“What, even from a reviler?”
Why, tell me what profit a wrestler gains from him who exercises him
beforehand? The very greatest: he trains me in the practice of
endurance, of controlling my temper, of gentle ways. You deny it. What,
the man who lays hold of my neck, and disciplines loins and shoulders,
does me good, . . . while he that trains me to keep my temper does me
none? This is what it means, not knowing how to gain advantage from
men! Is my neighbour bad? Bad to himself, but good to me: he brings my
good temper, my gentleness into play. Is my father bad? Bad to himself,
but good to me. This is the rod of Hermes; _touch what you will with
it_, they say, _and it becomes gold_. Nay, but bring what you will and
I will transmute it into Good. Bring sickness, bring death, bring
poverty and reproach, bring trial for life—all these things through the
rod of Hermes shall be turned to profit.
CVII
Till then these sound opinions have taken firm root in you, and you
have gained a measure of strength for your security, I counsel you to
be cautious in associating with the uninstructed. Else whatever
impressions you receive upon the tablets of your mind in the School
will day by day melt and disappear, like wax in the sun. Withdraw then
somewhere far from the sun, while you have these waxen sentiments.
CVIII
We must approach this matter in a different way; it is great and
mystical: it is no common thing; nor given to every man. Wisdom alone,
it may be, will not suffice for the care of youth: a man needs also a
certain measure of readiness—an aptitude for the office; aye, and
certain bodily qualities; and above all, to be counselled of God
Himself to undertake this post; even as He counselled Socrates to fill
the post of one who confutes error, assigning to Diogenes the royal
office of high reproof, and to Zeno that of positive instruction.
Whereas _you_ would fain set up for a physician provided with nothing
but drugs! Where and how they should be applied you neither know nor
care.
CIX
If what charms you is nothing but abstract principles, sit down and
turn them over quietly in your mind: but never dub yourself a
Philosopher, nor suffer others to call you so. Say rather: He is in
error; for my desires, my impulses are unaltered. I give in my adhesion
to what I did before; nor has my mode of dealing with the things of
sense undergone any change.
CX
When a friend inclined to Cynic views asked Epictetus, what sort of
person a true Cynic should be, requesting a general sketch of the
system, he answered:—“We will consider that at leisure. At present I
content myself with saying this much: If a man put his hand to so
weighty a matter without God, the wrath of God abides upon him. That
which he covets will but bring upon him public shame. Not even on
finding himself in a well-ordered house does a man step forward and say
to himself, I must be master here! Else the lord of that house takes
notice of it, and, seeing him insolently giving orders, drags him forth
and chastises him. So it is also in this great City, the World. Here
also is there a Lord of the House, who orders all thing:—
“Thou are the Sun! in thine orbit thou hast power to make the year and
the seasons; to bid the fruits of the earth to grow and increase, the
winds arise and fall; thou canst in due measure cherish with thy warmth
the frames of men; go make thy circuit, and thus minister unto all from
the greatest to the least! . . .”
“Thou canst lead a host against Troy; be Agamemnon!”
“Thou canst meet Hector in single combat; be Achilles!”
“But had Thersites stepped forward and claimed the chief command, he
had been met with a refusal, or obtained it only to his own shame and
confusion of face, before a cloud of witnesses.”
CXI
Others may fence themselves with walls and houses, when they do such
deeds as these, and wrap themselves in darkness—aye, they have many a
device to hide themselves. Another may shut his door and station one
before his chamber to say, if any comes, _He has gone forth! he is not
at leisure!_ But the true Cynic will have none of these things; instead
of them, he must wrap himself in Modesty: else he will but bring
himself to shame, naked and under the open sky. _That_ is his house;
that is his door; that is the slave that guards his chamber; that is
his darkness!
CXII
Death? let it come when it will, whether it smite but a part of the
whole: Fly, you tell me—fly! But whither shall I fly? Can any man cast
me beyond the limits of the World? It may not be! And whithersoever I
go, there shall I still find Sun, Moon, and Stars; there I shall find
dreams, and omens, and converse with the Gods!
