For this reason, when Zeno was going to meet Antigonus, he was not

anxious, for Antigonus had no power over any of the things which Zeno

admired; and Zeno did not care for those things over which Antigonus

had power. But Antigonus was anxious when he was going to meet Zeno,

for he wished to please Zeno; but this was a thing external (out of his

power). But Zeno did not want to please Antigonus; for no man who is

skilled in any art wishes to please one who has no such skill.

Should I try to please you? Why? I suppose, you know the measure by

which one man is estimated by another. Have you taken pains to learn

what is a good man and what is a bad man, and how a man becomes one or

the other? Why then are you not good yourself? How, he replies, am I

not good? Because no good man laments or groans or weeps, no good man

is pale and trembles, or says, How will he receive me, how will he

listen to me? Slave, just as it pleases him. Why do you care about what

belongs to others? Is it now his fault if he receives badly what

proceeds from you? Certainly. And is it possible that a fault should be

one man’s, and the evil in another? No. Why then are you anxious about

that which belongs to others? Your question is reasonable; but I am

anxious how I shall speak to him. Cannot you then speak to him as you

choose? But I fear that I may be disconcerted? If you are going to

write the name of Dion, are you afraid that you would be disconcerted?

By no means. Why? is it not because you have practised writing the

name? Certainly. Well, if you were going to read the name, would you

not feel the same? and why? Because every art has a certain strength

and confidence in the things which belong to it. Have you then not

practised speaking? and what else did you learn in the school?

Syllogisms and sophistical propositions? For what purpose? was it not

for the purpose of discoursing skilfully? and is not discoursing

skilfully the same as discoursing seasonably and cautiously and with

intelligence, and also without making mistakes and without hindrance,

and besides all this with confidence? Yes. When then you are mounted on

a horse and go into a plain, are you anxious at being matched against a

man who is on foot, and anxious in a matter in which you are practised,

and he is not? Yes, but that person (to whom I am going to speak) has

power to kill me. Speak the truth, then, unhappy man, and do not brag,

nor claim to be a philosopher, nor refuse to acknowledge your masters,

but so long as you present this handle in your body, follow every man

who is stronger than yourself. Socrates used to practice speaking, he

who talked as he did to the tyrants, to the dicasts (judges), he who

talked in his prison. Diogenes had practised speaking, he who spoke as

he did to Alexander, to the pirates, to the person who bought him.

These men were confident in the things which they practised. But do you

walk off to your own affairs and never leave them: go and sit in a

corner, and weave syllogisms, and propose them to another. There is not

in you the man who can rule a state.

TO NASO.—When a certain Roman entered with his son and listened to one

reading, Epictetus said, This is the method of instruction; and he

stopped. When the Roman asked him to go on, Epictetus said, Every art

when it is taught causes labor to him who is unacquainted with it and

is unskilled in it, and indeed the things which proceed from the arts

immediately show their use in the purpose for which they were made; and

most of them contain something attractive and pleasing. For indeed to

be present and to observe how a shoemaker learns is not a pleasant

thing; but the shoe is useful and also not disagreeable to look at. And

the discipline of a smith when he is learning is very disagreeable to

one who chances to be present and is a stranger to the art: but the

work shows the use of the art. But you will see this much more in

music; for if you are present while a person is learning, the

discipline will appear most disagreeable; and yet the results of music

are pleasing and delightful to those who know nothing of music. And

here we conceive the work of a philosopher to be something of this

kind: he must adapt his wish ([Greek: boulaesin]) to what is going on,

so that neither any of the things which are taking place shall take

place contrary to our wish, nor any of the things which do not take

place shall not take place when we wish that they should. From this the

result is to those who have so arranged the work of philosophy, not to

fail in the desire, nor to fall in with that which they would avoid;

without uneasiness, without fear, without perturbation to pass through

life themselves, together with their associates maintaining the

relations both natural and acquired, as the relation of son, of father,

of brother, of citizen, of man, of wife, of neighbor, of

fellow-traveller, of ruler, of ruled. The work of a philosopher we

conceive to be something like this. It remains next to inquire how this

must be accomplished.

We see then that the carpenter ([Greek: techton]) when he has learned

certain things becomes a carpenter; the pilot by learning certain

things becomes a pilot. May it not then in philosophy also not be

sufficient to wish to be wise and good, and that there is also a

necessity to learn certain things? We inquire then what these things

are. The philosophers say that we ought first to learn that there is a

God and that he provides for all things; also that it is not possible

to conceal from him our acts, or even our intentions and thoughts. The

next thing is to learn what is the nature of the gods; for such as they

are discovered to be, he, who would please and obey them, must try with

all his power to be like them. If the divine is faithful, man also must

be faithful; if it is free, man also must be free; if beneficent, man

also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, man also must be magnanimous;

as being then an imitator of God he must do and say everything

consistently with this fact.

TO OR AGAINST THOSE WHO OBSTINATELY PERSIST IN WHAT THEY HAVE

DETERMINED.—When some persons have heard these words, that a man ought

to be constant (firm), and that the will is naturally free and not

subject to compulsion, but that all other things are subject to

hindrance, to slavery, and are in the power of others, they suppose

that they ought without deviation to abide by everything which they

have determined. But in the first place that which has been determined

ought to be sound (true). I require tone (sinews) in the body, but such

as exists in a healthy body, in an athletic body; but if it is plain to

me that you have the tone of a frenzied man and you boast of it, I

shall say to you, Man, seek the physician; this is not tone, but atony

(deficiency in right tone). In a different way something of the same

kind is felt by those who listen to these discourses in a wrong manner;

which was the case with one of my companions, who for no reason

resolved to starve himself to death. I heard of it when it was the

third day of his abstinence from food, and I went to inquire what had

happened. “I have resolved,” he said. “But still tell me what it was

which induced you to resolve; for if you have resolved rightly, we

shall sit with you and assist you to depart, but if you have made an

unreasonable resolution, change your mind.” “We ought to keep to our

determinations.” “What are you doing, man? We ought to keep not to all

our determinations, but to those which are right; for if you are now

persuaded that it is right, do not change your mind, if you think fit,

but persist and say, We ought to abide by our determinations. Will you

not make the beginning and lay the foundation in an inquiry whether the

determination is sound or not sound, and so then build on it firmness

and security? But if you lay a rotten and ruinous foundation, will not

your miserable little building fall down the sooner, the more and the

stronger are the materials which you shall lay on it? Without any

reason would you withdraw from us out of life a man who is a friend and

a companion, a citizen of the same city, both the great and the small

city? Then while you are committing murder and destroying a man who has

done no wrong, do you say that you ought to abide by your

determinations? And if it ever in any way came into your head to kill

me, ought you to abide by your determinations?”

Now this man was with difficulty persuaded to change his mind. But it

is impossible to convince some persons at present; so that I seem now

to know what I did not know before, the meaning of the common saying,

that you can neither persuade nor break a fool. May it never be my lot

to have a wise fool for my friend; nothing is more untractable. “I am

determined,” the man says. Madmen are also, but the more firmly they

form a judgment on things which do not exist, the more hellebore they

require. Will you not act like a sick man and call in the physician?—I

am sick, master, help me; consider what I must do: it is my duty to

obey you. So it is here also: I know not what I ought to do, but I am

come to learn.—Not so; but speak to me about other things: upon this I

have determined.—What other things? for what is greater and more useful

than for you to be persuaded that it is not sufficient to have made

your determination and not to change it. This is the tone (energy) of

madness, not of health.—I will die, if you compel me to this.—Why, man?

What has happened?—I have determined—I have had a lucky escape that you

have not determined to kill me—I take no money. Why?—I have

determined—Be assured that with the very tone (energy) which you now

use in refusing to take, there is nothing to hinder you at some time

from inclining without reason to take money, and then saying, I have

determined. As in a distempered body, subject to defluxions, the humor

inclines sometimes to these parts, and then to those, so too a sickly

soul knows not which way to incline; but if to this inclination and

movement there is added a tone (obstinate resolution), then the evil

becomes past help and cure.

THAT WE DO NOT STRIVE TO USE OUR OPINIONS ABOUT GOOD AND EVIL.—Where is

the good? In the will. Where is the evil? In the will. Where is neither

of them? In those things which are independent of the will. Well then?

