Çeviri
THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS
Being Arrian’s Lectures of Epictetus
to Young Men Paraphrased
into Modern English
by
(SOMETIME OF MAGDALEN
COLJ^EGe? OXFORD)
. . . “ We moderns ” . . .
(see p. 131)
METHUEN & CO. LTD., LONDON
36 Essex Street, Strand, W.C.2
First published in
ftffl
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
INTRODUCTION IX
LECTURES. BOOK I I
BOOK II 43
BOOK III I 15
BOOK IV 201
FRAGMENTS 273
MANUAL 287
INDEX 313
Vii
IN more than one list of the World’s
Hundred Best Books will be found included the Encheiridion or Manual
of Epictetus.
Epictetus himself wrote nothing, and
we owe the Manual and four books of Lectures (four others being
lost) to one of his pupils, Flavius Arrianus of Nicomedia (who subsequently
became Consul and Governor of Cappadocia and a noted historian under the
Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, circa a.d.
140).
Epictetus was born about a.d. 50, and died some Aighty years
later. He was the son of a slave woman and was himself, in his youth and until
freed, slave to one Epaphroditus, himself a freedman, but who had Attained high
position (and who was subsequently executed for aiding the Emperor Nero to
commit suicide). He learned his philosophy from the Stoic philosopher Musonius
Rufus, and, after obtaining his freedom, apparently began teaching in Rome till
the Emperor Domitian in a.d. 90
banished all philosophers from that city. He then took up his residence in, and
transferred his teaching activities to, Nicopolis, a town of Epirus, built by
Augustus opposite Actium after his naval defeat of Cleopatra and Anthony there
in 31 b.c. (not to be confused
with the Nicopolis in Macedonia where St. Paul wrote that he proposed wintering
circa A.D. 65). 1
1 Titus
iii. 12.
ix
Various personal details of himself
and his life are found scattered through the Lectures.1
Like his Master Rufus, he was a
Stoic. His teachings are so clearly set forth in the Lectures and Manual
that no résumé of them is necessary.
The various philosophies of Rome in
the first and second centuries of the Christian era may all be said to have
sprung from Socrates (obiit 400 b.c.,
in his seventieth year). Socrates had as one of his pupils Antisthenes, the
founder of the Cynics at Athens. Diogenes of Sinope, the famous Cynic, was
pupil of Antisthenes and teacher of Crates of Boeotia. (Diogenes died in 324 b.c., aged 95.) Crates taught Zeno, the
founder of Stoicism (who came from Citium in Cyprus, who taught in Athens, and
who died in 264 b.c., aged 97).
His followers were called Stoics because Zeno lectured in the Great Hall, the Stoa.
Other famous Stoics were Chrysippus, Euphrates, Seneca, and the Emperor
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.
There have been many translations of
Epictetus into different languages, the best known in English being that of
Elizabeth Carter,[1]
[2]
the most recent that of W. A. Oldfather.[3] [4] Unhappily both are hard to
read. Indeed, I doubt if a literal translation of Epictetus could ever be
really readable or widely read.
Speaking of archaeologists, the late
Arthur Weigall, in an interesting essay contained in The Glory of the
Pharaohs^ maintained the thesis that an archaeologist should not be a mere
cataloguer of dead bones and other survivals of a remote past, but should be
able to re-create by imagination, based on ascertained facts, a picture of
things and persons as they were ; that he is interested in, say, an ancient
sword, splintered and covered with rust, only in so far as it enables him to
visualize the original perfect sword as it came out of the hands of the
smelter, and so to furnish a model as near to the original as possible ; that
his pleasure in skeletons is not in them as skeletons, but in order to cover
them decently with flesh and skin once more, and to put some thoughts back into
the empty skulls. So, too, I believe that the translator should not be bound
slavishly to the texts as they lie before him, but should try to reconstruct in
terms of modern thought and language what the writer or speaker would wish us to
understand to-day, and so to make his message once more a living thing. That is
what I have aimed at in the following pages. I have attempted to express
Epictetus’s thoughts as he might have expressed them were he lecturing in
English to a class of young Englishmen at the present day ; and I have
deliberately used anachronisms, slang, and even Americanisms, when such seemed
likely to beget a vividness which would otherwise be lacking. I have tried,
too, to evolve a style suited both to the teacher and the subject, and have
permitted myself certain liberties which I justify to myself by the
consideration that Epictetus is probably the only moral teacher of front rank
who has had a sense of humour.
If it should be asked why it is necessary
to paraphrase or even to read Epictetus at all, I would answer First :
that it is indisputable that Epictetus was one of the greatest moral teachers
the world has ever seen, which seems in itself a sufficient reason. But if a
DEDICATION
My dear Lucius,
These Lectures of Epictetus
are not a work of imagination. I was one of his pupils and I used to attend
his lectures and take notes, and they are my lecture notes which I have
furbished up as best I may. So you must take what follows, not as a studied
literary composition written with an eye to future generations, but merely as
fragments of casual conversations. Still they reveal the bent of his thought in
all its frankness and mordant humour. What the Master wanted was to make us
reflect seriously on those things that are most worth reflecting about ; and you
may be sure that listening to him we could not help doing so. I wrote
them down primarily for my own use, but I feel that they may also be of service
to others.
Yours in all sincerity,
F.
ARRIANUS
Sir Lucius Gellius (Circa a.d. 140)
i
IN this world one thing, and one
thing only, is under our own control and so really matters, and that is our
power of being able to reason. It is this that enables us to make use of our sense-perceptions,
i.e. of the impressions we get of the outer world through our five senses—to
choose, refuse, like, dislike, and so forth. It is by the exercise of our
reasoning faculty that we are enabled to build up what I may term a moral
purpose. Mere material things are not under our control and are relatively
unimportant. For instance : we cannot help being born poor, the congenital
infirmities of our bodies, the trammels of earthly associates, the obligations
of even a small estate. And yet most of us set far more store by such
uncontrollable things (by our bodies, estates, brothers, friends, children,
slaves —and are overwhelmed if anything goes wrong with any of them), than we
do by the highness of our moral purpose which, were we to rank it first and
last in our regard, would teach us the true value of the rest and so enable us
to remain untouched by mere material misfortunes. We have it in our power, I
say, to do this, and not to make ourselves ridiculous by, for instance, being
upset just because the wind happens to be rather chilly. Why, then, don’t we do
it ?
A real philosopher when threatened
with prison or banishment accepts his fate calmly and with a smile.
I I
A tyrant may enchain his limbs and
keep his body in a dungeon, but he cannot imprison his mind. And if he kill
him, then he will have done his worst and can do no more. Anyway, is death so
great an evil ?
Remember how Agrippinus behaved when
he was tried by the Senate. Someone came and told him that he had been found
guilty.
‘ What is the sentence,’ he asked ;
‘ banishment or death ? ’
‘ Banishment,’ was the reply.
6 And have they confiscated my property ? ’
‘No.’
‘ Good ! then I shall be able to
afford some lunch,’ said he.1
ii
Always and in everything that we do
we should take the greatest care never to fall short of the highest standard of
our moral purpose. We cannot all, of course, expect to do great deeds ; only
the greatest men, like Socrates, can do them. But though the very highest may
be unattainable for us, we can in a small way try to follow in their footsteps.
Even though we cannot all be Milos [5]
[6]
we need not neglect our bodies ; though we cannot all be Croesuses [7]
we need not neglect our properties.
How then, you may ask, is each of us
to know what is befitting to his moral purpose ? That is a thing of which we
become instinctively aware when circumstances arise which call for this
self-knowledge, even as a bull instinctively rushes forward to defend his herd
when a lion attacks it. And yet we must not rely solely on instinct. We must
train ourselves carefully beforehand so as to be prepared to face steadfastly
all that life may bring us.
Another test of what is or is not
befitting to our moral purpose is this :—Ask yourself : does such or such a
thing seem to me to be reasonable ? If so it is probably befitting, that
is to say right. But we must qualify this a little. For the same thing or
action may appear reasonable to one person and quite the reverse to another. And
further, we may think a thing wrong, whereas were we better educated, or had we
fuller knowledge, we should know that it was really right. Or it may be right
for us and wrong for somebody else. Remember how the Spartans thought it was
right to learn how to endure a whipping ; and how some men have thought it
right to commit suicide. Each must judge for himself to the best of his
ability.
But when we have come to a decision
as to what is right and proper for us to do, then we must stick to it and not
fall short of the highest standard. You know how a thin band of red 1
sets off a white coat so that in a way it seems to be the most important part
of it. Some may aspire to be the red band of life ; others may be content to be
just a plain white thread like all the others of which the coat is made up.
Decide for yourself which you want to be, which you ought to be—the station in
life to which God has called you—and then do your duty in it as best you can
whate’er betide.
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. i, p. 118.
Remember what the Senator Helvidius
Priscus said when the Emperor Vespasian forbade him to attend a sitting of the
Senate.
‘ So long as I am a Senator/ he
replied, ς I must attend its sittings.’
c No speeches, then, or your life is forfeit ! ’
‘ That is your affair. If it is your
duty to have me killed, do so ; if it is mine to speak, speak I will ; and if
to die, I will die.’1
iii
We ought all to believe (for it is
true) that we were made by God and are His children. Now if the Emperor
(Caesar) were to adopt one of us as his son, would not such a one be filled
with pride at the honour ? Are we to feel less pride at being God’s sons ?
Our bodies we have in common with
the brute creation ; reason and intelligence are a gift from Heaven. Those who
incline towards the flesh (and they are the majority) become treacherous as
wolves, savage as lions, cunning as foxes. Beware lest you become like one of
them.
iv
We learn from philosophers that we
should desire things that are good and eschew those that are evil— in short, that
we should strive after virtue, which alone can make us happy, calm and serene.
The nearer we attain to such a state of mind, the more we may be said to progress.
1
See Book IV, Ch. i, p. 216.
But we shall make little progress
merely by reading the writings of philosophers, however eminent. What we have
to do is :—First : exercise a rigid control over our inclinations, so as
not to miss what we want nor meet what we would avoid ; Secondly :
choose and refuse wisely ; and Thirdly : judge, aye or nay, aright.
The man who is really making
progress is he who has set up an ideal of conduct for himself, and who in his
least actions is faithful to his governing principle1 Such a
man if flung into prison will not like many— Kings even—Priam, Oedipus—all
Kings in fact—say : ‘ Alack-a-day, to what a pass have these grey hairs of mine
come ! ’ but : ‘ As God will, so be it ! ’2
Such wisdom is not to be learned
from books, no not even from those of the great Chrysippus. It is true he wrote
: ‘ Read my books and ye shall know . . .’ Ha ha ! Now, is it not
scandalous that men should build shrines and altars to Triptolemus who merely
taught mankind how to cultivate the fruits of the earth, but have forgotten to
do so to Chrysippus who had shown them how to win the rarer fruit of happiness
? I ask you !
Those philosophers named Academics
assert that nothing can actually be known. They prefer to suspend their
judgement. I once asked one of them if his senses didn’t tell him when he was
awake ? ‘ No,’ he replied ; ‘ not more than they do when in dreams I have the
impression of being awake.’ ‘ You
2
Also quoted : Book I, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book III, Ch. xxii,
p. 173 ; Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 228 ; and Manual, 53, p. 311. think,’
I said, ‘ that these two impressions are the same ? ’ ‘ Yes,’ he answered.
Well, well !
The fact is one cannot argue with,
or convince, a man who will not admit self-evident truths. He may be merely
stupid, incapable of understanding even the simplest thing ; or, which is
worse, he may be perverse and pig-headed, afraid to admit that he is in the
wrong though knowing all the time that he is . . . an attitude sometimes
facetiously described as strength of character.
vi
Every work reveals its artificer.
Take this sword and scabbard, for instance ; somebody must have made them and
fitted the one to the other ; they did not just happen spontaneously and at
random. So, too, do such things as colour and vision and light predicate a
Maker. They cannot have made themselves. Besides, clearly, some one must have
made them purposefully to co-operate with one another. To have made colours
without also making the faculty of seeing them would have been as useless as to
have made vision without something to look at, or to have made either without
also making light. Does not the marvellous mating instinct of male and female
connote a Creator, and that even greater marvel, the human intellect, which
enables us to observe, remember, subtract, add and combine ? What other
explanation can be adduced ?
Man is a rational animal ; the lower
animals are irrational. We and they have, indeed, many things in common. But
whereas for them it is sufficient to eat and drink and rest and procreate, we
not only need to do all these things but other things too, for to us alone has
been granted the faculty of understanding. Further, our ends are different. God
has designed the brute beasts, one to be eaten, another to serve in farming, a
third to produce cheese, and so on. But He has brought Man into the world to be
a spectator of Himself, and not merely a spectator but an interpreter too.
No one grudges the trouble,
discomfort and expense of travelling to Olympia to see Pheidias’ 1
great gold and ivory statue of Zeus,[8] [9] a thing every man should see
at least once in his life-time. But why neglect to contemplate the works of God
which bear witness to Him, and which you can see without having to travel at
all, without trouble and for nothing ? To what end do you suppose you were created
and were given the gift of sight ? In order not to look at things ?
Were you given your hands in order not
to use them ? When you have a cold don’t you use them to wipe your nose with ?
Or do you merely whine : ‘ What an awful cold I’ve got—how my nose runs ! ’ and
let it go on running ?
And for what reason do you suppose
you’ve received your faculties of magnanimity, of courage, of endurance ? What
is the good of having them if you don’t use them ?
How would Herakles have achieved
immortal fame had there been no lions or hydras or boars or wicked and brutal
men for him to destroy ? How would he have developed his strength and exercised
his arms, courage, and patience ? God sent Herakles these trials so that he
should exercise his faculties and so develop his character. And we can do the
same. So let us realize our equipment, the resources that God has given us, and
say :—6 Bring upon me, O God, whatsoever troubles Thou wilt. Thanks
to Thee I am prepared to meet and surmount them.’ In very truth He has given us
our faculties to enable us to bear anything that may befall without being
crushed. Moreover, He has put them entirely under our own control, without even
reserving to Himself any power to prevent or hinder. Could He have been more
generous than this ? And yet some folk still grumble and are never satisfied !
vii
Hypothetical premises, syllogisms,
and all the other devices of logic by whose rules arguments are or should be
conducted, are not mere dry-as-dust rules, but have a very real bearing upon
the duties of life. The object of reasoning is to state the true, eliminate the
false, and suspend judgement in doubtful cases.1 The object of
inquiry is to find out how a man should steer his course through life.
Therefore all arguments on such subjects are important and should be treated
seriously. The slightest false premise, an undistributed middle, an
omission—may vitiate your syllogism. I once made a slip of the kind myself and
Rufus 2 ‘ ticked me off ’ for it properly. ‘ Well,’ I said,
defending myself, ‘ it’s not so bad as . . .’ 6 Yes, it is,’ he
interrupted ; ‘ it’s worse ! ’
1
Cp. Book I, Ch. xxviii, p. 35 ; and Book III, Ch. iii, p.
124.
2
Musonius Rufus, Epictetus’ teacher : see Introduction, p.
vii.
viii
A man who can reason and argue persuasively
has much influence, especially if he practise his powers diligently and deck
his arguments with fair words. But mere dexterity in argumentation must be
fortified with knowledge. For the uneducated, such technical skill is dangerous
; it is apt to lead to swollen heads.
Plato was a philosopher, Hippocrates
a doctor. The latter could argue the hind leg off a donkey, but that had
nothing more to do with his being a doctor than Plato’s good looks had to do
with his being a philosopher. I am a philosopher, but I am not goodlooking.
Moreover, I am lame. If you want to become philosophers, it is not
indispensable that you should first become lame. Learn to distinguish between
essentials and non-essentials.
If you ask me what is Man’s greatest
good, I can only answer—it is to have a right moral purpose.
ix
The seeds of life of all men and
beings that are begotten, and of all things that grow upon earth, are derived
primarily from God, though Man is more akin to Him than the rest, thanks to his
faculty of reasoning. This being so, why should not a man call himself a
citizen of the Universe and a son of God instead of merely describing himself
as an Athenian or a Corinthian ? That, at any rate, is how Socrates used to
describe himself.
Now, if we were kin to Caesar or to
some great man in Rome, we should live securely without fear of any kind.
Surely, then, if God is our Maker and Father
and Guardian, we ought to live even
more securely and fearlessly still. Do you fear to lack for food ? But does
food fail runaway slaves or the lower animals 1 every one of which
is sufficient to itself and neither lacks its proper meat nor that way of life
which is appropriate to it and is in harmony with Nature ? If God so provide
for them you may be sure He will not let you starve.
And now here I am trying to teach
you young men to have a good conceit of yourselves, as you should have, being
(as you are) sons of God. But you ought to know this without my having to teach
it you. You ought to know it so well that you should feel that the body and its
possessions, and everything necessary to us for living in this world, are
burdensome, vexatious and unprofitable ; and you should ardently desire to
depart to join your kindred beyond the grave. I would you could say to me : c
Epictetus, we can no longer endure being imprisoned in these wretched bodies,
which we have to tend and feed, and which bring us willy-nilly into contact
with all sorts of people we would far rather avoid. All this is naught to us.
Moreover, we are in a sort akin to God, for we have come from Him. Suffer us,
therefore, to return whence we came ; to be freed from our fetters ; to escape
from tyrants, thieves, and courts of law, which imagine they have some sort of
power over us because of our bodies and their possessions. Death is not an evil
; it will free us and teach them that they have no power over us at all.’ I
would rejoice with all my heart to hear you speak like this, for then I should
know that of a truth you are set on higher things. And I could then teach you
and say : ‘ Wait upon God.
When He shall give the signal and
set you free from this service of life, then and then only shall you go to Him.
For the time being you must stay where He has stationed you. Short shall be the
time of your waiting, nor shall it be too burdensome for men of your way of
thinking. No tyrants, no thieves, no courts of law can injure those who are
masters of their bodies, and who have not enslaved themselves to their
possessions.’
Remember the words of Socrates to
his judges : ‘ If you say that you will acquit me on condition that I give up
my teaching, I answer you thus :—If I, a soldier, am ordered by my Commanding
Officer to defend a certain post, should I not die ten thousand deaths rather
than desert it ?1 Of course I should, and would. When, then, I am—as
I am—commanded by God to teach in Athens, do you suppose I shall disobey Him
? Don’t be absurd ! ’ These are the words of one who in very truth was a
kinsman of the Gods.
I know a man older than I am—and I
am no chicken —who at the present moment holds an important post in Rome. He is
Head of the Corn Distribution Department. Some years ago he did something he
shouldn’t have done and was banished for it. Later he was allowed to return
home, and on his way passed through here. I remember him assuring me at the
time that he was firmly resolved to spend the rest of his life—and he said he
didn’t suppose he had much of it left to spend—in strict quiet and retirement.
‘ Not you ! ’ I told him ; (
once you scent the streets of Rome again you will forget all about quiet and
retirement. And if there is a ghost of a chance of your being able to worm your
way into one of Caesar’s levees, you will take it.’ ‘ Wild horses wouldn’t drag
me to one ! ’ he replied. Within a month all his resolutions went up like
smoke, he had attended his levée, got a fat job, and now there he is piling up
money as fast as he can, and is probably a millionaire. Not a bad prophet, am I
?
If we old philosophers only applied
ourselves to our particular job as zealously as those old gentlemen in Rome do
to the acquisition of money, power and position, perhaps we, too, should
accomplish something. Perhaps a little encouragement would be good for us. When
I see you young men playing games I love joining in with you. But what I
should love even more would be for you to join me in a little solid reading.
xi
The following conversation took
place between Epictetus and one of his visitors :
Epictetus : Are you a married man ?
Visitor : Yes.
Epictetus : Any children ?
Visitor : Three.
Epictetus : Tell me, do you like being married ? Visitor
: No !
Epictetus : Good gracious me ! Why not ?
Visitor : Because of the children—I get so worried about
them. A few weeks back my little daughter was dangerously ill and I simply
couldn’t bear to see her lying sick in bed. So I cleared out, and didn’t come
home till I heard she was well again.
Epictetus : Do you think that was a right thing to do ?
Visitor : I don’t know if it was right—it was the natural
thing to do.
Epictetus : Natural ?
Visitor : I think most fathers would feel like that. Epictetus
: Perhaps. All things are possible. But how do you make out it was a
natural thing to do ?
Visitor : I find it very hard to explain these things.
Perhaps you would find it easier to explain to me how it was not natural.
Epictetus : Well, let us think about it. Suppose we want to
distinguish between black and white, how are we to do it?
Visitor : It is a question of eyesight.
Epictetus : And between hot and cold, and hard and soft ?
Visitor : By touch.
Epictetus : And between right and wrong ?
Visitor : I don’t know.
Epictetus : I’m surprised at you ! Surely it is more
important to distinguish between right and wrong than between white and black
or hot and cold ?
Visitor : Of course it is.
Epictetus : Look at it in this way. It is possible, is it
not, for mistakes to be made as to what is or is not right ?
Visitor : I suppose so.
Epictetus : Well, for example, the Romans and Egyptians
think it right to eat pork, but the Jews think it wrong. They can’t both be
correct.
Visitor : No.
Epictetus : Well, it is quite clear that what you
have to do is to find out what standard to apply to determine what is right and
what is wrong. Perhaps I can give you a pointer or two. Tell me, do you
consider family affection to be natural, good and reasonable ?
Visitor : Of course I do.
Epictetus : Well, to go away and leave your child when she
was sick can hardly be described as reasonable. . . . By the way, I
suppose her mother and nurse love the child ?
Visitor : Very dearly.
Epictetus : Then I suppose you think they ought to have
abandoned her too.
Visitor : No, I don’t !
Epictetus : Of course you do ! How better could they have
displayed their pure affection for her than by leaving her to die alone and
helpless amongst strangers ? And when it is your turn to die you will naturally
want your wife and children to show their affection by deserting you.
Visitor : No !
Epictetus : No ? But surely what applies to the goose
applies to the gander. Now confess ! You didn’t behave kindly to your little
daughter. Why ? For no valid reason, but simply because you didn’t choose to.
Isn’t that so ?
Visitor : Yes.
Epictetus : Be assured that neither toil nor banishment
nor death nor any other thing makes us do or not do a thing. Our deeds, both
good and evil, are due simply and solely to our opinions and to our decisions.
So it is no use trying to blame any one else when things go wrong. It is
entirely our own fault.
LECTURES
: BOOK I (xii)
xii
Some say there is no God ; others
that there is a God, but that He remains aloof and impassive ; others again
that He is concerned only with heavenly matters and in no wise with those of
earth. A fourth view is that He is conversant with earthly matters, but only in
a general sense, paying no attention to the individual. And, lastly, there are
those—and amongst them may be numbered Odysseus and Socrates—who say :
6 I
cannot move but Thou dost know of it.’1
Now if God does not exist, or if He
pays no regard to Man, how can men serve Him ? Before we start trying to serve
Him we ought, therefore, to be sure both that He exists and that we are His
concern. And if we believe this, then we must inquire how best we may serve
Him, and how we may become free.
What is this freedom to which
we should aspire ? It is not the freedom to do just what we like, to gratify
every passing whim. Licence is not liberty. We cannot change the dispositions
of Nature. God has ordained summer and winter, abundance and dearth, virtue and
vice. He has given each one of us a body, limbs, property, and companions. We
cannot change all this. We must find our freedom within the limits set by
Nature, and by seeking to keep our wills in harmony therewith. If we achieve
this we shall be truly free.
If you find yourself alone, what is
the good of being impatient and petulant and complaining of loneliness, and
then when you are with your parents, children and neighbours saying you have
not a moment’s quiet
1 Iliad, Book X, lines 279, 280.
and would rather their room than
their company ? Rather when you are alone thank God for giving you a quiet
time, and when others are with you rejoice in their society, and in both be
content.
A discontented man is not free—he is
really in a prison of his own making. Where a man is against his will, that
place for him is a prison. Conversely, if, like Socrates, you are in an
actual prison of your own free will, then you are not really in prison at all.
So cease from grumbling at trifles.
Do I grumble at my game leg and because of it assert that God muddled His
making of the Universe ? Nay, rather, I thank Him for His gift of reason which
makes me akin to Him.
We are what we are. It is no use
complaining about our parents. We did not choose them, nor are we accountable
for them. God will call us to account neither for them, nor for our bodies, nor
for our property, death nor life. For one thing only are we accountable and
that is for the only thing under our control—the proper use of our reasoning
faculties and wills.
xiii
Some one once asked Epictetus what
manner of eating is pleasing to the Gods. É Eat with decency and
restraint,’ he replied. c And,’ he added, 61 can
tell you one or two other things which would be pleasing to them. For instance,
not to fly into a rage if, when you call your valet to bring you some hot
water, he either doesn’t bring it at all, or brings it tepid. Is not he, like
yourself, descended from Zeus, and are you not, in effect, brothers ? ’
xiv
Some one once asked him how a man
can be sure that everything he does is seen by God.
‘ Do you believe said Epictetus, 4
in the physical unity of the Universe—that is, that the experience of one part
of it necessarily affects every other part ? You do ? And so that everything on
earth is affected by heavenly influences ? Do not plants flower and fruit, does
not fruit ripen and fall, do not leaves fade and wither, simply because God
wills it to be so ? What other explanation can you offer ? Very well, then ! If
this be true of plants, and of everything else including our own bodies, is it
not equally true of our souls ? If, then, our souls are so joined to God that
they are part and parcel of His being, does He not perceive their every motion
as being a motion of Himself? And as it is in our power to meditate about
things human and divine, to feel, understand, assent, dissent, suspend
judgement, learn, memorize, and so forth, does He not share in and oversee all
our thoughts ?
6 Consider : if the sun is able to light the whole world
save that little space covered by the shadow cast by the earth, will not He who
created the sun, which is but a small portion of Himself, be able to see
everything ?
6 Now God has set by each man’s side a Guardian Angel to
watch over him—a Protector who never slumbers and who is incorruptible.
Remember, then, that when you lock your door and turn out the light, you are
not alone. Both God and your Guardian Angel are there with you ; and They need
no light to see what you are doing.
‘ We should swear allegiance to God
as soldiers do to Caesar. Soldiers are but hirelings, yet they swear to put
Caesar’s safety above everything. Will not you, who have received so many and
so great blessings, swear allegiance to God, and having sworn keep your oath ?
This is the oath that you shall swear : Never to disobey Him ; never to find
fault with anything that He has given ; never to rebel when you are called upon
to do or suffer something you do not like.
‘ Alas, how few of us take this oath
! Most men swear to prefer themselves above everything else.’
xv
When some one asked Epictetus to
advise him how to effect a reconciliation with his brother who had quarrelled
with him,1 he replied :
Epictetus : Philosophy does not pretend to obtain material
benefits for men ; that is outside its province. It is concerned with the
conduct of men’s lives.
Client : But this quarrel is part of the conduct of my
brother’s life.
Epictetus : Yes, but the conduct of your brother’s
life—including his quarrels—is his affair. I cannot discuss his affairs with
you. Bring him to me, and I will talk to him about them.
Client : Suppose my brother won’t make friends again,
then what am I to do ? I want to do what is right.
Epictetus : The knowledge of how to act rightly is the
perfected fruit of a ripe mind. You must not think your mind will ripen as fast
as a fig or a bunch of
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. x, pp. 143 & 144. grapes.
Even a fig tree has first to blossom, then put forth its fruit, and finally the
fruit has to ripen. All that requires time, much time.
xvi
Have you ever remarked how Nature
has made the lower animals—those animals, that is, that are born not for their
own sake but for Man’s service—ready, as it were, for use, so that we do not
have to provide them with food, drink, shoes, bedding or clothing ? Should we
not be thankful and give thanks to God for such forethought on our behalf?
Again : does not milk come from
grass, and cheese from milk ? Does not wool grow on the skin ? Who made such
things possible ? Do I hear some idiot say ‘ No one ! ’ ?
Can you imagine anything more
useless than the hairs on your chin ? And yet Nature has found a use for
them—as a mark of sex, to distinguish a man from a woman. Could you improve upon
a beard for this ? Would a cock’s comb or a lion’s mane have been better ?
Ponder on these and all the other
works of Providence which are manifest in us, and say what words of ours can
sufficiently proclaim their goodness ? Ought we not, then, to tell the tale of
God’s goodness and praise Him both in our homes and abroad ? Should we not, as
we dig and plough and eat, sing songs of praise to Him, saying : ‘ Great is God
who has given us tools to till the soil. Great is He who has made our hands to
use them ; who has given us power to swallow, and a belly, and power to grow
without knowing it, and to breathe while we are asleep. Great is He who has
given us the power of understanding, and to follow the paths of reason.’ We
ought to laud Him thus continually. But as most of you are blind, let me praise
Him for you. I am only a lame old man, but I know that this is my duty and I
will do it. Were I a nightingale I would sing like a nightingale ; were I a
swan, like a swan. But as I am a man endowed with intelligence I can do no
other than sing songs of praise to God. Come, let us all sing together !
xvii
To ascertain what quantity of grain
there is in a stack one must first have a proper measure ; to weigh something
one needs a pair of scales. Similarly, if you want to reason correctly, some
sort of standard is indispensable. That is why Stoic philosophers insist
primarily on the study of logic ; for if we neglect the study of logic we shall
never be able to detect unsound arguments. All the best authorities are agreed
on this, including Socrates and Xenophon.
xviii
Philosophers assert that thought and
action both spring from feeling—a kind of judgement or opinion. For
instance (they say) if we assent to a thing it is because we feel (or
judge or are of opinion) that it is so ; if we dissent, it is because we feel
it is not so ; while if we suspend judgement it is because we feel it is
uncertain. Similarly we may feel things to be expedient or inexpedient. If the
philosophers are correct, it follows that we have no right to be wroth with,
say, thieves and robbers. They have simply felt
wrongly on certain subjects, from
ignorance, and so have gone astray over questions of right and wrong. ‘ No man
’, said Socrates, ‘ errs voluntarily.’1 So all one has to do is to
point out their errors to them and they will err no more ; but so long as their
eyes are blinded they have nothing but their feelings to guide them.
Are, then, brigands and adulterers
to escape punishment altogether ? To this I reply : Ought blind and deaf men,
or men who do not know how to distinguish between good and evil, to be punished
? Surely they ought rather to be pitied. Let us, then, eschew censorious terms
such as c accursed ’, c hateful ’, c abominable
’, all too commonly applied to them, and consider the real cause of our
indignation against such folk. Is it not because we set fantastic store by the
things they have robbed us of? Cease to worry about clothes and you won’t be
annoyed with any one who steals yours ; stop admiring your wife’s beauty, and
you will not curse her seducer. In reality you should only be annoyed with
yourself for setting absurd store by such things. If you counted them as
nothing you would have no further ground for anger. Such things are not really
under your control. Neither a thief nor an adulterer can touch the one thing
that is under your control—your only real possession—to wit, your power of
being able to reason.
Remember this too. If you happen to
have fine clothes and parade them ostentatiously, your poorer neighbour, who
doesn’t happen to know wherein the true good of Man consists, very naturally
assumes that it consists in having fine clothes like you. So, of course, when
he gets a chance, he steals them. And if you stuff yourself with quantities of
expensive food in the sight of hungry men, is it not a very natural thing for
them to try and snatch some of it for themselves ? Why blame them ? It is your
own fault ; you tempted them.
The other day I heard a noise at my
window, and running downstairs found my iron lamp had been stolen. On
reflection I perceived that it served me right. I had no business to flaunt an
iron lamp before everybody. In future I shall be content with an earthenware
one.1
Here are a few reflections for you :
The only things that can be stolen
from us are our material possessions.
A tyrant may imprison our bodies, or
sever our heads from our trunks, but he can’t touch our moral purposes.
If you have a headache or an
earache, what is the good of making a song about it ? Groan if you must, but
groan with a grin.
If your servant is slow when you
call him, don’t start whimpering that everybody hates you. If you do, everybody
will hate you, and rightly so.
Make up your minds that for the
future you will bear yourselves like men, and prove yourselves unconquerable—not
like an ass, thanks to a huge body and brute strength, but thanks to reason.
Who is the unconquerable man ? He whom nothing outside the ambit of his moral
purpose can deflect, he who is proof against bribes, a maid, secrecy,
reputation, abuse, praise, aye, even death itself ; and who will still stand
firm even though he be drunk, mad or asleep !
1 See Book I, Ch. xxix, p. 39. Epictetus’ earthenware lamp was sold after
his death for approximately £95.
xix
Any man of exceptional talent, or
who fancies that he is even if he isn’t, will inevitably, unless he be an
educated man, suffer from a swollen head. From that it is but a short step to
his becoming a bully, and then he begins to talk stuff like this :
Bully : I have influence and power !
And this is the way I reply to him :
Epictetus : Well, let us see what your power can do for me.
Can it make me desire only those things that are good ? Can it save me from
encountering things I dislike ? Can it inspire me always to choose aright ?
Does it do all this for you ? When you are in a ship, on whom do you
rely for safety, on yourself or on the Captain ? When you go out for a drive
don’t you entrust yourself to the driver ? Ha ha ! you can’t answer me ! Your
power doesn’t seem to amount to very much after all, does it ?
Bully : You can’t ignore me !
Epictetus : No, no more than I can ignore the plate off
which I eat, or the flask in which I keep my oil. I have to clean the one and
hang up the other. They are useful articles and so I look after them. I attend
to my donkey too. And I attend to you in the same sense. But who pays any
attention to you as a man ? Who wants to imitate you, or become your
pupil, as men used to imitate Socrates and become his pupils ?
Bully : If I wanted to I could have you put to death !
Epictetus : Ah, I had forgotten that ! Then I must indeed
pay the greatest attention to you—as I would to a dose of fever or to an attack
of cholera. I think, perhaps, I had better build an altar to you, like the one
in Rome to the God Fever !
Bully : Aren’t you afraid of me ?
Epictetus : Not in the least !
Bully : Well, I’ll soon show you who is master !
Epictetus : You master—of me ! How can jwzz be my
master ? God set me free.1 I happen to be one of His sons. Do you
really think He would let you harm one of His sons ? You can, however, be
master of my dead body if it will be of any use to you.
Bully : Do you mean to pay no attention to me ?
Epictetus : I only pay attention to myself. But if you want
me to pay attention to you too, well, I will . . . the same sort of attention I
pay to my chamberpot.
When men forget that the only thing
they really possess and is worth having is their power of being able to reason,
and set foolish store by their mere material possessions, it is quite
impossible for them to do otherwise than truckle to bullies, and alas ! not to
them only but to their servants too.
You know I was myself slave of
Epaphroditus. My former Master also owned a certain cobbler, one Felicio,2
whom he sold because he was useless. Some time after it chanced that this
cobbler was bought by a member of Caesar’s household, and eventually became
cobbler to Caesar. Then what a metamorphosis was there ! From being a useless
cobbler Felicio suddenly blossomed out as the wisest of men—so wise that
Epaphroditus used constantly to consult him over all
1 See Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 247. 2 Ibid. Ch. i, p. 219. sorts
of important business. Ha ha ! Excuse my mirth—but you see the point.
Have you noticed how when somebody
has been honoured in some way, all his friends and dependants congratulate him,
shake hands with him, embrace him, fête him, while he for his part climbs up to
the Capitol and offers sacrifice in gratitude to God ? He is grateful, indeed,
for something he values. But who ever heard of any one sacrificing in gratitude
for having desired virtue, or for having chosen aright ?
Only this morning a man spoke to me
about getting a Priesthood in the Temple of Augustus. I advised him to drop the
idea, telling him that he would only be spending a great deal of money for
nothing. ‘ Oh ! ’ he replied, c but I shall ensure my name living on
after me ; and besides, I shall wear a golden crown.’ I told him he could
ensure his name living on equally well by carving it on a stone ; while as for
his golden crown, that a crown of roses would be much more suitable to his
peculiar style of manly beauty besides being considerably cheaper.
xx
The first and greatest task of the
philosopher is to verify the impressions he gets of the outer world through his
senses, rejecting those that are false, and basing action solely on those that
are true. As with coins which are tested by sight, touch and sound, i.e. by
their ring, so with our sense-perceptions—they too must be tested.
Unfortunately, while we take an
infinity of pains over testing the worth of things that really do not matter in
the least, such as whether a coin be made of good or base metal, we are
hopelessly careless over essential matters such as the difference between good
and evil. For instance, how much more seriously are we apt to rate physical
than moral blindness. It is, of course, harder to distinguish a wrong from a
right action than it is a bad from a good coin. But it can be done. The
teaching of philosophers is both simple and succinct. This is how Zeno sums it
up : ‘ The object of Man’s existence is to obey God, and the essence of virtue
lies in the proper use of our senseperceptions Λ
xxi
When a man has found his proper
niche in life, he is, or should be, content. What more, indeed, can he want ?
Personally, so long as I can exercise desire and aversion properly, and can
choose and refuse, propose, plan and agree, I am satisfied. Some, however,
crave for admiration and strut about as though they had swallowed pokers. It is
generally this type of person that maintains that everybody else is mad. Their
admirers undoubtedly are.
xxii
All men have definite views,
preconceptions or instincts, on certain subjects, for instance on the obligation
to be virtuous. So far so good. It is when they come to apply these
preconceptions to particular cases that trouble is apt to arise. Jews, Syrians,
Egyptians and Romans all agree, as I say, that to be virtuous is of paramount
importance ; but when one inquires whether a virtuous man may eat pork or no,
they instantly disagree. Similarly Agamemnon and Achilles both professed the
highest principles, but when it was a question of the surrender of the Lady
Chryseis back to her father, the one invoked these principles to prove that she
should not be surrendered, while the other invoked the same principles to prove
that she should be !
Now this is precisely what we mean
by education— the learning how to apply our natural preconceptions
justly to particular cases ; and also the learning in what our real good
consists.
Remember that some things are under
our control, while others are not. Those under our control include our moral
purpose and all the actions it inspires ; those not under our control are the
body, parts of the body, our possessions, parents, brothers, children,
country—in a word, our whole environment. Under which of these two groups are
we to place our good ? If we are foolish enough to place it under the
latter, then when we fail to get what we consider to be our good, i.e.
what we want, and are consequently unhappy, do we not try to get it by hook or
by crook, by force if not by right ? (Hence arise wars, seditions, tyrannies,
plots.) And in addition we proceed to blame God, complaining that He pays no
heed to us. From this it is but a step to saying : ‘ What have I to do with Him
? ’ ; and then actually to hate Him, so that He is no longer our Preserver,
the Raingiver and Fruitgiver. That is what inevitably happens
when you set your good (or desire) on the things of earth.
xxiii
Epicurus knew perfectly well that we
are by nature social beings.[10]
Now social beings naturally love their children ; they wouldn’t be social
beings if they didn’t. Then why does he advise us not to procreate or bring up
children ? Was he afraid that they might bring us more sorrow than joy ? Did
his own little house-boy slave Mouse bring him more sorrow than
comfort ? He knew as well as I do that once we become fathers we can’t help
loving our children. Why, even animals, sheep and wolves, love and look after
their young. Would he have had Man alone abandon his ? Anyhow, when any of you
sees his child fall down and bark his shin and then start crying, don’t you
pick him up and comfort him ? Why, I don’t believe Epicurus’ own parents—even
had they been able to foresee the rubbish their son would one day write—I say,
I don’t believe even they would have abandoned him !
Advice to a Boy on leaving school
Well, my dear boy, here you are just
going out into the world for the first time. What an adventure ! Now we want
you to do something for us—to be, in fact, a kind of scout2
for us ; to go out and see everything, and then come back and make a report. It
won’t be an easy job, you know. You’ll want all your pluck to carry it through.
But you won’t be daunted by difficulties, will you ? Difficulties prove
LECTURES : BOOK I (xxiv & xxv)
29 the man. So when you find yourself confronted by one, remember that it is
God who has, as it were, pitted you against it, just as a physical trainer
might pit you to wrestle against a trained athlete. Anyone who wants to win at
Olympia has got to work, sweat, practise, train ; and any lad who wants to
become a man—a real man—has to do the same. But about this report of
yours—don’t come back and tell us that everything in the world is wrong ; that
the nation is going to the dogs ; that poverty is insupportable, banishment a
terror, that men do nothing but basely revile each other, and that death is the
greatest of all evils. We shan’t believe you if you do ; we shall merely regret
our error in having sent you out to scout for us. For, mark you, you are not
the first we have sent out. We sent out Diogenes before you, and he made us a
magnificent report. c Death ’, he said, ‘ is no evil, for there is
no dishonour in dying. The ill-report of men is but a noise made by madmen. It
is better to be unclothed than to wear royal purple. The bare ground is softer
than the softest couch.’ All of which is true if (like Diogenes) you have
courage, a calm mind, freedom of soul, and a hard, healthy body. For such a man
enemies do not exist—all is peace.
When you, a passenger, disembark
from a ship, you don’t bring the rudder and oars ashore with you, do you ? You
bring your luggage. Exactly ! In other words, you look after your own property
and abstain from interfering with that of other people. But reflect : what is
your own property ? Not your material possessions, not your robes of rank, not
even your body or your bed—any more than the bed you sleep in at an inn is
yours. If you have no material
possessions at all, what on earth
does it matter ? If, for instance, you have no bed, like Diogenes you can sleep
on the ground. That wouldn’t be a tragedy. The poor don’t have
tragedies—tragedies are reserved for the rich who have material possessions to lose.
For if the rich lose their wealth they generally lose their friends too. You,
being poor, needn’t envy them their flocks of friends. If you want
friends yourself, you have all the world to choose from.
And, finally, don’t forget that
there is a door of escape—if you choose to make use of it. When you are
weary of it all, you can—if you like—say, as children say, ‘ I won’t play any
more,’ and go. But if you elect to stay to the end, at least do so with a good
grace, and refrain from grumbling.
xxv. If all this be true, and it be
not merely silly to assert that Man’s good and evil lie in his
moral purpose and that everything else should be as naught to us, then what is
there left that can distress or terrify us ? No one has any power over the
things we really care for, except ourselves ; while the things over which other
men have power are no concern of ours. It is really impossible for me to add
usefully to this. You may read God’s promptings in your instincts. He has given
you that which is your own to use freely as you will. Things which are not
yours you cannot, of course, use freely. Protect your own possessions and leave
other people’s alone. Yours is your faithfulness, yours your self-respect. No
one can take them from you ; no one but yourself can prevent you from using
them. Since you have such promptings from Him, what further directions do you
need from me ? Am I greater or more reliable than He is ?
From time to time you may receive
invitations to dinner, and of course you will decide whether you will accept
them or not. Your prospective host may be an old gentleman who loves spinning
long-winded yarns about what he used to do in youth—of the campaign he took
part in in Moesia, of how he scaled such or such a mountain peak, or of how he
was one of a besieged garrison somewhere. You may think : ‘ I know I shall have
to listen to his stupid reminiscences all over again, and I simply can’t face
it.’ Or : ‘ I don’t mind the old boy gassing away, it pleases him, and, after
all, a good dinner is a good dinner ! ’ It is up to you to choose ; but—and
this is the point— if you do accept, carry it through with a good grace and
don’t hurt the old fellow’s feelings by looking bored. After all, no one forced
you to accept his invitation.
Life is full of situations where one
has to make a choice—some trumpery, some important and difficult. Suppose, for
instance, the chimney starts smoking and the house becomes full of smoke, what
are you to do ? Well, you please yourself ; if there is not very much smoke,
perhaps you will decide to ignore it ; if there is a lot, you will probably go
out for a walk. Suppose somebody says to you : ‘ You shall not live in
Nicopolis, in Athens or in Rome ; you shall live in exile in Gyaros.’1
But perhaps you don’t want to live in Gyaros. Well, you need not. It is for you
to decide. For remember always that at any time it is within your power to go
to a place where no one can prevent you dwelling—I mean the grave.
You may be despoiled of all material
possessions,
1 A small island in the Aegean Sea, now called Giura. In Epictetus’ time
it was used as a place of banishment. even your body may be
forfeit—but beyond that no one has power over you. If you pamper your body you
enslave yourself to it. If you set store by material possessions you enslave
yourself to them. For where your heart is there is your tenderest spot. It is
there you can be hurt. And be sure your enemies will soon discover your
tenderest spot—to your cost.
Is it your ambition to sit among the
Senators ? Why ? To have the best view of the amphitheatre ? I don’t think that
is your real reason. Isn’t it because you want to appear as if you were one of
the great of the earth ? If you merely want to sit in those particular seats
just for the pleasure of sitting in them, why not wait a little, and then when
the show is over you can sit where you will, and sun yourself in comfort
without being wedged in a crowd.
If some one starts blackguarding
you, what of it ? Suppose you were to make a few unpleasant remarks to a stone,
would the stone mind ? All you have to do is to listen like a stone,1
and your reviler won’t have much satisfaction. But if he happens to know you
have a tender spot, he may flick you on the raw. One thing you can always do,
however, and that is to keep your face under control—like a mask. That was one
of Socrates’ devices.
Ah, my boy ... if you will only
remember what I have told you, you will never have either to flatter or to fear
anybody in the world !
xxvi
We must obey the dictates of
Nature—that is the law of life. We must do what she commands, and
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 173.
refrain from doing what she forbids.
We shall not succeed all at once. We must start with the simpler things and
gradually work our way on to the more difficult.
Should your father be annoyed with
you for studying philosophy, say to him : ‘ Father, I keep on making mistakes
because I don’t know what I ought to do, or where my duty lies. I want to know
; and I am sure you would wish me to know. Please teach me. Or, if you cannot,
suffer me at least to learn from those who can, and do not be angry with me for
wanting to learn how to live properly.’
It is very hard to live properly in
a large city like Rome. One is apt to lose one’s sense of values there, and to
forget the precepts of philosophy. I remember how once a friend of Epaphroditus
broke down and sobbingly told him that he was in the direst distress. And do
you know what the trouble was all about ? Just because he had lost everything except
a million and a half ! And what do you think Epaphroditus said ? He said :
‘ Good God ! RUINED ! ’ !
On one occasion a student was
reading aloud a passage out of a book on logic which had been set him by his
teacher, and Epictetus asked a few questions about the subject-matter which the
lad couldn’t answer. Whereupon the teacher, who happened to be present,
laughed. Epictetus was very annoyed, and said to the teacher : ‘You ought to
laugh at yourself, not at him. What’s the good of telling a junior student to
read an abstruse passage like the one he’s just read ? You should first teach
him the elements of logic. When he knows those you may reasonably expect him to
understand more advanced
things? And then he added, speaking
to the company generally : 6 Only too often do we see an untrained
mind, ignorant of logic and quite incapable of following an involved argument,
pitchforked into some post where he has to pass judgements on others or
dispense patronage. The first step for the student of philosophy is to realize
the strength or weakness of his reasoning powers. When he realizes how weak and
undeveloped they are, he will not rashly undertake tasks beyond his capacity.
Unfortunately, however, there are not a few who want to run before they can
walk.
One might think it is easy to prove
to an ignorant man that he is in the wrong. But it isn’t easy. The ignorant
don’t like being shown to be in the wrong, and they dislike those who essay the
task. The wise man (as Socrates used to say) subjects himself to constant
self-examination.’1
xxvii
Things may seem true and be false,
or seem false and be true ; or they may both seem and be either true or false.
Education helps a man to determine which of these four any particular thing is.
We must rely on our instincts—God’s promptings—and on our knowledge of and
training in logic, weapons which we must keep sharp and unsheathed, ready for
instant use. Thus we shall avoid being misled into imagining (for instance)
that something is good when in fact it is evil, either by plausible arguments
or by sentiment. Try always to remember that there are two sides to
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. xii, p. 146 ; Ch. xiv (c), p. 149 ; and Ch.
xvi, p. 154. every question, and to appreciate the arguments on
both sides.
Death at first sight may appear to
be an evil. But what can we do, whither shall we flee to escape it ? Tell me
what country or people death does not visit ? Nay, it is unescapable ! All we
can do is to try not to fear it. Anyhow, being afraid of it does no good. Do you
remember the noble words of Sarpedon, the son of Zeus ? ‘ I came to the war
thinking myself to win the prize for valour ; but there are many others far
braver than I.’ Such sublimity is beyond us, but we can at least be , brave
enough to deny that death is an evil. So cease to sorrow.
Sorrow is born of unfulfilled
desire. When we can, we mould circumstances according to our wishes ; when we
cannot, we try to crush any one who thwarts us. If we cannot do that either,
then we curse God and all the Gods. c For ’, we say, ‘ if they will
not do what we want, what use are they to us ? ’ Is not our professed love of
God too often based in reality on self-interest ?
xxviii
Intelligent beings assent to what is
true, dissent from what is false, and suspend judgement when anything appears
to be uncertain.1 When a man assents to a falsehood you may be sure
he is not doing so purposely, for, as Plato says : ‘ No man deliberately
blinds himself to the truth.’ 2 It only seems to him that the false
is true. Now as with sense-perceptions so too with actions such as duty and
dereliction, the
1 Cp. Book I, Ch. vii, p. 8 ; Book III, Ch. iii, p. 124.
1 See Book II, Ch. xxii, p. 104.
36 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS seemly and the unseemly, the
fitting and the unbefitting, and so forth. If a man think that a certain thing
will be to his advantage, he will inevitably do it. Medea chose vengeance on
her husband in preference to saving her children’s lives. She chose wrongly ;
but she had no one to point out to her the mistake she was making. She simply
acted according to her lights such as they were. So what is the use of blaming
her ? Pity her rather. We pity the blind and the maimed ; we should pity also
the blindness and lameness of ignorance.
If we are quite clear on this point,
namely that Man’s actions are his reactions to the impressions he receives of
the outside world through his five senses (such sense-perceptions, of course,
may be correct or mistaken ; if mistaken he and he alone has to pay the penalty,
for no one pays save for his own acts), we shall not find fault with or
reproach or censure or hate or take offence at any one. The origin of
everything may be traced back to our sense-perceptions. The Iliad, for
instance, is nothing but a poetical account of the reactions of various persons
to their sense-perceptions. If Menelaus had drawn a different conclusion and
had considered that he would be well rid of such a wife as Helen, instead of
the one he actually drew ; viz., that he must get her back at all costs, we
should have lost both the Iliad and the Odyssey, So hang great
events on trivial causes.
What do we mean by great events ?
Not wars, factions, the death of multitudes of human beings, nor the sack
of cities. I don’t call such great events, any more than I should call great
events the slaughter of vast herds of oxen and flocks of sheep, or the burning
and destruction of myriads of nests of swallows
or of storks. Bodies are only
bodies, whether they be bodies of men or of birds ; and dwellings are merely
dwellings, men’s made of beams, tiles and bricks, storks’ of sticks and clay. I
attach little importance to either.
