be mad at last, as the saying is, for peace, for freedom, for
magnanimity. Lift up thy 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 thy mother to feed thee.[2]

6. Who would Hercules have been if he had sat at home? He would have
been Eurystheus, and not Hercules. 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 thou art no Hercules, and canst not purge
away evils not thine own? nor yet Theseus, who cleared Attica of evil
things? Then clear away thine own. From thy breast, from thy mind cast
out, instead of Procrustes and Sciron, grief, fear, covetousness, envy,
malice, avarice, effeminacy, profligacy. And these things cannot
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, thou wilt follow with groaning and lamentation whatever is
stronger than thou, ever seeking prosperity in things outside thyself,
and never able to attain it. For thou seekest it where it is not, and
neglectest to seek it where it is.




CHAPTER XIV.

FACULTIES.


Remember at anything that shall befall thee to turn to thyself and seek
what faculty thou hast for making use of it. If thou see a beautiful
person, thou wilt find a faculty for that—namely, Self-mastery. If toil
is laid upon thee, thou wilt find the faculty of Perseverance. If thou
art reviled, thou wilt find Patience. And making this thy wont, thou
shalt not be carried away by the appearances.




CHAPTER XV.

RETURNS.


Never in any case say, _I have lost_ such a thing, but _I have returned
it_. Is thy child dead? it is returned. Is thy wife dead? she is
returned. Art thou deprived of thy estate? is not this also returned?

——“But he is wicked who deprives me of it!”

But what is that to thee, through whom the Giver demands his own? As
long, therefore, as he grants it to thee, steward it like another’s
property, as travelers use an inn.




CHAPTER XVI.

THE PRICE OF TRANQUILLITY.


1. 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.

2. Make a beginning then in small matters. Is a little of your oil
spilt, or a little wine stolen? Then say to yourself, _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, may not obey. For him, indeed, that is not
well, but for you it is altogether well that he have not the power to
trouble your mind.




CHAPTER XVII.

A CHOICE.


If thou wouldst advance, be content to let people think thee senseless
and foolish as regards external things. Wish not ever to seem wise, and
if ever thou shalt find thyself accounted to be somebody, then mistrust
thyself. 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.




CHAPTER XVIII.

THAT WHERE THE HEART IS THE BOND IS.


1. Thou art a fool if thou desire wife and children and friends to live
forever, for that is desiring things to be in thy power which are not in
thy power, and things pertaining to others to be thine own. So also thou
art a fool to desire that thy servant should never do anything amiss,
for that is desiring evil not to be evil, but something else. But if
thou desire never to fail in any pursuit, this thou canst do. This,
therefore, practice to attain—namely, the attainable.

2. The lord of each of us is he that hath power over the things that we
desire or dislike, to give or to take them away. Whosoever, then, will
be free, let him neither desire nor shun any of the things that are in
others’ power; otherwise he must needs be enslaved.

3. Wherefore Demetrius[1] 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 captured. As when a snake draws in his
head, I say, _Strike at that part of him which he guards_. And know
thou, that at the part thou desirest to guard, there thy master will
fall upon thee. Remembering this, whom wilt thou still flatter or fear?

4. Think that thou shouldst conduct thyself in life as at a feast. Is
some dish brought to thee? Then put forth thyself in seemly fashion.
Doth it pass thee by? Then hold it not back. Hath it not yet come? Then
do not reach out for it at a distance, but wait till it is at thine
hand. And thus doing with regard to children and wife and governments
and wealth, thou wilt be a worthy guest at the table of the Gods. And if
thou even pass over things that are offered to thee, and refuse to take
of them, then thou wilt 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.




CHAPTER XIX.

THAT WE LAMENT NOT FROM WITHIN.


When thou seest one lamenting in grief because his son is gone abroad,
or because he hath lost his goods, look to it that thou be not carried
away by the appearance to think that he hath 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 so far as speech, be
not slow to fit thyself to his mood, and even if so it be to lament with
him. But have a care that thou lament not also from within.




CHAPTER XX.

THAT A MAN MAY ACT HIS PART BUT NOT CHOOSE IT.


1. Remember that thou art an actor in a play, of such a part as it may
please the director to assign thee; of a short part if he choose a short
part; of a long one if he choose a long. And if he will have thee take
the part of a poor man, or of a cripple, or a governor, or a private
person, mayest thou act that part with grace! For thine it is to act
well the allotted part, but to choose it is another’s.

2. Say no more then, _How will it be with me?_ for however it be thou
wilt settle it well, and the issue shall be fortunate. What would
Hercules 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 hast
thou to do with that? if a great boar appear, thou wilt fight the
greater fight; if evil men, thou wilt clear the earth of them. _But if I
die thus?_ Thou wilt die a good man, in the accomplishing 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 diarrhœa. What wilt thou,
then, that Death shall find thee 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 to do, that which is given to me to
do—namely, correcting myself, bettering my faculty for making use of
appearances, working out my peace, giving what is due in every
obligation of life; and if I prosper so far, then entering upon the
third topic of philosophy, which concerneth the security of judgments.

3. If Death shall 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: so far as in me lies, I
have not dishonored thee. Behold how I have used my senses, and my
natural conceptions. Have I ever blamed thee? was I ever offended at
aught that happened, or did I desire it should happen otherwise? Did I
ever desire to transgress 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._

4. Is it not enough to depart in this condition? and what life is better
and fairer than one like this, and what end more happy?




CHAPTER XXI.

DISTINCTIONS.


1. When a raven croaks you a bad omen, be not carried away by the
appearance; 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._

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

3. When you shall see a man honored above others, or mighty in power, or
otherwise esteemed, look to it that thou 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 thou thyself shalt 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.

4. Remember, it is not he that strikes or he that reviles that doth any
man an injury, but the opinion about these things, that they are
injurious. When, then, some one may provoke thee to wrath, know that it
is thine own conception which hath provoked thee. Strive, therefore, at
the outset not to be carried away by the appearance; for if thou once
gain time and delay, thou wilt more easily master thyself.

5. Death and exile, and all things that appear dreadful, let these be
every day before thine eyes. But Death most of all; for so thou wilt
neither despise nor too greatly desire any condition of life.




CHAPTER XXII.

THAT A MAN IS SUFFICIENT TO HIMSELF.


1. If thou set thine heart upon 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 do thou cherish no scorn, but hold to those things that seem
to thee the best, as one set by God in that place. Remember, too, that
if thou abide in that way, those that first mocked thee, the same shall
afterwards reverence thee; but if thou yield to them, thou shalt receive
double mockery.

2. If it shall ever happen to thee to be turned to outward things in the
desire to please some person, know that thou hast lost thy way of life.
Let it be enough for thee in all things to _be_ a philosopher. But if
thou desire also to seem one, then seem so to thyself, for this thou
canst.




CHAPTER XXIII.

THAT EVERY MAN FULFILL HIS OWN TASK.


1. Let such thoughts never afflict thee as, _I shall live unhonored,
and never be anybody anywhere_. For if lack of honor be an evil, thou
canst no more fall into evil through another’s doings than into vice. Is
it, then, of thy own doing to be made a governor, or invited to feasts?
By no means. How, then, is this to be unhonored? How shouldst thou
_never be anybody anywhere_, whom it behooves to be somebody only in the
things that are in thine own power, wherein it lies with thee to be of
the greatest worth?

2. _But I shall not be able to serve my friends._ How sayst thou? to
serve them? They shall not have money from thee, nor shalt thou make
them Roman citizens. Who, then, told thee that these were of the things
that are in our power, and not alien to us? And who can give that which
himself hath not?

3. _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 ye will have me lose the good things I possess,
that ye may compass things that are not good at all, how unjust and
unthinking are ye? But which will ye 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.

4. _But_, he saith, _I shall not do my part in serving my country_.
Again, what is this service? Thy country shall not have porticos nor
baths from thee, and what then? Neither hath she shoes from the smith,
nor arms from the cobbler; but it is enough if every man fulfill his own
task. And if thou hast made one other pious and faithful citizen for
her, art thou, then, of no service? Wherefore, neither shalt thou be
useless to thy country.

5. _What place, then_, he saith, _can I hold in the State_? Whatever
place thou canst, guarding still thy faith and piety. But if in wishing
to serve her thou cast away these things, what wilt thou profit her
then, when perfected in shamelessness and faithlessness?




CHAPTER XXIV.

THE WORLD’S PRICE FOR THE WORLD’S WORTH.


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

2. For how is it possible for him who will not hang about other men’s
doors to have a like reward with him who doth so? or him who will not
attend on them with him who doth attend? or him who will not flatter
them with the flatterer? Thou art unjust, then, and insatiable, if thou
desire to gain those things for nothing, without paying the price for
which they are sold.

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

4. And likewise in this matter. Thou art not invited to some man’s
feast? That is, for thou gavest 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 thee, for which the thing is sold. But if thou
wilt not give the price, and wilt have the thing, greedy art thou and
infatuated.

5. Shalt thou have nothing, then, instead of the supper? Thou shalt have
this—not to have praised one whom thou hadst no mind to praise, and not
to have endured the insolence of his door-keepers.




CHAPTER XXV.

AIMS OF NATURE.


1. The will of Nature is to be learned from matters which do not concern
ourselves.[1] Thus, when a boy may break the cup of another man, we are
ready to say, _It is a common chance_. Know, then, that when thine own
is broken, it behooves thee to be as though 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 may die, then straightway it is, _Alas, wretched that I
am!_ But we should bethink ourselves what we felt on hearing of others
in the same plight.

2. As a mark is not set up to be missed, even so the nature of evil
exists not in the universe.




CHAPTER XXVI.

THE MIND’S SECURITY.


If any one should set your body at the mercy of every passer-by, you
would be indignant. When, therefore, you set your own mind at the mercy
of every chance, to be troubled and perturbed when any one may revile
you, have you no shame of this?




CHAPTER XXVII.

THAT A MAN SHOULD BE ONE MAN.


1. In every work you will 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.

2. 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 discipline, 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 in the contest itself there is the digging race,[1] and
you are like enough to dislocate your wrist, or turn your ankle, to
swallow a great deal of dust, to be soundly drubbed, and after all these
things to be defeated.

3. If, having considered these things, you are still in the mind to
enter for the contest, then do so. But without consideration 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 consideration nor
regularity, but rashly, and with a cold desire.

4. And thus some men, having seen a philosopher, and heard discourse
like that of Euphrates[2] (yet who indeed can say that any discourse is
like his?), desire that they also may become philosophers.

5. 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,[3] or a wrestler? Then, scan your arms and thighs; try your
loins. For different men are made for different ends.

6. Think you, you can be a sage, and continue to eat and drink and be
wrathful and take offense just as you were wont? Nay, but you must watch
and labor, and withdraw yourself from your household, and be despised by
any serving boy, and be ridiculed by your neighbors, and take the lower
place everywhere, in honors, in authority, in courts of justice, in
dealings of every kind.[4]

7. Consider these things—whether you are willing at such a price to
gain peace, 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 Cæsar. For these
things agree not among themselves; and, good or bad, it behooves 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.


END OF BOOK II.




_BOOK III._




CHAPTER I.

OBLIGATIONS.


1. Obligations are universally defined by the bonds of relation. Is such
a man your father? Then it is implied that you are to take care of him,
to give place to him in all things, to bear his rebukes, his
chastisement. _But if he be a bad father?_ Were you then related by any
law of Nature to a good father? Nay, but simply to a father. Your
brother does you wrong. Then guard your own place towards him, nor
scrutinize what he is doing, but what you may do to keep your will in
accord with Nature. For none other shall hurt you, if yourself choose it
not, but you shall be hurt then when you conceive yourself to be so.

2. Thus shall you discover your obligations from the offices of a
neighbor, a citizen, a general, if you will accustom yourself to watch
the relationships.




CHAPTER II.

AGAINST EPICURUS.


1. Even Epicurus is conscious that we are by nature social, but having
once placed the Good in the husk,[1] he cannot thereafter speak anything
but what agrees with this; for again he affirms, and rightly affirms,
that nothing is to be admired or received that is separated from the
nature of the Good. How, then, Epicurus, do you suspect that we are
social, if Nature had given us no affection for our offspring?[2]
Wherefore do you counsel the sage against bringing up children? Why do
you fear lest he fall into sorrow by so doing? Doth he fall into sorrow
for the mouse that lives in his house? What careth he if a little mouse
complain to him at home. But he knows well that if a little child be
born, it is no longer in our power not to love it and be anxious for it.

2. Thus, too, he saith that no man of sense will take part in affairs
of the state, for he knows what he who takes part in them must do; but
what should hinder one to take part, if he may behave among men as in a
swarm of flies? But Epicurus, knowing these things, dares to say that we
should not rear up our children. But even a sheep will not desert its
young, nor a wolf; and shall a man? _What! will you have us to be silly
creatures, like the sheep?_ Yet they desert not their young. _Or savage,
like wolves?_ Yet even they desert them not. Come, then, who would obey
you if he saw his little child fall on the ground and cry? For my part,
I suppose that had it been prophesied to your mother and your father
that you would say these things, not even so would they have cast you
out.

3. _But how can it be said of these outward things_[3] _that they are
according to Nature, or contrary to Nature?_ That is to speak as if we
were solitary and disunited from others. For to the foot I shall say it
is according to Nature that it be clean; but if you take it as a foot,
and not as a solitary thing, it shall beseem it to go into the mud, and
to tread on thorns, and perchance to be cut off, for the sake of the
whole; otherwise it is no longer a foot.

4. And some such thing we should suppose about ourselves also. What art
thou? A man. Look at thyself as a solitary creature, and it is according
to Nature to live to old age, to grow rich, to keep good health. But if
thou look at thyself as a man, and as a part of a certain Whole, for the
sake of that Whole it may become thee now to have sickness, now to sail
the seas and run into peril, now to suffer need, and perchance to die
before thy time.

5. Why, then, dost thou bear it hard? Knowest thou not, that as the foot
alone is not a foot, so thou alone art not a man? For what is a man? A
part of a polity, first of that which is made up of Gods and men; then
of that which is said to be next to the other, which is a small copy of
the Universal Polity.

6. _Then must I now be brought to trial, and now must another have a
fever, and another sail the seas, another die, another be sentenced?_
Yea, for with such a body, in the bounds of such a universe, in such a
throng of inhabitants, it cannot be but that different things of this
nature should fall on different persons. This is thy task, then, having
come into the world, to speak what thou shouldst, and to order these
things as it is fitting.

7. Then some one saith, _I charge you with wrong-doing_. Much good may
it do thee! I have done my part—look to it thyself if thou have done
thine, for of this too there is some danger, lest it escape thee.




CHAPTER III.

AGAINST THE EPICUREANS AND ACADEMICS.


1. Beliefs which 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 possible 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 anything universally true, it is clear that he is obliged
to affirm the contrary, the negation—that there is nothing universally
true. Slave! not even this—for what is this but to say that if there is
anything universal it is falsehood?

2. Again, if one should come and say, _Know that nothing can be known,
but all things are incapable of proof; or another, Believe me, and it
shall profit thee, 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 thee this, and I will teach thee, if thou
wilt_—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 any one._

3. Thus Epicurus, when he would abolish the natural fellowship of men
with one another, employeth the very thing that is being abolished. For
what saith he? _Be not deceived, O men, nor misguided nor
mistaken—there is no natural fellowship among reasoning beings, believe
me; and those who speak otherwise deceive us with sophisms._ What is
that to thee? let us be deceived! Will it be the worse for thee if all
other men are persuaded that we have a natural fellowship with one
another, and that we should in all ways maintain it? Nay—but much the
better and safer. Man, why dost thou take thought for us, and watch at
night for our sakes? Why dost thou kindle thy lamp and rise early? why
dost thou write so many books, lest any of us should be deceived about
the Gods, in supposing that they cared for men? or lest any one 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, wherefor thou hast judged thyself fit; eat and drink and cohabit
and ease thyself and snore. What is it to thee how other men think
concerning these matters, whether soundly or unsoundly? What hast thou
to do with us? With sheep hast thou some concern, for that 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 themselves to
thee and the like of thee, to be shorn and milked? These things shouldst
thou say to thy brother Epicureans; but shouldst thou not keep them
hidden from other men, and seek in every way to persuade them above all
things that we are by nature social, and that temperance is good; in
order that everything may be kept for thee? Or should we preserve this
fellowship with some and not with others? With whom, then, should we
preserve it? With those who also preserve it towards us, or with those
who transgress it? And who transgress it more than ye, who set forth
such doctrines?

4. 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_, saith 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 slumbered, and
suffered him not to rest, but compelled him, as madness and wine the
priests of Cybele,[1] to proclaim his own evils? So mighty and
invincible a thing is man’s nature.

5. For how can a vine be affected, and 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 cannot be conceived.
Neither, then, is it possible for a man wholly to lose the affections of
humanity, for even eunuchs cannot cut away for 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 hath 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.

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

7. What sayest thou, philosopher? religion and holiness, what dost thou
take them for?[2]

——“If thou wilt, I shall prove that they are good.”

So be it; prove it then, in order that our citizens may be converted and
honor the Divinity, and be no longer neglectful of the greatest things.

——“Now hast thou received the proofs?”

I have, and am thankful therefor.

8.——“Now since thou art 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 multitude babble, is the lying of impostors and
sophists, or of legislators, by Zeus! for the frighting and restraining
of evil-doers.”

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

——“What now? are these doctrines not pleasing to thee? Learn, then,
that Righteousness is nothing, that Reverence is folly, that a father is
nothing, a son nothing.”

Well said, philosopher! proceed, persuade the young, that we may
multiply the number of those who believe and speak with thee. 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 honorable,
nor to be free men more honorable than base. Through these opinions died
those who fell at Thermopylæ, and through what others did the Athenians
forsake their city?[8]

9. 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 question the Pythian oracle that
they may learn falsehoods; and they declare the oracles to others. O
monstrous impudence and imposture!




CHAPTER IV

ON SLAVERY.


1. A certain man having inquired how one may make his meals in a manner
pleasing to the Gods, If he do it uprightly, 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, wilt thou not bear with
thine own brother, who is of the progeny of Zeus, like a son sprung of
the same seed as thyself, and of the same heavenly descent, but thou
must straightway make thyself a tyrant, for the place of command in
which thou art set? Wilt thou not remember who thou art, and whom thou
rulest—that they are kinsmen, brethren by nature, the progeny of Zeus?
_But I have bought them, and they have not bought me!_ Seest thou, then,
whither thou art looking—towards the earth, towards the pit of
perdition, towards these miserable laws of dead men? but towards the
laws of the Gods thou dost not look.

2. That which thou wouldst not suffer thyself, seek not to lay upon
others. Thou wouldst not be a slave—look to it that others be not
slaves to thee. For if thou endure to have slaves, it seems that thou
thyself art first of all a slave. For virtue hath no communion with vice
nor freedom with slavery.

3. As one who is in health would not choose to be served by the sick,
nor that those dwelling with him should be sick, so neither would one
that is free bear to be served by slaves, or that those living with him
should be slaves.[1]




CHAPTER V.

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


1. The Administrator[1] 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.

2. Now, that there are three things with which man is concerned—soul,
and body, and the outer world—scarce any one will deny. It remaineth,
then, for men like ye 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,[2] for somewhat that he should feel in the flesh?

3. 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?