Does any one among us think of these lessons out of the schools? Does

any one meditate (strive) by himself to give an answer to things as in

the case of questions?—Is it day?—Yes.—Is it night?—No.—Well, is the

number of stars even?—I cannot say.—When money is shown (offered) to

you, have you studied to make the proper answer, that money is not a

good thing? Have you practised yourself in these answers, or only

against sophisms? Why do you wonder then if in the cases which you have

studied, in those you have improved; but in those which you have not

studied, in those you remain the same? When the rhetorician knows that

he has written well, that he has committed to memory what he has

written, and brings an agreeable voice, why is he still anxious?

Because he is not satisfied with having studied. What then does he

want? To be praised by the audience? For the purpose then of being able

to practise declamation he has been disciplined; but with respect to

praise and blame he has not been disciplined. For when did he hear from

any one what praise is, what blame is, what the nature of each is, what

kind of praise should be sought, or what kind of blame should be

shunned? And when did he practise this discipline which follows these

words (things)? Why then do you still wonder, if in the matters which a

man has learned, there he surpasses others, and in those in which he

has not been disciplined, there he is the same with the many. So the

lute player knows how to play, sings well, and has a fine dress, and

yet he trembles when he enters on the stage; for these matters he

understands, but he does not know what a crowd is, nor the shouts of a

crowd, nor what ridicule is. Neither does he know what anxiety is,

whether it is our work or the work of another, whether it is possible

to stop it or not. For this reason if he has been praised, he leaves

the theatre puffed up, but if he has been ridiculed, the swollen

bladder has been punctured and subsides.

This is the case also with ourselves. What do we admire? Externals.

About what things are we busy? Externals. And have we any doubt then

why we fear or why we are anxious? What then happens when we think the

things, which are coming on us, to be evils? It is not in our power not

to be afraid, it is not in our power not to be anxious. Then we say,

Lord God, how shall I not be anxious? Fool, have you not hands, did not

God make them for you? Sit down now and pray that your nose may not

run. Wipe yourself rather and do not blame him. Well then, has he given

to you nothing in the present case? Has he not given to you endurance?

Has he not given to you magnanimity? Has he not given to you manliness?

When you have such hands do you still look for one who shall wipe your

nose? But we neither study these things nor care for them. Give me a

man who cares how he shall do anything, not for the obtaining of a

thing, but who cares about his own energy. What man, when he is walking

about, cares for his own energy? Who, when he is deliberating, cares

about his own deliberation, and not about obtaining that about which he

deliberates? And if he succeeds, he is elated and says, How well we

have deliberated; did I not tell you, brother, that it is impossible,

when we have thought about anything, that it should not turn out thus?

But if the thing should turn out otherwise, the wretched man is

humbled; he knows not even what to say about what has taken place. Who

among us for the sake of this matter has consulted a seer? Who among us

as to his actions has not slept in indifference? Who? Give (name) to me

one that I may see the man whom I have long been looking for, who is

truly noble and ingenuous, whether young or old; name him.

What then are the things which are heavy on us and disturb us? What

else than opinions? What else than opinions lies heavy upon him who

goes away and leaves his companions and friends and places and habits

of life? Now little children, for instance, when they cry on the nurse

leaving them for a short time, forget their sorrow if they receive a

small cake. Do you choose then that we should compare you to little

children? No, by Zeus, for I do not wish to be pacified by a small

cake, but by right opinions. And what are these? Such as a man ought to

study all day, and not to be affected by anything that is not his own,

neither by companion nor place nor gymnasia, and not even by his own

body, but to remember the law and to have it before his eyes. And what

is the divine law? To keep a man’s own, not to claim that which belongs

to others, but to use what is given, and when it is not given, not to

desire it; and when a thing is taken away, to give it up readily and

immediately, and to be thankful for the time that a man has had the use

of it, if you would not cry for your nurse and mamma. For what matter

does it make by what thing a man is subdued, and on what he depends? In

what respect are you better than he who cries for a girl, if you grieve

for a little gymnasium, and little porticos, and young men, and such

places of amusement? Another comes and laments that he shall no longer

drink the water of Dirce. Is the Marcian water worse than that of

Dirce? But I was used to the water of Dirce. And you in turn will be

used to the other. Then if you become attached to this also, cry for

this too, and try to make a verse like the verse of Euripides,

The hot baths of Nero and the Marcian water.

See how tragedy is made when common things happen to silly men.

When then shall I see Athens again and the Acropolis? Wretch, are you

not content with what you see daily? Have you anything better or

greater to see than the sun, the moon, the stars, the whole earth, the

sea? But if indeed you comprehend Him who administers the whole, and

carry him about in yourself, do you still desire small stones and a

beautiful rock?

HOW WE MUST ADAPT PRECONCEPTIONS TO PARTICULAR CASES.—What is the first

business of him who philosophizes? To throw away self-conceit ([Greek:

oiaesis]). For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn that which

he thinks that he knows. As to things then which ought to be done and

ought not to be done, and good and bad, and beautiful and ugly, all of

us talking of them at random go to the philosophers; and on these

matters we praise, we censure, we accuse, we blame, we judge and

determine about principles honorable and dishonorable. But why do we go

to the philosophers? Because we wish to learn what we do not think that

we know. And what is this? Theorems. For we wish to learn what

philosophers say as being something elegant and acute; and some wish to

learn that they may get profit from what they learn. It is ridiculous

then to think that a person wishes to learn one thing, and will learn

another; or further, that a man will make proficiency in that which he

does not learn. But the many are deceived by this which deceived also

the rhetorician Theopompus, when he blames even Plato for wishing

everything to be defined. For what does he say? Did none of us before

you use the words good or just, or do we utter the sounds in an

unmeaning and empty way without understanding what they severally

signify? Now who tells you, Theopompus, that we had not natural notions

of each of these things and preconceptions ([Greek: prolaepseis])? But

it is not possible to adapt preconceptions to their correspondent

objects if we have not distinguished (analyzed) them, and inquired what

object must be subjected to each preconception. You may make the same

charge against physicians also. For who among us did not use the words

healthy and unhealthy before Hippocrates lived, or did we utter these

words as empty sounds? For we have also a certain preconception of

health, but we are not able to adapt it. For this reason one says,

Abstain from food; another says, Give food; another says, Bleed; and

another says, Use cupping. What is the reason? is it any other than

that a man cannot properly adapt the preconceptions of health to

particulars?

HOW WE SHOULD STRUGGLE AGAINST APPEARANCES.—Every habit and faculty is

maintained and increased by the corresponding actions: the habit of

walking by walking, the habit of running by running. If you would be a

good reader, read; if a writer, write. But when you shall not have read

for thirty days in succession, but have done something else, you will

know the consequence. In the same way, if you shall have lain down ten

days, get up and attempt to make a long walk, and you will see how your

legs are weakened. Generally then if you would make anything a habit,

do it; if you would not make it a habit, do not do it, but accustom

yourself to do something else in place of it.

So it is with respect to the affections of the soul: when you have been

angry, you must know that not only has this evil befallen you, but that

you have also increased the habit, and in a manner thrown fuel upon

fire.

In this manner certainly, as philosophers say, also diseases of the

mind grow up. For when you have once desired money, if reason be

applied to lead to a perception of the evil, the desire is stopped, and

the ruling faculty of our mind is restored to the original authority.

But if you apply no means of cure, it no longer returns to the same

state, but being again excited by the corresponding appearance, it is

inflamed to desire quicker than before: and when this takes place

continually, it is henceforth hardened (made callous), and the disease

of the mind confirms the love of money. For he who has had a fever, and

has been relieved from it, is not in the same state that he was before,

unless he has been completely cured. Something of the kind happens also

in diseases of the soul. Certain traces and blisters are left in it,

and unless a man shall completely efface them, when he is again lashed

on the same places, the lash will produce not blisters (weals) but

sores. If then you wish not to be of an angry temper, do not feed the

habit: throw nothing on it which will increase it: at first keep quiet,

and count the days on which you have not been angry. I used to be in

passion every day; now every second day; then every third, then every

fourth. But if you have intermitted thirty days, make a sacrifice to

God. For the habit at first begins to be weakened, and then is

completely destroyed. “I have not been vexed to-day, nor the day after,

nor yet on any succeeding day during two or three months; but I took

care when some exciting things happened.” Be assured that you are in a

good way.

How then shall this be done? Be willing at length to be approved by

yourself, be willing to appear beautiful to God, desire to be in purity

with your own pure self and with God. Then when any such appearance

visits you, Plato says, Have recourse to expiations, go a suppliant to

the temples of the averting deities. It is even sufficient if you

resort to the society of noble and just men, and compare yourself with

them, whether you find one who is living or dead.