But that does not mean that a stork
is as good as a man. Man knows what he does, has capacity for social action,
has the qualities of faithfulness, self- respect, steadfastness and
intelligence. And it is in the firm maintenance of these qualities that the
highest capacity of Man for good lies, and in their neglect his greatest
capacity for evil. If they be destroyed he too is destroyed ; if they be
preserved he is preserved. Alexander Paris (at the siege of Troy) lapsed from
his highest standard not when the Greeks were laying waste the country and his
brothers lay a-dying, but when he lost his self-respect, his faithfulness, his
respect for the laws of hospitality, and his decency of behaviour. Achilles
lapsed, not when death robbed him of Patroclus, but when he forgot his duty as
a soldier and squandered his talents over some girl on whom he had set his fancy.
Such are the real lapses of men—when their better judgement goes astray. Here
are their real evils—not the driving away and enslavement of women and
children, not the slaughtering of men.
Man is really an astonishing
creature. If he wants to weigh something or to find out if a line is exactly
straight, he uses scales or a ruler ; but when it is a question of ascertaining
how to act rightly and not wrongly, he has no standard at all and is perfectly
content with making a guess based on some totally inadequate sense-perception !
That is precisely what Agamemnon, Achilles, Atreus, Oedipus and Hippo- lytus
all did, and you can read in Homer, Euripides, Sophocles and the poets, all the
misfortunes that overtook them for so doing. If we act like they did, are we
likely to fare any better than they ? In fact they all behaved like lunatics.
xxix
By good we mean a good moral
purpose ; by evil an evil one. Material things are grist for the formation
of our moral purpose which, according as it deals with them, becomes either
good or evil. Thus right judgements on material things make the moral purpose
good ; wrong and crooked ones make it evil. This is the law ordained by God : ‘
If you desire good things, find them from within yourselves, not from others.’
When a despot sends for me and browbeats me, saying : ‘ I will have you put in
chains ; I will throw you into prison or banish you ; I will have you beheaded
! ’ I cry : ‘ Aha ! he is threatening my hands and feet, my neck, and my
worthless body ; but he is not threatening me. For he threatens things
that are not under my control. So I have nothing to fear.’
We philosophers do not teach men to
despise Kings. We do not dispute Kings’ claims to the things over which they
have authority. They can have our worthless bodies, our property, our
reputation, our associates ; but they cannot control our judgements and moral
purposes. Nothing can overrule them but themselves. God has ordained
that good shall always prevail over evil. Might is not stronger than
right.
Might no doubt dragged Socrates’
body to prison and made it drink hemlock so that it might grow cold and die ;
but the real Socrates was not dragged to prison and murdered. Listen to his own
words : 4 Anytus and Meletus may kill me, but they cannot harm me.’ 1
And : ‘ As God will, so be it ! ’ [11] [12]
The man who judges aright will
always prevail over him who judges wrongly. It is a law of Nature and of God
that good shall always prevail over evil. One man is stronger than another ;
several men are stronger than one ; a thief is stronger than an honest man . .
. and so it was I lost my lamp.[13]
However, he who stole it really paid an exorbitant price for it, for to get it
he had to become a thief. And yet, no doubt, he thought he had made a very good
bargain.
Imagine that some one laid hold of
me by my cloak and haled me into the market-place, and that all the people
cried out at me : ζ Aha ! now we see to what philosophy brings a
man—to prison—to the scaffold ! ’ As if philosophy could prevent a man
physically stronger than myself from pulling me thus, or ten men from seizing
one and throwing him into gaol should they so desire ! But I am quite
unaffected by anything that happens outside the ambit of my moral purpose. So,
as I sat in prison, I should say : ‘ Those fellows who shouted at me have not
even begun to understand my philosophy.’ And then, later, if I were set free
from prison, I should say, quite sincerely, that it was all one to me whether
they kept me or let me go ; and that should they change their minds and want to
reimprison me they would be welcome to do so for so long as . . . for so long
as reason decided that I should remain in my worthless body. Of course, when
reason decided that I should not remain in it any longer, I would make them a
present of it, and much good might it do them ! But I should not resign my life
needlessly nor faintheartedly, nor for some trivial reason. God would not wish
that, for He has need of men upon the earth. When He gives the signal for me to
retire (as He did to Socrates), then I will obey Him ; for He is my General and
I am His soldier.
Do you want me to teach these truths
indiscriminately ? Why should I ? I believe in them, and that is enough. We
cannot make a child understand things that are beyond his mental grasp, nor a
man whose mentality is still that of a child—and there are many such ; so it is
better to acquiesce in their illusions, and save one’s breath and one’s time.
It is when we are confronted by some
practical difficulty in life that it becomes apparent whether or no we have
been properly trained. A keen young scholar will not thank you for setting him
simple problems ; he wants hard ones to sharpen his wits on. So, too, an
athlete needs sturdy, strong, heavy opponents to wrestle and box with, not
light-weights. You must so direct your training that you can translate what you
have learned into action ; and you should— like some of Caesar’s gladiators who
complain bitterly that they cannot get a chance to fight in the arena —long for
an opportunity, a difficulty, to arise, to pit yourself against. But when one
does arise, do not let me hear you say : ‘ O, but I don’t want this kind
of difficulty ! ’ It is not for you to choose. You have been given your body,
your parents, brethren, country and an estate in life, and resources that will
enable you to make the best of them. Say rather, then : ‘ It is for God to set
me my task, for me to execute it.’ Remember, too, that God requires you to bear
witness for Him. 6 Is there ’, He asks, ‘ anything outside the ambit
of Man’s moral purpose that is either good or evil ? Has God wronged any man ?
Has He not placed every man’s good under His own control ? Go, then, My
son, and bear witness for Me ! ’ And if you were to reply : ‘ Nay, but I am in
sore straits, for I am held of no account, I am poor, and all men hate and
speak ill of me ’—would that be bearing witness for Him ? No, you would be a
hostile witness, unworthy of the honour bestowed upon you when He summoned you
to give such important testimony on His behalf.
If some one in authority accuses you
of being impious and profane, reflect—who is he ? Does he know what piety or
impiety is ? Has he studied the question ? Where did he learn ? Who taught him
? An educated man need not pay any attention to an uninstructed person when he
passes judgement on what is holy and unholy, just and unjust.
xxx
When you come into the presence of
one of the Great of the Earth, remember that God sees everything that is
taking place, and that you have to please Him rather than the Great Man. And
God questions you thus :
Question : How, in your school, were you taught to regard
bonds, imprisonment, banishment, ill-repute of men, and death?
Answer : As matters of no importance.
Question : Are there any other things you regard as of no
importance ?
Answer : Yes ; everything outside the ambit of my moral
purpose.
Question : And what things are of importance to you ?
Answer : A proper moral purpose, and a right use of the
impressions I receive through my senses of the outer world.
Question : To what end ?
Answer : To follow Thee.
Question : Do you really mean all this ?
Answer : I do.
If you can thus answer God’s
questions, go in and interview the Great Man in all confidence, and you will
soon discover what it is to be a youth who has studied as he ought when he is
in the presence of men who have not so studied. Your feeling will, I imagine,
be something like this : ‘ Why on earth did I make such elaborate preparations
? All these ceremonials, flunkeys, and armed guards are absurd. The whole thing
amounts to nothing, and never amounted to anything. And I all this time—idiot
that I was— have been thinking it extremely important ! ’
i
PHILOSOPHERS assert that our actions
should be both bold and prudent. What do they mean by this seeming
paradox ? Listen. You have been told repeatedly that our moral purpose will be
good or evil according as we use properly or misuse the impressions of the
outside world we receive through our five senses, and that all those things
which lie outside the ambit of our moral purpose are neither good nor evil. Now
what the philosophers mean is this : be bold in regard to the things outside
the ambit of the moral purpose which are neither good nor evil, and which are
therefor nothing to us ; but be prudent in regard to those things which lie
within it, lest our moral purpose be evil. Thus we shall be at once both
prudent and bold—bold, in truth, because of our prudence ; for if we are
careful to avoid evil deeds we shall be bold in well-doing.
You know how huntsmen scare deer
with bright- coloured feathers, so that mistaking security for danger they run
away from safety into nets where they are trapped and killed. Do not we act
similarly when we show abject cowardice towards things which lie outside the
ambit of our moral purpose, such as hardships, exile, ignominy and death ;
while we are not merely bold but reckless, indeed brazen, over matters which
lie within its ambit, such as being deceived,
44 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS acting
hastily, cruelly or passionately, and wrongful desire ?
Clearly, if we are prudent in regard
to matters within the ambit of our moral purpose over which we have control, we
shall have the power of avoiding evil ; but if we are prudent only over matters
outside it which are not under our control but under that of other people, we
shall of necessity be subject to fears and uncertainties. It is not hardship or
death that are terrible, but the fear of them. Yet in face of death we are so
prudent that we try to run away ; while we are bold to carelessness when we are
forming an opinion about death !
Socrates was absolutely right when
he termed all such things bogeys. Children are frightened by hideous
masks because they are as yet ignorant and inexperienced. Grown-ups, too, fear
what they do not understand. Death is only a bogy. Why, you know as well as I
do that sooner or later the spirit has to be divorced from the body—they were
originally separate, and they will be again—so why worry if it be sooner rather
than later ? It must be so sometime so that the full circle of things may be
accomplished ; for there is need of the things that are, that shall be, and
that have been. And what is hardship ? Another bogy. Consider : we all have
good times and bad times ; and if you don’t like it, there is always a door of
escape.
What is the conclusion of the whole
matter ? A fair conclusion for those who have had a sound training —peace,
fearlessness, freedom.
When people tell you that only the
free can be educated, do not believe them. Believe rather the philosophers who
say that only the educated are
free. What, then, is freedom ? It is
First : the right to live the kind of life we wish ; and Second : not
to live in error. For no one who lives in error, or who is in fear, sorrow or
turmoil of mind, is free.1 You know how when a man wishes to free
one of his slaves, he has to fulfil certain legal formalities—he has to turn
his slave round in the presence of the Praetor, and pay a five per cent, tax on
the slave’s value. Do you imagine that when he has done all this he has made
his slave free ? It depends upon what you mean by free. No doubt he has
made him legally free, but has he given him freedom of mind and peace ? Take
your own case—you who can free others—have you no master—money, for
instance, or a mistress, a boy friend, or some influential man from whom you
hope to obtain a favour ? That is why I repeat and go on repeating : Face
fearlessly everything outside the ambit of your moral purpose, but be very
prudent in regard to everything within it. Nothing else matters. What, for
example, does it matter if you can read or write or figure ? Leave such things
to others, and if any one compliments you on your skill in such matters,
disclaim all merit therein and let yourself be accounted an ignoramus. Let
others go in for lawsuits and fret themselves with all manner of problems. All
you need to know is how to suffer imprisonment, exile, torture and death. Learn
to face these confidently, trusting in Him who calls upon you and deems you
worthy to face them, and thus show what can be achieved by reason against the
forces that lie outside the ambit of the moral purpose. And in this way the
paradox I quoted you will be found to be no paradox, and you will know
1 See
Book IV, Ch. i, p. 201.
that we can, and ought, to be at
once both prudent and bold—bold in regard to all that lies outside the
ambit of our moral purpose, prudent in regard to that which lies within it.
ii
Before instructing your solicitor to
issue a writ, consider for a few moments what it is precisely you wish to
obtain. If it is freedom to use your moral purpose as you think best, why, you
have it already ! No one can prevent you from being self-respecting and honourable,
or force you to desire what you do not want, or avoid what you do not seek to
avoid. Desire and aversion are both under your control ; so what more do you
want ? That is why when somebody conjured him to prepare his defence, Socrates
replied : c But my whole life has been one long preparation for my
trial, for I have consistently cared for those things that are under my
control, and have never done anything wrong either in my public or my private
life.’ But if you want to secure some material possession which is not under
your control—your worthless body, estate or reputation—ah then, by all means
make every possible preparation. You will need them all. Study the characters
of your adversary and of the Judge. Learn how to intrigue and curry favour. But
remember what Socrates said : ‘ Anytus and Meletus may kill me, but they cannot
harm me.’1 These are not the words of a man who is trying to defend
his material possessions.
However, if you do decide to go to
law, there is no need to be provocative in word or manner. I will
1 Cp. Book I, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book III, Ch. xxiii, p. 177. give
you an instance of what I mean. My friend Heracleitus1 had a lawsuit
over some trumpery piece of land in Rhodes. He had a strong case and put his
points well, but at the last moment he spoiled everything by saying to the
judges : ζ Decide what you like ; but if you decide against me you
will be condemning yourselves ! ’ That, of course, put the lid on. What sense
was there in talking like that ? There is no need to grovel, but you may as
well be civil even to a Judge, unless, of course, circumstances are such that
it is your bounden duty deliberately to rebuke them, as Socrates had to do.
iii
Diogenes once made a capital reply
to some one who asked him for a reference to show to a prospective employer. ‘
That you are a man,’ he said, ‘ he will see at a glance ; and if he knows the
difference between good and evil he will be able to find out for himself which
your character is. But if he doesn’t, he will never discover, no, not if I
wrote and told him ten thousand times. So in either case it is quite useless my
writing.’
A shilling needs no introduction to
an assayer of silver ; it recommends itself. And as an assayer of silver can
appraise any coin you care to bring him, so too we should be able to appraise
men and circumstances in everyday life. But how few of us can ! Sometimes we
call a thing good, at other times bad— for we are very ignorant and inexperienced.
1 Not the
philosopher. See Manual, 15, and footnote thereto.
iv
On one occasion, as Epictetus was
talking about Faithfulness, pointing out that it is one of Man’s most
characteristic qualities, there came in one, a scholar by reputation, who had
been caught in the very act of adultery. € And ’, continued
Epictetus, apparently not noticing his entrance, ‘ if we are untrue to this
characteristic quality, and harbour designs on our neighbours’ wives, we are
bringing such qualities as faithfulness, self-respect and piety into contempt,
and outraging the good relations which should exist between friends and
neighbours, to say nothing of our duty to the State. How is one to treat a man
who behaves thus ? As a citizen, neighbour and friend ? A queer sort of friend
whom nobody can trust ! a useless creature—like some cracked pot that is thrown
away on to the dunghill ! like a wasp that stings ! Men avoid, or, if they can,
strike down and kill wasps.
Oh, I know that Archedemus maintains
that women are designed by Nature to be the common property of men !1
But when you go out to dinner, do you help yourself to some of the food on your
neighbour’s plate on the pretext that it is the common property of all your
host’s guests ? Or when you go to the theatre, do you forcibly eject somebody
from his seat and take it for yourself on the pretence that the theatre is the
common property of all the citizens ? Don’t you see that it is in this sense
only that women are common property ? Even as the host at a banquet apportions
the viands, so the Lawgiver apportions women. Be content, then, with the one
allotted to you, and do not try to filch your neighbour’s. How-
1 Cp. p.
279 (Fragment 15).
ever, if you are determined to be
faithless and an adulterer, more like a wolf or an ape than a man, there is
nothing to stop you.’
It is the use we make of the
material things of this world that is important, not the things themselves. If
we are to make good use of them we must cultivate a calm equable temperament,
being constantly careful, never hasty or negligent. Learn a lesson from those
who play at dice. The dice and counters they use are unimportant ; what is
important is to make the best use of the numbers that turn up. Similarly in
life our chief task is to balance one thing against another, telling oneself : 6
Material things are not under my control, but moral choice is. Hence I must
look within me, in that which is under my control, for good and evil.’ Never
apply the terms ‘ good ‘ evil ’, 6 injury ‘ benefit ’, to things
under somebody else’s control.
But this does not mean that material
things are to be used carelessly. On the contrary, we must use them very
carefully.1 To use a thing carelessly is to make a wrong exercise of
the moral purpose. But as the things are in themselves unimportant, we must use
them calmly and dispassionately. It is, I know, difficult to reconcile this
carefulness which we are bound to use in regard to material things with the
detachment of spirit which sets no store by them. But it can be done ;
otherwise happiness is impossible.
Before starting on a voyage I settle
the date of my departure and select my ship. My responsibility ends
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. x, p. 143.
there. If a storm arises, it concerns
not me but the Captain and the sailors. And if the ship sinks, all I can do is
to drown fearlessly, without blaspheming against God, but recognizing that Man
is mortal and that what is born must some day die. For as an hour Man comes and
as an hour he passes away. What difference can it possibly make to me whether I
perish by drowning or die of a flux ?
We may learn the same truth from
games at ball. It is not the ball that is good or bad, but the way in which it
is thrown or caught. Personally, I confess, I can’t catch a ball even if I
spread out my coat to catch it in, let alone with my hands ! But an expert
catches and throws balls coolly and steadily, so that he is always ready for
the next one.
Socrates knew another kind of
game—that of the law courts. Do you remember the game he had with Anytus ? c
Tell me ’, he asked him, ‘ exactly what you mean when you say that I am guilty
both of not believing in the gods and at the same time of having invented new
demi-gods ? Are not demi-gods either the offspring of the Gods, or a hybrid
race sprung from Gods and men ? You agree ? Then do you still think that I
believe in mules and not in horses and asses ? ’ The ‘ ball ’ Socrates was then
playing with was imprisonment, exile, a draught of hemlock, and the leaving of
his wife a widow and his children orphans. What a fine game he played !
And we in the common affairs of
everyday life ought to do the same—exhibit the same care that the player does
over his game, and his indifference to the object played with, which is nothing
but a ball. And we ought most assuredly to apply our best skill when dealing
with material things, while refraining
from making them as it were a part
of ourselves. God gives us food and property, and He can take them away again,
aye, and our bodies too, if He thinks fit. It is for us to take what He gives
and deal with it to the best of our ability.
The foot cannot regard itself as a
separate entity and carry on as if it had nothing to do with the body as a
whole ; the foot is part of the body, and apart from the body is not really a
foot at all. So, too, a man is part of the State, and the State is part of the
Universe, and apart from the State Man is not really a man at all. Sometimes it
is necessary for the foot to step into mud, or trample on thorns, or even be
cut off, for the sake of the body. If you, as a man, consider yourself to be an
entirely separate entity, with no connexion with the State or the Universe, you
will naturally just continue living on to old age, piling up riches and looking
after your health. But if you regard yourself as being a part of a greater
whole, you will recognize that for the sake of that whole you may at times have
to suffer sickness, go voyages, run risks, be in want, or even die before your
time. There is nothing in that to vex you. For, indeed, with such bodies as we
have, with the fellow-creatures amongst whom we dwell, and in the Universe
which surrounds us, it must needs be that some such mischances should occur to
one man or another.
Should we be tried and unjustly
condemned, we can but say to our Judge : ‘ I have done my part ; look
you if you have done yours.’ A judge should remember that he runs a risk as
well as the prisoner at the bar.1
vi
The premises in an imaginary
syllogism are of nc importance, but the knowledge, opinions and mistakes
resulting from the inference drawn are important So, too, mere life is
unimportant, but not so the use we make of it. Hence when some one assures yor
that knowledge, opinions, mistakes, and the use we make of life, are really
unimportant, do not believe them and become careless about such things, and
proceed to lavish all your care over material possessions
It is well for us to realize the
extent of our education and abilities, so that conscious of our lack of both
we may keep modestly in the background and nol be piqued when others outshine
us. Perhaps some day it will be our turn to surpass others, and ther we should
assuage their wounded feelings by saying ζ It’s no credit to us ; we
just happen to have learned about it and you haven’t ! ’
Do not attempt tasks beyond your
powers. Leave such to specialists who combine a natural aptitude with special
study.
If some one advises you to call on
some Great Mar and ask a favour of him,1 there is no reason wh} you
should not do so if you want to. But alway preserve an independent spirit. Ask
frankly ; do no try to get what you want by devious methods. I the door be shut
in your face, do not try to crawl ir by the window. And if your request be
refused well ! that is the Great Man’s affair, not yours. Aftei all, you asked
him for something that belongs to him If you are careful never to forget what
belongs tc
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. xxiv, pp. 186, 187 ; Book IV, Ch. vii p. 249 ; and Manual,
33, p. 304. you and what belongs to other people, you will never
be worried.
Chrysippus well says : ‘ When God
created us He gave us the power of choice. But we are often puzzled how to
choose. Under such circumstances try always to act in conformity with the
dictates of Nature, even though the consequences look as if they might be
unpleasant. Were I assured that it was ordained for me to be ill at this very
moment, I would wish to be ill. If the foot were a separate entity and it could
realize that it was for the benefit of the body as a whole that it should step
into and be covered with mud, it would assuredly step into it, even though it
were past its comprehension how any benefit could thereby possibly accrue to
the body.’
Why do spikes of corn grow ? Surely
that they may ripen and then be harvested. They do not grow for themselves
alone. Were they sentient would they pray never to be harvested ? Were they
indeed never to be harvested it would be a tragedy for them, for their destiny
would then be unfulfilled. So, too, I tell you, it would be a tragedy for men
were they never to die, for death is the summation of our maturity. It is given
to us to know these things, both that the day of our own harvesting will
sometime dawn, and also when it has dawned. But this knowledge vexes us. We
know not who we are, and we neglect the study of Man. Should we not study Man
as horse- breeders study horses ?
You have heard how Chrysanthus, in the
act of spearing his foe, forbore when he heard the bugler’s ‘ retreat ’ ; for
he put his duty to his superior officer before his personal inclinations. Yet
who of us is willing to submit cheerfully even when we are compelled to ? For
the most part we submit indeed (for that we cannot avoid doing), but fearfully,
full of lamentations, and blaming ‘ circumstances If by 6
circumstances ’ we mean ‘ hardships pray tell me what hardship is involved in
the death of a living thing ? Be the instrument of destruction what it may—a
sword, the rack, the sea, a tile or a tyrant, what difference does it make ? 1
All roads lead to the tomb, and if you would have the truth, the one a tyrant
makes you tread has the merit of being shorter than the others ; for no tyrant
ever took six months to cut a man’s throat, whereas a fever often takes more
than a year.
If some one say his life will be in
peril if Caesar hap to set eyes upon him, I reply : ζ But do not I
run a risk by living in Nicopolis where there are so many earthquakes ? And
does not one risk one’s life every time one crosses the Adriatic ? ’
If some one say that at Court one
will be in danger of not being allowed to have an opinion of one’s own, I reply
: ‘ But who can compel you to opine anything against your will ? ’
If some one say : 6 But I
run the risk of banishment,’ I reply : 6 What is banishment ?
’ Does it mean not to be in Rome ? Does it mean being sent to Gyaros ? 2
Well, if it be for your good, go to Gyaros ; if not, well ! you have an
alternative ; you can go to a place where he who is sending you to Gyaros will
some day have to go himself, whether he like it or no. Do you really think it
worth while going to Rome ? I am sure it is not worth all the trouble of
preparation that one makes beforehand. I can
1 Cp. Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 249.
8 Now Giura, a small island in the Aegean.
well imagine an intelligent youth
exclaiming after his arrival there : ‘ To get here has cost me the listening to
innumerable lectures, the writing of numberless essays, and the being the pupil
for an unconscionable time of a futile little old man. It wasn’t worth it ! ’
The great thing is never to forget to distinguish between what is yours and
what isn’t yours. Never lay a claim to anything that is not yours. A palace is
lofty, a prison is low ; but your moral purpose can accommodate itself to
either if you want it to. Some day (who knows ?) we may even hope to emulate
Socrates, who wrote hymns of praise in prison. Suppose you were in prison
(like he was) awaiting execution, and one of your fellow-prisoners said to you
: 6 Listen to this hymn of praise I have just composed ! ’ I fear
you would probably reply : ‘ Oh, go to the devil and leave me in peace ! What
is the good of hymns of praise to one under sentence of death ? ’ But would
your troubles really be any worse than those of other men ? AU have to die.
vii1
Of what can a diviner tell me more
important than illness, danger and death ? He may have studied the signs of
entrails and of birds, but what does he know of the nature of good and evil ?
What can he say about them, a subject on which we are all astray and at
variance with one another ? Anyhow, have I not within me a diviner who has
already taught me the true nature and signs of good and evil ? If it be my duty
to risk my life for, perhaps even to die for, a friend, I don’t need another
diviner to tell me so.
What an admirable saying was that of
the woman who wanted to send a boat-load of supplies to Gratilla just after she
had been sentenced to exile. When some one warned her that Domitian would
confiscate it, she retorted : ‘ I would far rather it were confiscated than
that I should fail to send it ! ’
What is it, then, that induces us so
constantly to consult diviners ? It is fear. ‘ Let me do sacrifice that I may
discover whether I shall inherit my father’s property,’ we say. And if the
answer be in the affirmative, we promptly thank the diviner almost as if it
were he who were leaving it to us ! And he, no doubt, laughs at us up
his sleeve. The proper way to employ divination is to do so without desire or
aversion, just as a wayfarer asks a native of the locality at some bifurcation
of his road which path he should follow, being indifferent as to whether he
should turn right or left provided only he reach his destination. Our eyes show
us not what we want to see but things as they are. In the same way we should
call upon God to guide us, instead of trembling before an augur as though he
were a God. Are we foolish enough to want anything but what is best for us ?
And what is best for us but what is pleasing to God ? ’
viii
What is the essential nature of ‘
good ’, and in wha, is it to be found ? We must be clear. There are the
impressions of the outer world received through the senses together with
capacity to react to such impressions. This constitutes the first stage of
development. The second is being able to appreciate why one reacts to them ;
i.e. the faculty of understanding. Now organisms such as plants cannot appreciate
senseperceptions at all ; hence in their case the question of ‘ good ’ does
not arise. Nor does it arise in the case of the lower animals. They, it is
true, react to external stimuli, but they are only reflex creatures. Their
faculties are developed no further than this. Were they also able to understand
why they use their senseperceptions, they would be the equals of Man,
and no longer subject to or of any use to us. In fact, however, they cannot.
They were born for service. The ass, for instance, was created because Man had
need of a broad back for porterage, a back with legs attached for locomotion,
the whole contrivance capable of reacting to the external stimulus of an order
or a whip. But Man has what all other creatures lack—the faculty of
understanding ; and it is in this that we must look for the essential nature of
‘ good ’, in understanding, that is in intelligence, reason and knowledge, in a
word, in the rational, not in the irrational.
And does not the essential nature of
God also reside in intelligence, reason and knowledge ? Therefore the essential
natures of ‘ good ’ and of God are the same.
Now the lower animals are, like men,
creations of God, but they stand on a lower plane of importance. They have
nothing of the nature of God in them. But Man is on a higher plane and is, as
it were, a part of God, and has within him a part of God. You should know your
own kinship and pedigree. When you eat, remember who you are that eat, and whom
you are feeding. Whether you eat or take exercise, remember that you are
feeding and exercising God. You carry God about with you, but, unhappy man, you
know it not ! It is God Himself that you bear about within you. So do not
forget that when you think impure thoughts, and do filthy things, you are defiling
Him. I am not speaking of a God made of silver or gold, though you would hardly
dare to do in the presence of a mere image the things you are not ashamed of
thinking and doing, God Himself being present within you seeing and hearing
everything !
When we see a beloved son going out
into the world for the first time, we are racked with fears lest he do
something amiss—live riotously, run after loose women, lose caste through
poverty, or be spoiled by success. But we need not fret. Surely he knows that God
is within him, is his constant Companion and that he has no need to cry : ‘ O
God, would that Thou wert here with me ! ’ ? For He is with him all the time,
and having Him he has no need of any one else. Had you been a statue fashioned
by Pheidias (like his Athena or his Zeus), you would (had you any power of
perception) have been mindful both of yourself and of your creator, and have
tried to do nothing unworthy of him, and you would have endeavoured to do nothing
unseemly in men’s eyes. But it was a greater than Pheidias who made you, God
Himself. And yet you seem to be altogether indifferent as to what manner of
person you appear to be. And how can you compare Pheidias and his works to God
and His ? The statues of Pheidias are but stone, bronze, gold or ivory. His
Athena stands, the figure of Victory on its outstretched palm, eternally
motionless. But the works of God move, breathe, make use of the impressions of
the outer world they receive through their senses, and pass judgement upon
them. Will you dishonour the handiwork of God—yourself? Will you forget that He
fashioned you, that He entrusted and committed you to your own sole charge ? If
you do forget you will be guilty of a breach of trust. Had God entrusted some
orphan to your care, would you have neglected him ? But He has delivered your
own self into your keeping, saying : ‘ I have no one more faithful than thee ;
keep this man for Me unspoiled, with all those virtues with which he has been
endowed by Nature, to wit reverence, loyalty, highmindedness, courage,
serenity, calm.’ Will you neglect such a solemn charge as this ?
ix
It is not easy to be a man—a real
man. Man has been defined as a mortal animal endowed with reason. It is reason
that distinguishes us on the one hand from wild beasts, on the other from
domestic cattle such as sheep. See to it that you never sink to the level of
sheep by allowing your actions to be random, unconsidered or filthy, prompted
merely by your bellies or by lust. Do not thus abrogate your reason. See to it,
too, that you never sink to the level of a wild beast, by behaving
pugnaciously, injuriously, angrily or rudely. By so doing you insult your
manhood. Alas ! I fear that many of us do sometimes behave like wild beasts,
some—and they are the nastiest—like petty, malignant ones. I would rather be
mauled to death by a lion than by one of them.
Manhood can only be preserved by the
constant exercise of all those qualities which taken together constitute it.
Indeed this is true of everything. A carpenter can only remain a carpenter by
plying his trade ; a grammarian can only remain a grammarian by persistent
grammatical studies. The activities corresponding to various trades and
professions when performed assiduously strengthen and confirm him who practises
them. Modest acts make a modest man still more modest, whereas immodest acts
destroy his modesty ; faithful acts strengthen the faithfulness of the faithful
man ; treacherous acts undo him. Similarly, of course, shamelessness makes the
shameless man yet more shameless, faithlessness the faithless man more
faithless, abuse the abusive man more abusive, wrath the wrathful man more
wrathful, and meanness the miser more miserly.
Philosophers teach us that book
learning alone is not enough ; we must translate into action what we have
learned. Often in the course of years we pick up bad habits, so that we do
instinctively that which, had we only remembered what we had learned, we should
have known was wrong. When we thus act instinctively and without
reflection—doing what we really know better than to do—we are acting unintelli-
gently, simply copying other people’s mistakes. No doubt if we were asked
theoretical distinctions between good and evil, we could rattle them off
readily enough, but when our actions belie our words we give occasion to the
scoffer. And in fact we are playing fast and loose with the most serious
matters.
One can either eat one’s cake and
wine or lock it up in the store-room. What is eaten becomes sinews, flesh,
bones, blood, a good complexion, easy breathing. What is locked up is of use
only for display or for gaining a reputation for wealth. And what is the good
of that ? Surely it is better to make use of things than to hoard them like a
Jew. You are Greeks ; do not act, then, as if you were Jews. Be what you are—
Greeks and men. And to be men you must practise
assiduously those principles which
conduce to manhood. What is the use of knowing what they are if you do not
apply them ? It is a form of hoarding. Anyhow, until you comport yourselves as
men should, there is no hope of your aspiring to the next step upwards, that
is of becoming philosophers. You might just as well expect one who cannot lift
a ten-pound weight to pick up and hurl the rock wherewith Aias beat down Aeneas
!
Consider who you are. In the
first place, a Man ; i.e. one whose chief characteristic is the possession
of free moral choice. You are distinguished both from wild beasts and from
domestic cattle by the gift of reason. Secondly : a citizen of the
world, not a mere beast designed for service, but set on a higher plane,
capable of appreciating God’s ordering of the Universe, and drawing your own
conclusions as to the part you should play therein. Remember that a respectable
citizen makes no personal profit out of public duties ; never acts as if he
were an independent unit, but as if he were a hand or a foot. For if the hand
and foot could reason and comprehend, they would never seek to act otherwise
than as members of the body. Similarly (as philosophers rightly point out) a
man should welcome diseases, being maimed and death, realizing that these
so-called misfortunes of the individual may well be to the greater benefit of
the State, of which he is one of the members. Thirdly :1
Remember that you are a son. It behoves a son to treat all he has as belonging
to his father ; to be subservient to his
father in all things ; never to
speak ill of him, nor in any way to harm him, but to submit himself to him and
serve him with all his might. Fourthly .·1 As a brother you
owe consideration and gentle words. Never claim from your brother anything that
lies outside the ambit of your moral purpose, but rather surrender all such
things cheerfully, so that in respect of those things which lie within it you
may have the best of it ! At how small a price—some trifling gift —a theatre
ticket, even a mere head of lettuce—may you gain his good-will ! Fifthly :
As town councillor. If you are still in the twenties, remember your youth ; if
you are past your prime, remember that old age should be dignified ; if you are
a father, remember that fatherhood has its responsibilities. Each of these
titles suggests an appropriate line of conduct. If you permit yourself to speak
ill of, or to act unfriendly towards, your brother, you will be untrue to your
true self, and yours will be the loss. If instead of behaving as a man should,
that is to say as a gentle and social being, you descend to the level of the
wild beast and become mischievous, treacherous and hurtful, you will have lost
something. Money, you know, is not the only thing one can lose. One can lose
one’s skill in languages or in music, and be the poorer for the loss ; and one
may lose one’s self-respect, dignity and gentleness, and be poorer still. For
if we lose our skill in languages or in music, it will be owing to some cause
not under our control ; and in any case possession of such talents is of no
credit to us, nor are we shamed if we lose them. But not to possess, or to
lose, self- respect, dignity and gentleness, is a cause of reproach and
disgrace—a real calamity.
1 Cp. Manual,
30, pp. 299 & 300.
What is lost by those who practise
unnatural vice ? Their manhood. What does the adulterer lose ? His status as a
man of self-respect and self-control, as a neighbour, citizen and gentleman.
What does the man who loses his temper lose ? And the coward ? And the
evil-doer ? All lose something ; no one can sin without loss and damage to
himself. And you cannot measure loss in terms of cash. If you make money your
only standard of gain and loss, clearly if some one slices off the tip of your
nose, on your own showing you have lost nothing ! Which is absurd ! As a matter
of fact, in all the instances I have just cited, the person in question may
actually make money out of his sin, and yet he is the poorer, for he has lost
his natural sense of self-respect. We all have an innate sense of fidelity,
affection, helpfulness, and forbearance, and when we lose any of them we suffer
a very real loss.
Are we to requite injury by injury ?
Consider for a moment what c injury ’ is. Remember what philosophy
teaches—that 6 good ’ and ζ evil ’ both lie in the moral
purpose. Remembering that, you will realize that because a certain person has
injured himself by doing you a wrong, there is no reason why you should injure
yourself by doing him one in revenge. Losses affecting our bodies or estates
are not injuries at all ; the only real injuries are those where the loss
affects our moral purposes. I believe we all realize the truth of this when we
discuss such matters theoretically. And in so far as we do thus realize it we
may be said to be making progress. The trouble is that we make no progress at
all when it comes to applying these principles to the affairs of everyday life.
xi
If you want to be a philosopher, the
first step—the door through which you must enter—is to realize how feeble and
helpless one is in regard to those things that matter most. We have no innate
conception of, say, what constitutes a right-angled triangle, or a half-tone
musical interval. We are taught such things as we grow up, or if we do not
happen to be taught them at least we know that we know nothing about them. But
we have a certain instinct as to the meaning of ‘ good ’ and ‘ evil ’, ζ
honour ’ and c dishonour ‘ right ’ and fi wrong ’, ζ
happiness ’, of what we ought or ought not to do, and so forth ; but without
bothering to be sure that we really know what they mean, we proceed to use
these terms and apply our preconceptions about them to particular cases. What
we ought to do, of course, is to fortify this rudimentary knowledge implanted
in us by Nature with study, instead of merely eking it out with our opinions or
prejudices. Now we are all more or less agreed on what these preconceptions are
or should be. It is when we come to apply them that difficulties crop up,
because we all have different ideas as to how they ought to be applied.
Everybody thinks his own idea or opinion is the right one ; but obviously as
our opinions are most different they cannot all be right ; and even if they
were always the same, they would not necessarily be right. Clearly, then, our
various opinions are of little value as a standard, and we must look elsewhere
for some better criterion wherewith to judge any particular case. Remember that
even lunatics have ‘ opinions ’.
This, then, is the beginning of
philosophy—to realize that men’s opinions conflict with one another ; that they
cannot all be right ; that there is no reason why ours should be right rather
than those of other men ; and that therefore in the same way as we need, and
indeed use, standards for determining weight and line, so too we need a
standard for determining truth. It is inconceivable that in regard to matters
which are of the utmost consequence to men that there should be no proper
standard. And, of course, there is one ; and it is for us to discover what it
is, and then when we have found it, to use it unswervingly, never lifting even
a finger without applying it.
That is the task of philosophy—to
establish proper criteria, so that we may judge in any particular case what it
is right or wrong for us to do.
xii
It is quite easy to learn how to
argue correctly if you study and observe the rules of logic as enunciated by
Stoic philosophers. At all events it is easier than to make a proper use of the
fruits of your arguments.
If you start arguing with some one
who argues illogically, and find you cannot convince him, don’t blame or laugh
at him ; your failure is due less to his stupidity than to your own inability
to explain yourself.
Socrates’ method was to get
admissions from the person he was arguing with. He didn’t bother about any one
else. He made each step in his argument so clear that there was really nothing
more to be said about it. And another very characteristic thing about him was
that he never lost his temper or used harsh language ; he left that for others
to do. Moreover, he smoothed over many disputes.
However, what Socrates used to do
would not be a very safe form of activity for us to indulge in nowadays,
especially in Rome. If you did, I can visualize the kind of thing that would
happen. Imagine yourself accosting some complete stranger of opulent and distinguished
appearance, and proceeding to catechize him :
You : Excuse me, sir ! You know the man in charge of your stable
?
Opulent and Distinguished
Stranger (surprised but
politely) : Yes !
You : Does he know anything about horses ?
0. and D. S. : I hope so !
You : Tell me, do you leave your jewellery, plate, and money
lying about ?
0. and D. S. : I do not ; I lodge them at my bank.
You : And you yourself ?—your health ? Do you look after your
health properly ?
0, and D. S. : I have a doctor.
You : Have you anything more valuable than your horses,
jewellery, plate, money, and health ? ’
0. and D. S. : What on earth are you talking about ?
You : About that something which makes use of all the things I
have mentioned ; which evaluates them and makes decisions about them.
0. and D. S. ; Are you talking about my soul ?
You : I am !
0. and D. S. : Certainly my soul is my most valued possession.
You : Quite. Then tell me—what steps do you take to care for it
properly ? Obviously a man of your intelligence and standing is not going to
allow his most valued possession to go to rack and ruin for lack of proper
care.
At this point, if no earlier, your
victim will probably exclaim :
0. and D. S. ; Confound it, sir ! What the blazes has my soul
got to do with you ? Mind your own business !
And if you still persisted in
annoying him, he would probably knock you down.
I myself used to be very fond of
baiting people like this—but that was many years ago.
xiii
My friend, you are looking worried !
Now when I see someone looking
worried I say to myself : ‘ What’s biting him ? He must be hankering after
something outside his control.’ Such a one reminds me of a musician who is as
brave as a lion when he is playing and singing to himself in his own study but
who, the moment he goes on a platform and faces an audience, shows signs of
nervousness—in spite of the fact that he has a good voice and is a talented
performer. He is nervous because he wants not merely to sing well but to win
applause into the bargain, and the winning of applause is a thing outside his
control.
A worried man is a stranger in the
world he lives in. Though he may have been living in it for years, he really
knows nothing of its laws and customs. If he wants to make his will, or if he
is thinking of standing surety for some one, or embarking on some important
business deal, he may have the sense to consult a lawyer. But it never even
occurs to him to seek advice over what is far more important—such matters as
the exercise of his likes and dislikes, choices, designs, and purposes. And yet
it is in such matters as these that he stands in greatest need of advice ; for
how else can he learn that he is desirous of things that he should not desire,
that he is seeking to escape the inevitable, that he cannot distinguish between
his own and other people’s property. If he knew such things he would never feel
worried. Do remember : all things which lie within the ambit of our moral
purpose are under our control ; no man can deprive us of them ; no man can
force them upon us if we do not want them. Worry begins when we start vexing
ourselves over our worthless bodies and estates, or over what Caesar thinks
about us. Unfortunately it is just such things as these that form our chief
preoccupation, and we are not a bit perturbed if we form false opinions or make
some choice contrary to Nature.
Just as a doctor can tell at a
glance that his patient’s liver is out of order, so when I see some one looking
worried I know immediately that his desire and aversion are affected. Nothing
else can so alter a man’s demeanour, and make him so restless and uneasy.
That is why Zeno, the painter, was
quite undisturbed at the prospect of meeting Antigonus, who wanted to be his
patron. For Antigonus had no power over any of the things Zeno valued, while
the things over which Antigonus had power were matters of utter indifference
to him. Antigonus, on the other hand, was very nervous about meeting Zeno.
Naturally ! because he wanted to please and conciliate him. But Zeno didn’t
care a rap whether he pleased Antigonus or not. No artist cares about pleasing
folk who know nothing about painting.
Why should I want to please you,
for instance ? Shall I be any better off if I do ? I only want to please good
men, and are you a good man ? Do you know what constitutes a good man, and what
a bad one ? Or how each becomes what he is ? As I remarked before, you look
worried, and we all know what that signifies. No really good man grieves or
groans or laments or turns pale or trembles at anything. But you, I know, are
fretting yourself about the reception you are going to get, speculating whether
or no you will get an attentive hearing. He—whoever he is— will receive you and
listen to you as seems best to him. Why will you concern yourself
with things which do not belong to you ? If he gives you a bad reception that
is his affair. If he makes a mistake, that can’t hurt you. Why be nervous as to
what you shall say ? You can say what you choose. You have practised speaking.
You wouldn’t be nervous over reading or writing just for this reason—because
you have practised them. Besides, you have studied the rules of logic and know all
about syllogisms, and so can conduct an argument intelligently and skilfully.
So there is no reason for you to feel embarrassed or anything else but
confident. What, in fact, have you to fear ? Are you afraid of being put to
death ? Ah ! you shake your head ! Well, my friend with the worried face, if
you are afraid of such things, at least be honest about it and admit
that you are no longer a philosopher. Recognize your masters, those who rule
you by their hold over you through your body. Socrates practised speaking and
spoke to some purpose. Remember what he said to the Thirty Tyrants, to his
judges and in prison. Diogenes, too, practised speaking, as Alexander the
Great, Philip, the pirates and the man who bought him all discovered. But such
things naturally do not interest you now that you are no longer a philo-
70 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS sopher.
Well, well, don’t bother your head about them ; leave them to those who are
interested in them —to those with a bit of spunk in their make-up !
xiv
A certain Roman citizen named Naso,
and his son, were once listening to one of his readings when, all of a sudden,
the Master broke off and said : ‘ That is my method of teaching ! ’ and
then lapsed into silence. And then when Naso begged him to go on, he said : ‘
Instruction in the technique of any art is extremely boring ; but assiduous
practice in acquiring the technique justifies the labour expended, for it
produces something of attraction and charm. For instance, to stand by and watch
a cobbler learn his trade is a desperate undertaking, but the result—a shoe—is
useful and may even be attractive. The details of a carpenter’s apprenticeship
are even more tiresome to the onlooker, but the cabinet he makes may be a work
of art. The studies of a budding musician are far worse than either, and yet
when he has learned how to produce real music, he gives infinite pleasure to
many.
‘ Let us, in the same kind of way,
try to picture to ourselves the mentality of a philosopher. He should try to
bring his will into harmony with events, so that nothing that happens or fails
to happen, does so against his will. Thus he has what he desires and avoids
what he would avoid. And so he passes his life free from pain, fear and
perturbation, and yet at the same time fulfilling all his duties as son,
father, brother, citizen, wife, neighbour, fellow-traveller, ruler, or subject.
* The next point is—how are we to
achieve it ? Now just as a carpenter and helmsman have to learn before
they can become properly qualified,
so too we have to learn something before we can become good and noble. And
philosophers tell us that the first thing we have to learn is this : that God
exists, that He provides for the Universe, and that we cannot conceal our
thoughts and intentions from Him any more than we can our actions. Secondly, we
must learn what God is like, for if we want to obey and please Him we must try
and make ourselves as like Him as possible. If God be faithful, free,
beneficent and high-minded, we must be the same. In fact in everything we say
and do we must imitate Him.
‘ How then (you will ask) are you to
begin ? As a preliminary you must understand the meaning of philosophical
terms. At present you don’t understand them. You may use them, in fact you do
use them, but you use them as cattle use their sense-perceptions —reflexly. Use
is one thing ; understanding is another. However, if you think you do
understand such terms, suggest any one you like and we will analyse it and see
if you really understand it.’
Naso : Isn’t that rather hard on a man of my age —I
have served in three campaigns—to have to undergo a sort of examination ?
Epictetus : Yes, it is. . . . But, you see, you come to me
as if you were in need of nothing. Who indeed looking at you would imagine that
you were in need of anything ? You are rich, you have children, a wife no
doubt, and many slaves. Caesar knows you. You have many friends in Rome. You
perform punctiliously all your duties. If any one has done you a service or a
wrong, it is in your power to requite him suitably. What, then, do you still
lack ? Well, in the first place, you won’t, I am sure, mind my saying that you
lack just those things that are essential to happiness—you do not know what
God, or Man, or ‘ good ’ or ‘ evil ’ are. But that is not all. I am afraid you
won’t like what I am going to say now—perhaps you will be offended and walk
out—you also lack understanding of yourself ; your desires are feverish ; your
attempts to avoid things are cowardly ; your objectives are inconsistent ;
your choices are out of harmony with your nature ; your conceptions are vague
or false. Now don’t feel insulted when I tell you this. I have done you no more
harm than a mirror does to an ugly man by reflecting his ugliness, or than a
doctor does to his patient when he tells him he is feverish and must take
nothing but water. His patient doesn’t feel insulted, so why should you ?
We are like visitors to a
cattle-fair. Most of those present are busy buying or selling ; a few, however,
are there merely as spectators, to see how the fair is conducted, what there is
for sale, and to ascertain who are its organizers. The world, too, is a fair.
And in the same way as cattle are interested only in their fodder, so too some
of those who live in the world are interested only in their property, land,
slaves, offices and so forth—their fodder, in fact. Yet there are some
few who, viewing the world as spectators, ask : ‘ What is the Universe ? Who
rules it ? (Some one must rule it, for no city, not even a household, can
remain long without some one to rule and look after it ; and it is impossible
that this great and beautiful structure should maintain its orderly arrangement
by sheer accident or chance. There must be some one who rules it.) What kind of
a Being is He, and how does He govern it ? And who are we whom He has created ?
and why did He create us ? Have we or have we not communion with Him ? ’ This
is what some few ask, and thenceforward they devote themselves exclusively to
studying this world-fair of life before they leave it. And for so doing they
earn the contempt of the multitude, just as in a cattle-fair mere spectators
are laughed at by the traffickers. Aye, and could the cattle comprehend the
cause of their laughter, they too would laugh at the folly of those who marvel
at or admire anything else than their fodder !
xv
Such precepts as ‘ One ought to be
resolute or 6 The moral purpose is naturally free and cannot be
coerced, while everything else, being under the control not of ourselves but of
others, may be coerced ’, are sometimes misinterpreted. For instance : some men
think that they are being resolute if, once they have formed a considered
opinion on some subject, they never modify it. Which is absurd ; for their considered
opinion may be a mistaken one. To be of any value opinions must be well
founded, just as bodily vigour, to be of any value, must be that of a healthy
body, not that of a lunatic. Again : some will never change their mind once
they have made it up. A friend of mine (Heaven save me from such friends !)
once made up his mind that he would starve himself to death ... for no reason
whatsoever. I only heard about it on the third day of his fast, and went round
at once to see him to find out what was the matter. ‘ There is nothing the
matter,’ he told me, ‘ but I have made up my mind.’ ζ But why ? ’
I asked. ‘ You know quite well that if you have a good reason for so doing,
we, your friends, will do all we can to facilitate your exit from this life ;
but if you have no valid reason, why, then, don’t be so stupid ! ’ But his only
reply was : c I must stick to my decision ! ’ ζ But
surely,’ I said, ‘ you don’t want to stick to your decision if it is a wrong
one, do you ?... It is now midday. Suppose you were to decide that it is really
midnight, would you stick to that too ? Surely you ought to be certain that
your decisions are right before you base such irrevocable action upon them. . .
. Yet here you are, for no reason at all, removing from this life, and so
robbing us of him, a man, our friend and fellowcitizen ; and while thus
engaged in murdering a perfectly innocent person you coolly say you “ must
stick to your decision ” ! I suppose, then, that if instead of deciding to
murder yourself, you had decided to murder me, you would have had to stick to
that too ! ’ Well, believe me, it was no easy task to persuade that idiot to
abandon his ‘ decision ’. However, eventually, I succeeded. But I know some
others whom it is simply impossible to budge. And now I know, what formerly I
did not understand, the meaning of the saying : ‘ One can neither lead nor
drive a fool.’ How can one deal with one who ‘ has decided ’ ! Lunatics ‘
decide ’, and the madder they are the worse their decisions.
Of course, what one ought to do is
to do what a sick man does. He sends for his doctor and says : ‘ Doctor, I am
ill. Tell me what I ought to do and I will do it ! ’ Similarly we ought to say
: ‘ What shall I do—tell me, for I do not know ! ’ instead of saying : ‘ Talk
to me of anything else you like except this one thing, for in regard to it I
have made up my mind once and for all.’ ‘ Of anything else ’, forsooth ! Of
what can it be more important to talk than the folly of coming to irrevocable
decisions ? If you were to say : ‘ I have decided to give my services free and
gratis/ couldn’t you change your mind and let us hear you say a few months
later : ‘ I have decided not to give my services free and gratis ! ’ ? I
am sure you could say it with the same unction !
xvi
We know perfectly well thate
good ’ and ‘ evil ’ both lie within, and that things that are neither good nor
evil lie without, the ambit of our moral purpose. But which of us remembers and
strives to practise this truth once he is outside the lecture room ? If some
one asks you a simple question, such as : ‘Is it day or night ? ’ you can
answer straight off which it is. If some one asks you whether there is an even
or odd number of stars, you can reply straight away : ζ I don’t
know.’ But which of us can give pat answers to questions about good and evil ?
For instance : were you asked whether money is a good or a bad thing, would you
at once give the right answer—that it is a bad thing ? Do you practise
answering such questions as you should answer them, or are you content merely
with evading them ? Practice makes perfect ; and if you don’t practise you
can’t expect to answer properly.
Why is an orator nervous in spite of
having composed and memorized what he knows to be a good speech, and in spite
of knowing that he has a pleasing voice ? I will tell you : it is because he
wants more than the self-satisfaction of being a good speaker—he hankers after
applause into the bargain. But his training extends only to his powers of
oratory ; it does not embrace applause or scorn. He has never concerned himself
with the nature of either, or inquired what kinds of applause should be sought
after, what kinds of scorn should be shunned. In fact he is like a musician who
is both a good harpist and a good singer but who, for all that, is nervous when
he faces an audience ; for though he knows all about playing and singing, he
knows nothing of audiences or their derision ; no, nor does he know why he is
nervous, nor whether he can or cannot control his nervousness. And so if he is
lucky enough to win applause, he makes his exit all puffed up with conceit ;
whereas if he is hissed, the bubble of his pride is pricked and bursts.