——“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
inconceivable; 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
cannot be something different from the thing that justly delights us;
nor, if the original thing be not good, can aught 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 ye would never say, if ye had
your wits, for so ye 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.[3]

4. Wherefore Maximus did foolishly if he made his voyage for the sake of
anything else than the flesh; that is, than the chief thing. And any man
doth foolishly who restraineth 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 saith, _Ye shall not steal_. But I say
that if we steal with skill 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 to 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 refrain will I believe you. For, as it is
impossible to assent to anything that appeareth to be a falsehood or to
turn away from what appeareth to be true, even so it is impossible to
withhold oneself from anything that appeareth to be good. But riches are
a good, and, at all events, the most potent means of pleasure.
Wherefore, then, not compass them? And why not corrupt our neighbor’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 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
thine—a vile creed and honorable deeds.

5. 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?[4] who the director of gymnastics? and how shall the youth be
trained up? as the Lacedæmonians? or as the Athenians? Take me a youth,
and bring him up after these doctrines of thine! Evil are they,
subversive of States, mischievous to households, unbecoming to women.
Abandon them, man! Thou dwellest in a chief city; it is thy part to
rule, to judge righteously, to refrain from other men’s goods; nor must
any woman seem beautiful to thee save thine own wife, nor vessel of gold
or silver. Seek for doctrines in harmony with these words, from which
setting out thou mayest 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 towards them,
and confirms us in them, what shall come of it?

6. 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, firstly, in that we are; and secondly, as we are; and
thirdly, the main things themselves. 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?

7. And to these things let Pleasure be subject as a minister, a servant,
that she may summon forth our ardor, and that she also may aid in works
that are according to Nature.[5]

8. ——“But I am a wealthy man, and have no need of aught.”

Why, then, dost thou profess philosophy? Thy vessels of gold and vessels
of silver are enough for thee; what need hast thou of doctrines?

——“But I am also a judge of the Greeks!”

Dost thou know how to judge—who made thee know?

——“Cæsar wrote me a commission.”

Let him write thee a commission to be a judge of music, and what help
will it be to thee? And how didst thou become a judge? by kissing of
what man’s hand? Was it that of Symphorus or Numenius? Before whose
bed-chamber didst thou sleep? To whom didst thou send gifts? Dost thou
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 reasoning
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 thyself, 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 thee into prison._ This is not the rule of reasoning beings.
But, _As Zeus hath ordered, so do thou act; but if thou dost not, thou
shall suffer loss and hurt_. What hurt? _None other than this—not to
have done what it behooved thee to do. Thou shall lose faith, piety,
decency—look for no greater injuries than these._




CHAPTER VI.

ON STATECRAFT.


1. Not with the stones of Eubœa and Sparta let the structure of your
city walls be variegated; but let the discipline and teaching that comes
from Greece penetrate with order the minds of citizens and statesmen.
For with the thoughts of men are cities well established, and not with
wood and stone.

2. If thou wouldst have a household well established, then follow the
example of the Spartan Lycurgus. For even as he did not fence the city
with walls, but fortified the inhabitants with virtue, and so preserved
the city free for ever, thus do thou not surround thyself with a great
court and set up lofty towers, but confirm the dwellers in the house
with good-will, and faith, and friendliness, and no harmful thing shall
enter; no, not if the whole army of evil were arrayed against it.

3. Which of us will not admire Lycurgus, the Lacedæmonian? For having
lost an eye at the hands of one of the citizens, and having received the
young man from the people that he should punish him as he would, he
refrained from this; but having taught him and proved him to be a good
man, he brought him into the theater. And when the Lacedæmonians
marveled, _I received this man from you_, he said, _insolent and
violent; I give him back to you mild and civil_.




CHAPTER VII.

ON FRIENDSHIP.


1. Whereinsoever a man is zealous, this, it is fair to suppose, he
loveth. Are men, then, zealous for evil things? Never.[1] Or, perchance,
for things which do not concern them? Nor for them either. It
remaineth, then, that they are zealous about good things only; and that
if they are zealous about them, they also love them. Whosoever, then,
hath understanding of good things, the same would know how to love. But
he who is not able to distinguish good things from evil, and things that
are neither from both, how could this man yet be capable of loving? To
love, then, is a quality of the wise alone.

2. _And how is this_, saith one, _for I am foolish, and none the less do
I love my child_. By the Gods! I wonder, then, how you have begun by
confessing yourself to be foolish. For wherein do you lack? Do you not
use your senses? do you not judge of appearances? do you not bring to
the body the nourishment it needeth, and the covering and habitation?
Wherefore, then, confess yourself to be a fool? Because, forsooth, you
are often perplexed by appearances, and troubled, and you are vanquished
by their plausibility; and you take the same things to be now good, and
now evil, and then indifferent; and, in a word, you grieve and fear and
envy, and are troubled, and changed—for these things you confess
yourself a fool.

3. But do you never change in love? But is it wealth, and pleasure,
and, in short, things, alone that you sometimes take to be good and
sometimes evil? and do you not take the same men to be now good, now
evil? and sometimes you are friendly disposed towards them, and
sometimes hostile? and sometimes you praise them, and sometimes you
blame?

——“Yea, even so I do.”

What then? a man who hath been deceived about another, is he, think you,
his friend?

——“Assuredly not.”

And one who hath taken a friend out of a humor for change, hath he
good-will towards him?

——“Nor he either.”

And he who now reviles another, and afterwards reveres him?

——“Nor he.”

What then? Sawest thou never the whelps of a dog, how they fawn and
sport with each other, that you would say nothing can be more loving?
But to know what friendship is, fling a piece of flesh among them, and
thou shalt learn. And cast between thee and thy child a scrap of land,
and thou shalt learn how the child will quickly wish to bury thee, and
thou wilt pray that he may die. And then thou wilt say, _What a child
have I nourished! this long time he is burying me!_ Throw a handsome
girl between you, and the old man will love her, and the young too;[2]
and if it be glory, or some risk to run, it will be on the same fashion.
You will speak the words of the father of Admetus[3]:—

  “Day gladdens thee; think’st thou it glads not me?
  Thou lovest light; think’st thou I love the dark?”

Think you this man did not love his own child when it was little? nor
was in agony if it had a fever? nor said many a time, _Would that I had
the fever rather than he!_ Then when the trial cometh and is near at
hand, lo, what words they utter! And Eteocles and Polyneices,[4] were
they not children of the same mother and the same father? were they not
brought up together, did they not live together, drink together, sleep
together, and often kiss one another? So that any one who saw them, I
think, would have laughed at the philosophers, for the things they say
perversely about friendship. But when royalty, like a piece of flesh,
hath fallen between them, hear what things they speak:—

  “_Pol._ Where wilt thou stand before the towers?”

   _Et._ Wherefore seekest thou to know?”

   _Pol._ There I too would stand and slay thee.”

   _Et._ Thou hast spoken my desire.”

4. For universally, be not deceived, nothing is so dear to any creature
as its own profit. Whatsoever may seem to hinder this, be it father or
child or friend or lover, this he will hate and abuse and curse. For
Nature hath never so made anything as to love aught but its own profit:
this is father and brother and kin and country and God. When, then, the
Gods appear to hinder us in this, we revile even them, and overthrow
their images and burn their temples; as Alexander, when his friend died,
commanded to burn the temples of Esculapius.

5. Therefore, if a man place in the same thing both profit and holiness,
and the beautiful and fatherland, and parents and friends, all these
things shall be saved; but if he place profit in one thing, and friends
and fatherland and kinsfolk, yea, and righteousness itself some other
where, all these things shall perish, for profit shall outweigh them.
For where the I and the Mine are, thither, of necessity, inclineth every
living thing: if in the flesh, then the supremacy is there; if in the
Will, it is there; if in outward things, it is there. If, then, mine I
is where my Will is, thus only shall I be the friend I should be, or the
son or the father. For my profit then will be to cherish faith and piety
and forbearance and continence and helpfulness; and to guard the bonds
of relation. But if I set Myself in one place and Virtue some
otherwhere, then the word of Epicurus waxeth strong, which declareth
that there is no Virtue, or, at least, that Virtue is but conceit.

6. Through this ignorance did Athenians and Lacedæmonians quarrel with
each other, and Thebans with both of them, and the Great King with
Hellas, and Macedonians with both of them, and even now Romans with
Getæ; and through this yet earlier the wars of Ilion arose. Paris was
the guest of Menelaus; and if any one had seen how friendly-minded
towards each other they were, he would have disbelieved any one who said
they were not friends. But a morsel was flung between them—a fair
woman, and about her there was war. And now when you see friends or
brothers that seem to be of one mind, argue nothing from this concerning
their friendship; nay, not if they swear it, not if they declare that
they cannot be parted from each other. For in the ruling faculty of a
worthless man there is no faith; it is unstable, unaccountable, victim
of one appearance after another. But try them, not, as others do, if
they were born of the same parents and nurtured together, and under the
same tutor; but by this alone, wherein they place their profit, whether
in outward things or in the will. If in outward things, call them no
more friends than faithful or steadfast or bold or free; yea, nor even
men, if you had sense. For that opinion hath nothing of humanity that
makes men bite each other, and revile each other, and haunt the
wildernesses, or the public places, like the mountains,[5] and in the
courts of justice to show forth the character of thieves; nor that which
makes men drunkards and adulterers and corruptors, nor whatever other
ills men work against each other through this one and only opinion, that
They and Theirs lie in matters beyond the Will. But if you hear, in
sooth, that these men hold the Good to be there only where the Will is,
where the right use of appearances is, then be not busy to inquire if
they are father and son, or brothers, or have long time companied with
each other as comrades; but, knowing this one thing alone, argue
confidently that they are friends, even as they are faithful and
upright. For where else is friendship than where faith is, where piety
is, where there is an interchange of virtue, and none of other things
than that?

7. _But such a one hath shown kindness to me so long, and is he not my
friend?_ Slave, whence knowest thou if he did not show thee kindness as
he wipes his shoes or tends his beast? Whence knowest thou if, when thy
use is at an end as a vessel, he will not cast thee away like a broken
plate? _But she is my wife, and we have lived together so long?_ And how
long lived Eriphyle with Amphiaraus, and was the mother, yea, of many
children? But a necklace came between them.[6] But what is a necklace?
It is the opinion men have concerning such things. That was the wild
beast nature, that was the sundering of love, that which would not allow
the woman to be a wife, or the mother a mother. And of you, whosoever
hath longed either to be a friend himself or to win some other for a
friend, let him cut out these opinions, let him hate them and drive them
from his soul.

8. And thus he will not revile himself, nor be at strife with himself,
nor be variable, nor torment himself. And to another, if it be one like
himself, he will be altogether as to himself, but with one unlike he
will be forbearing and gentle and mild, ready to forgive him as an
ignorant man, as one who is astray about the greatest things; but harsh
to no man, being well assured of that dogma of Plato, that no soul is
willingly deprived of the truth.

9. But otherwise you may do all things whatsoever, even as friends are
wont to do, and drink together, and dwell together, and voyage together,
and be born from the same parents, for so are snakes; but friends they
are not, nor are ye, so long as ye hold these accursed doctrines of wild
beasts.




CHAPTER VIII.

TIME AND CHANGE.


1. Let not another’s vice be thy evil. For thou wast not born to be
abject with others, or unfortunate with others, but to prosper with
them. But if any one is unfortunate, remember that it is of his own
doing. For God hath made all men to be happy, and of good estate. For
this end hath He granted means and occasions, giving some things to each
man as his own concern, and some things as alien; and the things that
are hindered and subject to compulsion and lost are not his own concern,
and those that are unhindered are; and the substance of Good and of
Evil, as it were worthy of Him that careth for us and doth protect us as
a father, He hath placed among our own concerns.

2.——“But I have parted from such a one, and he is grieved.”

For why did he deem things alien to be his own concern? Why, when he
rejoiced to see thee, did he not reason that thou wert mortal, and apt
to travel to another land? Therefore doth he pay the penalty of his own
folly. But thou, for what cause or reason dost thou bewail thyself? Hast
thou also given no thought to these things; but like silly women
consorted with all that pleased thee as though thou shouldst consort
with them forever, places and persons and pastimes? and now thou sittest
weeping, because thou canst see the same persons and frequent the same
places no longer. This, truly, is what thou art fit for, to be more
wretched than crows and ravens that can fly whithersoever they please,
and change their nests, and pass across the seas, nor ever lament nor
yearn for what they have left.

——“Yea, but they are thus because they are creatures without reason.”

To us, then, was Reason given by the Gods for our misfortune and misery?
that we should be wretched and sorrowful forever? Let all men be
immortal, forsooth, and no man migrate to another land, nor let us
ourselves ever migrate, but remain rooted to one spot like plants; and
if one of our companions go, let us sit down and weep, and if he return,
dance and clap hands like children!

3. Shall we not now at last wean ourselves, and remember what we heard
from the philosophers? if, indeed, we did not listen to them as a
wizard’s incantation. For they said that the universe is one Polity, and
one is the substance out of which it is made, and there must, of
necessity, be a certain cycle, and some things must give place to
others, some dissolving away, and others coming into being, some abiding
in one place, and others being in motion. But all things are full of
love, first of the Gods, then of men, that are by nature made to have
affection towards each other; and it must needs be that some dwell with
each other, and some are separated, rejoicing in those who are with
them, and not distressed for those who go away. And man, they said, is
magnanimous by nature, and contemneth all things beyond the Will; and
hath also this quality, not to be rooted to one spot, nor grown into the
earth, but able to go from place to place, sometimes urged by divers
needs, sometimes for the sake of what he shall see.

4. And such was the case with Ulysses:—

   “The cities of many peoples and minds of men he
   knew.”—_Od._ i. 3.

And yet earlier with Hercules, who went about the whole earth—

   “All disorders of men and orderly rule to see,”
                                     —_Od._ xvii. 487,

casting out and purging the one, and bringing in the other in its place.
And how many friends, think you, had he in Thebes? how many in Argos?
how many in Athens? and how many did he gain in his journeyings? And he
took a wife, too, when it seemed to him due time, and begat children,
and left them behind him, not with lamentations or regrets, nor leaving
them as orphans; for he knew that no man is an orphan, but that there is
an Eternal Father who careth continually for all. For not of report
alone had he heard that Zeus is the Father of men, whom also he thought
to be his own father, and called Him so, and all that he did, he did
looking unto Him. And thus it was that he was able to live happily in
every place.

5. For never can happiness and the longing for what is not exist
together. For Happiness must have all its will. It is like unto one that
hath eaten and is filled; thirst will not sort with it, nor hunger. _But
Ulysses longed for his wife, and lamented as he sat on the rock._[1] And
do you, then, follow Homer and his stories in everything? Or if he did
in truth lament, what else was he than an unfortunate man? And what good
man is unfortunate? Verily, the Whole is ill-governed if Zeus taketh no
care of his own citizens, that they like himself may be happy; but these
things it is not lawful nor pious even to think of. But Ulysses, if
indeed he lamented and complained, was not a good man. For what good man
is there that knoweth not who he is? and who knoweth this who forgets
that things which come into existence also perish, and that no two human
beings dwell together forever? To aim, then, at things which are
impossible is a contemptible and foolish thing; it is the part of a
stranger and alien in God’s world who fights against God in the one way
he can—by his own opinions.

6. _But my mother laments if she sees me not._ And wherefore hath she
never learned these teachings? Yet, I say not that it is no concern of
ours to prevent her grieving; but that we should not absolutely, and
without exception, desire what is not our own. And the grief of another
is another’s, and my grief is mine own. I will, therefore, absolutely
end mine own grief, for this I can; and that of another according to my
means, but this I will not attempt absolutely. For otherwise I shall be
fighting with God. I shall be opposing and resisting Him in the
government of the Whole; and of this strife against God, this obstinacy,
not only my children’s children, but I myself, too, shall pay the
penalty by day and night; for I shall leap from my bed at visions of the
night, confounded, trembling at every news, having my peace at the mercy
of letters of other persons. _A messenger hath come from Rome; God grant
it be no evil_. But what evil can come upon thee there, where thou art
not? _There is a message from Greece; God grant it be no evil._ And thus
to thee every place may be a source of misfortune. Is it not enough for
thee to be unfortunate where thou art, and not also across the sea, and
by writings? Is this the security of thine affairs? _But what if my
friends which are abroad die there?_ What else than that creatures
destined to die have died? And how dost thou desire to live to old age,
and never to see the death of any whom thou lovest? Knowest thou not
that in a great length of time many and various things must chance; that
a fever shall overthrow one, and a robber another, and a tyrant another?
Such is our environment, such our companions; cold and heat, and
improper ways of living, and journeyings, and voyagings, and winds, and
various circumstances will destroy one man, and exile another, and cast
another into an embassy, and another into a campaign. Sit down, then,
terrified at all these things; grieve and fail, and be unfortunate;
depend on others, and that not on one or two, but myriads upon myriads.

7. Is this what you heard, is this what you learned from the
philosophers? Know you not that our business here is a warfare? and one
must watch, and one go out as a spy, and one must fight? All cannot be
the same thing, nor would it be better if they were. But you neglect to
do the bidding of the commander, and complain when he hath laid somewhat
rougher than common upon you; and you mark not what, so far as in you
lies, you are making the army to become, so that if all copy you, none
will dig a trench, none will cast up a rampart, none will watch, none
will run any risk, but each will appear worthless for warfare. Again, in
a ship, if you go for a sailor, take up one place, and never budge from
it; and if you are wanted to go aloft, refuse; or to run upon the prow,
refuse; and what captain will have patience with you? Will he not cast
you out like some useless thing, nothing else than a hindrance and bad
example to the other sailors?

8. And thus here also: the life of every man is a sort of warfare, and
a long one, and full of divers chances. And it behooveth a man to play a
soldier’s part, and do all at the nod of his commander; yea, and if it
be possible, to divine what he intendeth. For that commander is not such
a one as this, neither in power nor in exaltation of character. You are
set in a great office, and in no mean place, but are a Senator forever.
Know you not that such a one can attend but little to his household, but
he must be oftentimes abroad, ruling or being ruled, or fulfilling some
office, or serving in the field, or judging? And will you, then, desire
to be fixed and rooted like a plant in the same place? _For it is
pleasant._ Who denies it? But so is a dainty pleasant, and a fair woman
is pleasant. How otherwise are those wont to speak who make pleasure
their end? See you not what kind of men they are whose words you utter?
They are the words of Epicureans and profligates. And doing the works of
these men, and holding their doctrines, wilt thou speak to us with the
speech of Zeno and Socrates?

9. Will you not fling away from you as far as you can these alien
sentiments wherewith you adorn yourself, which beseem you not at all?
What other desire have such men than to sleep their fill unhindered, and
when they have risen, to yawn for languor, and wash their face, and
write and read whatever pleaseth them; then have some trivial talk, and
be praised by their friends, whatever they say; then go forth to walk
about, and having done this a little, go to the baths; then eat; then
retire to rest—such a rest as is the wont of such men, and why need we
say what, for it is easily guessed? Come, tell me, then, thine own way
of life, such as thou desirest, O thou votary of the truth, and of
Socrates and Diogenes! What wilt thou do in Athens? these very things,
or others? Why, then, dost declare thyself a Stoic? Are not they sorely
punished which falsely pretend to be Roman citizens; and should those go
free who falsely pretend to so great and reverend a calling and name? or
let this indeed be impossible; but this is the law, divine and mighty,
and not to be escaped, that layeth the greatest punishments on the
greatest sinners. For what saith this law? He who pretendeth to things
that are not his own, let him be a cheat and braggart; he that is
disobedient to the divine government, let him be an abject, a slave, let
him grieve and envy and pity[2]—in a word, let him be misfortunate, and
mourn.

