Title: The Golden Sayings of Epictetus, with the Hymn of Cleanthes
Author: Epictetus
Language: English
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THE GOLDEN SAYINGS OF EPICTETUS

Translated and Arranged by Hastings Crossley



CONTENTS

 I
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 XIII
 XIV
 XV
 XVI
 XVII
 XVIII
 XIX
 XX
 XXI
 XXII
 XXIII
 XXIV
 XXV
 XXVI
 XXVII
 XXVIII
 XXIX
 XXX
 XXXI
 XXXII
 XXXIII
 XXXIV
 XXXV
 XXXVI
 XXXVII
 XXXVIII
 XXXIX
 XL
 XLI
 XLII
 XLIII
 XLIV
 XLV
 XLVI
 XLVII
 XLVIII
 XLIX
 L
 LI
 LII
 LIII
 LIV
 LV
 LVI
 LVII
 LVIII
 LIX
 LX
 LXI
 LXII
 LXIII
 LXIV
 LXV
 LXVI
 LXVII
 LXVIII
 LXIX
 LXX
 LXXI
 LXXII
 LXXIII
 LXXIV
 LXXV
 LXXVI
 LXXVII
 LXXVIII
 LXXIX
 LXXX
 LXXXI
 LXXXII
 LXXXIII
 LXXXIV
 LXXXV
 LXXXVI
 LXXXVII
 LXXXVIII
 LXXXIX
 XC
 XCI
 XCII
 XCIII
 XCIV
 XCV
 XCVI
 XCVII
 XCVIII
 XCIX
 C
 CI
 CII
 CIII
 CIV
 CV
 CVI
 CVII
 CVIII
 CIX
 CX
 CXI
 CXII
 CXIII
 CXIV
 CXV
 CXVI
 CXVII
 CXVIII
 CXIX
 CXX
 CXXI
 CXXII
 CXXIII
 CXXIV
 CXXV
 CXXVI
 CXXVII
 CXXVIII
 CXXIX
 CXXX
 CXXXI
 CXXXII
 CXXXIII
 CXXXIV
 CXXXV
 CXXXVI
 CXXXVII
 CXXXVIII
 CXXXIX
 CXL
 CXLI
 CXLII
 CXLII
 CXLIV
 CXLV
 CXLVI
 CXLVII
 CXLVIII
 CXLIX
 CL
 CLI
 CLII
 CLIII
 CLIV
 CLV
 CLVI
 CLVII
 CLVIII
 CLIX
 CLX
 CLXI
 CLXII
 CLXIII
 CLXIV
 CLXV
 CLXVI
 CLXVII
 CLXVIII
 CLXIX
 CLXX
 CLXXI
 CLXXII
 CLXXIII
 CLXXIV
 CLXXV
 CLXXVI
 CLXXVII
 CLXXVIII
 CLXXIX
 CLXXX
 CLXXXI
 CLXXXII
 CLXXXIII
 CLXXXIV
 CLXXXV
 CLXXXVI
 CLXXXVII
 CLXXXVIII
 CLXXXIX
 (APPENDIX A)
 Fragments Attributed to Epictetus
 I
 II
 III
 IV
 V
 VI
 VII
 VIII
 IX
 X
 XI
 XII
 XIII
 XIV
 XV
 XVI
 XVII
 XVIII
 XIX
 XX
 XXI
 XXII
 XXIII
 XXIV
 (APPENDIX B)
 The Hymn of Cleanthes



I

Are these the only works of Providence within us? What words suffice to
praise or set them forth? Had we but understanding, should we ever
cease hymning and blessing the Divine Power, both openly and in secret,
and telling of His gracious gifts? Whether digging or ploughing or
eating, should we not sing the hymn to God:—

_Great is God_, for that He hath given us such instruments to till the
ground withal:


_Great is God_, for that He hath given us hands and the power of
swallowing and digesting; of unconsciously growing and breathing while
we sleep!


Thus should we ever have sung; yea and this, the grandest and divinest
hymn of all:—

_Great is God_, for that He hath given us a mind to apprehend these
things, and duly to use them!


What then! seeing that most of you are blinded, should there not be
some one to fill this place, and sing the hymn to God on behalf of all
men? What else can I that am old and lame do but sing to God? Were I a
nightingale, I should do after the manner of a nightingale. Were I a
swan, I should do after the manner of a swan. But now, since I am a
reasonable being, I must sing to God: that is my work: I do it, nor
will I desert this my post, as long as it is granted me to hold it; and
upon you too I call to join in this self-same hymn.

II

How then do men act? As though one returning to his country who had
sojourned for the night in a fair inn, should be so captivated thereby
as to take up his abode there.

“Friend, thou hast forgotten thine intention! This was not thy
destination, but only lay on the way thither.”

“Nay, but it is a proper place.”

“And how many more of the sort there may be; only to pass through upon
thy way! Thy purpose was to return to thy country; to relieve thy
kinsmen’s fears for thee; thyself to discharge the duties of a citizen;
to marry a wife, to beget offspring, and to fill the appointed round of
office. Thou didst not come to choose out what places are most
pleasant; but rather to return to that wherein thou wast born and where
wert appointed to be a citizen.”

III

Try to enjoy the great festival of life with other men.

IV

But I have one whom I must please, to whom I must be subject, whom I
must obey:—God, and those who come next to Him. He hath entrusted me
with myself: He hath made my will subject to myself alone and given me
rules for the right use thereof.

V

Rufus used to say, _If you have leisure to praise me, what I say is
naught_. In truth he spoke in such wise, that each of us who sat there,
though that some one had accused him to Rufus:—so surely did he lay his
finger on the very deeds we did: so surely display the faults of each
before his very eyes.

VI

But what saith God?—“Had it been possible, Epictetus, I would have made
both that body of thine and thy possessions free and unimpeded, but as
it is, be not deceived:—it is not thine own; it is but finely tempered
clay. Since then this I could not do, I have given thee a portion of
Myself, in the power of desiring and declining and of pursuing and
avoiding, and in a word the power of dealing with the things of sense.
And if thou neglect not this, but place all that thou hast therein,
thou shalt never be let or hindered; thou shalt never lament; thou
shalt not blame or flatter any. What then? Seemth this to thee a little
thing?”—God forbid!—“Be content then therewith!”

And so I pray the Gods.

VII

What saith Antisthenes? Hast thou never heard?—

_It is a kingly thing, O Cyrus, to do well and to be evil spoken of_.

VIII

“Aye, but to debase myself thus were unworthy of me.”

“That,” said Epictetus, “is for you to consider, not for me. You know
yourself what you are worth in your own eyes; and at what price you
will sell yourself. For men sell themselves at various prices. This was
why, when Florus was deliberating whether he should appear at Nero’s
shows, taking part in the performance himself, Agrippinus replied, ‘But
why do not _you_ appear?’ he answered, ‘Because I do not even consider
the question.’ For the man who has once stooped to consider such
questions, and to reckon up the value of external things, is not far
from forgetting what manner of man he is. Why, what is it that you ask
me? Is death preferable, or life? I reply, Life. Pain or pleasure? I
reply, Pleasure.”

“Well, but if I do not act, I shall lose my head.”

“Then go and act! But for my part I will not act.”

“Why?”

“Because _you_ think yourself but one among the many threads which make
up the texture of the doublet. _You_ should aim at being like men in
general—just as your thread has no ambition either to be anything
distinguished compared with the other threads. But I desire to be the
purple—that small and shining part which makes the rest seem fair and
beautiful. Why then do you bid me become even as the multitude? Then
were I no longer the purple.”

IX

If a man could be throughly penetrated, as he ought, with this thought,
that we are all in an especial manner sprung from God, and that God is
the Father of men as well as of Gods, full surely he would never
conceive aught ignoble or base of himself. Whereas if Cæsar were to
adopt you, your haughty looks would be intolerable; will you not be
elated at knowing that you are the son of God? Now however it is not so
with us: but seeing that in our birth these two things are
commingled—the body which we share with the animals, and the Reason and
Thought which we share with the Gods, many decline towards this unhappy
kinship with the dead, few rise to the blessed kinship with the Divine.
Since then every one must deal with each thing according to the view
which he forms about it, those few who hold that they are born for
fidelity, modesty, and unerring sureness in dealing with the things of
sense, never conceive aught base or ignoble of themselves: but the
multitude the contrary. Why, what am I?—A wretched human creature; with
this miserable flesh of mine. Miserable indeed! but you have something
better than that paltry flesh of yours. Why then cling to the one, and
neglect the other?

X

Thou art but a poor soul laden with a lifeless body.

XI

The other day I had an iron lamp placed beside my household gods. I
heard a noise at the door and on hastening down found my lamp carried
off. I reflected that the culprit was in no very strange case.
“Tomorrow, my friend,” I said, “you will find an earthenware lamp; for
a man can only lose what he has.”

XII

The reason why I lost my lamp was that the thief was superior to me in
vigilance. He paid however this price for the lamp, that in exchange
for it he consented to become a thief: in exchange for it, to become
faithless.

XIII

But God hath introduced Man to be a spectator of Himself and of His
works; and not a spectator only, but also an interpreter of them.
Wherefore it is a shame for man to begin and to leave off where the
brutes do. Rather he should begin there, and leave off where Nature
leaves off in us: and that is at contemplation, and understanding, and
a manner of life that is in harmony with herself.

See then that ye die not without being spectators of these things.

XIV

You journey to Olympia to see the work of Phidias; and each of you
holds it a misfortune not to have beheld these things before you die.
Whereas when there is no need even to take a journey, but you are on
the spot, with the works before you, have you no care to contemplate
and study these?

Will you not then perceive either who you are or unto what end you were
born: or for what purpose the power of contemplation has been bestowed
on you?

“Well, but in life there are some things disagreeable and hard to
bear.”

And are there none at Olympia? Are you not scorched by the heat? Are
you not cramped for room? Have you not to bathe with discomfort? Are
you not drenched when it rains? Have you not to endure the clamor and
shouting and such annoyances as these? Well, I suppose you set all this
over against the splendour of the spectacle and bear it patiently. What
then? have you not received greatness of heart, received courage,
received fortitude? What care I, if I am great of heart, for aught that
can come to pass? What shall cast me down or disturb me? What shall
seem painful? Shall I not use the power to the end for which I received
it, instead of moaning and wailing over what comes to pass?

XV

If what philosophers say of the kinship of God and Man be true, what
remains for men to do but as Socrates did:—never, when asked one’s
country, to answer, “I am an Athenian or a Corinthian,” but “I am a
citizen of the world.”

XVI

He that hath grasped the administration of the World, who hath learned
that this Community, which consists of God and men, is the foremost and
mightiest and most comprehensive of all:—that from God have descended
the germs of life, not to my father only and father’s father, but to
all things that are born and grow upon the earth, and in an especial
manner to those endowed with Reason (for those only are by their nature
fitted to hold communion with God, being by means of Reason conjoined
with Him)—why should not such an one call himself a citizen of the
world? Why not a son of God? Why should he fear aught that comes to
pass among men? Shall kinship with Cæsar, or any other of the great at
Rome, be enough to hedge men around with safety and consideration,
without a thought of apprehension: while to have God for our Maker, and
Father, and Kinsman, shall not this set us free from sorrows and fears?

XVII

I do not think that an old fellow like me need have been sitting here
to try and prevent your entertaining abject notions of yourselves, and
talking of yourselves in an abject and ignoble way: but to prevent
there being by chance among you any such young men as, after
recognising their kindred to the Gods, and their bondage in these
chains of the body and its manifold necessities, should desire to cast
them off as burdens too grievous to be borne, and depart their true
kindred. This is the struggle in which your Master and Teacher, were he
worthy of the name, should be engaged. You would come to me and say:
“Epictetus, we can no longer endure being chained to this wretched
body, giving food and drink and rest and purification: aye, and for its
sake forced to be subservient to this man and that. Are these not
things indifferent and nothing to us? Is it not true that death is no
evil? Are we not in a manner kinsmen of the Gods, and have we not come
from them? Let us depart thither, whence we came: let us be freed from
these chains that confine and press us down. Here are thieves and
robbers and tribunals: and they that are called tyrants, who deem that
they have after a fashion power over us, because of the miserable body
and what appertains to it. Let us show them that they have power over
none.”

XVIII

And to this I reply:—

“Friends, wait for God. When He gives the signal, and releases you from
this service, then depart to Him. But for the present, endure to dwell
in the place wherein He hath assigned you your post. Short indeed is
the time of your habitation therein, and easy to those that are minded.
What tyrant, what robber, what tribunals have any terrors for those who
thus esteem the body and all that belong to it as of no account? Stay;
depart not rashly hence!”

XIX

Something like that is what should pass between a teacher and ingenuous
youths. As it is, what does pass? The teacher is a lifeless body, and
you are lifeless bodies yourselves. When you have had enough to eat
today, you sit down and weep about tomorrow’s food. Slave! if you have
it, well and good; if not, you will depart: the door is open—why
lament? What further room is there for tears? What further occasion for
flattery? Why should one envy another? Why should you stand in awe of
them that have much or are placed in power, especially if they be also
strong and passionate? Why, what should they do to us? What they can
do, we will not regard: what does concern us, that they cannot do. Who
then shall rule one that is thus minded?

XX

Seeing this then, and noting well the faculties which you have, you
should say,—“Send now, O God, any trial that Thou wilt; lo, I have
means and powers given me by Thee to acquit myself with honour through
whatever comes to pass!”—No; but there you sit, trembling for fear
certain things should come to pass, and moaning and groaning and
lamenting over what does come to pass. And then you upbraid the Gods.
Such meanness of spirit can have but one result—impiety.