And is our own behaviour so very
different ? What, in fact, is our chief concern ? About what are we most in
earnest ? Is it not about things outside our control ? Indeed it is, and that
is why we are so fearful and anxious. We must needs be so when we fear the
future as though it were an evil thing, saying in our folly : ‘ O Lord God,
save us from fear and anxiety ! ’ Fools that we are ! Has not God given us
power to endure, magnanimity and courage ? Then let us practise these virtues,
and refrain from blaming Him. But who does ? Show me one single man who is more
concerned about what he does than what he gets, about what he plans than about
what he is planning for ! (Do you think a plan is worthless unless it succeeds
?) Show me such a man—young or old ! For such a one I have long sought—in vain
!
So do not let us pretend
astonishment, but rather freely confess that we are thoroughly experienced in
all material matters outside our control, and the merest tyros in regard to
everything that lies within it. Indeed it is true to say that we have not
bothered ourselves about, still less practised, these latter. And yet how much
better would it be were we to cease fearing such things as exile and death, and
to concentrate on fearing only lest we fear ! As I have said, it is not from
lack of knowledge. In the lecture room we are keen and voluble enough, and
answer conundrums posed as glibly and as logically as you will. But when we
come to the practical application of our principles we are as helpless as
shipwrecked mariners. Utter helplessness—that is the only result of all
our training and practice ’ And in consequence our fears are infinitely worse
than they need be. For instance : whenever I am in a ship at sea and out of
sight of land, and I gaze on the waste of waters, I begin to terrify myself
with fancies : ζ Should we be shipwrecked ’ (I think to myself), ‘
how shall I escape being drowned with all this water ? ’ forgetting that to be
drowned three pints of it would suffice. Or, when there is an earthquake, I
begin to imagine that the whole city is about to topple on me ! And as in
reality it would need but a single brick to knock my brains out, I should be no
worse off if it did !
No, it is not the vast expanse of
the ocean nor the huge size of a city that really affects us under such
circumstances ; it is the judgements of our minds. When a man finds the burden
of life more than he can bear and commits suicide, thus abandoning friends,
relatives and home, is not his action due to the judgement of his mind ?
Children cry when their nurse leaves them, but they are soon consoled with
sugarplums. But we are grown up and should not behave like children. We should
be swayed not by sugarplums but by just judgements. What are just judgements
? Surely they are judgements based on the things a man ought to practise daily
and continually,
78 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS abstaining
from devoting himself overmuch to what is not his own, be it comrade, place,
school, or even his own body. A man should ever remember and keep God’s law
before his eyes—to guard diligently his own possessions—not to lay claim to
those of others —to make good use of what God has given him—not to covet what
He has withheld—and when He withdraws some gift from him, to surrender it
readily and at once, being grateful for the time during which he has been
permitted its use.
If we do not do this, are we not in
effect behaving like children crying for their nurses and their mothers ? We
may want and cry for different things, but the principle is the same. Some cry
for a maid, some for their old school, a piece of statuary, a group of friends
; some lament that they will no longer be able to drink of the water of the
Theban fountain of Dirce, but have to drink that of the Marcian aqueduct
instead. And yet the one is as good as the other, and they will soon get
accustomed to the latter. And yet another will whine : ‘ Ah me, when shall I
see Athens and the Acropolis again ! ’ Can’t he be content with what he can see
daily ? What can be finer or better to look at than the sun, moon, stars,
earth, and sea ? If he really understood Him who rules the Universe and whom he
bears about within him, would he still yearn for that pretty rock yclept the
Acropolis, and the bits of marble wherewith men have adorned it ? When you are
about to leave the sight of sun and moon for that country where they neither
rise nor set, what will you do then ? Will you sit and cry like children ? Come
! Can you imagine Socrates or Diogenes grieving or being upset just because
they could not see some particular man or woman, or because they had to live
in Susa or Ecbatana instead of in
Athens or Corinth ? You can quit the feast or the game at will when they tire
or bore you. Children stay only so long as they are amused.
Surely by this time you should be
weaned and ready to partake of more solid food, and to give up babyish
complainings ! Do you flatter yourselves that if you do depart your departure
will be mourned ? I assure you that any sorrow will be due not to your
departure, but to an error of judgement on the part of those you leave behind.
When you yourselves feel grieved about anything, that is the real cause of your
grief—an error of judgement. We must get rid of mistaken judgements and get
back to just ones. It is a desperately serious matter that we should do so, for
it is only by so doing that we shall win peace, freedom and high- mindedness,
and be able to lift up our heads and, as men escaped from slavery, say boldly
to God : ‘ Henceforth use Thou me as Thou wilt. I am of one mind with Thee. I
am Thine. I shun nothing that seems good in Thy sight. Lead Thou me where Thou
wilt. Clothe me as seems best to Thee. Wouldst Thou have me hold office, or
remain in a private station of life, continue where I am or be exiled, be poor
or rich, I will defend all Thy acts before men and set forth their true purport
! ’
But you will not ! You prefer to sit
at home like girls and wait for your mothers to spoon-feed you ! If Herakles
had sat about at home, what would he have amounted to ? He would have been no
better than a Eurystheus. Tell me, how many friends had Herakles in this world
? His chief friend was God. That is why men believed him to be the son of God.
And he was. It was in obedience to his Father’s will that he went up and down
throughout the world sweeping away wickedness and lawlessness. But, you say, you
are no Herakles to sweep away the wickedness of men ; you are not even a
Theseus to tackle the ills of merely an Attica. Very well, then : Get rid, at
least, of your own. From your own minds cast out, not Procrustes and Sciron,
but grief, fear, desire, envy, joy at other’s ills, greed, effeminacy,
incontinency. And the only way in which you can do that is by looking to and
devoting yourselves exclusively to God, consecrating yourselves to His
commands. If you permit yourselves to desire anything else, you will be
pursuing something stronger than yourselves, and you will do so with grief and
groans, ever seeking outside yourselves for peace and never being able to find
it— for you will be seeking it where it is not.1
xvii
What is the first thing a man must do
who wishes to practise philosophy ? This : he must realize that he knows
nothing. For one cannot teach a man what he thinks he knows already. Men go to
philosophers to learn what they are conscious they are ignorant of —namely,
general principles. Some imagine they will learn to be witty or wise or
successful. No man, however, will ever learn anything without concentration
and hard work, nor will the mastery of one particular subject teach him
anything beyond that subject.
Most people, however, labour under
the same misapprehension as the orator Theopompus did, who actually found
fault with Plato for teaching that all terms should be defined, asking if no
one had ever
1 See
Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 164.
LECTURES : BOOK II (xvii) 81 before
Plato’s time used such terms as 6 good ’ and ‘just’, or had merely
uttered them as vague empty sounds without attaching to them any particular
meaning. And no doubt men did (before Plato’s time) have an instinctive
conception of their import, though probably not a sufficiently systematized
one. And that is the point. Our preconceptions on such matters should be
systematized so that particular facts may be classified under them. Let me
illustrate my meaning by a further example. Did no one, think you, use the
terms c healthy ’ and ‘ diseased ’ before Hippocrates ? or, if they
did, were they merely making empty noises with these sounds ? Of course, men
had a certain preconception of what c healthy ’ meant, but lack of
precise definition led to inability to apply the idea consistently to specific
instances, and as a result some said c Fast ! ’, others ‘ Feed ! ’,
and others, again, ‘ Bleed ! ’ or 6 Cup ! ’
In just the same way have we not all
on our lips such words as ‘ good ’, ‘ evil ’, c profitable ’, ‘
unprofitable ’ ; and have we not, each of us, a preconceived idea as to what
these terms mean ? And do we not each try to apply our preconception to
specific facts ? We do indeed and, as a result, we find that whereas Plato
classifies ‘ definitions ’ as being ‘ useful ’ others classify them as ‘
useless Both can’t be right. One man applies his preconceived idea of6
good ’ to wealth, another to pleasure, a third to health.
Again : if we all who have such
terms constantly on our lips really knew what they mean, and so have no need to
systematize our ideas about them, how is it we fail to agree amongst ourselves
as to their meaning? For, unfortunately, far from agreeing, we do little but
wrangle and abuse one another.
6
Take your own individual cases. If
you apply your instincts correctly, nothing can trouble or disturb you. For the
moment I will not speak of the second field of study ; viz. : choice and our
duties pertaining to that choice ; or of the third field, which deals with
assent. I will confine what I am going to say to the first field, that of
desire, which will afford us the clearest possible proof that we do not apply
our instincts correctly. Consider : do you at this very moment desire what you
ought to desire both in particular and in general ? If you do—what are you
troubled about ? But do you ? If you do, why is it that when you want
something it does not happen, and when you don’t want it it does happen ? What
stronger proof of the wrongness of your desires can there be than this ?
Again, take the case of Medea. Her
desires were wrong and so remained unrealized. ‘ Very well, then,’ said she, ‘
I will be revenged on him who has insulted and wronged me even though I have to
injure myself to do it ! But what care I for that ? ’ ! And so she murdered her
children. In a way hers was the deed of a great spirit—the outburst of a mighty
soul. But she did not know wherein lies the power to get what we wish. Give up
wanting to keep your husband, wanting him to live with you at all costs ; give
up wanting to live in Corinth ; give up wanting everything except what God
wants, and then nothing of what you want will fail to happen. No one will then
be able to prevent or compel you any more than they can prevent or compel God
Himself.
Now when you have such a leader as
God and identify your wishes and desires with His, you need have no fear of
failure. But if you let your desires light on wealth and bend your aversion on
poverty, you will assuredly fail to get what you want, and fall instead into
what you would fain avoid. Desire health and you will not achieve it ; desire
offices, honours, country, friends, children, in a word anything that lies
outside the ambit of your moral purpose, and you will come to grief. But entrust
your desires to Zeus and the other Gods ; give them to Their keeping ; let Them
control you ; and how can you be troubled ? But if you give way to such
sentiments as envy, pity, jealousy and fear, and daily bemoan your fate, you
can scarcely claim to be properly educated. Education, you know, does not
consist merely in a knowledge of syllogisms and other devices of logic. If that
is your idea of true education, you would do well (were it possible) to forget
such knowledge and begin again, starting from the realization that you have not
yet begun ; and then to see to it that for the future nothing shall happen that
you do not wish, and nothing shall fail to happen that you do.
Is there a single youth in this
class of mine who is, like an athlete, intent on this sole objective, and who
can say, c I want nothing but to live free and untroubled, able to
face facts as a man should, and to look up fearlessly to Heaven as a friend of
God ’ ? If there be such a one among you I tell him—philosophy is his sphere.
Let him practise it diligently and he shall adorn it. And when he has worked
his way through and mastered this first field of study, if he can then tell me,
‘ I not only want peace and tranquillity, but being a God-fearing man, a
philosopher and a student, I want also to know what are my duties towards my
parents, brothers, country and to strangers,’ I will tell him he is ripe to
pass on to the second field of study. And were he then to reply : 4
But I have already studied the second field. My aim is to be safe and
unshakable, not merely when I am awake, but even though I be asleep, drunk or
mad ! ’ Ah, one with such an aim would be almost more than mere man !
But, alas ! I have never heard any
of my pupils speak like this. No ! But the sort of thing I hear is : ‘ Can you
explain to me the dilemma of Chrysippus : 1 “ If a man say he is
lying, is he lying or speaking the truth ? For if he be lying he is speaking
the truth ; but if he is speaking the truth he must be lying ” ? ’ What good
would it do you if I did explain it to you ? Or : ‘ Shall we read our
essays to one another ? ’ All you really want is to hear flatteries—fi
How wonderfully you write ! Your style is just like Xenophon’s (or Plato’s or
Antisthenes’) ! ’ And when you have done you are no further on than when you
started. You have the same old desires, the same old aversions, the same old
choices, designs and aims ; you pray for and are interested in the same old things.
And you don’t want any one to give you any advice, and if any one talks to you
like I am talking to you, you get irritated.
The other day I overheard one of you
talking about me. s He is an old man,’ he said, ‘ and lacks the milk
of human kindness. Why, would you believe it, when I went away, he never shed a
single tear. He didn’t even say : “I am afraid, my boy, you are going into
great peril ; if you come back safely I will light lamps in thankfulness.” ’ Is
that what a man with the milk of human kindness in him would have said ? Well,
1 See Book II, Ch. xviii, p. 8/ ; Book III, Ch. ii, p. 122, Ch. ix, p.
141. perhaps he was right. Indeed it would have been such a
remarkable piece of luck if a booby like him had returned safely, that
it would have been almost worth while celebrating it !
Seriously : whether we seek to study
philosophy, geometry or music, we must start by ridding our minds of the
conceit that we already know something about them. Unless we do this we shall
never make any progress at all ; no, not even though we were to read every
syllable that Chrysippus ever wrote, and all the work of Antipater and
Archedemus into the bargain !
xviii
All our habits and talents are
strengthened by exercise. To be a good walker one must walk ; to be a good
runner one must practise running ; to be a good reader or writer one must read
and ’write assiduously. Give up reading for a month and devote yourself to
other pursuits, and note the result. If you lie abed for ten days and then get
up and go for a long walk you will find your legs giving way under you. So,
speaking generally, if you want to do something well, you must make a habit of
it ; if you want not to do it, don’t do it—do something else instead. The same
principle holds good, too, in the moral sphere. Every time you give way to
anger, it is not merely a misfortune to yourself that you have done so, but you
have in addition confirmed and strengthened the habit of anger in you. Each
time you give way to carnal desire, you have not merely suffered present
defeat, but you have made it harder for yourself to resist in future. Thus, by
our actions, existing habits and tendencies are reinforced, and new ones come
into being.
We may be sure that it is in this
way that our faults of mind and character originate. A passion for acquiring
money can easily be checked if we realize that it is unreasonable and evil ;
but if our reason does not check it, the desire will burn ever fiercer until at
last we shall become hardened in avarice. He who recovers from a fever is not
usually quite the same man after as he was before. So, too, in affections of
the mind, marks are left on the mind, and if they be not completely erased they
will at the next attack become open wounds. So if you are prone to lose your
temper, do nothing to feed the habit, give it nothing on which it can thrive.
Keep a record of each day you have refrained from anger and you will soon be
able to say : ‘ I used to lose my temper every day ; then only every other day
; then only every third day ; then only every fourth day ’ ; and so on. And
when you have succeeded in not losing it for a whole month, you may give thanks
to God. You will thus first weaken your bad habit and then finally destroy it.
You may apply this method to any other weaknesses you may have— to a tendency
to excessive melancholy, for instance. Say : ‘ To-day I have been quite
cheerful, though I have had to be on my guard all the time against being upset
by trifles? Keep that up for two or three months, counting the days. If you
will do so you will find you will get on splendidly.
Some of our sense-perceptions raise
difficult problems for us. Take one, for instance, which is often brought to us
by our eyes and the solution of which is at least as hard as that of the famous
ς Master ’1 problem—I mean when we happen to see a
handsome lad or a pretty woman. This is the way I solve it—I deliberately
abstain from all lascivious thoughts about them.
1 See
Book II, Ch. xix, p. 88.
I do not even permit myself to think
of the woman’s husband as a happy man, for if her husband be happy, her
paramour would be not less so. Still less do I permit my imagination to picture
myself as her paramour. This particular problem may assume ever harder
forms—harder even than those named 6 The Liar 5 1 and c
The Quiescent ’—when, for instance, the woman is willing, smiles at me, sends
for and embraces me. But if then I still hold firm and refuse, I have solved
that too. I have triumphed and have cause to be proud of myself.
How can this be done ? Only by resolving
completely to satisfy yourself and to appear in God’s sight in the beauty of
purity. ζ When ’, says Plato, c you are suddenly
confronted with sense-perception of that sort, go and beseech God to ward off
evil from you.’ To which I would add : Think of good and upright men—living or
dead—and of how they behaved under similar circumstances, and take them
as your models. Think of Socrates : did he yield to the youthful beauty of
Alcibiades as he lay beside him ? Do not be swept off your feet by the vividness
of any sense-perception ; wait a little ; examine it first carefully ; test it
; and do not let your imagination paint all sorts of pleasant pictures of what
will happen if you yield to temptation—for, if you do, it will take possession
of you and you will be powerless. Nay, rather substitute in your mind’s eye for
such a base sense-perception some other good and noble one. If you will only
make a practice of so doing, your moral sinews will grow strong enough to
enable you to defeat temptation.
He who exercises himself in
resisting such sense-
1 See Book II, Ch. xvii, p. 84 ; Book III, Ch. ii, p. 122, Ch. ix, p.
141.
perceptions is a true athlete. Be
not swept away by them ! It will be a mighty struggle if you are to resist
successfully, but the prize is a great one—the being able to dwell in freedom,
calm and peace of mind. Even as travellers in a storm, so do you pray to God to
stand by your side and help you. What storm, indeed, could be greater than
those aroused by strong sense-perceptions that undermine the reason ? If you
once give way, consoling yourselves with the thought that next time you will
resist and overcome, you will assuredly give way a second time, and then a
third, and then many times, till eventually you will become so weak that you
will even forget that you are doing wrong, or if perchance you remember you
will begin to find arguments in self-justification—to so miserable a state will
you have sunk !
xix
The ζ Master ’, the
supposedly unanswerable argument, is founded on three propositions of which it
is said that if any two be true the third must be false. The propositions in
question are : (i) that everything true as an event in the past is necessary ;
(2) that a possibility cannot be followed by an impossibility ; and (3) that
things which are not true now and which never will be true are nevertheless
possible. Now Diodorus accepted the first two and inferred that what is not
true now and which never will be true must be impossible. Others accept (2) and
(3) and consequently deny (1). That, in fact, is the view of Panthoides and
Cleanthes and their schools, and they are supported by Antipater. Others again,
including Chrysippus and his school, maintain the truth of (1) and (3) and then
draw the conclusion that an impossibility can follow a possibility.
But if you ask me which two of these
propositions I accept as true, I tell you frankly that I don’t know and
I don’t care !
It is true that were it worth my
while to try and astonish, say, my fellow-guests at some banquet, I could give
a long list of people who have written on the subject. I could say : ‘
Chrysippus has written admirably about it in the first book of his treatise On
Things Possible ; Cleanthes wrote a special work on the subject, and so did
Archedemus. Antipater discussed the matter not only in his book On Things
Possible, but also in a separate monograph entitled The Master Argument—Haven’t
you read it ? ’ And then when my interlocutor shook his head, I should say : 6
Tut, tut ! you must certainly read it at once ! ’ Yes, I could talk like
that ! But if you ask me what good it would do any one if he did read it, I can
only say that it would probably make him even more finicky and tiresome than he
is already, for instead of forming an opinion of his own he would merely be
retailing Antipater’s.
In purely literary problems it
probably doesn’t matter so very much if we content ourselves with accepted
views rather than evolve one of our own ; but it matters a great deal if we
pursue this principle in questions of conduct. It is easy enough merely to
recite : ‘ Some things are good, some bad, and some neither good nor bad ; in
the first category are the virtues, in the second vices, and in the third such
things as riches, health, life, death, pleasures, and pain.’ Quite so—and how
did you discover all this ? Ah, really—you read it in Hellanicus’ History of
Egypt, did you ? and if you had read it in Diogenes’ Treatise on Ethics,
or in the works of Chrysippus or Cleanthes, you would, no doubt, have rattled
it off with equal fluency. But the point is—have you tested any of these statements
for yourself, and formed an independent judgement about them ? I say ‘ tested
’, and by that I mean ‘ acted upon them ’. How, for instance, do you behave
when you are in a ship at sea and there is a storm ? When the sails flap and
crack do you cry out in terror, and then when one of your fellow-passengers
comes up and asks you (grinning) : c What was that you were saying a
while back about there being no evil in shipwreck ? ! ’ do you, at that moment,
still remember the difference between ‘ good ’ and ‘ evil ’, or do you lose
your temper and revile him as an ill- timed jester and perhaps strike him ? Or
if Caesar summoned you to answer to some charge, would you go in pale and
trembling, and then if some one asked you what affrighted you, and reminded you
that Caesar in his palace does not dispense virtue and vice to those who appear
before him, would you then still remember the difference between good and evil,
or would you cry : ‘ Why do you add to my troubles by mocking me ? ’ And yet,
tell me, you who call yourselves philosophers, what would your troubles really
be ? Surely naught else but the danger of prison, torture, exile, loss of
reputation or death ! How used you to characterise such things ? As evils ? And
if you turned on me saying : c Can’t you let us alone ? What have we
to do with you ? Our own evils are enough for us ! ’ Ah, you would indeed by
right ! Your own evils would be enough for you—your baseness,
cowardice, and the bragging you used to indulge in in the lecture room. Why did
you boast of owning what was not really yours ? Why did you claim to be a Stoic
?
Study yourselves thus in the light
of your actions and you will discover to what sect of philosophers you really belong.
Most of you, you will find, are Epicureans, some few Peripatetics—and
spineless ones at that—for in what way do you make manifest that you really
consider virtue to be more important than anything else ? And as for
Stoics—show me one if you can ! Oh, I quite admit you can produce thousands who
can patter the Stoic formulae ! They could probably patter the Epicurean and
Peripatetic formulae too if they wanted to. But what is a Stoic ? Just
as a statue is 6 Pheidian ’ when it has been modelled by Pheidias,
so a man is a Stoic when his life is in truth fashioned by the precepts of
Stoicism that he professes —a man who, though sick, in danger, exiled, shamed,
aye, even though dying, is still happy. Show me such a man ! And if you can’t
show me a perfect Stoic at least show me one who is trying to be one, who is on
the way to becoming one. Do this for me, I beseech you ! Do not begrudge an old
man a sight he has never yet seen ! I don’t ask you to show me the Zeus or the
Athena of Pheidias, fashioned in ivory and gold ; I only ask you to show me a
man whose soul longs to be of one mind with God, who is resolved never again to
grumble at either God or man, to get all that he wants, not to have anything
that he does not want, to be free from anger, envy, and jealousy— in a word, a
man who has set his heart upon changing from a mere man into a God, and who,
though still confined in a human body, aims at achieving fellowship with God.
Show me such a man—if you can ! But you can’t! Why, then, do you mock yourselves
and deceive others by disguising your true selves and strutting about in stolen
plumes ?
I am your teacher, you are my
pupils. My aim is to make you perfect Stoics, free, prosperous, happy, looking
to God in all things both small and great. You are here in order to learn and
practise all this. Why, then, don’t you do it ? I have to assume that you wish
to do so just as I want to teach you and am qualified to teach you. If this be
so, what is still lacking ? When I see a craftsman with material lying ready
to his hand, I look to see the finished article. I am the craftsman, you are my
material. What, then, is still lacking ? Cannot the material be fashioned ? Of
course it can be. Is it, then, outside our control ? Nay, it is the one and
only thing in the whole world that is under our control. Not wealth, nor
health, nor fame, nor anything whatsoever is under our control save only the
right use of our sense-perceptions ; this alone is secure and free from outside
hindrance. Why, then, do you not learn and practise what I teach ? Tell me the
reason. The fault must lie in me, or in you, or in the nature of the thing
itself. But we know that the thing is possible, for it is the only thing in the
world that is under our control. The fault, then, must lie either in you or in
me—perhaps it lies partly in both of us. What, then, are we to do ? There is
only one possible course : we must let bygones be bygones and make a fresh
start here and now !
xx
Some people will not admit
self-evident truths. For instance they say : ‘ Knowledge is impossible ; everything
is uncertain.’—‘ One should believe nobody.’— ‘ It is impossible to learn
anything.’ The Academics maintain that no man can believe anybody and that we
must all suspend judgement. But the curious thing is that though they will not
admit them, they can’t help using self-evident truths themselves. In fact it is
this inability to avoid using them that is the strongest evidence of their
truth. Any one denying that some universal statement is true is forced to use
it in order to assert the contrary, viz. ‘ that no universal statement is true
’. And that is not true either !
And in the same way, when Epicurus
denied that men have a natural fellowship with one another, he made use of the
very principle he was denying. This is what he wrote : ‘ Make no mistake about
it : there is no natural fellowship amongst rational beings, and those who
assert that there is are deceiving you.’ Now if there be indeed no natural
fellowship between men, why should he have bothered to warn us not to be
deceived ? Why should he have cared whether we were deceived or not ? Why not
have let us go on being deluded ? He, at least, would have been no worse off if
we had been. And yet he fretted himself on our account, lost his sleep, burned midnight
oil, and got up early in the morning, all to write interminable dissertations
to prove his point. Why ? Did he imagine that by so doing he would preserve us
from such 6 false beliefs ’ as that God cares for men, or that the
essence of ‘ good ’ is not mere pleasure ? Well, if that was his objective he
had better far have returned to his bed and his slumbers, for we know
that Man’s life does not, like a worm’s, consist merely in eating,
drinking, procreation, defaecation, and sleep. Or did he want to treat us as
though we were sheep, to be shorn, milked, butchered and cut up ? If that was
what he was after, surely he would have done better to have disguised his real
sentiments from all except his disciples and to have professed publically that
Man is endowed by Nature with a sense of fellowship, and that
self-control is a good thing.
No, what prompted Epicurus to write
as he did was Nature, the strongest thing in Man—that which compels a man to do
her will even though it be contrary to his desires. Verily Nature herself must
have said to him : ‘ Since you hold such anti-social doctrines, you shall lose
your sleep in writing them down, and your writings shall be the strongest
argument to prevent men from believing in them. That shall be your punishment !
’
You remember how Orestes was pursued
by Furies which robbed him of sleep, and how the Galli, Priests of the Great
Mother Cybele, mutilate themselves in frenzy, incited by madness and by wine ?
Like them Epicurus was tormented by even more savage Furies which kept him from
his slumbers, denied him repose, and forced him to proclaim abroad his
miseries. So mighty and unsubduable is human nature !
A man can no more wholly lose
natural human affections than a vine can bring forth olives or an olive tree
yield grapes. Even though a man be made a eunuch he is not free from sexual
desire. And that is just where Epicurus failed. He might whittle away
everything characteristic of man, whether as head of the family, as citizen or
as friend, but he could not suppress human desire. Nor can the Academics, try
as they may and do, rid themselves of, or be entirely blind to, the evidence of
their senses.
Man has been endowed by Nature with
faculties which are so many standards or measures to enable him to discover
truth. What a pity, then, if instead of using them, ànd if possible developing
them, he does just the opposite, viz. neglects and destroys them !
Ask an Epicurean philosopher what he
thinks of piety and holiness and he will probably start by telling you
(politely) that if you wish him to he can prove conclusively that they are
right. And if you urge him to do so (so that our citizens may be converted to
honour God and cease from being indifferent to matters of such supreme
importance), he may ask you if you can’t prove it yourself. And, then, if you
reply that you can, he may retort : c Well, and why don’t you ?
though as a matter of fact in my opinion the gods don’t exist ; or if
they do at all events they do not concern themselves with men. Anyhow, men have
no fellowship with Them. While as for all this “ piety ” and “ holiness ” which
people chatter about, they are lies told by liars, or by legislators, who want
to scare men from wrong-doing, so-called “ righteousness ” is rubbish, “ reverence
” folly, “ family affection ” (that of a father for a son, of a son for his
father) an illusion.’
And there you are ! That’s the way
to talk ! Carry on in that vein, ye disciples of Epicurus ; convert our young
men to your way of thinking, so that we may have more who feel and speak like
you ! Truly it was from principles such as these that well- governed states
have grown great ! Principles like these made Sparta what she was ! These were
the convictions Lycurgus implanted in the Spartans by his laws and training
(when he said that slavery was no baser than freedom was noble) ! These were
the beliefs that inspired those who fell at Thermopylae, and that twice
prompted the Athenians to abandon Athens ! And do not forget, my friends, that
the men who talk this kind of stuff marry and beget children, are citizens, and
become Priests ! Priests of whom ? Of gods who do not exist ! How monstrous !
Then, again, take the Academics.
Every day their actions belie their theories, but they are too stubborn to
admit it. Do they lift their hands to their eyes or to their mouths when they
eat ? When they bathe is it in a bath they bathe or in what ? Do they call pots
plates, or ladles spits ? If I were slave to one of them, wouldn’t I just love
to lead him a daily dance, even though it cost me a flogging ! When he asked
for olive oil I would give him fish oil and protest that I could not tell one
from t’other. When he demanded porridge I would bring him vinegar and assure
him they both smelled and tasted the same to me, and ask him how I was to
distinguish between them if we cannot trust our senses ! Yes, and if only I
had three or four fellow-slaves who would do the same, we would soon make him
die of rage—or alter his opinions. They are an ungrateful, godless crew. Is
there one of them who does not eat bread at least once a day ? And yet they
have the impudence to say that they do not know if Demeter, Kore or Pluto even
exist ! They enjoy night and day, the seasons, the stars, the sea, the earth,
and the society of their fellow-men, but none of these things move them. All
they are really interested in is the intellectual problem of the cosmos ; but
as to what good their hearers are going to derive from it all, that does not
bother them in the least. What I fear is that some young man of good character
may hear such theories, be swayed by them, and lose his high principles ; that
some adulterer may find in them excuse for his adulteries ; that some dishonest
public servant may justify himself
by them ; that some one who neglects his parents may by them be confirmed in
his wickedness.
xxi
Some of their faults men will admit
readily enough, but others not quite so readily. No one minds admitting that
perhaps he is a bit too shy or soft-hearted ; but no one will confess to being
stupid, incontinent, unjust, envious or meddlesome. Now, why is this ? In the
first place it is certain that men will never admit to anything they conceive
to be disgraceful or anti-social. But I think the main reason is that they
cannot bring themselves to believe that they may be mistaken in matters
concerning ‘ good ’ and c evil ’. Shyness and soft-heartedness can
be explained away as indicative of a prudent character, but stupidity is
supposed to be the hall-mark of the mentality of slaves. Again, in most
admitted faults there is generally some sort of suggestion that £
it can’t be helped ’. Not only are shyness and soft-heartedness excused thus,
but sometimes even incontinency (‘ I was in love and you know a man in love is
hardly responsible. . . .’), and jealousy (‘ How could I help being jealous of
. . .?’).
Now most men are not merely
supremely ignorant of what c evil ’ really is, but they have no idea
whether they have or have not any evil traits in themselves, and, if they have,
how they acquired them or how they are to get rid of them. This being so, don’t
you think that each one of us might profitably inquire whether, perchance, we
are not ourselves in this case ? Let each of us, then, ask himself : ‘ Is it
possible that I am just like
everybody else ? Am I deceived about myself? Do I always behave as a wise man,
as a man of self-control, should ? Is my education truly such that I am
prepared for all contingencies ? Do I realize, as I should, that I know
nothing ? Do I regard my teacher as one who should be unquestioningly obeyed,
or do I go to him to study the history of philosophy and difficult text-books
with no other thought beyond getting my degree as a means of livelihood ?
What have some of you been doing
this morning before coming to my lecture and sitting down here to listen to my
exposition of the text I set you yesterday with solemn faces but with minds
full of turmoil ? Beating your slaves ? Disturbing your neighbours with the
noise of your domestic squabbles ? Is that the proper frame of mind in which to
come ? How can you pay attention to what I am saying when your thoughts are far
away and you are dreaming ... of when your next allowance will reach you . . .
of what your people are saying about your progress ... of how they are probably
prophesying : ‘ Ah ! he will know everything when he comes home ! ’ and then
reflecting : ‘Yes, indeed, I suppose I did once want to learn everything before
going home, but that would have meant a lot of hard work, and in the meantime
nobody sends me anything, and the baths in Nicopolis are rotten, and my
lodgings are rotten, and the lectures are rotten ! ’
No wonder people say : ‘ Nobody gets
any good out of lectures on philosophy ! ’ Well, of course they don’t. How can
they ? They don’t come to get rid of or correct their faulty ideas and to get
other and better ones in their place. So, naturally, when they leave, they go
home with exactly the same ideas they had when they first came. Indeed, all they
really come for is to acquire a certain fluency in talking about philosophic
principles, and that, of course, they do acquire, so that they can resolve
syllogisms, argue and generally make a display of their cleverness. They don’t
want anything more. 6 What good is it to us ’, they say, ‘ if our
children or our brethren learn how to die, or if we ourselves learn how to die
or to suffer torture ? The principles you teach are useless.’ Useless indeed to
you, and to all like you who do not use them properly ! Eye salves are useless
to those with sound eyes ; poultices are useless to those who are not sick ;
jumping weights are useless to those who cannot jump. But that does not mean
that they are not useful to some one else. So, too, with my principles. No doubt
they are useless to you in your present frame of mind ; but come here with
tranquil and undistracted attention and you will soon discover that they are
not so useless as you imagine.
xxii
A man’s affections are centred on
those things in which he takes an interest. No man is interested in evil things
or in things which do not concern him. It follows, therefore, that men are only
interested in and so care for good things. But if a man cannot distinguish
good from evil, how can his affections be centred on good ? To love good
things he must first be wise enough to know what things are good.
But one of you may say : ‘ That is
all very well, but I am not wise and yet I love my child.’ Now just think a
minute. You say you are not wise ; i.e. that there is something lacking in you
? What is lacking ? Surely you can use your senses ; you can differentiate one
sense-perception from another ; you feed, clothe, and house your body ? Why,
then, do you disclaim being wise ? It must be, I suppose, because you are
sometimes puzzled and swept away by your sense-perception, at one moment
thinking material things like wealth, pleasure and so forth good, and a little
later thinking the very same things evil or neither good nor evil—in short, because
you are subject to pain, fear, envy, turmoil, and change. Isn’t that so ? Yes,
and in your loving, too, are you not changeable ? Do you not think the same
persons at one moment nice and so feel friendly towards them and sing their
praises, while at another time you consider them to be extremely disagreeable
and so feel unfriendly and say unpleasant things about them ? You know you do !
Well, now, tell me : Can one be real friends with somebody in whom one has been
deceived ? Is a fickle nature capable of friendship ? Of course not ! Haven’t
you ever watched dogs playing and romping together in the friendliest possible
way—apparently ? Well, if you wanted to find out what their apparent
friendliness was really worth, just try throwing a bit of meat between them and
see what happens. What would happen if some one, so to speak, threw a bit of
ground between you and your son ? I am afraid you would soon find out how much
and how quickly your son would like to bury you, and how earnestly you would
pray for his death. Or what would happen if some one threw between you a pretty
wench, or a bit of glory ?
LECTURES : BOOK II (xxii) ιοί
Remember Pheres. Do you imagine Pheres1 did not love his son Admetus
when he was a little chap, or that when he was feverish he did not say over and
over again : ‘ If only I could be sick instead of him !5 ? And then
when the hour of his testing came and Admetus reproached him for not being
willing to die in his stead, what was his reply ?
Thou joyest seeing daylight ; dost suppose
Thy father joys not too ?
Remember Eteocles and Polyneices.[14]
[15]
Were they not brothers ? Did they not grow up, play and sleep together ? If any
one had seen them tenderly embracing one another, would he not have scoffed at
the (to him) cynical views of philosophers on the subject of friendship ? And
yet when the throne was cast between them, they were like two dogs growling
over a bit of meat.
Make no mistake about it—no living
thing puts anything before its own self-interest. Whatever it thinks stands in
the way, be it brother, father, child, loved one or lover, it hates and reviles
it. Its selfinterest is to it father, brother, kinsman, country and God. Why,
if we think the very Gods Themselves stand in the way of our self-interest, we
curse Them, break down Their images, and burn Their temples. (Did not the great
Alexander burn the temples of Asclepius when his beloved Hephaestion died ?)
Hence if a man put into the same balance his selfinterest, righteousness,
honour, country, parents and friends, all will be well ; but if he put his
self-interest
into one balance and friends,
country, kinsmen, and justice itself into the other, the beam will tip and
everything except his self-interest will be lost. ‘ I and c mine ’,
and € my self-interest ’, inevitably weigh down the balance. If your
self-interest is concerned with your good faith, your self-respect,
forbearance, abstinence, co-operation, and social relations with your
fellow-men, then you will be the friend, son, and father that you ought to be ;
but if you put what is yours into one scale and all that is honourable into the
other, then there is indeed truth in the assertion of Epicurus that 6
honour is naught but what people covet ’.
It was from ignorance of this that
the Athenians and Lacedaemonians quarrelled and the Thebans with both of them,
the Great Persian King with Greece, and the Macedonians with both of them ; and
later the Romans with the Getae—and earlier, that there was the siege of Troy.
Alexander (Paris) was Menelaus’ guest, and if any one had seen how friendly
they were towards one another, he would assuredly have named them ς
friends But a morsel —a pretty woman—was thrown between them, and to win her
there was war. So now when you see two brothers or so-called 6
friends ’, do not be quite so sure that they are really friends, seem they
never so friendly. It is vain to ask, as most men ask, if the twain are
brothers, if they were brought up together, if they were educated at the same
school. Ask rather —for it is the only thing that really matters—on what they
base their self-interest. If on externals, then you can no more call them ζ
friends ’ than you can call them 6 faithful ’, ‘ reliable ’, ‘ brave
’, or ‘ free ’. In fact (to tell the truth) they are not really even
LECTURES : BOOK II (xxii) 103 human
; for no real human being reviles or litigates or is a profligate, an adulterer
or a corrupter. There is, indeed, only one explanation why men commit such
crimes against one another, and that is because they put themselves, their
possessions and their selfinterest all into the category of things which lie
outside the ambit of their moral purpose. But when you hear men assert in
accents which carry conviction that they believe the c good ’ to lie
within their moral purpose and in the right use of their sense-perceptions,
then in truth there is no need to inquire further whether they be son and
father, brothers, schoolmates or comrades, for whether they be or not, there is
no doubt about the fact that they are c friends ’, just as they are
also ‘ faithful ’ and ζ upright For where else can friendship be
found save where there is fidelity, respect, and undeviating devotion to everything
that is honourable.
Just because some one has made much
of you for perhaps many years past, it does not necessarily follow that he
loves you. He may merely have cared for you as he cares for his boots and his
horse when he polishes the one and curries the other. Very likely when you have
served his turn he will chuck you aside like a broken plate. Just because you
have been married for so long, it does not necessarily follow that your wife
still loves you. For how long were Eriphyle and Amphiarus married, and how many
children had they, before a certain necklace came in between them ? And what
was the significance of that necklace ? It was not the necklace itself, it was
the false judgement of their minds about it that mattered. So if one of you
wants to be friends with some one he must first learn to hate such false
judgements and
eradicate them from his being. When
he has succeeded in doing this, two results will automatically follow : First
: he will cease reviling, struggling with and tormenting himself in the
agonies of repentance, for he will have nothing to repent of ; and Second : in
regard to his friends : if his friend be like himself, he will always act
straightforwardly towards him ; while if he be unlike him, he will be tolerant,
gentle and forgiving towards him, realizing that he is ignorant of, or mistaken
about, certain very important matters. Further, he will never be harsh with
anybody, for he will remember what Plato said : ‘ No man deliberately blinds
himself to the truth.’1 But if you fail to do this, you may do
everything else that friends do—drink together, share the same tent, sail in
the same ship, even be blood-brothers—aye, and so may snakes !—but they will
never be friends, and nor will you !
xxiii
The better the handwriting in which
a book is written, the more pleasure it is to read it. Similarly, it is less
fatiguing and more profitable to listen to a well-expressed and delivered
speech than to a slovenly one. So we may say that there is such a thing as a c
faculty of expression ’. Indeed, it would be very wrong to deny its existence,
for it is one of God’s gifts and should not be despised any more than any other
gifts of His, such as the faculties of vision, hearing and speech. God did not
give you your eyes and light (without which everything would be useless) for
nothing.
1 See
Book I, Ch. xxviii, p. 35.
So do not be ungrateful for these
gifts of His, but thank Him for them all, including the gift of life itself and
of those things that sustain life—dried fruits, wine and olive oil. And above
all do not forget that He has given you one gift greater than all the rest—the
faculty of being able to use all the rest and to judge and evaluate them.
Subsidiary faculties, such as vision and hearing, are only of value as aids to
that superior faculty, the moral purpose, which makes use of those impressions
which reach us from the outside world through them. Without the faculty of the
moral purpose, how would the faculty of sight know when to open or close the
eyes, or to turn the eyes away from things they should not and direct them
towards things that they should see ? Or without it, how would the faculty of
hearing operate, by means of which men may show their interest in or
indifference to what they hear ? We may, if we like, regard such subsidiary
faculties as being in themselves blind and deaf, mere ministers to the superfaculty
of the moral purpose, which alone sees and hears clearly and surveys not only
all the rest, assessing the worth of each, but itself too. What else can the
open eye do but see ? It cannot tell whether or why it ought to see, for
instance, somebody else’s wife. What else can the open ear do but hear ? It
cannot tell whether what it hears is true or false, or what effect it should
have upon the hearer. Only the faculty of the moral purpose can do that. And
similarly the faculty of expression—if indeed there be such a separate
faculty—can only ornament and deck out words, as barbers do the hair, but it
cannot tell whether it is better to speak or to keep silence, and if to speak
what to say—only the faculty of the moral purpose can do that. It is this
super-faculty that attends to everything ; that can, if it will, destroy the
whole man by hunger, by a noose, or by hurling him from a cliff. By its very
nature it alone is capable of checking itself. Whence it follows that the moral
purpose when perverted is the only vice, and when unperverted is the only
virtue.
When, therefore, one hears such
statements as that ‘ the flesh is the most excellent of all things ’ (as oft-
times it itself declares itself to be), we know that they are not true. How
came it, then, that Epicurus said so in his works On the Object of
Existence, Physics, and On the Standard of Judgment ? Was it love of
the flesh that made him a philosopher and prompted him on a death-bed of pain
to write : ‘ I am spending my last day on earth and it is a happy one ! ? I ask
again : What prompted him to write this—the flesh or his moral purpose ? You
are not mad ; surely you see that there is something higher than and superior
to the flesh ?
But this does not mean that we ought
to despise our other faculties. No, indeed ! To say that there is no use in
anything save in the faculty of moral purpose would be stupid, blasphemous and
ungrateful to God. What we have to do is to assign to everything its proper
value. An ass is not so useful as an ox, nor a dog as a slave, nor an ordinary
citizen as a magistrate ; and yet asses, dogs and ordinary citizens have their
uses. We are certainly not justified because some things are superior in
despising humbler ones. So there is a certain value in the faculty of
expression, though not so much as in that of moral purpose. But though a right
moral purpose is the highest of all faculties, I repeat I do not want you to
neglect the
LECTURES : BOOK II (xxiii) 107
faculty of expression any more than I want you to neglect your eyes, ears,
hands, feet, dress, or shoes. All I want you to do is to realize that it is the
faculty of the moral purpose, when it becomes a right moral purpose, that is
the highest faculty, and that it is it that makes use of all the other
faculties, both great and small, including the faculty of expression. It is
through the faculty of the moral purpose, if it be right, that a man becomes
good, and if wrong, bad ; it is through it that we are fortunate or
unfortunate, get on with or fail to get on with one another ; in short, it is
that which when neglected causes misery, which when cultivated brings
happiness.
But to pretend that there is no such
thing as a faculty of expression, or unduly to minimize its importance, is both
ungrateful and cowardly. Some people seem to dread that a mere admission of its
existence will make them attach undue importance to it. Some people are very
silly. I have even heard of people maintaining that there is no difference
between beauty and ugliness—that the same emotion would be provoked by gazing
at a Thersites or an Achilles, at a Helen or at some quite ordinary woman.
Which, of course, is absurd. The whole point is this : to learn which is the
highest faculty and which the secondary ones, and then to cultivate the highest
faculty to the utmost of one’s ability while at the same time cultivating the
subsidiary ones for the sake of the highest. For how can the highest attain its
full perfection if we neglect the others ?
Too often men behave as a man
returning home from a far country on furlough, who chances en route upon
a really comfortable hotel with which he is so pleased that he stays on and on
at it and never gets
home at all, forgetful that he was
not travelling to it but had meant just to break his journey there. And
you may chance on plenty of others just as comfortable and just as suitable for
breaking your journey at, but not for lingering in indefinitely. Your job is to
return home and relieve the anxiety of your people, to do your duty as a
citizen, marry, bring up children, and hold the customary public offices. You
did not come into the world merely to live in pleasant places, but to do your
duty in that country where you were born and of which you are a citizen. So,
too, in the matter of the faculty of expression which we have been talking
about, you can only advance towards perfection through the spoken word and such
teaching as you get here, and by purifying your moral purposes and educating
the faculty which makes use of the impressions of the outside world you receive
through your five senses. And as of necessity such teaching must be given
according to certain rules and in an attractive and appropriate style, we find
some paying more attention to style than to matter, and concerning themselves
almost entirely with syllogisms, with arguments based on hypothetical premises
and other devices of the kind, lingering over them as though they were themselves
the goal of education and not a mere resting-place on the road to higher
things.
Remember, your real aim is to become
competent to use in conformity with Nature the impressions of the outer world
you receive through your senses, to learn how to get what you want and to avoid
what you do not want, how never to suffer any evil fortune, how to be free,
unhampered, unconstrained, subject only to the will of God, gladly obedient to
His com-
LECTURES : BOOK II (xxiv) 109 mands,
blaming no one, accusing no one, and able to say with your whole heart the
verses beginning—
Lead Thou me on, O Zeus and Destiny ! 1
Remember, I say, this real aim of
yours, and do not be caught by some pretty tricks of style or such-like and
linger unduly over them. They are good enough of their kind, but they are only
a means to an end— as an hotel is only a temporary resting-place, not a home.
For you may be as eloquent as Demosthenes and yet be unhappy, or as expert in
resolving syllogisms as Chrysippus and yet wretched, sorrowful, envious and not
at peace.
Now some people think that I want to
depreciate the study of oratory and of rules for proper expression, but this is
not so. I merely want you to realize that such things are only a means to an
end. If I am doing harm by insisting on this, then I am doing harm, that’s all.
But when I know that one thing alone is of supreme importance, I am not going
to say that something else is ; no, not to please anybody !
xxiv
Some one once said to Epictetus : ‘
I have attended many of your lectures, but I have never yet heard anything that
I wanted to know. Can’t you teach me something useful ? ’
And Epictetus answered him :
Epictetus : Do you believe that there is such a thing
1 First line of ‘ Hymn of Cleanthes ’ : also quoted in Book III, Ch.
xxii, p. 173 ; Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 231 ; and with the second and third lines in
Manual, 53, p. 310.
as an art of speaking, so that a man
possessing this art is a good speaker, while one who has not got it is a bad
one ?
Inquirer : I do indeed.
Epictetus : And that he whose words do good both to himself
and to others is a good speaker, while he whose words do harm is a bad one ?
Inquirer : Yes.
Epictetus : And are there not arts in doing many other
things ? For instance, does not a musician show his art by getting the most he
can out of the instrument he plays on, and a sculptor his by his skill with his
chisel ?
Inquirer : Certainly.
Epictetus : And haven’t the audience in a concert hall and
the visitors to a sculpture gallery their arts too—the arts of being
intelligent enough to appreciate what they hear and see ?
Inquirer : I agree.
Epictetus : I think, then, it is pretty clear that any one
expecting to benefit by listening to lectures on philosophy needs at least some
practice in the art of listening. Don’t you think so ?.. . Now you ask me
to teach you something ; I ask you what you are capable of learning ?
Could you learn, for instance, about 6 good ’ and ‘ evil ’—not good
and evil for a horse or an ox, but for a man ? But first of all—do you know
what a man is, his nature, his way of thinking ? Do you know what Nature is ?
Have you any idea what I am talking about ? Would you like me to prove
something to you ? But how can I unless you know what is meant by ‘proof’ and
can distinguish between real proof and something that merely apes it and is in
reality no proof at all ? Can you tell
LECTURES: BOOK II (xxiv) m truth
from falsehood ? Do you want me to try and interest you in philosophy ? But how
am I to explain to you why men disagree on such matters as ‘ good ’ and ‘ evil
’, ‘ advantage ’ and ‘ disadvantage \ when you do not even know the meaning of
these terms ? How indeed under such circumstances can we discuss anything
profitably at all ? If you want me to discuss anything with you, you must
first arouse my interest. A sheep’s interest is aroused when you offer it
something it likes to eat—some grass, for instance ; its interest wouldn’t be
aroused by stones or bread. So, too, my interest is only aroused and I can only
talk to a listener who has succeeded in inspiring me. But when a would-be
listener is to me like stone is to a sheep, how can I be expected to talk or
teach ? A vine does not have to ask a gardener to tend it ; its mere
appearance, suggestive of future profit, invites him. The mere sight of pretty
lively babies tempts one to go down on all fours and play with them and talk
baby-talk to them ; but the appearance of a little donkey does not make any one
want to frolic and bray with it !
So you see, I have nothing to say to
you ; at least only this—that the man who does not know who he is, what he was
born for, what sort of world he lives in, and with whom he shares it ; who does
not know what things are noble and good and what are base and evil ; who cannot
follow reasoning and proof ; who cannot distinguish truth from falsehood ; who
does not exercise his likes and dislikes, his choices and aims in conformity
with the dictates of Nature ; who does not assent, dissent, or suspend
judgement : such a man is both deaf and blind, and whatever he may in his folly
imagine himself to be, he is in fact a nobody.
Now this is not a newly-discovered
truth ; it has been true ever since the race of men existed. Every error and
every misfortune that has ever been has been due to this kind of ignorance. It
was because they did not know what things were expedient and what inexpedient
that Agamemnon and Achilles fell out. One of them, you will remember, said it
was expedient to give the Lady Chryseis up to her father, the other that it was
inexpedient. Again, one of them said he ought to have some one else’s share of
the spoil, the other that he shouldn’t. It was this ignorance that made them
forget who they were and why they had come to Troy. Hadn’t they gone there to
fight the Trojans—not to get sweethearts ? Then why did Achilles turn his back
on Hector and his duty and draw his sword against his own King ? And why did
King Agamemnon, the best of men,
In
whose dread hands his people’s fortunes lay,1
turn his back on his kingly
duties and for the sake of a chit of a girl come to fisticuffs with the most
eminent soldier amongst his allies, a man whom he ought to have honoured and
cherished in every possible way ?
My friend, you may be rich, but you
are not richer than Agamemnon was ; you may be handsome, but no handsomer than
Achilles. You may have a fine head of hair, but Achilles had golden hair, finer
than yours, and most becomingly dressed. You may be strong, but you couldn’t
lift rocks like the ones Hector and Aias lifted. You may be nobly born, but
your mother is not, I imagine, a goddess, nor your father of the seed of Zeus.
You may be an orator, but you are not a better one than Achilles, who
confounded
LECTURES : BOOK II (xxvi) 113
Odysseus and Phoenix, the two subtlest of all the Greeks.