10.——“And now will you have me attend upon such a one, and hang about
his doors?”

If Reason demand it, for the sake of country, of kinsmen, of mankind,
wherefore shouldst thou not go? Thou art not ashamed to go to the doors
of a cobbler when thou art in want of shoes, nor to those of a gardener
for lettuces; and why to those of a rich man when thou art in need of
some like thing?

——“Yea, but I have no awe of the cobbler.”

Then have none of the rich.

——“Nor will I flatter the gardener.”

And do not flatter the rich.

——“How, then, shall I gain what I want?”

Did I say to thee, _Go, for the sake of gaining it_; or did I not only
say, _Go, that thou mayest do what it beseems thee to do_.

——“And why, then, should I yet go?”

That thou mayest have gone; that thou mayest have played the part of a
citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And, for the rest, remember that the
shoemaker, the vegetable-seller, to whom thou didst go, hath nothing
great or exalted to give, even though he sell it dear. Thy aim was
lettuces; they are worth an obol, they are not worth a talent. And so it
is here. Is the matter worth going to the rich man’s door for? So be it;
I will go. Is it worth speaking to him about? So be it; I will speak.
But must I also kiss his hand, and fawn upon him with praise? Out upon
it! that is a talent’s worth. It is no profit to me, nor to the State,
nor to my friends, that they should lose a good citizen and friend.

11.——“How, then, shall I become of an affectionate disposition?”

In having a generous and happy one. For Reason doth never decree that a
man must be abject, or lament, or depend on another, or blame God or
man. And thus be thou affectionate, as one who will keep this faith.
But if through this affection, or what happens to be so called by thee,
thou art like to prove a miserable slave, then it shall not profit thee
to be affectionate. And what hinders us to love as though we loved a
mortal, or one who may depart to other lands? Did Socrates not love his
children? Yea, but as a free man; as one who remembered that he must
first love the Gods. And, therefore, he never did transgress anything
that it becomes a good man to observe, neither in his defense, nor in
fixing his punishment, nor beforetime when he was of the Council, nor
when he was serving in the field. But we are well supplied with every
excuse for baseness; some through children, some through mothers, some
through brothers. But it behooveth no man to be unhappy through any
person, but happy through all, and most of all through God, which hath
framed us to that end.

12. And, for the rest, in all things which are delightful to thee, set
before thyself the appearances that oppose them. What harm is it, while
kissing thy child, to whisper, _To-morrow thou shalt die_; and likewise
with thy friend, _To-morrow thou shall depart, either thou or I, and we
shall see each other no more_?

——“But these are words of ill-omen.”

And so are some incantations, but in that they are useful I regard not
this; only let them be of use. But dost thou call anything of ill-omen,
save only that which betokeneth some evil? Cowardice is a word of
ill-omen, and baseness and grief and mourning and shamelessness, these
words are of ill-omen. And not even them must we dread to speak, if so
we may defend ourselves against the things. But wilt thou say that any
word is of ill-omen that betokeneth some natural thing? Say that it is
of ill-omen to speak of the reaping of ears of corn, for it betokeneth
the destruction of the ears—but not of the universe. Say that the
falling of the leaves is of ill-omen, and the dried fig coming in the
place of the green, and raisins in the place of grapes. For all these
things are changes from the former estate to another; no destruction,
but a certain appointed order and disposition. Here is parting for
foreign lands, and a little change. Here is death—a greater change, not
from that which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not
now.




CHAPTER IX.

ON SOLITUDE.


1. Solitude is the state of one who is helpless. For he who is alone is
not therefore solitary; even as he who is in a great company is not
therefore not solitary. When, therefore, we have lost a brother or a son
or a friend on whom we were wont to rest, we say that we are left
solitary, and oftentimes we say it in Rome, with such a crowd meeting us
and so many dwelling about us, and, it may be, having a multitude of
slaves. For the solitary man, in his conception, meaneth to be thought
helpless, and laid open to those who wish him harm. Therefore when we
are on a journey we then, above all, say that we are solitary when we
are fallen among thieves; for that which taketh away solitude is not the
sight of a man, but of a faithful and pious and serviceable man. For if
to be solitary it sufficeth to be alone, then say that Zeus is solitary
in the conflagration,[1] and bewails himself. _Woe is me! I have neither
Hera nor Athene nor Apollo_, nor, in short, either brother or son or
descendant or kinsman. And so some say he doth when alone in the
conflagration. For they comprehend not the life of a man who is alone,
setting out from a certain natural principle, that we are by nature
social, and inclined to love each other, and pleased to be in the
company of other men. But none the less is it needful that one find the
means to this also, to be able to suffice to himself, and to be his own
companion. For as Zeus is his own companion, and is content with
himself, and considereth his own government, what it is, and is occupied
in designs worthy of himself; thus should we be able to converse with
ourselves, and feel no need of others, nor want means to pass the time;
but to observe the divine government, and the relation of ourselves with
other things; to consider how we stood formerly towards the events that
befall us, and how we stand now; what things they are that still afflict
us; how these, too, may be healed, how removed; and if aught should need
perfecting, to perfect it according to the reason of the case.

2. Ye see now how that Cæsar seemeth to have given us a great peace;
how there are no longer wars nor battles nor bands of robbers nor of
pirates, but a man may travel at every season, and sail from east to
west. But can he give us peace from fever? or from shipwreck? or from
fire? or earthquake? or lightning? ay, or from love? _He cannot._ Or
from grief? _He cannot._ Or from envy? _He cannot._ Briefly, then, he
cannot secure us from any of such things. But the word of the
philosophers doth promise us peace even from these things. And what
saith it? _If ye will hearken unto me, O men, wheresoever ye be,
whatsoever ye do, ye shall not grieve, ye shall not be wroth, ye shall
not be compelled or hindered, but ye shall live untroubled and free from
every ill._ Whosoever hath this peace, which Cæsar never proclaimed (for
how could he proclaim it?), but which God proclaimed through His word,
shall he not suffice to himself when he may be alone? for he beholdeth
and considereth, _Now can no evil happen to me; for me there is no
robber, no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full of calm; for
me no way, no city, no assembly, no neighbor, no associate hath any
hurt_. He is supplied by one, whose part that is, with food, by another
with raiment, by another with senses, by another with natural
conceptions. And when it may be that the necessary things are no longer
supplied, that is the signal for retreat: the door is opened, and God
saith to thee, _Depart_.

——“Whither?”

To nothing dreadful, but to the place from whence thou camest—to things
friendly and akin to thee, to the elements of Being. Whatever in thee
was fire shall go to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water,
to water;[2] no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Coeytus, nor Phlegethon, but all
things are full of Gods and Powers.[3] Whoso hath these things to think
on, and seeth the sun and the moon and the stars, and rejoiceth in the
earth and the sea, he is no more solitary than he is helpless.

——“What, then, if one come and find me alone and slay me?”

Fool! not thee, but thy wretched body.

3. Thou art a little soul bearing up a corpse.

4. What solitude, then, is there any longer, what lack? Why do we make
ourselves worse than children, which, when they are left alone, what do
they?—they take shells and sand and build up somewhat, and then throw
it down, and again build up something else, and so they never lack
pastime. And shall I, if ye sail away from me, sit down and weep for
that I am left alone and solitary? Shall I have no shells nor sand? But
children do these things through their folly, and we through our wisdom
are made unhappy.




CHAPTER X.

AGAINST THE CONTENTIOUS AND REVENGEFUL.


1. To suppose that we shall become contemptible in the eyes of others,
unless in some way we inflict an injury on those who first showed
hostility to us, is the character of most ignoble and thoughtless men.
For thus we say, that a man is to be despised according to his inability
to do hurt; but much rather is he to be despised according to his
inability to do good.

2. The wise and good man neither strives with any himself, nor in the
measure of his power will he allow another to strive. And in this, as in
all other things, the life of Socrates is set before us as an example;
who did not only himself fly all contention, but also forbade it to
others. See in Xenophon’s _Symposium_ how many quarrels he ended; and,
again, how he bore with Thrasymachus, and how with Polus and with
Callicles; and how he endured his wife, and how his son, which opposed
him with sophistical arguments. For he remembered very well that no man
can command the ruling faculty of another.

3. How, then, is there yet any place for contention in one so minded?
For what event can amaze him? what appear strange to him? Doth he not
look for even worse and more grievous things at the hands of evil men
than do befall him? Doth he not count everything for gain which is short
of the extreme of injury? Hath such a one reviled thee? Much thanks to
him that he did not strike thee. _But he did also strike me._ Much
thanks that he did not wound thee. _But he did also wound me._ Much
thanks that he did not slay thee. For when did he learn, or from whom,
that he was a tame animal, and affectionate to others, and that to the
wrongdoer the wrong-doing itself is a heavy injury? For since he hath not
learned these things, nor believes them, wherefore should he not follow
that which appears to be his advantage? Thy neighbor hath flung stones!
Hast thou, then, sinned in aught? But he has broken things in the house?
And art thou a household vessel? Nay—but a Will.

4. What, then, hath been given thee for this occasion? To a wolf it were
given to bite—to fling more stones. But if thou seek what is becoming
for a man, look into thy stores, see what faculties thou hast come here
furnished withal. Hast thou the nature of a wild beast? the temper of
revenge?

5. When is a horse in wretched case? When he is bereaved of his natural
faculties; not when he cannot crow, but when he cannot run. When is a
dog? Not when he cannot fly, but when he cannot track. Is not a man,
then, also thus wretched, not when he cannot strangle lions or embrace
statues[1]—for to this he came endowed with no faculties by Nature—but
when he hath lost his honesty, his faithfulness? Surely we should meet
together and lament over such a man; so great are the evils into which
he hath fallen. Not, indeed, that we should lament for his birth, or for
his death, but in that while yet living he hath suffered the loss of his
own true possessions. I speak not of his paternal inheritance, not of
his land, or his house, or his inn, or his slaves (for not one of these
things is the true possession of a man, but all are alien, servile,
subject, given now to some, now to others, by those that can command
them); but of his human qualities, the stamps of his spirit wherewith he
came into the world. Even such we seek for also on coins, and if we find
them we approve the coins, and if not, we cast them away. What is the
stamp of this sestertius? _The stamp of Trajan._ Then give it me. _The
stamp of Nero._[2] Fling it away—it will not pass, it is bad. And so
here too. What is the stamp of his mind? He is gentle, social,
forbearing, affectionate. Come, then, I receive him, I admit him to
citizenship, I receive him as a neighbor, a fellow-traveler. See to it
only that he have not Nero’s stamp. Is he wrathful, revengeful,
complaining? Doth he, when it may seem good to him, break the heads of
all who stand in his way? Why, then, didst thou say he was a man? Shall
everything be judged by the bare form? If so, then say that a wax apple
is a real apple, and that it has the smell and taste of an apple. But
the outward shape doth not suffice, nor are eyes and nose enough to make
a man, but he is a man only if he have a man’s mind. Here is one that
will not hear reason, that will not submit when he is confuted—he is an
ass. In another, reverence hath died—he is worthless, anything rather
than a man. This one seeketh whom he may meet and kick or bite—so that
he is not even a sheep or an ass, but some kind of savage beast.

6. But this is the nature of every creature, to pursue the Good and fly
the Evil; and to hold every man an enemy and a plotter for our woe, were
it even a brother, or son, or father, who takes away from us the one, or
brings us into the other. For nothing is nearer or dearer to us than the
Good. It remains, therefore, if outward things be good and evil, that a
father is no longer the friend of his sons, nor the brother of his
brother, but every place is full of enemies and plotters and slanderers.
But if the only Good is that the Will should be as it ought to be, and
the only Evil as it ought not, where is there then any place for strife,
for reviling? For about what things shall we strive? about those that
are nothing to us? and with whom? with the ignorant, the unhappy, with
men who are deceived concerning the greatest things?

7. Remembering these things, Socrates managed his own household,
enduring a most shrewish wife and an undutiful son. For these doctrines
make love in a household, and concord in a State, peace among nations,
and gratitude towards God, with boldness in every place, as of one who
hath to do with things alien to him, and of no estimation. And we are
the men to write and read these things, and to applaud them when they
are delivered to us, but to the belief of them we have not even come
near. And therefore that saying concerning the Lacedæmonians,

  “Lions at home, but in Ephesus foxes,”[3]

will fit us too—lions in the school and foxes without.


END OF BOOK III.




_BOOK IV._




CHAPTER I.

OF RELIGION.


1. Of religion towards the Gods, know that the chief element is to have
right opinions concerning them, as existing and governing the whole in
fair order and justice; and then to set thyself to obey them, and to
yield to them in each event, and submit to it willingly, as accomplished
under the highest counsels. For so shalt thou never blame the Gods, nor
accuse them, as being neglectful of thee.

2. But this may come to pass in no other way than by placing Good and
Evil in the things that are in our own power, and withdrawing them from
those that are not; for if thou take any of these things to be good or
evil, then when thou shalt miss thy desire, or fall into what thou
desirest not, it is altogether necessary that thou blame and hate those
who caused thee to do so.

3. For every living thing was so framed by Nature as to flee and turn
from things, and the causes of things, that appear hurtful, and to
follow and admire things, and the causes of things, that appear
serviceable. For it is impossible that one who thinketh himself harmed
should delight in that seemeth to harm him, even as he cannot delight in
the very harm itself.

4. And thus it comes that a father is reviled by his son when he will
not give him of the things that appear to be good. And this it was that
set Polyneices and Eteocles at war with each other—the opinion, namely,
that royalty is a good. And through this the Gods are railed on by the
husbandman and the sailor, by the merchant, and men who lose their wives
or children. For where advantage is, there also is religion. Thus he who
is careful to pursue and avoid as he ought, is careful, at the same
time, of religion.

5. But it is fitting also that every man should pour libations and offer
sacrifices and first-fruits after the customs of his fathers, purely,
and not languidly nor negligently, nor, indeed, scantily, nor yet beyond
his means.




CHAPTER II.

OF PROVIDENCE.


1. Concerning the Gods, there are some who say that a Divine Being does
not exist; and others, that it exists indeed, but is idle and uncaring,
and hath no forethought for anything; and a third class say that there
is such a Being, and he taketh forethought also, but only in respect of
great and heavenly things, but of nothing that is on the earth; and a
fourth class, that he taketh thought of things both in heaven and earth,
but only in general, and not of each thing severally. And there is a
fifth class, whereof are Odysseus and Socrates, who say, _Nor can I move
without thy knowledge_.[1]

2. Before all things, then, it is necessary to investigate each of these
opinions, whether it be justly affirmed or no. For if there be no Gods,
how can the following of the Gods be an end? And if there are Gods, but
such as take no care for anything, then also how can the following of
them be truly an end? And how, again, if the Gods both exist and take
care for things, yet if there be no communication from them to men, yea,
by Zeus, and even to mine own self? The wise and good man, having
investigated all these things, will submit his own mind to Him that
governeth the Whole, even as good citizens to the laws of their State.

3. But a certain man having inquired how one could be persuaded that
every one of his actions is observed by God, Doth it not appear to you,
said Epictetus, that all things are united in One?

——“It doth so appear.”

What then? Think you not that a sympathy exists between heavenly and
earthly things?

——“I do think it.”

For how else do plants, as if at the command of God, when He bids them,
flower in due season? and shoot forth when He bids them shoot, and bear
fruit when He bids them bear? and ripen when He bids them ripen? and
again they drop their fruit when He bids them drop it, and shed their
leaves when He bids them shed them? and how else at His bidding do they
fold themselves together, and remain motionless and at rest? And how
else at the waxing and waning of the moon, and the approach and
withdrawal of the sun, do we behold such a change and reversal in
earthly things? But are the plants and our bodies so bound up in the
whole, and have sympathy with it, and are our spirits not much more so?
And our souls being thus bound up and in touch with God, seeing, indeed,
that they are portions and fragments of Him, shall not every movement of
them, inasmuch as it is something inward and akin to God, be perceived
by Him? But you are able to meditate upon the divine government, and
upon all divine and all human affairs, and to be affected at the same
time in the senses and in the intellect by ten thousand things, and at
the same time to assent to some and dissent to others, or suspend your
judgment; and you preserve in your mind so many impressions of so many
and various things, and being affected by them, you strike upon ideas
similar to earlier impressions, and you retain many different arts, and
memories of ten thousand things; and shall not God have the power to
overlook all things, and be present with all, and have a certain
communication with all? But is the sun able to illuminate so great a
part of the All, and to leave so little without light,—that part,
namely, which is filled with the shadow of the earth—and shall He who
made the sun, and guideth it in its sphere—a small part of Him beside
the Whole—shall He not be capable of perceiving all things?

4. _But I_, saith the man, _cannot take heed of all these things at
once_. And who said you could do this? that you had equal powers with
God? But, nevertheless, He hath placed at every man’s side a Guardian,
the Genius of each man,[2] who is charged to watch over him, a Genius
that cannot sleep, nor be deceived. To what greater and more watchful
guardian could He have committed us? So, when ye have shut the doors,
and made darkness in the house, remember never to say that ye are alone;
for ye are not alone, but God is there, and your Genius is there; and
what need have these of light to mark what ye are doing? To this God it
were fitting also that ye should swear an oath, as soldiers do to Cæsar.
But those indeed who receive pay swear to prefer the safety of Cæsar
before all things; but ye, receiving so many and great things, will ye
not swear? or swearing, will ye not abide by it? And what shall ye
swear? Never to disobey, never to accuse, never to blame aught that He
hath given, never unwillingly to do or suffer any necessary thing. Is
this oath like unto that other? The soldiers swear to esteem no other
man before Cæsar; ye to esteem yourselves above all.




CHAPTER III.

OF PROVIDENCE.


1. Marvel not if the other animals have all things that are needful for
the body without preparation, not alone food and drink, but sleeping
places also, and they have no need of shoes, nor bedding, nor raiment,
while all these things must needs be added to us. For these creatures
exist not for themselves, but for service; it were not expedient that
they had been made with need of such additions. For, look you, what a
task it were for us to take thought, not for ourselves alone, but also
for the sheep and the asses, how they should be clad, how shod, how they
should eat, how they should drink! But as soldiers are ready for their
commands, shod, and clothed, and accoutred, and it would be a grievous
thing if each captain of a thousand must go round and shoe or clothe
his thousand; so also hath Nature formed the animals that are made for
service, ready equipped, and needing no further care. And thus one
little child with a rod will drive the sheep.

2. But now we, neglecting to be grateful, for that we need not attend to
the animals equally with ourselves, do accuse God for our own lack. And
yet, by Zeus and all the Gods, there is no one thing in the frame of
Nature but would give, at least to a reverent and grateful spirit,
enough for the perceiving of the Providence of God. And to speak of no
great things now, consider this alone, how milk is produced from grass,
and cheese from milk, and wool from skins. Who is he that hath made
these things or planned them? _No one_, sayest thou? O monstrous
impudence and dullness!