Yet God has not only given us these faculties by means of which we may
bear everything that comes to pass without being crushed or depressed
thereby; but like a good King and Father, He has given us this without
let or hindrance, placed wholly at our own disposition, without
reserving to Himself any power of impediment or restraint. Though
possessing all these things free and all you own, you do not use them!
you do not perceive what it is you have received nor whence it comes,
but sit moaning and groaning; some of you blind to the Giver, making no
acknowledgment to your Benefactor; others basely giving themselves to
complaints and accusations against God.

Yet what faculties and powers you possess for attaining courage and
greatness of heart, I can easily show you; what you have for upbraiding
and accusation, it is for you to show me!

XXI

How did Socrates bear himself in this regard? How else than as became
one who was fully assured that he was the kinsman of Gods?

XXII

If God had made that part of His own nature which He severed from
Himself and gave to us, liable to be hindered or constrained either by
Himself or any other, He would not have been God, nor would He have
been taking care of us as He ought . . . . If you choose, you are free;
if you choose, you need blame no man—accuse no man. All things will be
at once according to your mind and according to the Mind of God.

XXIII

Petrifaction is of two sorts. There is petrifaction of the
understanding; and also of the sense of shame. This happens when a man
obstinately refuses to acknowledge plain truths, and persists in
maintaining what is self-contradictory. Most of us dread mortification
of the body, and would spare no pains to escape anything of that kind.
But of mortification of the soul we are utterly heedless. With regard,
indeed, to the soul, if a man is in such a state as to be incapable of
following or understanding anything, I grant you we do think him in a
bad way. But mortification of the sense of shame and modesty we go so
far as to dub strength of mind!

XXIV

If we were as intent upon our business as the old fellows at Rome are
upon what interests them, we too might perhaps accomplish something. I
know a man older than I am, now Superintendent of the Corn-market at
Rome, and I remember when he passed through this place on his way back
from exile, what an account he gave me of his former life, declaring
that for the future, once home again, his only care should be to pass
his remaining years in quiet and tranquility. “For how few years have I
left!” he cried. “That,” I said, “you will not do; but the moment the
scent of Rome is in your nostrils, you will forget it all; and if you
can but gain admission to Court, you will be glad enough to elbow your
way in, and thank God for it.” “Epictetus,” he replied, “if ever you
find me setting as much as one foot within the Court, think what you
will of me.”

Well, as it was, what did he do? Ere ever he entered the city, he was
met by a despatch from the Emperor. He took it, and forgot the whole of
his resolutions. From that moment, he has been piling one thing upon
another. I should like to be beside him to remind him of what he said
when passing this way, and to add, How much better a prophet I am than
you!

What then? do I say man is not made for an active life? Far from it! .
. . But there is a great difference between other men’s occupations and
ours. . . . A glance at theirs will make it clear to you. All day long
they do nothing but calculate, contrive, consult how to wring their
profit out of food-stuffs, farm-plots and the like. . . . Whereas, I
entreat you to learn what the administration of the World is, and what
place a Being endowed with reason holds therein: to consider what you
are yourself, and wherein your Good and Evil consists.

XXV

A man asked me to write to Rome on his behalf who, as most people
thought, had met with misfortune; for having been before wealthy and
distinguished, he had afterwards lost all and was living here. So I
wrote about him in a humble style. He however on reading the letter
returned it to me, with the words: “I asked for your help, not for your
pity. No evil has happened unto me.”

XXVI

True instruction is this:—to learn to wish that each thing should come
to pass as it does. And how does it come to pass? As the Disposer has
disposed it. Now He has disposed that there should be summer and
winter, and plenty and dearth, and vice and virtue, and all such
opposites, for the harmony of the whole.

XXVII

Have this thought ever present with thee, when thou losest any outward
thing, what thou gainest in its stead; and if this be the more
precious, say not, I have suffered loss.

XXVIII

Concerning the Gods, there are who deny the very existence of the
Godhead; others say that it exists, but neither bestirs nor concerns
itself nor has forethought for anything. A third party attribute to it
existence and forethought, but only for great and heavenly matters, not
for anything that is on earth. A fourth party admit things on earth as
well as in heaven, but only in general, and not with respect to each
individual. A fifth, of whom were Ulysses and Socrates are those that
cry:—

_I move not without Thy knowledge!_

XXIX

Considering all these things, the good and true man submits his
judgement to Him that administers the Universe, even as good citizens
to the law of the State. And he that is being instructed should come
thus minded:—How may I in all things follow the Gods; and, How may I
rest satisfied with the Divine Administration; and, How may I become
free? For he is free for whom all things come to pass according to his
will, and whom none can hinder. What then, is freedom madness? God
forbid. For madness and freedom exist not together.

“But I wish all that I desire to come to pass and in the manner that I
desire.”

—You are mad, you are beside yourself. Know you not that Freedom is a
glorious thing and of great worth? But that what I desired at random I
should wish at random to come to pass, so far from being noble, may
well be exceeding base.

XXX

You must know that it is no easy thing for a principle to become a
man’s own, unless each day he maintain it and hear it maintained, as
well as work it out in life.

XXXI

You are impatient and hard to please. If alone, you call it solitude:
if in the company of men, you dub them conspirators and thieves, and
find fault with your very parents, children, brothers, and neighbours.
Whereas when by yourself you should have called it Tranquillity and
Freedom: and herein deemed yourself like unto the Gods. And when in the
company of many, you should not have called it a wearisome crowd and
tumult, but an assembly and a tribunal; and thus accepted all with
contentment.

XXXII

What then is the chastisement of those who accept it not? To be as they
are. Is any discontented with being alone? let him be in solitude. Is
any discontented with his parents? let him be a bad son, and lament. Is
any discontented with his children? let him be a bad father.—“Throw him
into prison!”—What prison?—Where he is already: for he is there against
his will; and wherever a man is against his will, that to him is a
prison. Thus Socrates was not in prison, since he was there with his
own consent.

XXXIII

Knowest thou what a speck thou art in comparison with the
Universe?—-That is, with respect to the body; since with respect to
Reason, thou art not inferior to the Gods, nor less than they. For the
greatness of Reason is not measured by length or height, but by the
resolves of the mind. Place then thy happiness in that wherein thou art
equal to the Gods.

XXXIV

Asked how a man might eat acceptably to the Gods, Epictetus replied:—If
when he eats, he can be just, cheerful, equable, temperate, and
orderly, can he not thus eat acceptably to the Gods? But when you call
for warm water, and your slave does not answer, or when he answers
brings it lukewarm, or is not even found to be in the house at all,
then not to be vexed nor burst with anger, is not that acceptable to
the Gods?

“But how can one endure such people?”

Slave, will you not endure your own brother, that has God to his
forefather, even as a son sprung from the same stock, and of the same
high descent as yourself? And if you are stationed in a high position,
are you therefor forthwith set up for a tyrant? Remember who you are,
and whom you rule, that they are by nature your kinsmen, your brothers,
the offspring of God.

“But I paid a price for them, not they for me.”

Do you see whither you are looking—down to the earth, to the pit, to
those despicable laws of the dead? But to the laws of the Gods you do
not look.

XXXV

When we are invited to a banquet, we take what is set before us; and
were one to call upon his host to set fish upon the table or sweet
things, he would be deemed absurd. Yet in a word, we ask the Gods for
what they do not give; and that, although they have given us so many
things!

XXXVI

Asked how a man might convince himself that every single act of his was
under the eye of God, Epictetus answered:—

“Do you not hold that things on earth and things in heaven are
continuous and in unison with each other?”

“I do,” was the reply.

“Else how should the trees so regularly, as though by God’s command, at
His bidding flower; at His bidding send forth shoots, bear fruit and
ripen it; at His bidding let it fall and shed their leaves, and folded
up upon themselves lie in quietness and rest? How else, as the Moon
waxes and wanes, as the Sun approaches and recedes, can it be that such
vicissitude and alternation is seen in earthly things?

“If then all things that grow, nay, our own bodies, are thus bound up
with the whole, is not this still truer of our souls? And if our souls
are bound up and in contact with God, as being very parts and fragments
plucked from Himself, shall He not feel every movement of theirs as
though it were His own, and belonging to His own nature?”

XXXVII

“But,” you say, “I cannot comprehend all this at once.”

“Why, who told you that your powers were equal to God’s?”

Yet God hath placed by the side of each a man’s own Guardian Spirit,
who is charged to watch over him—a Guardian who sleeps not nor is
deceived. For to what better or more watchful Guardian could He have
committed which of us? So when you have shut the doors and made a
darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone; for you are
not alone, but God is within, and your Guardian Spirit, and what light
do they need to behold what you do? To this God you also should have
sworn allegiance, even as soldiers unto Cæsar. They, when their service
is hired, swear to hold the life of Cæsar dearer than all else: and
will you not swear your oath, that are deemed worthy of so many and
great gifts? And will you not keep your oath when you have sworn it?
And what oath will you swear? Never to disobey, never to arraign or
murmur at aught that comes to you from His hand: never unwillingly to
do or suffer aught that necessity lays upon you.

“Is this oath like theirs?”

They swear to hold no other dearer than Cæsar: you, to hold our true
selves dearer than all else beside.

XXXVIII

“How shall my brother cease to be wroth with me?”

Bring him to me, and I will tell him. But to _thee_ I have nothing to
say about _his_ anger.

XXXIX

When one took counsel of Epictetus, saying, “What I seek is this, how
even though my brother be not reconciled to me, I may still remain as
Nature would have me to be,” he replied: “All great things are slow of
growth; nay, this is true even of a grape or of a fig. If then you say
to me now, I desire a fig, I shall answer, It needs time: wait till it
first flower, then cast its blossom, then ripen. Whereas then the fruit
of the fig-tree reaches not maturity suddenly nor yet in a single hour,
do you nevertheless desire so quickly, and easily to reap the fruit of
the mind of man?—Nay, expect it not, even though I bade you!”

XL

Epaphroditus had a shoemaker whom he sold as being good-for-nothing.
This fellow, by some accident, was afterwards purchased by one of
Cæsar’s men, and became a shoemaker to Cæsar. You should have seen what
respect Epaphroditus paid him then. “How does the good Felicion? Kindly
let me know!” And if any of us inquired, “What is Epaphroditus doing?”
the answer was, “He is consulting about so and so with Felicion.”—Had
he not sold him as good-for-nothing? Who had in a trice converted him
into a wiseacre?

This is what comes of holding of importance anything but the things
that depend on the Will.

XLI

What you shun enduring yourself, attempt not to impose on others. You
shun slavery—beware of enslaving others! If you can endure to do that,
one would think you had been once upon a time a slave yourself. For
Vice has nothing in common with virtue, nor Freedom with slavery.

XLII

Has a man been raised to tribuneship? Every one that he meets
congratulates him. One kisses him on the eyes, another on the neck,
while the slaves kiss his hands. He goes home to find torches burning;
he ascends to the Capitol to sacrifice.—Who ever sacrificed for having
had right desires; for having conceived such inclinations as Nature
would have him? In truth we thank the Gods for that wherein we place
our happiness.

XLIII

A man was talking to me to-day about the priesthood of Augustus. I said
to him, “Let the thing go, my good Sir; you will spend a good deal to
no purpose.”

“Well, but my name will be inserted in all documents and contracts.”

“Will _you_ be standing there to tell those that read them, That is my
name written there? And even if you could now be there in every case,
what will you do when you are dead?”

“At all events my name will remain.”

“Inscribe it on a stone and it will remain just as well. And think,
beyond Nicopolis what memory of you will there be?”

“But I shall have a golden wreath to wear.”

“If you must have a wreath, get a wreath of roses and put it on; you
will look more elegant!”

XLIV

Above all, remember that the door stands open. Be not more fearful than
children; but as they, when they weary of the game, cry, “I will play
no more,” even so, when thou art in the like case, cry, “I will play no
more” and depart. But if thou stayest, make no lamentation.

XLV

Is there smoke in the room? If it be slight, I remain; if grievous, I
quit it. For you must remember this and hold it fast, that the door
stands open.

“You shall not dwell at Nicopolis!”

Well and good.

“Nor at Athens.”

Then I will not dwell at Athens either.

“Nor at Rome.”

Nor at Rome either.

“You shall dwell in Gyara!”

Well: but to dwell in Gyara seems to me like a grievous smoke; I depart
to a place where none can forbid me to dwell: _that_ habitation is open
unto all! As for the last garment of all, that is the poor body; beyond
that, none can do aught unto me. This why Demetrius said to Nero: “You
threaten me with death; it is Nature who threatens _you!_”

XLVI

The beginning of philosophy is to know the condition of one’s own mind.
If a man recognises that this is in a weakly state, he will not then
want to apply it to questions of the greatest moment. As it is, men who
are not fit to swallow even a morsel, buy whole treatises and try to
devour them. Accordingly they either vomit them up again, or suffer
from indigestion, whence come gripings, fluxions, and fevers. Whereas
they should have stopped to consider their capacity.

XLVII

In theory it is easy to convince an ignorant person: in actual life,
men not only object to offer themselves to be convinced, but hate the
man who has convinced them. Whereas Socrates used to say that we should
never lead a life not subjected to examination.

XLVIII

This is the reason why Socrates, when reminded that he should prepare
for his trial, answered: “Thinkest thou not that I have been preparing
for it all my life?”

“In what way?”

“I have maintained that which in me lay!”

“How so?”

“I have never, secretly or openly, done a wrong unto any.”

XLIX

In what character dost thou now come forward?

As a witness summoned by God. “Come thou,” saith God, “and testify for
me, for thou art worthy of being brought forward as a witness by Me. Is
aught that is outside thy will either good or bad? Do I hurt any man?
Have I placed the good of each in the power of any other than himself?
What witness dost thou bear to God?”

“I am in evil state, Master, I am undone! None careth for me, none
giveth me aught: all men blame, all speak evil of me.”