That is all I have to say to you,
and even for this I have had no heart, for you have not inspired me. Horse
fanciers are excited when they look at thoroughbreds. But what is there in you
to inspire me when I look at you ? Your body ? You have ruined its shape by
laziness and self-indulgence. Your clothes ? You are over-dressed. Your good
looks, your manners ? No ! No, when you want a philosopher to teach you
something, do not ask him to teach you. Just show him that you are capable of
learning and you will see how quickly he will respond !
xxv
Some one once asked Epictetus to
prove to him the value of logic. ‘ You want me to prove it ? 5
said Epictetus ; ‘ very well, then ; but I can only prove it by proceeding
strictly in accordance with rule, otherwise you would not be certain whether I
had proved it or not, would you ? But the strict rules of proof are precisely
what logic teaches. So to satisfy you I must make use of logic.’ And the man
had no answer to make.
xxvi
People do not do wrong deliberately1
; they want to do right, and if they make a mistake they are not doing what
they want to do. What, for instance, does a thief want ? Surely to gain
something. But if he lose by his thieving he is certainly not getting
See
Book I, Ch. xviii, p. 21.
what he wants. Now every mistake is
the result of some internal strife and inconsistency, and every rational person
dislikes being inconsistent. So long as a man is unaware that he is
inconsistent there is nothing to prevent him from going on being so ; but when
he realizes his inconsistencies he cannot but abandon them, just as we all
renounce the false when we are convinced of its falsity.
A man will, therefore, go on making
mistakes till you point out his inconsistencies to him. Then his faculty of
reason, which governs his actions, will instinctively set him right, just as
the beam of a balance inclines correctly and automatically. Socrates who had
confidence in Man’s faculty of reason used to say : ‘ I never call in outside
evidence to support my contentions ; I am satisfied with that of the person
with whom I am arguing.’
However, if you refrain from
pointing out his inconsistencies to the man guilty of them, he will persist in
the error of his ways, and you must blame yourself, not him.
i
EPICTETUS once had the following
conversation with a young law student, his hair elaborately curled and in
general somewhat over-dressed, who had come to see him :
Epictetus : Some horses and dogs are beautiful, are they
not ?
Student : Indeed they are.
Epictetus : And some men handsome, or the reverse ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : Now, why do we call them beautiful and handsome
? Is it not because each has attained the utmost excellence its nature is
capable of?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : And as the nature of each is different, so each
is beautiful in a different way ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : So that the qualities which make a horse
beautiful may make a dog ugly, and vice versa ? And similarly those which befit
a boxer do not necessarily become a wrestler and might make a runner quite
ridiculous in appearance ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : Now dogs and horses are beautiful when they
display the canine and equine races respectively at their best ; and a man is
handsome when he
displays the highest qualities of
the human race. So, my young friend, if you want to be good-looking, strive to
display such qualities.
Student : What are they ?
Epictetus : Just think a moment ! Which do you admire
most—-justice and self-control or injustice and licence ?
Student : Oh, justice and self-control, of course !
Epictetus : Then be just and self-controlled yourself, and
you may be sure that if you are you will be handsome too ; but if you aren’t,
no cosmetic art will make you anything but hideous. . . . Now dare I say
something else to you that is in my mind ? The trouble is this : if I do I may
offend you, and then perhaps you will walk out and never come back ; while if I
don’t I shall be failing in my duty, for you have come to me—a philosopher—for
me to teach you, and I shall not have taught you. Besides, would it not be
unkind for me not to tell you any faults I see in you ? Some day later on when
you have found your bearings a bit better, you might reproach me, and rightly
so, saying : c Why was it that Epictetus never said a word to me
when I went to see him, though he must have seen the unhappy condition I was in
? Surely he did not think I was so depraved as to be incapable of reformation ?
After all, I was only a boy, and I would at least have listened to what he had
to say. Plenty of other young chaps make the same sort of mistakes. Why, there
was Polemo,1 who got drunk and was insolent to Xenocrates, but
Xenocrates got hold of him and turned him into a very decent fellow. I don’t
think I ever did anything quite as bad as Polemo did, nor do I
1 See Book IV, Ch. xi, p. 266. suppose
for a moment I should ever have become so fine a man as he eventually became,
but Epictetus might at least have persuaded me to do my hair properly, to give
up wearing jewellery and to stop plucking my eyebrows. But although he saw me
looking like a—well, you know what—he said nothing? Now I am not going
to say what you look like ; I will leave it to you to say it to yourself when
you realize things a bit better. But suppose, as I say, I were to keep silence
now, and one day you were to reproach me for my silence, what defence could I
put up to such just reproaches ?
Then there is another
possibility—that if I do speak out my thoughts you may pay no heed to them. But
that is no reason for my not speaking. Apollo told Laius the truth when He
warned him not to beget a son ; but Laius got drunk and went away and begot the
ill-starred Oedipus. Apollo knew perfectly well all the time that Laius would
not obey Him, but that did not prevent Him from speaking out.
Student : Why not ?
Epictetus : Because He was Apollo ; because He pronounced
oracles and because He prophesied what He knew to be true so that all men might
come to Him to know the truth. Men may disbelieve and disobey Him if they
choose ; in fact they generally do. For instance, on the front of His temple is
graven the command : ‘ Seek to know what you really are.’1 But who
does ? Or take another instance—that of Socrates. Socrates tried hard to persuade
every one who came to see him to improve themselves, but in how many cases (do
you suppose) did he succeed ?
1 Cp.
Fragment i, p. 273.
Not in one in a thousand ! But that
did not prevent him from going on trying. As he himself said, he had been appointed
by God Himself to this special duty, and he never shirked it. Remember his
words to his judges : ‘ If my acquittal is dependent on my giving up my present
practices, I refuse acquittal on such terms, and you may rest assured that I
will never cease questioning young and old alike in the way I have done
heretofore, and that if I make any difference at all, it will be to redouble my
questioning of all who are my fellow-citizens and kinsmen for the very reason
that they are my fellow-citizens and kinsmen, and because I wish to prevent
them from being bad fellow-citizens and kinsmen?1 Socrates could
make the bold claim that he was one 6 who loved his fellow men ’.2
In every species of living beings—cattle, dogs, bees, horses, men—Nature sometimes
produces an outstanding individual who is, as it were, the red thread in the
mantle.3 Socrates was such a one. I do not pretend to be one myself
; still, somehow or other, it has become my lot to wear the grey beard and
rough cloak of a philosopher, and as you, my boy, have come to me to be taught,
I do not propose to treat you unkindly or as though I despaired of you. So
listen to what I am going to say to you : If you want to be handsome, first
learn what you are, and then, in the light of that knowledge, adorn yourself.
In the first place you are a human being, i.e. a mortal animal endowed with
reason. The superiority of Man lies not in his body nor in his ability to make
use of his sense-perceptions, but in his power of reasoning. So that is what
you have
1 Plato : Apology. 2 Cp. Leigh Hunt : Abou ben
Adhem.
8 Cp. Book I, Ch. ii, p. 3.
to adorn, not your hair. Next, you
are a man—not a woman. A woman’s skin is soft and hairless, and if by any
chance she be hairy, she is exhibited as such at some show in Rome. And if a
man be not hairy, he, too, is a monstrosity. But what on earth are we to call a
man who is hairy but who tries to turn himself into a woman by plucking out
his hairs ? Surely men who do that sort of thing hardly realize what they are
doing. Don’t they want to be men ? Do they think every one ought to be born
woman ? But if there were only women in the world, there would not be much
point in adorning yourself, would there ? But, you say, you don’t like being
hairy. Very well, then, the best thing you can do is to take drastic steps and
get rid once and for all of ... of the cause of your being hairy. It would be
better for you to do that than to be a sort of hermaphrodite.
Student : But some women prefer smooth men.
Epictetus : Oh, do they ? And if they preferred sexual
perverts, would you become one to please them ? Do you imagine that you were
created to be the toy of loose women ? Is that the type of man who is needed as
citizen of Corinth, and perhaps even in public offices such as Traffic Superintendent,
Curator of Youth, General, or Director of Public Sports ? When you are married,
will you go on plucking out your hairs ? And are your future sons going to be
plucked too ? No, no ! don’t be so silly ! Just go and think things over and
say to yourself : ‘ Of course, it was not really Epictetus who said all this to
me ; he is not clever enough to have thought of it. It must have been some
kindly God speaking through his mouth, and Him I must obey lest He be wrath
with me.’ For when you get a sign through the croaking of a raven, it is not
the raven that gives the sign, but God through the raven. And in the same way,
when you receive a message through the human voice, it is not the man himself
who is speaking to you, but God through him. Sometimes, in matters of gravest
import, God sends a special messenger. You remember how Zeus warned
Aegistheus—you can read His very words in the Odyssey :
See how Aegistheus,
conscious, made his doom
Far deeper than that ordained by Destiny When impiously he wedded one a
wife And slew her husband scarce returnèd home. Yet We had warned him by our
messenger Swift, keen-eyed Hermes, who forbade him straight To murder
Atreus’ son or rob his bed, Foretelling certain vengeance that should come When
years should bring Orestes to a man And hunger for his country bring him home.[16]
Now, just as Zeus sent Hermes to
warn Aegistheus, so too He sends you this message through me : ‘ Leave well
alone. Let man be man and woman woman ; let the beautiful be beautiful and the
ugly ugly.’ I have not dared to hint to you that perhaps you are not quite so
good-looking as you think you are ! You are not merely so much flesh and
hair—the real you is your moral purpose. Make that beautiful and you
will indeed be handsome. Remember what Socrates said to Alcibiades who
physically was perfect. ‘ Try ’, he said, ‘ to be handsome. . . .’ Now, wait a
moment ! What did he mean by that ? That Alcibiades was to curl his locks and
pluck the hairs out of his legs ? No ! a. thousand times no ! ‘ Try ’, he said,
‘ to be handsome ... by making your moral purpose beautiful and by eradicating
all your false opinions.’
Student : Must I then entirely neglect my body ? Can’t I
even wash it ?
Epictetus : Of course, silly boy, you must wash your body
and look after it properly, as Nature bids. But to curl your locks and pluck
the hairs out of your legs is as bad as it would be to pluck out a lion’s mane
or a cock’s comb. Your chief concern, however, and that of every man, woman,
and child, should be to keep your true self, that is your moral purpose,
spotless before God.
ii
If you would be perfect you must be
trained in the three fields of study. The first field is concerned with our
inclinations, i.e. our likes and dislikes, so that we may learn how always to
get what we want and how never to get what we would avoid. The second deals
with choice and refusal, whereby we learn to act orderly, carefully and with
sufficient reason, not coldly like statues, but fulfilling our social duties
both to our relatives and to our friends as a religious man, a son, brother,
father, and citizen ought to do. The third embraces avoidance of error,
rashness in judgement, and assent generally, and in particular those cases in
which strong emotions come into play ; for a strong emotion only arises when we
have failed in getting what we wanted or in avoiding what we didn’t want. It
also covers all mental storms and inner conflicts, all misfortunes and
calamities, all sorrows and unhappinesses, all envies and passions which make
it impossible for us even to listen to reason. This third field, however,
concerns only those who have made some progress in philosophy, for it is
through its study that we gain the assurance that it is impossible for us to be
taken unawares or to be defeated by some sudden and as yet untested
sense-perception—no, not even though we be asleep, drunk or mad.
Philosophers nowadays are apt to
pass by the first two fields of study and to concentrate upon the third, which
also includes devices of logic such as syllogisms, hypothetical premises and
the like, and dilemmas such as ‘ The Liar ’J But, as I have said, it is only
one who has achieved a certain measure of progress by mastery of the first two
fields who ought to embark upon the third. Have you all mastered the first two
? Are you above petty pilfering ? Can you all look at a pretty girl without an
evil thought ? Can you all hear of a neighbour getting a legacy without being
envious of him ? Be frank with yourselves. Aren’t you—even in the very act of
studying these topics— worried lest somebody should undervalue you or be discussing
you ? And when any one flatters you by saying that you are the only real
philosopher he knows, doesn’t your poor little soul swell with pride ; whereas
if some one else happens to remark : ‘ Nonsense ! what’s the good of listening
to him ? He knows nothing but the mere rudiments of philosophy ! ’ don’t
you grow pale with anger, lose your temper and growl : ‘ Rudiments, indeed !
I’ll larn him ! ’ And yet it is just these emotions and actions of yours which
reveal to you how much or how little progress you have really made. That was
how Diogenes exploded a certain Sophist’s pretensions to being a
1 See Book II, Ch. xvii, p. 84, Ch. xviii, p. 87 ; Book III, Ch. ix, p.
141.
LECTURES : BOOK III (iii) 123
philosopher ; he pointed at him derisively with his finger, and all that
Sophist’s philosophy could not prevent him from flying into a rage.
If you haven’t yet mastered the
first two fields, what profit can you expect by a premature study of the third
? Take your judgements, for instance. What value do you set on your moral
purpose when you constantly worry yourself about things that lie outside its
ambit, such as what So-and-so will say, what impression you will make, whether
men will recognize you as a scholar learned in the works of Chrysippus,
Antipater and Archedemus, and so forth ? Why, the mere thinking of such
thoughts proves you to be selfish, captious, touchy, faint-hearted, discontented
with everybody and everything, restless, a boaster. The philosopher Crinus was
also learned in the works of Archedemus, but that didn’t prevent him from dying
of an apoplexy when he was suddenly frightened by a mouse. Such things as fall
within the third field are as yet no concern of yours and you had better leave
them alone. They are a meet subject for those who can study them
dispassionately and who can say honestly : ζ I do not give way to
anger, sorrow or envy ; I am not subject to restraint or compulsion ; I have
leisure and peace of mind. What do I still lack ? Let me consider how one
should deal with hypothetical premises in argument, and how one may adopt an
hypothesis and yet not be led to an absurd conclusion.’
iii
In the same way as physicians and
masseurs are chiefly concerned with the human body, and farmers
with their crops, so too the good
man is chiefly concerned with his mind which enables him to deal, in
accordance with Nature, with the impressions he gets of the outside world
through his five senses. Now we know that every mind naturally assents to what
is true, dissents from what is false, and suspends judgement in doubtful cases 1
; and that it is naturally inclined towards good, away from evil, and to be
neutral towards things that are neither good nor bad. Hence a man’s mind will
never refuse any senseperception of the outside world provided it seem to be
good ; i.e. good for it, for good attracts, evil repels, the mind. c
Good for me ’ is the stimulus that prompts all actions, not only men’s but
God’s too. Senseperceptions that seem good to it are, as it were, the coinage
the mind prefers, the legal-tender it will not and cannot refuse (any more than
a banker or a tradesman can refuse Caesar’s coinage which is the legal tender
of commerce).
The trouble is that all of us have
different views as to what constitutes ‘ good ’ or ( good for
us ’, and so we all prefer different coinages. If we define ζ good ’
or ζ our good ’ as ‘ a right moral purpose ’ our difficulties will
vanish, for the preservation of the relationships of life will automatically
become a ‘ good ’ and we shall cease being worried about things outside the
ambit of our moral purposes. Then if your father takes your money, or your
brother helps himself to the lion’s share of the family estates, you will
willingly let them have them, for you will realize that they are not doing you
any harm, for they are not robbing you of anything that really matters—of your
modesty, fidelity or brotherly love, for instance.
1 Cp.
Book I, Ch. vii, p. 8, and Ch. xxviii, p. 35.
LECTURES : BOOK III (iii) 125 Of
such things, in truth, they cannot rob you. Why, not even God Himself could rob
you of them, no, not even if He wanted to, for He has put all such things under
your sole control.
To obtain something from a man who
does not thus define his ‘ good ’, you must pay him in the coinage he desires,
the only one which he recognizes as legal tender. Thus, you will have to pay
the unscrupulous Governor of a Province in coin of the realm, an adulterer with
a girl. The price of others may be a boy, a horse or a dog. But pay them in
their favourite coin and they will give you what you want.
God has ordained that every one
shall prefer what he regards as ζ good ’ to everything else. The
fault lies in making a wrong choice of what is to be regarded as ‘ good ’. Do
not you make this mistake. Always apply the rule : Is the thing—your external
or senseperceptions—within the ambit of your moral purpose or not ? If not, it
is no concern of yours. For instance, when you go out after breakfast, suppose
the first thing you see is a handsome man or a pretty woman. Apply the rule.
Are they within or without the ambit of your moral purpose ? Without, of
course. Then they are no concern of yours. Suppose next you see some one
weeping over a dead child ? Ask yourself : ς Is Death within or
without the ambit of my moral purpose ? ’ Of course it is without. Then it is
nothing to you. Next, you may meet some Governor. Apply your rule : Is a
Governorship within the ambit of your moral purpose ? No ; it isn’t. Then it
does not fulfil the test ; it is nothing to you. . . . Now, if only you would
act like this, and keep on doing so every day from morning till
night, you would soon make definite
progress. But, in fact, what do you do ? You just gape at every
sense-perception you get, and only remember the rule for a few moments while I
am lecturing to you about it ; and then as soon as my lecture is over, off you
go, and if you happen to see a man in trouble you promptly exclaim : ‘ That’s
the end of him ! ’ or if you meet a Governor : ζ Lucky chap ! ’ or
an exile : ‘ Poor devil ! ’ or a pauper : ζ I’m sorry for him ; he’s
no money, so he’s bound to starve ! ’ There are some pretty examples of
wrong-headed judgements for you—for all these things—tears, lamentations,
misfortunes, strife, quarrels, fault-findings, accusations, impieties,
foolishnesses—are judgements of the mind, and judgements about things that lie
outside the ambit of our moral purposes, and which we wrongly assume to be
either good or bad. It is just such muddled judgements as these that we ought
to concentrate on weeding out of our minds. What we have to do is to confine
our judgements to things that lie within the ambit of our moral purposes. If
only you would do that, you would be as firm as a rock whatever happened.
The mind is like a bowl of water,
our sense-perceptions like rays of light shining on the water. If the water be
troubled, we might imagine it to be due to the rays of light, but rays of light
have no power to trouble the water. So, too, if the mind be troubled, it looks
as though it were due to our sense-perceptions. But it isn’t. Our
sense-perceptions have no power to trouble the mind.
iv
The Governor of Epirus on one
occasion showed so much partiality in favour of a certain comedian that he
incurred sharp criticism at the hands of the Epiriots, and being much annoyed
thereat came to Epictetus and complained bitterly at the lack of respect such
criticisms implied. c But I can’t see what you’ve got to grumble
about,’ said Epictetus ; ‘ after all, they were only taking sides, just the
same as you were. What else can you expect ? When they saw you—their
Governor, the friend and representative of Caesar—taking sides, naturally they
did the same. They only imitated you. It is very natural to imitate one’s
superiors. I can well imagine one of them saying : “If Caesar’s Deputy storms
and bounces up and down at the theatre, I will too ; and as I haven’t got a
claque to barrack for me, I’ll barrack all the louder myself to make up for it
! ” You must realize that when you go to the theatre, it is you who set
the standard of behaviour. And as for the criticisms you resent, they are
easily explained. We all hate anything or any one that stands in our way. Now
they wanted their man to win the prize and you wanted yours ; so they were
standing in your way and you in theirs. And as you happened to be the stronger
they did the only thing they could, viz. they abused the obstacle to their
wishes—you. You do not seriously think, I suppose, that you ought to be
able to do what you want and that they should not be able even to
say what they want ? That would hardly be reasonable, would it ? Why,
you know that farmers and sailors vilify even God Himself when He does not give
them exactly what they want, and that men are constantly abusing Caesar. Do you
suppose God doesn’t know this, or that Caesar never hears of it ? But Caesar
doesn’t worry—he knows quite well that if he were to punish every one who
abused him, the prisons would be so full that there would be no one left
outside for him to rule over. No Î you have got hold of the wrong end of the
stick. What you ought to have said to yourself was : not “ I want Sophron to
win ”, but “ I want the winner to win ” ; then your wish would have been
gratified.1 But if nothing will satisfy you but that Sophron should
win, all I can suggest is that you should let him give some private
performances at your house and you can then award him as many prizes as you
like. But you can’t arrogate to yourself the right of awarding public prizes,
and if you do you must expect to be criticized unfavourably, and you had better
make up your mind to grin and bear it. That will be the inevitable result of
lowering yourself to the level of other people.’
One of his students once complained
that he never felt really well in Nicopolis, and thought he had better go home.
And Epictetus said : ‘ Were you always well at home before you came here ? Have
you, then, given up all idea of continuing your studies ? Of course, if you
find that what I teach you is of no use to you, it is a pity you ever came at
all, and you had certainly better go home and look after your father in his old
age, and your family estates, and become a local magnate as best you can, with
the
1 Cp. Manual, 33, p 303. knowledge
you have, such as it is. But if you had, as it is obvious you haven’t, learned
what I have been trying to drum into you, that you are here to weed certain
mistaken ideas out of your mind and to replace them with right ones, and that
the only things that concern you are those which lie within the ambit of your
moral purpose, you would certainly not be upset by such a trifle as not feeling
particularly well. My dear boy, surely you know by this time that sickness and
death come to all of us wherever we are or whatever we do ; they overtake the
farmer in the fields and the sailor on the seas ; and one day they will
overtake you, and what do you propose to do about it? Personally, I hope
that when death overtakes me, it will find me busily engaged in trying
to make my moral purpose calm, independent, unconstrained and free, so that I
may be able to say to God : “ Have I ever transgressed Thy laws ? Have I ever
misused the talents Thou gavest me, prostituted my five senses, or been false
to those instincts that Thou didst implant in me ? Have I ever cavilled at Thee
or questioned Thy will ? Nay, when it was Thy will I fell sick—as did other
men—but I gladly. I have held no public office because Thou willedst me not to
; nor have I even desired to hold office, or been grieved because it did not
come my way. I have ever come before Thee with a cheerful countenance, eager to
execute Thy commands. And now that it is Thy will that I should leave the
banquet of life, I leave it full of gratitude to Thee for having thought me
worthy to share in it, to behold Thy works and how Thou dost order them.” Such
be my thoughts when death shall overtake me ! ’
Student : But if I stop on here when I am ill, how can my
mother look after me ? I always get better quicker if she nurses me.
Epictetus : Don’t be so soft !
Student : Besides, at home I have a really comfortable
bed, whereas at my lodgings here . . .
Epictetus : Oh, really, I have no patience with you ! Get
home to your comfortable bed ! You’re the sort of person who would want a
comfortable bed even when he was well, and obviously your bed is more
important—to you at any rate—than anything you are likely to learn here. I
wonder if you remember what Socrates said ? ‘ As one man delights in improving
his farm and another in improving his stud, so my daily delight lies in trying
to improve myself.’
Student : How ? In little philosophic phrases and
fancies, I suppose ?
Epictetus : Are you serious ?
Student : Well, I can’t see what else philosophers do all
the time.
Epictetus : No ? Then such things as never to blame or
grumble at any one, either God or man ; as always keeping an impassive face ;
mean nothing to you ? And yet these were the things that Socrates knew, though
he used to say he knew nothing and never taught anybody anything, and whenever
any one came to him to learn what you call ‘ little philosophic phrases and
fancies ’ he used to send him to Protagoras or Hippias, just as if any one had
come to him for fresh vegetables he would have sent him to a greengrocer. ζ
My daily delight lies in trying to improve myself.’ Which of you, young men,
has that same aim that Socrates had ? Why, with it, any one would be glad to be
ill, to be hungry, even to die !
vi
(a) When some one asked him why it
was that whereas in olden days progress in logic was rapid and striking, now,
in spite of all the work being done on it, progress seemed to have slowed down
almost to vanishing-point, Epictetus replied : c It depends on what
you mean by “ progress in logic Our ancestors concentrated on one branch of
logic, viz. the inquiry how to bring Man’s moral purpose into harmony with
Nature, and in this they were remarkably successful. We moderns, on the other
hand, have been much more interested in another branch— the solution of
syllogisms, and in fact we have made notable contributions to knowledge in
their regard. And, perhaps, in our enthusiasm, we have rather tended to neglect
the former and more important branch of the two. Still, those of us who have
tried to keep themselves in conformity with Nature have made progress in this
regard also.’
(ά) The good man is unconquerable.
Naturally, for into whatsoever struggle he enters he is the stronger. c
If you want my worldly goods,’ he says, 6 or my servants, or my
public offices, or even my body, take them and welcome ; but you can’t prevent
me getting what I want or failing to avoid what I don’t want.’ This is, in
fact, the only struggle into which a good man enters ; viz. the one concerned
with those things that lie within the ambit of his moral purpose. So he can’t
help winning every time.[17]
(f) When some one asked him for a
definition of ‘ normal intelligence ’, he replied : ‘ A man who has normal
hearing can naturally tell one sound from another, say a dog’s bark from a
cat’s miaul. To acquire a more specialized hearing—the sort, for instance, that
can distinguish between tones, i.e. qualities of sound, needs education and
practice. In the same way, a man with normal intelligence instinctively
understands simple things without special training or practice.’
(J) A fisherman cannot catch a
jelly-fish on a hook —it is too soft. And I can’t catch and persuade soft and
stupid young men to pay any attention to what I try to teach them ; whereas
those with real intelligence seize hold of my teachings, and if I were to try
and fob them, off, they would hold on to them more tenaciously than ever. In
fact, Rufus used this very device to distinguish the clever from the stupid. He
used to say : ‘ If you throw a stone up into the air it inevitably falls back
to earth ; and similarly if you put obstacles in the way of a really clever
man, his superior intelligence will make him all the more determined to
overcome them.’
vii
When the Imperial Bailiff, who was
an Epicurean, came to call upon him, Epictetus said : c It is only
right and proper that we laymen should ask you philosophers to instruct us what
is the best thing in the world, so that we may try and get it. Now I suppose
nobody denies that Man has body, soul, and property. So all you have to do is
to tell us which of the three is best. Is it body—the flesh ? If that be so, no
doubt it was because the flesh is best that Maximus, braving the seas of
winter, accompanied his son on his voyage as far as Cassiope?
Bailiff : Oh, no !
Epictetus : Still, you agree that one’s motives should be
inspired by the best, not by the second best ?
Bailiff : I do, most certainly.
Epictetus : What, then, is better than the flesh ?
Bailiff : The soul.
Epictetus : Ah ! then you believe that the possessions of
the soul are of more value than those of the body ?
Bailiff: Yes.
Epictetus : Now the soul’s possessions lie within the ambit
of the moral purpose, do they not ?
Bailiff : They do.
Epictetus : And whatsoever delights and pleases the soul
also lies within the ambit of the moral purpose, is that not so ?
Bailiff: Yes.
Epictetus : But that which delights and pleases the soul
must come from somewhere. What is its origin ? It could not have created itself.
So we are forced to predicate the existence of something prior which inspires
the soul to delight in good things.
Bailiff : I agree.
Epictetus : No, no ! you can’t agree ; you are an
Epicurean. If you agree with me you will be saying something inconsistent both
with your Master Epicurus and with all his teachings. In fact, you must
maintain that pleasure of soul is due to pleasure in things of the flesh, from
which it follows that the ‘ good ’ is to be found in the things of the flesh.
And so you were wrong about Maximus. Maximus, who of course was inspired only
by the very best motives (and he would have been very foolish to have been
otherwise), undoubtedly made his voyage for the sake of the things of the
flesh. And you must maintain further that any judge having the opportunity to
appropriate to himself somebody else’s property would be an idiot if he
neglected his opportunities. And again, that though it is true that Epicurus
said, ‘ Thou shalt not steal,’ he said so not because he regarded the act of
stealing as being in itself evil, but because of the risk of being found out.
But we know that if we commit our thefts with a certain amount of intelligence
the risk of discovery is really negligible, and that even if by any ill-chance
we are caught, we have influential friends in Rome to help us out of the mess.
So why be so silly as to refrain from doing something which will be for your
own advantage ? Really, if you assured me that you never stole anything I
couldn’t believe you. For just as it is impossible to assent to what one knows
is untrue and to refuse to believe what one knows is true, so too it is
impossible to reject what appears to be good. Now, money is clearly very good
indeed, for it buys innumerable pleasures. So why shouldn’t you grab as much of
it as you can ? And why shouldn’t we seduce our neighbours’ wives, provided of
course that we can do so without being found out ? And if unluckily we are
discovered and their husbands begin to talk nonsense, why shouldn’t we break
their silly heads into the bargain ? Of course, if you are a real philosopher
and make your actions match your theory, you naturally do all these things ;
and if you don’t— well, all I have to say is, you are no better than we poor
Stoics ; for we talk virtue and act basely, while you invert the perversity by
enunciating rotten doctrines and then behaving as if you were saints !
Now, speaking seriously ; can you imagine
a state run on Epicurean lines in which men would not get married nor beget
children, nor perform the duties incumbent on citizenship c because
they oughtn’t to ’ ? What do you think the result would be ? Where would the
next generation come from ? Who would bring them up ? Who would be Curator of
Youth or Director of Public Sports ? And what would they teach their pupils ?
Imagine, if you can, what a young man brought up on and practising your doctrines
would be like ! Not like the young men of Lacedaemon or Athens anyhow ! No,
your doctrines are definitely bad, subversive of the State and destructive of
the family. You had better drop them. Remember that you are member of an Empire
and that it is your duty to hold public office, to be a just judge and to
respect other people’s property. The only woman who should appear beautiful to
you should be your wife ; boys, silver, gold, should have no attractions for
you at all. And the only doctrines you should uphold are the ones that inspire
you to act as I have said.
Is not the craftsmanship of a piece
of plate worth more than the silver of which the plate is made ? Are not the
works of the hands of more value than the flesh and blood of which the hands
are formed ? So, too, in Man ; it is not his body or his possessions that we
should esteem, but his acts—the way he conducts himself as citizen, his
marriage, his begetting of children, his reverence for God, his care of his
parents ; in short, his likes, dislikes, choices and refusals all in harmony
with Nature. Man should be free, noble,
136 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS
self-respecting. What other creature can blush or show a sense of shame ? Man
should subordinate pleasure to duty.
Bailiff : But I am rich and need nothing.
Epictetus : Then why pretend to be a philosopher ? If your
hoards of gold and silver content you, what need have you of the doctrines of
philosophy ?
Bailiff : Because I am a Judge.
Epictetus : What qualifications have you for being a Judge
?
Bailiff : I hold Caesar’s commission.
Epictetus : If Caesar issued you commissions to judge music
and literature, would they make you competent to do so ? I wonder how you
managed to get your commission as Judge ? Was it, by any chance, by a little
influence or palm-oil ?
Bailiff : That is not the point. The point is, I am a
Judge, and can imprison and even pronounce death sentences.
Epictetus : The way to govern men is not by threatening
them with imprisonment and death should they not obey you, but by pointing out
to them what is right and what is wrong. Then they will do the former and avoid
the latter. For men are rational beings and should be treated as such. Do as
Socrates did—make them admire you and want to be like you. Men so loved him
that they were willing to subordinate their inclinations, their likes,
dislikes, choices and refusals as he taught them. So if you want to govern
properly, eschew all threats and content yourself with warning your subjects
that they should do this or that ‘ because God wishes them to ’, and that if
they disobey Him they are bound to suffer for it. And their punishment will be
that they will not have done
LECTURES : BOOK III (viii) 137 what
they should have done. That is indeed the greatest of all punishments, for it
means that they will have lost their sense of fidelity, decency and honour.
viii
In the same way as we practise
finding answers to the riddles of the Sophists, so too we ought to practise
finding answers to the varied problems propounded daily to us by our
sense-perceptions. Let us consider a few of them : ‘ So-and-so’s son is dead.’
‘ So-and-so has been disinherited by his father.’ ‘ Caesar has condemned him.’
Now all these are outside the ambit of the moral purpose and so are not evils.
But, ‘ He was grieved at what had happened ’ does lie within the ambit of the
moral purpose, and so is an evil ; while ζ He has borne up under it
manfully ’ is also within the ambit of the moral purpose, and so is a good.
Now, if we were to make a habit of
analysing all our sense-perceptions like this, we should soon make progress ;
for we should then never assent to any sense-perception unless it was
self-evidently true. For instance : ‘ His son is dead ’ ; ‘ His ship is lost ’
; ζ He has been arrested ’ ;—you can assent safely to any of these.
But directly you add, 6 Poor chap ! ’ you are adding an indefensible
judgement.
It is no use saying that God should
not allow such things to happen. Why shouldn’t He ? Why do you suppose He made
you high-minded and capable of patient endurance ? Was it not to rob such
happenings of any sting, so that you might endure them cheerfully ? Besides,
has He not left a door of escape open for you ? Use it if you will, but do not
grumble.
Would you like to know what the
Romans think of philosophers ? I happened to be present when a Roman named
Italicus was being urged by his friends to bear some piece of ill-fortune
philosophically. ‘ Philosophically ! ’ he shouted, purple with rage ; ‘
do you want me to be a second Epictetus ? ! ’
ix
One day a Cretan gentleman who was
on his way to Rome called, and when Epictetus inquired the object of his trip,
he replied that it was to attend the hearing of a Petition there in regard to
his recent election as President of Cnossos, and that he would be glad of
Epictetus’ opinion about it. ‘ If you ask me replied Epictetus, 6
whether I think you will win your case or rot, I cannot tell you, for I haven’t
the slightest idea ; but if you want to know whether your trip will be a
success or not, well, it all depends upon yourself ; i.e. upon the judgements
of your mind. If your judgements are sound, everything will turn out well ; if
they are unsound, nothing will turn out well. A man’s success or failure depends
entirely upon his judgement. It was your judgement that made you a candidate
for the Presidency of Cnossos in the first place ; it is your judgement that
impels you now, regardless of weather, cost and other inconveniences, to go to
Rome. The question is—has your judgement been right and wise ? No doubt you
think it has ; but no doubt the petitioners, who are trying to invalidate your
election, think theirs is too. You both think you are right, and yet you can’t
both be right, and why should one be right rather than the other ? Merely to
think you are right is no proof that you are. Lunatics think they are right.
But what I should like to know is whether you have ever reflected about your
judgements and tried to improve your capacity for making right ones ? Not being
satisfied with the honours you already have and aspiring to new and greater
ones, you don’t mind the expense and trouble of a journey to Rome. But have you
ever, so to speak, made a journey in order to study your judgements, so as to
be able to reject any that are unsound ? Have you ever consulted any one on the
subject, and if so, whom and when ? Just cast your mind back over your past
life—you needn’t tell me details if you’d rather not—and think of your boyhood
: did you ever examine your judgements when you were a boy ? or when you were
a law student ? or, later on, when you were called to the Bar and cases began
to roll in thick and fast and you began to launch out into politics ? Did you
submit, would you have submitted, at any of these periods or under any
circumstances, to be cross- examined as to whether your judgements were sound
or not ? No, I’m sorry, I can’t say anything about your lawsuit ; such matters
do not concern philosophers. If you want advice about it you must consult a
lawyer, just as if you wanted some potatoes you would go to a greengrocer, or
to a cobbler for a pair of boots and not to me. Philosophers are concerned
only with Man’s governing principle and how to keep it constantly in harmony
with Nature—a very much more important matter, I may remark, than any election
petition ; and if you want any help from me about yours, well, I will do my
best for you, but I do not know how you can hope to learn much about it in the
course of an afternoon call made out of curiosity to see me and hear what I
have to say and just to wile away an hour or two before your ship sails. I
suppose now you will go off and tell your friends that I had nothing to say at
all ! No ! if you want help from a philosopher, you must submit your judgements
to him for analysis and criticism, comparing yours with his, with the determination
to discover and eradicate any false ones.’
Visitor : If I were to devote myself to such matters, I
should soon be as poor as you are, and find myself minus my farms, my cattle
and silver plate.
Epictetus : Personally, I should hate to own any of them ;
but you, though you own all three, are not satisfied and want more. And yet in
spite of all your wealth you are not so rich as I am.
Visitor : I am afraid I don’t quite follow you.
Epictetus : You are poorer because you lack steadfastness,
because your mind is not in harmony with Nature and your spirit is unquiet.
What do I care if I lack powerful friends, or what Caesar thinks of me ?
But you care a great deal. My peace of mind more than compensates me for
any amount of gold and silver. Your furnishings may be of solid gold, but your
reason, your judgements, assents, choices, and inclinations are all, as it
were, of clay. But mine are now so nearly in harmony with Nature that I am
thinking of completing the third field of study and taking up logic as a sort
of hobby. For now that my mind is no longer distracted, I have plenty of time
on my hands. So while you and those like you, when you have nothing to do, are
restless, go to the theatre, roam up and down aimlessly, or try to amuse
yourselves with your collections of glass and china, we philosophers find our
occupation and pleasure in developing our powers of reasoning, and so study
problems like those called ‘ The Liar ’ [18] and ‘The
Denier’.2 Although you own so much, your possessions seem in your
eyes all too few and worthless, for you covet still more ; whereas I, who have
little, value everything I have. There is no end to your wants ; mine are
already more than satisfied. You remind me of a little boy who passes his bare
arm down the long narrow neck of a jar which is full of figs and nuts so as to
grab as many of them as he can, and who then, when his hand is full, finds he
can’t get it out again. And then he begins to cry and has to drop some in order
to get anything at all. Don’t you see that if you try to get everything you may
end by getting nothing ? So why not drop some of your numberless wants and then
perhaps you will get something.
So whether you be at lunch, at the
Public Baths, or in bed, whether you be well or ill—be always ready. An illness
indeed would give you an excellent opportunity for practising your professed
philosophy. So next time you are ill, don’t postpone its application and merely
go away for a change. Illness cannot be avoided by change of residence. Surely
the very essence of philosophy is self-preparation to enable us to face
anything that may come upon us. It is silly to be daunted by the difficulties
of life ; you ought rather to rejoice at them, saying : ‘ Why, it was to be
able to endure just this very thing that I have been training myself for so
long and practising so hard ! ’ To postpone the application of one’s philosophy,
or to give up being a philosopher altogether, merely because fortune is a
little contrary, is as if a boxer were to give up boxing because some one had
hit him—worse indeed, for the boxer would at least escape a drubbing, whereas
you wouldn’t escape your ill-fortune, you would merely have put yourself in a
worse position to bear it ! So when you have a dose of fever, when you are
thirsty or hungry, bear these ills as a man should. It’s no use saying you
can’t ; you can ; who can stop you ? Your doctor may forbid your eating or
drinking, but he can’t prevent you from bearing hunger and thirst
uncomplainingly.
Student : But I am a student.
Epictetus : And why did you become a student ? Was it not
to learn how to feel secure, how to be happy, and how to live in harmony with
Nature ? You must so live, not part of the time only, but all the time,
whatever you are doing, whether you be walking, on a voyage, on a journey, or
ill. When you go for a walk, walk in the right way ; when you are ill, be ill
in the right way.1 And the right way in which to be ill is to be ill
patiently ; not to grumble at God or man ; not to be crushed by your sufferings
; to await death fearlessly ; not to be afraid of what your doctor may say when
he visits you ; not to be over-elated if he says, ‘ You are better to-day,’ nor
unduly depressed if he shakes his head and says, ‘ Hum hum ! ’ For even if you
are very ill, it only means that you are a little nearer separation of soul
from body, and what is there in that to affright you ? If the separation does
not take place now, it will inevitably do so a little later on, and when it
does the Universe will go on just the same. Nor will it help you to try and
flatter your doctor, any more than it would to flatter your boot-maker or your
builder. Your doctor will, no doubt, do all he can for your body—a poor thing
at best, which does not even belong to you, and which, when all is said and
done, is only temporarily alive.
These, then, are the things a man
who is ill should do, and which he naturally will do if he is a real philosopher.
For the real philosopher is not overconcerned with material things—his wine,
oil, body— he just does the best he can with them ; 2 his real
concern is his governing principle. So what is there left for a sick man to be
afraid of or annoyed about ? Keep these two principles always ready to hand for
instant use : First : 6 Nothing that lies outside the ambit
of the moral purpose is either good or bad.’ Second : ζ Obey,
do not try to order events.’
Student : My brother ought not to have treated me as he has
done.
1
See Book III, Ch. xx, p. 159, and Ch. xxii, p. 169.
Epictetus : Perhaps not ; but that is his affair. Your
business is to observe all your relations with him properly, no matter how he
treats you. Your own behaviour is under your own control, and no one can
interfere with you. His behaviour is not under your control and is no concern
of yours.1
xi
(a) He who regards anything outside
the ambit of his moral purpose as being either good or bad shall be punished by
becoming subject to envy, dissatisfaction, discontentedness, sorrow and
unhappiness. That is God’s law. We know it. We know what will happen if we
break it—and yet we go on breaking it !
(έ) Remember what Homer says about
our duties to foreigners :
I
have no right to insult a foreigner, Whether yourself or
any worser man, For they, and beggars too, are sons of God.2
Nor should we insult fathers or
brothers or relations or friends, or indeed anyone—for all are sons of God.
xii
We must so school ourselves that one
day we shall be able to gratify our inclinations (i.e. our likes and dislikes)
freely, and so always get what we want and never get what we don’t want. To
achieve this our training must be systematic and thorough ; but there is no
need to search out rare and unusual trials. For instance, it is difficult and
dangerous to walk a tightrope or to climb up a greasy pole. Diogenes, it is
said, used to harden himself by embracing statues nude and in cold weather.1
Such recondite ordeals are quite unnecessary for us. What we want to be is
philosophers, not mountebanks. No, it is not danger and difficulty that render
a thing suitable for our selfdiscipline ; it is the association it has with
the object we have in view. Of one thing, anyway, I warn you : if you let your
training trend towards those things that lie outside the ambit of your moral
purpose, especially if such trend become habitual, you will indubitably fail.
1 Cp. Book I, xv, p. 18.
2 Odyssey, IV, 56.
You must strive that your
inclinations be concerned only with those things that lie within the ambit of
your moral purpose. If you are too fond of amusements, deliberately forgo a
few ; if you dislike hard work, make yourself work all the harder ; if you are
inclined to be c county and up-stage ’, teach yourself to bear
insults and even blows with humility. Train yourself to use wine with
moderation, so that eventually you will be able to do without it altogether.
Teach yourself to dispense with all but the plainest food, and to abstain from
the love of women. And then, later on, when a real test comes to you, you will
realize how far you have progressed in mastering your sense-perceptions. For
the moment, however, as you are only beginners, I would advise you whenever you
encounter some strong temptation to fly from it—the temptation, for instance,
of a pretty girl to a young student in philosophy might well prove too much for
him. If earthenware and brass pitchers are carried together to the well, it’s
odds on that some of the earthenware ones will be broken.
1 Cp. Book IV, Ch. v, p. 234, and Manual, 47, p. 308.
10
When you have learned how to manage
your inclinations, you can then proceed to the second field of study, that
dealing with choice and refusal. In this you have to learn to be obedient to
reason, and how not to choose or refuse at the wrong time or place or in the
wrong way.
The third field of study is
concerned with assent, especially in regard to plausible and attractive senseperceptions.
As Socrates bade us subject ourselves to constant self-examination,1
so too we ought not to assent to any sense-perception till we have examined it,
carefully inquiring what it is and whence it came (just like a night police
patrol may demand our identification papers).
I may add this : all methods used
for training and keeping our bodies physically fit may also be of service in
training us to make proper use of our inclinations, unless indeed such methods
tend towards mere display, which, of course, falls outside the ambit of our
moral purposes. Which reminds me of the admirable ‘ Receipt for self-discipline
’ of Apollonius : 6 Take a mouthful of iced water on a hot day when
you are very thirsty—spit it out—and don’t tell anybody ! ’ 2
xiii
Epictetus : A man is not lonely merely because he is alone
; he may be lonely even in a crowd. If we lose a brother, or a son, or some
close and dear friend, we say we are lonely, even though we are actually in the
thronged streets of Rome, in a large hotel, or
1
Cp. Book I, Ch. xxvi, p. 34 ; Book III, Ch. xiv (c), p.
149, and Ch. xvi, p. 154.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xiii) 147
surrounded by troops of servants. The expression c a lonely man ’
seems sometimes to imply, too, a certain degree of helplessness. Loneliness is
not banished by the mere presence of other men, but only by that of congenial
ones. If one were on a solitary journey, one’s loneliness and sense of
helplessness would hardly be abolished by the sudden appearance of footpads !
If the mere fact of being alone were sufficient to make one feel lonely, I
suppose that even Zeus Himself could hardly escape feeling so when all
perish—men and Gods alike, all save He—at the periodic Conflagration of the
Universe. Indeed, some assert that He does, for they cannot conceive the
possibility of an absolutely solitary life seeing that Nature Herself appears to
rule it out by her laws of community of interest, mutual affection and pleasure
in intercourse that bind men. Still, we ought to train ourselves to be
self-sufficient. As God needs no aid, but communes with Himself and serenely
contemplates all his creations, so too we should rely on ourselves and not on
others, commune with our own hearts, and spend our time in the study of God’s
ordering of the Universe and our relationship thereto, in watching the progress
we are making in dealing with our sense-perceptions, in noting where we still
fail, and in seeking how to remedy our failures and to perfect our actions by a
better use of our faculty of reasoning.
Thanks to Caesar, we now live in an
era of profound peace. There are no more wars, there are practically no
highwaymen or pirates left, and as a result we can travel securely all over the
world by land and by sea from the rising to the setting sun. But can Caesar
preserve us also from fever, shipwreck, fire, earthquake and lightning ?—or
from the pangs of love, sorrow and
envy ? Indeed he can’t. But you can
be preserved from them, too, if you will only obey the teachings of philosophy,
which are the teachings of God made apparent to us through our faculty of
reason. And then you will never feel pain, anger, compulsion or hindrance, but
will lead peaceful lives in complete freedom. Enjoying such peace and security
no man will ever feel lonely, for he can assure himself : 6 No evil
can now befall me. So far as I am concerned, highwaymen and earthquakes do not
exist ; everything is full of peace ; all roads, cities, fellow-travellers,
neighbours and companions are harmless. God gives me my food, my clothes, my
five senses, my instincts ; and when He thinks fit he will withdraw these necessities
of existence and open a door for me through which to make my exit. Whither ? To
no place that need alarm me—only back to whence I came, my former home. In a
word, I shall be resolved once more into the friendly elements.1
What there was of fire in me will return to fire, of earth to earth, of water
to water, of spirit to spirit. There is no Hades or Hell, but all things are
filled with God.’ When one has all this to meditate on, and when one can look
upon and enjoy sun, moon, stars, land, and sea, how can any one ever be either
lonely or helpless ?
Student : But if some one were to attack me when I was
alone and murdered me ?
Epictetus : No one can murder you ; he can only kill
your body, and that is worth little. . . . What then is left of our supposed
loneliness and helplessness ? Surely we are not as feeble as little children ?
Even they, when they are left alone, are not lonely, for they fill up their
time by collecting bits of broken crockery
1 Cp.
Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 247.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xiv) 149 and
mud and making mud pies, and then they knock them down and make some more. If
any of you lads were to go away, would you expect me to cry and feel lonely ?
Couldn’t I make mud pies too ? If the ignorance of children leads to happiness,
surely the wisdom of adults should not lead to misery !
xiv
(a)
A good chorus singer is not necessarily a good soloist.
Similarly some men are at their best when with other men, and seem quite unable
to endure being alone. The best type of man, however, is perfectly satisfied
with his own company and does not in the least want to merge himself in the
crowd. He doesn’t mind appearing singular or being laughed at ; indeed that
kind of thing shakes him up and makes him realize better who and what he is.
(b)
Only too often when a man gives something up —drinking
wine, for instance—he begins bragging about it to everybody, saying : ‘ I
only drink water ! ’ If you prefer drinking water, drink it by all means
; but it is absurd to give yourself airs about it ; and it is positively wrong
to say it at people who have no sympathy with teetotallers just to try
and irritate them.
(c)
We must avoid conceit on the one hand and undue diffidence
on the other. Conceit is the belief that one is so superior that there is no
room for any improvement ; diffidence, that one cannot hope to win peace
because one is not strong enough to cope with the difficulties of life. We can
overcome conceit by the constant self-examination 1 that Socrates
advised ;
1 Cp. Book I, Ch. xxvi, p. 34 ; Book III, Ch. xii, p. 146, and Ch. xvi,
p. 154.
I5O THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS
we can overcome diffidence by remembering our lineage—that we are all sons of
God.
(rf) 1 How often do we
hear people boasting : ζ My father was Consul ! ’ 61
have been Tribune ; you haven’t ! ’ If such people had happened to have been
born horses instead of men, I suppose we should have heard them neighing : fi
My sire won the Derby ! ’ ‘ I am fed on barley and corn, and all the
metal of my harness is real silver ! ’ To which another horse might well retort
: ‘ The best horse is the swiftest— we can easily see which is the better of us
two by having a race ! ’ How are we to test which is the better of two men ?
Surely by seeing which of them has the most reverence and faith and the highest
sense of justice. One couldn’t claim to be superior to the other because his
legs are more muscular and he can therefore kick better. Donkeys can kick
better still.
xv2
Before embarking on any new
enterprise, consider carefully its probable cost and results, otherwise the
light-hearted enthusiasm with which you began may fizzle out ignominiously.
Suppose, for instance, you suddenly thought how nice it would be to be one of
the winners at the Olympic Games.3 No doubt it would be. But
remember that before you could even enter your name as competitor, you would
have to train, and that means strict discipline, strict diet, no sweets, going
to bed and getting up early, fine or wet, warm or cold ; not drinking cold
water ; only drink-
2
Textually the same as Manual, 29, pp. 297-299.
3
See Book III, Ch. xxv, p. 194.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xv) 151 ing
wine with your meals—in short, handing yourself over to your trainer just as
completely as you would to your doctor if you were ill. Then, at the actual
Games, you might very well meet with some accident ; you might, for example,
fracture your wrist or ankle, and anyhow you would inevitably swallow
quantities of sand as you wrestled, and that is always disagreeable ; and if
you happened to commit a foul you would be punished for it with a whipping. And
at the end of it all you might lose your match ! Well, if you are prepared for
all this, by all means go in for it ; but don’t start and then give up
half-way. That is what children do ; at one moment they play at athletes, at
another at gladiators, then they blow their trumpets, and then act something
that has struck their fancy. And some of you do much the same— successively you
are athletes, gladiators, philosophers, law students, but all of them
half-heartedly. Like monkeys you mimic everything you see, are always attracted
by the latest novelty, and familiar things bore you.
Similarly, the seeing and hearing of
a philosopher such as Euphrates might well inspire any one to want to be a
philosopher. But before embarking on such a career, consider what it would
involve to become one and whether you have the ability and pertinacity to do
it. It is not every one whose aptitudes lie that way. (Natural abilities vary.