But in the first place, be not hurried away by the rapidity of the

appearance, but say, Appearances, wait for me a little; let me see who

you are, and what you are about; let me put you to the test. And then

do not allow the appearance to lead you on and draw lively pictures of

the things which will follow; for if you do, it will carry you off

wherever it pleases. But rather bring in to oppose it some other

beautiful and noble appearance, and cast out this base appearance. And

if you are accustomed to be exercised in this way, you will see what

shoulders, what sinews, what strength you have. But now it is only

trifling words, and nothing more.

This is the true athlete, the man who exercises himself against such

appearances. Stay, wretch, do not be carried away. Great is the combat,

divine is the work; it is for kingship, for freedom, for happiness, for

freedom from perturbation. Remember God; call on him as a helper and

protector, as men at sea call on the Dioscuri in a storm. For what is a

greater storm than that which comes from appearances which are violent

and drive away the reason? For the storm itself, what else is it but an

appearance? For take away the fear of death, and suppose as many

thunders and lightnings as you please, and you will know what calm and

serenity there is in the ruling faculty. But if you have once been

defeated and say that you will conquer hereafter, and then say the same

again, be assured that you will at last be in so wretched a condition

and so weak that you will not even know afterwards that you are doing

wrong, but you will even begin to make apologies (defences) for your

wrong-doing, and then you will confirm the saying of Hesiod to be true,

With constant ills the dilatory strives.

OF INCONSISTENCY.—Some things men readily confess, and other things

they do not. No one then will confess that he is a fool or without

understanding; but quite the contrary you will hear all men saying, I

wish that I had fortune equal to my understanding. But men readily

confess that they are timid, and they say: I am rather timid, I

confess; but as to other respects you will not find me to be foolish. A

man will not readily confess that he is intemperate; and that he is

unjust, he will not confess at all. He will by no means confess that he

is envious or a busybody. Most men will confess that they are

compassionate. What then is the reason?

The chief thing (the ruling thing) is inconsistency and confusion in

the things which relate to good and evil. But different men have

different reasons; and generally what they imagine to be base, they do

not confess at all. But they suppose timidity to be a characteristic of

a good disposition, and compassion also; but silliness to be the

absolute characteristic of a slave. And they do not at all admit

(confess) the things which are offences against society. But in the

case of most errors for this reason chiefly they are induced to confess

them, because they imagine that there is something involuntary in them

as in timidity and compassion; and if a man confess that he is in any

respect intemperate, he alleges love (or passion) as an excuse for what

is involuntary. But men do not imagine injustice to be at all

involuntary. There is also in jealousy, as they suppose, something

involuntary; and for this reason they confess to jealousy also.

Living then among such men, who are so confused, so ignorant of what

they say, and of the evils which they have or have not, and why they

have them, or how they shall be relieved of them, I think it is worth

the trouble for a man to watch constantly (and to ask) whether I also

am one of them, what imagination I have about myself, how I conduct

myself, whether I conduct myself as a prudent man, whether I conduct

myself as a temperate man, whether I ever say this, that I have been

taught to be prepared for everything that may happen. Have I the

consciousness, which a man who knows nothing ought to have, that I know

nothing? Do I go to my teacher as men go to oracles, prepared to obey?

or do I like a snivelling boy go to my school to learn history and

understand the books which I did not understand before, and, if it

should happen so, to explain them also to others? Man, you have had a

fight in the house with a poor slave, you have turned the family upside

down, you have frightened the neighbors, and you come to me as if you

were a wise man, and you take your seat and judge how I have explained

some word, and how I have babbled whatever came into my head. You come

full of envy, and humbled, because you bring nothing from home; and you

sit during the discussion thinking of nothing else than how your father

is disposed towards you and your brother. What are they saying about me

there? now they think that I am improving, and are saying, He will

return with all knowledge. I wish I could learn everything before I

return; but much labor is necessary, and no one sends me anything, and

the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; everything is bad at home, and bad

here.

ON FRIENDSHIP.—What a man applies himself to earnestly, that he

naturally loves. Do men then apply themselves earnestly to the things

which are bad? By no means. Well, do they apply themselves to things

which in no way concern themselves? Not to these either. It remains

then that they employ themselves earnestly only about things which are

good; and if they are earnestly employed about things, they love such

things also. Whoever then understands what is good can also know how to

love; but he who cannot distinguish good from bad, and things which are

neither good nor bad from both, how can he possess the power of loving?

To love, then, is only in the power of the wise.

For universally, be not deceived, every animal is attached to nothing

so much as to its own interests. Whatever then appears to it an

impediment to this interest, whether this be a brother, or a father, or

a child, or beloved, or lover, it hates, spurns, curses; for its nature

is to love nothing so much as its own interests: this is father, and

brother, and kinsman, and country, and God. When then the gods appear

to us to be an impediment to this, we abuse them and throw down their

statues and burn their temples, as Alexander ordered the temples of

Aesculapius to be burned when his dear friend died.

For this reason, if a man put in the same place his interest, sanctity,

goodness, and country, and parents, and friends, all these are secured:

but if he puts in one place his interest, in another his friends, and

his country and his kinsmen and justice itself, all these give way,

being borne down by the weight of interest. For where the I and the

Mine are placed, to that place of necessity the animal inclines; if in

the flesh, there is the ruling power; if in the will, it is there; and

if it is in externals, it is there. If then I am there where my will

is, then only shall I be a friend such as I ought to be, and son, and

father; for this will be my interest, to maintain the character of

fidelity, of modesty, of patience, of abstinence, of active

co-operation, of observing my relations (towards all). But if I put

myself in one place, and honesty in another, then the doctrine of

Epicurus becomes strong, which asserts either that there is no honesty

or it is that which opinion holds to be honest (virtuous).

It was through this ignorance that the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians

quarrelled, and the Thebans with both; and the great king quarrelled

with Hellas, and the Macedonians with both: and the Romans with the

Getae. And still earlier the Trojan war happened for these reasons.

Alexander was the guest of Menelaus, and if any man had seen their

friendly disposition, he would not have believed any one who said that

they were not friends. But there was cast between them (as between

dogs) a bit of meat, a handsome woman, and about her war arose. And now

when you see brothers to be friends appearing to have one mind, do not

conclude from this anything about their friendship, not even if they

swear it and say that it is impossible for them to be separated from

one another. For the ruling principle of a bad man cannot be trusted;

it is insecure, has no certain rule by which it is directed, and is

overpowered at different times by different appearances. But examine,

not what other men examine, if they are born of the same parents and

brought up together, and under the same pedagogue; but examine this

only, wherein they place their interest, whether in externals or in the

will. If in externals, do not name them friends, no more than name them

trustworthy or constant, or brave or free; do not name them even men,

if you have any judgment. For that is not a principle of human nature

which makes them bite one another, and abuse one another, and occupy

deserted places or public places, as if they were mountains, and in the

courts of justice display the acts of robbers; nor yet that which makes

them intemperate and adulterers and corrupters, nor that which makes

them do whatever else men do against one another through this one

opinion only, that of placing themselves and their interests in the

things which are not within the power of their will. But if you hear

that in truth these men think the good to be only there, where will is,

and where there is a right use of appearances, no longer trouble

yourself whether they are father or son, or brothers, or have

associated a long time and are companions, but when you have

ascertained this only, confidently declare that they are friends, as

you declare that they are faithful, that they are just. For where else

is friendship than where there is fidelity, and modesty, where there is

a communion of honest things and of nothing else.

But you may say, Such a one treated me with regard so long; and did he

not love me? How do you know, slave, if he did not regard you in the

same way as he wipes his shoes with a sponge, or as he takes care of

his beast? How do you know, when you have ceased to be useful as a

vessel, he will not throw you away like a broken platter? But this

woman is my wife, and we have lived together so long. And how long did

Eriphyle live with Amphiaraus, and was the mother of children and of

many? But a necklace came between them: and what is a necklace? It is

the opinion about such things. That was the bestial principle, that was

the thing which broke asunder the friendship between husband and wife,

that which did not allow the woman to be a wife nor the mother to be a

mother. And let every man among you who has seriously resolved either

to be a friend himself or to have another for his friend, cut out these

opinions, hate them, drive them from his soul. And thus first of all he

will not reproach himself, he will not be at variance with himself, he

will not change his mind, he will not torture himself. In the next

place, to another also, who is like himself, he will be altogether and

completely a friend. But he will bear with the man who is unlike

himself, he will be kind to him, gentle, ready to pardon on account of

his ignorance, on account of his being mistaken in things of the

greatest importance; but he will be harsh to no man, being well

convinced of Plato’s doctrine that every mind is deprived of truth

unwillingly. If you cannot do this, yet you can do in all other

respects as friends do, drink together, and lodge together, and sail

together, and you may be born of the same parents, for snakes also are:

but neither will they be friends, nor you, so long as you retain these

bestial and cursed opinions.