CXIII
Furthermore the true Cynic must know that he is sent as a Messenger
from God to men, to show unto them that as touching good and evil they
are in error; looking for these where they are not to be found, nor
ever bethinking themselves where they are. And like Diogenes when
brought before Philip after the battle of Chaeronea, the Cynic must
remember that he is a Spy. For a Spy he really is—to bring back word
what things are on Man’s side, and what against him. And when he had
diligently observed all, he must come back with a true report, not
terrified into announcing them to be foes that are no foes, nor
otherwise perturbed or confounded by the things of sense.
CXIV
How can it be that one who hath nothing, neither raiment, nor house,
nor home, nor bodily tendance, nor servant, nor city, should yet live
tranquil and contented? Behold God hath sent you a man to show you in
act and deed that it may be so. Behold me! I have neither house nor
possessions nor servants: the ground is my couch; I have no wife, no
children, no shelter—nothing but earth and sky, and one poor cloak. And
what lack I yet? am I not untouched by sorrow, by fear? am I not free?
. . . when have I laid anything to the charge of God or Man? when have
I accused any? hath any of you seen me with a sorrowful countenance?
And in what wise treat I those of whom you stand in fear and awe? Is it
not as slaves? Who when he seeth me doth not think that he beholdeth
his Master and his King?
CXV
Give thyself more diligently to reflection: know thyself: take counsel
with the Godhead: without God put thine hand unto nothing!
CXVI
“But to marry and to rear offspring,” said the young man, “will the
Cynic hold himself bound to undertake this as a chief duty?”
Grant me a republic of wise men, answered Epictetus, and perhaps none
will lightly take the Cynic life upon him. For on whose account should
he embrace that method of life? Suppose however that he does, there
will then be nothing to hinder his marrying and rearing offspring. For
his wife will be even such another as himself, and likewise her father;
and in like manner will his children be brought up.
But in the present condition of things, which resembles an Army in
battle array, ought not the Cynic to be free from all distraction and
given wholly to the service of God, so that he can go in and out among
men, neither fettered by the duties nor entangled by the relations of
common life? For if he transgress them, he will forfeit the character
of a good man and true; whereas if he observe them, there is an end to
him as the Messenger, the Spy, the Herald of the Gods!
CXVII
Ask me if you choose if a Cynic shall engage in the administration of
the State. O fool, seek you a nobler administration that that in which
he is engaged? Ask you if a man shall come forward in the Athenian
assembly and talk about revenue and supplies, when his business is to
converse with all men, Athenians, Corinthians, and Romans alike, not
about supplies, not about revenue, nor yet peace and war, but about
Happiness and Misery, Prosperity and Adversity, Slavery and Freedom?
Ask you whether a man shall engage in the administration of the State
who has engaged in such an Administration as this? Ask me too if he
shall govern; and again I will answer, Fool, what greater government
shall he hold than he holds already?
CXVIII
Such a man needs also to have a certain habit of body. If he appears
consumptive, thin and pale, his testimony has no longer the same
authority. He must not only prove to the unlearned by showing them what
his Soul is that it is possible to be a good man apart from all that
_they_ admire; but he must also show them, by his body, that a plain
and simple manner of life under the open sky does no harm to the body
either. “See, I am proof of this! and my body also.” As Diogenes used
to do, who went about fresh of look and by the very appearance of his
body drew men’s eyes. But if a Cynic is an object of pity, he seems a
mere beggar; all turn away, all are offended at him. Nor should he be
slovenly of look, so as not to scare men from him in this way either;
on the contrary, his very roughness should be clean and attractive.
CXIX
Kings and tyrants have armed guards wherewith to chastise certain
persons, though they themselves be evil. But to the Cynic conscience
gives this power—not arms and guards. When he knows that he has watched
and laboured on behalf of mankind: that sleep hath found him pure, and
left him purer still: that his thoughts have been the thought of a
Friend of the Gods—of a servant, yet one that hath a part in the
government of the Supreme God: that the words are ever on his lips:—
Lead me, O God, and thou, O Destiny!
as well as these:—
If this be God’s will, so let it be!
Why should he not speak boldly unto his own brethren, unto his
children—in a word, unto all that are akin to him!