Is this the witness thou wilt bear, and do dishonour to the calling
wherewith He hath called thee, because He hath done thee so great
honour, and deemed thee worthy of being summoned to bear witness in so
great a cause?

L

Wouldst thou have men speak good of thee? speak good of them. And when
thou hast learned to speak good of them, try to do good unto them, and
thus thou wilt reap in return their speaking good of thee.

LI

When thou goest in to any of the great, remember that Another from
above sees what is passing, and that thou shouldst please Him rather
than man. He therefore asks thee:—

“In the Schools, what didst thou call exile, imprisonment, bonds, death
and shame?”

“I called them things indifferent.”

“What then dost thou call them now? Are they at all changed?”

“No.”

“Is it then thou that art changed?”

“No.”

“Say then, what are things indifferent?”

“Things that are not in our power.”

“Say then, what follows?”

“That things which are not in our power are nothing to me.”

“Say also what things you hold to be good.”

“A will such as it ought to be, and a right use of the things of
sense.”

“And what is the end?”

“To follow Thee!”

LII

“That Socrates should ever have been so treated by the Athenians!”

Slave! why say “Socrates”? Speak of the thing as it is: That ever then
the poor _body_ of Socrates should have been dragged away and haled by
main force to prison! That ever hemlock should have been given to the
_body_ of Socrates; that _that_ should have breathed its life away!—Do
you marvel at this? Do you hold this unjust? Is it for this that you
accuse God? Had Socrates no compensation for this? Where then for him
was the ideal Good? Whom shall we hearken to, you or him? And what says
he?

“Anytus and Melitus may put me to death: to injure me is beyond their
power.”

And again:—

“If such be the will of God, so let it be.”

LIII

Nay, young man, for heaven’s sake; but once thou hast heard these
words, go home and say to thyself:—“It is not Epictetus that has told
me these things: how indeed should he? No, it is some gracious God
through him. Else it would never have entered his head to tell me
them—he that is not used to speak to any one thus. Well, then, let us
not lie under the wrath of God, but be obedient unto Him.”—-Nay,
indeed; but if a raven by its croaking bears thee any sign, it is not
the raven but God that sends the sign through the raven; and if He
signifies anything to thee through human voice, will _He_ not cause the
man to say these words to thee, that thou mayest know the power of the
Divine—how He sends a sign to some in one way and to others in another,
and on the greatest and highest matters of all signifies His will
through the noblest messenger?

What else does the poet mean:—

I spake unto him erst Myself, and sent
Hermes the shining One, to check and warn him,
The husband not to slay, nor woo the wife!


LIV

In the same way my friend Heraclitus, who had a trifling suit about a
petty farm at Rhodes, first showed the judges that his cause was just,
and then at the finish cried, “I will not entreat you: nor do I care
what sentence you pass. It is you who are on your trial, not I!”—And so
he ended the case.

LV

As for us, we behave like a herd of deer. When they flee from the
huntsman’s feathers in affright, which way do they turn? What haven of
safety do they make for? Why, they rush upon the nets! And thus they
perish by confounding what they should fear with that wherein no danger
lies. . . . Not death or pain is to be feared, but the _fear_ of death
or pain. Well said the poet therefore:—

Death has no terror; only a Death of shame!


LVI

How is it then that certain external things are said to be natural, and
other contrary to Nature?

Why, just as it might be said if we stood alone and apart from others.
A foot, for instance, I will allow it is natural should be clean. But
if you take it as a foot, and as a thing which does not stand by
itself, it will beseem it (if need be) to walk in the mud, to tread on
thorns, and sometimes even to be cut off, for the benefit of the whole
body; else it is no longer a foot. In some such way we should conceive
of ourselves also. What art thou?—A man.—Looked at as standing by
thyself and separate, it is natural for thee in health and wealth long
to live. But looked at as a _Man_, and only as a part of a Whole, it is
for that Whole’s sake that thou shouldest at one time fall sick, at
another brave the perils of the sea, again, know the meaning of want
and perhaps die an early death. Why then repine? Knowest thou not that
as the foot is no more a foot if detached from the body, so thou in
like case art no longer a Man? For what is a Man? A part of a
City:—first of the City of Gods and Men; next, of that which ranks
nearest it, a miniature of the universal City. . . . In such a body, in
such a world enveloping us, among lives like these, such things must
happen to one or another. Thy part, then, being here, is to speak of
these things as is meet, and to order them as befits the matter.

LVII

That was a good reply which Diogenes made to a man who asked him for
letters of recommendation.—“That you are a man, he will know when he
sees you;—whether a good or bad one, he will know if he has any skill
in discerning the good or bad. But if he has none, he will never know,
though I write him a thousand times.”—It is as though a piece of silver
money desired to be recommended to some one to be tested. If the man be
a good judge of silver, he will know: the coin will tell its own tale.

LVIII

Even as the traveller asks his way of him that he meets, inclined in no
wise to bear to the right rather than to the left (for he desires only
the way leading whither he would go), so should we come unto God as to
a guide; even as we use our eyes without admonishing them to show us
some things rather than others, but content to receive the images of
such things as they present to us. But as it is we stand anxiously
watching the victim, and with the voice of supplication call upon the
augur:—“Master, have mercy on me: vouchsafe unto me a way of escape!”
Slave, would you then have aught else then what is best? is there
anything better than what is God’s good pleasure? Why, as far as in you
lies, would you corrupt your Judge, and lead your Counsellor astray?

LIX

God is beneficent. But the Good also is beneficent. It should seem then
that where the real nature of God is, there too is to be found the real
nature of the Good. What then is the real nature of God?—Intelligence,
Knowledge, Right Reason. Here then without more ado seek the real
nature of the Good. For surely thou dost not seek it in a plant or in
an animal that reasoneth not.

LX

Seek then the real nature of the Good in that without whose presence
thou wilt not admit the Good to exist in aught else.—What then? Are not
these other things also works of God?—They are; but not _preferred to
honour_, nor are they portions of God. But thou art a thing preferred
to honour: thou art thyself a fragment torn from God:—thou hast a
portion of Him within thyself. How is it then that thou dost not know
thy high descent—dost not know whence thou comest? When thou eatest,
wilt thou not remember who thou art that eatest and whom thou feedest?
In intercourse, in exercise, in discussion knowest thou not that it is
a God whom thou feedest, a God whom thou exercisest, a God whom thou
bearest about with thee, O miserable! and thou perceivest it not.
Thinkest thou that I speak of a God of silver or gold, that is without
thee? Nay, thou bearest Him within thee! all unconscious of polluting
Him with thoughts impure and unclean deeds. Were an image of God
present, thou wouldest not dare to act as thou dost, yet, when God
Himself is present within thee, beholding and hearing all, thou dost
not blush to think such thoughts and do such deeds, O thou that art
insensible of thine own nature and liest under the wrath of God!

LXI

Why then are we afraid when we send a young man from the Schools into
active life, lest he should indulge his appetites intemperately, lest
he should debase himself by ragged clothing, or be puffed up by fine
raiment? Knows he not the God within him; knows he not with whom he is
starting on his way? Have we patience to hear him say to us, Would I
had _thee_ with me!—Hast thou not God where thou art, and having Him
dost thou still seek for any other! Would He tell thee aught else than
these things? Why, wert thou a statue of Phidias, an _Athena_ or a
_Zeus_, thou wouldst bethink thee both of thyself and thine artificer;
and hadst thou any sense, thou wouldst strive to do no dishonour to
thyself or him that fashioned thee, nor appear to beholders in
unbefitting guise. But now, because God is thy Maker, is that why thou
carest not of what sort thou shalt show thyself to be? Yet how
different the artists and their workmanship! What human artist’s work,
for example, has in it the faculties that are displayed in fashioning
it? Is it aught but marble, bronze, gold, or ivory? Nay, when the
_Athena_ of Phidias has put forth her hand and received therein a
_Victory_, in that attitude she stands for evermore. But God’s works
move and breathe; they use and judge the things of sense. The
workmanship of such an Artist, wilt thou dishonor Him? Ay, when he not
only fashioned thee, but placed thee, like a ward, in the care and
guardianship of thyself alone, wilt thou not only forget this, but also
do dishonour to what is committed to thy care! If God had entrusted
thee with an orphan, wouldst thou have thus neglected him? He hath
delivered thee to thine own care, saying, I had none more faithful than
myself: keep this man for me such as Nature hath made him—modest,
faithful, high-minded, a stranger to fear, to passion, to perturbation.
. . .

Such will I show myself to you all.—“What, exempt from sickness also:
from age, from death?”—Nay, but accepting sickness, accepting death as
becomes a God!

LXII

No labour, according to Diogenes, is good but that which aims at
producing courage and strength of soul rather than of body.

LXIII

A guide, on finding a man who has lost his way, brings him back to the
right path—he does not mock and jeer at him and then take himself off.
You also must show the unlearned man the truth, and you will see that
he will follow. But so long as you do not show it him, you should not
mock, but rather feel your own incapacity.

LXIV

It was the first and most striking characteristic of Socrates never to
become heated in discourse, never to utter an injurious or insulting
word—on the contrary, he persistently bore insult from others and thus
put an end to the fray. If you care to know the extent of his power in
this direction, read Xenophon’s _Banquet_, and you will see how many
quarrels he put an end to. This is why the Poets are right in so highly
commending this faculty:—

Quickly and wisely withal even bitter feuds would he settle.


Nevertheless the practice is not very safe at present, especially in
Rome. One who adopts it, I need not say, ought not to carry it out in
an obscure corner, but boldly accost, if occasion serve, some personage
of rank or wealth.

“Can you tell me, sir, to whose care you entrust your horses?”

“I can.”

“Is it to the first comer, who knows nothing about them?”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, what of the man who takes care of your gold, your silver or your
raiment?”

“He must be experienced also.”

“And your body—have you ever considered about entrusting it to any
one’s care?”

“Of course I have.”

“And no doubt to a person of experience as a trainer, a physician?”

“Surely.”

“And these things the best you possess, or have you anything more
precious?”

“What can you mean?”

“I mean that which employs these; which weights all things; which takes
counsel and resolve.”

“Oh, you mean the soul.”

“You take me rightly; I do mean the soul. By Heaven, I hold that far
more precious than all else I possess. Can you show me then what care
you bestow on a soul? For it can scarcely be thought that a man of your
wisdom and consideration in the city would suffer your most precious
possession to go to ruin through carelessness and neglect.”

“Certainly not.”

“Well, do you take care of it yourself? Did any one teach you the right
method, or did you discover it yourself?”

Now here comes in the danger: first, that the great man may answer,
“Why, what is that to you, my good fellow? are you my master?” And
then, if you persist in troubling him, may raise his hand to strike
you. It is a practice of which I was myself a warm admirer until such
experiences as these befell me.

LXV

When a youth was giving himself airs in the Theatre and saying, “I am
wise, for I have conversed with many wise men,” Epictetus replied, “I
too have conversed with many rich men, yet I am not rich!”

LXVI

We see that a carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things:
that a pilot, by learning certain things, becomes a pilot. Possibly
also in the present case the mere desire to be wise and good is not
enough. It is necessary to learn certain things. This is then the
object of our search. The Philosophers would have us first learn that
there is a God, and that His Providence directs the Universe; further,
that to hide from Him not only one’s acts but even one’s thoughts and
intentions is impossible; secondly, what the nature of God is. Whatever
that nature is discovered to be, the man who would please and obey Him
must strive with all his might to be made like unto him. If the Divine
is faithful, he also must be faithful; if free, he also must be free;
if beneficent, he also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, he also must
be magnanimous. Thus as an imitator of God must he follow Him in every
deed and word.

LXVII

If I show you, that you lack just what is most important and necessary
to happiness, that hitherto your attention has been bestowed on
everything rather than that which claims it most; and, to crown all,
that you know neither what God nor Man is—neither what Good or Evil is:
why, that you are ignorant of everything else, perhaps you may bear to
be told; but to hear that you know nothing of yourself, how could you
submit to that? How could you stand your ground and suffer that to be
proved? Clearly not at all. You instantly turn away in wrath. Yet what
harm have I done to you? Unless indeed the mirror harms the
ill-favoured man by showing him to himself just as he is; unless the
physician can be thought to insult his patient, when he tells
him:—“Friend, do you suppose there is nothing wrong with you? why, you
have a fever. Eat nothing to-day, and drink only water.” Yet no one
says, “What an insufferable insult!” Whereas if you say to a man, “Your
desires are inflamed, your instincts of rejection are weak and low,
your aims are inconsistent, your impulses are not in harmony with
Nature, your opinions are rash and false,” he forthwith goes away and
complains that you have insulted him.

LXVIII

Our way of life resembles a fair. The flocks and herds are passing
along to be sold, and the greater part of the crowd to buy and sell.
But there are some few who come only to look at the fair, to inquire
how and why it is being held, upon what authority and with what object.
So too, in this great Fair of life, some, like the cattle, trouble
themselves about nothing but the fodder. Know all of you, who are
busied about land, slaves and public posts, that these are nothing but
fodder! Some few there are attending the Fair, who love to contemplate
what the world is, what He that administers it. Can there be no
Administrator? is it possible, that while neither city nor household
could endure even a moment without one to administer and see to its
welfare, this Fabric, so fair, so vast, should be administered in order
so harmonious, without a purpose and by blind chance? There is
therefore an Administrator. What is His nature and how does He
administer? And who are we that are His children and what work were we
born to perform? Have we any close connection or relation with Him or
not?

Such are the impressions of the few of whom I speak. And further, they
apply themselves solely to considering and examining the great assembly
before they depart. Well, they are derided by the multitude. So are the
lookers-on by the traders: aye, and if the beasts had any sense, they
would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder!