To become a wrestler you must have natural aptitude as well as strong
shoulders, thighs and legs.) You would have to behave very differently from the
way you do now ; you would have to eat differently, drink differently, cease
giving way to irritation and anger ; you would have to keep vigils, work hard,
master carnal desires, lose the
affection of your family, become the
object of derision to slaves, be laughed to scorn by all you meet, in everything—whether
in office, dignity or at law—always be the loser. If after careful reflection
you decide that the game is worth the candle, and that the attainment of peace
and freedom is worth the price I have named, go ahead and study to become a
philosopher. But if not, do not attempt it. Above all, do not behave like a
child and be at one moment a philosopher, at another a tax collector, then a
lawyer, and then a civil servant. You cannot be all of them at once—they don’t
accord. You must be either a good man or a bad one ; you must either try to
improve your governing principle by learning how to control your
sense-perceptions, or concentrate on worldly matters which lie outside the
ambit of your moral purpose. In a word, you must oe a philosopher or not be
one.
xvi
Put a live coal alongside a dead one
and either the live one will kindle the dead one or it will itself be
extinguished. Similarly, if you frequent the society of one particular person,
be it for pleasure in his conversation, as a boon companion, or for any other
reason, either you will take colour from him or he from you. This being so, we
philosophers should be very careful whose society we frequent. He who brushes
up against a chimney-sweep is apt to get smudged with soot. Supposing your
friend is not a philosopher and that his whole conversation is about gladiators
or horses or sport or mere gossip—‘ So-and-so is one of the best ! ’ ‘ That was
a little bit of all right ! ’ ‘ Bad egg ! ’—or> worse
still, ill-natured malicious scandalous
LECTURES: BOOK III (xvi) 153
gossip—what are you going to do about it ? You know how a musician by merely
fingering his harp strings can tell which ones are out of tune and can put them
right ? Can you instantaneously detect the faults of your friends and set them
right ? You know how Socrates convinced everybody he conversed with ? Can you
do the same ? I doubt it ; in fact, I think your non-philosophic friends would
be much more likely to convince you.
Now, why should I think that ? I
will tell you. Rubbish as it is they chatter, it is at least in a way based on
the judgements of their minds, whereas all your fine talk comes merely from
your lips. Your talk about virtue is flabby and dead, and to listen to it makes
me feel sick. And as judgements of the mind can only be upset by better
judgements and yours are not as good as theirs, it is fairly clear that it is
they who will talk you over, not you them. And so, until your philosophy has
rooted itself a little more deeply in your fibres and you can therefore feel
reasonably sure of yourself, I advise you not to risk having arguments with
the profane ; otherwise the notes on philosophy you make at my lectures will
melt out of your minds as quickly as the wax tablets you write them on melt in
the sunshine. Keep your philosophy in the shade, then, like you keep your
tablets, so long as it is soft like wax.
This is the reason philosophers bid
us dwell for preference in some foreign land. They know how when we are at home
we are handicapped in the endeavour to form new and better habits by the distractions
of our old ones and by the sneers of our friends and relatives. ‘ Look at him
aping the philosopher,’ they cry ; 6 who’d ever have thought it of
him ? ’1 This is why, too, so many doctors send patients
suffering from chronic disorders abroad for change of scene and climate so as
to acquire new habits of health. And both philosophers and doctors are right.
You, too, who are my pupils, should try and acquire new ideas and habits and
implant them firmly in your natures by constant practice. Unfortunately you
don’t go the right way about it. When you leave my lecture room, where do you
go ? To a show, a fight between gladiators, some gymnasium or a circus. And then
you come back here ; and then back again once more to them. And all the time
you remain exactly the same persons that you were at the start. And so you get
no new and better habits, and you make no attempt at self-examination [19]
[20]
by asking yourselves : ‘ How do I deal with my sense-perceptions— in
conformity with Nature or not ? What is my reaction to them—a right or a wrong
one ? Do I steadfastly ignore all those things that lie outside the ambit of my
moral purpose ? ’ If not, well, the sooner you do, and the more you avoid the
profane, the better it will be for you !
xvii
Epictetus : If when you feel inclined to grumble at the
dispensations of Providence you would only reflect for a few moments, you would
realize that they are in strict accord with reason. Does it at first view
appear to you that the bad man is better off than the good ? In what respect is
he better off ? Because he has more money ? Naturally he has more—but to get it
he has to become a shameless sycophant and lie awake scheming a’nights. But he
is not richer than you in qualities such as faithfulness and consideration for
others.
A man I know resented Philostorgus’
‘ luck ’ (as he called it) in having been able to persuade Sura to let him keep
him. ζ Do you want Sura for yourself? ’ I said. ‘ Good heavens, no !
’ he replied, deeply shocked at the suggestion. ‘ Then why ’, I asked him, ‘ do
you object to Philostorgus getting what he pays for ? Why do you call him lucky
merely because he can buy his desire—a proceeding which is abhorrent to you ? ’
Providence, I told him, rightly gives the best things to the best men and had
given him qualities such as faithfulness and consideration for others that
Philostorgus lacks ; so he was the better off of the two and had nothing to
complain about.
It is a law of Nature that the
superior, because it is superior, shall always prevail over the inferior.1
I want you all to remember this truth.
Student : But my wife treats me badly.
Epictetus : Is that all ?
Student : Yes.
Second Student : And my father is as mean as they’re made.
Epictetus : Is that all ?
Second Student : Yes.
Epictetus : I have no fault to find with these statements
of fact so long as you don’t embellish them by adding, even mentally, that such
things are evil. For that, of course, would be untrue. Nor is poverty an
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 173.
evil. It is evil, however, to regard
poverty as an evil, and so long as you do you will never be contented.
xviii
Never allow yourself to be upset by
what is popularly termed ‘ bad news ’,1 for ‘ news ’ never falls
within the ambit of your moral purpose. Could any one bring you c
news ’ that one of your inclinations is evil ? That would be bad news indeed,
were such a thing possible. But to hear that some one is dead or has slandered
you, or that your father is taking steps to disinherit you, or that you have
been convicted on a charge of blasphemy, cannot affect you. Consider :
if your father disinherits you unjustly he is injuring, in the first place, not
you but your property (which lies outside the ambit of your moral purpose), and
secondly, himself—for he is not acting as an affectionate and patient parent
should act. Do not, however, revile him for it ; he is rather to be pitied, for
one error is apt to lead to others. On the other hand, you are certainly
entitled, indeed it is your duty, to defend yourself ; only do so quietly,
respectfully and dispassionately, otherwise you will injure yourself by not
acting as a straightforward and dutiful son should do. Again : if you are
convicted on some charge, remember that a judge runs quite as great a risk as
the prisoner at the bar.[21]
[22]
His decisions, if wrong, injure himself, not you. All you have to do is to put
up a proper defence. If he condemns you unjustly, I am sorry for him. His
judges condemned Socrates—poor devils !
xix
The man who is not a philosopher
says : 6 Alas, for my child, my brother, or my father !5
But you would find it difficult to get a philosopher to say ‘ Alas ! ’ at all ;
and if he did he would assuredly add ‘ for myself’. For nothing that lies
outside the ambit of the moral purpose can hamper or injure it ; nothing can
hamper or injure it but itself. If then when we err we are careful to blame
nobody or nothing but ourselves, and remember that if our peace of mind is upset
it is due to some false judgement of our minds, we shall most assuredly be
making progress. Unfortunately that is just what we don’t do. Why, even while
we were still children, if we happened to be wandering along gaping vacantly
and bumped into a stone, our nurses used to blame the stone and not us, as if
they expected it to get out of our way ! And when we clamoured for refreshment
immediately after a swim, didn’t our servant scold the cook instead of bidding
us be patient ? The result is that now that we are grown up we still only too
often behave like children.
xx
Epictetus : The almost universal consensus of opinion is
that ζ good ’ and c evil ’ lie not in material things but
in ourselves. One cannot term statements such as ‘ it is day ’ good, ‘ it is
night ’ evil, 6 three is the same as four ’ very evil. But we can
say that knowledge is good and error evil. We can also say that to know that
the false is false, is good ; but we must not say that health is good or
sickness evil, but only
158 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS
that health if properly employed is good, otherwise that it is evil.
Student : You mean that we may benefit even from being
ill ?
Epictetus : I mean that we may benefit even by dying. Do
you not remember how Menoeceus sacrificed his life to save Thebes, so proving
himself a true patriot and a man of the highest principle and honour ? If he
had saved his life instead, he would have been a traitor and a coward. So
obviously he got something out of his self-sacrifice. And we may also lose by
living, as Pheres,1 father of Admetus, did. And yet, though he would
not die for his son but preferred a few more years of ignoble life, he had to
die eventually. I entreat you to give up caring for and enslaving yourselves
to worldly possessions, and not only to them but to those who can procure them
for you.
Student : Can’t we get any benefit at all from worldly
possessions ?
Epictetus : Indeed we can—from all of them, even from those
that are definitely evil in their nature.
Student : What benefit can I derive from a man who
blackguards me ?
Epictetus : The same kind of benefit as a boxer gets from
his sparring partner. A boxer wouldn’t get very far without sparring partners,
would he ? The man who blackguards you acts as a sort of sparring partner to
you. He exercises your patience, your tolerance, your courtesy. A bad neighbour
or a bad father will exercise your forbearance and your reasonableness. You
know that it is said that the magic wand (or caduceus} of Hermes will
turn whatever it touches into gold. I have a caduceus too. Bring me
whatever you
LECTURES : BOOK ΠΙ (χχ) 159 like, no
matter how evil it be—an impending sentence of death, abuse, poverty, sickness,
death itself—and I will turn them into good 1 and make them blessed,
majestic, desirable and sources of happiness.
Student : How would you make sickness desirable ?
Epictetus : Sickness enables us to display courage and
patience,[23]
[24]
so that we neither cringe to our doctors nor pray for death.
Student : And death ?
Epictetus : Death is a glorious opportunity to show how a
man who has tried to live in harmony with Nature can die. I wish you would get
out of the way of saying : ‘ Take care you don’t fall ill—it would be terrible
if you did ! ’ It is as silly to say that as to say : ‘ Take care you never
think that three is the same as four—it would be terrible if you did ! ’ If you
would only look at things in the right way you would see that all you call c
terrible ’—poverty, for instance, sickness, failure to obtain public
employment, and so forth—may really be extremely helpful to you. Unfortunately
you do not take these truths home with you but leave them here in the
class-room, and the moment you get outside you begin c straffing ’
your lackey, criticizing your neighbours, and telling any one who smiles at you
exactly what you think of them. Personally, I am very grateful when any one,
even one of my pupils (yes, I am referring to you, Lesbius !), laughs at me,
and daily reminds me that I know nothing !
xxi
If you bolt your food, you will be
unable to digest it and it will probably make you sick. Do you think you can
bolt the principles of philosophy any more successfully than you can your food
? Well, you can’t ! You must digest them properly, and when you have there will
be a change in your governing principle that will be apparent in your actions,
so that you will eat and drink, dress, marry, beget children, be a decent
citizen, bear with abuse, and be tolerant to an unreasonable brother, father,
son, neighbour or fellow- traveller, as a man should. When you are in that
happy position, then, and not till then, will you be qualified to become a
lecturer on philosophy.
To be able to expound the doctrines
of Chrysippus, even if you can do so better than any one else in the world, is
a perfectly futile accomplishment. That is not what young men leave their homes
and their parents for—to listen to you splitting hairs over some dialectical
quibble. What they want is that when they have returned home they shall have
learned to be broad-minded, to be ready to help others, to have their minds at
ease so that throughout the journey of life they may be able to face calmly and
creditably whatever may hap to them. You can’t teach them this if you haven’t
learned it first yourself. Lecturing to young men is a serious matter and
should only be undertaken by a man of a certain age who has lived a good life
and who takes God as his guide. He must be a wise man, and yet mere wisdom is
not enough. He needs, too, a certain aptitude and flair, he even needs a
certain physique,1 and above all he needs to
1 See
Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 172.
be convinced that he has a ‘ call ’,
just as Socrates was called by God to cross-examine, Diogenes to rebuke, and
Zeno to teach his fellow-men. A man doesn’t set up as a doctor merely on the
strength of having a few drugs in his possession ; he must also have a knowledge
of their use. If you set up as a lecturer on philosophy to young men without
the qualifications I have just mentioned, I warn you that you will be trifling
with a very serious matter, and that you will bring disgrace both on yourself
and on philosophy.
xxii
One of his acquaintances once told
Epictetus that he was thinking of becoming a Cynic, and asked him to describe
the sort of man he thought a Cynic ought to be. And Epictetus answered him and
said :
Epictetus : Let us consider this question at leisure. But,
first of all, let me emphasize one thing. Any one who embarks on so serious an
undertaking as to become a Cynic without God’s blessing is abhorrent to Him
and a public disgrace. Now you know that every well-appointed establishment has
a major-domo in charge of it. But it is not every one who has sufficient
ability to be an efficient major-domo ; and if by chance some one is appointed
who proves to be inefficient he is soon sacked. Similarly, God assigns to each
and everything his and its place in His Universe. ‘ You are the sun,’ He says
to one, 6 and to you I give power as you circle the heavens to
regulate the year and the seasons, to make grow the kindly fruits of the earth,
to raise and calm the winds, and to give genial warmth to men. Go forth on your
rounds, and give birth to
II all things great and small.’ ‘ You are
a calf/ He says to another, ‘ and when you encounter a lion remember to act
according to your nature—act contrariwise at your peril ! ’ And to a third : ‘
You are a bull ; you are strong and it is your nature to fight ; act according
to your nature.’ And to others : ‘ You could lead an army against Ilium
; do so ; your name shall be Agamemnon.’ ‘ You could stand up in single
combat with Hector ; do so ; you shall be Achilles.’ But if Thersites had
proposed himself as commander in place of Agamemnon, either God would not have
appointed him, or if He had, he would have ended by completely disgracing
himself. Now, what does God say to you ? . . . So the first question you
have to ask yourself, is : ‘ Would God think me worthy of so high a calling as
that of a Cynic, and have I it in me to follow it ? ’
Now, I wonder what your idea is of
what it really entails to be a Cynic ?
Would-be Cynic : I should have to wear a coarse cloak and sleep
on a hard bed (both of which things I do already) ; carry a wallet and a staff,
walk about begging, and reprove any persons I came across who were dolled up
and over-dressed.
Epictetus : Well, if that is your idea of a Cynic’s life, I
can only assure you that it is very wide of the mark and advise you to abandon
all intention of trying to become one.
What, in reality, you would have to
do is this : You would have to make a complete alteration in your present mode
of life ; cease grumbling at both God and man ; suppress all desire ;
concentrate your dislikes exclusively against those things that your governing
principle tells you are evil ; never lose your temper, nor take offence, nor
feel envy or pity. No
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxii) 163
pretty girl, no bubble reputation, no boy friend, no dainty food must attract
you. Further, whereas ordinary men may screen their deeds in the shelter of
their houses, or under cover of darkness, or ensure their privacy by
instructing their servants to say they are ‘ not at home ’ or too busy to
receive callers, the Cynic has nothing to screen him but his integrity. His
integrity is for him house, door, door-keeper and darkness. Indeed, if he
merely wish in his heart to conceal something, he ceases automatically to be a
Cynic (the free man, the out-of-doors man), for his wish to conceal something
springs from fear of something, and no man with fear in his heart can possibly
continue single- heartedly to supervise the conduct of his fellow-men.
You must, then, first of all make
your governing principle pure, and resolve as follows : 6 The rest
of my life I will devote to the training and development of my mind, working on
it like a carpenter works on wood and a shoemaker on leather, for my aim is to
make a proper use of my sense-perceptions. As for my body, neither it nor any
part of it is anything to me ; as for exile, who can exile me from the Universe
? Wherever I go there will be sun, moon, stars, visions, signs from and
communion with God ; while as for death, let it come to me when it will.’
But the real Cynic will not be
content even with this. He must also have the certitude that he is a messenger
from God to point out to men their errors in regard to ‘ good ’ and 6
evil ’ and how they seek them where they are not, and also (to use the
expression of Diogenes when he was led before Philip of Macedonia after the
battle of Chaeroneia) that he is ‘ a scout The Cynic is in sober truth a scout,
and his duty is
1 See Book I, Ch. xxiv, p. 28. Battle of Chaeroneia, 447 b.c.
to find out what things help, what
are impediments to men, and he must do his scouting conscientiously, and on his
return make a faithful and unbiased report. He must, therefore, if occasion
require, be able to lift up his voice and speak as Socrates used to do : 6
My poor friends, do you realize what you are doing and whither you are drifting
? You are indeed stumbling about like blind men, and you have wandered off the true
path. You are looking for peace and happiness where they are not.1
For they are not in the body, as you may realize if you think of Myron and
Ophel- lius,2 nor are they in riches—think of Croesus and our
present-day millionaires and the wretched lives they lead ; nor are they in the
holding of public office, for if they were, would not they who have been twice
and thrice elected consuls be happy men ? But as we know quite well, they
aren’t. Be not deceived by the outward appearances of happiness ; listen rather
to what such men say about themselves. Hark to their repinings and regrets, and
how they complain that their lot is much the worse because of their
consulships, their dignities and their position. Nor are they in royalty, or
Nero and Sardanapalus would have been happy, which they certainly weren’t. Why,
not even Agamemnon was a happy man, though he was probably far happier than
either of the other two. Remember what Homer says about him :
Then
rent he many a lock from out his head.3
And Agamemnon himself spoke of ‘
wandering ’ and of how he was ‘ tossed to and fro ’ and of how his heart was ‘
leaping from his bosom ’. Your troubles, my
1 See Book II, Ch. xvi, p. 80. 2 Unknown.
2 Iliad, X, 15.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxii) 165 poor
friends, have nothing to do with your material possessions or your bodies ;
they result from the mistake you have made in neglecting and so subverting the
governing principle within you, thanks to which you are able freely to express
likes and dislikes, avoid errors, choose and refuse. From which it follows that
your governing principle is still in ignorance of the true nature of ‘ good ’
and 6 evil ’, and of what properly belongs to it and what doesn’t.
As a result, whenever anything goes wrong about something with which it is in
no wise concerned, you immediately start talking like Agamemnon, who cried : ‘
Alas ! my poor Greeks are in dire peril ; they will assuredly perish, slain by
the Trojans ! ’, forgetting that even if the Trojans did not slay them they
would have had to die anyway—a little later, perhaps, but some time. And if
death be an evil, what did it matter when ? After all, what is death but the
divorce of soul and body ? Besides, if all the Greeks had perished, could not
Agamemnon have died too ? Why should not Kings be unfortunate the same as
common men are ? Rightly was Agamemnon styled ‘ Shepherd of his folk for he
whimpered over his men just like shepherds whimper when wolves carry off some
of their flocks. But why did Agamemnon go to Troy at all ? Was it because he
wanted to perfect his governing principle and learn how better to exercise his
likes and dislikes, avoid errors and choose and refuse more rationally ? Oh
dear no ! But to try and recover a frail adulterous woman just because she
happened to be his brother’s wife ! There’s a good reason for you ! One would
have thought he would have been only too glad to have got rid of her ! And
another of his ‘ reasons ’ was that he and the rest of the Greeks were afraid
the
Trojans would look down upon them !
Such a reason would be comic were it not tragic. For consider : the Trojans
were either wise men or fools. No one has any business to war with wise men,
and it is worth nobody’s while to war with fools.
But if ‘ good ’ does not lie in any
of these things— the body, riches, public office or royalty—in what does it lie
? It lies where I fear you have never suspected and where if you had suspected
you would not have wanted to look for it, for if you had really wanted to find
it I am sure you would have found it—within yourselves. Turn your thoughts
inwards for a few moments and reflect on your instincts. What sort of a thing
do you imagine 6 good ’ to be ? Surely something naturally great,
precious and helpful such as peace and freedom. Now, where can we find peace
and freedom ? It must be in something that is itself free. Not in the body, for
that is slave to disease, despots, fire, sword and anything stronger than
itself. Besides, how can anything like the body, which is naturally lifeless,
being composed of earth and clay, be great and precious ? Think again : what
have we that is naturally free ? Surely it is our disdained governing
principle—the one thing we hold cheap and neglect ! Who can compel us to assent
to what appears to be false, or to dissent from what seems to be true ; to
like, to dislike, avoid, choose, refuse, prepare or set before oneself as an
aim and end, unless our governing principle first decides that it is right,
fitting and profitable for us ? No one, not even God Himself. So you see there
is something within us that is naturally free, viz. our governing
principle, and it is this that we must develop, and it is in it that we must
seek our good.
And if you ask how a man with no
possessions, who is naked, and without a slave or even a country to call his
own, can live in peace, the Cynic will reply : 4 Look at me,
for God has sent me to you as a witness that all these things are indeed
possible. For I have no home, country, property nor slave ; 1 I
sleep on the bare earth ; I have no wife or children ; I have no pretentious
official residence, but only earth and sky and one rough cloak. Yet what do I
lack ? I am not subject to pain and fear. I am absolutely free. When has any
one of you ever seen me fail to get what I want or avoid what I don’t want ?
When have I ever grumbled at either God or man ? When have I ever blamed any
one ? Do you ever see me with a gloomy countenance ? And how do I face those
before whom you stand in awe and trembling ? Do not I face them as I would face
my slave if I had one ? And do not they when they see me before them feel that
they are beholding their lord and master ? ’
Such is the kind of talk that befits
a Cynic, such his character, such his scheme of life. You must admit it is very
different from your original idea that all that was necessary (to become a
Cynic) was to have a wallet and staff, to beg, and on every possible occasion
to find fault with the people you met—a most tactless thing to do, I may
observe. You must realize that you would not be, as it were, entering some
village sports, but an Olympic contest ; and, as you know, at the Olympic Games
a competitor has to go through a very severe training indeed—he has to endure
thirst and scorching heat, he has to swallow quantities of sand while
wrestling, and then if he loses his tie he is disgraced in the sight of the
whole
1 See Book IV, Ch. viii, p. 253, and Ch. xi, p. 265. civilized
world, and if he fouls some one or is adjudged not to have done his best, he is
flogged into the bargain.
So think the matter over very
carefully, and study yourself and your capabilities, and ask God for guidance,
and do not attempt such a stupendous undertaking without His blessing. For if
God bids you do so, you may be sure that He either destines you to become great
or to suffer many stripes. For this is one of the pleasant strands woven into
the pattern of the Cynic’s life ; he must needs be flogged like an ass and all
the time he must love the men who flog him as though he were their father or
brother. I rather imagine that if were sentenced to the lash you would promptly
appeal against it to the Proconsul. But it would never occur to a Cynic to
appeal. What are Proconsuls or' even Caesar himself to one who serves
no one save Him who sent him into the world ? He appeals to no one but to God,
for he knows that whatever he is called upon to bear is part of his training
ordained by God. When Herakles was performing his labours for Eurystheus he
didn’t consider himself to be unhappy, and he used to do without the slightest
demur everything Eurystheus ordered him to. No Cynic could possibly complain at
any trials imposed upon him by God by way of training, for if he did he would
not be a Cynic or worthy to bear the staff of Diogenes. Hear the words of
Diogenes to the passers-by as he lay sick of a fever : ‘ Have you no sense ? ’
he cried ; ‘ you don’t mind going all the way to Olympia to see some athletes
wrestle with one another, but you won’t spare a few minutes to watch how a man
can wrestle with a fever ! ’
The ordinary man with a fever
reproaches God
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxii) 169 (who
made him) for ill-using him ; but Diogenes was glad to be ill, and anxious that
others should see his gladness. He knew he had nothing to reproach God
with ; on the contrary, he was thankful for the opportunity of proving the
efficacy of his training.1 You know what Diogenes said about
poverty, hardships and death, and you know how he said that even the Great King
of Persia was not so happy as he, for the Great King was subject to shocks,
grief, fear, thwarted desires, getting what he would fain have avoided, envies
and jealousies, and where these are there can be no happiness. When the
judgements of a man’s mind are faulty, all these passions must necessarily
possess him.
Would-be Cynic : Could a Cynic who has fallen ill accept an
invitation from a friend to stay with him so as to get proper medical attention
and nursing ?
Epictetus : But what friend could a Cynic have unless
indeed it were another Cynic ? No one but another Cynic would be worthy to be
his friend. Diogenes had two friends, Antisthenes, his Master, and Crates, his
disciple ; both were Cynics, and both were worthy of him and of each other. You
must not think that just because some one would like to be his friend a Cynic
will accept him as such. It is essential that such a one should be willing and
able to share the Cynic’s staff and wallet, his way of life, and his
abode—which may be only such shelter as a dunghill affords against the north
wind.
Would-be Cynic : Would a Cynic think it right to marry and beget
children ?
Epictetus : In an ideal
community consisting ex- 1 See Book III, Ch. x, p. 143, and Ch. xx, p.
159.
clusively of wise men (if we can
imagine such a thing) there could be no objection to his doing so, for his
wife, his father-in-law and all his relatives would be Cynics too, and his
children would be brought up as Cynics. But in the ordinary human community as
we know it, it would probably be better for him to be free from such
distractions so as to be able to devote himself solely to God’s service. For if
he were to be bound by family relationships and obligations which no
honourable man could avoid, how could he be free to go about among men as God’s
scout and messenger ? All married men, including Cynics, have to look after
their wives and their wives’ families, and their own families too. They have to
boil the water for baby’s bath, bathe baby, provide wool, oil, a cot, cups and
what not for the wife ; see that the other children get off regularly and in
good time every morning to school with their lesson books and writing
materials, and make their little beds for them ready for when they come home at
night. Children, you know, have to be looked after and trained—they are not
born little Cynics. (And if he didn’t do all this he would be well advised to
expose them at birth rather than destroy them later by neglect.) Tied down by
such duties of everyday life, what time would he have left for his duties as
Cynic ? How could he continue to oversee the welfare of his fellow-men, visit
and prescribe for them as a doctor does his patients ?
Would-be Cynic : But Crates was married.
Epictetus : True ; but his was a special case, and you must
not draw general inferences from special cases.
Would-be Cynic : If then Cynics are not to marry
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxii) 171 and
beget children, where is the next generation coming from ?
Epictetus : Now do be sensible : which, do you think, does
mankind the greater service—he who brings into the world two or three ugly
bratlings, or he who to the best of his ability supervises his fellowmen
observing how they spend or mis-spend their lives ? Who did the Thebans the
greater service, those who merely left children behind them, or Epaminondas who
left none ? Who contributed more to the common weal, Priam who left fifty sons,
all rogues, or Homer ? If in order to give their best a great soldier and a great
poet found it necessary to forgo marriage, how much more will a Cynic find it
necessary ? All mankind are the Cynic’s children ; the men are his sons, the
women his daughters. That at any rate is how he regards them, and it is in that
spirit, as a father, a brother, and as servant of God who is Father of us all,
and in no spirit of impertinent meddlesomeness, that he supervises them and
strives for their welfare.
Would-be Cynic : And what about politics ?
Epictetus : Isn’t he engaged in politics—in the noblest
form of politics ? There are any number of people who are qualified to busy
themselves over minor matters such as finance, peace, and war, but how many can
deal profitably with such supremely important topics as happiness and
unhappiness, success and failure, slavery and freedom ?
Would-be Cynic : What about his holding public offices ?
Epictetus : He could hardly hold any more important public
office than the one he holds already, could he ?.. . But in addition to what I
have
already said, I should add this : a
Cynic must have a certain presence and physique,1 for if he be
infirm of body—if he be, for instance, thin and pale like a consumptive—he will
not have so much influence. Further, it is not sufficient to prove to the
unregenerate that nobility of soul can dispense with all those material
possessions on which they set such store ; he must also prove by his bodily
fitness that the plain simple life in the open air is good for the body’s
health. Thus, both his way of life and the appearance of his body will combine
to convince his hearers of the truth of his assertions. Diogenes used to go
about with pink cheeks, and the perfect health of his body was manifest to all.
A Cynic whose appearance excited pity or disgust would be regarded merely as a
beggar and as such be avoided. So a Cynic should be particularly careful always
to look and to be clean. He should make his poverty attractive. Again, a Cynic
must possess a great natural charm, wit, and readiness of repartee. Remember
how when somebody said to him : ‘You don’t believe in God, do you ? ’,
Diogenes replied : ‘ I believe in Him sufficiently to believe that He dislikes
people like you ! ’ And when Alexander the Great stood over him as he lay
asleep and woke him by quoting Homer : c To sleep all night through
beseemeth not one who is a counsellor . . .,’ Diogenes, still half asleep,
completed the quotation, c. . . to whom peoples are entrusted and so
many cares belong.’ 2
But above all, the Cynic’s governing
principle must be purer than the sun. He would not be a Cynic if, while he
reproved his fellow-men for their sins, he himself gave way to sin. The Kings
of this world
1
See Book III, Ch. xxi, p. i6o. 2 Iliad,
II, lines 24, 25.
LECTURES:
BOOK III (xxii) 173 are able to
warn and punish evildoers by their armed servants even though they themselves
may be worse sinners than those they punish. The Cynic ha$ no armed servants ;
he has only his conscience to rely on. It is this that gives him courage to
speak his mind freely to his brethren and children and kinsfolk, this and the
knowledge that he has watched over them, toiled for them, and that all his
thoughts are those of a servant and friend of the Gods, being as he is, one who
shares in the rule of Zeus, and who constantly remembers those verses beginning
:
Lead Thou me on, O Zeus and Destiny !1
and the words of Socrates : 6
As God will, so be it ! ’ [25]
[26]
Finally, the Cynic must have such a spirit of patient endurance that he
appears to be, like a stone,[27]
without feeling, so that if any one abuses or assaults or insults him he will
not have the satisfaction of seeing him wince. He takes no thought for
defending his body against assault, for he knows that the inferior, because it
is inferior, must needs be overcome by the superior,[28] and that
therefore his single body is physically inferior to, i.e. weaker than, the
combined strength of a crowd. So he never attempts to combat the resolution of
the crowd, but cheerfully surrenders to it all those things that do not belong
to him, viz. material possessions that are not under his control. But in regard
to all those things that lie within the ambit of his moral
purpose and over which he has
control, and in respect of h’’s sense-perceptions, he has so many eyes that you
would say Argus1 himself was blind compared to him. Where such
matters as rash assent, reckless choice, futile likes and dislikes, incompleted
aims, fault-findings, self-disparagement or envy are concerned, he is full of
attention and energy ; but in regard to other things—his body, material
possessions, offices and honours, he is simply not interested in them, and so
far as they are concerned he, as it were, ‘ lies flat on his back and snores
like a porter Any one can steal them who likes, but he knows that no one can
steal or ‘ boss ’ his moral purpose. And if any one is silly enough to try and
influence him by material considerations, he laughs at them and says : ‘ Pooh !
you may scare children with bogeys, but you can’t scare me ! ’[29] [30]
So now I have answered your question
and told you the sort of man I conceive a Cynic to be ; and I sincerely advise
you not to decide in a hurry to try to become one. Consider first what your
qualifications are ; and remember what Hector said to Andromache :
Go in. and superintend
the house’s work— The loom and spindle ; fighting is for men And of men most
for me ... [31]
Hector knew what he could do, and
what she couldn’t.
xxiii
Advice to a fashionable lecturer
The first thing we all have to do in
life is to decide what kind of men we want to be, and then shape our course
accordingly. That is pretty obvious when you come to think of it, isn’t it ? It
is only what athletes, for instance, do ; they have to decide first of all what
kind of athletes they want to be—longdistance runners, sprinters, boxers or
wrestlers, for all of which naturally the training and diet differ. Similarly,
to become carpenters or blacksmiths, people have to undergo different forms of
training. Secondly, all forms of training must be systematic or they will be
useless. As regards our training so that we may become decent human beings,
that must be both general and individual ; general, to learn to act as men,
i.e. neither stupidly like sheep nor destructively like wild beasts ;
individual, to learn to behave as one of one’s particular occupation or
profession should —the harpist as a harpist, the carpenter as a carpenter, the
philosopher as a philosopher, the lecturer as a lecturer—and to preserve one’s
moral purpose untainted.
Now, you are a lecturer, and I want
you first of all to ask yourself what your real object in lecturing is— is it
to do good to your hearers or simply to win applause ? You should of course be
able to say sincerely that plaudits mean nothing to you, any more than they should
to a musician qua musician or to a geometrician qua geometrician.
But if your object be simply to do good, I want you to realize that you will
never succeed unless you know what c good 5 means, any
more than men ignorant of carpentry and bootmaking could teach others to make
tables or boots.
Do you in fact know what ‘ good ’
means ? Examine the judgements of your mind. Are your likes and dislikes such
that you always get what you want and avoid what you do not want ? Now, be honest
about it ! Am I not right in saying that the other day when your lecture was
received in stony silence you walked home feeling very dejected, but when, a
few days later, you got several rounds of applause, you strutted up and down
afterwards asking people what they thought of it, and how they liked this and
that passage—particularly the one about Pan and the Nymphs—and preened yourself
each time somebody said ‘ Marvellous ! ’ or ‘ Superb ! ’ ? You did, didn’t you
? Yes ! and that is what you call bringing your likes and dislikes into harmony
with Nature ! Come, come ! you must tell that story to the horse- marines ! And
didn’t you—not so very long ago— tell a certain gifted young Senator that you
only hoped your children would grow up like him? Now, why did you tell him that
particular lie ? I’ll tell you : because you want to get something out of him.
But surely you realize that people whom you butter up like this see your little
game and despise you for it ? When a man who knows perfectly well that he has
never had a noble thought or done a kind action is solemnly told by a professed
philosopher that he is misunderstood and unappreciated, he naturally says to
himself : ‘ What does this fellow want ? ’ Surely you don’t expect me to
believe that you weren’t trying to flatter him at all and that you really meant
what you said ? What glimmerings of unsuspected goodness, then, did you see in
him? You have cer-
LECTURES: BOOK III (xxiii) 177
tainly had ample opportunity for observation, for he has been attending your
lectures regularly for some time past. Tell me : has he come to a full
realization of himself and of his natural capacities ? Does he realize the evil
case he is in ? Is he now humble instead of being conceited ? Is he anxious to
learn the proper way of life ? Are you sure that he wants to learn something
more than the mere art of elocution ? I press these questions upon you because
it so happens that I overheard a few remarks of his the other day and they had
nothing to do with matters such as respect or faithfulness or peace, but were
about artistic style—in point of fact he was comparing yours favourably with
that of another fashionable lecturer, your friend and rival—Dio. I should very
much like to have the opportunity of putting a few questions to your Senator
friend about faithfulness and kindred subjects so as to find out how much you
have taught him. Not very much, I fear. I fear it because I see that you are
yourself in evil case, seeking as you do the applause of men and counting how
many people come to your lectures. I have heard you talking something like this
: ‘ I had a much larger audience to-day—five hundred at least ’—(Why didn’t you
say a thousand and have done with it ?)—ς Dio never had so many—and
how quick they were on the uptake ! ’ I don’t deny that you are an excellent
lecturer, but if your real object is to do good to your hearers, it is no use
lecturing to them on literary or artistic style or technicalities. Your text
should be something like those words of Socrates : ‘ Anytus and Meletus may
kill me, but they cannot harm me,’1 or,
1 Cp. Book I, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book II, Ch. ii, p. 46 ; and Manual,
53, p. 311.
12
‘ I am as I always have been, a man
who will only listen to the voice of reason.’ 1 But I am afraid you
are not likely to take any sayings of Socrates as texts for your lectures, for
you are a different type of man from him. Who ever heard Socrates assert that
he knew anything or that he taught anything ? On the contrary, people used to
ask him to introduce them to real philosophers who gave lessons, and he
used to do so willingly. The very last thing he would have done would have been
to do what you do—invite people to come and hear him lecture.
Why should I come and hear you
lecture ? I know already that you are an able speaker. I give you full marks
for that. But what is the use of even the most ingeniously constructed and
eloquently delivered discourse if it teach its hearers nothing worth knowing ?
Some, I believe, even pride themselves on being so clever that no one can
understand what they mean ! But what did Socrates say about that sort of thing
? ‘ It is not consonant with either my age or my dignity to try and be clever like
some lad} 2
Should a philosopher invite people
to hear him lecture ? If his lecture were worth hearing, people would come
without being invited. Do doctors ask people to come and be cured ? As a matter
of fact, I believe doctors in Rome nowadays do advertise, but in my time
they waited to be called in. Supposing a philosopher were to advertise, how
would he word his advertisement ? Something like this, I suppose : ‘ Come and
hear what a bad way you are in ; how you busy yourselves with everything except
what you should ; how you know nothing of either “ good ” or “ evil ” ; in
short, how wretched and miserable you
1 Plato, Crito, 46. 2 Ibid., Apology, 17.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiii) 179 are
! ’ Not very attractive, is it ? And yet if his lecture failed to make his
audience realize that such is indeed their plight, it would be a rotten
lecture. Rufus used to say : ‘ If any one congratulates me on my lecture, I
know I have done him no good.’ As a matter of fact, after one of Rufus’
lectures, we all used to feel that he must have had some private information
about our individual shortcomings, so vividly did he bring before each man’s
eyes his own particular weaknesses.
The lecture room of a philosopher
is, or should be, a hospital. Men come to it for treatment of their several
maladies, and treatment involves pain. I don’t want you to go out of here just
the same man as you were when you came in. I could win your plaudits by a
string of fine words, but I don’t want them. Did Socrates, Zeno and Cleanthes
cure men’s souls with pretty speeches ?
But there is, I agree, a right and a
wrong style for exhortation, just as there is a right and a wrong style for
refutation and instruction. The right style for exhortation is the ability to
show clearly to all listeners the illogical inconsistencies of their thoughts
and actions, as a result of which they run after everything except what they
really want. For their real wants are those things that conduce to happiness,
but they keep looking for them in the wrong place. And they will not be helped
to look for them in the right place by your advertising a Grand Lecture with a
thousand seats for sale, and by your donning the scarlet robes of a doctor of
philosophy and declaiming from your rostrum a poetical account of—say, how
Achilles died. That sort of thing merely brings discredit on true philosophy.
It is not the right style
for exhortation ; it is the style of
display. The right style for exhortation will be much reinforced if the
lecturer is himself inspired by his audience. And he will be inspired if he
feels that he is shaking them out of their self-complacency, and that they will
go away discussing what he said, saying to one another : ‘ I never realized
before the state I am in ; it is all most disturbing ; he brought it home
vividly to me, and one thing is certain—I must amend my ways.’ I wonder how
often your hearers go away talking like that ? I am afraid the kind of thing
one might expect to hear them saying as they troop out would be : ‘ Wasn’t that
a beautiful passage—the one about Xerxes, I mean ? ’—c Oh, I
preferred his description of the battle of Thermopylae.’
xxiv
Epictetus : Other peoples’ errors and the misfortunes that
result therefrom are their own affair, and it is they, not you, who have to
bear the consequences. God, who watches over and protects us like a father,
wishes men to enjoy peace and to be happy, and to help them to be so He has
given them certain things —the knowledge of ‘ good ’ and ‘ evil ’ and their
reasoning faculties and wills, putting them under their own unfettered control.
Nothing else really belongs to us or is under our control.
Student : A friend of mine is very upset because I have
gone away from home and left him.
Epictetus : Because he has made the mistake of thinking you
belonged to him and were under his control. He should have remembered that any
one may have to leave home or even die. So his grief is the penalty he has to
pay for his mistake. And if
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 181 you
are upset about leaving him, you are making the same mistake, and your upset is
your penalty. No one can expect to enjoy his surroundings, friends and way of
life for ever ; and when you lose one or other it is futile to distress
yourself about it. Crows and ravens, which can fly away whenever they please
and change their nests and even cross the seas, don’t fret themselves for the
place where they were hatched.
Student : But birds are not rational creatures and so
don’t suffer from unhappiness.
Epictetus : Then you think that God gave us the gift of
reason in order that we may be miserable ! Men are not immortal, nor can you
expect them to remain at home all their lives, rooted in their native soil like
plants. If we shed tears just because a friend is going away, and give way to
extravagant joy when he returns, we are behaving like children. Surely by this
time you should be weaned and able to digest the teachings of philosophy—that
this Universe is one homogeneous whole in which at times some things give place
to others, some being resolved so that others may come into being ; that
everything, both divine and human, is beneficent ; and that some we love must
remain with us while others are separated from us, and that we should rejoice
in those we still have and not grieve for those we have lost. Man is not only
by nature high-minded and capable of disregarding everything that lies outside
the ambit of his moral purpose, but he has also the power of migration whether
for pleasure or business. Odysseus, you remember,
Wandered far and wide through all the world
Seeing the towns, searching the hearts of men.[32]
And before him Herakles travelled
through the whole of the inhabited earth,
Seeing
all men, and the good and bad of them,[33] clearing away the bad and replacing it by good.
And he must have had innumerable friends in Thebes, Argos, Athens and in the
other places he visited on his travels, especially as he begat many children
wherever he went whom he never saw again. But though he abandoned them he knew
they would not be orphans, for no human beings are ever orphans— they always
have their Father, God, who cares for them. Herakles knew full well that God is
the Father of men, and he always thought of Him as his own Father and called
Him so, and in all that he did he looked to him. And so he was always happy
wherever he was. But you can’t be happy if you are always pining for the absent
to be present. If you have everything that lies within the ambit of your moral
purpose, and that is under your control, you will be happy and will want
nothing more, just as a man who has eaten and drunk well is satisfied and needs
no more food.
Student : But Odysseus pined and wept for Penelope. Epictetus
: So Homer says, and if he is correct, then Odysseus was unhappy, and no
man who is unhappy can be a good man. But perhaps Homer was mistaken. If God
does not make the citizens of His own Universe happy, then we must accuse Him
of mismanaging His Universe—a blasphemous thought. To long for what is not
possible—and it is impossible for one human being to be always with another—is
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 183
foolish and wrong. It is a pitting of one’s own wishes against the will of God.
Student : My mother is always unhappy when I am away from
home.
Epictetus : Yes, because she has not learned the lesson I
am trying to teach you. I do not mean, of course, that you should always follow
your own whims regardless of her feelings. I only mean that she ought not to
allow herself to want something that is not hers or under her control. You can
master your own grief, for it is under your own control ; you cannot cure your
mother’s grief, for that is not under your control. All you can do, or that you
ought to do, is to avoid as far as possible giving her needless occasion for
grief. You can do no more than that, lest peradventure you find yourself
fighting against God and setting yourself up against Him in His administration
of the Universe. And the penalty for such disobedience to Him would be paid by
you yourself when you were racked by anxiety day and night and were frightened
even to open your letters lest they should contain ‘ bad news Letters from
Rome, letters from Greece ... if only they contain no ‘ bad news ’ ! But how
can anything bad for you happen in Rome or Greece if you arc in Nicopolis ?
Isn’t it enough for you to be miserable here without wanting to be miserable
everywhere else, beyond the seas and even by letter ?
Student : But if some of my friends at home should die,
am I not to sorrow for them ?
Epictetus : Are not all men mortal ? Do you expect to reach
old age yourself and not to see any you love die ? As the years roll on your
loved ones will die
1 See
Book III, Ch. xviii, p. 156.
184 THE
LAMP OF EPICTETUS one by one, some of sickness, others slain by pirates, in
revolutions, of cold or heat, of poisons, of perils by land and sea,
hurricanes, all manner of accidents, in exile or in high positions, on the
field of battle. Are you going to work yourself up into a ferment at each of
these happenings and let your happiness or unhappiness depend not on yourself
but on the millions of chances and uncertainties of life ? Is that what
philosophy has taught you to do ?
Life is a campaign. Like soldiers
one man has to do sentry duty, another to go on a reconnaissance, a third go
out to fight. They cannot all be doing the same job at the same time and in the
same place. If every one grumbled at the orders of the Commanding Officer and
neglected to carry out the duties assigned to him, what would become of the
army ? There would be no trenches dug, no barricades erected, no watch kept, no
fighting done. Or, if you were a sailor, what ship’s master do you think would
tolerate your refusal to climb the rigging or take a spell at the wheel ? You
would soon get ‘ fired ’ as a nuisance and a bad example to your
fellow-sailors. So, too, in life. Each man’s life is a long and arduous campaign.
You are, as it were, a soldier, and everything you do should be in obedience to
your Commanding Officer’s orders, which you should if possible try to
anticipate. And remember that this Commanding Officer is far more important in
every way than an ordinary Commanding Officer. He has given you an exacting and
permanent post, and if you are to do your duty properly you will have but
little time to spare for private affairs : most of it will be taken up with
giving or obeying orders, special service, fighting or administering justice.
But I know what
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 185 you
want—you want to spend your whole life at home rooted in your native soil like
a plant.
Student : It would be nice if I could.
Epictetus : Nice ! Lots of things are nice—soup is nice,
pretty girls are nice. You talk like one of the Epicureans, and they are
rogues. Your mouth may be full of quotations from Zeno and Socrates, but your
beliefs and behaviour are those of a disciple of Epicurus. Fling such false
beliefs far from you—they do not suit you. What is the sort of life that
appeals to Epicureans ? To sleep when they want, and when they are weary of
sleeping to yawn and get up and wash their faces ; then to write and read a
little, talk a little, then have a little stroll with a bath to follow ; and
then dinner, and so to bed again. Now tell me, you who profess to be followers
of truth, of Socrates and Diogenes, tell me truthfully, is that the kind of
life that appeals to you too ? If it is, why do you call yourselves Stoics ?
You know that those who claim falsely to be Roman citizens are severely
punished ; don’t you think that those who claim falsely to be Stoics should be
punished even more severely ? Perhaps you think you will escape punishment ?
But you won’t. You cannot escape the divine law which ordains that he who sins
most shall bear the heaviest punishment. ‘ He who shall claim falsely to be
what he is not shall be punished by becoming a wretched braggart, subject to
sorrow, envy, pity and all those passions that are the enemies of peace !
So why go on regretting the old
familiar peaceful haunts ? In a little while you will find the ones here will
become equally familiar and just as peaceful . . . though I suppose that when
you come to leave here you will start regretting these too !
Student : Do you think I ought to call on him ?1 Epictetus
: Why not—if you think you ought to for the sake of your country, your
relatives or mankind in general ? You don’t mind calling to see your bootmaker
when you want a new pair of boots, or a greengrocer when you want a lettuce,
so why mind calling on a rich and influential man when you want something he
can give you ?
Student : But I don’t have to defer to and flatter
bootmakers and greengrocers.
Epictetus : You don’t have to defer to or flatter your rich
and influential friend either.
Student : I shan’t get much out of him if I don’t !
Epictetus : I am not suggesting that you should go in the
hope of getting anything out of him, but because you ought to go.
Student : Then what’s the good of my going ?
Epictetus : Because by going you will be doing your duty.
Besides, you are really only going to see another and rather superior
greengrocer who has nothing of any particular value under his control that he
can sell you. The mere fact that he sets a high value on his wares does not of
course make them valuable. You arc only going, as it were, to buy a few heads
of lettuce which are worth a few coppers. For such minor matters it is worth
your while to go to the trouble of paying a call, but it is certainly not worth
your while to defer to or flatter him. That would be the same as paying pounds
instead of pence for lettuces. Further, by flattering him you would degrade
yourself.
1 See Book II, Ch. vi, p. 52 ; Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 247 ; and Manual,
33, p. 304.
Student : If he doesn’t do anything for me, every one
will think he has a very poor opinion of me.
Epictetus : What has that got to do with it ? What other
people think is a matter of no importance ; the only thing that matters is for
you to do what you believe to be right.
Student : But what good do I get from doing right ?
Epictetus : The same good that you get if you spell
somebody’s name correctly instead of incorrectly—the satisfaction of having
done right.
Student : Is that all ?
Epictetus : What more do you want ? What greater reward
could you have for doing right than the knowledge that you have done right ?
Victors at Olympia are more than satisfied merely with having won. Indeed, it
is no small thing to have done right, for then one is really happy. Never
forget that you are a man and have a man’s work to do and a man’s life to live.
Don’t behave like a baby. Grown-ups who behave like babies make themselves
ridiculous. So by all means go and call on your friend, but do not go as a
suppliant humbly, or hoping to get something out of him. You must go in the
right frame of mind, that is to say, indifferent to everything that lies
outside the ambit of your moral purpose and which, consequently, does not
belong to you, and esteeming only those things that lie within it, such as
right judgements, thoughts, choices, likes and dislikes. Then you will have no
occasion for flattery or undue deference.
Student : Tell me the proper way of showing one’s
affection.
Epictetus : There are certain things you must remember :
true affection cannot be expressed by a mean or broken spirit, nor by one who
is always grumbling at God or his fellow-men, but only by one who is noble in
spirit and who has achieved happiness ; it is no use being affectionate in any
sense of the word if it is going to make you miserable ; never let your love
forget that the object of your affection may at any time die or have to leave
you.
How did Socrates love his children ?
He loved them truly, but he loved God more. That is why he was always
successful, first as a soldier and later in the defence he made at his trial.
Most of us are never at a loss for some excuse for our wrong conduct —we blame
child or mother or brother as the case may be. We have no right to be unhappy
on anybody’s account ; on the contrary, we should be happy on everybody’s
account, and especially on account of God who created us in order to be happy.
Didn’t Diogenes love everybody—Diogenes the gentle and kind-hearted, who gladly
endured great troubles and physical hardships for the common weal ? And how did
he love ? As a servant of God should, caring indeed for men but loving God
most. That was why he regarded not one particular place but the whole world as
his fatherland. When he was taken prisoner by pirates he did not mope because
he could no longer live in Athens or see his friends, but straightway
proceeded to make friends with his captors in the hope of teaching them
something. And later on when he was sold into slavery at Corinth, he went on
living there just the same kind of life as he had formerly lived at Athens.
Yes, and if for some reason he had found himself amongst the Perrhaebians (in
Thessaly) he would have done just the same. That is
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 189 the
way to win freedom. As he used to say : ‘ My master, the philosopher
Antisthenes, set me free from slavery.1 He taught me what was mine
and what was not mine ; that material possessions, relations, servants,
friends, reputation, familiar haunts, converse with men, none of them belonged
to me and that all I owned was the power to deal with my sense-perceptions,
but that this power I possessed unfettered and unconstrained, for no one could
compel me to deal with them otherwise than as I willed. So who has any power
over me ? No one, not Philip of Macedonia, Alexander the Great,
Perdiccas, nor even the Great King of Persia. How could they have ? Before a
man can fall into the power of some other man he must first become slave to his
material possessions.’ And so the man over whom nor pleasure nor evil nor fame
nor wealth have any power, and who can act like Anaxarchus (who when Nicocreon
ordered his tongue to be cut out, bit it off with his teeth and spat it in his
face) and die, cannot possibly be any one’s subject or slave. But if Diogenes
had preferred a soft life in Athens, his fortune would have been at every one’s
mercy and any one stronger than himself could have made him miserable. And then
he might even have become capable of entreating the pirates instead of selling
him to a Corinthian to sell him to some Athenian so that he might once more see
fair Piraeus, the long walls and the Acropolis ! Are you free ?
Student : I am.