3. Well, then, let the large works of Nature pass, and let us look only
at her by-works. Is there aught more useless than the hairs on the chin?
What then? hath she not made such use even of these, that nothing could
be comelier? hath she not by them distinguished male from female? Doth
not the nature of every man cry aloud even at a distance, _I am a man,
thus shalt thou approach me, thus speak to me, look for nothing else;
behold the tokens!_ And again in women, as Nature hath mingled something
of softness in the voice, so she hath taken away the hairs. _Nay_, will
you say? _but every creature should have been left undistinguished, and
each of us should proclaim_, “_I am a man_?” But how beautiful is not
the token, and becoming, and reverend? how much more beautiful than the
cock’s comb? how much more becoming than the lion’s mane? Wherefore it
behooveth us to preserve God’s tokens, nor to fling them away, nor to
confound, as far as in us lies, the things that distinguish the sexes.

4. Are these the only works of Providence in us?—but what may suffice
to rightly praise and tell them? For had we understanding thereof, would
any other thing better beseem us, either in company or alone, than to
hymn the Divine Being, and laud Him and rehearse His gracious deeds?
Should we not, as we dig or plow or eat, sing this hymn to God, _Great
is God, who hath given us such instruments whereby we shall till the
earth; great is God, who hath given us hands, and swallowing, and the
belly; who maketh us to grow without our knowledge, and to breathe while
we sleep_. These things it were fitting that every man should sing, and
to chant the greatest and divinest hymns for this, that He hath given us
the power to observe and consider His works and a Way wherein to
walk.[1] What then? since the most of you have become blind, should
there not be one to fill this place, and in the name of all to sing this
hymn to God? For what else can I do, an old man and lame, than sing
hymns to God? If I were a nightingale I would do after the nature of a
nightingale; if a swan, after that of a swan. But now I am a reasoning
creature, and it behooves me to sing the praise of God: this is my task,
and this I do, nor, as long as it is granted me, will I ever abandon
this post. And you, too, I summon to join me in the same song.




CHAPTER IV.

GOD IN MAN.


1. God is beneficial. But the Good is also beneficial. It is likely,
then, that where the essence of God is, there also should be the essence
of the Good. And what is the essence of God? Flesh? God forbid. A
property in land? God forbid. Fame? God forbid. Mind, Intelligence,
Right Reason? Even so. Here, then, once for all, seek the essence of the
Good. For surely you will in no wise seek it in a plant? _Nay._ Or in
any unreasoning creature? _Nay._ If, then, it is sought in a reasoning
creature, wherefore continue to seek it anywhere else than in the
difference between reasoning and unreasoning creatures?

2. The plants have not so much as the use of appearances, therefore we
speak not of the Good in their regard. The Good, then, needs the power
of using appearances. And this alone? Nay; for if so, say then that Good
and Happiness and Unhappiness are with the lower animals too. But this
you will not say, and you are right; for though they possessed the use
of appearances in the highest degree, yet the observing and considering
of this use they do not possess, and naturally so, for they exist to
serve others, nor have any supreme object in themselves.[1] For the ass
was not made for any supreme object in himself? Nay, but he was made
able to bear, because we had need of a back; and, by Zeus, we had need
moreover that he should walk; wherefore he received also the power to
use appearances, else had he not been able to walk. And thereupon the
matter stopped. For had he also received the observing and considering
of the use of appearances, it is clear that in reason he could no longer
have been subject to us, nor have served those needs of ours, but he had
been our equal and our like.

3. For use is one thing, and observation and study is another. God had
need of the other animals to use appearances, but of us to observe and
study appearances. Wherefore it is enough for them to eat and drink, and
rest and breed, and do whatever else each of them performs, but to us,
to whom the faculty of observing and studying hath also been given,
these things are not enough; but unless we act after a certain manner
and ordinance, and conformably to the nature and constitution of man, we
shall never attain the end of our being. For where the constitution is
different, different there also is the task and the end. When,
therefore, the constitution is one for use alone, then the use, of
whatever kind it be, is enough; but where there is also observing and
studying of the use, then, unless the due employment of this faculty be
added, the end shall never be gained. What then? God hath constituted
every other animal, one to be eaten, another to serve for tilling the
land, another to yield cheese, another to some kindred use; for which
things what need is there of the observing and studying of appearances,
and the ability to make distinctions in them? But man he hath brought in
to be a spectator of God and of His works, and not a spectator alone,
but an interpreter of them. Wherefore it is shameful for a man to begin
and to end where creatures do that are without Reason; but rather should
he begin when they begin, and end where Nature ends in ourselves. But
she ends in contemplation, in observing and studying, in a manner of
life that is in harmony with Nature. See to it, then, that ye die not
without having been spectators of these things.

4. Seek, then, the essence of the Good there, where if it be not, thou
wilt not say that the Good is in any other thing.

5. But what? are not those creatures also works of God? Surely; yet not
supreme objects, yet not parts of the Gods. But thou art a supreme
object, thou art a piece of God, thou hast in thee something that is a
portion of Him. Why, then, art thou ignorant of thy high ancestry? Why
knowest thou not whence thou camest? Wilt thou not remember, in thine
eating, who it is that eats, and whom thou dost nourish? in cohabiting,
who it is that cohabits? in converse, in exercise, in argument, knowest
thou not that thou art nourishing a God, exercising a God? Unhappy man!
thou bearest about with thee a God, and knowest it not! Thinkest thou I
speak of some God of gold and silver, and external to thee? Nay, but in
thyself thou dost bear Him, and seest not that thou defilest Him with
thine impure thoughts and filthy deeds. In the presence even of an image
of God thou hadst not dared to do one of those things which thou dost.
But in the presence of God Himself within thee, who seeth and heareth
all things, thou art not ashamed of the things thou dost both desire and
do, O thou unwitting of thine own nature, and subject to the wrath of
God?

6. Why, then, do we fear in sending forth a young man from the school
into some of the business of life, lest he should do wrong in anything,
and be luxurious or profligate, and lest a wrapping of rags degrade him,
or fine raiment uplift him? Such a one knoweth not his own God, nor with
whom he is setting out. But can we have patience with him, saying,
_Would that I had you with me!_[2] And hast thou not God with thee
there? or having Him, dost thou seek for any other? or will He speak
other things to thee than even these?

7. But wert thou a statue of Pheidias, an Athena or Zeus, then wert
thou mindful both of thyself and of the artist; and if thou hadst any
consciousness, thou wouldst strive to do nothing unworthy of thy maker
nor of thyself, nor ever to appear in any unseemly guise. But now that
Zeus hath made thee, thou carest therefore nothing what kind of creature
thou showest thyself for? And yet, is the one Artist like the other
artist, or the one work like the other work? And what kind of work is
that which hath in itself the faculties that were manifest in the making
of it? Do not artists work in stone or brass or gold or ivory? and the
Athena of Pheidias, when she hath once stretched out her hand and
received upon it the figure of Victory, standeth thus for all time? But
the works of God have motion and breathing, and the use of appearances
and the judgment of them. Wilt thou dishonor such a Maker, whose work
thou art? Nay, for not only did He make thee, but to thee alone did He
trust and commit thyself. Wilt thou not remember this too, or wilt thou
dishonor thy charge? But if God had committed some orphan child to thee,
wouldst thou have neglected it? Now He hath given thee to thyself, and
saith, _I had none more worthy of trust than thee; keep this man such as
he was made by nature—reverent, faithful, high, unterrified, unshaken
of passions, untroubled_. And thou wilt not.

8. But they may say: _Whence doth this fellow bring us that eye of scorn
and solemn looks?_ I have it not yet as I should, For I am yet unbold in
those things which I have learned and assented to; I yet fear my
weakness. But let me be bold in them, and then ye shall see such a look,
such a guise, as behooveth me to wear. Then shall I show you the statue
when it is perfected and polished. What look ye for?—an eye of scorn?
God forbid! For doth the Zeus in Olympia look scornfully?—nay, but his
glance is steadfast, as becometh him who will say,

   “None trusts in vain my irrevocable word.”—_Il._ i. 526.

Such will I show myself to you—faithful, reverent, generous,
untroubled. _Not also, then, deathless, ageless, deceaseless?_ Nay, but
dying as God, sickening as a God. These I have, these I can; but other
things I neither have nor can. I will show you the thews of a
philosopher. And what are these? A pursuit that never fails, an
avoidance that never miscarries, seemly desire, studious resolve,
cautious assent.[3] These shall ye see.




CHAPTER V.

OF DIVINATION.


1. When thou goest to inquire of an oracle, remember that what the event
will be thou knowest not, for this is the thing thou art come to learn
from the seer; but of what nature it is (if haply thou art a
philosopher), thou knewest already in coming. For if it be any of those
things that are not in our own power, it follows of necessity that it
can be neither good nor evil.

2. Bring, therefore, to the seer neither pursuit nor avoidance, nor go
before him with trembling, but well knowing that all events are
indifferent and nothing to thee. For whatever it may be, it shall lie
with thee to use it nobly; and this no man can prevent. Go, then, with a
good courage to the Gods as to counselors; and for the rest, when
anything hath been counseled thee, remember of whom thou hast taken
counsel, and whom thou wilt be slighting if thou art not obedient.

3. Therefore, as Socrates would have it, go to the oracle for those
matters only where thy whole inquiry bendeth solely towards the event,
and where there are no means either from reason or any other art for
knowing beforehand what is to happen. Thus, when it may be needful to
share some peril with thy friend or thy country, inquire of no oracle
whether thou shouldst do the thing. For if the seer should declare that
the sacrifices are inauspicious, this signifies clearly either death, or
the loss of some limb, or banishment; yet doth Reason decree that even
so thou must stand by thy friend, and share thy country’s danger.

4. Mark, therefore, that greater seer, the Pythian, who cast out of his
temple one that, when his friend was being murdered, did not help
him.[2]


END OF BOOK IV




_BOOK V._




CHAPTER I.

THE BEHAVIOUR OF A PHILOSOPHER.


1. Ordain for thyself forthwith a certain form and type of conduct,
which thou shalt maintain both alone and, when it may chance, among men.

2. And for the most part keep silence, or speak only what is necessary,
and in few words. But when occasion may call thee to speak, then speak,
but sparingly, and not about any subject at hap-hazard, nor about
gladiators, nor horse races, nor athletes, nor things to eat and drink,
which are talked of everywhere; but, above all, not about men, as
blaming or praising or comparing them.

If, then, thou art able, let thy discourse draw that of the company
towards what is seemly and good. But if thou find thyself apart among
men of another sort, keep silence.

3. Laugh not much, nor at many things, nor unrestrainedly.

4. Refuse altogether, if thou canst, to take an oath; if thou canst not,
then as the circumstances allow.[1]

5. Shun banquets given by strangers and by the vulgar. But if any
occasion bring thee to them, give strictest heed, lest thou fall
unawares into the ways of the vulgar. For know that if thy companion be
corrupt, he who hath conversation with him must needs be corrupted also,
even if himself should chance to be pure.

6. Hath any of you the art of a lute-player when he takes the lute in
his hand, so as at once when he hath touched the strings to know which
are out of tune, and then to tune the instrument?—such a gift as
Socrates had, who in every company could lead those that were with him
to his own topic? Whence should you have it? but ye must needs be
carried about hither and thither by the vulgar. And wherefore, then, are
they stronger than ye? For that they speak their sorry stuff from
belief; but ye, your fine talk from the lips out. Wherefore it is flat
and dead; and sickening it is to hear your exhortations and this
wretched virtue of yours, which is prated of in every quarter. And thus
the vulgar conquer you. For everywhere belief is mighty, belief is
invincible. Until then the right opinions are hardened in you; and until
ye shall have gained a certain strength for your safety, I counsel you
to mingle cautiously with the vulgar, else every day, like wax in the
sun, shall whatever hath been written in you in the school be melted
away.

7. In things that concern the body accept only so far as the bare
need—as in food, drink, clothing, habitation, servants. But all that
makes for glory or luxury thou must utterly proscribe.

8. Concerning intercourse of the sexes, it is right to be pure before
marriage, to the best of thy power. But, using it, let a man have to do
only with what is lawful. Yet be not grievous to those who use such
pleasures, nor censorious; nor be often putting thyself forward as not
using them.

9. If one shall bear thee word that such a one hath spoken evil of thee,
then do not defend thyself against his accusations, but make answer: _He
little knew my other vices, or he had not mentioned only these_.

10. There is no necessity to go often to the arena, but if occasion
should take thee there, do not appear ardent on any man’s side but thine
own; that is to say, choose that only to happen which does happen, and
that the conqueror may be simply he who wins; for so shalt thou not be
thwarted. But from shouting and laughing at this or that, or violent
gesticulation, thou must utterly abstain. And when thou art gone away,
converse little on the things that have passed, so far as they make not
for thine own correction. For from that it would appear that admiration
of the spectacle had overcome thee.

11. Go not freely nor indiscriminately to recitations.[2] But if thou
go, then preserve (yet without being grievous to others) thy gravity and
calmness.

12. When thou art about to meet any one, especially one of those that
are thought high in rank, set before thy mind what Socrates or Zeno had
done in such a case. And so thou wilt not fail to deal as it behooves
thee with the occasion.

13. When thou goest to any of those that are great in power, set before
thy mind the case that thou wilt not find him at home, that thou wilt be
shut out, that the doors may be slammed in thy face, that he will take
no notice of thee. And if even with these things it behooves thee to go,
then go, and bear all that happens; and never say to thyself—_It was
not worth this_. For that is the part of the foolish, and of those that
are offended at outward things.

14. In company, be it far from thee to dwell much and over-measure on
thine own deeds and dangers. For to dwell on thine own dangers is
pleasant indeed to thee, but not equally pleasant for others is it to
hear of the things that have chanced to thee.

15. Be it far from thee to move laughter. For that habit is a slippery
descent into vulgarity;[3] and it is always enough to relax thy
neighbors’ respect for thee.

16. And it is dangerous to approach to vicious conversation. Therefore,
when anything of the kind may arise, rebuke, if there is opportunity,
him who approaches thereto. But if not, then at least by silence and
blushing and grave looks, let it be plain that his talk is disagreeable
to thee.




CHAPTER II

ON HABIT.


1. Every skill and faculty is maintained and increased by the
corresponding acts; as, the faculty of walking by walking, of running by
running. If you will read aloud well, then do it constantly; if you will
write, then write. But when you have not read aloud for thirty days
together, but done something else, you shall see the result. Thus, if
you have lain down for ten days, then rise up and endeavor to walk a
good distance, and you shall see how your legs are enfeebled. In
general, then, if you would make yourself skilled in anything, then do
it; and if you would refrain from anything, then do it not, but use
yourself to do rather some other thing instead of it.

2. And thus it is in spiritual things also. When thou art wrathful, know
that not this single evil hath happened to thee, but that thou hast
increased the aptness to it, and, as it were, poured oil upon the fire.
When thou art overcome in passion, think not that this defeat is all;
but thou hast nourished thine incontinence, and increased it. For it is
impossible but that aptitudes and faculties should spring up where they
were not before, or spread and grow mightier, by the corresponding acts.
And thus, surely, do also, as the philosopher says, the infirmities of
the soul grow up. For when thou hast once been covetous of money, if
Reason, which leadeth to a sense of the vice, be called to aid, then
both the desire is set at rest, and our ruling faculty is
re-established, as it was in the beginning. But if thou bring no remedy
to aid, then shall the soul return no more to the first estate; but when
next excited by the corresponding appearance, shall be kindled to desire
even more quickly than before. And when this is continually happening,
the soul becomes callous in the end, and through its infirmity the love
of money is strengthened. For he that hath had a fever, when the illness
hath left him, is not what he was before his fever, unless he have been
entirely healed. And somewhat on this wise also it happens in the
affection of the soul: certain traces and scars are left in it, the
which if a man do not wholly eradicate, when he hath been again scoured
on the same place, it shall make no longer scars, but sores.

3. Wouldst thou, then, be no longer of a wrathful temper? Then do not
nourish the aptness to it, give it nothing that will increase it, be
tranquil from the outset, and number the days when thou hast not been
wrathful. _I have not been wrathful now for one, nor for two, nor for
three days_; but if thou have saved thirty days, then sacrifice to God.
For the aptness is at first enfeebled, and then destroyed. _To-day I was
not vexed, nor to-morrow, nor for two or three months together; but I
was heedful when anything happened to move me thus._ Know that thou art
in good case. To-day, when I saw a fair woman, I did not say to myself,
_Would that one could possess her_; nor, _Happy is her husband_, for he
who saith this saith also, _Happy is her paramour_; nor do I picture to
my mind what should follow. But I stroke my head, and say, _Well done,
Epictetus! you have solved a fine sophism, finer by far than the master
sophism_. But if she were also willing and consenting, and sent to me,
and if she also laid hold of me, and drew near to me, and I should yet
restrain myself and conquer, this were indeed then a sophism above the
Liar, above the Quiescent. Verily, for this a man’s spirit may rightly
swell, and not for propounding the master sophism.[1]

4. How, then, may this come to pass? Resolve at last to seek thine own
commendation, to appear fair in the eyes of God; desire to become pure
with thine own pure self, and with God. Then when thou shalt fall in
with any appearance such as we have spoken of, what saith Plato? _Go to
the purifying sacrifices, go and pray in the temples of the
protecting Gods_.[2] It shall even suffice if thou seek the company of
good and wise men, and try thyself by one of them, whether he be one of
the living or of the dead.

5. By opposing these remedies thou shalt conquer the appearance, nor be
led captive by it. But at the outset, be not swept away by the vehemence
of it; but say, _Await me a little, thou appearance; let me see what
thou art, and with what thou hast to do; let me approve thee_. And then
permit it not to lead thee forward, and to picture to thee what should
follow, else it shall take possession of thee, and carry thee
whithersoever it will. But rather bring in against it some other fair
and noble appearance, and therewithal cast out this vile one. And if
thou use to exercise thyself in this way, thou shalt see what shoulders
and nerves and sinews thou wilt have! But now we have only wordiness,
and nothing more.

6. This is the true athlete,[3] he who exerciseth himself against such
appearances. Hold, unhappy man! be not swept away. Great is the contest,
divine the task, for kingship, for freedom, for prosperity, for
tranquillity. Be mindful of God, call Him to be thy helper and defender,
as men at sea call upon the Dioscuri in a storm.[4] For what greater
tempest is there than that which proceedeth from appearances, that
mightily overcome and expel the Reason? Yea, a storm itself, what is it
but an appearance? For, take away only the dread of death, and bring as
many thunderings and lightnings as thou wilt, and thou shalt see what
fair weather and calm there will be in the ruling faculty. But if having
been once defeated, thou shalt say, _The next time I will conquer_; and
then the same thing over again, be sure that in the end thou wilt be
brought to such a sorry and feeble state that henceforth thou wilt not
so much as know that thou art sinning; but thou wilt begin to make
excuses for the thing, and then confirm that saying of Hesiod to be
true:—

  “With ills unending strives the putter off.”
                             —_Works and Days_, 411.

7. What then? can a man make this resolve, and so stand up faultless? He
cannot; but this much he can—to be ever straining towards
faultlessness. For happy it were if, by never relaxing this industrious
heed, we shall rid ourselves of at least a few of our faults. But now,
when thou sayest, _From to-morrow I shall be heedful_, know that this is
what thou art saying:—_To-day I shall be shameless, importunate,
abject; it shall be in others’ power to afflict me; to-day I shall be
wrathful, envious_. Lo, to how many vices dost thou give place! But if
aught be well to-morrow, how much better to-day? if to-morrow suit, how
much better to-day? Yea, and for this, too, that thou mayest have the
power to-morrow, and not again put it off till the third day.