LXIX

I think I know now what I never knew before—the meaning of the common
saying, _A fool you can neither bend nor break_. Pray heaven I may
never have a _wise fool_ for my friend! There is nothing more
intractable.—“My resolve is fixed!”—Why so madman say too; but the more
firmly they believe in their delusions, the more they stand in need of
treatment.

LXX

—“O! when shall I see Athens and its Acropolis again?”—Miserable man!
art thou not contented with the daily sights that meet thine eyes?
canst thou behold aught greater or nobler than the Sun, Moon, and
Stars; than the outspread Earth and Sea? If indeed thou apprehendest
Him who administers the universe, if thou bearest Him about within
thee, canst thou still hanker after mere fragments of stone and fine
rock? When thou art about to bid farewell to the Sun and Moon itself,
wilt thou sit down and cry like a child? Why, what didst thou hear,
what didst thou learn? why didst thou write thyself down a philosopher,
when thou mightest have written what was the fact, namely, “I have made
one or two _Compendiums_, I have read some works of Chrysippus, and I
have not even touched the hem of Philosophy’s robe!”

LXXI

Friend, lay hold with a desperate grasp, ere it is too late, on
Freedom, on Tranquility, on Greatness of soul! Lift up thy head, as one
escaped from slavery; dare to look up to God, and say:—“Deal with me
henceforth as Thou wilt; Thou and I are of one mind. I am Thine: I
refuse nothing that seeeth good to Thee; lead on whither Thou wilt;
clothe me in what garb Thou pleasest; wilt Thou have me a ruler or a
subject—at home or in exile—poor or rich? All these things will I
justify unto men for Thee. I will show the true nature of each. . . .”

Who would Hercules have been had he loitered at home? no Hercules, but
Eurystheus. And in his wanderings through the world how many friends
and comrades did he find? but nothing dearer to him than God. Wherefore
he was believed to be God’s son, as indeed he was. So then in obedience
to Him, he went about delivering the earth from injustice and
lawlessness.

But thou art not Hercules, thou sayest, and canst not deliver others
from their iniquity—not even Theseus, to deliver the soil of Attica
from its monsters? Purge away thine own, cast forth thence—from thine
own mind, not robbers and monsters, but Fear, Desire, Envy, Malignity,
Avarice, Effeminacy, Intemperance. And these may not be cast out,
except by looking to God alone, by fixing thy affections on Him only,
and by consecrating thyself to His commands. If thou choosest aught
else, with sighs and groans thou wilt be forced to follow a Might
greater than thine own, ever seeking Tranquillity without, and never
able to attain unto her. For thou seekest her where she is not to be
found; and where she is, there thou seekest her not!

LXXII

If a man would pursue Philosophy, his first task is to throw away
conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn what he has a
conceit that he already knows.

LXXIII

Give me but one young man, that has come to the School with this
intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause, and says, “All
else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life free from
hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as a
free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that
may come to pass!” Point out such a one to me, that I may say, “Enter,
young man, into possession of that which is thine own. For thy lot is
to adorn Philosophy. Thine are these possessions; thine these books,
these discourses!”

And when our champion has duly exercised himself in this part of the
subject, I hope he will come back to me and say:—“What I desire is to
be free from passion and from perturbation; as one who grudges no pains
in the pursuit of piety and philosophy, what I desire is to know my
duty to the Gods, my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country,
to strangers.”

“Enter then on the second part of the subject; it is thine also.”

“But I have already mastered the second part; only I wished to stand
firm and unshaken—as firm when asleep as when awake, as firm when
elated with wine as in despondency and dejection.”

“Friend, you are verily a God! you cherish great designs.”

LXXIV

“The question at stake,” said Epictetus, “is no common one; it is
this:—_Are we in our senses, or are we not?_”

LXXV

If you have given way to anger, be sure that over and above the evil
involved therein, you have strengthened the habit, and added fuel to
the fire. If overcome by a temptation of the flesh, do not reckon it a
single defeat, but that you have also strengthened your dissolute
habits. Habits and faculties are necessarily affected by the
corresponding acts. Those that were not there before, spring up: the
rest gain in strength and extent. This is the account which
Philosophers give of the origin of diseases of the mind:—Suppose you
have once lusted after money: if reason sufficient to produce a sense
of evil be applied, then the lust is checked, and the mind at once
regains its original authority; whereas if you have recourse to no
remedy, you can no longer look for this return—on the contrary, the
next time it is excited by the corresponding object, the flame of
desire leaps up more quickly than before. By frequent repetition, the
mind in the long run becomes callous; and thus this mental disease
produces confirmed Avarice.

One who has had fever, even when it has left him, is not in the same
condition of health as before, unless indeed his cure is complete.
Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of the mind.
Behind, there remains a legacy of traces and blisters: and unless these
are effectually erased, subsequent blows on the same spot will produce
no longer mere blisters, but sores. If you do not wish to be prone to
anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend its
increase. At first, keep quiet and count the days when you were not
angry: “I used to be angry every day, then every other day: next every
two, next every three days!” and if you succeed in passing thirty days,
sacrifice to the Gods in thanksgiving.

LXXVI

How then may this be attained?—Resolve, now if never before, to approve
thyself to thyself; resolve to show thyself fair in God’s sight; long
to be pure with thine own pure self and God!

LXXVII

That is the true athlete, that trains himself to resist such outward
impressions as these.

“Stay, wretched man! suffer not thyself to be carried away!” Great is
the combat, divine the task! you are fighting for Kingship, for
Liberty, for Happiness, for Tranquillity. Remember God: call upon Him
to aid thee, like a comrade that stands beside thee in the fight.

LXXVIII

Who then is a Stoic—in the sense that we call a statue of Phidias which
is modelled after that master’s art? Show me a man in this sense
modelled after the doctrines that are ever upon his lips. Show me a man
that is sick—and happy; an exile—and happy; in evil report—and happy!
Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I long to see _one_ Stoic!
Nay, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at least see one
in whom the process is at work—one whose bent is in that direction. Do
me that favour! Grudge it not to an old man, to behold a sight he has
never yet beheld. Think you I wish to see the _Zeus_ or _Athena_ of
Phidias, bedecked with gold and ivory?—Nay, show me, one of you, a
human soul, desiring to be of one mind with God, no more to lay blame
on God or man, to suffer nothing to disappoint, nothing to cross him,
to yield neither to anger, envy, nor jealousy—in a word, why disguise
the matter? one that from a man would fain become a God; one that while
still imprisoned in this dead body makes fellowship with God his aim.
Show me him!—Ah, you cannot! Then why mock yourselves and delude
others? why stalk about tricked out in other men’s attire, thieves and
robbers that you are of names and things to which you can show no
title!

LXXIX

If you have assumed a character beyond your strength, you have both
played a poor figure in that, and neglected one that is within your
powers.

LXXX

Fellow, you have come to blows at home with a slave: you have turned
the household upside down, and thrown the neighbourhood into confusion;
and do you come to me then with airs of assumed modesty—do you sit down
like a sage and criticise my explanation of the readings, and whatever
idle babble you say has come into my head? Have you come full of envy,
and dejected because nothing is sent you from home; and while the
discussion is going on, do you sit brooding on nothing but how your
father or your brother are disposed towards you:—“What are they saying
about me there? at this moment they imagine I am making progress and
saying, He will return perfectly omniscient! I wish I could become
omniscient before I return; but that would be very troublesome. No one
sends me anything—the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; things are wretched
at home and wretched here.” And then they say, “Nobody is any the
better for the School.”—Who comes to the School with a sincere wish to
learn: to submit his principles to correction and himself to
_treatment?_ Who, to gain a sense of his wants? Why then be surprised
if you carry home from the School exactly what you bring into it?

LXXXI

“Epictetus, I have often come desiring to hear you speak, and you have
never given me any answer; now if possible, I entreat you, say
something to me.”

“Is there, do you think,” replied Epictetus, “an _art_ of speaking as
of other things, if it is to be done skilfully and with profit to the
hearer?”

“Yes.”

“And are all profited by what they hear, or only some among them? So
that it seems there is an art of hearing as well as of speaking. . . .
To make a statue needs skill: to view a statue aright needs skill
also.”

“Admitted.”

“And I think all will allow that one who proposes to hear philosophers
speak needs a considerable training in hearing. Is that not so? The
tell me on what subject your are able to _hear_ me.”

“Why, on good and evil.”

“The good and evil of what? a horse, an ox?”

“No; of a man.”

“Do we know then what Man is? what his nature is? what is the idea we
have of him? And are our _ears_ practised in any degree on the subject?
Nay, do you understand what Nature is? can you follow me in any degree
when I say that I shall have to use demonstration? Do you understand
what Demonstration is? what True or False is? . . . must I _drive_ you
to Philosophy? . . . Show me what good I am to do by discoursing with
you. Rouse my desire to do so. The sight of a pasture it loves stirs in
a sheep the desire to feed: show it a stone or a bit of bread and it
remains unmoved. Thus we also have certain natural desires, aye, and
one that moves us to speak when we find a listener that is worth his
salt: one that himself stirs the spirit. But if he sits by like a stone
or a tuft of grass, how can he rouse a man’s desire?”

“Then you will say nothing to me?”

“I can only tell you this: that one who knows not who he is and to what
end he was born; what kind of world this is and with whom he is
associated therein; one who cannot distinguish Good and Evil, Beauty
and Foulness, . . . Truth and Falsehood, will never follow Reason in
shaping his desires and impulses and repulsions, nor yet in assent,
denial, or suspension of judgement; but will in one word go about deaf
and blind, thinking himself to be somewhat, when he is in truth of no
account. Is there anything new in all this? Is not this ignorance the
cause of all the mistakes and mischances of men since the human race
began? . . .”

“This is all I have to say to you, and even this against the grain.
Why? Because you have not stirred my spirit. For what can I see in you
to stir me, as a spirited horse will stir a judge of horses? Your body?
That you maltreat. Your dress? That is luxurious. You behavior, your
look?—Nothing whatever. When you want to hear a philosopher, do not
say, You say nothing to me’; only show yourself worthy or fit to
_hear_, and then you will see how you will move the speaker.”

LXXXII

And now, when you see brothers apparently good friends and living in
accord, do not immediately pronounce anything upon their friendship,
though they should affirm it with an oath, though they should declare,
“For us to live apart in a thing impossible!” For the heart of a bad
man is faithless, unprincipled, inconstant: now overpowered by one
impression, now by another. Ask not the usual questions, Were they born
of the same parents, reared together, and under the same tutor; but ask
this only, in what they place their real interest—whether in outward
things or in the Will. If in outward things, call them not friends, any
more than faithful, constant, brave or free: call them not even human
beings, if you have any sense. . . . But should you hear that these men
hold the Good to lie only in the _Will_, only in rightly dealing with
the things of sense, take no more trouble to inquire whether they are
father and son or brothers, or comrades of long standing; but, sure of
this one thing, pronounce as boldly that they are friends as that they
are faithful and just: for where else can Friendship be found than
where Modesty is, where there is an interchange of things fair and
honest, and of such only?

LXXXIII

No man can rob us of our Will—no man can lord it over that!

LXXXIV

When disease and death overtake me, I would fain be found engaged in
the task of liberating mine own Will from the assaults of passion, from
hindrance, from resentment, from slavery.

Thus would I fain to be found employed, so that I may say to God, “Have
I in aught transgressed Thy commands? Have I in aught perverted the
faculties, the senses, the natural principles that Thou didst give me?
Have I ever blamed Thee or found fault with Thine administration? When
it was Thy good pleasure, I fell sick—and so did other men: by _my_
will consented. Because it was Thy pleasure, I became poor: but _my_
heart rejoiced. No power in the State was mine, because Thou wouldst
not: such power I never desired! Hast Thou ever seen me of more doleful
countenance on that account? Have I not ever drawn nigh unto Thee with
cheerful look, waiting upon Thy commands, attentive to Thy signals?
Wilt Thou that I now depart from the great Assembly of men? I go: I
give Thee all thanks, that Thou hast deemed me worthy to take part with
Thee in this Assembly: to behold Thy works, to comprehend this Thine
administration.”

Such I would were the subject of my thoughts, my pen, my study, when
death overtakes me.

LXXXV

Seemeth it nothing to you, never to accuse, never to blame either God
or Man? to wear ever the same countenance in going forth as in coming
in? This was the secret of Socrates: yet he never said that he knew or
taught anything. . . . Who amongst you makes this his aim? Were it
indeed so, you would gladly endure sickness, hunger, aye, death itself.

LXXXVI

How are we constituted by Nature? To be free, to be noble, to be modest
(for what other living thing is capable of blushing, or of feeling the
impression of shame?) and to subordinate pleasure to the ends for which
Nature designed us, as a handmaid and a minister, in order to call
forth our activity; in order to keep us constant to the path prescribed
by Nature.

LXXXVII

The husbandman deals with land; physicians and trainers with the body;
the wise man with his own Mind.

LXXXVIII

Which of us does not admire what Lycurgus the Spartan did? A young
citizen had put out his eye, and been handed over to him by the people
to be punished at his own discretion. Lycurgus abstained from all
vengeance, but on the contrary instructed and made a good man of him.
Producing him in public in the theatre, he said to the astonished
Spartans:—“I received this young man at your hands full of violence and
wanton insolence; I restore him to you in his right mind and fit to
serve his country.”

LXXXIX

A money-changer may not reject Cæsar’s coin, nor may the seller of
herbs, but must when once the coin is shown, deliver what is sold for
it, whether he will or no. So is it also with the Soul. Once the Good
appears, it attracts towards itself; evil repels. But a clear and
certain impression of the Good the Soul will never reject, any more
than men do Cæsar’s coin. On this hangs every impulse alike of Man and
God.