ON THE POWER OF SPEAKING.—Every man will read a book with more pleasure

or even with more ease, if it is written in fairer characters.

Therefore every man will also listen more readily to what is spoken, if

it is signified by appropriate and becoming words. We must not say then

that there is no faculty of expression: for this affirmation is the

characteristic of an impious and also of a timid man. Of an impious

man, because he undervalues the gifts which come from God, just as if

he would take away the commodity of the power of vision, or hearing, or

of seeing. Has then God given you eyes to no purpose? and to no purpose

has he infused into them a spirit so strong and of such skilful

contrivance as to reach a long way and to fashion the forms of things

which are seen? What messenger is so swift and vigilant? And to no

purpose has he made the interjacent atmosphere so efficacious and

elastic that the vision penetrates through the atmosphere which is in a

manner moved? And to no purpose has he made light, without the presence

of which there would be no use in any other thing?

Man, be neither ungrateful for these gifts nor yet forget the things

which are superior to them. But indeed for the power of seeing and

hearing, and indeed for life itself, and for the things which

contribute to support it, for the fruits which are dry, and for wine

and oil give thanks to God: but remember that he has given you

something else better than all these, I mean the power of using them,

proving them, and estimating the value of each. For what is that which

gives information about each of these powers, what each of them is

worth? Is it each faculty itself? Did you ever hear the faculty of

vision saying anything about itself? or the faculty of hearing? or

wheat, or barley, or a horse, or a dog? No; but they are appointed as

ministers and slaves to serve the faculty which has the power of making

use of the appearances of things. And if you inquire what is the value

of each thing, of whom do you inquire? who answers you? How then can

any other faculty be more powerful than this, which uses the rest as

ministers and itself proves each and pronounces about them? for which

of them knows what itself is, and what is its own value? which of them

knows when it ought to employ itself and when not? what faculty is it

which opens and closes the eyes, and turns them away from objects to

which it ought not to apply them and does apply them to other objects?

Is it the faculty of vision? No, but it is the faculty of the will.

What is that faculty which closes and opens the ears? what is that by

which they are curious and inquisitive, or on the contrary unmoved by

what is said? is it the faculty of hearing? It is no other than the

faculty of the will. Will this faculty then, seeing that it is amidst

all the other faculties which are blind and dumb and unable to see

anything else except the very acts for which they are appointed in

order to minister to this (faculty) and serve it, but this faculty

alone sees sharp and sees what is the value of each of the rest; will

this faculty declare to us that anything else is the best, or that

itself is? And what else does the eye do when it is opened than see?

But whether we ought to look on the wife of a certain person, and in

what manner, who tells us? The faculty of the will. And whether we

ought to believe what is said or not to believe it, and if we do

believe, whether we ought to be moved by it or not, who tells us? Is it

not the faculty of the will?

But if you ask me what then is the most excellent of all things, what

must I say? I cannot say the power of speaking, but the power of the

will, when it is right ([Greek: orthae]). For it is this which uses the

other (the power of speaking), and all the other faculties both small

and great. For when this faculty of the will is set right, a man who is

not good becomes good: but when it fails, a man becomes bad. It is

through this that we are unfortunate, that we are fortunate, that we

blame one another, are pleased with one another. In a word, it is this

which if we neglect it makes unhappiness, and if we carefully look

after it, makes happiness.

What then is usually done? Men generally act as a traveller would do on

his way to his own country, when he enters a good inn, and being

pleased with it should remain there. Man, you have forgotten your

purpose: you were not travelling to this inn, but you were passing

through it. But this is a pleasant inn. And how many other inns are

pleasant? and how many meadows are pleasant? yet only for passing

through. But your purpose is this, to return to your country, to

relieve your kinsmen of anxiety, to discharge the duties of a citizen,

to marry, to beget children, to fill the usual magistracies. For you

are not come to select more pleasant places, but to live in these where

you were born and of which you were made a citizen. Something of the

kind takes place in the matter which we are considering. Since by the

aid of speech and such communication as you receive here you must

advance to perfection, and purge your will and correct the faculty

which makes use of the appearances of things; and since it is necessary

also for the teaching (delivery) of theorems to be effected by a

certain mode of expression and with a certain variety and sharpness,

some persons captivated by these very things abide in them, one

captivated by the expression, another by syllogisms, another again by

sophisms, and still another by some other inn ([Greek: paudocheiou]) of

the kind; and there they stay and waste away as they were among sirens.

Man, your purpose (business) was to make yourself capable of using

conformably to nature the appearances presented to you, in your desires

not to be frustrated, in your aversion from things not to fall into

that which you would avoid, never to have no luck (as one may say), nor

ever to have bad luck, to be free, not hindered, not compelled,

conforming yourself to the administration of Zeus, obeying it, well

satisfied with this, blaming no one, charging no one with fault, able

from your whole soul to utter these verses:

Lead me, O Zeus, and thou too Destiny.

TO (OR AGAINST) A PERSON WHO WAS ONE OF THOSE WHO WERE NOT VALUED

(ESTEEMED) BY HIM.—A certain person said to him (Epictetus): Frequently

I desired to hear you and came to you, and you never gave me any

answer; and now, if it is possible, I entreat you to say something to

me. Do you think, said Epictetus, that as there is an art in anything

else, so there is also an art in speaking, and that he who has the art,

will speak skilfully, and he who has not, will speak unskilfully?—I do

think so.—He then who by speaking receives benefit himself, and is able

to benefit others, will speak skilfully; but he who is rather damaged

by speaking and does damage to others, will he be unskilled in this art

of speaking? And you may find that some are damaged and others

benefited by speaking. And are all who hear benefited by what they

hear? Or will you find that among them also some are benefited and some

damaged? There are both among these also, he said. In this case also

then those who hear skilfully are benefited, and those who hear

unskilfully are damaged? He admitted this. Is there then a skill in

hearing also, as there is in speaking? It seems so. If you choose,

consider the matter in this way also. The practice of music, to whom

does it belong? To a musician. And the proper making of a statue, to

whom do you think that it belongs? To a statuary. And the looking at a

statue skilfully, does this appear to you to require the aid of no art?

This also requires the aid of art. Then if speaking properly is the

business of the skilful man, do you see that to hear also with benefit

is the business of the skilful man? Now as to speaking and hearing

perfectly, and usefully, let us for the present, if you please, say no

more, for both of us are a long way from everything of the kind. But I

think that every man will allow this, that he who is going to hear

philosophers requires some amount of practice in hearing. Is it not so?

Why then do you say nothing to me? I can only say this to you, that he

who knows not who he is, and for what purpose he exists, and what is

this world, and with whom he is associated, and what things are the

good and the bad, and the beautiful and the ugly, and who neither

understands discourse nor demonstration, nor what is true nor what is

false, and who is not able to distinguish them, will neither desire

according to nature nor turn away nor move towards, nor intend (to

act), nor assent, nor dissent, nor suspend his judgment: to say all in

a few words, he will go about dumb and blind, thinking that he is

somebody, but being nobody. Is this so now for the first time? Is it

not the fact that ever since the human race existed, all errors and

misfortunes have arisen through this ignorance?

This is all that I have to say to you; and I say even this not

willingly. Why? Because you have not roused me. For what must I look to

in order to be roused, as men who are expert in riding are roused by

generous horses? Must I look to your body? You treat it disgracefully.

To your dress? That is luxurious. To your behavior, to your look? That

is the same as nothing. When you would listen to a philosopher, do not

say to him, You tell me nothing; but only show yourself worthy of

hearing or fit for hearing; and you will see how you will move the

speaker.

THAT LOGIC IS NECESSARY.—When one of those who were present said,

Persuade me that logic is necessary, he replied, Do you wish me to

prove this to you? The answer was, Yes. Then I must use a demonstrative

form of speech. This was granted. How then will you know if I am

cheating you by my argument? The man was silent. Do you see, said

Epictetus, that you yourself are admitting that logic is necessary, if

without it you cannot know so much as this, whether logic is necessary

or not necessary?