CHAPTER III.

ON DISPUTATION.


1. What things a man must have learned in order to be able to reason
well have been accurately defined by our philosophers; but in the
fitting use of them we are wholly unexercised. Give any one of us whom
ye please some ignorant man for a disputant, and he shall find no way to
deal with him; but if, when he hath moved him a little, the man answer
beside the purpose, he is no longer able to manage him, but either he
will revile him, or mock him, and say, _He is an ignorant fellow;
nothing can be done with him_.

2. But a guide, when he hath found one straying from the way, leads him
into the proper road, and does not mock him or revile him, and then go
away. And do thou show such a man the truth, and thou shalt see that he
will follow it. But so long as thou dost not show it, mock him not, but
be sensible rather of thine own incapacity.

3. But what? this business of instruction is not very safe at present,
and least of all in Rome; for he who pursues it will of course feel
constrained not to do it in a corner, but he must go to some man of
consular rank, it may be, or some rich man, and inquire of him: Sir, can
you tell me to whom you have committed the care of your horses?
_Surely._ Was it, then, to any chance-comer and one inexperienced about
horses? _By no means._ Well, then, to whom are your gold and silver
vessels and raiment entrusted? _Neither are these committed to any
chance person._ And your body, have you already sought out one to whom
to commit the care of it? _How not?_ And that also one who is
experienced in training and medicine? _Assuredly._ Whether, now, are
these the best things you have, or do you possess aught that is better
than all of them? _What thing do you mean?_ That, by Zeus, which useth
all these, and approveth each of them and taketh counsel? _Is it the
soul, then, that you mean?_ You have conceived me rightly; it is even
this. _Truly I hold that I possess in this something much better than
everything else._ Can you then declare to us in what manner you have
taken thought for your soul? for it is not likely that a wise man like
yourself, and one of repute in the State, would overlook the best think
you possess, and use no diligence or design about it, but leave it
neglected and perishing? _Surely not._ But do you provide for it
yourself? and have you learned the way from another, or discovered it
yourself?

4. And then at last there is danger lest he say first, _Good sir, what
is this to you? who are you?_ and then, if you persist in troubling him,
that he may lift up his hands and smite you. Once I too was an admirer
of this method until I fell into these difficulties.




CHAPTER IV.

THAT WE SHOULD BE SLOW IN ACCEPTING PLEASURE.


1. When thou hast received the appearance of some pleasure, then, as in
other things, guard thyself lest thou be carried away by it, but delay
with thyself a little, and let the thing await thee for a while. Then
bethink thyself of the two periods of time, one when thou shalt be
enjoying the pleasure, the other, when, having enjoyed it, thou shalt
afterwards repent of it and reproach thyself. And set on the other side
how thou shalt rejoice and commend thyself if thou abstain.

2. But if it seem reasonable to thee to do the thing, beware lest thou
have been conquered by the flattery and the sweetness and the allurement
of it. But set on the other side how much better were the consciousness
of having won that victory.




CHAPTER V.

THAT WE SHOULD BE OPEN IN OUR DEALINGS.


In doing aught which thou hast clearly discerned as right to do, seek
never to avoid being seen in the doing of it, even though the multitude
should be destined to form some wrong opinion concerning it. For if thou
dost not right, avoid the deed itself. But if rightly, why fear those
who will wrongly rebuke thee?




CHAPTER VI.

THAT HALF TRUE MAY BE ALL FALSE.


As the sayings, _It is day_, _It is night_, are wholly justifiable if
viewed disjunctively, but not if viewed together, even so at a feast, to
pick out the largest portion for one’s self may be justifiable, if we
look to the needs of the body alone, but is unjustifiable if viewed as
it concerns the preservation of the proper community in the feast.
Therefore, in eating with another person, remember not to look only at
the value for the body of the things that are set before thee, but to
preserve also the reverence due to the giver of the feast.




CHAPTER VII.

THAT EACH MAN PLAY HIS OWN PART.


1. If thou hast assumed a part beyond thy power to play, then thou hast
both come to shame in that, and missed one thou couldst have well
performed.

2. And some one having inquired, _How then, shall each of us perceive
what character he befits?_ Whence, said Epictetus, doth the bull alone,
when the lion approacheth, discover his own capacity, and advance to
defend the whole herd? It is clear that with the capacity is ever joined
the perception of the same, and thus, whoever of us may possess a like
capacity will not be ignorant of it. But a bull is not made in a moment,
nor is a man of generous spirit; but we must have preparation and
winter-training,[1] and not lightly rush upon things that do not concern
us.




CHAPTER VIII.

THAT WE SHOULD BE CAREFUL OF THE SOUL AS OF THE BODY.


In going about, you are careful not to step upon a nail or to twist your
foot. Care thus also lest you injure your ruling faculty. And if we
observe this in each thing we do, we shall the more safely undertake it.




CHAPTER IX.

THE MEASURE OF GAIN.


The measure of gain for each man is the body, as the foot is for the
shoe. Take your stand on this, and you shall preserve the measure. But
if you transgress it, you must thenceforth be borne, as it were, down a
steep. And so it is with the shoe, for if you will go beyond the measure
of the foot, the shoe will be first gilded, then dyed purple, then
embroidered. For that which hath once transgressed its measure hath no
longer any limit.




CHAPTER X.

THE WORTH OF WOMEN.


From the age of fourteen years women are flattered and worshiped by
men. Seeing thus that there is nothing else for them but to serve the
pleasure of men, they begin to beautify themselves, and to place all
their hopes in this. It were well, then, that they should perceive
themselves to be prized for nothing else than modesty and decorum.




CHAPTER XI.

A DULL NATURE.


It betokens a dull nature to be greatly occupied in matters that concern
the body, as to be much concerned about exercising one’s self, or
eating, or drinking, or other bodily acts. But these things should be
done by the way, and all attention be given to the mind.




CHAPTER XII.

OF ADORNMENT OF THE PERSON.


1. A certain young man, a rhetorician, having come to Epictetus with his
hair dressed in an unusually elaborate way, and his other attire much
adorned, Tell me, said Epictetus, think you not that some dogs are
beautiful, and some horses, and so of the other animals?

——“I do think it,” said he.

And men too—are not some beautiful and some ill-favored?

——“How otherwise?”

Whether, then, do we call each of these beautiful for the same reasons
and in the same kind, or each for something proper to itself? And you
shall see the matter thus: Inasmuch as we observe a dog to be formed by
nature for one end, and a horse for another, and, let us say, a
nightingale for another, we may in general say, not unreasonably, that
each of them is then beautiful when it is excellent according to its own
nature; but since the nature of each is different, different also, it
seems to me, is the manner of being beautiful in each. Is it not so?

He acknowledged that it was.

Therefore, that which maketh a dog beautiful maketh a horse ill-favored;
and that which maketh a horse beautiful, a dog ill-favored; if, indeed,
their natures are different?

——“So it seems.”

And that which maketh a beautiful Pancratiast,[1] the same maketh a
wrestler not good, and a runner utterly laughable? And he who is
beautiful for the Pentathlon is very bad for wrestling?

——“It is so,” he said.

What is it, then, that makes a man beautiful? Is it not that which, in
its kind, makes also a dog or a horse beautiful?

——“It is that,” he answered.

What, then, makes a dog beautiful? The presence of the virtue of a dog.
And a horse? The presence of the virtue of a horse. And what, then, a
man? Is it not also the presence of the virtue of a man? And, O youth,
if thou wouldst be beautiful, do thou labor to perfect this, the virtue
of a human being. But what is it? Look whom you praise when you praise
any without affection—is it the righteous or the unrighteous?

——“The righteous.”

Is it the temperate or the profligate?

——“The temperate.”

Is it the continent or the incontinent?

——“The continent.”

Then making yourself such a one as you praise, you will know that you
are making yourself beautiful; but so long as you neglect these things,
though you sought out every device to appear beautiful, you must of
necessity be ugly.

2. For thou art not flesh and hair, but a Will: if thou keep this
beautiful, then wilt thou be beautiful. But so far I dare not tell thee
that thou art ugly, for I think thou wilt more easily bear to hear
anything else than this. But see what Socrates saith to Alcibiades, the
most beautiful and blooming of men: _Endeavor, then, to be beautiful_;
and what saith he? _Curl thy locks, and pluck out the hairs of thy
legs?_ God forbid. But _Set thy Will in order, cast out evil doctrines_.

——“And how then shall we deal with the body?”

As nature made it. Another hath cared for this; commit it to Him.

——“But what? Shall the body then be uncleansed?”

God forbid. But that which thou art and wast made by Nature, cleanse
this; let a man be clean as a man, a woman as a woman, a child as a
child.

3. For we ought not even by the aspect of the body to scare away the
multitude from philosophy; but by his body, as in all other things, a
philosopher should show himself cheerful, and free from troubles.
_Behold, friends, how I have nothing and need nothing; behold how I am
homeless and landless, and an exile_, if so it chance, _and hearthless,
and yet I live more free from troubles than all the lordly and the rich.
But look on my body, too; ye see that it is not the worse for my hard
life._ But if one saith this to me, having the countenance and garb of a
condemned criminal, what God shall persuade me to approach to philosophy
which makes such men as this? God forbid! I would not, were it even to
become a sage.

4. I, indeed, by the Gods, had rather a young man in his first movement
towards philosophy came to me with his hair curled than disheveled and
foul. For a certain impression of the beautiful is to be seen in him,
and an aim at what is becoming; and to the thing wherein it seemeth to
him to lie, there he applies his art. Thenceforth it only needs to show
him its true place, and to say, _Young man, thou seekest the beautiful,
and thou dost well. Know, then, that it flourishes there where thy
Reason is; there seek it where are thy likes and dislikes, thy pursuits
and avoidances, for this is what thou hast in thyself of choice and
precious, but the body is by nature mud. Why dost thou spend thy labor
upon it in vain? for that the body is naught, Time shall certainly teach
thee, though it teach thee nothing else._ But if one come to me foul and
filthy, and a mustache down to the knees, what have I to say to him?
with what image or likeness can I draw him on? For with what that is
like unto Beauty hath he ever busied himself, so as I may set him on
another course, and say, _Not here is Beauty, but there_? Will you have
me tell him, _Beauty consists not in being befouled, but in the Reason_?
For doth he even seek Beauty? hath he any impression of it in his mind?
Go, and reason with a hog, that he shall not roll himself in the mud.

5. Behold a youth worthy of love—behold an old man worthy to love, and
to be loved in return; to whom one may commit his sons, his daughters,
to be taught; to whom young men may come, if it please you—that he may
deliver lectures to them on a dunghill! God forbid. Every extravagance
arises from something in human nature, but this is near to being one
that is not human.




CHAPTER XIII.

WHY WE SHOULD BEAR WITH WRONG.


When some one may do you an injury, or speak ill of you, remember that
he either does it or speaks it believing that it is right and meet for
him to do so. It is not possible, then, that he can follow the thing
that appears to you, but the thing that appears to him. Wherefore, if it
appear evil to him, it is he that is injured, being deceived. For also
if any one should take a true consequence to be false, it is not the
consequence that is injured, but he which is deceived. Setting out,
then, from these opinions, you will bear a gentle mind towards any man
who may revile you. For, say on each occasion, _So it appeared to him_.




CHAPTER XIV.

THAT EVERYTHING HATH TWO HANDLES.


Every matter hath two handles—by the one it may be carried; by the
other, not. If thy brother do thee wrong, take not this thing by the
handle, _He wrongs me_; for that is the handle whereby it may not be
carried. But take it rather by the handle, _He is my brother, nourished
with me_; and thou wilt take it by a handle whereby it may be carried.




CHAPTER XV.

ON CERTAIN FALSE CONCLUSIONS.


There is no true conclusion in these reasonings: _I am richer than thou,
therefore I am better_: _I am more eloquent than thou, therefore I am
better_. But the conclusions are rather these: _I am richer than thou,
therefore my wealth is better_: _I am more eloquent than thou, therefore
my speech is better_. But thou art not wealth, and thou art not speech.




CHAPTER XVI.

PERCEPTION AND JUDGMENT.


1. Doth a man bathe himself quickly? Then, say not, _Wrongly_, but
_Quickly_. Doth he drink much wine? Then say not, _Wrongly_, but _Much_.
For whence do you know if it were ill done till you have understood his
opinion?

2. Thus it shall not befall you to assent to any other things than
those whereof you are truly and directly sensible.[1]

3. What is the cause of assenting to anything? The appearance that it is
so. But if it appear to be not so, it is impossible to assent to it.
Wherefore? For that this is the nature of the mind, to receive the true
with favor, the false with disfavor, and the uncertain with
indifference. The proof of this? Be sure, if you can, at this moment,
that it is night. You cannot. Cease to be sure that it is day. You
cannot. Be sure that the stars are odd in number, or that they are even.
You cannot. When, therefore, any man shall assent to what is false, know
that he had no will to consent to falsehood; for, as saith Plato, no
soul is willingly deprived of the truth, but the false appeared to it to
be true. Come, then, what have we in actions corresponding to this true
and false? The seemly and the unseemly, the profitable and the
unprofitable, that which concerns me and that which doth not concern me,
and such like. Can any man think that a certain thing is for his profit,
and not elect to do it? He cannot. How, then, is it with her who saith—

  “And will I know the evils I shall do,
   But wrath is lord of all my purposes?”
                              _Medea_, 1079.

For, did she hold this very thing, to gratify her wrath and avenge
herself on her husband more profitable than to spare her children? Even
so: but she was deceived. Show her clearly that she was deceived, and
she will not do it; but so long as you show it not, what else hath she
to follow than the thing as it appears to her? Nothing. Wherefore, then,
have you indignation with her, that the unhappy wretch has gone astray
concerning the greatest things, and has become a viper instead of a
human being? If anything, will you not rather pity, as we pity the blind
and the lame, those that are blinded and lamed in the chiefest of their
faculties?

4. ——“So that all these great and dreadful deeds have this same origin
in the appearance of the thing?”

The same, and no other. The _Iliad_ is nought but appearance, and the
use of appearances. The thing that appeared to Paris was the carrying
off of the wife of Menelaus; the thing that appeared to Helen was to
accompany him. Had it, then, appeared to Menelaus to be sensible that it
was a gain to be deprived of such a wife, what would have happened? Not
only had there been no _Iliad_, but no _Odyssey_ neither.

——“On such a little thing do such great ones hang?”

But what talk is this of great things? Wars and seditions and
destructions of many men, and overthrow of cities? And what is there of
great in these? Nothing. For what is there of greatness in the deaths
of many oxen and sheep, and the burning or overthrow of many nests of
swallows or storks?

——“But are these things like unto those?”

They are most like. The bodies of men are destroyed, and the bodies of
oxen and of sheep. The dwellings of men are burned, and the nests of
storks. What is there great, what is there awful in this? Or show me
wherein differeth the dwelling of a man, as a dwelling, from the nest of
a stork, save that the one buildeth his little houses of planks and
tiles and bricks, and the other of sticks and mud?

——“Are a stork and a man, then, alike?”

What say you? In body they are most like.

——“Doth a man, then, differ in no respect from a stork?”

God forbid; but in these matters there is no difference.

——“Wherein, then, doth he differ?”

Seek, and you shall find that in another thing there is a difference.
Look if it be not in the observing and studying of what he doth; look if
it be not in his social instinct, in his faith, his reverence, his
steadfastness, his understanding. Where, then, is the great Good or Evil
for man? There, where the difference is. If this be saved, and abide, as
it were, in a fortress, and reverence be not depraved, nor faith, nor
understanding, then is the man also saved. But if one of these things
perish, or be taken by storm, then doth the man also perish. And in this
it is that great actions are done. It was a mighty downfall, they say,
for Paris, when the Greeks came, and when they sacked Troy, and when his
brothers perished. Not so: for through another’s act can no man
fall—that was the sacking of the storks’ nests. But the downfall was
then when he lost reverence and faith, when he betrayed hospitality and
violated decorum. When was the fall of Achilles? When Patroclus died?
God forbid; but when he was wrathful, when he bewept the loss of his
girl, when he forgot that he was there not to win mistresses but to make
war. These, for men, are downfall and storming and overthrow, when right
opinions are demolished or depraved.




CHAPTER XVII.

THAT THE PHILOSOPHER SHALL EXHIBIT TO THE VULGAR DEEDS, NOT WORDS.


1. Thou shalt never proclaim thyself a philosopher, nor speak much
among the vulgar of the philosophic maxims; but do the things that
follow from the maxims. For example, do not discourse at a feast upon
how one ought to eat, but eat as one ought. For remember that even so
Socrates everywhere banished ostentation, so that men used to come to
him desiring that he would recommend them to teachers of philosophy, and
he brought them away and did so, so well did he bear to be overlooked.

2. And if among the vulgar discourse should arise concerning some maxim
of thy philosophy, do thou, for the most part, keep silence, for there
is great risk that thou straightway vomit up what thou hast not
digested. And when some one shall say to thee, _Thou knowest naught_,
and it bites thee not, then know that thou hast begun the work.

3. And as sheep do not bring their food to the shepherds to show how
much they have eaten, but digesting inwardly their provender, bear
outwardly wool and milk, even so do not thou, for the most part, display
the maxims before the vulgar, but rather the works which follow from
them when they are digested.




CHAPTER XVIII.

ASCESIS.


When you have adapted the body to a frugal way of living, do not
flatter yourself on that, nor if you drink only water, say, on every
opportunity, _I drink only water_. And if you desire at any time to
inure yourself to labor and endurance, do it to yourself and not unto
the world. And do not embrace the statues; but some time when you are
exceedingly thirsty take a mouthful of cold water, and spit it out, and
say nothing about it.




CHAPTER XIX.

TOKENS.


1. The position and token of the vulgar: he looks never to himself for
benefit or hurt, but always to outward things. The position and
character of the philosopher: he looks for benefit or hurt only to
himself.

2. The tokens of one that is making advance: he blames none, he praises
none, he accuses none, he complains of none; he speaks never of himself,
as being somewhat, or as knowing aught. When he is thwarted or hindered
in aught, he accuseth himself. If one should praise him, he laughs at
him in his sleeve; if one should blame him, he makes no defense. He goes
about like the sick and feeble, fearing to move the parts that are
settling together before they have taken hold. He hath taken out of
himself all pursuit, and hath turned all avoidance to things in our
power which are contrary to nature. Toward all things he will keep his
inclination slack. If he is thought foolish or unlearned, he regardeth
it not. In a word, he watches himself as he would a treacherous enemy.




CHAPTER XX.

THAT THE LOGICAL ART IS NECESSARY.


1. Since Reason is that by which all other things are organized and
perfected,[1] it is meet that itself should not remain unorganized. But
by what shall it be organized? For it is clear that this must be either
by itself or by some other thing. But this must be Reason; or something
else which is greater than Reason, which is impossible.

2. “Yea,” one may say, “but it is more pressing to cure our vices, and
the like.”

You desire, then, to hear something of these things? Hear then; but if
you shall say to me, _I know not if you are reasoning truly or falsely?_
or if I utter something ambiguous, and you shall bid me distinguish,
shall I lose patience with you and tell you, _It is more pressing to
cure our vices than chop logic_?