XC

Asked what Common Sense was, Epictetus replied:—

As that may be called a Common Ear which distinguishes only sounds,
while that which distinguishes musical notes is not common but produced
by training; so there are certain things which men not entirely
perverted see by the natural principles common to all. Such a
constitution of the Mind is called Common Sense.

XCI

Canst thou judge men? . . . then make us imitators of thyself, as
Socrates did. _Do this, do not do that, else will I cast thee into
prison:_ this is not governing men like reasonable creatures. Say
rather, _As God hath ordained, so do; else thou wilt suffer
chastisement and loss_. Askest thou what loss? None other than this: To
have left undone what thou shouldst have done: to have lost the
faithfulness, the reverence, the modesty that is in thee! Greater loss
than this seek not to find!

XCII

“His son is dead.”

What has happened?

“His son is dead.”

Nothing more?

“Nothing.”

“His ship is lost.”

“He has been haled to prison.”

What has happened?

“He has been haled to prison.”

But that any of these things are _misfortunes_ to him, is an addition
which every one makes of his own. But (you say) God is unjust is
this.—Why? For having given thee endurance and greatness of soul? For
having made such things to be no evils? For placing happiness within
thy reach, even when enduring them? For open unto thee a door, when
things make not for thy good?—Depart, my friend and find fault no more!

XCIII

You are sailing to Rome (you tell me) to obtain the post of Governor of
Cnossus. You are not content to stay at home with the honours you had
before; you want something on a larger scale, and more conspicuous. But
when did you ever undertake a voyage for the purpose of reviewing your
own principles and getting rid of any of them that proved unsound? Whom
did you ever visit for that object? What time did you ever set yourself
for that? What age? Run over the times of your life—by yourself, if you
are ashamed before me. Did you examine your principles when a boy? Did
you not do everything just as you do now? Or when you were a stripling,
attending the school of oratory and practising the art yourself, what
did you ever imagine you lacked? And when you were a young man, entered
upon public life, and were pleading causes and making a name, who any
longer seemed equal to you? And at what moment would you have endured
another examining your principles and proving that they were unsound?
What then am I to say to you? “Help me in this matter!” you cry. Ah,
for that I have no rule! And neither did you, if that was your object,
come to me as a philosopher, but as you might have gone to a
herb-seller or a cobbler.—“What do philosophers have rules for,
then?”—Why, that whatever may betide, our ruling faculty may be as
Nature would have it, and so remain. Think you this a small matter? Not
so! but the greatest thing there is. Well, does it need but a short
time? Can it be grasped by a passer-by?—grasp it, if you can!

Then you will say, “Yes, I met Epictetus!”

Aye, just as you might a statue or a monument. You saw me! and that is
all. But a man who meets a man is one who learns the other’s mind, and
lets him see his in turn. Learn my mind—show me yours; and then go and
say that you met me. Let us try each other; if I have any wrong
principle, rid me of it; if _you_ have, out with it. That is what
meeting a philosopher means. Not so, you think; this is only a flying
visit; while we are hiring the ship, we can see Epictetus too! Let us
see what he has to say. Then on leaving you cry, “Out on Epictetus for
a worthless fellow, provincial and barbarous of speech!” What else
indeed did you come to judge of?

XCIV

Whether you will or no, you are poorer than I!

“What then do I lack?”

What you have not: Constancy of mind, such as Nature would have it be:
Tranquillity. Patron or no patron, what care I? but you do care. I am
richer than you: I am not racked with anxiety as to what Cæsar may
think of me; I flatter none on that account. This is what I have,
instead of vessels of gold and silver! your vessels may be of gold, but
your reason, your principles, your accepted views, your inclinations,
your desires are of earthenware.

XCV

To you, all you have seems small: to me, all I have seems great. Your
desire is insatiable, mine is satisfied. See children thrusting their
hands into a narrow-necked jar, and striving to pull out the nuts and
figs it contains: if they fill the hand, they cannot pull it out again,
and then they fall to tears.—“Let go a few of them, and then you can
draw out the rest!”—You, too, let your desire go! covet not many
things, and you will obtain.

XCVI

Pittacus wronged by one whom he had it in his power to punish, let him
go free, saying, _Forgiveness is better than revenge_. The one shows
native gentleness, the other savagery.

XCVII

“My brother ought not to have treated me thus.”

True: but _he_ must see to that. However he may treat me, I must deal
rightly by him. This is what lies with me, what none can hinder.

XCVIII

Nevertheless a man should also be prepared to be sufficient unto
himself—to dwell with himself alone, even as God dwells with Himself
alone, shares His repose with none, and considers the nature of His own
administration, intent upon such thoughts as are meet unto Himself. So
should we also be able to converse with ourselves, to need none else
beside, to sigh for no distraction, to bend our thoughts upon the
Divine Administration, and how we stand related to all else; to observe
how human accidents touched us of old, and how they touch us now; what
things they are that still have power to hurt us, and how they may be
cured or removed; to perfect what needs perfecting as Reason would
direct.

XCIX

If a man has frequent intercourse with others, either in the way of
conversation, entertainment, or simple familiarity, he must either
become like them, or change them to his own fashion. A live coal placed
next a dead one will either kindle that or be quenched by it. Such
being the risk, it is well to be cautious in admitting intimacies of
this sort, remembering that one cannot rub shoulders with a
soot-stained man without sharing the soot oneself. What will you do,
supposing the talk turns on gladiators, or horses, or prize-fighters,
or (what is worse) on _persons_, condemning this and that, approving
the other? Or suppose a man sneers and jeers or shows a malignant
temper? Has any among us the skill of the lute-player, who knows at the
first touch which strings are out of tune and sets the instrument
right: has any of you such power as Socrates had, in all his
intercourse with men, of winning them over to his own convictions? Nay,
but _you_ must needs be swayed hither and thither by the uninstructed.
How comes it then that they prove so much stronger than you? Because
they speak from the fulness of the heart—their low, corrupt views are
their real convictions: whereas your fine sentiments are but from the
lips, outwards; that is why they are so nerveless and dead. It turns
one’s stomach to listen to _your_ exhortations, and hear of your
miserable Virtue, that you prate of up and down. Thus it is that the
Vulgar prove too strong for you. Everywhere strength, everywhere
victory waits your conviction!

C

In general, any methods of discipline applied to the body which tend to
modify its desires or repulsions, are good—for ascetic ends. But if
done for display, they betray at once a man who keeps an eye on outward
show; who has an ulterior purpose, and is looking for spectators to
shout, “Oh what a great man!” This is why Apollonius so well said: “If
you are bent upon a little private discipline, wait till you are
choking with heat some day—then take a mouthful of cold water, and spit
it out again, and tell no man!”

CI

Study how to give as one that is sick: that thou mayest hereafter give
as one that is whole. Fast; drink water only; abstain altogether from
desire, that thou mayest hereafter conform thy desire to Reason.

CII

Thou wouldst do good unto men? then show them by thine own example what
kind of men philosophy can make, and cease from foolish trifling.
Eating, do good to them that eat with thee; drinking, to them that
drink with thee; yield unto all, give way, and bear with them. Thus
shalt thou do them good: but vent not upon them thine own evil humour!

CIII

Even as bad actors cannot sing alone, but only in chorus: so some
cannot walk alone.

Man, if thou art aught, strive to walk alone and hold converse with
thyself, instead of skulking in the chorus! at length think; look
around thee; bestir thyself, that thou mayest know who thou art!

CIV

You would fain be victor at the Olympic games, you say. Yes, but weigh
the conditions, weigh the consequences; then and then only, lay to your
hand—if it be for your profit. You must live by rule, submit to diet,
abstain from dainty meats, exercise your body perforce at stated hours,
in heat or in cold; drink no cold water, nor, it may be, wine. In a
word, you must surrender yourself wholly to your trainer, as though to
a physician.

Then in the hour of contest, you will have to delve the ground, it may
chance dislocate an arm, sprain an ankle, gulp down abundance of yellow
sand, be scourge with the whip—and with all this sometimes lose the
victory. Count the cost—and then, if your desire still holds, try the
wrestler’s life. Else let me tell you that you will be behaving like a
pack of children playing now at wrestlers, now at gladiators; presently
falling to trumpeting and anon to stage-playing, when the fancy takes
them for what they have seen. And you are even the same: wrestler,
gladiator, philosopher, orator all by turns and none of them with your
whole soul. Like an ape, you mimic what you see, to one thing constant
never; the thing that is familiar charms no more. This is because you
never undertook aught with due consideration, nor after strictly
testing and viewing it from every side; no, your choice was
thoughtless; the glow of your desire had waxed cold . . . .

Friend, bethink you first what it is you would do, and then what your
own nature is able to bear. Would you be a wrestler, consider your
shoulders, your thighs, your loins—not all men are formed to the same
end. Think you to be a philosopher while acting as you do? think you go
on thus eating, thus drinking, giving way in like manner to wrath and
to displeasure? Nay, you must watch, you must labour; overcome certain
desires; quit your familiar friends, submit to be despised by your
slave, to be held in derision by them that meet you, to take the lower
place in all things, in office, in positions of authority, in courts of
law.

Weigh these things fully, and then, if you will, lay to your hand; if
as the price of these things you would gain Freedom, Tranquillity, and
passionless Serenity.

CV

He that hath no musical instruction is a child in Music; he that hath
no letters is a child in Learning; he that is untaught is a child in
Life.

CVI

Can any profit be derived from these men? Aye, from all.

“What, even from a reviler?”

Why, tell me what profit a wrestler gains from him who exercises him
beforehand? The very greatest: he trains me in the practice of
endurance, of controlling my temper, of gentle ways. You deny it. What,
the man who lays hold of my neck, and disciplines loins and shoulders,
does me good, . . . while he that trains me to keep my temper does me
none? This is what it means, not knowing how to gain advantage from
men! Is my neighbour bad? Bad to himself, but good to me: he brings my
good temper, my gentleness into play. Is my father bad? Bad to himself,
but good to me. This is the rod of Hermes; _touch what you will with
it_, they say, _and it becomes gold_. Nay, but bring what you will and
I will transmute it into Good. Bring sickness, bring death, bring
poverty and reproach, bring trial for life—all these things through the
rod of Hermes shall be turned to profit.

CVII

Till then these sound opinions have taken firm root in you, and you
have gained a measure of strength for your security, I counsel you to
be cautious in associating with the uninstructed. Else whatever
impressions you receive upon the tablets of your mind in the School
will day by day melt and disappear, like wax in the sun. Withdraw then
somewhere far from the sun, while you have these waxen sentiments.

CVIII

We must approach this matter in a different way; it is great and
mystical: it is no common thing; nor given to every man. Wisdom alone,
it may be, will not suffice for the care of youth: a man needs also a
certain measure of readiness—an aptitude for the office; aye, and
certain bodily qualities; and above all, to be counselled of God
Himself to undertake this post; even as He counselled Socrates to fill
the post of one who confutes error, assigning to Diogenes the royal
office of high reproof, and to Zeno that of positive instruction.
Whereas _you_ would fain set up for a physician provided with nothing
but drugs! Where and how they should be applied you neither know nor
care.

CIX

If what charms you is nothing but abstract principles, sit down and
turn them over quietly in your mind: but never dub yourself a
Philosopher, nor suffer others to call you so. Say rather: He is in
error; for my desires, my impulses are unaltered. I give in my adhesion
to what I did before; nor has my mode of dealing with the things of
sense undergone any change.

CX

When a friend inclined to Cynic views asked Epictetus, what sort of
person a true Cynic should be, requesting a general sketch of the
system, he answered:—“We will consider that at leisure. At present I
content myself with saying this much: If a man put his hand to so
weighty a matter without God, the wrath of God abides upon him. That
which he covets will but bring upon him public shame. Not even on
finding himself in a well-ordered house does a man step forward and say
to himself, I must be master here! Else the lord of that house takes
notice of it, and, seeing him insolently giving orders, drags him forth
and chastises him. So it is also in this great City, the World. Here
also is there a Lord of the House, who orders all thing:—

“Thou are the Sun! in thine orbit thou hast power to make the year and
the seasons; to bid the fruits of the earth to grow and increase, the
winds arise and fall; thou canst in due measure cherish with thy warmth
the frames of men; go make thy circuit, and thus minister unto all from
the greatest to the least! . . .”
“Thou canst lead a host against Troy; be Agamemnon!”
“Thou canst meet Hector in single combat; be Achilles!”


“But had Thersites stepped forward and claimed the chief command, he
had been met with a refusal, or obtained it only to his own shame and
confusion of face, before a cloud of witnesses.”

CXI

Others may fence themselves with walls and houses, when they do such
deeds as these, and wrap themselves in darkness—aye, they have many a
device to hide themselves. Another may shut his door and station one
before his chamber to say, if any comes, _He has gone forth! he is not
at leisure!_ But the true Cynic will have none of these things; instead
of them, he must wrap himself in Modesty: else he will but bring
himself to shame, naked and under the open sky. _That_ is his house;
that is his door; that is the slave that guards his chamber; that is
his darkness!

CXII

Death? let it come when it will, whether it smite but a part of the
whole: Fly, you tell me—fly! But whither shall I fly? Can any man cast
me beyond the limits of the World? It may not be! And whithersoever I
go, there shall I still find Sun, Moon, and Stars; there I shall find
dreams, and omens, and converse with the Gods!

CXIII

Furthermore the true Cynic must know that he is sent as a Messenger
from God to men, to show unto them that as touching good and evil they
are in error; looking for these where they are not to be found, nor
ever bethinking themselves where they are. And like Diogenes when
brought before Philip after the battle of Chaeronea, the Cynic must
remember that he is a Spy. For a Spy he really is—to bring back word
what things are on Man’s side, and what against him. And when he had
diligently observed all, he must come back with a true report, not
terrified into announcing them to be foes that are no foes, nor
otherwise perturbed or confounded by the things of sense.