OF FINERY IN DRESS.—A certain young man, a rhetorician, came to see

Epictetus, with his hair dressed more carefully than was usual and his

attire in an ornamental style; whereupon Epictetus said, Tell me if you

do not think that some dogs are beautiful and some horses, and so of

all other animals. I do think so, the youth replied. Are not then some

men also beautiful and others ugly? Certainly. Do we then for the same

reason call each of them in the same kind beautiful, or each beautiful

for something peculiar? And you will judge of this matter thus. Since

we see a dog naturally formed for one thing, and a horse for another,

and for another still, as an example, a nightingale, we may generally

and not improperly declare each of them to be beautiful then when it is

most excellent according to its nature; but since the nature of each is

different, each of them seems to me to be beautiful in a different way.

Is it not so? He admitted that it was. That then which makes a dog

beautiful, makes a horse ugly; and that which makes a horse beautiful,

makes a dog ugly, if it is true that their natures are different. It

seems to be so. For I think that what makes a Pancratiast beautiful,

makes a wrestler to be not good, and a runner to be most ridiculous;

and he who is beautiful for the Pentathlon, is very ugly for wrestling.

It is so, said he. What then makes a man beautiful? Is it that which in

its kind makes both a dog and a horse beautiful? It is, he said. What

then makes a dog beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a dog.

And what makes a horse beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a

horse. What then makes a man beautiful? Is it not the possession of the

excellence of a man? And do you then, if you wish to be beautiful,

young man, labor at this, the acquisition of human excellence? But what

is this? Observe whom you yourself praise, when you praise many persons

without partiality: do you praise the just or the unjust? The just.

Whether do you praise the moderate or the immoderate? The moderate. And

the temperate or the intemperate? The temperate. If then you make

yourself such a person, you will know that you will make yourself

beautiful; but so long as you neglect these things, you must be ugly

([Greek: aischron]), even though you contrive all you can to appear

beautiful.

IN WHAT A MAN OUGHT TO BE EXERCISED WHO HAS MADE PROFICIENCY; AND THAT

WE NEGLECT THE CHIEF THINGS.—There are three things (topics, [Greek:

topoi]) in which a man ought to exercise himself who would be wise and

good. The first concerns the desires and the aversions, that a man may

not fail to get what he desires, and that he may not fall into that

which he does not desire. The second concerns the movements towards an

object and the movements from an object, and generally in doing what a

man ought to do, that he may act according to order, to reason, and not

carelessly. The third thing concerns freedom from deception and

rashness in judgment, and generally it concerns the assents ([Greek:

sugchatatheseis]). Of these topics the chief and the most urgent is

that which relates to the affects ([Greek: ta pathae] perturbations);

for an affect is produced in no other way than by a failing to obtain

that which a man desires or falling into that which a man would wish to

avoid. This is that which brings in perturbations, disorders, bad

fortune, misfortunes, sorrows, lamentations, and envy; that which makes

men envious and jealous; and by these causes we are unable even to

listen to the precepts of reason. The second topic concerns the duties

of a man; for I ought not to be free from affects ([Greek: apathae])

like a statue, but I ought to maintain the relations ([Greek:

scheseis]) natural and acquired, as a pious man, as a son, as a father,

as a citizen.

The third topic is that which immediately concerns those who are making

proficiency, that which concerns the security of the other two, so that

not even in sleep any appearance unexamined may surprise us, nor in

intoxication, nor in melancholy. This, it may be said, is above our

power. But the present philosophers neglecting the first topic and the

second (the affects and duties), employ themselves on the third, using

sophistical arguments ([Greek: metapiptontas]), making conclusions from

questioning, employing hypotheses, lying. For a man must, it is said,

when employed on these matters, take care that he is not deceived. Who

must? The wise and good man. This then is all that is wanting to you.

Have you successfully worked out the rest? Are you free from deception

in the matter of money? If you see a beautiful girl do you resist the

appearance? If your neighbor obtains an estate by will, are you not

vexed? Now is there nothing else wanting to you except unchangeable

firmness of mind ([Greek: ametaptosia])? Wretch, you hear these very

things with fear and anxiety that some person may despise you, and with

inquiries about what any person may say about you. And if a man come

and tell you that in a certain conversation in which the question was,

Who is the best philosopher, a man who was present said that a certain

person was the chief philosopher, your little soul which was only a

finger’s length stretches out to two cubits. But if another who is

present says, You are mistaken; it is not worth while to listen to a

certain person, for what does he know? he has only the first

principles, and no more? then you are confounded, you grow pale, you

cry out immediately, I will show him who I am, that I am a great

philosopher. It is seen by these very things: why do you wish to show

it by others? Do you not know that Diogenes pointed out one of the

sophists in this way by stretching out his middle finger? And then when

the man was wild with rage, This, he said, is the certain person: I

have pointed him out to you. For a man is not shown by the finger, as a

stone or a piece of wood; but when any person shows the man’s

principles, then he shows him as a man.

Let us look at your principles also. For is it not plain that you value

not at all your own will ([Greek: proairesis]), but you look externally

to things which are independent of your will? For instance, what will a

certain person say? and what will people think of you? Will you be

considered a man of learning; have you read Chrysippus or Antipater?

for if you have read Archedamus also, you have every thing (that you

can desire). Why you are still uneasy lest you should not show us who

you are? Would you let me tell you what manner of man you have shown us

that you are? You have exhibited yourself to us as a mean fellow,

querulous, passionate, cowardly, finding fault with everything, blaming

everybody, never quiet, vain: this is what you have exhibited to us. Go

away now and read Archedamus; then if a mouse should leap down and make

a noise, you are a dead man. For such a death awaits you as it did—what

was the man’s name—Crinis; and he too was proud, because he understood

Archedamus. Wretch, will you not dismiss these things that do not

concern you at all? These things are suitable to those who are able to

learn them without perturbation, to those who can say: “I am not

subject to anger, to grief, to envy: I am not hindered, I am not

restrained. What remains for me? I have leisure, I am tranquil: let us

see how we must deal with sophistical arguments; let us see how when a

man has accepted an hypothesis he shall not be led away to any thing

absurd.” To them such things belong. To those who are happy it is

appropriate to light a fire, to dine; if they choose, both to sing and

to dance. But when the vessel is sinking, you come to me and hoist the

sails.

WHAT IS THE MATTER ON WHICH A GOOD MAN SHOULD BE EMPLOYED, AND IN WHAT

WE OUGHT CHIEFLY TO PRACTISE OURSELVES.—The material for the wise and

good man is his own ruling faculty: and the body is the material for

the physician and the aliptes (the man who oils persons); the land is

the matter for the husbandman. The business of the wise and good man is

to use appearances conformably to nature: and as it is the nature of

every soul to assent to the truth, to dissent from the false, and to

remain in suspense as to that which is uncertain; so it is its nature

to be moved towards the desire for the good, and to aversion from the

evil; and with respect to that which is neither good nor bad it feels

indifferent. For as the money-changer (banker) is not allowed to reject

Cæsar’s coin, nor the seller of herbs, but if you show the coin,

whether he chooses or not, he must give up what is sold for the coin;

so it is also in the matter of the soul. When the good appears, it

immediately attracts to itself; the evil repels from itself. But the

soul will never reject the manifest appearance of the good, any more

than persons will reject Cæsar’s coin. On this principle depends every

movement both of man and God.

Against (or with respect to) this kind of thing chiefly a man should

exercise himself. As soon as you go out in the morning, examine every

man whom you see, every man whom you hear; answer as to a question,

What have you seen? A handsome man or woman? Apply the rule. Is this

independent of the will, or dependent? Independent. Take it away. What

have you seen? A man lamenting over the death of a child. Apply the

rule. Death is a thing independent of the will. Take it away. Has the

proconsul met you? Apply the rule. What kind of a thing is a

proconsul’s office? Independent of the will or dependent on it?

Independent. Take this away also; it does not stand examination; cast

it away; it is nothing to you.

If we practised this and exercised ourselves in it daily from morning

to night, something indeed would be done. But now we are forthwith

caught half asleep by every appearance, and it is only, if ever, that

in the school we are roused a little. Then when we go out, if we see a

man lamenting, we say, He is undone. If we see a consul, we say, He is

happy. If we see an exiled man, we say, He is miserable. If we see a

poor man, we say, He is wretched; he has nothing to eat.