3. For this reason I think the logical are set at the beginning of our
study, even as before the measuring of corn we set the examination of
the measure. For unless we shall first establish what is a modius[2] and
what is a balance, how shall we be able to measure or weigh anything?

4. In this case, then, if you have not understood and accurately
investigated the criterion of all other things, and that through which
they are understood, shall we be able to investigate and understand
anything else? and how could we? _Yea, but a modius is a wooden thing,
and barren._ But it measures corn. _And logic is also barren._ As
regards this, indeed, we shall see. But even if one should grant this,
it sufficeth that logic is that which distinguishes and investigates
other things, and, as one may say, measures and weighs them. Who saith
these things? is it Chrysippus alone and Zeno and Cleanthes? but doth
not Antisthenes[3] say it? And who wrote that the investigation of terms
is the beginning of education?—was it not Socrates? and of whom doth
Xenophon write that he began with the investigation of terms, what each
of them signified?




CHAPTER XXI.

GRAMMARIAN OR SAGE.


When some one may exalt himself in that he is able to understand and
expound the works of Chrysippus, say then to thyself: If Chrysippus had
not written obscurely, this man would have had nothing whereon to exalt
himself. But I, what do I desire? Is it not to learn to understand
Nature and to follow her? I inquire, then, who can expound Nature to me,
and hearing that Chrysippus can, I betake myself to him. But I do not
understand his writings, therefore I seek an expounder for them. And so
far there is nothing exalted. But when I have found the expounder, it
remaineth for me to put in practice what he declares to me, and in this
alone is there anything exalted. But if I shall admire the bare
exposition, what else have I made of myself than a grammarian instead of
a philosopher, save, indeed, that the exposition is of Chrysippus and
not of Homer? When, therefore, one may ask me to lecture on the
philosophy of Chrysippus, I shall rather blush when I am not able to
show forth works of a like nature and in harmony with the words.




CHAPTER XXII.

ACCOMPLISHMENTS.


1. The clearer be the characters in which a book is writ, the more
pleasantly and conveniently shall any man read it. Thus also a man shall
listen more conveniently to any discourse if it be conveyed in
well-ordered and graceful words. Be it not said, then, that there is no
faculty of expression, for this is the thought of a man both impious and
cowardly[1]—impious, for he holds in disesteem the gracious gifts of
God, as if he would take away the serviceable faculty of seeing, or of
hearing, or indeed this of speaking. Did God give the eyes for nothing?
And was it for nothing that He mingled in them a spirit of such might
and cunning as to reach a long way off and receive the impression of
visible forms—a messenger so swift and faithful? Was it for nothing
that He gave the intervening air such efficacy, and made it elastic, so
that being, in a manner, strained,[2] our vision should traverse it? Was
it for nothing that He made Light, without which there were no benefit
of any other thing?

2. Man, be not unthankful for these things, nor yet unmindful of better
things. For seeing and hearing, and, by Zeus, for life itself, and the
things that work together to maintain it, for dried fruits, for wine,
for oil, do thou give thanks to God. But remember that He hath given
thee another thing which is better than all these—that, namely, which
uses them, which approves them, which taketh account of the worth of
each. For what is that which declareth concerning all these faculties
how much each of them is worth? Is it the faculty itself? Heard you
ever the faculty of vision tell aught concerning itself? or that of
hearing? or wheat, or barley, or a horse, or a dog? Nay, but as
ministers and slaves are they appointed, to serve the faculty which
makes use of appearances. And if you would learn how much any of them is
worth, of whom will you inquire? who shall give answer? How then shall
any other faculty be greater than this, which both useth the others as
its servants, and the same approveth each of them and declareth
concerning them? For which of them knoweth what itself is, and what it
is worth? Which of them knoweth when it behooves to make use of it, and
when not? What is that which openeth and closeth the eyes, turning them
away from things which they should not behold, and guiding them towards
other things? Is it the faculty of vision? Nay, but the faculty of the
Will. What is that which closeth and openeth the ears?—that in
obedience to which they become busy and curious, or again, unmoved by
what they hear? Is it the faculty of hearing? It is no other than that
of the Will.

3. Being then so great a faculty, and set over all the rest, let it come
to us and tell us that the best of existing things is the flesh! Not
even if the flesh itself affirmed that it was the best, would any man
have patience with it. Now what is it, Epicurus, which declares this
doctrine, that the flesh is best, which wrote concerning the _End of
Being_, and on _Laws of Nature_, and on the _Canon of Truth_?—which let
thy beard grow? which wrote, when dying, that it was spending its last
day and a happy one?[3] Is it the flesh or the Will? Wilt thou affirm,
then, that thou hast aught better than the Will? Nay, but art thou not
mad—so blind, in truth, and deaf as thou art?

4. What then? Shall any man contemn the other faculties? God forbid!
Doth any man say that there is no use or eminence in the faculty of
eloquence? God forbid—that were senseless, impious, thankless towards
God. But to each thing its true worth. For there is a certain use in an
ass, but not so much as in an ox; and in a dog, but not so much as in a
slave; and in a slave, but not so much as in a citizen; and in citizens,
but not so much as in governors. Yet not because other things are better
is the use which anything affords to be contemned. There is a certain
worth in the faculty of eloquence, but not so much as in the Will. When,
then, I speak thus, let no man deem that I would have you neglect the
power of eloquence, for I would not have you neglect your eyes, or ears,
or hands, or feet, or raiment, or shoes. But if one ask me which is,
then, the best of existing things, what shall I say? The faculty of
eloquence I cannot say, but that of the Will, when it is made right. For
this is that which useth the other, and all the other faculties, both
small and great. When this is set right, a man that was not good becomes
good; when it is not right, the man becomes evil. This is that whereby
we fail or prosper—whereby we blame others, or approve them; the
neglect of which is the misery, and the care of it the happiness, of
mankind.

5. But to take away the faculty of eloquence, and to say that there is
in truth no such faculty, is not only the part of a thankless man toward
Him who hath given it, but also of a cowardly. For such a one seemeth to
me to fear lest if there be any faculty of this kind we shall not be
able to despise it. Such are they also which say that there is no
difference between beauty and ugliness. Then were a man to be affected
in like manner on seeing Thersites and Achilles, or on seeing Helen and
any common woman?[4] Truly, a thought of fools and boors, and of men who
know not the nature of each thing, but fear lest, if one perceive the
difference, he shall be straightway swept away and overpowered by it.
But the great thing is this—to leave to each the faculty that it hath,
and so leaving it to scan the worth of the faculty, and to learn what is
the greatest of existing things; and everywhere to pursue this, and be
zealous about this, making all other things accessory to this, albeit,
according to our powers, not neglecting even these. For of the eyes also
must we take care, yet not as of the best thing; yet of these, too, by
the very exercise of the best thing; since that shall in no other wise
subsist according to Nature save by wise dealing in these matters, and
preferring certain things to others.

6. But what is done in the world? As if a man journeying to his own
country should pass by an excellent inn, and the inn being agreeable to
him, should stay, and abide in it. Man, thou hast forgotten thy purpose;
thy journeying was not to this, but through this. _But this is
pleasant._ And how many other inns are pleasant, and how many meadows?
yet merely for passing through. But thy business is this, to arrive in
thy native country, to remove the fears of thy kinsfolk, to do, thyself,
the duties of a citizen, to marry, to beget children, to fill the
customary offices. For thou art not come into this world to choose out
its pleasanter places, but to dwell in those where thou wast born, and
whereof thou wast appointed to be a citizen. And so in some wise it is
with this matter. Since, by the aid of speech and such like deliverance,
we must come to our aim, and purify the Will, and order aright the
faculty which makes use of appearances; and it is necessary that this
deliverance of the doctrines come to pass by a certain use of speech,
and with a certain art and trenchancy of expression, there are some
which are taken captive by these things themselves, and abide in
them—one in the gift of speech, one in syllogisms, one in sophisms, one
in some such another of these inns, and there they linger and molder
away, as though they were fallen among the Sirens.

7. Man, thy business was to make thyself fit to use the appearances that
encounter thee according to Nature, not missing what thou pursuest, nor
falling into what thou wouldst avoid, never failing of good fortune, nor
overtaken of ill fortune, free, unhindered, uncompelled, agreeing with
the governance of Zeus, obedient unto the same, and well-pleased
therein; blaming none, charging none, able of thy whole soul to utter
these lines:—

  “Lead me, O Zeus, and thou, Destiny!”

Then, having this for thy business, if some little matter of eloquence
please thee, or certain speculations, wilt thou stay and abide in them,
and elect to settle in them, forgetting all that is at home? and wilt
thou say, _These things are admirable_? Who saith they are not
admirable? but for passing through, like inns. What should hinder one
that spoke like Demosthenes to be unfortunate? or one that could resolve
syllogisms like Chrysippus to be miserable, to grieve, to envy; in a
word, to be troubled and unhappy? Nothing. Thou seest now that all these
things are but inns, and of no worth; but our business was another
thing. When I say these things to certain persons, they think I am
rejecting all care about language or speculation. But I do not reject
this; I reject the endless occupation with them, the putting our hopes
in them. If a man by this teaching injureth those who hear him, reckon
me also among those who do this injury. For I cannot, in order to please
you, see that one thing is best and chief of all, and say that another
is.[5]




CHAPTER XXIII.

CONSTANCY.


Abide in the precepts as in laws which it were impious to transgress.
And whatsoever any man may say of thee, regard it not; for neither is
this anything of thine own.




CHAPTER XXIV.

HOW LONG?


1. How long wilt thou delay to hold thyself worthy of the best things,
and to transgress in nothing the decrees of Reason? Thou hast received
the maxims by which it behooves thee to live; and dost thou live by
them? What teacher dost thou still look for to whom to hand over the
task of thy correction? Thou art no longer a boy, but already a man full
grown. If, then, thou art neglectful and sluggish, and ever making
resolve after resolve, and fixing one day after another on which thou
wilt begin to attend to thyself, thou wilt forget that thou art making
no advance, but wilt go on as one of the vulgar sort, both living and
dying.

2. Now, at last, therefore hold thyself worthy to live as a man of full
age and one who is pressing forward, and let everything that appeareth
the best be to thee as an inviolable law. And if any toil or pleasure or
reputation or the loss of it be laid upon thee, remember that now is the
contest, here already are the Olympian games, and there is no deferring
them any longer, and that in a single day and in a single trial ground
is to be lost or gained.

3. It was thus that Socrates made himself what he was, in all things
that befell him having regard to no other thing than Reason. But thou,
albeit thou be yet no Socrates, yet as one that would be Socrates, so it
behooveth thee to live.




CHAPTER XXV.

PARTS OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. The first and most necessary point in philosophy is the use of the
precepts, for example, not to lie. The second is the proof of these, as,
Whence it comes that it is wrong to lie? The third is that which giveth
confirmation and coherence to the others, such as, Whence it comes that
this is proof? for what is proof? what is consequence? what is
contradiction? what is truth? what is falsehood?

2. Thus the third point is necessary through the second, and the second
through the first. But the most necessary of all, and that when we
should rest, is the first, But we do the contrary. For we linger on the
third point, and spend all our zeal on that, while of the first we are
utterly neglectful, and thus we are liars; but the explanation of how it
is shown to be wrong to lie we have ever ready to hand.




CHAPTER XXVI.

MEMORABILIA.


Hold in readiness for every need, these—

   “Lead me, O Zeus, and thou, Destiny, whithersoever ye
   have appointed me to go, and may I follow fearlessly. But
   if in an evil mind I be unwilling, still must I follow.”

   “That man is wise among us, and hath understanding of
   things divine, who hath nobly agreed with Necessity.”

But the third also—

   “O Crito, if so it seem good to the Gods so let it be.
   Anytus and Meletus are able to kill me indeed, but to
   harm me, never.”[1]


THE END.




NOTES.


CLEANTHES’ HYMN TO ZEUS.

   [1] Professor Mahaffy, in his _Greek Life and Thought_, quotes
   the full text of this noble Hymn, which, he thinks, “would
   alone redeem the Hellenistic age, as it stands before us, from
   the charge of mere artificiality and pedantry.”

   [2] ἰῆς μίμημα λαχόντες μοῦνον. This is Zeller’s reading,
    but not Professor Mahaffy’s, who has ἑνὸς μίμημα.


NOTES.


BOOK I.


CHAPTER I.

1. “Enter by the door” (_cf._ S. John, x. 1). The parallelisms in
thought and expression between Epictetus and the New Testament have
often been noticed, and the reader will discover many others, to which I
have not thought it necessary to draw attention.

2. “Conceit:” οἴησις, _Einbildung_.

3. “To be elated:” ἐπαίρεσθαι. One might translate, “to be puffed up,”
except that that expression is only used in a bad sense, and one may be
“elated” in anything that is truly of the nature of the good. The Stoics
distinguished between χαρά, joy, and ἡδονή, pleasure; not rejecting or
despising the former.


Chapter II.

1. τὰ μέν εἰσιν ἐφ’ ἡμῖν, τὰ δὲ οὐκ ἐφ’ ἡμῖν. A fundamental distinction
in the Epictetean system, which he sometimes expresses by the phrases,
τὰ ἡμέτερα and τὰ τῶν ἄλλων—things that are our own and things that
belong to others; or τὰ ἴδια and τὰ ἀλλότρια—things that are our proper
concern, and things that are alien to us.

2. On the Mons Palatinus in Rome there stood a temple to Fever. Upton
quotes from Gruter, p. xcvii., an interesting inscription to this
divinity: Febri. Divæ. Febri. Sanctæ. Febri. Magnæ. Camilla. Amata. Pro.
Filio. Male. Affecto. P.


Chapter III.

1. There is excellent MS. authority for this reading of the passage,
which, however, is not Schweighäuser’s. The latter reads: “Be content
with them, and pray to the Gods.”

2. “Steward of the winds.” A quotation from Homer, _Od._ x. 21.


Chapter IV.

1. “Through not being dazzled,” etc. Ἂν τὰς ὕλας μὴ θαυμάσῃ.


Chapter VI.

1. Note that in this passage “God” and “the Gods” and “the Divine” are
all synonymous terms.

2. Or “of names.”

3. Some texts add “such as Good or Evil.”


CHAPTER VII.

1. Apparently a proverb, which maybe paralleled in its present
application by Luther’s “Pecca fortiter.”

2. A complex or conjunctive proposition is one which contains several
assertions so united as to form a single statement which will be false
if any one of its parts is false—_e.g._, “Brutus was the lover and
destroyer both of Cæsar and of his country.” The disjunctive is when
alternative propositions are made, as “Pleasure is either good or bad,
or neither good nor bad.”

3. I have followed Lord Shaftesbury’s explanation of this passage, which
the other commentators have given up as corrupt. It seems clear that
whether the passage can stand exactly in the form in which we have it,
or not, Lord Shaftesbury’s rendering represents what Epictetus
originally conveyed.

4. According to the usual reading, a scornful exclamation—“_Thou_
exhort them!” I have followed the reading recommended by Schw. in his
notes, although he does not adopt it in his text.


CHAPTER VIII.

1. The founder of the Cynic school was Antisthenes, who taught in the
gymnasium named the Cynosarges, at Athens; whence the name of his
school. Zeller takes this striking chapter to exhibit Epictetus’s
“philosophisches Ideal,” the Cynic being the “wahrer Philosoph,” or
perfect Stoic. (Phil. d. Gr. iii. S. 752.) This view seems to me no more
true than that the missionary or monk is to be considered the ideal
Christian. Epictetus takes pains to make it clear that the Cynic is a
Stoic with a special and separate vocation, which all Stoics are by no
means called upon to take up. Like Thoreau, that modern Stoic, when he
went to live at Walden, the Cynic tries the extreme of abnegation in
order to demonstrate practically that man has resources within himself
which make him equal to any fate that circumstances can inflict.

2. τριβώνιον, a coarse garment especially affected by the Cynics, as
also by the early Christian ascetics.

3. “Nor pity.” Upton, in a note on _Diss._ i. 18. 3. (Schw.), refers to
various passages in Epictetus where pity and envy are mentioned together
as though they were related emotions, and aptly quotes Virgil (_Georg._
ii. 499):—

  “Aut doluit miserans inopem, aut invidit habenti.”

It will be clear to any careful reader that when Epictetus asserts that
certain emotions or acts are unworthy of a man, he constantly means the
“man” to be understood as his highest spiritual faculty, his deepest
sense of reason, his soul. That we are not to pity or grieve means that
that side of us which is related to the divine and eternal is not to be
affected by emotions produced by calamities in mere outward and material
things. St. Augustine corroborates this view in an interesting passage
bearing on the Stoic doctrine of pity (_De Civ. Dei._ ix. 5; _Schw._ iv.
132):—

“Misericordiam Cicero non dubitavit appellare virtutem, quam Stoicos
inter vitia numerare non pudet, qui tamen, ut docuit liber Epicteti
nobilissimi Stoici ex decretis Zenonis et Chrysippi, qui hujus sectæ
primas partes habuerunt, hujuscemodi passiones in animum Sapientis
admittunt, quem vitiis omnibus liberam esse volunt. Unde fit consequens,
ut hæc ipsa non putent vitia, quando Sapienti sic accidunt, ut contra
virtutem mentis rationemque nihil possunt.”

The particular utterances of Epictetus here alluded to by St. Augustine
must have been contained in some of the lost books of the
_Dissertations_, as nothing like them is to be found explicitly in those
which survive, although the latter afford us abundant means for deducing
the conclusion which St. Augustine confirms.

4. This cake seems to form a ridiculous anti-climax. But it appears to
have been a vexed question in antiquity whether an ascetic philosopher
might indulge in this particular luxury (πλακοῦς). Upton quotes Lucian
and Diogenes Laertius for instances of this question being propounded,
and an affirmative answer given (in one instance by the Cynic,
Diogenes). The youth in the text is being addressed as a novice who must
not use the freedom of an adept.

5. Upton quotes from Cymbeline:—

  “Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
  Art they not, but in Britain? Prythee, think,
  There’s living out of Britain!”

But Epictetus means more than this in his allusion to sun and
stars.—See Preface, xxiv. This passage would lead us to suppose that
Epictetus believed in a personal existence continued for some time after
death. In the end, however, even sun and stars shall vanish.—See ii.
13, 4.

6. Being arrested by Philip’s people, and asked if he were a spy,
Diogenes replied, “Certainly I am, O Philip; a spy of thine ill-counsel
and folly, who for no necessity canst set thy life and kingdom on the
chances of an hour.”

7. According to Upton’s conjecture, these were gladiators famous for
bodily strength; and also, one would suspect, for some remarkable
calamity.

8. This highly crude view of the Trojan war might have been refuted out
of the mouth of Epictetus himself. Evil-doers are not to be allowed
their way because they are unable to hurt our souls, but the hurt may be
in the cowardice or sloth that will not punish them.

9. By wearing his cloak half falling off, in negligent fashion. Nothing
is finer or more characteristic in Epictetus than his angry scorn of the
pseudo-Stoics of his day.

10. ἀνάκρινον τὸ δαιμόνιον. The allusion evidently is to the genius or
divine spirit by which Socrates felt himself guided.

11. Crates was a disciple of Diogenes. His wife was named Hipparchia.
Upton quotes Menander (_apud Diog. L._), “Thou wilt walk about with me
in a cloak as once did his wife with Crates the Cynic.”