CXIV

How can it be that one who hath nothing, neither raiment, nor house,
nor home, nor bodily tendance, nor servant, nor city, should yet live
tranquil and contented? Behold God hath sent you a man to show you in
act and deed that it may be so. Behold me! I have neither house nor
possessions nor servants: the ground is my couch; I have no wife, no
children, no shelter—nothing but earth and sky, and one poor cloak. And
what lack I yet? am I not untouched by sorrow, by fear? am I not free?
. . . when have I laid anything to the charge of God or Man? when have
I accused any? hath any of you seen me with a sorrowful countenance?
And in what wise treat I those of whom you stand in fear and awe? Is it
not as slaves? Who when he seeth me doth not think that he beholdeth
his Master and his King?

CXV

Give thyself more diligently to reflection: know thyself: take counsel
with the Godhead: without God put thine hand unto nothing!

CXVI

“But to marry and to rear offspring,” said the young man, “will the
Cynic hold himself bound to undertake this as a chief duty?”

Grant me a republic of wise men, answered Epictetus, and perhaps none
will lightly take the Cynic life upon him. For on whose account should
he embrace that method of life? Suppose however that he does, there
will then be nothing to hinder his marrying and rearing offspring. For
his wife will be even such another as himself, and likewise her father;
and in like manner will his children be brought up.

But in the present condition of things, which resembles an Army in
battle array, ought not the Cynic to be free from all distraction and
given wholly to the service of God, so that he can go in and out among
men, neither fettered by the duties nor entangled by the relations of
common life? For if he transgress them, he will forfeit the character
of a good man and true; whereas if he observe them, there is an end to
him as the Messenger, the Spy, the Herald of the Gods!

CXVII

Ask me if you choose if a Cynic shall engage in the administration of
the State. O fool, seek you a nobler administration that that in which
he is engaged? Ask you if a man shall come forward in the Athenian
assembly and talk about revenue and supplies, when his business is to
converse with all men, Athenians, Corinthians, and Romans alike, not
about supplies, not about revenue, nor yet peace and war, but about
Happiness and Misery, Prosperity and Adversity, Slavery and Freedom?

Ask you whether a man shall engage in the administration of the State
who has engaged in such an Administration as this? Ask me too if he
shall govern; and again I will answer, Fool, what greater government
shall he hold than he holds already?

CXVIII

Such a man needs also to have a certain habit of body. If he appears
consumptive, thin and pale, his testimony has no longer the same
authority. He must not only prove to the unlearned by showing them what
his Soul is that it is possible to be a good man apart from all that
_they_ admire; but he must also show them, by his body, that a plain
and simple manner of life under the open sky does no harm to the body
either. “See, I am proof of this! and my body also.” As Diogenes used
to do, who went about fresh of look and by the very appearance of his
body drew men’s eyes. But if a Cynic is an object of pity, he seems a
mere beggar; all turn away, all are offended at him. Nor should he be
slovenly of look, so as not to scare men from him in this way either;
on the contrary, his very roughness should be clean and attractive.

CXIX

Kings and tyrants have armed guards wherewith to chastise certain
persons, though they themselves be evil. But to the Cynic conscience
gives this power—not arms and guards. When he knows that he has watched
and laboured on behalf of mankind: that sleep hath found him pure, and
left him purer still: that his thoughts have been the thought of a
Friend of the Gods—of a servant, yet one that hath a part in the
government of the Supreme God: that the words are ever on his lips:—

Lead me, O God, and thou, O Destiny!


as well as these:—

If this be God’s will, so let it be!


Why should he not speak boldly unto his own brethren, unto his
children—in a word, unto all that are akin to him!

CXX

Does a Philosopher _apply_ to people to come and hear him? does he not
rather, of his own nature, _attract_ those that will be benefited by
him—like the sun that warms, the food that sustains them? What
Physician _applies_ to men to come and be healed? (Though indeed I hear
that the Physicians at Rome do nowadays apply for patients—in my time
they were applied to.) I apply to you to come and hear that you are in
evil case; that what deserves your attention most is the last thing to
gain it; that you know not good from evil, and are in short a hapless
wretch; a fine way to apply! though unless the words of the Philosopher
affect you thus, speaker and speech are alike dead.

CXXI

A Philosopher’s school is a Surgery: pain, not pleasure, you should
have felt therein. For on entering none of you is whole. One has a
shoulder out of joint, another an abscess: a third suffers from an
issue, a fourth from pains in the head. And am I then to sit down and
treat you to pretty sentiments and empty flourishes, so that you may
applaud me and depart, with neither shoulder, nor head, nor issue, nor
abscess a whit the better for your visit? Is it then for this that
young men are to quit their homes, and leave parents, friends, kinsmen
and substance to mouth out _Bravo_ to your empty phrases!

CXXII

If any be unhappy, let him remember that he is unhappy by reason of
himself alone. For God hath made all men to enjoy felicity and
constancy of good.

CXXIII

Shall we never wean ourselves—shall we never heed the teachings of
Philosophy (unless perchance they have been sounding in our ears like
an enchanter’s drone):—

This World is one great City, and one is the substance whereof it is
fashioned: a certain period indeed there needs must be, while these
give place to those; some must perish for others to succeed; some move
and some abide: yet all is full of _friends_—first God, then Men, whom
Nature hath bound by ties of kindred each to each.

CXXIV

Nor did the hero weep and lament at leaving his children orphans. For
he knew that no man is an orphan, but it is the Father that careth for
all continually and for evermore. Not by mere report had he heard that
the Supreme God is the Father of men: seeing that he called Him
_Father_ believing Him so to be, and in all that he did had ever his
eyes fixed upon Him. Wherefore in whatsoever place he was, there is was
given him to live happily.

CXXV

Know you not that the thing is a warfare? one man’s duty is to mount
guard, another must go out to reconnoitre, a third to battle; all
cannot be in one place, nor would it even be expedient. But you,
instead of executing you Commander’s orders, complain if aught harsher
than usual is enjoined; not understanding to what condition you are
bringing the army, so far as in you lies. If all were to follow your
example, none would dig a trench, none would cast a rampart around the
camp, none would keep watch, or expose himself to danger; but all turn
out useless for the service of war. . . . Thus it is here also. Every
life is a warfare, and that long and various. You must fulfil a
soldier’s duty, and obey each order at your commander’s nod: aye, if it
be possible, divine what he would have done; for between that Command
and this, there is no comparison, either in might or in excellence.

CXXVI

Have you again forgotten? Know you not that a good man does nothing for
appearance’ sake, but for the sake of having done right? . . .

“Is there no reward then?”

Reward! do you seek any greater reward for a good man than doing what
is right and just? Yet at the Great Games you look for nothing else;
there the victor’s crown you deem enough. Seems it to you so small a
thing and worthless, to be a good man, and happy therein?

CXXVII

It befits thee not to be unhappy by reason of any, but rather to be
happy by reason of all men, and especially by reason of God, who formed
us to this end.

CXXVIII

What, did Diogenes love no man, he that was so gentle, so true a friend
to men as cheerfully to endure such bodily hardships for the common
weal of all mankind? But how loved he them? As behoved a minister of
the Supreme God, alike caring for men and subject unto God.

CXXIX

I am by Nature made for my own good; not for my own evil.

CXXX

Remind thyself that he whom thou lovest is mortal—that what thou lovest
is not thine own; it is given thee for the present, not irrevocably nor
for ever, but even as a fig or a bunch of grapes at the appointed
season of the year. . . .

“But these are words of evil omen.”. . .

What, callest thou aught _of evil omen_ save that which signifies some
evil thing? _Cowardice_ is a word of evil omen, if thou wilt, and
meanness of spirit, and lamentation and mourning, and shamelessness. .
. .

But do not, I pray thee, call of evil omen a word that is significant
of any natural thing:—as well call of evil omen the reaping of the
corn; for that means the destruction of the ears, though not of the
World!—as well say that the fall of the leaf is of evil omen; that the
dried fig should take the place of the green; that raisins should be
made from grapes. All these are changes from a former state into
another; not destruction, but an ordered economy, a fixed
administration. Such is leaving home, a change of small account; such
is Death, a greater change, from what now is, not to what is not, but
to what is not _now_.

“Shall I then no longer be?”

Not so; thou wilt be; but something different, of which the World now
hath need. For thou too wert born not when thou chosest, but when the
World had need of thee.

CXXXI

Wherefore a good man and true, bearing in mind who he is and whence he
came and from whom he sprang, cares only how he may fill his post with
due discipline and obedience to God.

Wilt thou that I continue to live? Then will I live, as one that is
free and noble, as Thou wouldst have me. For Thou hast made me free
from hindrance in what appertaineth unto me. But hast Thou no further
need of me? I thank Thee! Up to this hour have I stayed for Thy sake
and none other’s: and now in obedience to Thee I depart.

“How dost thou depart?”

Again I say, as Thou wouldst have me; as one that is free, as Thy
servant, as one whose ear is open unto what Thou dost enjoin, what Thou
dost forbid.

CXXXII

Whatsoever place or post Thou assignest me, _sooner will I die a
thousand deaths_, as Socrates said, _than desert it_. And where wilt
Thou have me to be? At Rome or Athens? At Thebes or on a desert island?
Only remember me there! Shouldst Thou send me where man cannot live as
Nature would have him, I will depart, not in disobedience to Thee, but
as though Thou wert sounding the signal for my retreat: I am not
deserting Thee—far be that from me! I only perceive that thou needest
me no longer.

CXXXIII

If you are in Gyaros, do not let your mind dwell upon life at Rome, and
all the pleasures it offered to you when living there, and all that
would attend your return. Rather be intent on this—how he that lives in
Gyaros may live in Gyaros like a man of spirit. And if you are at Rome,
do not let your mind dwell upon the life at Athens, but study only how
to live at Rome.

Finally, in the room of all other pleasures put this—the pleasure which
springs from conscious obedience to God.

CXXXIV

To a good man there is no evil, either in life or death. And if God
supply not food, has He not, as a wise Commander, sounded the signal
for retreat and nothing more? I obey, I follow—speaking good of my
Commander, and praising His acts. For at His good pleasure I came; and
I depart when it pleases Him; and while I was yet alive that was my
work, to sing praises unto God!

CXXXV

Reflect that the chief source of all evils to Man, and of baseness and
cowardice, is not death, but the fear of death.

Against this fear then, I pray you, harden yourself; to this let all
your reasonings, your exercises, your reading tend. Then shall you know
that thus alone are men set free.

CXXXVI

He is free who lives as he wishes to live; to whom none can do
violence, none hinder or compel; whose impulses are unimpeded, whose
desires are attain their purpose, who falls not into what he would
avoid. Who then would live in error?—None. Who would live deceived and
prone to fall, unjust, intemperate, in abject whining at his lot?—None.
Then doth no wicked man live as he would, and therefore neither is he
free.

CXXXVII

Thus do the more cautious of travellers act. The road is said to be
beset by robbers. The traveller will not venture alone, but awaits the
companionship on the road of an ambassador, a quaestor or a proconsul.
To him he attaches himself and thus passes by in safety. So doth the
wise man in the world. Many are the companies of robbers and tyrants,
many the storms, the straits, the losses of all a man holds dearest.
Whither shall he fall for refuge—how shall he pass by unassailed? What
companion on the road shall he await for protection? Such and such a
wealthy man, of consular rank? And how shall I be profited, if he is
stripped and falls to lamentation and weeping? And how if my
fellow-traveller himself turns upon me and robs me? What am I to do? I
will become a friend of Cæsar’s! in his train none will do me wrong! In
the first place—O the indignities I must endure to win distinction! O
the multitude of hands there will be to rob me! And if I succeed, Cæsar
too is but a mortal. While should it come to pass that I offend him,
whither shall I flee from his presence? To the wilderness? And may not
fever await me there? What then is to be done? Cannot a
fellow-traveller be found that is honest and loyal, strong and secure
against surprise? Thus doth the wise man reason, considering that if he
would pass through in safety, he must attach himself unto God.

CXXXVIII

“How understandest thou _attach himself to God?_”

That what God wills, he should will also; that what God wills not,
neither should he will.

“How then may this come to pass?”

By considering the movements of God, and His administration.

CXXXIX

And dost thou that hast received all from another’s hands, repine and
blame the Giver, if He takes anything from thee? Why, who art thou, and
to what end comest thou here? was it not He that made the Light
manifest unto thee, that gave thee fellow-workers, and senses, and the
power to reason? And how brought He thee into the world? Was it not as
one born to die; as one bound to live out his earthly life in some
small tabernacle of flesh; to behold His administration, and for a
little while share with Him in the mighty march of this great Festival
Procession? Now therefore that thou hast beheld, while it was permitted
thee, the Solemn Feast and Assembly, wilt thou not cheerfully depart,
when He summons thee forth, with adoration and thanksgiving for what
thou hast seen and heard?—“Nay, but I would fain have stayed longer at
the Festival.”—Ah, so would the mystics fain have the rites prolonged;
so perchance would the crowd at the Great Games fain behold more
wrestlers still. But the Solemn Assembly is over! Come forth, depart
with thanksgiving and modesty—give place to others that must come into
being even as thyself.