We ought then to eradicate these bad opinions, and to this end we

should direct all our efforts. For what is weeping and lamenting?

Opinion. What is bad fortune? Opinion. What is civil sedition, what is

divided opinion, what is blame, what is accusation, what is impiety,

what is trifling? All these things are opinions, and nothing more, and

opinions about things independent of the will, as if they were good and

bad. Let a man transfer these opinions to things dependent on the will,

and I engage for him that he will be firm and constant, whatever may be

the state of things around him. Such as is a dish of water, such is the

soul. Such as is the ray of light which falls on the water, such are

the appearances. When the water is moved, the ray also seems to be

moved, yet it is not moved. And when then a man is seized with

giddiness, it is not the arts and the virtues which are confounded, but

the spirit (the nervous power) on which they are impressed; but if the

spirit be restored to its settled state, those things also are

restored.

MISCELLANEOUS.—When some person asked him how it happened that since

reason has been more cultivated by the men of the present age, the

progress made in former times was greater. In what respect, he

answered, has it been more cultivated now, and in what respect was the

progress greater then? For in that in which it has now been more

cultivated, in that also the progress will now be found. At present it

has been cultivated for the purpose of resolving syllogisms, and

progress is made. But in former times it was cultivated for the purpose

of maintaining the governing faculty in a condition conformable to

nature, and progress was made. Do not then mix things which are

different, and do not expect, when you are laboring at one thing to

make progress in another. But see if any man among us when he is intent

upon this, the keeping himself in a state conformable to nature and

living so always, does not make progress. For you will not find such a

man.

It is not easy to exhort weak young men; for neither is it easy to hold

(soft) cheese with a hook. But those who have a good natural

disposition, even if you try to turn them aside, cling still more to

reason.

TO THE ADMINISTRATOR OF THE FREE CITIES WHO WAS AN EPICUREAN.—When the

administrator came to visit him, and the man was an Epicurean,

Epictetus said, It is proper for us who are not philosophers to inquire

of you who are philosophers, as those who come to a strange city

inquire of the citizens and those who are acquainted with it, what is

the best thing in the world, in order that we also after inquiry may go

in quest of that which is best and look at it, as strangers do with the

things in cities. For that there are three things which relate to

man—soul, body, and things external, scarcely any man denies. It

remains for you philosophers to answer what is the best. What shall we

say to men? Is the flesh the best? and was it for this that Maximus

sailed as far as Cassiope in winter (or bad weather) with his son, and

accompanied him that he might be gratified in the flesh? When the man

said that it was not, and added, Far be that from him. Is it not fit

then, Epictetus said, to be actively employed about the best? It is

certainly of all things the most fit. What then do we possess which is

better than the flesh? The soul, he replied. And the good things of the

best, are they better, or the good things of the worse? The good things

of the best. And are the good things of the best within the power of

the will or not within the power of the will? They are within the power

of the will. Is then the pleasure of the soul a thing within the power

of the will? It is, he replied. And on what shall this pleasure depend?

On itself? But that cannot be conceived; for there must first exist a

certain substance or nature ([Greek: ousia]) of good, by obtaining

which we shall have pleasure in the soul. He assented to this also. On

what then shall we depend for this pleasure of the soul? for if it

shall depend on things of the soul, the substance (nature) of the good

is discovered; for good cannot be one thing, and that at which we are

rationally delighted another thing; nor if that which precedes is not

good, can that which comes after be good, for in order that the thing

which comes after may be good, that which precedes must be good. But

you would not affirm this, if you are in your right mind, for you would

then say what is inconsistent both with Epicurus and the rest of your

doctrines. It remains then that the pleasure of the soul is in the

pleasure from things of the body; and again that those bodily things

must be the things which precede and the substance (nature) of the

good.

Seek for doctrines which are consistent with what I say, and by making

them your guide you will with pleasure abstain from things which have

such persuasive power to lead us and overpower us. But if to the

persuasive power of these things, we also devise such a philosophy as

this which helps to push us on towards them and strengthens us to this

end, what will be the consequence? In a piece of toreutic art which is

the best part? the silver or the workmanship? The substance of the hand

is the flesh; but the work of the hand is the principal part (that

which precedes and leads the rest). The duties then are also three:

those which are directed towards the existence of a thing; those which

are directed towards its existence in a particular kind; and third, the

chief or leading things themselves. So also in man we ought not to

value the material, the poor flesh, but the principal (leading things,

[Greek: ta proaegoumena]). What are these? Engaging in public business,

marrying, begetting children, venerating God, taking care of parents,

and generally, having desires, aversions ([Greek: echchlinein]),

pursuits of things and avoidances, in the way in which we ought to do

these things, and according to our nature. And how are we constituted

by nature? Free, noble, modest; for what other animal blushes? what

other is capable of receiving the appearance (the impression) of shame?

and we are so constituted by nature as to subject pleasure to these

things, as a minister, a servant, in order that it may call forth our

activity, in order that it may keep us constant in acts which are

conformable to nature.

HOW WE MUST EXERCISE OURSELVES AGAINST APPEARANCES ([Greek:

phantasias]).—As we exercise ourselves against sophistical questions,

so we ought to exercise ourselves daily against appearances; for these

appearances also propose questions to us. A certain person’s son is

dead. Answer; the thing is not within the power of the will: it is not

an evil. A father has disinherited a certain son. What do you think of

it? It is a thing beyond the power of the will, not an evil. Cæsar has

condemned a person. It is a thing beyond the power of the will, not an

evil. The man is afflicted at this. Affliction is a thing which depends

on the will: it is an evil. He has borne the condemnation bravely. That

is a thing within the power of the will: it is a good. If we train

ourselves in this manner, we shall make progress; for we shall never

assent to anything of which there is not an appearance capable of being

comprehended. Your son is dead. What has happened? Your son is dead.

Nothing more? Nothing. Your ship is lost. What has happened? Your ship

is lost. A man has been led to prison. What has happened? He has been

led to prison. But that herein he has fared badly, every man adds from

his own opinion. But Zeus, you say, does not do right in these matters.

Why? because he has made you capable of endurance? because he has made

you magnanimous? because he has taken from that which befalls you the

power of being evils? because it is in your power to be happy while you

are suffering what you suffer? because he has opened the door to you,

when things do not please you? Man, go out and do not complain!

Hear how the Romans feel towards philosophers, if you would like to

know. Italicus, who was the most in repute of the philosophers, once

when I was present, being vexed with his own friends and as if he was

suffering something intolerable, said: “I cannot bear it, you are

killing me; you will make me such as that man is,” pointing to me.

TO A CERTAIN RHETORICIAN WHO WAS GOING UP TO ROME ON A SUIT.—When a

certain person came to him, who was going up to Rome on account of a

suit which had regard to his rank, Epictetus inquired the reason of his

going to Rome, and the man then asked what he thought about the matter.

Epictetus replied: If you ask me what you will do in Rome, whether you

will succeed or fail, I have no rule ([Greek: theoraema]) about this.

But if you ask me how you will fare, I can tell you: if you have right

opinions ([Greek: dogmata]), you will fare well; if they are false, you

will fare ill. For to every man the cause of his acting is opinion. For

what is the reason why you desired to be elected governor of the

Cnossians? Your opinion. What is the reason that you are now going up

to Rome? Your opinion. And going in winter, and with danger and

expense? I must go. What tells you this? Your opinion. Then if opinions

are the causes of all actions, and a man has bad opinions, such as the

cause may be, such also is the effect! Have we then all sound opinions,

both you and your adversary? And how do you differ? But have you

sounder opinions than your adversary? Why? You think so. And so does he

think that his opinions are better; and so do madmen. This is a bad

criterion. But show to me that you have made some inquiry into your

opinions and have taken some pains about them. And as now you are

sailing to Rome in order to become governor of the Cnossians, and you

are not content to stay at home with the honors which you had, but you

desire something greater and more conspicuous, so when did you ever

make a voyage for the purpose of examining your own opinions, and

casting them out, if you have any that are bad? Whom have you

approached for this purpose? What time have you fixed for it? What age?