12. Danaus, father of the fifty Danaidæ. Æolus is mentioned in _Od._ x.
as having six sons and six daughters.

13. τραπεζῆας πυλαωρούς. _Il._ xxi. 69.

14. That is, he capped the quotation by quoting the following line
(_Il._ ii. 24, 25). Not a very striking intellectual effort; but
Epictetus evidently considered it a meritorious thing to know Homer well
enough to quote him in one’s sleep, and he was right.

15. From a poem of Cleanthes.


BOOK II.


CHAPTER I.

1. According to the view of James Harris, in a long and valuable note
communicated to Upton, the “master-argument” was so called from the
supreme importance of the issues with which it dealt. On these issues
different leaders of the Stoics took different sides, Diodorus holding
both future and past things to be _necessary_, Cleanthes both
_contingent_, and Chrysippus past things to be necessary and future
contingent. Any two of the three propositions mentioned in the text
exclude the third. For modern philosophy the distinction between the
possible and the certain in the phenomenal world has, of course, no real
existence; the possible being simply that of which we do not know
whether it will come to pass or not.

2. Of course Epictetus here speaks ironically; all this is just what it
_is_ the business of a thinker to do.

3. Epictetus, I suppose, means to complain that the current phrases of
philosophy are dealt out in glib answer to great ethical questions, just
as Homer might be quoted for an event in the life of Odysseus, by
persons who in neither case think of gaining that vital conviction which
only the strenuous exercise of one’s own reason can produce. A little
later he represents Hellanicus, the historian, as quoted on the
distinction between good and evil, who never treated that subject. If it
is to be a mere question of _authority_, one _name_ is as good as
another, since none is any use at all.

“Indifferent,” be it observed, is _morally_ indifferent—that which has
in _itself_ no bearing on our moral state. See Chap. II. 2.

4. The followers of Aristotle called themselves Peripatetics.


CHAPTER II.

1. The word in the Greek is περιστάσεις, literally _circumstances_, but
the word is evidently used in a bad sense, as equivalent to afflictions.
Doom is likewise etymologically a neutral word, but one which has
received an evil meaning.

2. Socrates’s faith in his genius or “Dæmon” was well known. In this
passage from his _Apologia_ (which Epictetus gives from a bad text), it
is doubtless the manner only that conveyed the idea of mockery. Neither
Socrates nor any one else ever had better evidence of God’s existence
than His voice in our conscience.


CHAPTER IV.

1. Briefly, the three divisions seem to be Action, Character, and
Judgment. The last is to be approached through training in logic, in the
penetration of fallacies, etc., by which means a man is to arrive at
such an inward and vital conviction of the truth that he can never for a
moment be taken off his guard by the delusion of Appearance.

2. Passions, passionless, τὰ πάθη, ἀπαθής.—See Index of Philosophic
Terms.


CHAPTER V.

1. Euripides.—Musonius Rufus, the teacher of Epictetus, is reported to
have said, “Take the chance of dying nobly when thou canst, lest after a
little death indeed come to thee, but a noble death no more.”

2. This phrase of the “open door” occurs frequently in Epictetus,
usually when, as here, he is telling the average non-philosophic man
that it is unmanly to complain of a life which he can at any time
relinquish. The philosopher has no need of such exhortation, for he does
not complain, and as for death, is content to wait God’s time. But the
Stoics taught that the arrival of this time might be indicated by some
disaster or affliction which rendered a natural and wholesome life
impossible. Self-destruction was in such cases permissible, and is
recorded to have been adopted by several leaders of the Stoics,
generally when old age had begun to render them a burden to their
friends.

3. _Nay, thou shalt exist_, etc.—This is the sense given by Zeller’s
punctuation. Schweighäuser’s text would be rendered, “Thou shalt not
exist, but something else will,” etc. Upton changes the text (on his own
authority) by transposing an οὐκ. “Thou shalt exist, but as something
else, whereof the universe has now no need.”

4. This does not appear to have been the law in Epictetus’s time, for he
himself was educated while a slave. But it was a common provision in
antique states.

5. The ceremony in manumitting a slave.


CHAPTER VI.

1. Chap. VI. i. is a passage from the lost Fifth Book of the
Discourses, preserved for us in a rather obscure Latin translation by
Aulus Gellius. During a storm at sea, a certain Stoic on board was
observed by him to look pale and anxious, though not indeed showing the
signs of panic exhibited by the other passengers. Questioned afterwards
by Gellius on this apparent feebleness in his professed faith, the Stoic
produced the Fifth Book of Epictetus, and read this passage.

2. The third Earl of Shaftesbury, an enthusiastic student of Epictetus,
had this dish of water and ray of light engraved, and placed, with the
inscription, πάντα ὑπόληψις—All is Opinion—as an emblem at the front
of his _Characteristics_. The passage, though interesting, is obscure.
At one time the “appearances,” φαντασίαι, are compared to the ray of
light; at another, the doctrines (literally “arts,” _i. e._, arts of
life taught by philosophy) and virtues. Probably the explanation is to
be found in the view of the Stoics that at birth the human soul is a
_tabula rasa_, or blank sheet; all our knowledge coming from without;
that is, from the “appearances” which surround us. Moral and philosophic
convictions are thus, like all other mental states, the result of
external impressions.


CHAPTER VII.

1. The school of Plato was continued at Athens under the title of the
Academy. In its later days it produced little except logical puzzles.

2. “Friend, if indeed, escaping from this war, we were destined
thereafter to an ageless and deathless life, then neither would I fight
in the van nor set thee in the press of glorious battle. But now, since
death in a thousand kinds stands everywhere against us, which no man
shall fly from nor elude, we go; either we shall give glory to another,
or he to us.”—Sarpedon’s speech, _Iliad_, xii. 322-8.

3. General consent.—The well-known philosophic doctrine, that what all
men unite in believing must be true, which has so often been made the
basis of arguments against Skepticism in various forms.


CHAPTER VIII.

1. See chap. IV. i.

2. He drew water by night for his gardens, and studied philosophy in the
day.—_Diog. Laert._ [Upton.]

3. A most characteristic feature of the whole Stoic school was its
treatment of ancient mythology and legend. These things were closely and
earnestly studied, with a constant view to the deeper meanings that
underlay the vesture of fable, an attitude which contrasts very
favorably with Plato’s banishment of the poets from his Republic for
“teaching false notions about the Gods.”


CHAPTER IX.

1. Gyara, an island in the Ægean, used as a penal settlement.


CHAPTER X.

1. _The captain ... the driver_—literally, “to him who has knowledge”
(of the given art).

2. Liberator—καρπιστής. The person appointed by law to carry out the
ceremony of the manumission of slaves.


CHAPTER XI.

1. This chapter seems to me to contain a truth expressed so baldly and
crudely as to appear a falsehood. The reader’s mind will be fixed upon
the truth or falsehood according as he is or is not capable of reading
Epictetus with understanding.

2. This earthen lamp was sold, according to Lucian, at the death of
Epictetus for 3,000 drachmæ (about £120).—_Adv. Indoct._ 13.


CHAPTER XIII.

1. Parodying a verse of Euripides on the stream of Dirce in Bœotia.
The Marcian aqueduct brought water to Rome.

2. I adopt Upton’s conjecture for the inexplicable ἐν βοὸς κοιλίᾳ.


CHAPTER XVIII.

1. An eminent Cynic (also mentioned by Seneca and Tacitus).


CHAPTER XXV.

1. This is the reading of one of the Christian Paraphrases. The other
versions add the words πρὸς ἀλλήλους after ἐξ ὧν ὀυ διαφερόμεθα, giving
the sense “from things in which we do not differ from each other.” It is
no uncommon thing for all the versions of Epictetus to unite in a
manifestly corrupt reading, and though in this case the received text is
not an impossible one, I have thought myself justified in following the
variant of the Paraphrase.


CHAPTER XXVII.

1. There is an allusion to this curious feature of the Olympic contests
in the Fourth Idyll of Theocritus. Casaubon (_Lect. Theocr._ ad Idyll.
4) quoted by Schweighäuser, in his note on this passage (_Diss._ III.
xv. 4), shows from Festus Pompeius that there was a statue in the
Capitol of a youth bearing a spade after the manner of the Olympic
combatants.

2. Euphrates, a Stoic philosopher, and contemporary of Epictetus. He was
tutor of Pliny, the younger.

3. The pentathlos contended in five athletic exercises—viz., running,
leaping, throwing the quoit, throwing the javelin, wrestling.

4. Much of this must refer to the period of probation or discipleship,
for Epictetus is clear that the ordinary Stoic (who had not embraced the
special mission of Cynicism) was not required to forsake his family, or
his affairs, or his duties as a citizen, nor even justified in doing so.


BOOK III.


CHAPTER II.

1. The husk is, of course, the body. If it is maintained that Nature has
made the ease of this our only proper pursuit, of course the altruistic,
or social instincts have to be rejected and denied.

2. The text is here almost certainly corrupt. It runs πῶς οὖν
ὑπονοητικοί ἐσμεν, οἷς μὴ φυσική ἐστι πρὸς τὰ ἔκγονα φιλοστοργία. All
the MSS. agree in ὑπονοητικοί, for which Schweighäuser desires to read
προνοητικοί, and Wolf, ἔτι κοινωνικοί. Salmasius declares emphatically
for πῶς οὖν ἐπινοεῖς ὅτι κοινωνικοί ἐσμεν, and this, with a slight
alteration suggested to me by an eminent living scholar, is the reading
I have adopted: Let us suppose that Epictetus said πῶς οὖν ὑπονοεῖς ὅτι
κ.ε., and that this was written in the short lines common in Greek
MSS.:—

  ΠΩΣΟΥΝΥΠΟ
  ΝΟΕΙΣΟΤΙΚΟΙ
  ΝΩΝΙΚΟΙ

The second line, beginning with the same letter as the third, might
easily be dropped by a transcriber, and the next transcriber would
certainly change the resulting ὑπονωνικοί to ὑπονοητικοί. The existing
reading might give the sense, “How are we, then, suspicious of those (if
any there be) to whom Nature has given no affection for their
offspring?”

3. Outward things—such as making provision for one’s family, serving
the State, etc.,—actions which are not directly concerned with our
spiritual good.


CHAPTER III.

1. Phrygia, the birthplace of Epictetus, was one of the great centers
of the wild and fearful cult of Cybele, whose priests gashed and
mutilated themselves in the excitement of the orgie.

2. Philosophy is brought upon the scene, speaking first through the
mouth of a Stoic, afterwards through that of an Epicurean, and the
practical results of each system are exhibited.

3. The Athenians, rather than submit to Xerxes, abandoned their city to
be plundered, and took to their fleet, the victory at Salamis rewarding
their resolve.

Those who died at Thermopylæ were the three hundred Spartans under
Leonidas, who held the pass against the Persian host till all were
slain. Often as their heroism has been celebrated, perhaps nothing more
worthy of their valor has been written than the truly laconic epitaph
composed for them by Simonides:

  “Stranger, the Spartans bade us die:
   Go, tell them, thou, that here we lie.”


CHAPTER IV.

1. The sense of human dignity was strong in Epictetus, and he would
have it practically observed in men’s relations with each other. Compare
Ch. v. 7. Zeller must have overlooked these Fragments of Epictetus when
he asserted (p. 301) that no Stoic philosopher had ever condemned
slavery. So far as we know, however, this is the only condemnation of
that institution ever uttered by any Pagan thinker. The usual Stoic view
was laid down by Chrysippus, who defined the slave very much as Carlyle
does, as a “perpetuus mercenarius”—a man “hired for life, from whom
work was to be required, a just return for it being accorded (_operam
exegendam, justa prœbenda_).” This utterance of Epictetus, as of one
who knew slavery from within, and certainly was not inclined to
exaggerate its discomforts, is noteworthy enough.


CHAPTER V.

1. Administrator, διορθωτής; in Latin, _Corrector_—a State officer of
whom inscriptions, etc., make frequent mention, but of whose functions
not much appears to be known beyond what the present chapter of
Epictetus reveals.

2. Cassiope was a port of Epirus, not far from Nicopolis, where
Epictetus taught. Schw. conjectures that Maximus was sending his son to
study philosophy at Nicopolis under Epictetus.

3. “For a correct view of these matters will reduce every movement of
preference and avoidance to health of body and tranquillity of soul; for
this is the perfection of a happy life.”—Epicurus, _Diog. Laert._ x.
128. Epictetus’s analysis of the Epicurean theory amounts to this, that
the pleasure of the soul is the chief good, but that it is only felt
through the body and its conditions.

4. _The overseer of youth._—An officer in certain Greek cities. See
Mahaffy’s _Greek Life and Thought_, ch. xvii., on the organization of
the _ephebi_.

5. _Aid in works that are according to Nature._—The Greek is—ἐν τοῖς
κατὰ φύσιν ἔργοις παρακρατῆ. There is some difference of opinion among
commentators as to the meaning of παρακρατῆ. Wolf translates, “hold the
chief place” in natural works. Upton, Schw., and Long render it by “keep
us constant,” “sustain us,” in such works. I do not see why we should
not take the word in its plainest sense—that pleasure should _act
together with other forces_ in leading us to do well.


CHAPTER VII.

1. _Zealous for evil things._—Epictetus must mean things which they
know to be evil—evil things _as_ evil. It was a Socratic doctrine which
we find again alluded to in this chapter, that no evil is ever willingly
or wittingly done.

2. A favorite theme of later Greek and of Roman comedy was the rivalship
in love of a father and a son.

3. Admetus, husband of Alcestis, being told by an oracle that his wife
must die if no one offered himself in her stead, thought to lay the
obligation on his father, as being an old man with but few more years to
live. The first verse quoted is from the _Alcestis_ of Euripides; the
second is not found in any extant version of that play.

4. Eteocles and Polyneices, sons of Œdipus, quarreled with each other
about the inheritance of their father’s kingdom. Eteocles having gained
possession of it, Polyneices brought up the famous seven kings, his
allies, against Thebes, and fell in battle there by his brother’s hand,
whom he also killed. The verses quoted are from the _Phœnissæ_ of
Euripides.

5. Schweighäuser interprets this passage to mean that these men occupy
the public places as wild beasts do the mountains, to prey on others. If
we might read ὡς τὰ θηρία for ὡς τὰ ὄρη, we should get a less obscure
sense, “haunt the wilderness—I should say the public places—like wild
beasts.” The passage is clearly corrupt somewhere.

6. Polyneices bribed Eriphyle with the gift of this necklace to persuade
her unwilling husband to march with him against Thebes where he died.


CHAPTER VIII.

1. The allusion is to _Odyssey_, v. 82-4. “But he was sitting on the
beach and weeping, where he was wont; and tormented his spirit with
tears and groanings and woes, and wept as he gazed over the barren sea.”

2. _Let him pity._—See Bk. I., ch. viii., _note_ 3.


CHAPTER IX.

1. _The conflagration._—See Preface for an account of the Stoic
Doctrine of the _Weltverbrennung_.

2. Long suggests that the words translated “air to air” might be equally
well rendered “spirit to spirit” (ὅσον πνευματίου εἰς πνευμάτιον), thus
finding a place for the soul in this enumeration of the elements of man.
But this metaphysical division of man’s nature into a spiritual part and
a material part would have been wholly contrary to Stoic teaching, which
admitted no existence that was not material. As a matter of fact, if any
of the terms in this enumeration is to be understood as meaning soul or
spirit, it will be fire rather than air.

3. Gods and Powers.—θεῶν καὶ Δαιμόνων.


CHAPTER X.

1. _To strangle lions or embrace statues._—Hercules did the former, and
ostentatious philosophers sometimes did the latter in winter-time, by
way of showing their power of endurance.

2. _The stamp of Nero._—I believe there is no other record than this of
any rejection of Nero’s coins, and those which have come down to us are
of perfectly good quality. He was declared a public enemy by the Senate,
and possibly it was decreed at the same time that his coins should be
withdrawn from circulation. Dion, quoted by Wise (_apud_ Schweighäuser),
reports that this was done in the case of Caligula, after the death of
that tyrant.

3. _Lions at home, but in Ephesus foxes._—“A proverb about the
Spartans, who were defeated in Asia,” notes the Scholiast on Aristoph.
Pac., 1188-90.


BOOK IV.


CHAPTER II.

1. _Nor can I move without thy knowledge._—From Homer, _Il._ x. 279,
280, Odysseus to Athene.

2. _The Genius of each man._—τὸν ἐκάστον Δαίμονα.

Chapter III.

1. _A way wherein to walk._—Literally, the power of using a way. It
seems to me likely that this term, way—ὁδός, here signifies the Stoic
philosophy, just as in the early Church it was used to signify
Christianity (_e. g._, _Acts_ xxii. 4, and xix. 9, 23).


CHAPTER IV.

1. _Nor have any object in themselves._—Readers of Lotze will be
reminded of the term Fürsichseinheit, used by him to denote the
self-centered quality of true Being. The Greek here is οὐκ ἀυτὰ
προηγούμενα, προηγούμενα, being the word used in Bk. I. viii. 13, and
Bk. III. v. 5, for the leading objects or obligations of man.

2. _Would that I had you with me!_—In Long’s translation the pronoun
_you_ is explained to mean God. I can see no reason for this
interpretation. The words are, I think, supposed to be uttered by a
disciple to his master: they are such as Epictetus may have heard from
many of his own disciples as they left him to take their part in the
world of action.

3. _Cautious assent_—_i. e._, caution in allowing oneself to entertain
the impressions of appearances.


CHAPTER V.

1. The strong and growing yearning for some direct, personal revelation
of God, some supernatural manifestation of His existence and care for
men, is noted by Zeller as a special trait of Hellenistic times. Such a
revelation must have been longed for by many as the only satisfying
answer to the destructive logic of the Pyrrhonists, and men’s minds were
also of course led that way by the insistence of the Stoic thinkers upon
the communion of the individual with God, as the most important of all
possible relations. Hence the growth of many wild and orgiastic cults at
this epoch—all based on the state of ecstasy connected with their rites,
which was ascribed to supernatural influence. With the Stoics this
movement took the comparatively sober shape of attention to the
established system of oracular divination. Zeller, however, shows that
some Stoics were disposed to rationalize the revelations of the oracles
by supposing a certain sympathy between the mind of the seer and the
future events which led to the unconscious selection of means of
divination which would exhibit the proper signs.—(Z. 339, 340.)
Epictetus evidently thought more of God’s revelation in the conscience
than any other.

2. The story is told by Simplicius in his commentary on this chapter.
Two friends, journeying together to inquire of the oracle at Delphi,
were set upon by robbers; one of them resisted, and was murdered, the
other either fled or made no effort on his companion’s behalf. Arriving
at the temple of Apollo, he was greeted with the following deliverance
of the oracle:—

  “Thou saw’st thy friend all undefended die—
  Foul with that sin, from Phœbus’ temple fly.”


BOOK V.


CHAPTER I.

1. Simplicius explains that the oath was to be refused, because to call
God to witness in any merely personal and earthly interest implies a
want of reverence towards Him; but that if there were a question of
pledging one’s faith on behalf of friends, or parents, or country, it
was not improper to add the confirmation of an oath.