CXL

Why art thou thus insatiable? why thus unreasonable? why encumber the
world?—“Aye, but I fain would have my wife and children with me
too.”—What, are they then _thine_, and not His that gave them—His that
made thee? Give up then that which is not thine own: yield it to One
who is better than thou. “Nay, but why did He bring one into the world
on these conditions?”—If it suits thee not, depart! He hath no need of
a spectator who finds fault with his lot! Them that will take part in
the Feast he needeth—that will lift their voices with the rest that men
may applaud the more, and exalt the Great Assembly in hymns and songs
of praise. But the wretched and the fearful He will not be displeased
to see absent from it: for when they were present, they did not behave
as at a Feast, nor fulfil their proper office; but moaned as though in
pain, and found fault with their fate, their fortune and their
companions; insensible to what had fallen to their lot, insensible to
the powers they had received for a very different purpose—the powers of
Magnanimity, Nobility of Heart, of Fortitude, or Freedom!

CXLI

Art _thou_ then free? a man may say. So help me heaven, I long and pray
for freedom! But I cannot look my masters boldly in the face; I still
value the poor body; I still set much store on its preservation whole
and sound.

But I can point thee out a free man, that thou mayest be no more in
search of an example. Diogenes was free. How so? Not because he was of
free parentage (for that, indeed, was not the case), but because he was
himself free. He had cast away every handle whereby slavery might lay
hold of him to enslave him, nor was it possible for any to approach and
take hold of him to enslave him. All things sat loose upon him—all
things were to him attached by but slender ties. Hadst thou seized upon
his possessions, he would rather have let them go than have followed
thee for them—aye, had it been even a limb, or mayhap his whole body;
and in like manner, relatives, friends, and country. For he knew whence
they came—from whose hands and on what terms he had received them. His
true forefathers, the Gods, his true Country, he never would have
abandoned; nor would he have yielded to any man in obedience and
submission to the one nor in cheerfully dying for the other. For he was
ever mindful that everything that comes to pass has its source and
origin _there;_ being indeed brought about for the weal of that his
true Country, and directed by Him in whose governance it is.

CXLII

Ponder on this—on these convictions, on these words: fix thine eyes on
these examples, if thou wouldst be free, if thou hast thine heart set
upon the matter according to its worth. And what marvel if thou
purchase so great a thing at so great and high a price? For the sake of
this that men deem liberty, some hang themselves, others cast
themselves down from the rock; aye, time has been when whole cities
came utterly to an end: while for the sake of Freedom that is true, and
sure, and unassailable, dost thou grudge to God what He gave, when He
claims it? Wilt thou not study, as Plato saith, to endure, not death
alone, but torture, exile, stripes—in a word, to render up all that is
not thine own? Else thou wilt be a slave amid slaves, wert thou ten
thousand times a consul; aye, not a whit the less, though thou climb
the Palace steps. And thou shalt know how true the saying of Cleanthes,
that though the words of philosophers may run counter to the opinions
of the world, yet have they reason on their side.

CXLIII

Asked how a man should best grieve his enemy, Epictetus replied, “By
setting himself to live the noblest life himself.”

CXLIV

I am free, I am a friend of God, ready to render Him willing obedience.
Of all else I may set store by nothing—neither by mine own body, nor
possessions, nor office, nor good report, nor, in a word, aught else
beside. For it is not His Will, that I should so set store by these
things. Had it been His pleasure, He would have placed my Good therein.
But now He hath not done so: therefore I cannot transgress one jot of
His commands. In everything hold fast to that which is thy Good—but to
all else (as far as is given thee) within the measure of Reason only,
contented with this alone. Else thou wilt meet with failure, ill
success, let and hindrance. These are the Laws ordained of God—these
are His Edicts; these a man should expound and interpret; to these
submit himself, not to the laws of Masurius and Cassius.

CXLV

Remember that not the love of power and wealth sets us under the heel
of others, but even the love of tranquillity, of leisure, of change of
scene—of learning in general, it matters not what the outward thing may
be—to set store by it is to place thyself in subjection to another.
Where is the difference then between desiring to be a Senator, and
desiring not to be one: between thirsting for office and thirsting to
be quit of it? Where is the difference between crying, _Woe is me, I
know not what to do, bound hand and foot as I am to my books so that I
cannot stir!_ and crying, _Woe is me, I have not time to read!_ As
though a book were not as much an outward thing and independent of the
will, as office and power and the receptions of the great.

Or what reason hast thou (tell me) for desiring to read? For if thou
aim at nothing beyond the mere delight of it, or gaining some scrap of
knowledge, thou art but a poor, spiritless knave. But if thou desirest
to study to its proper end, what else is this than a life that flows on
tranquil and serene? And if thy reading secures thee not serenity, what
profits it?—“Nay, but it doth secure it,” quoth he, “and that is why I
repine at being deprived of it.”—And what serenity is this that lies at
the mercy of every passer-by? I say not at the mercy of the Emperor or
Emperor’s favorite, but such as trembles at a raven’s croak and piper’s
din, a fever’s touch or a thousand things of like sort! Whereas the
life serene has no more certain mark than this, that it ever moves with
constant unimpeded flow.

CXLVI

If thou hast put malice and evil speaking from thee, altogether, or in
some degree: if thou hast put away from thee rashness, foulness of
tongue, intemperance, sluggishness: if thou art not moved by what once
moved thee, or in like manner as thou once wert moved—then thou mayest
celebrate a daily festival, to-day because thou hast done well in this
manner, to-morrow in that. How much greater cause is here for offering
sacrifice, than if a man should become Consul or Prefect?

CXLVII

These things hast thou from thyself and from the Gods: only remember
who it is that giveth them—to whom and for what purpose they were
given. Feeding thy soul on thoughts like these, dost thou debate in
what place happiness awaits thee? in what place thou shalt do God’s
pleasure? Are not the Gods nigh unto all places alike; see they not
alike what everywhere comes to pass?

CXLVIII

To each man God hath granted this inward freedom. These are the
principles that in a house create love, in a city concord, among
nations peace, teaching a man gratitude towards God and cheerful
confidence, wherever he may be, in dealing with outward things that he
knows are neither his nor worth striving after.

CXLIX

If you seek Truth, you will not seek to gain a victory by every
possible means; and when you have found Truth, you need not fear being
defeated.

CL

What foolish talk is this? how can I any longer lay claim to right
principles, if I am not content with being what I am, but am all
aflutter about what I am supposed to be?

CLI

God hath made all things in the world, nay, the world itself, free from
hindrance and perfect, and its parts for the use of the whole. No other
creature is capable of comprehending His administration thereof; but
the reasonable being Man possesses faculties for the consideration of
all these things—not only that he is himself a part, but what part he
is, and how it is meet that the parts should give place to the whole.
Nor is this all. Being naturally constituted noble, magnanimous, and
free, he sees that the things which surround him are of two kinds. Some
are free from hindrance and in the power of the will. Other are subject
to hindrance, and depend on the will of other men. If then he place his
own good, his own best interest, only in that which is free from
hindrance and in his power, he will be free, tranquil, happy, unharmed,
noble-hearted, and pious; giving thanks to all things unto God, finding
fault with nothing that comes to pass, laying no charge against
anything. Whereas if he place his good in outward things, depending not
on the will, he must perforce be subject to hindrance and restraint,
the slave of those that have power over the things he desires and
fears; he must perforce be impious, as deeming himself injured at the
hands of God; he must be unjust, as ever prone to claim more than his
due; he must perforce be of a mean and abject spirit.

CLII

Whom then shall I fear? the lords of the Bedchamber, lest they should
shut me out? If they find me desirous of entering in, let them shut me
out, if they will.

“Then why comest thou to the door?”

Because I think it meet and right, so long as the Play lasts, to take
part therein.

“In what sense art thou then shut out?”

Because, unless I am admitted, it is not my _will_ to enter: on the
contrary, my will is simply that which comes to pass. For I esteem what
God wills better than what I will. To Him will I cleave as His minister
and attendant; having the same movements, the same desires, in a word
the same Will as He. There is no such thing as being shut out for me,
but only for them that would force their way in.

CLIII

But what says Socrates?—“One man finds pleasure in improving his land,
another his horses. My pleasure lies in seeing that I myself grow
better day by day.”

CLIV

The dress is suited to the craft; the craftsman takes his name from the
craft, not from the dress. For this reason Euphrates was right in
saying, “I long endeavoured to conceal my following the philosophic
life; and this profited me much. In the first place, I knew that what I
did aright, I did not for the sake of lookers-on, but for my own. I ate
aright—unto myself; I kept the even tenor of my walk, my glance
composed and serene—all unto myself and unto God. Then as I fought
alone, I was alone in peril. If I did anything amiss or shameful, the
cause of Philosophy was not in me endangered; nor did I wrong the
multitude by transgressing as a professed philosopher. Wherefore those
that knew not my purpose marvelled how it came about, that whilst all
my life and conversation was passed with philosophers without
exception, I was yet none myself. And what harm that the philosopher
should be known by his acts, instead of mere outward signs and
symbols?”

CLV

First study to conceal what thou art; seek wisdom a little while unto
thyself. Thus grows the fruit; first, the seed must be buried in the
earth for a little space; there it must be hid and slowly grow, that it
may reach maturity. But if it produce the ear before the jointed stalk,
it is imperfect—a thing from the garden of Adonis. Such a sorry growth
art thou; thou hast blossomed too soon: the winter cold will wither
thee away!

CLVI

First of all, condemn the life thou art now leading: but when thou hast
condemned it, do not despair of thyself—be not like them of mean
spirit, who once they have yielded, abandon themselves entirely and as
it were allow the torrent to sweep them away. No; learn what the
wrestling masters do. Has the boy fallen? “Rise,” they say, “wrestle
again, till thy strength come to thee.” Even thus should it be with
thee. For know that there is nothing more tractable than the human
soul. It needs but to _will_, and the thing is done; the soul is set
upon the right path: as on the contrary it needs but to nod over the
task, and all is lost. For ruin and recovery alike are from within.

CLVII

It is the critical moment that shows the man. So when the crisis is
upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched
you with a rough and stalwart antagonist.—“To what end?” you ask. That
you may prove the victor at the Great Games. Yet without toil and sweat
this may not be!

CLVIII

If thou wouldst make progress, be content to seem foolish and void of
understanding with respect to outward things. Care not to be thought to
know anything. If any should make account of thee, distrust thyself.

CLIX

Remember that in life thou shouldst order thy conduct as at a banquet.
Has any dish that is being served reached thee? Stretch forth thy hand
and help thyself modestly. Doth it pass thee by? Seek not to detain it.
Has it not yet come? Send not forth thy desire to meet it, but wait
until it reaches thee. Deal thus with children, thus with wife; thus
with office, thus with wealth—and one day thou wilt be meet to share
the Banquets of the Gods. But if thou dost not so much as touch that
which is placed before thee, but despisest it, then shalt thou not only
share the Banquets of the Gods, but their Empire also.

CLX

Remember that thou art an actor in a play, and of such sort as the
Author chooses, whether long or short. If it be his good pleasure to
assign thee the part of a beggar, a ruler, or a simple citizen, thine
it is to play it fitly. For thy business is to act the part assigned
thee, well: to choose it, is another’s.

CLXI

Keep death and exile daily before thine eyes, with all else that men
deem terrible, but more especially Death. Then wilt thou never think a
mean though, nor covet anything beyond measure.

CLXII

As a mark is not set up in order to be missed, so neither is such a
thing as natural evil produced in the World.

CLXIII

Piety toward the Gods, to be sure, consists chiefly in thinking rightly
concerning them—that they _are_, and that they govern the Universe with
goodness and justice; and that thou thyself art appointed to obey them,
and to submit under all circumstances that arise; acquiescing
cheerfully in whatever may happen, sure it is brought to pass and
accomplished by the most Perfect Understanding. Thus thou wilt never
find fault with the Gods, nor charge them with neglecting thee.

CLXIV

Lose no time in setting before you a certain stamp of character and
behaviour both when by yourself and in company with others. Let silence
be your general rule; or say only what is necessary and in few words.
We shall, however, when occasion demands, enter into discourse
sparingly. avoiding common topics as gladiators, horse-races, athletes;
and the perpetual talk about food and drink. Above all avoid speaking
of _persons_, either in way of praise or blame, or comparison.

If you can, win over the conversation of your company to what it should
be by your own. But if you find yourself cut off without escape among
strangers and aliens, be silent.

CLXV

Laughter should not be much, nor frequent, nor unrestrained.

CLXVI

Refuse altogether to take an oath if you can, if not, as far as may be.

CLXVII

Banquets of the unlearned and of them that are without, avoid. But if
you have occasion to take part in them, let not your attention be
relaxed for a moment, lest you slip after all into evil ways. For you
may rest assured that be a man ever so pure himself, he cannot escape
defilement if his associates are impure.

CLXVIII

Take what relates to the body as far as the bare use warrants—as meat,
drink, raiment, house and servants. But all that makes for show and
luxury reject.

CLXIX

If you are told that such an one speaks ill of you, make no defence
against what was said, but answer, He surely knew not my other faults,
else he would not have mentioned these only!

CLXX

When you visit any of those in power, bethink yourself that you will
not find him in: that you may not be admitted: that the door may be
shut in your face: that he may not concern himself about you. If with
all this, it is your duty to go, bear what happens, and never say to
yourself, It was not worth the trouble! For that would smack of the
foolish and unlearned who suffer outward things to touch them.

CLXXI

In company avoid frequent and undue talk about your own actions and
dangers. However pleasant it may be to you to enlarge upon the risks
you have run, others may not find such pleasure in listening to your
adventures. Avoid provoking laughter also: it is a habit from which one
easily slides into the ways of the foolish, and apt to diminish the
respect which your neighbors feel for you. To border on coarse talk is
also dangerous. On such occasions, if a convenient opportunity offer,
rebuke the speaker. If not, at least by relapsing into silence,
colouring, and looking annoyed, show that you are displeased with the
subject.

CLXXII

When you have decided that a thing ought to be done, and are doing it,
never shun being _seen_ doing it, even though the multitude should be
likely to judge the matter amiss. For if you are not acting rightly,
shun the act itself; if rightly, however, why fear misplaced censure?