Epictetus : I wonder ! Prove it to me. Suppose you were
captured by pirates and sold into slavery, would you still be free like
Diogenes ? Or would you fall down on your knees and beg them to send
1 See
Book IV, Ch. i, p. 215.
you back to Athens ? Man, you ought
to be able to live anywhere, even in prison, perfectly contentedly. What will
you do when the time comes for you to die—weep because you will never see
Athens or stroll in the Lycaeum any more ? Why did you leave home, brothers,
country, friends, and relatives ? Was it to learn how to resolve syllogisms and
criticize hypothetical arguments, or was it to acquire constancy of character,
peace of mind, security, to learn how not to grumble and fault-find, and how to
make it impossible for anyone to wrong you and so maintain your relations with
your fellow-men in freedom ? Presumably you left home because you wanted to
learn how to be happier. But if the only result of your studies is to make you
less happy, if new friends and acquaintances and the learning to love new lands
are merely for you so many fresh occasions for grief, well, really, you will
have seriously to consider whether life is worth while your living it ! If that
is what your affections lead you to, you would do better without them.
The first and principal rule of affection
is this : Whenever you grow attached to something, regard it as though it were
a delicate glass vase that may be broken at any moment and of which you will
then have only the memory. So when you kiss your child, your brother or your
friend, never let yourself ‘ go ’ but keep a rein on your love. Always remember
that they are mortal and that they do not belong to you save for a season. They
are like figs or grapes that are given us in summer but which we cannot
reasonably expect to have all the year round. If you yearn for your son or your
friend at a time when he is not given to you, you are asking for figs in winter
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 191
—which is silly. So when you kiss
your child or friend whisper to yourself (as slaves stand behind victorious
Generals in their Triumphs and whisper to them,4 You are only mortal
! ’), 4 To-morrow you may die ! ’ or 4 To-morrow you may
go abroad and I may never see you again ! ’1
Student : Those would be words of ill-omen.
Epictetus : Lots of words may seem to be ill-omened
—cowardice, for instance, a mean spirit, grief, sorrow, shamelessness—but they
are not so ill-omened as the things they represent. Never mind the words so
long as you can avoid the things. Would you say that to speak of the harvest is
ill-omened for the corn because it implies its destruction, or that to speak of
the fall of leaves or of the drying of figs and grapes is ill-omened for them ?
No, you must take a wider view than that. Such changes do not spell death but
only a natural development from one state to a more advanced one. That, too, is
what going abroad signifies—a slight natural development ; that, too, is the
meaning of death—a greater natural development.2
Student : When I am dead, shall I cease to exist ?
Epictetus : You as you are now will no longer exist, but
the being you have developed into will. Remember, you were created not when
you wanted but when God had need of you in His Universe. At different times He
needs you in different stages of development.
And so the good man remembering who
he is and whence he came and who created him is concerned with one thing
only—to do his duty in that sphere of life in which God has placed him. He says
: 4 If it be Thy will that I should go on living, I will go on
living, occupying myself solely with those things that
1 Cp. Manual, 3, p. 289. 2 Cp. Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 247.
Thou hast placed under my unfettered
control. And when Thou hast no further use for me here I will depart at Thy
command. I only await Thy command. And I will depart as I have lived, a free
man, Thy servant, who knows both what is lawful and what is unlawful ; but
while I live I will never cease serving Thee. I will be whatsoever Thou dost
ordain —a public servant, a private citizen, a senator, one of the people, a
General, a private, a teacher or the head of a family ; and whatsoever post
Thou dost assign to me “ I will die ” (as Socrates said) “ ten thousand deaths
rather than abandon”.1 And I will live wheresoever Thou dost bid
me—in Rome, Athens, Thebes or Gyara. Only, I beseech Thee, wherever I may be,
never forget me. And if Thou shalt send me to some place where life in harmony
with Nature is impossible, I will take it that Thou hast given me the signal to
depart, and I will depart this life—in no spirit of disobedience, from no wish
to abandon my post—of such I would never be guilty—but because I shall know
that Thou hast no longer any need of me here. But in all places where Thou dost
set me where I can live in harmony with Nature, there I will remain content
both with it and with the companions whom Thou dost give me there.’
Always think, write, read, talk
thoughts like these, and discuss them with any one you think may be able to
help you in regard to them. And then, when something happens that any ordinary
man would regard as a misfortune, at least it will not take you by surprise.
You will find it a great help in bearing your burden to be able to say : ‘ I
have always known —that my son must die some day—that I must die—
1 Cp.
Book I, Ch. ix, p. u.
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxiv) 193 that
I might have to go abroad—that I might be banished—that I might have to go to
prison.’ And you will find further help in remembering that all such happenings
lie outside your control and the ambit of your moral purpose ' and so do not
really concern you. But the greatest help of all is to remember who sent you
this thing to bear. It is an order from Prince, General, State or Law, and you
must always obey the law in every detail. Do not under any circumstances
surrender to the seductions of your imagination. If you are at Gyara, do not
picture to yourself life at Rome with all its attractions ; or if you are at
Rome, that of Athens ; but remember that it is God who ordered you to live
where you are and that it is your duty to live there manfully and to make the
best of it.
Then you will have the satisfaction
of knowing that while others talk virtue you are actually practising it. And
you will be able to say to yourself : 6 God sent me this trial so
that I might realize how easily I can defeat it, and also because He wanted to
see that I really am one of His loyal soldiers, a decent citizen, and a worthy
witness to all men that those things that lie outside the ambit of the moral
purpose do not concern them? (ς Your treasures lie says God, ‘ not
in material possessions but in your hearts?) ‘ God sends me hither or thither,
brings poverty, sickness or imprisonment upon me, deprives me of office or
sends me far away to Gyara—not because He hates me ; no, indeed ! how could He
hate the most loyal of his servants ?—not because He neglects me, for He never
neglects even the humblest of His creatures—but because He is training me and
using me as a witness before men. So having been nomin-
ated to so important a post, how can
where I am or with whom I am, or what men say of me, possibly concern me ? My
only concern is to obey God’s commands?
If you habitually think thoughts
like these you will never need either help or consolation from any one. Once
you are secure against fear and grief, you will not be concerned as to where
your food is coming from, or what good or harm people in powerful positions
can do you ; you will feel no envy when others get lucrative appointments—for
your own appointment given you direct by God is far more important than any
other. Only do not brag or preen yourself about it. Just do justice to it by
your actions, and if no one seems to realize that you hold it, be content to
live in health and happiness.
xxv
Memories of successes, memories of
mistakes ; pleasant memories, painful ones ; memories of long- forgotten
things—all may be profitable to us. Life is a struggle—not a mere boxing match
or wrestling bout, in which indeed failure or success may mean much to us—but
the greatest of all struggles, in which we should bear the buffets of fortune
unflinchingly, for the prize of the victor is happiness. At the Olympic Games a
defeated competitor has to wait four years before he can enter again ; but in
the struggle of life there is nothing to prevent us from renewing the struggle
immediately after a bad defeat, or even after a second bad defeat. And if once
you win a victory, you are as though you had never been defeated at all. But
don’t allow yourselves light-heartedly to make the same
LECTURES
: BOOK III (xxvi) 195 mistakes over
and over again, or you will develop a bad habit. Fighting-cocks that have once
been beaten rarely win afterwards. It is no excuse for succumbing to-day to the
temptation of a pretty woman to plead that you succumbed last week, or for
having been disagreeable to a subordinate that you have often been so before.
Excuses like these merely prove that you are deteriorating. If your doctor
forbade your bathing you wouldn’t say : 6 Oh, but I did bathe the
other day ! ’ because he would then probably remind you of how your temperature
went up afterwards and you had a headache. Only mean people are discourteous to
their subordinates, and if you try to excuse yourself by saying you simply
behaved as you always behave you are riveting your bad habit more firmly on
you, as you do, too, when you plead you yielded to your temptress because it ‘
wasn’t the first time ’. Past mistakes do not excuse but should serve as
warnings against fresh ones ; and that is why it is profitable to remember
them. It is a pity that mistakes are not as painful as lashes, for then you
would remember them as slaves remember their floggings.
xxvi
Epictetus : Have you ever heard of a runaway slave dying of
hunger ? 1 When slaves abscond they always manage to get food
somehow, at first probably by stealing, then by begging, doing odd jobs, making
shift in one way or another ; all of which needs some pluck. Don’t you think
you might show as much pluck as they ? But you don’t show any when you lose
your sleep worrying as to how you are to earn your living. Suppose you can’t
earn your living in any way, what 1 Cp. Book I,
Ch. ix, p. 10.
is the worst that can happen to you
? Death from starvation. But you can’t do more than die from an illness or from
a stone falling on your head. And how often have you professed not to be afraid
of death ?
Student : I wouldn’t mind starving myself as long as my
family didn’t have to starve.
Epictetus : But if your family starved, the worst that
could happen to them too would be death. The rich and mighty have to die as
well as the poor ; the only difference is that the poor die hungry while the rich
die from overeating and overdrinking. As a matter of fact, most beggars are old
men ; they may be as poor as you like, old, infirm, without shelter and with
only the minimum of food, but they manage somehow to survive. If they can
survive, surely you who are young and strong and healthy, and have the full use
of your hands and feet, need not fear starvation. Why, there are all sorts of
jobs open to you to earn enough to buy a little food with . . . you could
become a water-carrier, a letter-writer, or escort boys to and from school, or
become a hall porter.
Student : Those are all menial occupations.
Epictetus : Do you think a philosopher minds doing menial
work ? Don’t you dare to call yourself, or let others call you, a philosopher
so long as you think that ! Nothing is derogatory to a man that happens to him
accidentally and through no fault of his own ; e.g. a headache, an attack of
fever, or being the son of poor parents. You can’t help your parents having
been born poor, or if rich, having disinherited you or refusing to help you
during their lifetime. The only derogatory things are things that are
disgraceful. You didn’t make your father what he is, nor can you alter him. It
is not the slightest use relying on other people ;
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxvi) 197 you
must rely on yourself. And if you don’t, then you will have to reconcile
yourself to being miserable, to eating every meal as though it were to be your
last, to constant apprehensions that your slaves may thieve or run away or die.
You can’t expect anything else from the mere lip-service you pay to philosophy.
And in fact philosophy owes you no thanks for pretending to be a philosopher
while by your actions you do your best to discredit its principles in the eyes
of the profane. The truth is, you have never really wanted stability, serenity
and peace of mind ; all you have wanted to learn about are things like
syllogisms. You have never sought to test your sense-perceptions by asking : 6
Am I strong enough to bear them ? What will be the next one ? ’ But skipping
over the first two fields of study you embark prematurely on the third and
expect to make impregnable—what ? Well, I don’t know precisely what you
expect, but what you actually do succeed in making impregnable is your
cowardice, your base character, your love of riches, your failure to get what
you want and to avoid what you do not want !
How can you expect to make your soul
impregnable unless you first train your reasoning faculty ? You can’t have a
cornice unless you first build a wall to put it on ; you can’t be a door-keeper
if you have no door to guard. Your training and education are directed towards
learning how to expound clearly and how not to be entrapped by specious
fallacies—but what is it that you should be able to expound clearly, what sort
of specious fallacies are they that you are to be saved from ? That is the
important thing. It is not the scales or measure that matter, it is the thing weighed
or measured. You must weigh or measure something worth while—not mere dust and
ashes. So,
too, you must expound something
worth expounding —the way to become happy, so that men’s affairs will prosper
in the way they wish and they will have no need to reproach or find fault with
any one, but be content with God’s governance of the Universe. But it is not
worth any one’s while merely to expound syllogisms, for syllogisms are only
measuring instruments. It is because you busy yourselves over what are comparatively
unimportant measuring instruments and neglect the supremely important things to
be measured that you are fearful, can’t sleep, and are distressed if your
schemes do not win the approval of the friends you consult.
And then you imagine you are afraid
of starvation. But what you are really afraid of is not starvation at all, but
of being without a proper chef, without a competent buyer to scour the markets
for you for delicacies, without slaves to lace your boots, dress you, massage
you, escort you to the public baths, cook for you, wait on you and clear away
afterwards ; in short, you are afraid you may be unable to lead the life of an
invalid. Why can’t you live a healthy life—the kind of life lived by slaves and
workmen and real philosophers like Socrates (who had wife and children),
Diogenes, and Cleanthes (who used to pump water for a living) ? You can have
that kind of life anywhere and be free from all fear of starvation, relying in
full confidence on the only thing on which one can fully rely, and that is on
one’s moral purpose—for that is constant, unfettered, and no one can rob you
of it. Why make yourself out to be useless and worthless ? Who wants a useless
and worthless person in his house, or indeed to have anything to do with such a
one ? If you are going to be a dead weight and constant loss, people
LECTURES : BOOK III (xxvi) 199 would
prefer a dog or a rooster to you, and so far as I can see, there would not be
much point in your continued existence.
Do you think a good man really fears
starvation ? If the blind and halt find food, will a good man lack for it ?
Efficient soldiers and labourers and cobblers can always get paid for their
work. Shall not a good man get paid too ? Does God neglect His own creatures,
His servants and witnesses, whom He uses to teach the ignorant and to prove to
men that He does in very truth exist and rule the Universe, and that He does
care for Mankind and that no real evil can ever befall a good man either in
life or death ?
Student : But if God does not provide food ?
Epictetus : Then you may take it that, like a good general,
He has sounded the recall for you, and you should obey Him joyfully and praise
Him for His goodness. For we came into this world when He thought fit and we
must leave it at His pleasure, and while we are here we must glorify Him. God
has not given me more than is strictly necessary, for He does not wish
me to live in luxury. He gave His own son Herakles very little too, except hard
work and discipline. He did not make him King of Argos and Mycenae ; He made
Eurystheus that, though in truth Eurystheus was not king of either, for he was
not even king over himself. But Herakles was the real king of the earth, for
he purged it of wickedness and lawlessness and substituted in their place
justice and righteousness. And all this he did naked and alone. Again : when
Odysseus was shipwrecked and cast ashore, how did he behave ? He was not
crushed by his misfortunes but swallowed his pride and did what he thought was
right, even though it went sore against the grain to do
it, and frankly asked Nausicaa and
her maidens for food. What did Odysseus rely on ? Not on reputation, money or
position, but on his own strength ; i.e. on his judgements, about those things
that were and those that were not under his control. As I have so often told
you, it is only by right judgements about such things that a man can become
free, unhampered and self-reliant, and be in a position to look rich and mighty
alike fearlessly in the face. And it is only philosophy that can teach you how
to do this. I am afraid, however, that if things like clothes and silver plate
and food still cause you anxiety, you have wasted a good deal of your time and
have so far learned precious little philosophy.
Student
: But if I fall ill ?
Epictetus
: Then be ill like a man. Student
: Who will look after me ? Epictetus : Goa and your friends. Student
: Suppose my bed is uncomfortable ? Epictetus : You will have to put
up with it. Student : Suppose I am away from home ? Epictetus :
Then obviously you will be abroad. Student : But who will give me food ?
Epictetus : Some one no doubt will give you something.
Even slaves are fed, you know.
Student : Suppose I die ?
Epictetus : Then you will be dead. Death is not the worst
of human evils—the worst is to be afraid of death.1 Try to steel
yourself against the fear of death, drill your thoughts, discipline your
reason, direct all your reading to this end—till you are free from this fear ; for
it is only when you are free of it that you will achieve real freedom.
1 See Manual
5, p. 289.
i
ON FREEDOM
EPICTETUS : A man is free when he can live as he wants to
live, when no person or thing can force him to do what he does not want to do
or prevent him from doing what he does, when he has complete liberty of choice,
when he can gratify all his desires, and when he can avoid everything that he
dislikes. So naturally every one wants to be free.
Student : Naturally.
Epictetus : Now, can you imagine any one wanting to live
all his life in a state of ignorance, with an uncontrollable temper, incapable
of being fair to others, always discontented, and with the instincts of a
parasite?
Student : No, I can’t.
Epictetus : And a person such as I have described would be
a bad man, would he not ?
Student : He would indeed.
Epictetus : Then, clearly, bad men do not want to be bad,
and are not living the kind of life they would like to live. And that is hardly
surprising, seeing they are subject to sorrow, fear, envy, pity, and never get
what they want but always get what they don’t want. In short, a bad man is not
a free man.
Now, suppose you were to tell some
one who had been consul several times that he is no more free than
any slave standing for sale in the
slave-market, he would probably consider himself insulted. ‘ What do you mean
he would ask, ζ by saying I am no better than a slave ? Both my
parents were freeborn and no one holds a deed of sale for me. Besides, I am a
Senator, a personal friend of Caesar’s, I have been consul as you know, and I
own many slaves.’ All of which, of course, may be perfectly true ; notwithstanding
which it is quite on the cards that his parents and grandparents and indeed all
his ancestors may have been slaves, and even if they weren’t that doesn’t prove
that he isn’t. They may all have been noble, brave and self-controlled, but
that is no guarantee that he is not mean-spirited, cowardly and without
self-control.
Student : But what has being mean-spirited, cowardly and
lacking in self-control to do with being a slave ?
Epictetus : Surely a man who is doing something he doesn’t
want to do—and we have agreed that no one wants to be mean-spirited and
cowardly—is not free ?
Student : I agree that in that sense he may be said to be
a slave ; but he is not a slave in the sense of having a master who can order
him about.
Epictetus : Can’t Caesar order him about ? Of course he
can. So you see he has a master after all. It makes no difference that Caesar
is lord of all—it only means that every one has at least one master, viz.
Caesar. So, when the good citizens of Nicopolis shout that by Caesar’s grace
they are free men, it is only another way of proclaiming that they are Caesar’s
slaves ! But apart from Caesar, tell me this : were you never smitten with any
one—a pretty girl, a nice- looking boy, a slave, a freedman ?
Student : What has that got to do with being either slave
or free ?
Epictetus : Hasn’t your sweetheart ever made you do
something you didn’t want to do ? Haven’t you ever’ given in to your pet slave
? Haven’t you ever kissed his feet ? But if Caesar made you kiss his
feet, I suppose you would say it was an abominable piece of tryanny ! Haven’t
you ever been driven into going out somewhere at night when you didn’t want to
go ? Haven’t you ever been wheedled into spending more money than you wanted to
spend ? Haven’t you ever had something to complain about ? Haven’t you ever
been insulted or had somebody’s door shut in your face ? Well, perhaps you
don’t like admitting that any such thing has ever happened to you, so I will
just remind you that Thrasonides—a man who has spent his life
soldiering—admitted that when he had to go out at night his beloved Geta, who
is afraid of the dark, absolutely refused to accompany him, and that if he had
insisted there would have been such a row that they would probably have had a final
split. In point of fact he was Geta’s slave, not Geta his.
And what about animals, are they
free or not ? Tame lions in a cage are obviously not free. You may perhaps
think they ought to prefer living in nice comfortable cages with regular
meals, but which of their untamed brethren of the forests would willingly
change places with them ? And do you think birds like being cooped up in cages
? Isn’t it their nature to fly about where they want to and sing and live in
the open air ? They love their freedom just like lions and human beings do, and
if they are prisoned in a cage they do their best to escape, and if they can’t
they mope and pine away and die, regaining their freedom through death.
Indeed, death is sometimes the only
way in which man or beast may regain his freedom. Diogenes said : ζ
The one sure way of obtaining freedom is to die.’ And do you remember what he
wrote to the Great King of Persia ? ‘You can no more enslave the Athenians than
you can enslave the fish of the sea, for if you catch a fish it will die, and
if you catch an Athenian he will die too. So if your armies capture Athens you
will be no better off.’ That was Diogenes’ opinion, and as he had studied this
question of ‘ freedom ’ seriously, we may be pretty sure that he knew what he
was talking about. But of course if men look for c freedom ’ in the
wrong place, naturally they will not find it.
What is a slave’s dearest wish ? Is
it not to be given his freedom ? And why, do you suppose, he wants freedom ?
Because he feels unhappy under restraint. c If only I could get my
freedom ’, he argues, ‘ I should be perfectly happy, for I should then be as
good a man as the next, I should be able to pick my friends and go where I
wanted when I wanted.’ And then one day when his wish was gratified and his
Master had freed him, he would suddenly find that he had to earn his own living
and provide his own food, and deciding that the easiest way of doing so would
be to become a parasitic hanger-on to some wealthy man, or a pimp, he would do
so and would then presently discover that both those professions entail far
more slavery than anything he had hitherto experienced. Or if perchance he
prospered and became well-to-do, he would almost certainly be caught by some
hungry female who would make his life a burden to him. And then he would lament
: ‘ Why didn’t I realize when I was well off ? I used to have no bother about
clothes or boots or food ; my Master supplied everything, and when I was ill he
had me nursed, and in return for all that I had really very little work to do
for him. But now, instead of one master I have at least hàlf-a- dozen. Still,
if only I could get knighted, then I should be quite all right ! ’ And so to
achieve his latest ambition he would have to submit to—what he deserved. And
then to mount still higher in the social scale, he would have to serve in three
campaigns and endure all the miseries of active service, which are far worse
than anything even a convict has to put up with, and when at last he crowned
his ambition by becoming a Senator, he would simultaneously have become one of
the prettiest slaves in the world !
What a fool ! Well, we must be
careful not to imitate him. We must, as Socrates said, learn ‘ what each
several thing means ’ and not apply our innate preconceptions blindly. All
men’s troubles arise from their inability to apply their general ideas to
particular problems, as is proved by the frequency with which they arrive at
different solutions, one man deducing that he is ill, another that he is a
pauper, a third that his parents are unreasonable, a fourth that Caesar
dislikes him. All such fanciful deductions arise from ignorance of how properly
to apply one’s preconceptions. For instance, we all have an instinctive preconception
or instinct of what ‘ evil ’ is—that it is something harmful and to be shunned.
Then what about Caesar’s personal dislike ? Is that evil ? Of course it isn’t,
for even if we not only avoid his dislike but actually win his regard and
become his personal friends, we still have not got what we really want. What is
it that we all want ? Surely it is to live in security, to be happy, and to
have power to do just what we like without pressure from any one. You
won’t get all that merely by
becoming a personal friend of Caesar’s. However, if you have any doubt about
it, get hold of one of his intimate friends and ask him if his august master’s
friendship makes him sleep any the easier, and I bet he will tell you not to
laugh at him. He will say that you have no idea what a wretched life he leads ;
that he can now never get a decent night’s sleep what with one person and
another constantly coming in and saying that Caesar wants this or Caesar wants
that ! And if you suggest that at any rate he must enjoy the Imperial banquets,
you will discover that sometimes he is not invited—and then he feels hurt—and
that when he is invited his meal is completely spoiled by the fact that he has
all the time to be on his best behaviour lest he should say or do something
that he shouldn’t. In point of fact, he is a slave dining at his master’s
table. And all the time he is afraid—not of being flogged like an ordinary
slave—it would be too much for him to expect to get off as lightly as that
!—but, as befits a slave of his importance, of losing his head. Ask him further
if he now bathes in greater peace or exercises at greater leisure, in short,
whether he really prefers his present life to his former one, and you will hear
some pretty plain speaking. He will tell you very definitely that the
friendlier one is with Caesar the worse off one is.
As therefore neither the friends of
Kings, nor even Kings themselves, can live as they would, whom can we call free
? Seek the answer to this conundrum and you will find it, for Nature has given
you the means for discovering the truth, and if you are unable to discover it
yourself, you can at least avail yourself of the experience and researches of
others. Tell me : do you regard freedom as a ‘ good ’ ?
Student : As the greatest of all ‘ goods ’.
Epictetus : Can a man who is really free be either unhappy
or unfortunate ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : When, then, you see a man who is unhappy,
unfortunate and full of complaints, you may be perfectly certain that he is not
free, no matter whether he be a man of consular rank or even the Great King of
Persia himself. Now tell me further : do you consider freedom to be a great,
noble and precious thing ?
Student : Of course.
Epictetus : Can a man of mean spirit possess it ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Then no man who kowtows to another or who
flatters him untruthfully or without meaning what he says, whether it be for a
breakfast or a billet, is free. People who do that sort of thing are nothing
but slaves, humble or grand (as the case may be). Now tell me further : is
freedom something that is self-suflicient and self-controlled ?
Student : It is.
Epictetus : Then a man who can be ordered to do or not to
do something by somebody is not free. The question whether his ancestors were
free men or slaves or whether he himself is a free man or a slave has nothing
to do with it. If he recognizes some one as his master either by calling him
such or by behaving as if he were, he is a slave even though he be a consul.
Further, any man who gives way to grumbling or complaints, or who is unhappy,
or whose judgements are subject to compulsion or hindrance and whose desires
are centred on things over which he has no control, which do not belong to him
and which may therefore be taken away from him, is a slave whatever his rank.
Most of us indeed have many masters, not only other men in positions of
authority over us, but circumstances and those who can sway circumstances. It
is not Caesar himself that men fear or love (unless he be a very exceptional
man) but what Caesar can do—sentence to death, banish, confiscate estates,
imprison, disenfranchise—or promote to wealth and high office. When we fear or
love such things, the persons who can give or withhold them automatically
become our masters, and we instinctively tend to elevate them in our esteem to
pinnacles almost of divinity, and the greater their powers the more divine they
seem to us. ζ Those in whose power it is to confer the greatest
boons are divine,’ we say ; 6 now Caesar 5 (or whoever it
may be) 6 can bestow the greatest boons, and so
unquestionably he is divine.’ But, of course, as the minor premiss—that Caesar
can bestow the greatest boons—is obviously untrue, the conclusion that he is
divine is equally false.
What then is it that makes a man
free and his own master ? It is not wealth nor consular rank, high office such
as a Governorship nor Kingship. What is it ? I will tell you. It is the
knowledge of how to live properly. That and that only can make a man free. Now,
of course, you know that as a general principle. Let us see how we can apply
the general principle to particular cases. Must not a man who concerns himself
with things that are under other people’s control be subject to hindrance and
restraint ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : Then such a man is not free. Now, if we divide
things generally into two categories, those which are under our own sole
control and those which are under other people’s control, under which category
are we to place our bodies ? Can we control their health, their living and
dying ?
Student : No, we can’t.
Epictetus : Then our bodies do not belong to us but are
under the control of everybody stronger than we are. And the same is true of
our farms, slaves, clothes, houses, horses, children, wives, brothers, and
friends. Now, what things—for there are some—are under our own control and
which therefore do belong to us ? Consider : can any one force you to assent to
something you know is untrue ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Then so far as assent is concerned you are free
?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : Can any one make you choose something you don’t
want ?
Student : Yes, I might be compelled to choose between
imprisonment and death.
Epictetus : But if you don’t mind being sent to prison or
dying there would be no hold over you.
Student : No.
Epictetus : And it is for you to determine, i.e. choose,
whether you will or will not fear death ?
Student : Yes. But suppose I want to go for a walk and
somebody stops me ?
Epictetus : He may stop your body but he can’t stop your
wish to go.
Student : No, but I should lose my walk all the same.
Epictetus : Because, as I have already told you, your body
does not belong to you ; it is not under your control, and so any one stronger
than you can compel it or put obstacles in its way. But your desires are
H under
your own control, and no one can compel or prevent them any more than they can
interfere with your plans and aims or the way you deal with your
sense-impressions.
Student : May I wish for good health ?
Epictetus : Certainly not ; you must not wish for it or for
anything else that does not belong to you. If you even admire something that is
under somebody else’s control, it will make you into a slave.
Student : Does not even my own hand belong to me ?
Epictetus : Indeed it doesn’t. Your hand is a part of your
body, it is made of earth and is subject to hindrance and compulsion by
anything stronger than yourself—as indeed is your whole body. You should regard
your body as a poor over-loaded little donkey and make the best you can of it
for as long as you can. If you had a re?l donkey and some soldier came along
and commandeered it, you would be well advised to let him have it with good
grace, for if you started grumbling and resisting he would probably not only
take your donkey but knock you down into the bargain. And you should act
similarly in regard to your body. While as for all those things that the body
needs or uses, regard them as the equivalents of your donkey’s bridle and
saddle and fodder, and let them go even more readily than your donkey and your
body.
Once you have trained yourself to
distinguish between what is yours and which is therefore free from hindrance
of any sort, and what is not yours and which is subject to hindrance, and have
learned to ignore the latter, what is there left for you to fear ?
Student : Nothing.
Epictetus : No, nothing ; for clearly no one can interfere
with the things that do belong to you any more than they could interfere with
God ; while naturally nothing can happen to your material possessions or to your
body which can in any way disturb you, because they don’t belong to you, are
not under your control, and cannot be of any great importance to you. This is
the lesson you went to philosophers to learn. If you fail to learn it you will
never be free from fear and worry, and, I may add, pain—for the fears of
anticipation lead to the pains of realization ; but if you learn it thoroughly
you will find no one will ever frighten you again.
What is there indeed in any man, in
his appearance, conversation or behaviour, that can inspire fear in another,
any more than there is in a horse, dog or bee to inspire fear in another horse,
dog or bee ? In fact, it is not men who frighten other men, but things,
A man can only inspire fear when he is in a position to give or take away
something from some one.
The citadel of Man’s soul is
captured not by sword and flame but by right judgements. If we capture ours we
are masters of everything, including sickness and our passions, and there will
be no more tyrants installed in it to lord it over us. No longer shall we be
dominated by our bodies and their members, by our faculties, material
possessions, reputations, position, honours, children, brothers or friends, but
for ever thereafter we shall be able to do what we want quite free from any
compulsion or impediments, because we shall exercise our choices in conformity
with the will of God. If He wishes us to be sick, we too shall want to be sick
; if He wishes us to want something, to obtain something or not to obtain it,
to be tortured or to die, we shall wish exactly the same. And so no one will be
able to thwart or constrain us against our wills any more than they could
thwart or constrain God.
Consider the steps a prudent
traveller takes to ensure his safety. He has heard, perhaps, that the route he
proposes taking is infested with bandits, and so, not venturing to go alone, he
awaits an opportunity of joining forces with some important personage (like an
Ambassador or a Governor) and in his company reaches his destination safely.
The wise man will take similar precautions in respect of his journey through
life. He will say to himself : c In life I shall encounter many
bandits, bullies, storms, difficulties, and heavy losses. Where am I to find
safety ? How shall I protect myself against robbery ? Shall I wait for and
attach myself to some one stronger than I ? But to whom ? It is quite useless
attaching myself to some rich or important person, for such cannot defend themselves,
let alone me, and besides, they are more than capable of betraying me and
robbing me themselves. It would be equally futile attaching myself to, say,
Caesar, for the trouble I should have to go to in order to become one of his
friends would be far more than his friendship is worth, besides Caesars sometimes
turn enemies or die young. Is it then impossible to find any one whom I can
trust, who is strong, faithful and incapable of treachery ? And after
reflection he will realize that there is only one such Person and that is God,
and that if he wants to pass unscathed through the world he must attach himself
to Him.
Student : What do you mean precisely by 4
attaching himself to God ’ ?
Epictetus : I mean that he will always want what God wishes
him to want, neither more nor less.
Student : But how 5vill he know what God wishes ?
Epictetus : By observing the way in which He orders His
Universe. You know now that He has given you certain things for your very own,
placing them under your absolute and unrestricted control ; viz. everything
within the ambit of your moral purpose ; whereas things like your body,
material possessions, furniture, house, children, and wife, have not been given
to you outright but have only been lent to you temporarily and conditionally.
He who gave them to you may also take them away, and it would be not merely
foolish but wrong to object. It is no argument to say that your material
possessions came to you from your father, for who gave them to him ? God, of
course, the Maker of sun, fruits of the earth, seasons and men.
And so, seeing that all you have,
including yourself, comes from God, do not complain if He sees fit to withdraw
some part of it from you. Reflect who you are and why you were born. It was God
who brought you into the world and let you see the light, who gave you your
fellow-workers, your five senses and your power of reasoning. He caused you to
be born as a mortal man destined to live in the flesh for some few years in
order that you might witness how He controls and rules the Universe and share
His pleasure in the pageantry thereof. Don’t you want to do so ? And when He
thinks you have had enough, you should accept His decision cheerfully, do Him
homage and give Him hearty thanks for all you have seen and heard. ‘ Ah, but
you say, ζ I should have liked to stop a little longer ! ’ Yes, and
no doubt when the Games at Olympia are ended, some of the spectators say that
there should have been more competitions and that they have not seen enough.
But it would be more becoming in them to be grateful for what they have seen and
to go away contentedly. And we should do the same when our time comes, and
depart gratefully and contentedly, making room for others. For others have to
be born just the same as you were, and once born they will want lands and
houses and food ; and if the first-comers do not move on there will be no room
for their successors. You must not be greedy and grasping and overcrowd the
world.
Student : Yes, but I want my wife and children with me.
Epictetus : But they don’t belong to you ; they belong to
Him who gave them to you and who made you yourself. Won’t you yield up what is
not yours to One who is stronger than you ?
Student : Why did God cause me to be born fettered by
such conditions ?
Epictetus : If you don’t like the conditions you need not
stop. God does not want the witnesses of His works to be mere fault-finders. He
wants them to share His pleasure in them, to applaud them, glorify them and
sing their praises. Grumblers, the soured, the unappreciative, those incapable
of sharing His pleasure, those with long faces who are always dissatisfied and
discontented and who are insensible to the boons showered upon them, and who
use their faculties not for cultivating what they ought to, viz.
highmindedness, nobility of character and courage, so as to attain to freedom,
but the opposite, are of no use to Him.
Student : Why, then, did God give me things that I cannot
control ?
Epictetus : He lent them for you to use.
Student : For how long ?
Epictetus : For as long as He thinks fit.
Student : But suppose I can’t get on without them ? Epictetus
: Do not over-value them, do not regard them as indispensable, and you will
find that you can get on quite well without them. Indeed, you ought constantly
to practise doing without things. Start with the things you value least and
which are soonest broken—pots and cups and such-like—then go on to clothes,
dogs, horses, fields ; till at last you will come to yourself, your body and
its members, your children, wife and brothers. And every day as you practise
say to yourself, not : ‘ Now I am behaving like a real philosopher ’—that would
savour of pride—but : ζ I am a slave going through the formalities
of emancipation so that I may be really free.’ This was how Diogenes won his
freedom through Antisthenes,1 and he won it so effectually that it
was not possible for him ever again to be slave to any man. And so when, later
on, he was captured by pirates, he neither called them his masters nor—what
would have been worse —treated them as such. He even reproved them for giving
bad food to their captives. And when they sold him, did he care to whom he was
sold ? Not a bit. He was not looking, you see, for a master but for a slave. A
well-educated man always has an advantage over an uneducated man, and a man who
has learned the proper way to live is always master of those who haven’t. And
so Diogenes the c slave ’ was in reality master of his ζ
master ’, and he naturally took the first opportunity of telling his new owner
a few hometruths—about his clothes, how he did his hair, and how he was
educating his children. In short, he employed his c master ’ for all
he was fit for, and that was to be his slave. And if his c master ’
had happened
1 See
Book III, Ch. xxiv, p. 189.
to be a really efficient gymnastic
trainer or physician or architect, no doubt Diogenes would have utilized his
abilities—which in any case would have been far inferior to his own—to the best
possible advantage.
Now, tell me, who is the master in a
ship ?
Student : The captain.
Epictetus : Yes, and being the master, if any of the crew
disobey him he can punish them.
Student : Yes, and masters of slaves can have them
flogged.
Epictetus : But not with impunity.
Student : There is nothing to stop them.
Epictetus : Oh, yes, there is ! No man can do wrong with
impunity.
Student : What can happen to a man who punishes his slave
undeservedly ?
Epictetus : The knowledge that he has done so. The true
nature of Man is not that of a wild beast but that of a tame animal. If he acts
contrary to his nature, if he maltreats instead of treating kindly, he is
injuring himself more than his victim.
Student : Then you think Socrates’ judges and prosecutors
suffered more than Socrates himself?
Epictetus : There is no question of it.
Student : And Vespasian more than Helvidius whom he put
to death ? 1
Epictetus : Of course.
Student : Why ?
Epictetus : Which is the worse off—the badly injured cock
which has won its fight or the loser which is unmarked ? Which is the
happier—the dog that is hot and sweating and weary from hunting or the sleek,
overfed pampered lapdog ? Everything contrary to
1 See
Book I, Ch. ii, p. 4.
Nature is evil ; that is true of
animals and things, and it is equally true of men. The true nature of man is to
be gentle, affectionate and loyal, and if he bears everything nobly, even
flogging, imprisonment or death, he profits by such experiences, whereas his
oppressor, by acting contrary to his nature, degrades himself, and his
character inevitably deteriorates till he sinks from the level of a human being
to that of wolves, snakes or wasps.
And now let us recapitulate the
points on which we are agreed. The man who can neither be prevented nor
obliged, but who can do precisely as he wants, is free ; whereas the man who
can be prevented or obliged, and who consequently cannot do what he wants, is a
slave. And the free man is he who concerns himself solely with what belongs to
him and ignores everything that does not ; viz. everything not under his
control, or only partly and conditionally under his control ; e.g. his body and
its members, and his material possessions. This is the only road to real
freedom, the only way to escape slavery.
Suppose some highly placed personage
required you to say something that you knew was untrue, would you say it ?
Student : I must think about that for a few moments.
Epictetus : Why ? What need is there for reflection ?
Surely you have learned by this time to distinguish between what is good and
what is evil and what is neither good nor evil ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : You know, for instance, that life is not good
and that imprisonment and death are not evils, and that such things as churlish
speech, lack of loyalty, betrayal of a friend and flattery are all evil ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : Then there is no need for you to hesitate about
answering my question ; you can answer it just as readily as you could answer ‘
Is black white ? ’ or ‘ Is heavy light ? ’—by intuition. No, the fact is, you
do not really believe that all disgraceful things are bad, and that
imprisonment and death are neither good nor evil. On the contrary, imprisonment
and death appear to you to be the greatest of all evils, while dishonourable
words and deeds are not bad in your eyes but simply do not seem to matter. Or
perhaps you think one thing in my lecture room and something quite different
when you get outside when all my teachings seem in retrospect rather pedantic
and silly. From that it is but a little step for the philosopher of the lecture
room to slip down into the parasite of politics and the lau courts, where men
hire themselves out for money to make speeches in favour of things in which
they do not believe. And yet, even while they are uttering them, they know in
their hearts that they are doing wrong, for their judgements have been trained
to know better. Watch your own behaviour when something goes wrong—not a big
thing like the death of one of your children—but some little matter, say, of
spilled oil or drunk-up wine—and note your unphilosophic agitation, which is
quite enough to provoke caustic and ribald comments from the profane on the
difference between what you profess and what you do. When you pick up some
prostitute on the streets, do you entertain her with what I have taught you
here ?
Student : But what has all this got to do with freedom ?
Epictetus : Everything—whether you like it or not.
Student : How ?
Epictetus : Consider : is not Caesar your Master ? Don’t
you hang on his slightest gesture ? Don’t you turn pale if he frowns ? Don’t
you toady to your rich uncles and aunts and say : ‘ Oh, they wouldn’t like me
to do that ! ’ Do you call that freedom ? One can to a certain extent
sympathize with and even respect a man who, being desperately in love, does
things that he does not really mean to do and contrary to his better judgement,
for he is in the grip of something so strong that it needs almost more than
human strength to resist it. But who can sympathize with or respect a person
who fawns on old men and women, trying to ingratiate himself with them by
giving them presents, and all the time praying for their death (and making
anxious but discreet inquiries of their doctors as to when that happy event may
be expected), so that he can step into their shoes ? Who can respect one who,
in order to get some post of honour, licks the boots of great men’s
secretaries—the slaves of men who are themselves slaves—and who, if he
succeeds, struts about full of dignity, a praetor or a consul ? Is that freedom
? I know how consulships are won ; but personally, if I had to owe my life to
a person like Felicio, rather than put up with his insolence and arrogance I
would prefer to die. I don’t like beggars on horseback.
But perhaps you feel inclined to ask
me if I am free ! Indeed I want to be, and I trust that I may
become so, but, alas ! I must admit that I am still unable to look my master in
the face ; and that I still pay far too much attention to my worthless body and
take far too much trouble to keep it in good condition, though it is in any
event unsound. But if you want to know what a free man is really like, think of
Diogenes. He was a free man if ever there was one ; not because he was the son
of free parents, for he wasn’t, but because he had got rid of all those handles
by which men lay hold of their fellow-men in order to enslave them. Everything
he had was, so to speak, so loosely attached to him—as though lightly tied, not
sewn on—that if any one grasped it, it came away at once in his hand without
hurting Diogenes in the least. Thus, if any one seized his material
possessions, his leg, his body, his kindred, friends or country, they came away
at once and he made no effort to prevent them. For he knew whence he had
received all these things and who had lent them to him and the conditions on which
he held them. He knew, too, that his true ancestors were the Gods and his real
fatherland the Universe, and he would never have forsaken one or other of them,
nor would he ever have allowed any one to surpass him in deference and
obedience to Them, nor would any other man have died more cheerfully than he
for his fatherland He never, however, made any display of his efforts on
behalf of the Universe, and he never forgot that the Universe is the source of
everything that is and that it itself came from God. Being therefore completely
free, he—the son of a slave—was able, as he himself said, to converse on equal
terms with Kings, with Archedemus, King of the Lacedaemonians, and even with
the Great King of Persia. Contrast with him the Athenians, Lacedaemonians and
Corinthians, who, for all that they boasted themselves to be free men, were
quite unable to converse with these monarchs without fear and flattery.
But lest you think that perhaps
Diogenes was free because he had no wife, children, country, friends or
kinsmen, take Socrates, who was a married man with a family and a country. What
was his mode of life ? He recognized that his wife and family were only lent to
him, and that he had certain obligations in regard to his country. And so, when
it was his duty to fight for Athens, he was the first to report to his Commanding
Officer, and he was always in the forefront of the battle. But when he was
ordered by the Thirty Tyrants to go to Salamis and bring back Leon so that they
might murder him,1 it never even occurred to him to obey them,
though he knew perfectly well that if he didn’t they would probably murder him
instead. But that possibility meant nothing to him, for he had something to
preserve far more important than his life, namely his honour, and no one can
look after that save a man himself. And later on, when he was being tried on a
capital charge, he did not let the circumstance that he was a married man with
children influence him in the least ; and finally, when he was sentenced to
death, and might have saved his life if he had listened to Crito’s pleadings
that he should escape for his children’s sake, what was his reply ? He said
that all he wanted to do was what was right and that no other considerations
mattered to him at all, least of all the mere preservation of his body from
death ; that he must and would preserve that part of him which is improved by
right and deteriorated by wrong conduct. Was it indeed likely, or even
possible, that the man who had refused to yield to popular clamour and put an
illegal motion to the vote of the Assembly,2 the man who had flouted
the Thirty Tyrants, the man who had said such noble things about virtue and moral
1 See
Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 249, and Plato, Apology, 32.
2 Plato, Apology,
32B.
excellence, would save his life at
the expense of his honour ? Like a good actor who wisely retires at the height
of his reputation and before his powers fail, Socrates was saved not by flight
but by death. When his friends promised that if only he would escape to
Thessaly they would look after his children for him, he laughed and said they
would be poor friends if they would not do as much for them and him now that he
was going on a longer journey than the one to Thessaly.1 Death
merely made him smile. I wonder what you and I would have said and done under
similar circumstances ? Should we have sworn revenge ? Should we have tried to
salve our consciences by arguing speciously : ‘ If I save my life I may still
be of some use, whereas, if I die, of what use can I be ? ’ Should we, if we
could have found any hole to creep through, have crept through it into safety ?
No, believe me, the memory of how Socrates died is of even greater use to men
than the things he did and said while living.
If you really want to be free,
reflect on all I have said and on the arguments and examples I have put before
you. Freedom is a very precious thing, and it is worth paying a big price to
get it. For what they have mistakenly believed to be freedom, men, yes, and
whole cities, have perished. Will not you, in order to obtain real freedom—a
freedom which can never be taken away from you—surrender gladly to God what He
Himself has lent you when He asks you to ? Will you not (as Plato says) study
how to bear banishment, flogging, torture, even death itself—in short, to surrender
everything that does not really belong to you —if thereby you can win freedom ?
If you won’t, then
1 Cp.
Plato, Crito, 54A.
LECTURES : BOOK IV (ii) 223 you will
always be a slave amongst slaves, even though you be consul ten thousand
times—even though you be Caesar himself. Cleanthes spoke truly when he said :
‘You may think philosophers are wrong, but they are right,’ and experience will
teach you that they are right when they say that none of those things that men
long for and strive after satisfy them when they obtain them, but they remain
discontented. Freedom is won not by getting what you want but by ceasing to
want. You have all wasted much time and labour in trying to find freedom
through the satisfaction of your mundane desires, why not test the truth of
what I tell you by expending an equal amount of time and labour in cultivating
right judgements and in frequenting the society of philosophers instead of that
of rich old men, and see if you can’t get freedom that way ? There can be no
harm in trying, and I assure you that if you do your reward will be great.
ii
You must take the very greatest care
never to get too intimate with loose characters, lest you sink to their level
and become like them ; and if you have accidentally become acquainted with
such a one, cool off at once and never mind if he thinks you a churl. The
breaking off may be unpleasant, but whatever it costs you, do it. Nothing worth
having is ever won without effort.
I presume you don’t want to remain
exactly as you are for the rest of your life, but to improve. If you want to
remain exactly as you are, you will have to go on behaving exactly as you do
now, and then no doubt you will be able to retain the liking of your
low friends, whereas if you improve
yourself you will probably lose it. Before you started studying philosophy,
and while your ideas were still vague and your aims in life indefinite, you
went in for hard drinking and a life of pleasure, and so were a welcome booncompanion
; but now that you have forsworn such things, your companionship will not be so
attractive to your former associates. The fact is, you can’t have it both ways.
You must make your choice—either to remain stationary and continue with your
low companions, or to improve your character—in fact, to make progress—which
means renouncing your former mode of life and giving up all claim to being
considered a ‘ good fellow ’. The two things don’t mix. You can’t be both a
hump-backed bald Thersites and a tall, goodlooking Agamemnon.
iii
When you lose something always
reflect whether you have not perhaps acquired something better worth having in
its place. For instance, if you lose an ass and get a horse, or lose a sheep
and get an ox, you have little to complain of. Similarly, you can well afford
to lose a trifle of money if you do a good action, you can dispense with
quantities of silly chatter if in its place you can have a quiet mind, and you
can well do without bawdy stories if you have self-respect. Remember this and
you will preserve your character at its proper level ; but if you don’t you are
wasting your time and pains. The slightest mistake may have the most ruinous
consequences. A helmsman requires much less preparation to wreck his ship than
he does to preserve her—a little bit too much in the wind and
LECTURES : BOOK IV (iv) 225 over she
goes—and this fatal issue may be the result not of intent but of mere
thoughtlessness. Similarly in life, if you relax for an instant, that instant’s
relaxation may cost you all your previous gains. Watch ceaselessly, therefore,
over your sense-perceptions, and remember that what you have to guard is no
less than your self-respect, fidelity, constancy, serenity of mind, the power
to overcome pain, fear and uncertainty— in short, your freedom. If you lose any
of these, what can you get in exchange that will compensate you ? Would a
tribuneship make up for lost modesty, or a praetorship for one’s self-respect ?
Be quiet in demeanour ; do not put yourself unnecessarily in evidence.
Remember that you are a free man and a friend of God and that you serve Him of
your own choice. Claim nothing that you should not claim—body, material
possessions, office or reputation—for if God had wanted you to have them He
would have given you them, and as he has not given you them you should not ask
for them. In all that you do, set your supreme good in the foreground, and as
for the rest, take gratefully what God gives you and enjoy it simply.
These are God’s laws and ordinances.
If you obey them you will always be successful ; if you don’t you will never be
successful.
iv
Epictetus : Men truckle to other men for all sorts of
reasons—to get a good appointment, for money, for quiet and leisure for study,
for public office and promotion to Senatorial rank, to avoid public office and
honours, to get more time for reading or not to have to read so much—but
whatever the reason,
the more a man wants it the more he
will truckle to get it.
Now let us consider some common
wants—want of occupation, for instance. If you will reflect for a few moments
you will find that in reality you have plenty to do. At home you have to be
very careful never to fall short of the highest standard of your moral purpose,
to preserve your self-respect, never to jeopardize your security, to exercise
your likes and dislikes in the right way, and, further, you must constantly
observe the actions of your fellow-men, in no censorious spirit, with no desire
to ridicule them, but to see what mistakes they make so that you may avoid
making similar ones. I am only telling you to do what I have done myself. I
used once to make many mistakes ; now, thank God, I do so no longer.
I will give you a few rules for
everyday life, and if you will follow them you will be far better off than you
would be for any amount of reading. Whatever you are doing, whether you are
eating, reading, bathing or taking exercise, do it with all your might. Do not
let your behaviour and manners vary according to the station in life of the
person you are dealing with—a servant is as much entitled to be treated with
civility as Caesar is. Always behave quietly, imperturbably and with decorum.
It is better to watch others than to push yourself into the limelight. Try to
feel pleasure and not envy at other people’s successes. Let motives mean more
to you than results.
Now take another common want—more
time for reading. Why do some people want that ? Do they read for pleasure or
to learn a lot of new facts ? Neither is a good reason. The only valid reason
for
LECTURES : BOOK IV (iv) 227 reading
is to attain to peace of mind, and if reading fails to procure this for one it
is useless.
Student : My reading does procure me peace of mind, and
when I am prevented from reading my peace of mind vanishes.
Epictetus : If such a trifle as being (for some reason or
other) prevented from reading is sufficient to destroy it, then all I have to
say is that the peace of mind you procure from your reading is not worth much.
Real peace of mind cannot be disturbed by anything. Surely one only reads books
as part of one’s training how to live properly ? They are, however, only part
of one’s training in this regard.
As a trained athlete enters the ring
for his match and is glad that the period of his training is accomplished and
that the time of his testing is come, and has no need or desire to submit to
any further training before the struggle, so too in life we should be glad that
our training is so far advanced that we can cope instantly with all the many
problems brought to us by our sense-perceptions (be they easy or difficult),
and we should have no need or desire to read still more treatises about Comprehension
or anything else.
In fact, our reading should be
directed towards enabling us to deal practically and in accordance with Nature
with our sense-perceptions. Unfortunately, that is just what it is not. We
learn the theory of it from our reading so well that we can explain it clearly
to others, but there we stop short. We should read treatises on Choice,
so as to have not merely an academic knowledge of what choice is but to get
practical assistance in making right choices. Similarly, we should read one on Likes
and Dislikes, so that we may never fail to get what we want and avoid what
we
don’t want ; and on Duty, so
that we may maintain our proper relations with our fellow-men as we should and
never behave irrationally. And so instead of boasting, ‘ To-day I have read so
much,’ we should say : ‘ As a result of what I have read to-day I have not
merely learned how to but I have actually succeeded in exercising my choices
in the way philosophers teach, in suppressing evil desires, in avoiding those
things that my moral purpose condemns, in not being scared or disconcerted by
any one, in exercising my patience, my self-control and my friendliness, for
all of which I thank God.’