CXX
Does a Philosopher _apply_ to people to come and hear him? does he not
rather, of his own nature, _attract_ those that will be benefited by
him—like the sun that warms, the food that sustains them? What
Physician _applies_ to men to come and be healed? (Though indeed I hear
that the Physicians at Rome do nowadays apply for patients—in my time
they were applied to.) I apply to you to come and hear that you are in
evil case; that what deserves your attention most is the last thing to
gain it; that you know not good from evil, and are in short a hapless
wretch; a fine way to apply! though unless the words of the Philosopher
affect you thus, speaker and speech are alike dead.
CXXI
A Philosopher’s school is a Surgery: pain, not pleasure, you should
have felt therein. For on entering none of you is whole. One has a
shoulder out of joint, another an abscess: a third suffers from an
issue, a fourth from pains in the head. And am I then to sit down and
treat you to pretty sentiments and empty flourishes, so that you may
applaud me and depart, with neither shoulder, nor head, nor issue, nor
abscess a whit the better for your visit? Is it then for this that
young men are to quit their homes, and leave parents, friends, kinsmen
and substance to mouth out _Bravo_ to your empty phrases!
CXXII
If any be unhappy, let him remember that he is unhappy by reason of
himself alone. For God hath made all men to enjoy felicity and
constancy of good.
CXXIII
Shall we never wean ourselves—shall we never heed the teachings of
Philosophy (unless perchance they have been sounding in our ears like
an enchanter’s drone):—
This World is one great City, and one is the substance whereof it is
fashioned: a certain period indeed there needs must be, while these
give place to those; some must perish for others to succeed; some move
and some abide: yet all is full of _friends_—first God, then Men, whom
Nature hath bound by ties of kindred each to each.
CXXIV
Nor did the hero weep and lament at leaving his children orphans. For
he knew that no man is an orphan, but it is the Father that careth for
all continually and for evermore. Not by mere report had he heard that
the Supreme God is the Father of men: seeing that he called Him
_Father_ believing Him so to be, and in all that he did had ever his
eyes fixed upon Him. Wherefore in whatsoever place he was, there is was
given him to live happily.
CXXV
Know you not that the thing is a warfare? one man’s duty is to mount
guard, another must go out to reconnoitre, a third to battle; all
cannot be in one place, nor would it even be expedient. But you,
instead of executing you Commander’s orders, complain if aught harsher
than usual is enjoined; not understanding to what condition you are
bringing the army, so far as in you lies. If all were to follow your
example, none would dig a trench, none would cast a rampart around the
camp, none would keep watch, or expose himself to danger; but all turn
out useless for the service of war. . . . Thus it is here also. Every
life is a warfare, and that long and various. You must fulfil a
soldier’s duty, and obey each order at your commander’s nod: aye, if it
be possible, divine what he would have done; for between that Command
and this, there is no comparison, either in might or in excellence.
CXXVI
Have you again forgotten? Know you not that a good man does nothing for
appearance’ sake, but for the sake of having done right? . . .
“Is there no reward then?”
Reward! do you seek any greater reward for a good man than doing what
is right and just? Yet at the Great Games you look for nothing else;
there the victor’s crown you deem enough. Seems it to you so small a
thing and worthless, to be a good man, and happy therein?
CXXVII
It befits thee not to be unhappy by reason of any, but rather to be
happy by reason of all men, and especially by reason of God, who formed
us to this end.
CXXVIII
What, did Diogenes love no man, he that was so gentle, so true a friend
to men as cheerfully to endure such bodily hardships for the common
weal of all mankind? But how loved he them? As behoved a minister of
the Supreme God, alike caring for men and subject unto God.
CXXIX
I am by Nature made for my own good; not for my own evil.
CXXX
Remind thyself that he whom thou lovest is mortal—that what thou lovest
is not thine own; it is given thee for the present, not irrevocably nor
for ever, but even as a fig or a bunch of grapes at the appointed
season of the year. . . .
“But these are words of evil omen.”. . .
What, callest thou aught _of evil omen_ save that which signifies some
evil thing? _Cowardice_ is a word of evil omen, if thou wilt, and
meanness of spirit, and lamentation and mourning, and shamelessness. .
. .
But do not, I pray thee, call of evil omen a word that is significant
of any natural thing:—as well call of evil omen the reaping of the
corn; for that means the destruction of the ears, though not of the
World!—as well say that the fall of the leaf is of evil omen; that the
dried fig should take the place of the green; that raisins should be
made from grapes. All these are changes from a former state into
another; not destruction, but an ordered economy, a fixed
administration. Such is leaving home, a change of small account; such
is Death, a greater change, from what now is, not to what is not, but
to what is not _now_.