2. Upton quotes allusions to these recitations from Juvenal, Martial,
and Pliny. Authors would read their own works and invite crowds of
flatterers to attend. Epict. _Diss._ iii. 23. (Schweighäuser) is a
scornful diatribe against the pretentious people who held forth on these
occasions, and the people who assembled to hear and applaud them. He
contrasts with fashionable reciters and lecturers his own master, Rufus.
“Rufus was wont to say, _I speak to no purpose, if ye have time to
praise me_. And, verily, he spoke in such a way that every man who sat
there thought that some one had accused him to Rufus, he so handled all
that was going on, he so set before each man’s eyes his faults.”

3. Into vulgarity—ἐις ἰδιωτισμόν.


CHAPTER II.

1. The sophism, or puzzle, called the Liar, ran thus:—A liar says he
lies: if it is true, he is no liar; and if he lies, he is speaking
truth. The Quiescent (ὁ ἡσυχάζων) was an invention attributed by Cicero
to Chrysippus (Acad. ii. 29). When asked of a gradually-increasing
number of things to say when they ceased to be few and became many, he
was wont to cease replying, or be “quiescent,” shortly before the limit
was reached—a device which we have some difficulty in regarding as a
fair example of Chrysippus’s contributions to the science of logic. For
the master sophism see Bk. II. chap. i., _note_ 1.

2. Plato, _Laws_, ix.:—“When any of such opinions visit thee, go to the
purifying sacrifices, go and pray in the temples of the protecting Gods,
go to the society of men whom thou hast heard of as good; and now hear
from others, now say for thine own part, that it behooves every man to
hold in regard the things that are honorable and righteous. But from the
company of evil men, fly without a look behind. And if in doing these
things thy disease give ground, well; but if not, hold death the better
choice, and depart from life.”

3. _The true athlete._—Literally, ascetic, ἀσκητής; _i. e._, practicer.

4. The Dioscuri, or Twins, Castor and Pollux, were the patron deities
of sailors.


CHAPTER VI.

1. _If viewed disjunctively._—That is, if we say, It is day, or, It is
night. This is a difficult chapter, and full of corruptions. The feast
alluded to is, doubtless, the feast of life, where the Gods are the
hosts.


CHAPTER VII.

1. _Winter training._—Such as the Roman troops underwent when in
winter-quarters. They were accustomed to exercise themselves with arms
of double the normal weight, and prepare themselves by marching,
running, leaping, etc., for active service.


CHAPTER XII.

1. The Pancratium was a contest in which boxing and wrestling were both
allowable. For the Pentathlon, see Bk. II. chap, xvii., _note_ 3.


CHAPTER XVI.

1. This means, apparently, that the judgment has no right to do more
than endorse the deliverances of the perceptive faculty. If a man
commits any error, he does it under the conviction that it is in some
way for his profit or satisfaction; that is, that there is something of
the nature of the Good in it. He may be mistaken in this; but so long as
he does not know where Good and Evil really lie, he can do no other than
he does. The true course, then, for the philosopher is not to condemn
him for his actions, but to show him the fundamental error from which
they proceed. The expression, “assent,” συγκατατίθεσθαι, is that used by
Epictetus in II. vi., etc., where he speaks of the mind as being imposed
on, or taken captive, by the outward shows of things.


CHAPTER XX.

1. The Greek is Ἐπειδὴ λόγος ἐστὶν ὁ διαρθρῶν καὶ ἐξεργαζόμενος τὰ
λοιπά. διαρθρόω means, literally, to fashion with joints, hence
constitute organically, with interdependence of parts. Long translates
“analyze.”

2. _Modius._—A measure of about two gallons.

3. Antisthenes, about 400 B. C., founder of the Cynic school, which was
established by him in the gymnasium called the Cynosarges (hence the
name). As a Cynic, his authority would, of course, be respected by the
hearers of Epictetus. This investigation of terms, or names, is, indeed,
the beginning of philosophy and the guide to truth in any sphere, but
perhaps not every one is competent to undertake it. There must be a real
and not merely a formal appreciation of the contents of each term. A
primrose is one thing to Peter Bell and another to Wordsworth. The term,
let us say, Duty, is one thing to a Herbert Spencer and another to a
Kant.


CHAPTER XXII.

1. “My friends, fly all culture,” is an injunction reported of Epicurus
(_Diog. L._ x. 6). However, neglect of form in literary style was a
characteristic of philosophic writers of the Hellenistic period, which
was by no means confined to the Epicureans.

2. This passage is corrupt. I follow the reading adopted by
Schweighäuser (after Wolf); but it may be noted that Schweighäuser’s
translation follows another reading than that which he adopts in his
text, viz.—κινουμένου (being moved), instead of τεινομένου (being
strained). The original, in all versions, is γινομένου, which makes no
sense at all.—See Preface, xxiii.

3. The writings enumerated are, of course, works of Epicurus. When
dying, he wrote in a letter to a friend (_Diog. L._ x. 22) that he was
spending a happy day, and his last.

4. Stoic ἀπάθεια was anything but insensibility. Chrysippus held that
many things in the Kosmos were created for their beauty
alone.—_Zeller_, 171.

5. There is another short chapter on the arts of ratiocination and
expression (I. viii. _Schw._), which glances at the subject from a
somewhat different point of view from that taken in the chapter which I
have given. There Epictetus dwells chiefly on the danger that weak
spirits should lose themselves in the fascination of these arts: “For,
in general, in every faculty acquired by the uninstructed and feeble
there is danger lest they be elated and puffed up through it. For how
could one contrive to persuade a young man who excels in such things
that he must not be an appendage to them, but make them an appendage to
him?”


CHAPTER XXVI.

1. The first of these quotations is from the Stoic Cleanthes, the
second from a lost play of Euripides; in the third Epictetus has joined
together two sayings of Socrates, one from the _Crito_ and one from the
_Apologia_. Anytus and Meletus were the principal accusers of Socrates
in the trial which ended in his sentence to death.


NOTES ON PRINCIPAL PHILOSOPHIC TERMS USED BY EPICTETUS.


   [I give under this head only those terms the exact force
   of which may not be apparent to the reader in a mere
   translation.]

   Αἰδήμων.—Pious, reverent, modest. The substantive is
     αἰδώς, the German Ehrfurcht (_Wilhelm Meister_,
     _Wanderjahre_, Bk. II. ch. ii.), a virtue in high regard
     with Epictetus, who generally mentions it in connection
     with that of “faithfulness,” πίστις. In Wordsworth’s
     poem, “My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the
     sky,” the “natural piety” which he prays may abide with
     him in his old age seems to be just that moral
     sensitiveness or αἰδώς which passes into reverence and
     worship in the presence of certain things, and into shame
     and dread in that of others.

   Ἀπάθεια.—Peace—that is, peace from passion, πάθη. Πάθος
     was any affection of the mind causing joy or grief. As it
     appears from Bk. II. iii. I., ἀπάθεια is not, in
     Epictetus, the state of absolute freedom from these
     passions, but that of being able to master them so that
     they shall not overwhelm the inner man.

   Διαρθρωτικός.—That which _organizes_, constitutes
     organically, forms into a system. From ἄρθρον, a joint.
     The word “analyze,” by which Long translates διαρθροῦν,
     seems to me wanting in the formative sense expressed by
     the original.

   Δόγμα.—An opinion, that which seems (δοκεῖν) true;
     generally in the special sense of a philosophic dogma.

   Ἐυροεῖν.—To prosper; literally, to flow freely, εὔροια,
     prosperity. A common Stoic phrase for a happy life.

   Εὐσέβεια.—Religion, piety. σέβομαι—“_to feel awe_ or
     _fear_ before God and man, especially when about to do
     something disgraceful” (_Liddell and Scott_); to worship,
     respect, reverence.

   Ἡγεμονικόν (τό).—The Ruling Faculty—that in a man which
     chooses, determines, takes cognizance of good and evil,
     and sways the inferior faculties (δυνάμεις, powers) to
     its will. Lotze notes this _hegemonic_ quality in the
     human soul as that which distinguishes it from the bundle
     of sensations into which the Association Philosophy would
     resolve it.

   θαυμάζειν.—To admire, be dazzled with admiration by, to
     worship, to be taken up with a thing so as to lose the
     power of cool judgment. A frequent word in Epictetus, the
     sense of which is precisely rendered in Hor. _Sat._ I, 4,
     28, “Hunc capit argenti splendor, _stupet_ Albius ære.”

   Ἰδιώτης.—One of the vulgar, an unlettered person; in
     Epictetus, one uninstructed in philosophy. Originally the
     word meant one who remained in private life, not filling
     any public office, or taking part in State affairs. A man
     might be an ἰδιώτης, or “layman,” with respect to any
     branch of science or art.

   Καλὸς καὶ ἀγαθός.—The good and wise man—literally,
     beautiful and good. A standing phrase to denote the
     perfection of human character. καλὸς is a word sometimes
     difficult to render. Curtius connects it etymologically
     with Sanscrit, _kalyas_; Gothic, _hails_=healthy.

   Οἴησις.—“Conceit”—defined by Cicero as
     “Opinatio”—intellectual self-sufficiency, the supposing
     one’s self to know something when one does not. “The
     first business of a philosopher,” says Epictetus, “is to
     cast away οἴησις, for it is impossible that one can begin
     to learn the things that he thinks he knows” (_Diss._ II.
     xvii. 1.) He is not, in short, to be “wise in his own
     conceit.”

   ὄρεξις, ἔκκλισις, ὁρμή, ἀφορμή.—Pursuit, avoidance,
     desire, aversion. According to Simplicius (Comment.
     _Ench._ i.), ὄρεξις and ἔκκλισις were used by the Stoics
     to express the counterparts in outward action of the
     mental affections, ὁρμὴ and ἀφορμή, and were regarded as
     consequent upon the latter.

   προαίρεσις.—The Will; but as used in Epictetus, this
     word implies much more than the mere faculty of volition.
     Literally, it means a choosing of one thing before
     another; in Epictetus, the power of deliberately
     resolving or purposing, the exercise of the reflective
     faculty being implied. It is hardly to be distinguished
     from τὸ ἡγεμονικόν, _q. v._

   προλήψεις.—“Natural Conceptions.” See Preface, xxviii.,
     xxix. The “primary truths” of Lord Herbert of Cherbury.

   Συγκατατίθεσθαι.—To assent to or acquiesce in anything,
     to ratify by the judgment the emotions produced by
     external things or events, such as the sense of dread, or
     pleasure, or reprobation, which they arouse in us. To be
     on one’s guard against the hasty yielding of this assent
     is one of Epictetus’s main injunctions to the aspirant in
     philosophy.

   Ταράσσεσθαι.—To be troubled; ἀ-ταραξία, tranquillity.
     Ταράσσειν is primarily to stir up, confuse, throw into
     disorder.

   φαντασία.—An appearance; with the Stoics, any mental
     impression as received by the perceptive faculty before
     the Reason has pronounced upon it, a bare perception.




INDEX OF REFERENCES.


   [The references in the right-hand column are to the
   books, chapters, and verses of the _Dissertations_, to
   the chapters of the _Encheiridion_, and to the
   _Fragments_, in Schweighäuser’s edition of Epictetus.]


  BOOK I.

  Chap. I. 1            _Frag._ III.
  Chap. I. 2-5          _Diss._ II. xi. 1-25.
  Chap. II.             _Diss._ I. xxii. 1-16.
  Chap. III.            _Diss._ I. i. 1-17.
  Chap. IV. 1           _Diss._ III. iii. 1-4.
  Chap. IV. 2           _Diss._ I. xxix. 1-4 to λάβε
  Chap. IV. 3           _Diss._ I. xxv. 1-6.
  Chap. V.              _Ench._ I.
  Chap. VI.             _Diss._ II. xiv.
  Chap. VII. 1, 2       _Ench._ II.
  Chap. VII. 3          _Diss._ I. xv. 7, 8.
  Chap. VII. 4-6        _Diss._ II. ix. 1-12.
  Chap. VII. 7          _Frag._ LXXII.
  Chap. VII. 8          _Diss._ III. xiii. 20-23.
  Chap. VIII.           _Diss._ III. xxii.


  BOOK II.

  Chap. I.              _Diss._ II. xix.
  Chap. II. 1           _Frag._ LXIX.
  Chap. II. 2, 3        _Diss._ II. v. 1-9.
  Chap. II. 4           _Diss._ II. xvi. 15.
  Chap. II. 5, 6        _Diss._ II. vi. 9-19.
  Chap. II. 7, 8        _Diss._ II. v. 10-20.
  Chap. III. 1, 2       _Ench._ III., IV.
  Chap. III. 3          _Diss._ III. xix.
  Chap. III. 4, 5       _Ench._ V., VI.
  Chap. IV. 1, 2        _Diss._ III. ii. 1-10.
  Chap. V. 1-3          _Diss._ II. i. 1-20.
  Chap. V. 4            _Diss._ III. xxiv. 94.
  Chap. V. 5            _Diss._ II. i. 21-29.
  Chap. VI. 1           _Frag._ CLXXX.
  Chap. VI. 2           _Diss._ III. iii. 20-22.
  Chap. VII. 1-4        _Diss._ I. xxvii.
  Chap. VIII. 1         _Diss._ I. ix. 1-8.
  Chap. VIII. 2-6       _Diss._ III. xxvi. 1-36.
  Chap. IX. 1           _Diss._ I. ix. 10-18.
  Chap. IX. 2           _Diss._ I. xxv. 14-20.
  Chap. IX. 3           _Diss._ I. xxix. 29.
  Chap. X. 1-4          _Diss._ I. xix. 1-17.
  Chap. X. 5-6          _Diss._ IV. vii. 12-18.
  Chap. X. 7            _Diss._ I. xviii. 17.
  Chap. X. 8            _Diss._ IV. vii. 19-24.
  Chap. XI.             _Diss._ I. xviii. 1-16.
  Chap. XII.            _Ench._ VII.
  Chap. XIII. 1, 2      _Ench._ VIII.-IX.
  Chap. XIII. 3-6       _Diss._ II. xvi. 24-47.
  Chap. XIV.            _Ench._ X.
  Chap. XV.             _Ench._ XI.
  Chap. XVI.            _Ench._ XII.
  Chap. XVII.           _Ench._ XIII.
  Chap. XVIII. 1, 2     _Ench._ XIV.
  Chap. XVIII.    3     _Diss._ I. xxv. 22-25.
  Chap. XVIII.    4     _Ench._ XV.
  Chap. XIX.            _Ench._ XVI.
  Chap. XX. 1           _Ench._ XVII.
  Chap. XX. 2           _Diss._ IV. x. 9-17.
  Chap. XXI.            _Ench._ XVIII.-XXI.
  Chap. XXII.           _Ench._ XXII.-XXIII.
  Chap. XXIII.          _Ench._ XXIV.
  Chap. XXIV.           _Ench._ XXV.
  Chap. XXV.            _Ench._ XXVI., XXVII.
  Chap. XXVI.           _Ench._ XXVIII.
  Chap. XXVII.          _Ench._ XXIX.


  BOOK III.

  Chap. I.              _Ench._ XXX.
  Chap. II. 1, 2        _Diss._ I. xxiii.
  Chap. II. 3-7         _Diss._ II. v. 24-30.
  Chap. III. 1-9        _Diss._ II. xx. 1-27.
  Chap. IV. 1           _Diss._ I. xiii.
  Chap. IV. 2, 3        _Frag._ XLIII., XLIV.
  Chap. V.              _Diss._ III. vii.
  Chap. VI. 1           _Frag._ LXXXII.
  Chap. VI. 2           _Frag._ XLV.
  Chap. VI. 3           _Frag._ LXVII.
  Chap. VII.            _Diss._ II. xxii.
  Chap. VIII. 1-10      _Diss._ III. xxiv. 1-49.
  Chap. VIII. 11        _Diss._ III. xxiv. 58-63.
  Chap. VIII. 12        _Diss._ III. xxiv. 88-93.
  Chap. IX. 1, 2        _Diss._ III. xiii. 1-17.
  Chap. IX. 3           _Frag._ CLXXVI.
  Chap. IX. 4           _Diss._ III. xiii. 18, 19.
  Chap. X. 1            _Frag._ LXX.
  Chap. X. 2            _Diss._ IV. v. 1-4.
  Chap. X. 3-5          _Diss._ IV. v. 8-21.
  Chap. X. 6            _Diss._ IV. v. 30-32.
  Chap. X. 7            _Diss._ IV. v.  { 33 to ἀγνώμονος.
                                        { 35-37.

  BOOK IV.

  Chap. I.              _Ench._ XXXI.
  Chap. II. 1, 2        _Diss._ I. xii. 1-7.
  Chap. II. 3, 4        _Diss._ I. xiv. 1-17.
  Chap. III.            _Diss._ I. xvi.
  Chap. IV. 1, 2        _Diss._ II. viii. 1-8.
  Chap. IV. 3           _Diss._ I. vi. 13 from ἄλλο—22.
  Chap. IV. 4-8         _Diss._ II. viii. 9-29.
  Chap. V.              _Ench._ XXXII.


  BOOK V.

  Chap. I. 1-5          _Ench._ XXXIII. 1-6,
  Chap. I. 6            _Diss._ III. xvi. 5-9.
  Chap. I. 7-16         _Ench._ XXXIII. 7-16.
  Chap. II. 1-4         _Diss._ II., xviii. 1-21 to ἀποθανόντων
  Chap. II. 5, 6        _Diss._ II. xviii. 23-32.
  Chap. II. 7           _Diss._ IV. xii. 19-21.
  Chap. III. 1, 2       _Diss._ II. xii. 1-4.
  Chap. III. 3, 4       _Diss._ II. xii. 17-25.
  Chap. IV.             _Ench._ XXXIV.
  Chap. V.              _Ench._ XXXV.
  Chap. VI.             _Ench._ XXXVI.
  Chap. VII. 1          _Ench._ XXXVII.
  Chap. VII. 2          _Diss._ I. ii. 30-32.
  Chap. VIII.           _Ench._ XXXVIII.
  Chap. IX.             _Ench._ XXXIX.
  Chap. X.              _Ench._ XL.
  Chap. XI.             _Ench._ XLI.
  Chap. XII. 1          _Diss._ III. i. 1-9.
  Chap. XII. 2          _Diss._ III. i. 40-44.
  Chap. XII. 3, 4       _Diss._ IV. xi. 22-29.
  Chap. XII. 5          _Diss._ IV. xi. 35, 36.
  Chap. XIII.           _Ench._ XLII.
  Chap. XIV.            _Ench._ XLIII.
  Chap. XV.             _Ench._ XLIV.
  Chap. XVI. 1, 2       _Ench._ XLV.
  Chap. XVI. 3          _Diss._ 1. xxviii. 1-9.
  Chap. XVI. 4          _Diss._ 1. xxviii. 11-25
  Chap. XVII.           _Ench._ XLVI.
  Chap. XVIII.          _Ench._ XLVII.
  Chap. XIX.            _Ench._ XLVIII.
  Chap. XX. 1           _Diss._ I. xvii. 1, 2.
  Chap. XX. 2-4         _Diss._ I. xvii. 4-12.
  Chap. XXI.            _Ench._ XLIX.
  Chap. XXII. 1, 2      _Diss._ II. xxiii. 1-10.
  Chap. XXII. 3-7       _Diss._ II. xxiii. 20-47.
  Chap. XXIII.          _Ench._ L.
  Chap. XXIV.           _Ench._ LI.
  Chap. XXV.            _Ench._ LII.
  Chap. XXVI.           _Ench._ LIII.