Now as one is always inclined to
smile a little at some one who is eager to obtain some public office, so too
smile at yourself for wanting not to hold office. The one is like a man with
fever who wants water, the other like a man with hydrophobia who is afraid of
it. Of course, what you both should do is to say with Socrates : ‘ As God will,
so be it.’1 If Socrates had wanted too much to spend all his
time in the Lycaeum or Academy arguing with young men, he would not have been
able to go forth without regret on the various military expeditions in which he
served, but would have complained bitterly about the discomforts of active
service, contrasting them with the pleasures he had left behind.’ And then he
would not have been that Socrates who later wrote Hymns of Praise in prison.
Never complain ; always be calm, free, untroubled.
The fact is, if you set store by
those things that lie outside the ambit of your moral purpose, you will destroy
your moral purpose. Outside its ambit lie
1 Also quoted in Book I, Ch. iv, p. 5, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book III, Ch.
xxii, p. 173 ; and Manual, 53, p. 311. both public office and
freedom from office, both business and leisure.
Student : One thing I must have, and that is leisure and
quiet.
Epictetus : What do you mean precisely by ‘ quiet ’ ? Do
you mean you don’t like crowds ? But if you went to Olympia you would regard
the shouting and jostling and the overcrowding at the baths as part of the fun,
and would thoroughly enjoy it and be sorry when it was all over. Don’t be too
exigent in everyday life. Don’t whine : ‘ I can’t eat this—I don’t
fancy it—this vinegar is too sour ; there’s too much wax in this honey ; I
don’t like having nothing to do ; I don’t like being alone ; I don’t like
crowds— they make me giddy.’ Why can’t you make the best of things ? If
circumstances compel you either to live entirely alone or with but few
companions, say : ‘ I like a quiet life.’ For a quiet life has many advantages.
It gives you plenty of leisure for self-communion, for learning how to deal
adequately with your senseperceptions, and for developing your natural
instincts. Or, if you find yourself one of a crowd, regard it all as a game, a
fête day or holiday, and try and enjoy it. ‘ The more the merrier ’ is the
instinctive feeling of one who loves his fellow-men. We all like seeing troops
of horses and herds of cattle and fleets of ships, so why should we dislike
seeing crowds of human beings ?
Student : I can’t stand the noise they make.
Epictetus : But their noise only affects your ears ; it
doesn’t affect your capacity for dealing with your sense-perceptions, nor does
it interfere with the expression of your likes, dislikes, choices and refusals
in conformity with Nature. No mere noise can do that. Never forget general
principles—what is yours, what is not yours, what God has given you, what He
wants you to do or not to do. To start with, He gave you sufficient leisure for
preparation by self- communion, reading, writing and listening ; but you can’t
expect to go on training all by yourself indefinitely. The time has now come
when He bids you face the struggle, to show what you have learned and the
efficacy of your training—in short, you must now prove your metal by winning,
or (like so many have to do) confess to defeat. After all, there is nothing in
this for you to grumble at. We all have to face the music, and you can’t expect
a completely silent struggle. A number of different people are necessarily
present—sparring-partners, officials, and so on—not to mention the crowds of
spectators who have come to cheer you on.
Student : But I want to lead a quiet life.
Epictetus : The question is, are you or are you not going
to obey God’s commands ? If you won’t, then you will be, and you will deserve
to be, utterly miserable, and you will always be subject to sorrow, envy and
all sorts of misfortunes. Surely that is not the fate you want ?
Student : No, indeed ; but how am I to avoid it ?
Epictetus : Have I not told you over and over again that
you must entirely eradicate all evil desires, direct your aversions against
those things that lie within the ambit of your moral purpose, and be ready to
surrender everything that does not belong to you and which is not under your
control, such as your body, material possessions, reputation, books, personal
privacy, public office and freedom from public office ? Unless you do so you
will always be a slave subject
LECTURES : BOOK IV (iv) 231 to
impediments, pressure, and other people’s control. Remember the hymn of
Cleanthes, which begins :
Lead
Thou me on, O Zeus and Destiny !
—whether it be to Rome, to Gyaros,
to Athens or to prison—let them be all the same to you. Never yourself wish to
go to any particular place, for if your wish be disappointed you will be
unhappy, if it be gratified you may mistakenly attribute it to some merit of
your own.
Student : But I should like to go to Athens ; Athens is a
very beautiful place.
Epictetus : But happiness, freedom from annoyance,
independence and peace are still more beautiful.
Student : Rome is too noisy and hectic.
Epictetus : If your mind is at peace, noise and similar
little pothers will not disturb you. You must try and conquer unreasonable
likes and dislikes, and try to bear your burdens lightly, not obstinately like
an overladen donkey. If you don’t, you will always be slave to some evil genius
who can humour your fancies, or thwart them. Never forget that there is one way
and one way only of attaining to peace of mind, and that is to surrender all
claim to everything that lies outside the ambit of your moral purpose, never
to assert ownership over any material possessions but to yield them all to God
or to those whom He has appointed, to devote yourself exclusively to what
really does belong to you, and to make your reading, writing and listening all
conduce towards the same end. You must work hard at this. (I do not call the
mere fact that you sit up half the night reading ‘ hard work ’ any more than I
should call it c hard work ’ if you lost your sleep over a woman.
If you lost your sleep for
reputation’s sake I should call you ‘ ambitious \ if for money 6
avaricious ’ ; but if the object of your toil be the perfection of your
governing principle, so that you may live all the time in harmony with Nature,
then I should call you truly 6 hard-working ’.) I do not want you
ever either to praise or blame any one for his good or bad actions,1
but only for his judgements, for a man’s judgements really belong to him, and
according as they are sound or unsound his actions will be good or evil.
Remembering all I have said, rejoice
in what you have and be content with what each day brings forth. If you see any
of those things you have studied hard coming to fruition, as evidenced by
improvement in your actions, you may congratulate yourselves. If, for instance,
you have subdued an ill-natured spirit, a habit of sneering at others, a
tendency to impertinence or foul-mouthedness, carelessness or negligence ; if
you are no longer tempted, or at least not so much, by things that formerly
used to draw you, you may take courage, for you will then have far more cause
for real satisfaction than if you were to be made a Consul or a Governor. For
such things come to you from your own selves and from God. Never forget, then,
who gave them to you, who you are to whom they are given, and the reason why
they were given to you, and you will have no doubts as to how to please God or
as to how you can become happy.
v
Epictetus : A good man never quarrels with any one and does
his best to prevent other people quarrelling.
1 See
Book IV, Ch. viii, p. 251.
We have an excellent example of this
(as of everything else) in the life of Socrates. In his Symposium
Xenophon gives a number of instances of friction that Socrates smoothed over,
and he also tells how patient he was with Thrasymachus, Polus and Callicles,
and how uniformly gentle with his wife Xanthippe and his son Lamprocles, even
when the latter cheeked him. Socrates never forgot that no one has any control
over another person’s governing principle and that we ought all to try and live
always in harmony with Nature, minding our own business and not meddling with
other people’s concerns. It is no part of a man’s duty to seek public office or
marriage, but should office or a wife come to him, then he must do his duty by
them ; but he has no power or control over wife or son to prevent them making
mistakes. The true meaning of education is to learn what is yours and what is
not yours.
When a man has learned this, he will
have no reason for quarrelling. Nothing that happens to him will surprise him
unless it be the unexpected moderation of those who wrong him ; so each time he
is wronged he will be comforted by the reflection that things might have been
much worse. If, for instance, he has been slandered, he will reflect that he
might also have been knocked down ; if he was knocked down, that he might also
have been stabbed ; if he was stabbed, that at all events he had got off with
his life. He knows, of course, that Man is a tame animal whose nature it is to
love his fellowmen, and that the punishment of being unjust is the capability
of behaving unjustly. If your neighbour throws stones at you, he hurts himself
far more than you ; if he breaks your windows, that can’t
234 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS hurt you—you
are not made of glass but of moral purpose.
How, then, you ask, are you to act
when attacked like this ? Well, if you want to act like a wild beast, you can
bite back and throw stones yourself ; but if you want to act as a man should,
then examine the faculties God gave you when you were born. Did He give you
faculties of brutality and revenge ? Consider : when is a horse unhappy ?
Surely when he is deprived of his natural faculties—when he can’t run, not when
he can’t sing ‘ cuckoo ! ’ When is a dog miserable ? Surely when he can’t keep
the scent, not when he can’t fly. And similarly a man is wretched when he has
lost his faculties of kindness and faithfulness, not when he can’t strangle
lions or (like Diogenes) embrace statues nude and in cold weather.1
We should, indeed, be sorry for the
man who is unfortunate enough to lose the only things he really possesses—by
which, as you know, I don’t mean his family estates, his farm, house, inn or
slaves (for none of these things really belong to him ; they belong to and are
under the control of others, to whomsoever God shall from time to time give
them), but those qualities—gentleness, generosity, patience—which make him and
by which we recognize him to be a man (even as we recognize good from spurious
coin by the imprint upon them). If he has these qualities, then indeed he is
our neighbour and fellow-traveller ; but if he is bad-tempered, quarrelsome and
querulous, and like the man who said, c When I am in the mood I like
punching people’s heads ’, I do not regard him as a human being at all. The
quality
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. xii, p. 145 ; and Manual, 47, p. 308.
of humanity does not depend on
having the external shape of a man. The lump of beeswax known as a ‘ cobbler’s
apple ’ has the same shape as an apple, but it isn’t an apple ; to be an apple
it would also have to taste and smell like an apple. So, too, a being may have
the eyes and nose of a human being, but if he hasn’t got the sound judgements of
a human being he isn’t one. If he won’t listen to reason, admit it when he is
in the wrong, if his sense of self- respect is dead, if he goes about looking
for some one he can insult or kick, he is anything you like, a donkey or a wild
beast, but not a man.
Student : But if I take everything ‘ lying down ’ people
will despise me.
Epictetus : Not intelligent people—they never despise
gentleness and self-respect. Possibly people without intelligence may despise
you, but they don’t matter and you needn’t take any more notice of them than an
artist would of the criticisms of those who know nothing about his art.
Besides, how can any one hurt the real jw, i.e. your moral purpose, or prevent
you from utilizing your sense-perceptions in conformity with Nature ? So you
see, if ignorant persons do abuse you, there is nothing for you to be disturbed
about. So banish your fears and let everybody know that you propose to remain
at peace with all men whatever they do, and that if any one tries to injure
you, you will only be amused, for the stupid fellows won’t know who you are or
wherein your good and evil lie. All your real possessions will, of course, be
far beyond their reach.
You are really very much in the same
position as the garrison of a fortress, which, secure in its stout walls, ample
munitions and supplies of all kinds, can afford to laugh at its besiegers. What
stout walls and munitions are to a fortress, sound judgements are to the soul
of Man—they make it secure. Nothing else does. No walls are so strong that they
cannot be breached, no body so mighty that it cannot be laid low ; there is no
absolute security against theft ; there is no reputation so established that it
cannot be attacked. All such things are doomed to perish, all may be taken by
assault, and he who sets his heart upon them will always and inevitably be
anxious, apprehensive, despondent and unhappy, and he will never get what he
wants and will continually get what he doesn’t want. That being so, why don’t
we avail ourselves of the one and only way of safety that is open to us, and
surrender all those things that are transitory and set our hearts instead on
those that are lasting and that we can use without let or hindrance ?
Remember that no man can do either
good or harm to anybody else, but if his judgements are unsound he can do
infinite harm to himself ; he may indeed destroy himself. It was because their
wrong judgements about kingship and banishment—because they believed that
kingship is the supreme good and banishment an intolerable evil—that Eteocles
and Polyneices 1 were what they were. Every single being naturally
pursues what it conceives to be its good and shuns what it imagines to be its
evil, and holds that he who robs it of the one and involves it in the other,
even though he be brother, son or father, is an enemy. We love nothing so much
as we do what we consider to be our good. If then things that lie outside the
ambit of our moral purpose, which do
1 See Book II, Ch. xxii, p. ιοί ; and Manual,
31, p. 301. not belong to us and over which we have no control,
are either good or evil, it follows that fathers, sons, and brothers may all be
hateful to one another and that we live in a world of potential foes. But if
the right kind of moral purpose and that alone be good, and if the wrong kind
of moral purpose and that alone be evil, then there is no longer any occasion
for bickering or quarrels. For what is there left for you to quarrel about ?
About things that don’t interest you ? And with whom will you quarrel ? With
the ignorant, the unfortunate, and those who are completely mistaken over
their values ?
Socrates knew all this and applied
his knowledge to his everyday life at home, to his shrewish wife and
obstreperous son. You remember how Xanthippe used to empty the water jug over his
head and how she stamped on a cake Alcibiades had given him ? If things that do
not belong to us are as nothing to us, then incidents such as these are nothing
either. Our real business is to develop our moral purposes aright, and if we do
this, no single person, however powerful, no combination of persons, can compel
us against our wills, for God has placed our wills under our sole and
unfettered control. It is judgements such as these that create love in the
home, concord in the State, peace among the nations, and that make a man
grateful to God and serenely confident, knowing as he does that he is dealing
with things that do not belong to him and to which he is indifferent.
Unfortunately, though we all accept
this in theory we do not put it into practice. Like the Lacedaemonians who
were said to be c brave as lions in Peloponnesus but not as brave as
foxes abroad ’, we are exceedingly valiant in our professions whilst in the
238 THE
LAMP OF EPICTETUS lecture room, but in our practice outside the veriest
cowards.
vi
Student : I don’t like people sympathizing with me.
Epictetus : What do they sympathize with you about ? Have
you done something which really merits sympathy, or are they abnormally
soft-hearted ? And anyhow, what are you going to do about it ?
Student : No, I have done nothing to deserve sympathy.
Epictetus : Do you always behave in such a way as not to
deserve sympathy ?
Student : I believe so. At all events, I do not get it
for what would really merit it, viz. for my mistakes ; all I get it for is ror
being poor, not having a job, for being ill, and so forth.
Epictetus : I take it, then, that you maintain that none of
the things you have mentioned are evil, and that it is possible for a poor man
without either employment or position to be happy and to have no need of
sympathy. You are quite right.
Now there are two ways of convincing
people that you are in no need of sympathy. The first is to pretend that you
are rich and highly placed. In order to do this you will have to borrow or
somehow set yourself up with the trappings of a rich man—a retinue of slaves,
quantities of silver plate with which to make as much display as you can, a
wardrobe of swagger clothes and other fripperies ; and you will have to pose as
a friend of the upper ten and dine with them, or at least make other people
think that you dine with them ; and also you will have to
LECTURES : BOOK IV (vi) 239 titivate
your person, making use of all available adventitious aids—powder and paint and
the rest of them—so as to appear younger, better-looking and of better birth
than you actually are. That is one way ; it is the way of the waster.
The second way is more difficult—it
is to try and do what even Zeus Himself has never succeeded in doing, and that
is convince men of what things are good and what evil. That is a large order,
especially as you have not yet succeeded in convincing yourself ! Which is
surprising, for you have been living with yourself for a long time now and no
one is more likely to be able to persuade you than yourself? Who likes and
loves you more than you do yourself? How is it, then, that you have not yet
taught yourself how to get rid of pain and worry and shame and so to be free ?
You know quite well that there is only one way of doing this, and that is to
surrender everything that lies outside the ambit of your moral purpose,
confessing that they do not belong to you. But you don’t. In what category do
you place other people’s opinions about you—as, for instance, that you are a
fit object for their sympathy ?
Student : Amongst those things that lie outside the ambit
of my moral purpose.
Epictetus : And which therefore mean nothing to you ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus : But just now you were complaining that you
resented other people’s sympathy ! Well, as long as you are irritated and upset
by other people’s opinions about you, including their sympathy, you will not be
able justly to claim that you have learned to distinguish good things from evil
ones. Now you
know the teachings of philosophy and
you must teach yourself how to apply them. You must be your own pupil. Never
mind about other people ; say to yourself : ‘ Whatever others may think or do,
I know that no one is dearer to me than myself and that the most profitable
thing for me to do from a purely selfish point of view is to lead a life in
harmony with Nature. I say I know this truth, for I have been taught it by
philosophers. But on self-examination I find to my surprise that I am no
better off than I used to be ; somehow my burdens are no lighter. Why should
this be so ? Am I too stupid ? I don’t think that can be the explanation, for
in other matters—reading, writing, arithmetic, analysis of syllogisms, and in
bodily sports such as wrestling, I have learned easily enough. Can it be that
my mind has never really been convinced by the teachings of philosophy ? No, it
can’t be that either, for I know quite well that I am convinced. From
the very first my entire approval and concurrence was won, and the more I read
and hear about such matters the more certain I feel. What, then, can be the
explanation ? Can it be that the old wrong judgements of my mind which I
thought I had completely eradicated are still lurking in the background, and
that the new judgements with which I thought I had replaced them are, like old
pieces of armour that have been long stored away unused, rusty from lack of
use, so that I can no longer make use of them or fit them to the facts of life
? It may be so, and yet in other matters, such as reading and writing, I am not
wont to be satisfied with having mastered the bare outlines, but I go over them
again and again, considering all the difficulties I encounter from every
possible angle, filling in details, delving deeper, weighing arguments and
fashioning new ones of my own. But I sadly fear me that in regard to these
first principles of conduct which alone enable a man to rid himself of fear,
grief, passions and all other impediments to freedom, I have been far too
sketchy, that my study of them has been superficial and my practice of
them—nil. And as a result, I find that I still worry myself about other
people’s opinions of me and that I still care whether they think me happy or
unhappy, important or unimportant, deserving of sympathy or the reverse ! ’
Now, if you were to speak those, or
similar words, to yourself, would you not in fact be describing your real
condition of mind ? Would you not at last be seeing yourself as you really
are—how you think, like, dislike, avoid, choose, prepare, design and so forth ?
And, if I have guessed right and put a true confession in your mouth, are you
any longer surprised that people sympathize with you ?
Student : Yes, I am ; I really can’t see that I have done
anything that deserves sympathy, and I feel very hurt about it.
Epictetus : But surely people who feel hurt deserve
sympathy ?
Student : I suppose so.
Epictetus : Then please accept my sympathy for feeling hurt.
. . . Remember what Antisthenes said to Cyrus, King of Persia : ζ It
is the fate of Kings to be hated for their best deeds.’ If people sympathize
with me for being ill when in fact I am quite well, I simply smile quietly to
myself ; and when they sympathize with me for being poor or for not holding
office, I do the same, for my judgements in regard 16 to poverty and the
holding of office are sound ones. People, of course, usually judge others by
themselves ; they think that if they are subject to hunger, thirst and cold,
every one else is too, and they sympathize accordingly. But so far as I am
concerned, they are wrong. I am not subject to these things and do not need
their sympathy. So when they sympathize I simply smile to myself and do not
bother to set them right or to tell them that the only things with which I am
concerned are sound and unfettered judgements ; for if I were to tell them that
it would show that I attached some importance or value to their opinions —which
I don’t, for if I did, it would be a clear proof that my judgements are not
really sound at all.
Student : I do not want other people to succeed more than
I do.
Epictetus : It is very natural that those who apply
themselves whole-heartedly to the attainment of their desire should achieve a
greater measure of success than those who only do so lukewarmly or not at all.
Those who pursue office and wealth will probably get what they want, and so
will you if your chief aim be sound judgements and the dealing properly with
your sense-perceptions. And then you can compare your respective results and
see whose assent is more in harmony with Nature, who more often gets what he
wants and avoids what he doesn’t want, and whose designs, purposes and choices
are the more successful, and which make the better men, sons, and parents.
Student : It seems to me that the mere fact that I do
strive to make my judgements sound should qualify me to hold public office.
Epictetus : It is certainly one of the
qualifications for holding public office, probably the most important one,
though not the most spectacular. But other qualifications are necessary too,
e.g. a knowledge of law, and if you aspire to an appointment of that sort you
must acquire that also. But the common saying is a true one, that no man can
run two different jobs properly at one and the same time, and the business of
acquiring sound judgements is a full-time one.1
Think how the man has to work who
gets up at dawn in order to make himself agreeable to some minion of Caesar’s,
to find some one whom he can flatter or bribe, some ballet-dancer to gratify,
some one to please with spiteful remarks about a rival. He prays and sacrifices
only for the success of his schemes. He distorts the meaning of those lines of
the Golden Verses of Pythagoras,[34]
[35]
At night, before you close your eyes in sleep
Recall to mind each hour of the now dead day,
Asking : ‘ Where went I wrong ? when was I right
? ’
making them apply to flattery—ζ
Where went I wrong ’ in the way I flattered So-and-so ?—and to life generally—‘
when was I right ? ’ ‘ Well, obviously I wasn’t right when I told So-and-so the
truth—I ought to have lied to him, for even philosophers admit that lies are
sometimes justified.’ How could such a busy fellow have time to concentrate on
forming sound judgements in addition to all his other activities ?
But if you are, as you say you are,
really striving to make your judgements sound and to make a proper
244 THE
LAMP OF EPICTETUS use of your sense-perceptions, then you can improve upon the
advice of Pythagoras and not merely
At night . . .
Recall
to mind each hour of the now dead day, but also every morning when you get up reflect what you
still must do if you are to achieve serenity of mind and peace. Remind yourself
what you are— not a mere body, property or reputation, but a rational being.
And then ask yourself : ‘ Where went I wrong —in matters on which my serenity
of mind and my peace depend ? Have I been, even in the slightest degree,
unfriendly, unkind or selfish ? Have I failed to do anything that I should have
done ? ’
You see, then, that there is a world
of difference between what most men desire and do and pray for and the aim you
say you have. It is no use hoping to succeed in both—it simply can’t be done.
You will never be as successful as they are in the pursuit of wealth, honours
and positions, for you have not studied how to get them as much as they have ;
so they are bound to outstrip you in this regard, and then, very naturally,
they will extend you a sort of patronizing sympathy. Is that surprising ? And
do you really mind ? They wouldn’t mind if you sympathized with them, because
they are quite convinced that what they have got is the best that can be got.
Your trouble is that you are not equally convinced that the best is not their
best but actually lies in sound judgements and the right use of your senseperceptions,
for if you really believed this you would not want what they have as well as
what you have, nor would you pay the slightest attention to anything they say
about you whether by way of sympathy or otherwise.
vii
Epictetus : Why do men fear despots ?
Student : Because of their armed guards.
Epictetus : Why, then, isn’t a child frightened of them ?
Presumably because he doesn’t understand what they could do to him. A grown man
would understand well enough, but if for some reason life had become
distasteful to him, he would not fear them either, would he ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Nor would a man who is content cither to go on
living or to die just as God wishes ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Nor one who is indifferent as to whether or no
he have any material possessions, a wife or offspring, who in fact regards all
such things as children regard toys—as something to play with ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Now such indifference may be due to some great
sorrow, to a disordered intellect, or, as in the case of the Galilaeans
(Christians), to a habit of mind. But surely it can also be attained by the
exercise of our reasoning powers ? Reason tells us that God designed the
Universe and all things in it to be free and so that the parts thereof should
subserve the interest of the whole. Now, Man is the only animal capable of
comprehending how God orders His Universe, that he is himself a part of the
Universe, and that it is the duty of each part to work for the common good. And
as Man is by nature rational, high-minded and free, he knows that some things
are completely under his control while other
246 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS things are
under other people’s control, the former being all those things that lie within
and the latter all those things that lie without the ambit of the moral purpose
; and that if he sets his personal ‘ good ’ or advantage in the former he will
be free, serene in mind, happy, invulnerable, high-minded, reverent, always
grateful to God and never finding fault with anything or anybody, whereas if he
sets them in the latter he will always be impeded and obstructed, a slave to
those who control them, and obsessed with the blasphemous belief that God is
trying to harm him, and he will always be doing his utmost, by fair means or
foul, to get more than his fair share of the goods of this world, and his
character will be mean and contemptible.
Once a man has grasped all this,
there is nothing to prevent him from living happily in obedience to God’s laws,
patiently awaiting whatever may chance, patiently bearing all that has already
overtaken him. He can say to God : ‘ Dost Thou wish me to be poor ? I am ready
to show how little poverty amounts to when it is properly endured. Dost Thou
wish me to hold office ? I am ready to do so ; or to lose my office. I am
equally ready to bear troubles. I will bear them gladly. To be banished ? I do
not mind, for wherever I go it will be well with me, not because of the place
itself to which I am banished, but because the judgements of my mind are sound
and I shall take them with me. (For no man can rob me of them ; they are indeed
the only things I really possess, and as long as I possess them I want nothing
else, no matter where I am or what I do.) Dost Thou wish me to die ? I am
content to die ! ’ What is death ? It is only the resolution of the body back
LECTURES : BOOK IV (vii) 247 into
those elements from which it was formed.1 There is nothing in that
to make a fuss about. No particle of matter will be destroyed ; nothing strange
or unreasonable will occur. Surely it cannot be this purely natural development
2 that lies at the back of the fear that despots inspire ? Is it
really the thought of death that makes the swords of his guards seem so long
and sharp ? Well, they may seem so to others, but not to me, for no one has any
power over me. I have been set free by God.3 No one can ever again
reduce me to slavery. Of course, any one stronger than I can seize my body and
my property, fling my body into prison or banish it, but none of these things
can possibly affect me. Really a despot’s power is extremely limited.
So what have I to fear ? Do you
suppose I mind having some great man’s door slammed in my face by his flunkey ?
Let him slam it if he likes ; I don’t care !
Student : Then why go to his door at all ?
Epictetus : I only go if for some reason it becomes my duty
to go.
Student : And you say you don’t mind if they won’t admit
you ?
Epictetus : No, why should I ? I should have done all in my
power, and, so far as I personally am concerned, if some one does not want to
see me, I don’t want to see him. I always want the thing that actually happens,
because I realize that God knows better than I do. He is my Master, I am His
servant and follower, and my choices, likes, dislikes, and wishes
1 See Book III, Ch. xiii, p.
148.
2
Cp. Book III, Ch. xxiv, p. 191.
are precisely the same as His. So no
one can really bar their door against me, for I have no wish to enter it. And
the reason why I have no desire to enter is simply that if I did enter I should
not get anything that I wanted. What does a man who manages to force his way
into Caesar’s palace get ? A Governorship, a Procuratorship or some honour.
Such things arc valueless to me. But if Caesar could distribute sound
judgements such as would fit a man to be a Governor or a Procurator, ah, then
it would be worth my while to try and push my way in ! Not even children
will scramble for things of no value at all, such as bits of broken
earthenware, but they will scramble fast enough if some one throw dried figs or
nuts on the roadway. And men will scramble for Governorships, Praetorships,
Consulships and money ; they will indeed do more than scramble— they will put
up with anything to get them, with insults such as doors slammed in their
faces, with beatings ; they will kiss the hands of those in whose power it lies
to give such things ; they will even kiss the hands of their slaves ! But I
won’t ! Such things, so far as I am concerned, are worth far less than dried
figs and nuts ! But if when some one is scattering about such things a dried
fig happens to fall at my feet, I don’t mind picking it up and eating it ; for
after all a fig is a fig. But neither figs nor anything else that philosophers
characterize as fi not good ’ are worth grovelling for or trying to
get by flattery or interest.
What use to them are the long sharp
swords of a despot’s guards ?
Student : They can kill.
Epictetus : So can fevers and falling tiles. Must I then
quake at the sight of a roof tile ? There are limits to my stupidity. I know
perfectly well that what is born must sometime die, otherwise the world would
come to a standstill and the progress of the Universe would be impeded, while
so far as I am concerned, what difference can it make whether death come to me
through a fever, a falling tile or a soldier’s sword ?1 Death
through a soldier’s sword would, indeed, have the advantage of being quicker
and less troublesome. So, as I neither fear what a despot can do to me nor want
any of the things that he can give, why should I revere or stand in awe of him
or his guards ? Why should I thrill with pleasure if he notices me kindly ? Why
should I boast of it to others ? He is no Socrates or Diogenes whose
approbation would really encourage me. I have no desire to model my character
on his. I have, of course, no objection to obeying his commands so long as they
are reasonable and right ; but were he to bid me do something like the Thirty
Tyrants bade Socrates when they ordered him to go to Salamis and arrest Leon 2
and bring him back to Athens, I should refuse and tell him to get somebody else
to do his dirty work ; and if he threatened to imprison me or behead me and
throw my unburied corpse to the fowl of the air, I should be quite indifferent.
The same fate sometimes overtakes despots themselves and their servants ; while
as far as my corpse is concerned, it would be silly to try and frighten me in
that way. Only children and fools and persons who have never studied philosophy
are ignorant of the fact that his corpse is not the man himself. The man is
something
quite different ; he is not flesh,
bone or sinews, be they alive or dead, but the governing principle which makes
use of them and of his sense-perceptions.
Student : Statements like these make men despise the
laws.
Epictetus : Nonsense ! they have just the opposite effect ;
they make men far more ready to obey the laws, for through them we learn to
surrender all material things, our bodies, property, parents, brothers,
children, everything in fact except our judgements. You are better off than I
am as regards the former, but I am far better off than you as regards the
latter, for I have taken much trouble over my judgements and my reasoning
powers—to find out what they are and how they work—whereas you have never bothered
your head about them, have you ?
Student : Then you are really better off than I am in
respect of the most important and valuable things of all ?
Epictetus : You’ve said it ! But there is nothing to
prevent you from becoming as rich as I am if you care to direct your attention,
abilities, and energies in the right direction. Indeed, you are exceptionally
well placed for doing so, for you have books, leisure and people to help you.
The thing to do is to make a start, if only a modest one. Set to work on your
governing principle—consider what it is, whence it comes, and what its
functions are, and how it makes use of everything else, checking everything,
rejecting, selecting. Why delay ?
viii
Never praise or blame any one for
their good or bad actions 1 or for their skill or lack of skill, for
if you do you may be suspected of precipitancy or malice. A criticism such as ς
So-and-so doesn’t take long enough over his bath ’ is a silly one to make, for
he may have a perfectly good reason for hurrying. Haste in bathing is in itself
neither good nor bad, but may become either if the underlying motive is right
or wrong. But to assess the rightness or wrongness of the underlying motive,
i.e. to determine whether the judgement of the man’s mind which inspired any
particular action is right or wrong, is not easy. You may be deceived by
appearances, for a man’s actions are not conclusive proof of what he intended.
The clumsy wielder of an axe or an adze may be a carpenter, but even if he is
it does not follow that all carpenters are clumsy and useless ; a juster
inference would be : ‘ He is obviously not a carpenter, for he doesn’t know how
to use an axe properly.’ And similarly, if you heard some one singing badly you
would be more inclined to say, ‘ He can’t be a musician ’, than, £
So that’s how musicians sing ! ’ Curiously enough, it is only when they see
some one behaving badly that people say, ‘ Oh, he must be a philosopher ! ’ and
conclude that all philosophers are humbugs ! And this is because people have a
clear idea of what constitutes a carpenter, a musician, an artist or an
artisan, but are very foggy in their minds as to what constitutes a
philosopher, and so give undue weight to external appearances. It is not his
rough cloak or long beard or bushy hair that
1 See Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 232. make
the philosopher, but his superior knowledge of what his reasoning faculty is
and how properly to use it. That a man is a philosopher and that he is a living
proof of the value of philosophy can only be demonstrated by observing his
actions. But you will have to observe very carefully, for the true philosopher
does not make a parade of his philosophy. Euphrates used to say (and he was
right in saying so) : ζ I concealed the fact that I was a
philosopher for as long as I could, for I knew that when I did a good action I
did it for my own satisfaction and not to get any credit out of it. It was for
my own peace of mind and to please God that I strove always to look my best and
to maintain a calm unruffled demeanour. Besides, I felt that if no one knew
anything about it, then if I made mistakes, the only one to suffer would be
myself, and I should bring no discredit on philosophy by my failure. And, as a
matter of fact, people used to wonder how it was that one who, like myself, was
personally acquainted with all the leading philosophers of the time, and who
used to frequent their society, made no claim to being a philosopher himself.
My idea was that it would be far better for them to find out that I was not by
what I looked like but by what I did.’
If then you want to be sure whether
a man is a philosopher or not, the sort of things you must watch out for are
the way he eats, drinks, sleeps, bears misfortunes, is abstemious, helps
others, exercises his likes and dislikes, and how he behaves towards his
fellow-men whether they be relatives, friends or strangers. And of course you
must be yourself able to appreciate the value of such evidence when you have
got it. Some people are so blind that they
LECTURES : BOOK IV (viii) 253 would
not even recognize Hephaestus as a competent smith unless they saw him wearing
his little felt cap. This is why so many people failed to recognize even
Socrates as a philosopher, and used to ask him to introduce them to real
philosophers ! That suited him very well and he used to do so at once, inwardly
delighted that he could be a philosopher without being bothered with being
dubbed one. For the only thing that interested him was how to be a good man.
What would you say is the distinguishing characteristic of a good man ? Is it
to have a lot of pupils or to be able to explain knotty problems ? No, indeed !
It is to be beyond the reach of any man’s hurt, never to need any man’s help
and yet always to get what you want. To achieve that goal a good man is
prepared to take any amount of trouble, but he isn’t such an idiot as to waste
his time and energy in telling everybody what he is aiming at, or boasting
about it when he has attained it. It is quite enough for him to know that he has
attained it.
Now, it is not every good man who
should preach. Preaching is reserved for the Cynic, who alone is worthy to
share in the rule of God. He alone may say : ‘ My friends, God has sent me to
you as a witness that you are looking for peace and happiness where they are
not. For behold, I have no property, house, wife, children, no, nor even a bed
or shirt or piece of furniture,1 and yet see how healthy I am. Test
me and be convinced that I really have found peace, and when you are convinced
I will tell you how I won it, and then you can follow my example.’ It is the
Cynic’s duty to speak like this, and it is a
1 See Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 167 ; and Book IV, Ch. xi, p. 265.
254 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS noble duty
which has been assigned to him by God Himself, and he must be extremely careful
never to do anything that will belie his words or lead any one to think that
material possessions are in any way better worth having than virtue, and so he
must never hanker after anything or anybody—some particular place to live in,
some special mode of life, some one person—and he must live openly, not
sheltered as other men are by their house-walls and doors and door-keepers, but
by his integrity alone. And he must make the most of his personal appearance
and, like Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, must fi never look pale and
never shed a tear’.1
Such is the real Cynic. Those who
claim to be Cynics on the strength of their long hair, rough cloaks, bare
shoulders and rude, quarrelsome manner towards every one they meet of whose
clothes they disapprove, are not Cynics at all. To be a real Cynic necessitates
an arduous and uninterrupted training, harder even than that of a soldier who
prolongs his drilling all through the winter. Special attention has to be paid to
the exercise of choices—they must be exercised reasonably, not fancifully as a
neurotic picks at his food or capriciously like a pregnant woman. The first
thing a man should do is to conceal what he is aiming at ; he ought to practise
his philosophy almost covertly. He should learn a lesson from the growth of
seeds. A seed has first to be buried in the earth and its growth, which for a
time is hidden, should be slow and steady if it is eventually to bear the best
fruit. If it be forced too rapidly, it may be killed by a late frost or an
abnormally early summer. So, too, with Man ; if he tries to rush his progress
without
1
Odyssey, XI, 529.
proper training, and if he poses as
a great man before he is one, then often there
. . . comes a frost, a killing frost,
And,—-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening—nips his root . . -1
No, we must ripen slowly, sheltered
from extremes of weather, establish our roots properly first, and then put
forth our branches one by one, till finally and automatically we bear the
fruits of perfection.
Bulls and dogs know their own
natures and powers, and when occasion arises they defend themselves
instinctively and need no one to urge them to do so ; so, too, we must know our
nature and powers and use them in conformity with Nature without having to be
prompted.
ix
Epictetus : If you ever feel tempted to envy some one his
good job, remember that in fact you are better off than he is because you don’t
want one. Nor need you envy a rich man his money, for you have something worth
more than money ; viz. no desire for it ; or any man his beautiful wife, for
you can get on perfectly well without one. What indeed would not
office-holders, millionaires and the husbands of beautiful women not give to
be able to do without what they have gone to so much trouble to obtain ? So you
see you are infinitely better off than they are. In the same way as a man with
fever cannot slake his thirst however much he drinks, so too office-holders, the
rich and those with beautiful wives cannot satisfy their appetite for such
things by possessing them.
1
Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act 3, Scene 2.
On the contrary, the more they have
the more they want, and however much they get, they are still dissatisfied and
become a prey to jealousy and the fear of losing them, and their words,
thoughts, and deeds deteriorate.
If you lose position, wealth or
wife, it is of very little consequence. But there are other things that you
have the loss of which would be a very serious matter. If, for instance, you
lost your modesty ; if instead of reading the philosophic works of Chrysippus
and Zeno you were to read sex novels ; if instead of making men like Socrates
and Diogenes your examples you were to approve those who corrupt and seduce the
largest number of women, and if you started dolling yourself up and scenting
yourself so as to try and do the same yourself. There was a time, not so very
long ago either, when your chief concern was how to have pure thoughts and
decorous speech and to associate with decent men, and then you used to sleep,
go about, dress and converse as a decent man should, and it would never even
have occurred to you to do any of the things I have mentioned. There was a time
when you would have thought the loss of self-respect and decency a very serious
matter, and when you were very anxious to maintain your position firmly as a
sayer of right things and a doer of good deeds. Have you been dislodged from
that position ? If you have, you must blame yourself and no one else. Supposing
somebody had told you that I was being forced against my will to commit
adultery, to dress extravagantly, to scent myself and so forth, wouldn’t you
have flown to my aid and suppressed him ? Of course you would ! But surely if
you could come to my rescue you can come to your own ? It is so much easier to
come to your own rescue— there is no need for scenes or free fights or legal
proceedings, but only just to talk quietly to and persuade yourself. Who is
more likely to be able to persuade you than you yourself? And then, of course,
the first thing that will happen is that you will condemn yourself for the way
in which you have been carrying on. But you need not therefore despair of
yourself or give up all hopes of or efforts for improvement. Don’t imagine you
are in the grip of some strong current which will sweep you away and against
which it is vain to struggle ; think rather of how when a boy who is learning
wrestling has been thrown, he jumps up and straightway starts another bout so
that he may gradually develop his strength. That’s the kind of way in which you
ought to act, and remember it is much easier to develop your will-power than it
is to develop your muscles. Will a thing to happen and you will suddenly find
it has happened ; but if you are too lazy to will, then of course you will slip
backwards. You must find your salvation (or your destruction) from within.
Student : But suppose I do all this, what good shall I
get out of it ?
Epictetus : Instead of being shameless you will be
self-respecting once more ; instead of faithless, faithful ; instead of
dissolute, self-controlled. Isn’t that worth having ? But if it means nothing
to you, well, then you must go to the devil in your own way.
x
Epictetus : All our difficulties and perplexities arise in
respect of material things. How often do men
Π exclaim : ‘ What am I to do ? ’ ‘ How on
earth shall I manage it ? ’ ‘ I am afraid of that happening ! ’ All such
expressions refer to matters that lie outside the ambit of the moral purpose.
On the other hand, how seldom do we hear any one saying : ‘ How can I avoid
assenting to what is false ? ’ ‘ How can I stick steadfastly to what is true ?
’ ‘ How am I always to get what I want and avoid what I don’t like ? ’ And yet,
of course, every one could easily accomplish all these things and have no
difficulties or perplexities about them at all, if only they would act in
accordance with Nature. They would then feel perfectly secure, for they would
have got free from the things that agitate and alarm the majority of men, and
would realize that their true concern is with those things that belong to them
and not with those that are under somebody else’s control.
Does not the future lie outside the
ambit of the moral purpose ?
Student : Yes.
Epictetus: And do not ‘good’ and ‘evil’ lie within it? Student
: They do.
Epictetus : And are you not absolutely free to deal as you
will with those things that lie within it ?
Student : I am.
Epictetus : Then there is no need for you to ask : ‘ How on
earth am I to manage it ? ’ for whatever happens you will turn it into good so
that it will prove a blessing to you.1 You will be like Herakles
when he was called upon to face mighty lions and boars and savage men ; the
mightier, the more savage your foes, the greater your victory will be.
1 See Book III, Ch. xx, p. 159 ; and Manual, 18, p. 293, and 32,
pp. 301 & 302.
Student : But if I succumb ?
Epictetus : Then you will die a noble death while doing a
noble action. You have to die some time, you know, and when your hour comes you
will be doing something or other—farming, digging, trading, discharging the
duties of a Consul, or maybe suffering from dyspepsia or dysentery. What would
you rather be doing at that moment ? Personally, I hope I shall be doing something
worthy of my manhood, something kind, noble, and for the common weal ; or if
not that, at least something that is not evil, something that is lawful,
something that is conducing to my self-improvement and to the progress of my
governing principle in dealing properly with my senseperceptions, in bringing
me peace of mind and in enabling me to do my duty to my neighbours, and
something that is helping me to master the third field of study which is
concerned with avoidance of rashness in judgement.
If death finds me thus occupied,
then I can lift up my voice to God and say : ‘ I have never neglected those
faculties that Thou didst give me so that I might understand how Thou dost rule
Thy Universe and obey Thy laws. I have never deliberately done anything to
dishonour Thee. I have never prostituted my five senses, nor been false to
those instincts that Thou didst implant in me. I have never cavilled at Thee. I
have never grumbled at anything that has befallen me or wished it had been
otherwise. I have never failed to do my duty to my neighbours. I am grateful to
Thee for creating me and for everything that Thou hast given me. I am more
than satisfied with the length of time that Thou hast allotted me in which to
use Thy gifts, and I now willingly surrender them back to Thee for Thee to do
with them as seems best to Thee, for they are all Thine and Thou didst only
lend them to me for a season.’ Surely that is the proper frame of mind in which
to die. Can you suggest a better one ?
But if you want to achieve this,
never allow yourself to be upset by trifles, and never forget that though a
little thing is a little thing, faithfulness in little things is a very great
thing. You cannot possibly concentrate on the strengthening and development of
your governing principle if you are thinking all the time how you are to get
that consulship, that field, or that attractive slave. The moment you start
hankering after things that do not belong to you, you lose that which does
belong to you. You can’t get away from it. In this world nothing is done,
nothing is won, save at a price.1 Does that surprise you ? Come, you
know perfectly well that to become a consul would cost you many a sleepless
night, many a weary trudge ; that you would have to waste hours waiting obsequiously,
cap in hand, to see men of influence to try and buy their good word—and when
you had bought it, what would be your reward ?—twelve bundles of rods (the
consular fasces), the privilege of sitting a few times in the Grand Stand at
the Circus and of paying for some of the Games there as well as for
refreshments for those who voted for you. That is all you get by becoming
consul, and if you are prepared to go to so much trouble for so very little,
won’t you go to any trouble at all to win imperturbability, peace of mind, the
power of really sleeping when you sleep, of being really awake when you are
awake, contempt of danger and freedom from al]
1 Cp. Manual,
12, p. 291.
anxiety ? And if while you are busy
trying to win such inestimable boons as these, you happen to lose some of your
material possessions, or if somebody manages to get something you hoped to get
yourself, you will never regret it, for you will be more than compensated by
what you have won. As I say, you can’t expect to get such inestimable boons for
nothing. c No man can run two different jobs properly at one and the
same time.’ 1
You cannot give constant and proper
attention both to your governing principle and to purely mundane affairs. You
must make one or other your main aim. If you concentrate on the former, then,
if your oil be spilled, your furniture and books burned, you will remain
undisturbed, for you will deal with such sense-perceptions in conformity with
Nature. If you cannot obtain food, the worst that can happen to you will be
that you will die, and, as you know, we all have to come one day to that safe
harbour of refuge. That is why nothing that at first sight appears to be a
difficulty is really difficult. If the smoke makes your eyes smart too much,
there is nothing to prevent you from leaving the house ; if the difficulties of
life are too much for you, there is always a door of escape. So why lose sleep
by worrying? Better far say to yourself : ‘ My “ good ” and my “ evil ” are
both under my sole control ; no man can rob me of the one or force me into the
other against my will. So I can sleep in peace, for I know that everything that
is really mine is perfectly safe, while as for what does not belong to me, let
him have it to whom God gives it, for to whom it shall belong and on what
conditions is entirely a matter for Him. It is not for me to
1 See
Book IV, Ch. vi, p. 243.
wish for what He has not thought fit
to give me. God has not appointed me to decide who shall possess this or that.
I am quite satisfied with what is under my control and I intend to make full
use of it ; but the things that are under the control of others are no concern
of mine.’
No man who really believes this
loses any sleep or tosses open-eyed on his bed, for there is nothing to keep
him awake. Even if some dear friend died it would not disturb his slumbers, for
he knows that none of his friends are immortal and that all of them, and
himself too, must sometime die. 6 Ah, but says one, 6 I
thought I should be the first to be taken and that my friend would bring my son
up for me.’ No doubt, but he thought wrong. Anyhow, fretting won’t mend
matters. His dead friend who used to wait on him won’t wait on him any more,
and he will have to find some one else to do it in his stead. If some one
breaks your stew-pot you don’t have to starve to death, you buy a new one. It
would be silly, for a bagatelle of that sort, to mouth that line of Homer,
No fearfuller thing than
this could ever chance.[36]
What, by the way, do you think is
the real meaning of that line ? I think it means that even the
strongest, the handsomest, and those with the longest pedigrees, will always be
unhappy unless their judgements are sound.
xi
Epictetus : Some people, it is true, question whether Man
is really a social being,1 but not even they, I imagine, deny that
he has an instinct for cleanliness, and that this instinct is one of the chief
points of distinction between him and the lower animals. In fact, if we happen
to see some animal, like a cat, busy cleaning itself, we are apt to exclaim : c
Why, it is really almost human ! ’ So, too, if we are annoyed with one, we say
: ‘ Well, of course, it is only an animal ! ’ We believe that this special
characteristic of cleanliness comes to us from the Gods. They are by nature pure
and undefiled ; but we, owing to the grossness of our mortal bodies, can never
be as pure as They, though our faculty of reason bids us try to make ourselves
as pure as we can.
Now, the highest form of purity is
that of the soul. Purity of the soul consists in having sound judgements, for
the functions of the soul are, as you know, to choose, refuse, like, dislike,
prepare, purpose, and assent rightly. We aim at purity of soul, for it is only
the pure soul that is secure. Similarly, impurity of soul consists in unsound
judgements.
And as far as we can, we must also
aim at cleanliness of body. Our bodies cannot, from their very nature, always
be perfectly clean. It is only natural, for instance, that our noses should
discharge mucus ; their very structure, in fact, is designed to facilitate its
discharge, and our hands are given us, amongst other things, to enable us to
blow our noses. Our feet, too, are bound sometimes to get dirty, with mud or
other filth, and that is one of the reasons why God has
1 Cp.
Book I, Ch. xxiii, p. 28 ; and Fragment i, p. 273.
264 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS given us
water—that we may wash them. Again, it is of course impossible to eat without
some impurities remaining on the teeth, and so Nature bids us clean them. Once
again, we cannot help our bodies getting covered with dust and sweat which need
washing off, and that we may do so God has given us water, oil, our hands,
towels and all sorts of things. Smiths remove the rust from their tools, and you
yourself insist on clean plates for your food. If you can wash your plate,
surely you can wash your body !
Student : Why should I ?
Epictetus : For two reasons : first : because you
are a man, and secondly : so as not to be a nuisance to other people. Do
you think other people enjoy smelling you ? Have you no consideration for those
who have to sit next to you ? If you won’t wash, you had better migrate into
the desert and enjoy your smells to yourself! People who live in a city should
think of others. If you had charge of a horse, wouldn’t you groom it
occasionally ? Well, you are in charge of your own body, and you ought to wash
it and rub it down and make it such that nobody will turn his back on you and
avoid you. For every one avoids a dirty brute—one who looks dirty and stinks.
One puts up with some poor devil who has been accidentally bespattered with
dung, for that is a misfortune that might happen to anybody ; but not to wash
betokens an ingrained slovenliness which is an outward and visible sign of a
really common nature.
Student : But Socrates very rarely bathed.
Epictetus : Sez you ! Why, his body was radiant ! It was so
sweet and attractive that every one was in love with him and liked sitting next
to him far more
LECTURES : BOOK IV (xi) 265 than they
did sitting next to those who merely had good figures or regular features.
Student : Well, Aristophanes says he was dirty.
Epictetus : Aristophanes said lots of things, most of them
false,, and he was particularly fond of telling lies about Socrates. For
instance, he said that Socrates used to steal clothes out of the wrestlers’
dressing- rooms ! No, all his contemporaries are agreed that he was a most
cleanly person, pleasant not only to listen to but to look at. And we have
similar evidence about Diogenes. A real philosopher is in fact very careful
about his personal appearance and always tries to appear calm and cheerful, for
he knows that people are easily ‘ put off ’ by unpleasant looks, and the very
last thing he wants to do is to repel them from the study of philosophy. If you
heard a man who looked like an ex-convict preaching and saying :1 ‘
My brethren, I have nothing and I want nothing. I have no house or city or home
and I am far from the land where I was born, and yet I assure you that I am
happier, more contented and healthier than any one who is merely well born and
rich,’ would you believe him or pay any attention to him ? I doubt if I should.
I should probably feel far more inclined to say : ‘ If that’s what philosophy
makes one look like, it’s no use to me ! ’
No, of two embryo philosophers, give
me the one who brushes his hair and parts it neatly rather than the one who leaves
it unkempt and dirty, for the former is obviously a young man who has a sense
of and a penchant for beauty, and though as yet he may not know exactly in what
beauty consists, he is at least trying to find out. And to him I say : ‘ You
are
1 See Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 167 ; and Book IV, Ch. viii, p. 253.
right to strive after beauty ; but
true beauty does not lie in your body or in material things, and no matter how
hard you search you will never find it there ; it lies within you, in your
reasoning faculty, and you will find it in the proper exercise of your choices,
refusals, likes, and dislikes.’ But what could I say to the latter, who has no
sense or appreciation of beauty at all ? He and I have no point of contact, and
if I were to say to him, c Beauty is here, not there,’ my words
would convey nothing to him. I might just as well tell a pig not to wallow in
mud. Xenocrates was successful in influencing Polemo1 because Polemo
was a young man with an instinctive craving for beauty, only he was looking for
it in the wrong place.
Have you ever noticed that those
animals that live most in men’s company—horses and dogs—are very much more
cleanly than the rest, such as pigs, geese, &c.?
No one wants you to doll yourself
up. Try, of course, to beautify your moral purpose as much as possible ; but as
far as your body is concerned, all that is needed is that you should keep it
sufficiently clean so as not to annoy other people. Avoid eccentricity and
exaggeration ; overwashing is as unnecessary as underwashing.
xii
Epictetus : Remember that a mistake made to-day weakens
your position generally and that ground once lost is very hard to regain ; so
you must never relax your attention even for a moment. If you do, you will develop
a habit of not paying attention, and
1 See
Book III, Ch. i, p. n6.
LECTURES : BOOK IV (xii) 267 that
will soon evolve into one of postponing paying attention, and you will then
become reconciled to the idea of postponing indefinitely any attempt at trying
to live in harmony with Nature ; and finally you will abandon any intention
altogether. So whatever you do—whether it be work or play—do it with all your
might. There is no part of your life that you can afford to scamp ; nothing is
done better when you are wool-gathering. Do you suppose that a carpenter does
his best work, or that the helmsman steers his ship better, if they are
thinking of anything and everything except the job in hand ? No, once let your
mind get into the habit of wandering and you will soon lose the power of
concentration, and then you will be swayed not by reason but by your whims.