Go over the times of your life by yourself, if you are ashamed of me

(knowing the fact) when you were a boy, did you examine your own

opinions? and did you not then, as you do all things now, do as you did

do? and when you were become a youth and attended the rhetoricians, and

yourself practised rhetoric, what did you imagine that you were

deficient in? And when you were a young man and engaged in public

matters, and pleaded causes yourself, and were gaining reputation, who

then seemed your equal? And when would you have submitted to any man

examining and showing that your opinions are bad? What then do you wish

me to say to you? Help me in this matter. I have no theorem (rule) for

this. Nor have you, if you came to me for this purpose, come to me as a

philosopher, but as to a seller of vegetables or a shoemaker. For what

purpose then have philosophers theorems? For this purpose, that

whatever may happen, our ruling faculty may be and continue to be

conformable to nature. Does this seem to you a small thing? No; but the

greatest. What then? does it need only a short time? and is it possible

to seize it as you pass by? If you can, seize it.

Then you will say, I met with Epictetus as I should meet with a stone

or a statue: for you saw me and nothing more. But he meets with a man

as a man, who learns his opinions, and in his turn shows his own. Learn

my opinions: show me yours; and then say that you have visited me. Let

us examine one another: if I have any bad opinion, take it away; if you

have any, show it. This is the meaning of meeting with a philosopher.

Not so (you say): but this is only a passing visit, and while we are

hiring the vessel, we can also see Epictetus. Let us see what he says.

Then you go away and say: Epictetus was nothing; he used solecisms and

spoke in a barbarous way. For of what else do you come as judges? Well,

but a man may say to me, if I attend to such matters (as you do), I

shall have no land as you have none; I shall have no silver cups as you

have none, nor fine beasts as you have none. In answer to tins it is

perhaps sufficient to say: I have no need of such things; but if you

possess many things you have need of others: whether you choose or not,

you are poorer than I am. What then have I need of? Of that which you

have not? of firmness, of a mind which is conformable to nature, of

being free from perturbation.

IN WHAT MANNER WE OUGHT TO BEAR SICKNESS.—When the need of each opinion

comes, we ought to have it in readiness: on the occasion of breakfast,

such opinions as relate to breakfast; in the bath, those that concern

the bath; in bed, those that concern bed.

Let sleep not come upon thy languid eyes

Before each daily action thou hast scann’d;

What’s done amiss, what done, what left undone;

From first to last examine all, and then

Blame what is wrong, in what is right rejoice.

And we ought to retain these verses in such way that we may use them,

not that we may utter them aloud, as when we exclaim, “Paean Apollo.”

Again in fever we should have ready such opinions as concern a fever;

and we ought not, as soon as the fever begins, to lose and forget all.

A man who has a fever may say: If I philosophize any longer, may I be

hanged: wherever I go, I must take care of the poor body, that a fever

may not come. But what is philosophizing? Is it not a preparation

against events which may happen? Do you not understand that you are

saying something of this kind? “If I shall still prepare myself to bear

with patience what happens, may I be hanged.” But this is just as if a

man after receiving blows should give up the Pancratium. In the

Pancratium it is in our power to desist and not to receive blows.

But in the other matter if we give up philosophy, what shall we gain?

What then should a man say on the occasion of each painful thing? It

was for this that I exercised myself, for this I disciplined myself.

God says to you: Give me a proof that you have duly practised

athletics, that you have eaten what you ought, that you have been

exercised, that you have obeyed the aliptes (the oiler and rubber).

Then do you show yourself weak when the time for action comes? Now is

the time for the fever. Let it be borne well. Now is the time for

thirst, bear it well. Now is the time for hunger, bear it well. Is it

not in your power? Who shall hinder you? The physician will hinder you

from drinking; but he cannot prevent you from bearing thirst well: and

he will hinder you from eating; but he cannot prevent you from bearing

hunger well.

But I cannot attend to my philosophical studies. And for what purpose

do you follow them? Slave, is it not that you may be happy, that you

may be constant, is it not that you may be in a state conformable to

nature and live so? What hinders you when you have a fever from having

your ruling faculty conformable to nature? Here is the proof of the

thing, here is the test of the philosopher. For this also is a part of

life, like walking, like sailing, like journeying by land, so also is

fever. Do you read when you are walking? No. Nor do you when you have a

fever. But if you walk about well, you have all that belongs to a man

who walks. If you bear a fever well, you have all that belongs to a man

in a fever. What is it to bear a fever well? Not to blame God or man;

not to be afflicted at that which happens, to expect death well and

nobly, to do what must be done: when the physician comes in, not to be

frightened at what he says; nor if he says you are doing well, to be

overjoyed. For what good has he told you? and when you were in health,

what good was that to you? And even if he says you are in a bad way, do

not despond. For what is it to be ill? is it that you are near the

severance of the soul and the body? what harm is there in this? If you

are not near now, will you not afterwards be near? Is the world going

to be turned upside down when you are dead? Why then do you flatter the

physician? Why do you say if you please, master, I shall be well? Why

do you give him an opportunity of raising his eyebrows (being proud; or

showing his importance)? Do you not value a physician, as you do a

shoemaker when he is measuring your foot, or a carpenter when he is

building your house, and so treat the physician as to the body which is

not yours, but by nature dead? He who has a fever has an opportunity of

doing this: if he does these things, he has what belongs to him. For it

is not the business of a philosopher to look after these externals,

neither his wine nor his oil nor his poor body, but his own ruling

power. But as to externals how must he act? so far as not to be

careless about them. Where then is there reason for fear? where is

there then still reason for anger, and of fear about what belongs to

others, about things which are of no value? For we ought to have these

two principles in readiness, that except the will nothing is good nor

bad; and that we ought not to lead events, but to follow them. My

brother ought not to have behaved thus to me. No, but he will see to

that; and, however he may behave, I will conduct myself towards him as

I ought. For this is my own business; that belongs to another: no man

can prevent this, the other thing can be hindered.

ABOUT EXERCISE.—We ought not to make our exercises consist in means

contrary to nature and adapted to cause admiration, for if we do so, we

who call ourselves philosophers, shall not differ at all from jugglers.

For it is difficult even to walk on a rope; and not only difficult, but

it is also dangerous. Ought we for this reason to practice walking on a

rope, or setting up a palm-tree, or embracing statues? By no means.

Every thing which is difficult and dangerous is not suitable for

practice; but that is suitable which conduces to the working out of

that which is proposed to us. And what is that which is proposed to us

as a thing to be worked out? To live with desire and aversion

(avoidance of certain things) free from restraint. And what is this?

Neither to be disappointed in that which you desire, nor to fall into

anything which you would avoid. Towards this object then exercise

(practice) ought to tend. For since it is not possible to have your

desire not disappointed and your aversion free from falling into that

which you would avoid, without great and constant practice, you must

know that if you allow your desire and aversion to turn to things which

are not within the power of the will, you will neither have your desire

capable of attaining your object, nor your aversion free from the power

of avoiding that which you would avoid. And since strong habit leads

(prevails), and we are accustomed to employ desire and aversion only to

things which are not within the power of our will, we ought to oppose

to this habit a contrary habit, and where there is great slipperiness

in the appearances, there to oppose the habit of exercise. Then at

last, if occasion presents itself, for the purpose of trying yourself

at a proper time you will descend into the arena to know if appearances

overpower you as they did formerly. But at first fly far from that

which is stronger than yourself; the contest is unequal between a

charming young girl and a beginner in philosophy. The earthen pitcher,

as the saying is, and the rock do not agree.

WHAT SOLITUDE IS, AND WHAT KIND OF PERSON A SOLITARY MAN IS.—Solitude

is a certain condition of a helpless man. For because a man is alone,

he is not for that reason also solitary; just as though a man is among

numbers, he is not therefore not solitary. When then we have lost

either a brother, or a son, or a friend on whom we were accustomed to

repose, we say that we are left solitary, though we are often in Rome,

though such a crowd meet us, though so many live in the same place, and

sometimes we have a great number of slaves. For the man who is

solitary, as it is conceived, is considered to be a helpless person and

exposed to those who wish to harm him. For this reason when we travel,

then especially do we say that we are lonely when we fall among

robbers, for it is not the sight of a human creature which removes us

from solitude, but the sight of one who is faithful and modest and

helpful to us. For if being alone is enough to make solitude, you may

say that even Zeus is solitary in the conflagration and bewails himself

saying, Unhappy that I am who have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor

Apollo, nor brother, nor son, nor descendant, nor kinsman. This is what

some say that he does when he is alone at the conflagration. For they

do not understand how a man passes his life when he is alone, because

they set out from a certain natural principle, from the natural desire

of community and mutual love and from the pleasure of conversation

among men. But none the less a man ought to be prepared in a manner for

this also (being alone), to be able to be sufficient for himself and to

be his own companion. For as Zeus dwells with himself, and is tranquil

by himself, and thinks of his own administration and of its nature, and

is employed in thoughts suitable to himself; so ought we also to be

able to talk with ourselves, not to feel the want of others also, not

to be unprovided with the means of passing our time; to observe the

divine administration, and the relation of ourselves to everything

else; to consider how we formerly were affected towards things that

happened and how at present; what are still the things which give us

pain; how these also can be cured and how removed; if any things

require improvement, to improve them according to reason.