“Shall I then no longer be?”
Not so; thou wilt be; but something different, of which the World now
hath need. For thou too wert born not when thou chosest, but when the
World had need of thee.
CXXXI
Wherefore a good man and true, bearing in mind who he is and whence he
came and from whom he sprang, cares only how he may fill his post with
due discipline and obedience to God.
Wilt thou that I continue to live? Then will I live, as one that is
free and noble, as Thou wouldst have me. For Thou hast made me free
from hindrance in what appertaineth unto me. But hast Thou no further
need of me? I thank Thee! Up to this hour have I stayed for Thy sake
and none other’s: and now in obedience to Thee I depart.
“How dost thou depart?”
Again I say, as Thou wouldst have me; as one that is free, as Thy
servant, as one whose ear is open unto what Thou dost enjoin, what Thou
dost forbid.
CXXXII
Whatsoever place or post Thou assignest me, _sooner will I die a
thousand deaths_, as Socrates said, _than desert it_. And where wilt
Thou have me to be? At Rome or Athens? At Thebes or on a desert island?
Only remember me there! Shouldst Thou send me where man cannot live as
Nature would have him, I will depart, not in disobedience to Thee, but
as though Thou wert sounding the signal for my retreat: I am not
deserting Thee—far be that from me! I only perceive that thou needest
me no longer.
CXXXIII
If you are in Gyaros, do not let your mind dwell upon life at Rome, and
all the pleasures it offered to you when living there, and all that
would attend your return. Rather be intent on this—how he that lives in
Gyaros may live in Gyaros like a man of spirit. And if you are at Rome,
do not let your mind dwell upon the life at Athens, but study only how
to live at Rome.
Finally, in the room of all other pleasures put this—the pleasure which
springs from conscious obedience to God.
CXXXIV
To a good man there is no evil, either in life or death. And if God
supply not food, has He not, as a wise Commander, sounded the signal
for retreat and nothing more? I obey, I follow—speaking good of my
Commander, and praising His acts. For at His good pleasure I came; and
I depart when it pleases Him; and while I was yet alive that was my
work, to sing praises unto God!
CXXXV
Reflect that the chief source of all evils to Man, and of baseness and
cowardice, is not death, but the fear of death.
Against this fear then, I pray you, harden yourself; to this let all
your reasonings, your exercises, your reading tend. Then shall you know
that thus alone are men set free.
CXXXVI
He is free who lives as he wishes to live; to whom none can do
violence, none hinder or compel; whose impulses are unimpeded, whose
desires are attain their purpose, who falls not into what he would
avoid. Who then would live in error?—None. Who would live deceived and
prone to fall, unjust, intemperate, in abject whining at his lot?—None.
Then doth no wicked man live as he would, and therefore neither is he
free.
CXXXVII
Thus do the more cautious of travellers act. The road is said to be
beset by robbers. The traveller will not venture alone, but awaits the
companionship on the road of an ambassador, a quaestor or a proconsul.
To him he attaches himself and thus passes by in safety. So doth the
wise man in the world. Many are the companies of robbers and tyrants,
many the storms, the straits, the losses of all a man holds dearest.
Whither shall he fall for refuge—how shall he pass by unassailed? What
companion on the road shall he await for protection? Such and such a
wealthy man, of consular rank? And how shall I be profited, if he is
stripped and falls to lamentation and weeping? And how if my
fellow-traveller himself turns upon me and robs me? What am I to do? I
will become a friend of Cæsar’s! in his train none will do me wrong! In
the first place—O the indignities I must endure to win distinction! O
the multitude of hands there will be to rob me! And if I succeed, Cæsar
too is but a mortal. While should it come to pass that I offend him,
whither shall I flee from his presence? To the wilderness? And may not
fever await me there? What then is to be done? Cannot a
fellow-traveller be found that is honest and loyal, strong and secure
against surprise? Thus doth the wise man reason, considering that if he
would pass through in safety, he must attach himself unto God.
CXXXVIII
“How understandest thou _attach himself to God?_”
That what God wills, he should will also; that what God wills not,
neither should he will.
