Yet God hath placed by the side of each a man’s own Guardian_The Golden Sayings of Epictetus, with the Hymn of Cleanthes

THE GOLDEN SAYINGS OF EPICTETUS

Translated and Arranged by Hastings Crossley

CONTENTS

III

VII

VIII

XII

XIII

XIV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

XXX

XXXI

XXXII

XXXIII

XXXIV

XXXV

XXXVI

XXXVII

XXXVIII

XXXIX

XLI

XLII

XLIII

XLIV

XLV

XLVI

XLVII

XLVIII

XLIX

LII

LIII

LIV

LVI

LVII

LVIII

LIX

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

XCI

XCII

XCIII

XCIV

XCV

XCVI

XCVII

XCVIII

XCIX

CII

CIII

CIV

CVI

CVII

CVIII

CIX

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

CXLIV

CXLV

CXLVI

CXLVII

CXLVIII

CXLIX

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

III

VII

VIII

XII

XIII

XIV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

(APPENDIX B)

The Hymn of Cleanthes

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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?

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

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?

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?

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!”

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.