Well then, if some man should come upon me when I am alone and murder

me? Fool, not murder You, but your poor body.

What kind of solitude then remains? what want? why do we make ourselves

worse than children; and what do children do when they are left alone?

They take up shells and ashes, and they build something, then pull it

down, and build something else, and so they never want the means of

passing the time. Shall I then, if you sail away, sit down and weep,

because I have been left alone and solitary? Shall I then have no

shells, no ashes? But children do what they do through want of thought

(or deficiency in knowledge), and we through knowledge are unhappy.

Every great power (faculty) is dangerous to beginners. You must then

bear such things as you are able, but conformably to nature: but not

... Practise sometimes a way of living like a person out of health that

you may at some time live like a man in health.

CERTAIN MISCELLANEOUS MATTERS.—As bad tragic actors cannot sing alone,

but in company with many, so some persons cannot walk about alone. Man,

if you are anything, both walk alone and talk to yourself, and do not

hide yourself in the chorus. Examine a little at last, look around,

stir yourself up, that you may know who you are.

You must root out of men these two things, arrogance (pride) and

distrust. Arrogance then is the opinion that you want nothing (are

deficient in nothing); but distrust is the opinion that you cannot be

happy when so many circumstances surround you. Arrogance is removed by

confutation; and Socrates was the first who practised this. And (to

know) that the thing is not impossible inquire and seek. This search

will do you no harm; and in a manner this is philosophizing, to seek

how it is possible to employ desire and aversion ([Greek: echchlisis])

without impediment.

I am superior to you, for my father is a man of consular rank. Another

says, I have been a tribune, but you have not. If we were horses, would

you say, My father was swifter? I have much barley and fodder, or

elegant neck ornaments. If then you were saying this, I said, Be it so:

let us run then. Well, is there nothing in a man such as running in a

horse, by which it will be known which is superior and inferior? Is

there not modesty ([Greek: aidos]), fidelity, justice? Show yourself

superior in these, that you may be superior as a man. If you tell me

that you can kick violently, I also will say to you, that you are proud

of that which is the act of an ass.

THAT WE OUGHT TO PROCEED WITH CIRCUMSPECTION TO EVERYTHING.[Footnote:

Compare Encheiridion, 29.]—In every act consider what precedes and what

follows, and then proceed to the act. If you do not consider, you will

at first begin with spirit, since you have not thought at all of the

things which follow; but afterwards when some consequences have shown

themselves, you will basely desist (from that which you have begun).—I

wish to conquer at the Olympic games.—(And I too, by the gods; for it

is a fine thing.) But consider here what precedes and what follows; and

then, if it is for your good, undertake the thing. You must act

according to rules, follow strict diet, abstain from delicacies,

exercise yourself by compulsion at fixed times, in heat, in cold; drink

no cold water, nor wine, when there is opportunity of drinking it. In a

word, you must surrender yourself to the trainer, as you do to a

physician. Next in the contest, you must be covered with sand,

sometimes dislocate a hand, sprain an ankle, swallow a quantity of

dust, be scourged with the whip; and after undergoing all this, you

must sometimes be conquered. After reckoning all these things, if you

have still an inclination, go to the athletic practice. If you do not

reckon them, observe you will behave like children who at one time play

as wrestlers, then as gladiators, then blow a trumpet, then act a

tragedy, when they have seen and admired such things. So you also do:

you are at one time a wrestler (athlete), then a gladiator, then a

philosopher, then a rhetorician; but with your whole soul you are

nothing: like the ape you imitate all that you see; and always one

thing after another pleases you, but that which becomes familiar

displeases you. For you have never undertaken anything after

consideration, nor after having explored the whole matter and put it to

a strict examination; but you have undertaken it at hazard and with a

cold desire. Thus some persons having seen a philosopher and having

heard one speak like Euphrates—and yet who can speak like him?—wish to

be philosophers themselves.

Man, consider first what the matter is (which you propose to do), then

your own nature also, what it is able to bear. If you are a wrestler,

look at your shoulders, your thighs, your loins: for different men are

naturally formed for different things. Do you think that, if you do

(what you are doing daily), you can be a philosopher? Do you think that

you can eat as you do now, drink as you do now, and in the same way be

angry and out of humor? You must watch, labor, conquer certain desires,

you must depart from your kinsmen, be despised by your slaves, laughed

at by those who meet you, in everything you must be in an inferior

condition, as to magisterial office, in honors, in courts of justice.

When you have considered all these things completely, then, if you

think proper, approach to philosophy, if you would gain in exchange for

these things freedom from perturbations, liberty, tranquillity. If you

have not considered these things, do not approach philosophy: do not

act like children, at one time a philosopher, then a tax collector,

then a rhetorician, then a procurator (officer) of Cæsar. These things

are not consistent. You must be one man either good or bad; you must

either labor at your own ruling faculty or at external things; you must

either labor at things within or at external things; that is, you must

either occupy the place of a philosopher or that of one of the vulgar.

A person said to Rufus when Galba was murdered: Is the world now

governed by Providence? But Rufus replied: Did I ever incidentally form

an argument from Galba that the world is governed by Providence?

THAT WE OUGHT WITH CAUTION TO ENTER INTO FAMILIAR INTERCOURSE WITH

MEN.—If a man has frequent intercourse with others either for talk, or

drinking together, or generally for social purposes, he must either

become like them, or change them to his own fashion. For if a man

places a piece of quenched charcoal close to a piece that is burning,

either the quenched charcoal will quench the other, or the burning

charcoal will light that which is quenched. Since then the danger is so

great, we must cautiously enter into such intimacies with those of the

common sort, and remember that it is impossible that a man can keep

company with one who is covered with soot without being partaker of the

soot himself. For what will you do if a man speaks about gladiators,

about horses, about athletes, or what is worse about men? Such a person

is bad, such a person is good; this was well done, this was done badly.

Further, if he scoff, or ridicule, or show an ill-natured disposition?

Is any man among us prepared like a lute-player when he takes a lute,

so that as soon as he has touched the strings, he discovers which are

discordant, and tunes the instrument? Such a power as Socrates had who

in all his social intercourse could lead his companions to his own

purpose? How should you have this power? It is therefore a necessary

consequence that you are carried about by the common kind of people.

Why then are they more powerful than you? Because they utter these

useless words from their real opinions; but you utter your elegant

words only from your lips; for this reason they are without strength

and dead, and it is nauseous to listen to your exhortations and your

miserable virtue, which is talked of everywhere (up and down). In this

way the vulgar have the advantage over you; for every opinion ([Greek:

dogma]) is strong and invincible. Until then the good ([Greek:

chompsai]) sentiments ([Greek: hupolaepseis]) are fixed in you, and you

shall have acquired a certain power for your security, I advise you to

be careful in your association with common persons; if you are not,

every day like wax in the sun there will be melted away whatever you

inscribe on your minds in the school. Withdraw then yourselves far from

the sun so long as you have these waxen sentiments. For this reason

also philosophers advise men to leave their native country, because

ancient habits distract them and do not allow a beginning to be made of

a different habit; nor can we tolerate those who meet us and say: See

such a one is now a philosopher, who was once so and so. Thus also

physicians send those who have lingering diseases to a different

country and a different air; and they do right. Do you also introduce

other habits than those which you have; fix you opinions and exercise

yourselves in them. But you do not so; you go hence to a spectacle, to

a show of gladiators, to a place of exercise ([Greek: chuston]), to a

circus; then you come back hither, and again from this place you go to

those places, and still the same persons. And there is no pleasing

(good) habit, nor attention, nor care about self and observation of

this kind. How shall I use the appearances presented to me? according

to nature, or contrary to nature? how do I answer to them? as I ought,

or as I ought not? Do I say to those things which are independent of

the will, that they do not concern me? For if you are not yet in this

state, fly from your former habits, fly from the common sort, if you

intend ever to begin to be something.