“How then may this come to pass?”
By considering the movements of God, and His administration.
CXXXIX
And dost thou that hast received all from another’s hands, repine and
blame the Giver, if He takes anything from thee? Why, who art thou, and
to what end comest thou here? was it not He that made the Light
manifest unto thee, that gave thee fellow-workers, and senses, and the
power to reason? And how brought He thee into the world? Was it not as
one born to die; as one bound to live out his earthly life in some
small tabernacle of flesh; to behold His administration, and for a
little while share with Him in the mighty march of this great Festival
Procession? Now therefore that thou hast beheld, while it was permitted
thee, the Solemn Feast and Assembly, wilt thou not cheerfully depart,
when He summons thee forth, with adoration and thanksgiving for what
thou hast seen and heard?—“Nay, but I would fain have stayed longer at
the Festival.”—Ah, so would the mystics fain have the rites prolonged;
so perchance would the crowd at the Great Games fain behold more
wrestlers still. But the Solemn Assembly is over! Come forth, depart
with thanksgiving and modesty—give place to others that must come into
being even as thyself.
CXL
Why art thou thus insatiable? why thus unreasonable? why encumber the
world?—“Aye, but I fain would have my wife and children with me
too.”—What, are they then _thine_, and not His that gave them—His that
made thee? Give up then that which is not thine own: yield it to One
who is better than thou. “Nay, but why did He bring one into the world
on these conditions?”—If it suits thee not, depart! He hath no need of
a spectator who finds fault with his lot! Them that will take part in
the Feast he needeth—that will lift their voices with the rest that men
may applaud the more, and exalt the Great Assembly in hymns and songs
of praise. But the wretched and the fearful He will not be displeased
to see absent from it: for when they were present, they did not behave
as at a Feast, nor fulfil their proper office; but moaned as though in
pain, and found fault with their fate, their fortune and their
companions; insensible to what had fallen to their lot, insensible to
the powers they had received for a very different purpose—the powers of
Magnanimity, Nobility of Heart, of Fortitude, or Freedom!
CXLI
Art _thou_ then free? a man may say. So help me heaven, I long and pray
for freedom! But I cannot look my masters boldly in the face; I still
value the poor body; I still set much store on its preservation whole
and sound.
But I can point thee out a free man, that thou mayest be no more in
search of an example. Diogenes was free. How so? Not because he was of
free parentage (for that, indeed, was not the case), but because he was
himself free. He had cast away every handle whereby slavery might lay
hold of him to enslave him, nor was it possible for any to approach and
take hold of him to enslave him. All things sat loose upon him—all
things were to him attached by but slender ties. Hadst thou seized upon
his possessions, he would rather have let them go than have followed
thee for them—aye, had it been even a limb, or mayhap his whole body;
and in like manner, relatives, friends, and country. For he knew whence
they came—from whose hands and on what terms he had received them. His
true forefathers, the Gods, his true Country, he never would have
abandoned; nor would he have yielded to any man in obedience and
submission to the one nor in cheerfully dying for the other. For he was
ever mindful that everything that comes to pass has its source and
origin _there;_ being indeed brought about for the weal of that his
true Country, and directed by Him in whose governance it is.
CXLII
Ponder on this—on these convictions, on these words: fix thine eyes on
these examples, if thou wouldst be free, if thou hast thine heart set
upon the matter according to its worth. And what marvel if thou
purchase so great a thing at so great and high a price? For the sake of
this that men deem liberty, some hang themselves, others cast
themselves down from the rock; aye, time has been when whole cities
came utterly to an end: while for the sake of Freedom that is true, and
sure, and unassailable, dost thou grudge to God what He gave, when He
claims it? Wilt thou not study, as Plato saith, to endure, not death
alone, but torture, exile, stripes—in a word, to render up all that is
not thine own? Else thou wilt be a slave amid slaves, wert thou ten
thousand times a consul; aye, not a whit the less, though thou climb
the Palace steps. And thou shalt know how true the saying of Cleanthes,
that though the words of philosophers may run counter to the opinions
of the world, yet have they reason on their side.
CXLIII
Asked how a man should best grieve his enemy, Epictetus replied, “By
setting himself to live the noblest life himself.”
CXLIV