CLXXIII

It stamps a man of mean capacity to spend much time on the things of
the body, as to be long over bodily exercises, long over eating, long
over drinking, long over other bodily functions. Rather should these
things take the second place, while all your care is directed to the
understanding.

CLXXIV

Everything has two handles, one by which it may be borne, the other by
which it may not. If your brother sin against you lay not hold of it by
the handle of injustice, for by that it may not be borne: but rather by
this, that he is your brother, the comrade of your youth; and thus you
will lay hold on it so that it may be borne.

CLXXV

Never call yourself a Philosopher nor talk much among the unlearned
about Principles, but do that which follows from them. Thus at a
banquet, do not discuss how people ought to eat; but eat as you ought.
Remember that Socrates thus entirely avoided ostentation. Men would
come to him desiring to be recommended to philosophers, and he would
conduct them thither himself—so well did he bear being overlooked.
Accordingly if any talk concerning principles should arise among the
unlearned, be you for the most part silent. For you run great risk of
spewing up what you have ill digested. And when a man tells you that
you know nothing and you are not nettled at it, then you may be sure
that you have begun the work.

CLXXVI

When you have brought yourself to supply the needs of the body at small
cost, do not pique yourself on that, nor if you drink only water, keep
saying on each occasion, _I drink water!_ And if you ever want to
practise endurance and toil, do so unto yourself and not unto others—do
not embrace statues!

CLXXVII

When a man prides himself on being able to understand and interpret the
writings of Chrysippus, say to yourself:—

If Chrysippus had not written obscurely, this fellow would have had
nothing to be proud of. But what is it that _I_ desire? To understand
Nature, and to follow her! Accordingly I ask who is the Interpreter. On
hearing that it is Chrysippus, I go to him. But it seems I do not
understand what he wrote. So I seek one to interpret that. So far there
is nothing to pride myself on. But when I have found my interpreter,
what remains is to put in practice his instructions. This itself is the
only thing to be proud of. But if I admire the interpretation and that
alone, what else have I turned out but a mere commentator instead of a
lover of wisdom?—except indeed that I happen to be interpreting
Chrysippus instead of Homer. So when any one says to me, _Prithee, read
me Chrysippus_, I am more inclined to blush, when I cannot show my
deeds to be in harmony and accordance with his sayings.

CLXXVIII

At feasts, remember that you are entertaining two guests, body and
soul. What you give to the body, you presently lose; what you give to
the soul, you keep for ever.

CLXXIX

At meals, see to it that those who serve be not more in number than
those who are served. It is absurd for a crowd of persons to be dancing
attendance on half a dozen chairs.

CLXXX

It is best to share with your attendants what is going forward, both in
the labour of preparation and in the enjoyment of the feast itself. If
such a thing be difficult at the time, recollect that you who are not
weary are being served by those that are; you who are eating and
drinking by those who do neither; you who are talking by those who are
silent; you who are at ease by those who are under constraint. Thus no
sudden wrath will betray you into unreasonable conduct, nor will you
behave harshly by irritating another.

CLXXXI

When Xanthippe was chiding Socrates for making scanty preparation for
entertaining his friends, he answered:—“If they are friends of ours
they will not care for that; if they are not, we shall care nothing for
them!”

CLXXXII

Asked, _Who is the rich man?_ Epictetus replied, “_He who is content_.”

CLXXXIII

Favorinus tells us how Epictetus would also say that there were two
faults far graver and fouler than any others—inability to bear, and
inability to forbear, when we neither patiently bear the blows that
must be borne, nor abstain from the things and the pleasures we ought
to abstain from. “So,” he went on, “if a man will only have these two
words at heart, and heed them carefully by ruling and watching over
himself, he will for the most part fall into no sin, and his life will
be tranquil and serene.” He meant the words [Greek: Anechou kai
apechou]—“Bear and Forbear.”

CLXXXIV

On all occasions these thoughts should be at hand:—

Lead me, O God, and Thou, O Destiny
Be what it may the goal appointed me,
Bravely I’ll follow; nay, and if I would not,
I’d prove a coward, yet must follow still!


Again:

Who to Necessity doth bow aright,
Is learn’d in wisdom and the things of God.


Once more:—

Crito, if this be God’s will, so let it be. As for me, Anytus and
Meletus can indeed put me to death, but injure me, never!


CLXXXV

We shall then be like Socrates, when we can indite hymns of praise to
the Gods in prison.

CLXXXVI

It is hard to combine and unite these two qualities, the carefulness of
one who is affected by circumstances, and the intrepidity of one who
heeds them not. But it is not impossible: else were happiness also
impossible. We should act as we do in seafaring.

“What can I do?”—Choose the master, the crew, the day, the opportunity.
Then comes a sudden storm. What matters it to me? my part has been
fully done. The matter is in the hands of another—the Master of the
ship. The ship is foundering. What then have I to do? I do the only
thing that remains to me—to be drowned without fear, without a cry,
without upbraiding God, but knowing that what has been born must
likewise perish. For I am not Eternity, but a human being—a part of the
whole, as an hour is part of the day. I must come like the hour, and
like the hour must pass!

CLXXXVII

And now we are sending you to Rome to spy out the land; but none send a
coward as such a spy, that, if he hear but a noise and see a shadow
moving anywhere, loses his wits and comes flying to say, _The enemy are
upon us!_

So if _you_ go now, and come and tell us: “Everything at Rome is
terrible: Death is terrible, Exile is terrible, Slander is terrible,
Want is terrible; fly, comrades! the enemy are upon us!” we shall
reply, Get you gone, and prophesy to yourself! we have but erred in
sending such a spy as you. Diogenes, who was sent as a spy long before
you, brought us back another report than this. He says that Death is no
evil; for it need not even bring shame with it. He says that Fame is
but the empty noise of madmen. And what report did this spy bring us of
Pain, what of Pleasure, what of Want? That to be clothed in sackcloth
is better than any purple robe; that sleeping on the bare ground is the
softest couch; and in proof of each assertion he points to his own
courage, constancy, and freedom; to his own healthy and muscular frame.
“There is no enemy near,” he cries, “all is perfect peace!”

CLXXXVIII

If a man has this peace—not the peace proclaimed by Cæsar (how indeed
should _he_ have it to proclaim?), nay, but the peace proclaimed by God
through reason, will not that suffice him when alone, when he beholds
and reflects:—Now can no evil happen unto me; for me there is no
robber, for me no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full of
tranquillity; neither highway nor city nor gathering of men, neither
neighbor nor comrade can do me hurt. Another supplies my food, whose
care it is; another my raiment; another hath given me perceptions of
sense and primary conceptions. And when He supplies my necessities no
more, it is that He is sounding the retreat, that He hath opened the
door, and is saying to thee, Come!—Wither? To nought that thou needest
fear, but to the friendly kindred elements whence thou didst spring.
Whatsoever of fire is in thee, unto fire shall return; whatsoever of
earth, unto earth; of spirit, unto spirit; of water, unto water. There
is no Hades, no fabled rivers of Sighs, of Lamentation, or of Fire: but
all things are full of Beings spiritual and divine. With thoughts like
these, beholding the Sun, Moon, and Stars, enjoying earth and sea, a
man is neither helpless nor alone!

CLXXXIX

What wouldst thou be found doing when overtaken by Death? If I might
choose, I would be found doing some deed of true humanity, of wide
import, beneficent and noble. But if I may not be found engaged in
aught so lofty, let me hope at least for this—what none may hinder,
what is surely in my power—that I may be found raising up in myself
that which had fallen; learning to deal more wisely with the things of
sense; working out my own tranquillity, and thus rendering that which
is its due to every relation of life. . . .

If death surprise me thus employed, it is enough if I can stretch forth
my hands to God and say, “The faculties which I received at Thy hands
for apprehending this thine Administration, I have not neglected. As
far as in me lay, I have done Thee no dishonour. Behold how I have used
the senses, the primary conceptions which Thous gavest me. Have I ever
laid anything to Thy charge? Have I ever murmured at aught that came to
pass, or wished it otherwise? Have I in anything transgressed the
relations of life? For that Thou didst beget me, I thank Thee for that
Thou hast given: for the time during which I have used the things that
were Thine, it suffices me. Take them back and place them wherever Thou
wilt! They were all Thine, and Thou gavest them me.”—If a man depart
thus minded, is it not enough? What life is fairer and more noble, what
end happier than his?

(APPENDIX A)

Fragments Attributed to Epictetus

I

A life entangled with Fortune is like a torrent. It is turbulent and
muddy; hard to pass and masterful of mood: noisy and of brief
continuance.

II

The soul that companies with Virtue is like an ever-flowing source. It
is a pure, clear, and wholesome draught; sweet, rich, and generous of
its store; that injures not, neither destroys.

III

It is a shame that one who sweetens his drink with the gifts of the
bee, should embitter God’s gift Reason with vice.

IV

Crows pick out the eyes of the dead, when the dead have no longer need
of them; but flatterers mar the soul of the living, and _her_ eyes they
blind.

V

Keep neither a blunt knife nor an ill-disciplined looseness of tongue.

VI

Nature hath given men one tongue but two ears, that we may hear from
others twice as much as we speak.

VII

Do not give sentence in another tribunal till you have been yourself
judged in the tribunal of Justice.

VIII

If is shameful for a Judge to be judged by others.

IX

Give me by all means the shorter and nobler life, instead of one that
is longer but of less account!

X

Freedom is the name of virtue: Slavery, of vice. . . . None is a slave
whose acts are free.

XI

Of pleasures, those which occur most rarely give the most delight.

XII

Exceed due measure, and the most delightful things become the least
delightful.

XIII

The anger of an ape—the threat of a flatterer:—these deserve equal
regard.

XIV

Chastise thy passions that they avenge not themselves upon thee.

XV

No man is free who is not master of himself.

XVI

A ship should not ride on a single anchor, nor life on a single hope.

XVII

Fortify thyself with contentment: that is an impregnable stronghold.

XVIII

No man who is a lover of money, of pleasure, of glory, is likewise a
lover of Men; but only he that is a lover of whatsoever things are fair
and good.

XIX

Think of God more often than thou breathest.

XX

Choose the life that is noblest, for custom can make it sweet to thee.

XXI

Let thy speech of God be renewed day by day, aye, rather than thy meat
and drink.

XXII

Even as the Sun doth not wait for prayers and incantations to rise, but
shines forth and is welcomed by all: so thou also wait not for clapping
of hands and shouts and praise to do thy duty; nay, do good of thine
own accord, and thou wilt be loved like the Sun.

XXIII

Let no man think that he is loved by any who loveth none.

XXIV

If thou rememberest that God standeth by to behold and visit all that
thou doest; whether in the body or in the soul, thou surely wilt not
err in any prayer or deed; and thou shalt have God to dwell with thee.

Note.—Schweighæuser’s great edition collects 181 fragments attributed
to Epictetus, of which but a few are certainly genuine. Some (as xxi.,
xxiv., above) bear the stamp of Pythagorean origin; others, though
changed in form, may well be based upon Epictetean sayings. Most have
been preserved in the Anthology of John of Stobi (Stobæus), a Byzantine
collector, of whom scarcely anything is known but that he probably
wrote towards the end of the fifth century, and made his vast body of
extracts from more than five hundred authors for his son’s use. The
best examination of the authenticity of the Fragments is _Quaestiones
Epicteteæ_, by R. Asmus, 1888. The above selection includes some of
doubtful origin but intrinsic interest.—Crossley.

(APPENDIX B)

The Hymn of Cleanthes

Chiefest glory of deathless Gods, Almighty for ever,
Sovereign of Nature that rulest by law, what Name shall we give Thee?—
Blessed be Thou! for on Thee should call all things that are mortal.
For that we are Thine offspring; nay, all that in myriad motion
Lives for its day on the earth bears one impress—Thy likeness—upon it.
Wherefore my song is of Thee, and I hymn thy power for ever.

Lo, the vast orb of the Worlds, round the Earth evermore as it rolleth,
Feels Thee its Ruler and Guide, and owns Thy lordship rejoicing.
Aye, for Thy conquering hands have a servant of living fire—
Sharp is the bolt!—where it falls, Nature shrinks at the shock and doth shudder.
Thus Thou directest the Word universal that pulses through all things,
Mingling its life with Lights that are great and Lights that are lesser,
E’en as beseemeth its birth, High King through ages unending.

Nought is done that is done without Thee in the earth or the waters
Or in the heights of heaven, save the deed of the fool and the sinner.
Thou canst make rough things smooth; at Thy voice, lo, jarring disorder
Moveth to music, and Love is born where hatred abounded.
Thus hast Thou fitted alike things good and things evil together,
That over all might reign one Reason, supreme and eternal;
Though thereunto the hearts of the wicked be hardened and heedless—
Woe unto them!—for while ever their hands are grasping at good things,
Blind are their eyes, yea, stopped are their ears to God’s Law universal,
Calling through wise disobedience to live the life that is noble.
This they mark not, but heedless of right, turn each to his own way,
Here, a heart fired with ambition, in strife and straining unhallowed;
There, thrusting honour aside, fast set upon getting and gaining;
Others again given over to lusts and dissolute softness,
Working never God’s Law, but that which wareth upon it.

Nay, but, O Giver of all things good, whose home is the dark cloud,
Thou that wields Heaven’s bolt, save men from their ignorance grievous;
Scatter its night from their souls, and grant them to come to that Wisdom
Wherewithal, sistered with Justice, Thou rulest and governest all things;
That we, honoured by Thee, may requite Thee with worship and honour,
Evermore praising thy works, as is meet for men that shall perish;
Seeing that none, be he mortal or God, hath privilege nobler
Than without stint, without stay, to extol Thy Law universal.





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