Student : Are there any things in particular to which I
should pay attention ?
Epictetus : Yes, you should pay special attention to
certain general principles, which must indeed always be at your finger-ends,
and without which you should neither go to bed, nor get up, nor drink, nor eat,
nor do anything ; viz. ‘ No man has any power over another’s moral purpose,’
and, ‘ One’s good and evil lie only in one’s moral purpose.’ No one therefore
but myself can do me either good or harm,1 and so I am perfectly
safe and have no business to be frightened or upset by anything—bullies,
sickness, poverty, or difficulties, all of which lie outside the ambit of my
moral purpose.
Student : As a matter of fact, I am very upset to-day. Epictetus
: Why ?
Student : Because unfortunately I have ruffled my
employer up the wrong way.
1 Cp.
Book IV, Ch. xiii, p. 270.
Epictetus : But your employer is not your moral purpose, is
he ?
Student : No.
Epictetus : Then why bother whether he is ruffled or not ?
Student : Well, he is a very important person.
Epictetus : No doubt he thinks he is. But you have to obey
and please Some One who is far more important than him, namely God, and after
Him yourself. God has put you in your own sole charge. He has given you your
moral purpose, and standards to enable you to use it properly ; and as long as
you stick to those you need not worry about anything else or pay any attention
to what people say. If you are properly trained you will never be upset but
will despise the ill- informed criticisms of ignorant folk, just as scientists,
artists, carpenters, and cobblers all laugh at people who find fault with their
specialities of which they know nothing.
Well, as I was saying, you must have
these principles at your finger-ends and do nothing without them, and keep your
attention riveted on them ; and, as He that is mighty has ordained, you must
devote yourself wholly to those things that lie within the ambit of your moral
purpose and not run after material things that are not under your control. And
you must also remember who you are, and always try to do your best, especially
in regard to your social relations, in that station of life in which it has
pleased God to place you. You must remember, too, that there is a proper time
for everything, a time for work and a time for play, a time to be serious and a
time to jest ; that some things are fitting, others out of place ; that there
are some people with whom we should associate, others
LECTURES : BOOK IV (xiii) 269 whom
we should avoid ; and that in all we do we should never fall short of the
highest standard of our moral purpose. One thing is certain, and that is that
if ever you deviate even in the slightest degree from any of these principles,
you will lose by it.
Student : But if I stick to them, then I shall never make
any mistakes at all ?
Epictetus : I didn’t say that. It is, in fact, impossible
never to make any mistakes at all, but it is possible never to make a mistake
purposely. If we are constantly on the qui vive, we shall avoid making
a certain proportion of the mistakes that we should otherwise have made. But
you must start being on the qui vive to-day—now. If you say, ‘ Oh, it
will be time enough if I start to-morrow,’ it is tantamount to saying that you
don’t mind how many mistakes you make to-day and that for the present you are
quite content to be angry, envious and generally shameless ! If it really be
worth your while to be on the qui vive to-morrow, it is certainly much
more worth your while being on it to-day ; if not, you may as well postpone
being so indefinitely.
xiii
Epictetus : If somebody tells us all about his private
affairs, apparently quite unreservedly, we are often tempted to reciprocate and
tell him all about ours. We feel perhaps that it would be a little unfair that
after he has gratified our curiosity we should not return the compliment and
gratify his ; and also that we can do so quite safely, for he knows that if he
betrayed our confidence we could get square with him by betraying his. And
another thing is, that no one wants to give
the impression of being secretive.
As a matter of fact, it often happens that if, after we have listened to their
story, we do not reciprocate spontaneously in this way, people say they think
we ought to !
A knowledge of this piece of
elementary psychology lies at the bottom of the procedure adopted by the agents
provocateurs of the political police at Rome. As you are sitting in one of
the public gardens a very ordinary-looking person who, though you don’t know
it, is really a detective, sits down beside you apparently by chance, and begins
talking and presently criticizes Caesar and his doings, and you, imagining that
since it was he who started this kind of talk he must be all right, proceed to
agree with him and then add a few strictures of your own ; and the next thing
is you find yourself arrested ! It is, of course, extremely foolish to tell all
your innermost thoughts to strangers. One may know oneself to be discreet and a
safe recipient of confidences for others, but you can’t tell that other people
are ; and if you are betrayed and then revenge yourself by betraying your
betrayer’s confidences, you will, it is true, involve him in your own ruin, but
what good will that do you ? Indeed, you would do far better not to try and
revenge yourself in this way, but to remember that it was not really he who
injured you, but you yourself, and so you should blame yourself, not him. For
one person cannot harm another ;1 it is a man’s own actions that
either harm or help him. So by refraining from revenge you will at least have
the satisfaction of not sinking to his level.
Student : But it does seem rather unfair to accept
another person’s confidences and then to refuse to give him one’s own.
1 Book
IV, Ch. xii, p. 267.
LECTURES : BOOK IV (xiii) 271
Epictetus : Not if you didn’t ask for his confidences, not
if he made them voluntarily and did not stipulate in advance that you should
reciprocate. One who is a babbler by nature has no right to assume that everybody
he meets is a babbler too, and if he were it would be the best of all reasons
for not confiding in him. The confirmed babbler is like a jug with a hole in
it, a discreet man like a jug that is sound ; you can pour wine safely into the
latter, but if you pour it into the former you have no right to complain when it
all leaks away. If you are a dependable person and one who concerns himself
solely with the perfecting of his governing principle and who does not bother
himself about things that lie outside the ambit of his moral purpose ; if, in
short, you are like an unbroken jug, then you will have no need to ask for
confidences—people will entreat you to listen to them. For every one is in need
of a sound vessel, a dependable friendly adviser who will share his troubles
and by sharing them lighten them. But if you are one who neglects his governing
principle, who hankers after riches, offices, honours, and all those things
that lie outside the ambit of the moral purpose, then no one but a fool would
dream of telling you anything.
Student : I think that if I trust some one, he should
trust me.
Epictetus : Not if by ‘ trusting ’ you mean ‘ confiding- in
’. The real reason you confide your secret thoughts to any one who will listen
to you, even though you hardly know them, is not because you really trust them
—how can you ?—but because you are a babbler by nature and can’t help
tittle-tattling. And if in any particular case you really do have cause to
trust a certain person, then you confide in him because of
your need to confide in a
responsible person, not because you want him to reciprocate. I repeat : confidences
should only be made to those who are worthy to receive them, and the fact that
a man is a babbler is proof that he is not worthy. No, believe me, the man who
busies himself earnestly with things that lie outside the ambit of his moral
purpose and who is therefore subject to continual pressure and hindrance, needs
but little inducement to talk—he will blurt out everything without your having
to resort to extreme measures like torture ; a smile from a girl, a favour from
one of Caesar’s courtiers, the promise of a good job, a legacy, a thousand and
one things like that, will, any of them, unloosen his tongue. That is not the
man to choose for a confidant. The only man you should confide in is one who
has sound judgements, who is dependable, and who can say from the bottom of his
heart : ‘ The only things I care for are those that really belong freely and
unrestrainedly to me ; nothing else interests me in the slightest degree.’ But
where, where is such a man to be found ?
i
‘WHAT do I care’ (said Epictetus),
‘whether matter be composed of atoms, i.e. discrete and indivisible units, or
of fire and earth ? All I want to know is what “ good ” and “ evil ” are, and
what I should properly like and dislike, choose and refuse, so that I may
regulate my life accordingly. A knowledge of the ultimate constitution of
matter may very well prove to be beyond the grasp of the human brain, and even
if it were not, what would the knowledge of it profit us ? The labour of
acquiring such knowledge would be more than the knowledge is worth. On the
other hand, it is well worth while labouring to try and comprehend the meaning
of the command graven on the front of the temple of Apollo at Delphi : “ Seek
to know what you really are.” 1 What exactly does that mean ? I
suppose a member of a chorus would interpret it as meaning that he should try
and sing in time and harmony with the rest of the chorus, and sailors and
soldiers that they should co-operate to the best of their ability with their
comrades. If this be so, it seems a fair inference that Nature does not intend
Man to live alone but to work with his fellow-men.2 But as to what
Nature is, whether She really exists, and if She does how She administers the
Universe, is another
1 See
Book III, Ch. i, p. 117.
a Cp. Book I, Ch. xxiii, p. 28.
18 273
274 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS matter
over which, it seems to me, there is no need to speculate.’
ii
He who is dissatisfied with what God
has given him does not know the proper way to live ; whereas he who is content
and does his best to make a proper use of what he has is a good man.
iii
Earth, sea, sun, stars, plants,
animals, all are subservient to the laws of God ; and so too are our bodies,
in health and in sickness, in youth and in age, and under all conceivable
circumstances. Such being the case, it is only reasonable that our will, the
one thing that is under our unrestricted control, should also be subservient to
Him. For God is mightier than we are and knows better than we do what is good
for us, and it was He who placed us where we are. It would be unreasonable not
to make our wills subservient to His, and not only unreasonable but futile, for
if we rebel against Him we embark on a vain struggle which will only involve us
in pain and misery.
iv
God has divided things into those
which are under our sole and unfettered control and those which are not. Of the
former, the most important (that in virtue of which He Himself is happy and
which we should safeguard in every possible way) is the power of making a
proper use of our sense-perceptions. If we use these aright we become free,
secure, cheerful, dependable, just, law-abiding, self-controlled—in a word,
virtuous. But everything else which is not under our control— such as children,
country, body and the rest—we should leave and surrender entirely and gladly to
God.
Here is a fine and altogether
admirable story of Lycurgus of Lacedaemon : A certain young man named Alcander
struck him and blinded him in one of his eyes ; whereupon the Spartans handed
him over to Lycurgus to wreak his vengeance on him in any way he liked ; but
he, to their astonishment, instead of harming him, was kind to him, educated
him and transformed him from a young ruffian into a good man and a decent
citizen, and then restored him to his friends.
vi
The chief function of Nature is to
teach us what is befitting, reasonable and right, so that when we make our
choices we may choose correctly.
vii
Only stupid or wicked people believe
that a man is contemptible if he does not try to injure his enemies. A man is
contemptible not when he fails to hurt but when he fails to help.
viii
It is and always has been and always
will be the nature of the Universe that the processes of creation remain
constant, not only for men and beasts on this earth and for the Gods
Themselves, but even for the four elements—earth, water, air, and ether—which
as they go up or down the scale change from one into the next above or below.
Once you have grasped this fact and realized that your fate is conditioned by
it, you will lead a peaceful life because it will be based on reason.
ix
Some of our sense-perceptions are so
inherently convincing that they convince instantaneously without any preliminary
judgement of our minds which, however, later review and confirm or reject
them. Thus a sudden clap of thunder or other loud noise may make even the
wisest of men turn pale for a moment and flinch, but as soon as he realizes
what it is, he knows he has nothing to fear. And herein we may discern the
fundamental distinction between a wise man and a fool : the fool not only
thinks that instantaneous sense-perceptions of, say, cruelty and misfortune,
arc true when he first perceives them, but his belief is later ratified by the
deliberate judgement of his mind ; whereas the wise man, though for the first
brief instant he may have the illusion of perceiving cruelty and misfortune (so
that he may blanch and tremble), knows all the time, and reflection confirms
it, the opinion that he has always held, viz. that such sense-perceptions
contain no real basis for fear, is still perfectly valid.
Most so-called philosophers are
better at talking than at doing.
When Epictetus saw a shameless,
impudent, bad fellow, who was in truth entirely uninterested in the care and
development of his moral purpose, professing to study philosophy, he solemnly
rebuked him, saying : ‘ If you pour wine into an unwashed decanter it will turn
sour and go bad ; and similarly if you pour the teachings of philosophy into a
dirty mind they too will be contaminated and become rotten.’
There are two vices worse than all
the rest put together—want of endurance (i.e. failure to bear our misfortunes
courageously), and lack of self-control (i.e. failure to abstain from those
things from which it is our duty to abstain). If you will only take as your
motto the words 6 Bear and Forbear ’, you will never go far wrong
and your life will be a calm and peaceful one.
xa
When it is a question of the
salvation of your soul and the preservation of your self-respect, don’t stop to
argue—act !
xi
When Archelaus, King of Macedonia,
proposed to enrich Socrates, the latter sent him this message : ‘ Here in
Athens I can buy four quart-measures of barley meal for a penny halfpenny, and
drinking-water costs nothing at all ! ’ Enough is as good as a feast. A noble
nature is content to play the part assigned to it by God, just as the famous
actor Polus played the part of the outcast beggared Oedipus at Colonus 1 with
just as much verve as he did that of Oedipus the King.1 Was not
Odysseus as outstanding in rags as he was in royal robes ?
xii
Anger that is violent by its very
violence blows itself away, and is not so dangerous as anger that is cold,
calculating, rankling, and relentless.
xiii
If some one says that no
self-respecting person would live on some one else’s bounty, I ask him : ‘ And
who, pray, is not dependent, in one way or another, on his fellow-men ? ’ In
fact, only the Universe itself can truly be said to be self-supporting.
If some one says that he sees the
righteous perishing of hunger and cold, I reply : 6 And do you not
also see the wicked perishing of overeating and selfindulgence ? ’
xiv
Stoics believe that the only lawful
pleasure is the pleasure of the soul resulting from living in harmony with
Nature, from being just, self-controlled and free ; and that Epicurus was wrong
in maintaining that it
1 Two tragedies of Sophocles (both extant). lies
in the delights of the body. For if Epicurus was right, why do we so often
blush with shame when we experience it ?
xv
Plato’s Republic is in high
favour with Roman ladies because they imagine that he advocated that women
should be the common property of men.[37] But in fact they have
entirely misapprehended his meaning. He did not advocate universal community
but one strictly limited to a small and highly educated band of warrior saints.
The common ruck were, in his proposal, to contract temporary unions under the
supervision of the State. How ready people are to misunderstand when it suits
their purpose to do so !
xvi
It is difficult for any one to be
consistent to his principles if he does not remember and practise them daily.
xvii
If you were to ask some one to
dinner, and he, instead of eating the food you provided asked for something
else, would you not think his manners insufferable ? But I observe that you
have no hesitation in asking God for things He has not given you, and that in
spite of the wealth of things that He has given you !
xviii1
Those persons who boast about things
that are not under their control always strike me as being rather comic. How
often do we hear them saying : ‘ Anyhow, I am far better off than you are ! ’ ζ
I have been Consul (or Procurator) ; you haven’t ! ’ ‘ My hair is nice
and thick and curly ! ’ Do you suppose that if horses talk to one another one
says : ‘ I am better off than you are—I have as much barley and fodder as I can
eat, my bridles are studded with gold, and my saddle cloths are all broidered !
’ ? Horses aren’t so silly. But I think you might very well hear one saying : ‘
I can gallop faster than you can ! ’ The worth of every living creature depends
on whether it has or has not the highest qualities of its species. Is Man the
only animal without special qualities ? Is his only claim to distinction his
hair, clothes and pedigree ?
xix
If his doctor does not give him a
bottle of medicine a patient concludes that he must be too ill for medicine to
be of any use. Similarly, if a philosopher does not speak out his mind, his
pupil will infer that he is considered to be so depraved as to be incapable of
reformation.
xx
A body that is really fit can endure
all extremes of heat and cold ; a moral purpose that is really sound can
support anger, grief, great joy or any other emotion.
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. xiv (d), p. 150.
xxi
Agrippinus was the type of man we
should all admire, for he never claimed any particular merits, and indeed used
to blush if any were attributed to him. If any misfortune overtook him—such as
sickness, slander or banishment—he used to write a Hymn of Praise about it,
thanking God for giving him such a good opportunity to test his training. On
one occasion just as he was about to sit down to lunch word was brought him
that the Emperor (Nero) had ordered him to be banished. 6 Then I
shall have to lunch at Aricia,’ said he cheerily.1
xxii
When Agrippinus was Governor of
Crete and Cyrenaica, he used to tell all convicted prisoners that he was bound
to punish them, but that they should look on him not as their enemy but as
their guardian or physician, whose actions were inspired by a desire for their
ultimate good, and that they should try and realize that it was a right and
proper thing that they should be punished for their crimes.
xxiii
It is very natural that we should
love and indulge our bodies, and yet, if the truth be told, they are extremely
dirty and unpleasant things. If you doubt that statement, imagine, if you
please, what it would be like to have to look after somebody else’s body for
1 Cp. Book I, Ch. i, p. 2. Aricia was the first stoppingplace for
travellers on the Appian Way leading south to Capua. a
few days in just the same way as you do your own —if you had to brush its teeth
every morning, wash it, take it to the lavatory and so forth, though to tell
the truth it is almost as bad to have to do all that sort of thing for one’s
own ! And it was worse when I was younger, for my body then made other calls
upon me from which I am thankful to say old age has now exempted me. But, as I
must obey God, I endure and look after it to the best of my ability. But when
that happy moment comes when Nature, who gave me my body, shall take it away
again, then my troubles in its regard will at last be ended, and I can assure
you that I shan’t be sorry !
xxiv
How odd men are—if they die young,
they rail against the harshness of fate ; if they attain old age, they say they
have lived too long, that life is no longer worth living, and that they wish
they were dead ; and yet if they feel ill, they send off post-haste for a
doctor and beg him to spare neither time nor trouble to keep them alive ! What do
they want ?
xxv
When you feel inclined to ‘ go for ’
somebody, remind yourself that you are a tame animal and then you will abandon
your intention. If you do this you will have nothing to regret in your last
moments.
xxvi
Man is a little soul trailing around
a corpse.
xxvii
What we have to do is to learn how
to exercise our assent properly, how to make careful and correct choices, how
to abstain from desire and how to be indifferent to all things that are not
under our control.
xxviii
This is no ordinary matter ; it is a
question of madness or sanity.
xxviiia
Socrates once asked a man :
Socrates : Do you want your soul to be rational and good
or irrational and evil ?
Man : Rational and good, of course.
Socrates : Then why don’t you try and make it so ?
Man : But it is !
Socrates : Then how is it you are always quarrelling ?
xxviiii
Never say, ζ Why has this
trouble befallen me ? ’ but, c How lucky I am that in spite of this
trouble I remain uncrushed and undisturbed and have no fear of the future ! ’
Troubles come to every one, but it is not every one who can bear them bravely,
and those who can should be thankful that they are so fortunate. No misfortune
can possibly prevent you from being just, high-minded, self-controlled, selfpossessed,
deliberate, truthful, self-respecting and free, and from continuing to live in
harmony with Nature. So for the future never forget that when anything appears
to go wrong it is not a misfortune at all, but on the contrary, if you bear it
properly, a piece of extraordinary good fortune.
FRAGMENTS OF DOUBTFUL
AUTHENTICITY
xxix
Play always for safety ; it is safer
to be silent than to speak, for if you speak there is no knowing what follies
or wickednesses you may utter.
xxx
We should not let our happiness
depend on a single hope any more than we would let our ship be secured by only
one small anchor.
xxxi
We should not hanker after
impossibilities any more than we should take impossibly long strides when we
walk.
xxxii
It is more important to cure our
souls than it is our bodies, for death is better than a bad life.
xxxiii
Unaccustomed pleasures are the
keenest.
xxxiv
Moderation in everything is
essential if you want real enjoyment.
XXXV
No man is free who is not master of
himself.
xxxvi
Truth is eternal ; its beauty does
not fade with time. It teaches us what is lawful and just and how to recognize
that which is neither.
THINGS may be divided into two
classes—those which are under our control, and those which are not. Amongst the
former are our opinions, choices, likes, dislikes and actions ; amongst the
latter are our material possessions, bodies, reputation, offices, and other
people’s actions. The things of the first class are in their very nature free,
unhindered and unimpeded ; those of the second class do not belong to us and
are subject to hindrance. If you confuse these two classes or imagine that
those of the second class belong to you, you will be uneasy, unhappy and unfortunate,
and you will blame everybody, men and God too ; whereas if you bear the
distinction well in mind and always act upon it, then no one will ever be able
to compel or hinder you, you will have no cause to reproach or find fault with
anybody, you will never have to do anything you don’t want to do, you will have
no enemies, no one and nothing will ever be able to harm you—in short, you will
be both free and happy. In fact, this is the only way in which you can
become free and happy,
I.
Surely that is a prize well worth the winning.— But you
won’t win it without taking some considerable trouble. It means, for instance,
giving up all prospects of wealth and office. Still, even if you preferred aiming
at wealth and office, you might fail to get them, and then you would miss both.
287
Assuming, however, that you decide
to aim at winning freedom and happiness, then the first thing you must do is to
learn to examine with the utmost care all your sense-perceptions ; i.e. the
impressions of the outer world that reach you through your five senses, for
they are not always what they seem to be. It is essential that you should test
each one ; and the way to test them is this : Ask yourself : 6 Is
this particular sense-perception concerned with things that are included in the
first class (which are under my control), or with those in the second class
(which are not under my control) ? ’ If it falls under the second class, it is
no concern of yours.
2.
Your real objective is always to get what you want and to
avoid getting what you don’t want ; and if you fail in either, so much the
worse for you. To attain your objective, ignore everything in the second class
(not under your control) ; of which further examples are disease, poverty, and
death, and concentrate on shunning everything that is unnatural amongst the
things in the first class. Further, for the time being at all events, abstain
from all desire, for if you set your heart on something in the second class you
will inevitably be disappointed, and incidentally you will fail to get what you
might otherwise have got, viz. the things of the first class. You may, however,
exercise choice and refusal, but at first do so modestly and tentatively, as
befits a beginner.
3.
Never allow yourself to grow over-fond of material things,
however useful or pleasant they are, or whatever sentimental associations they
may have for you. If you treasure, for instance, some particular vase, remember
that after all it is only a vase, and then if some one breaks it you will not
be upset. Similarly,
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 289
as you kiss your wife or child, whisper to yourself : c You are only
mortal ! and then if they die you will not be unduly distressed.1
4.
Before doing anything, always reflect first what it is
precisely you want to do. For instance, if you propose going to the Public
Baths, first just run over in your mind the sort of things that may occur to
any one going to them—how some people splash and jostle, others insult or
rob,—and remind yourself that any one or all these things may happen to youy
and that if they do, you want to deal with them as a man whose moral purpose is
in harmony with Nature should deal with them. If you do this systematically,
you will not be taken by surprise or vexed whatever occurs.
5.
Men are perturbed not so much by things as by their false
judgements or ideas about things. Thus, there is nothing so very dreadful about
death (or Socrates would have displayed some nervousness when he had to drink
hemlock—but, as you know, he didn’t even change colour) ; it is the fear of
death that is so terrible.2 It follows that whenever you feel
upset or unhappy or helpless, you have only yourself to blame, for it is the
inevitable consequence of your wrong judgements. A person who does not realize
this truth, i.e. an uneducated person, always blames some one else for his
troubles ; a person who has commenced his education blames himself ; a fully
educated person blames no one, not even himself.
6.
Never glory in things that do not belong to you. If you
exult over the beauty of your horse, you are exulting over something that only
your horse is entitled to exult about. The only thing you really possess is
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. xxiv, p.
191.
2 See Book III, Ch. xxvi, p.
200.
your power of dealing with your
sense-perceptions ; when you can do this properly, i.e. in harmony with Nature,
then you will indeed have something to exult about.
7.
If during a voyage your ship drops anchor somewhere and
the passengers have a run ashore while the ship waters, and you start picking
up shellfish and gathering fruit, never forget all the time to keep your eye on
the ship in case the Captain signals that he is ready to set sail again ; for
then you would have hurriedly to abandon all your finds and hasten back on
board, or you would be left behind. And similarly in life, while there is no
harm in your picking up— instead of shellfish and fruit—a little wife and a
little child, when your Captain signals, you must respond at once,
abandon everything and race back to your ship without one backward glance. And,
especially if you are an old man, don’t wander very far from your ship, lest
when the signal is made you should not see it.
8.
Never wish anything to happen just as you have the impulse
to want ; wish it to happen as it actually does happen,1 and then
you will have a peaceful life.
9.
Lameness and disease and many other things may incommode
the body, but none of them can have any effect on a sound moral purpose.
10.
God has given you special faculties to enable you to deal
with everything that can possibly happen to you—for instance, you have
continency to rely on when tempted by the sight of a handsome lad or woman,
endurance when faced with hard work, patience wherewith to bear abuse. You can
cope similarly with all your sense-perceptions.
11.
Never admit to having lost anything : say that
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. iv, p. 128 ; and Manual, 33, p. 303.
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 291
you have given it back to God, who gave it you in the first instance. Thus if
your wife or child die— you have given them back ; if your farm is sequestrated—you
have given it back. It makes no difference who has actually taken it from
you—God may employ any agent He thinks fit, even some thoroughpaced
scoundrel—that is no concern of yours. But so long as He allows you to retain
something, look after it as best you may, always remembering that it does not
really belong to you any more than an inn belongs to a traveller who puts up at
it.
12.
You will never make any progress if you imagine that if you
do not attend to your business you will starve, or that if you do not punish
your house-boy he will never improve. It is better for you to starve, provided
you be free, fearless and happy, than for you to live in luxury if at the same
time you arc miserable ; and it is better for your house-boy never to improve
than for you to be unhappy. Start training yourselves in small matters ; for
instance, if your oil be spilled or your wine be drunk up by a thief, say to
yourself : ‘ This is the price I have to pay for equanimity and peace of mind.’
Nothing in this world is got save at a price.1 Remember that when
you call your valet he may take no notice, or if he docs answer he may not do
what you tell him. It would be absurd, of course, to let your peace of mind
depend on what he does or doesn’t do.
13.
It doesn’t matter in the least if you look like a fool ; it
is indeed very unwise to look as if you were clever. If people credit you with
looking as if you were of some importance, you may be pretty sure that there is
something wrong with you. It is no
1 Cp.
Book IV, Ch. x, p. 260.
easy matter to keep one’s moral
purpose in harmony with Nature and at the same time to attend to one’s worldly
affairs. If you devote your attention to the one you inevitably tend to neglect
the other.
14.
If you expect your wife and children and friends to live
for ever, or your house-boy to be perfect, you will be sadly disappointed. None
of them form part of the first class of things—those which lie within your
control. But you may confidently hope always to get what you want, for that is
in your power. So devote yourself to those things that are under your control.
A man’s master is that person who can gratify his wishes, be that person some
one else or himself. And if you want to be your own master, i.e. free, and not
somebody else’s slave, never want or avoid anything that is under somebody
else’s control.
15.
When you dine out you are not impatient because you are not
the first to be served, but when a dish is handed you, you help yourself
politely to a little and pass it on. You should behave in a similar way in life
towards wife, children, wealth and office, and then some day you will be worthy
of dining with the Gods ; and if you can abstain from all such good things set
before you, caring nothing for them, then you will be worthy to share also in
Their rule. This is what Diogenes and Heracleitus [38] did, and that is why men
called them divine, as indeed they were.
16.
When you see a friend overwhelmed by grief, perhaps because
one of his sons has just started on a
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 293
long voyage, or because he has lost a lot of money, remember that it is not
these happenings themselves that arc the real cause of his grief, but his
wrong- headed judgements about them. However, provided you realize this, there
is no harm in your giving him a few words of sympathy.
17.
In life you are like an actor in a play. It is the
Playwright who makes the play long or short, who invents the
characters—beggars, cripples, officers, ordinary men—and who allocates the
various rôles to the most suitable actors. All that the actors have to do is to
play their parts to the best of their ability.
18.
When a raven croaks ill-omenedly, remember that the portent
may perhaps affect your body, estate, opinions, wife or children, but that it
cannot possibly affect you. For me every portent is auspicious, for
whatever happens to me I know how to extract some benefit from it.1
19.
Provided you never enter on any struggle in regard to
things that lie outside the ambit of your moral purpose, but confine your
struggles to those things that lie within it, you are bound to win every time.2
Because you see some one
outstripping you in advancement and honours and acquiring great influence and
power, do not run away with the idea that he is therefore necessarily happy. Honours,
power and so forth are not under your control, nor are they the things most
worth having. The things most worth having, e.g. freedom and happiness, are
under your control, and you can therefore get them if you choose. So you have
no need to envy those who are satis-
1
Cp. Book III, Gh. xx, p. 159 ; also Book IV, Ch. x, p. 258
; and Manual, 32, pp. 301 & 302.
2
Cp. Book III, Ch. vi (6), p. 131.
fied with mere practorships,
consulships and senatorships. But there is only one way of getting such
superlatively good things as freedom and happiness, and that is to disdain all
things in the second class.
20.
Do try and understand that it is not the man who abuses you
or strikes you who really insults you —the insult lies in your own imagination,
and is the result of your wrong-headed judgement about what he has said or
done. And similarly, if you arc irritated, your irritation is due to your
mistaken feelings about the person who has irritated you, not to anything he
has actually done. You must not be deceived by your sense-perceptions. Take
plenty of time for reflection and then you will see your error and be able to
avoid it in future.
21.
Think continually about everything that seems dreadful to
you, such as banishment, prison, torture, and especially death ; then you will
never have any wrong thoughts, nor will you ever over-value anything.
22.
If you elect to practise philosophy seriously, you must be
prepared to put up with ridicule. People will jeer at you : ‘ So he's
turned philosopher, has he —who’d ever have thought it of him ! 1
Isn’t he stand-offish nowadays ! ’ Well, there is no need for you to be
stand-offish ; all you have to do is just to stick to your principles,
remembering that you are holding a post to which you have been appointed by God
Himself. And let me tell you this : if you do stick to your principles,
those who mock you now will one day honour you for it ; while if you don’t,
they will go on laughing at you—and with good cause.
23.
If, in order to please your parents (or any one else), you
decide to make wealth, honours, reputation,
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. xvi, p. 154.
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 295
office, &c., i.e. those things that lie in the second class, your main
objective in life instead of those of the first class, you will ruin your life.
The main thing is not to look like
but to be a philosopher ; if you really are one, people will soon
recognize the fact, whatever you look like.
24.
Why should the fact that you have never succeeded in
distinguishing yourself beyond the common ruck, that you are a person of little
consequence, sadden you ? To become distinguished in the eyes of your
fellow-men depends not on your merits but on their opinions, and their opinions
are not under your control and are no concern of yours any more than it is your
business to seek public office or invitations to dinner. The only distinction
that you should aspire to, and which is in your power to achieve, is in regard
to those things that are under your control. It is no argument to say
that such distinction as this is useless because it will not enable you to help
your friends (with money or other favours) or to be of service to the State (by
erecting Public Baths and shelters). If you are poor, naturally you will not be
able to become a private or public benefactor of this kind. Of course, if you
have or can obtain money to enable you to do such things, all the better —but
not if it costs you your self-respect, faithfulness and high-mindedness. No
amount of money could possibly compensate you for the loss of them. To be a
faithful friend to your friend is better than to give him untold riches ; to be
a faithful and self-respecting citizen is the best gift you can give to the
State.
25.
Why should you be upset just because some one is placed
nearer your host at a dinner-party, or is treated more deferentially than you
are, or because 296 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS a brother-practitioner is called in
in consultation instead of you ? The whole point is : are such things good in
themselves and really worth having, or not ? If they are, you should be glad
the other man got them ; if they arc not, then you should be glad you have not
got them.
In order to acquire as many material
possessions as your neighbours (and I again remind you that material
possessions fall within the second class of things), you must go to at least as
much trouble as they did to get them ; you must hang round rich men’s doors,
dance attendance on them and flatter them no less than they do ; otherwise how
can you reasonably expect to get what you want ? You will get nothing at all
from those able to give you such things if you won’t pay the price they demand.
A man may spend three halfpence in
buying a couple of heads of lettuce, but when he has done so he is really no
better off than his neighbour who keeps his three halfpence in his pocket. The
one, it is true, has the lettuces, but the other still has his money.
Similarly, one man may pay for an invitation to dinner with flattery and
personal attention ; another may refuse to pay this price and so does not get
asked. He can’t possibly expect to be asked if he won’t pay the price, can he ?
But is he any the worse off for not being asked ? No, indeed ! He may not get a
meal, but at least he has not had to flatter some one he despises, or to suffer
the impertinences of his flunkeys. You can’t have it both ways. It is silly
and greedy to expect something for nothing.
26.
We may discover the natural, i.e. the proper way to behave
under the varying circumstances of life by considering our reactions when
watching how
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 297
other people behave under similar circumstances. Suppose (to use a trivial but
not uncommon incident as illustration) your neighbour complains that his
house-boy has broken a tumbler, what do you do ? Naturally you make light of
it, saying : ζ Oh, well, these little things will happen, you know !
’ Very well, then : when your house-boy breaks one of your tumblers,
you must say the same and not fly into a temper. And you should apply this
principle to more important matters. If one’s neighbour’s wife or child dies,
do we not all say, philosophically : ‘ In the midst of life we are in death ! ’
Then why don’t we say the same when our wife or our child dies, instead of
giving way to sorrow and complaints ? We should behave towards our own misfortunes
in exactly the same way as we do towards those of other people.
27.
We should no more believe that evil is a necessary part of
the Universe than we would believe that somebody could set up a target to be
missed.
28.
You would not relish it if you were to be bound hand and
foot and delivered to an enemy with full liberty to dispose of you as he should
think fit ; yet you have no hesitation in handing over your mind to the
first-comer and allow it to be upset if he abuses you ! It is rather silly of
you, isn’t it ?
29.1 Before embarking on
any new enterprise, consider carefully its probable cost and results,
otherwise the light-hearted enthusiasm with which you began may fizzle out
ignominiously. Suppose, for instance, you suddenly thought how nice it would be
to be one of the winners at the Olympic Games. No doubt it would be. But
remember that before you could
1 Textually the same as Book III, Ch. xv, pp. 150-152.
even enter your name as a
competitor, you would have to train, and that means strict discipline, strict
diet, no sweets, going to bed and getting up early, fine or wet, warm or cold ;
not drinking cold water ; only drinking wine with your meals—in short, handing
yourself over to your trainer just as completely as you would to your doctor if
you were ill. Then, at the actual Games, you might very well meet with some
accident ; you might, for example, fracture your wrist or ankle, and anyhow you
would inevitably swallow quantities of sand as you wrestled—and that is always
disagreeable—and if you happened to commit a foul, you would be punished for it
with a whipping. And at the end of it all you might lose your match ! Well, if
you are prepared for all this, by all means go in for it ; but don’t start and
then give up half-way. That is what children do ; at one moment they play at
athletes, at another at gladiators, then they blow their trumpets, and then act
something that has struck their fancy. And some of you do much the
same—successively you are athletes, gladiators, lawstudents, philosophers, but
all of them half-heartedly. Like monkeys you mimic everything you see, are
always attracted by the latest novelty, and familiar things bore you.
Similarly, the seeing and hearing of
a philosopher such as Euphrates 1 might well inspire any one to want
to be a philosopher. But before embarking on such a career, consider what it
would involve to become one and whether you have the ability and pertinacity to
do it. It is not every one whose aptitudes lie that way. (Natural abilities
vary. To become a wrestler
1 More concerning the philosopher Euphrates is found in Book IV. Ch.
viii. p. 252.
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 299
you must have natural aptitude as well as efficient shoulders, thighs and
legs.) You would have to behave very differently from the way you do now ; you
would have to eat differently, drink differently, cease giving way to
irritation and anger ; you would have to keep vigils, work hard, master carnal
desires, lose the affection of your family, become the object of derision to
slaves, be laughed to scorn by all you meet, in everything—whether in office,
dignity or at law—always be the loser. If after careful reflection you decide
that the game is worth the candle, and that the attainment of peace and freedom
is worth the price I have named, go ahead and study to become a philosopher.
But if not, do not attempt it. Above all, do not behave like a child and be at
one moment a philosopher, at another a tax collector, then a lawyer, and then a
civil servant. You cannot be all of them at once—they don’t accord. You must be
either a good man or a bad one ; you must either try to improve your governing
principle by learning how to control your sense-perceptions, or concentrate on
worldly matters which lie outside the ambit of your moral purpose. In a word,
you must either be a philosopher or not be one.
30. Our social relationships afford
us general indications as to what our conduct should be towards our
fellow-men. For instance, one’s duties towards one’s father 1
include looking after him, deferring to him in everything, and being patient if
he finds fault with you or even strikes you. It makes no difference to your
obligations towards him whether he be a good father or a bad one towards you.
Good or bad, he is your father. And similarly with your brother : 1
1 Cp.
Book II, Ch. x, p. 61.
even if he wrongs you, he remains
your brother and you must behave towards him as a brother should. If you wish
to keep your moral purpose in harmony with Nature, what you have to do is to
see that you yourself behave properly, whatever he does. Nothing that he can do
to you can injure you ; but of course if you allow yourself to feel that he has
done you a wrong, then you will in fact have been injured. You can apply this
principle to every one you meet. Consider first your relationship to
each—whether he be your neighbour, your subject, commanding officer,
&c.—and then his duties to you and yours to him will become apparent.
31. Our chief duty towards the Gods
is to believe that They exist and that They order the Universe righteously and
well, and to obey Them, submitting willingly to everything that happens,
knowing (as we do) that it has so happened because They who know better than we
do what is right have willed that it should so happen. If you do this, you will
never reproach Them for anything, and never imagine that They are neglecting
you. But you will not succeed in acting like this unless you realize first that
your ‘ good ’ and ‘ evil ’ lie only in the things of the first class (that are
under our control) and never in those of the second class, because if you put
them in the latter, then, when you not only fail to get what you want but get what
you don’t want (as you will), you will inevitably blame and dislike those who
have thwarted you in these material matters. And very naturally so too. For,
after all, what could be more natural than for living creatures to love and
seek to obtain the things they believe to be good and profitable, and to shun
those they hold as evil and un-
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 301
profitable ? No one likes things he regards as harmful any more than he likes
their unpleasant results. It is because he has set his desires on the things of
the second class that a son abuses even his father, if his father does not give
him some of those things that he (the son) esteems good. That, too, was why
Poly- neices fell out with his brother Eteocles,1 both thinking
wrongly that royalty is a good thing ; that, too, is why farmers, sailors,
merchants and those who lose their wives and children reproach the Gods, for
all of them set undue store by material possessions that are not under their
control. In fact, their love for God waxes and wanes with the rise or fall of
their earthly fortunes ; whereas, were they to set their desire on the things
of the first class, it would remain constant. That is the essence of true
religion. However, we should by no means neglect its less important outward
manifestations and forms—the pouring of libations, the doing of sacrifice, and
the giving of first-fruits as our forefathers have been wont to do ; all such
things we should do devoutly and conscientiously, and as open-handedly as we
can afford.
32? When you consult a diviner to
gain foreknowledge of some future event, remember that his prognostications,
in so far as they concern things of the second class, cannot possibly affect
you, for all such things (which are not under your control) are indifferent to
you and are neither good nor evil. Hence, there is no need for you to want him
to prophesy one thing rather than another, or to be afraid of anything he may
say, for even if he prophesy all sorts of dreadful things, it will still be in
your power (and
1
See Book II, Ch. xxii, p. 101, and Book IV, Ch. v, p. 236.
2
Cp. Book II, Ch. vii, pp. 55 & 56.
302 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS no one can
prevent you) to turn them, when they occur, into blessings.1
Socrates considered that one should
have recourse to divination only when all other methods, e.g. that of
reasoning, of gaining essential foreknowledge of the future, have failed. There
is no need for you, for instance, to ask a diviner whether you should risk your
life for your country or for a friend, for reason tells you quite plainly that
it is your bounden duty to do so, and the fact that the sacrificial signs were
unfavourable and portended injury, banishment or death, would not absolve you
from your duty. Remember how Apollo expelled from His temple at Delphi a man
who had failed to defend his friend when attacked by men who subsequently
murdered him.
33.
Every man should propose to himself an ideal of conduct
from »vhich he should endeavour never to depart whether he be with others or
alone.
As a rule, it is better to keep
silence than to speak ; if, however, it is necessary for you to say something, say
what you have to say in as few words as possible. Never, however, talk about
such things as gladiators, horse-races or sports, or about food or drink ; or
(especially) about people, whether by way of praise, criticism or comparison.
If you are amongst friends, try, if possible, to get them to discuss something
worth discussing ; if you are with strangers, it is better not to say anything
at all.
Laugh as little as possible, and
when you do laugh, laugh quietly—do not guffaw.
Never, if you can possibly avoid it,
bind yourself by an oath.
1 Cp. Book III, Ch. xx, p. 159 ; Book IV, Ch. x, p. 258 ; and Manual,
18, p. 293.
The only entertainments you should
go to are those given by philosophers. If, however, for some reason you find yourself
obliged to go to one given by some one who is not a philosopher, be very
careful not to let your behaviour lapse from its usual high standard, for
however clean a man may be, if he associates with chimney-sweeps he is bound to
get smudged.
Give your body what it needs in the
way of food, drink, clothing, shelter, and attendance, but no more than is
really necessary. Eschew all outward show and luxury.
Before marriage strive to keep as
pure as possible ; but do not boast of your purity nor criticize others who
indulge their passions freely.
If you hear that some one is abusing
you, do not defend yourself against his assertions, but say humbly : ζ
Ah, but had he known the whole truth about me, he would have said much worse
than that ! ’
It is best to avoid going to Public
Spectacles altogether. However, if you do go, never become a partisan and hope
that one side will win rather than another ; hope that that side will win which
does win,1 and so you will not fail to get what you want. Further,
never shout, or become violently excited, or laugh at any one. And, after the
show, talk about it sparingly, for if you talk much about it, it means that you
have allowed yourself to like it more than any show deserves to be liked.
Nor should you go to too many Public
Lectures or Readings ; but when you do, go modestly and quietly and be very
careful never to give offence to any one.
When about to meet some well-known
man, ask
1 Cp.
Book III, Ch. iv, p. 128.
304 THE LAMP OF EPICTETUS yourself
how Socrates or Zeno would have acted in like circumstances, and that will give
you the clue as to how to behave yourself.
Before calling on some man of great
influence,1 remind yourself that he may be away, or refuse to see
you, or if he does see you he may pay no attention to what you say. In spite of
all which possibilities, if it is your duty to call on him, call on him and do
your best regardless of consequences, and do not complain afterwards that you
have had all your trouble for nothing—that is the way people who are not
philosophers talk, for they are easily upset if things in the second class,
which alone interest them, go awry.
When conversing with other people,
refrain from talking about yourself and your doings, for if you do you will
only bore them. They prefer talking and hearing about themselves just the same
as you do about yourself.
Never try to raise a laugh, for to
do so one has often to descend to vulgarity, and then people lose their respect
for you. Nor will you be respected if you use foul language. If other people
use foul language in your presence, either keep silence and show by your
demeanour that you disapprove, or if you think the circumstances really justify
it, protest.
34.
When you come across something (no matter what) that appears
to you to be unusually attractive, be more than ordinarily careful in its
regard. Don’t decide hastily that you simply must have it ; let it wait on your
convenience. Ask yourself first how much enjoyment you think its possession
will really
1
Cp. Book II, Ch. vi, p. 52 ; Book III, Ch. xxiv, pp. 186
and 187 ; Book IV, Ch. vii, p. 249.
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 305
give you, and what your subsequent feelings—after you have gratified your
desire—arc likely to be, and whether the sense of self-disgust which you will
then probably experience will not more than outweigh a transitory pleasure.
Bear in mind, too, that abstention has a self-satisfaction of its own which is
not to be despised. However, if you do decide that you must have whatever it
is, have it and be done with it, and do not let it obtain a permanent hold over
you.
35.
When you have decided deliberately that you ought to do
such-and-such a thing, do it regardless of what people think or say about you.
If the deed is a righteous one, why should you mind ill-informed criticism ? If
it is an evil one, don’t do it.
36.
It may be good for your bodily health to take a second
helping of some particular dish at a dinnerparty, but your taking it might
conceivably disgruntle your host. You should not sacrifice your host’s feelings
to your appetite.
37.
If you essay tasks beyond your powers, you will not only
muddle them but you will not leave yourself time to do what otherwise you might
have done with success.
38.
We are all very careful not to injure our bodies by
treading on nails or by spraining our ankles. We should be even more careful
never to do anything which will injure our governing principles.
39.
Our properties should fit the needs of our bodies as our
shoes do our feet—neither should be over-large or over-elaborate lest they
cause us to stumble.
40.
When girls attain the mature age of fourteen years they
expect men to treat them as grown-ups, and as their only ambition in life is to
get married,
they spend all their time and energy
over their dresses and their toilet. Surely we men should teach them that they
would be far better employed in cultivating their sense of modesty and
self-respect.
41.
It is the mark of a stupid man to devote much time to the
care of his body—to constant exercise, eating, drinking, defaecating and sexual
commerce. Of course, we all have to do such things occasionally, but the
intelligent man does them as it were incidentally, and concentrates his main
energies on the development of his mind.
42.
Whenever somebody criticizes you unfavourably or refuses to
help you, there is no reason for you to suspect that his words and actions have
been dictated by anything else than a genuine sense of duty on his part, though
in fact he may have entirely failed to appreciate your side of the question,
and so have come to a very wrong conclusion. For that you should be sorry for
him ; for the man who is in error is the real sufferer. So be kind to any one
who abuses you, and excuse him to yourself, saying : 6 No doubt he
really believes it all ! ’
43.
There are always two handles by which one may grasp a
thing—a right one and a wrong one. If your brother offends you, do not grasp
his offence by the handle of his wrongdoing, but by that of the fact that he is
your brother, whom you should treat as a brother whatever he does.
44.
Because one man is richer or makes better speeches than his
neighbour, it does not follow that he is a better man ; it only means that he
has more material possessions or that he has had the advantage of a better
education. A man himself is distinct both from his property and from his
education.
45.
Because a man takes a very short time over his bath or
drinks a great deal of wine, it docs not follow that he does not bathe properly
or that he is wrong in drinking as much as he does. If you do not know what
motives lie behind his actions, how can you possibly tell whether his actions
are good or bad ? If you judge on insufficient premises, your conclusions will
almost certainly be wrong.
46.
Never describe yourself as a philosopher, and never, if you
can avoid it, talk to persons who are not philosophers about your philosophic
principles ; content yourself with acting up to them. For instance, when you
are dining out, it is not for you to tell your fellow-guests what they should
or should not do, but simply to behave properly yourself. Remember how humble
Socrates was : when people came to him and asked him to introduce them to real
philosophers, he used to do so at once. He didn’t show the least resentment at
not being recognized as a real philosopher himself. And so if you find
yourself in the company of men who are not philosophers and they suddenly begin
discussing philosophy, your best course is to keep silence, for if you
intervene, the chances are you may make ill-considered statements about matters
which you have not thoroughly digested and do not yet really understand. When
some one tells you that you know nothing and (like Socrates) you can be told
that without feeling hurt or insulted, then you may be pretty sure that you are
on the right track. Sheep do not boast to their shepherds of the quantities of
grass they have eaten ; they just digest the grass and let the outward
results—wool and milk —speak for themselves. In the same way, you should avoid
any ostentatious parade of your principles, and
3o8 THE LAMP
OF EPICTETUS be content to let men see the results of the principles you have
thoroughly digested and absorbed in your actions.
47.
When you have learned how to live the simple life, live it
but do not brag about it. If you are a teetotaller, there is no need for you to
advertise the fact ; if you do exercises every morning before breakfast to
keep fit, why tell everybody ? You can harden your body without going to
extremes such as embracing statues nude and in cold weather ;1 you
may, if you like, take a mouthful of iced water on a hot day when you are very
thirsty, spit it out, and refrain from telling anybody.2
48.
The man who is not a philosopher relies for help on, or
fears harm from, things of the second class that are not under his control ;
the philosopher only on and from things of the first class ; i.e. on and from
himself.
You will know that you are making
progress if you never criticize, praise or reproach any one ; if you never talk
as if you were of some importance or had any special knowledge ; if when you
find yourself thwarted you realize that it is your own fault ; if you feel
genuinely amused when any one pays you a compliment ; if when some one abuses
you you keep silent ; if you are as careful of your governing principle till it
is really strong as a man who has broken his leg is of his leg till the callus
has ossified ; if you have suppressed in yourself all desire ; if you have
directed your aversion against those things which being under your control are
contrary to nature ; if you have no pronounced likes or dislikes ; if you
1
Cp. Book III, Ch. xii, p. 145 ; and Book IV, Ch. v, p. 234.
2
Cp. Book III, Ch. xii, p. 146.
THE MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 309
do not mind when people think you stupid and ignorant ; if—in short—you protect
yourself against yourself as though you were your own worst enemy.
49.
We may say of a man who plumes himself on being able to
understand and expound the writings of Chrysippus that had Chrysippus not
happened to have a singularly obscure style, he would have had nothing to
expound and so nothing to give himself airs about.
A man wants to understand Nature so
as to be able to shape his actions in harmony with Nature. He needs a teacher,
and hearing of Chrysippus reads his works, but finds them so obscure that he
has to find a second teacher to explain them ! That is all right as far as it
goes ; but merely to know the precepts of Chrysippus is of little value—the
important thing is to practise them.
50.
You should regard your philosophic principles as laws which
it would be very wrong of you to disobey.
Never mind what other people say
about you ; their words and deeds are not under your control.
51.
How much longer do you propose to wait before you decide to
do what your reason tells you you should have begun to do long ago in order to
obtain for yourselves the best things obtainable ? You have been taught sound
philosophic principles and have acknowledged their soundness, so what still
prevents you making a start ? Must you have yet another teacher to help you to
make up your minds ? Come, come ! you are no longer boys, you are men now. If
you keep on postponing making a start, you will end by never making a start at
all, and before you realize it you will be old men on your deathbeds and still
not philosophers. Do make up your
minds before it is too late. Try to
regard everything that your reason tells you is good as a law that must be
obeyed ; and when you are confronted by some sense-perception that seems
attractive or desirable or hard or valueless, remember that there is no possibility
of postponing the struggle—it is there upon you—and your whole fate depends on
your immediate decision. That is how Socrates became what he was —by always
acting as his reason told him that he should. We cannot all hope to become like
Socrates was, but we should all try to become as like him as we can.
52.
The first and most important division of philosophy is
concerned with the translation of philosophic principles (e.g. c
Thou shalt not lie ’) into action ; the second with the reasons on which these
principles are based (i.c. why men should not tell lies) ; and the third
analyses the validity of the reasons. The second and third divisions are of
course interesting, important and necessary, but their importance is not
comparable with that of the first. Unfortunately, we are all too apt to fritter
away our time and energies arguing over whys and wherefores to the neglect of
putting our principles into practice. So we have pat all the reasons why we
should not tell lies, but that does not prevent us from telling them.
53.
We ought to bear the following sayings constantly in mind :
Lead Thou me on, O Zeus and Destiny,
To that far goal that Thou hast set for me ;
Weak though I am and fearful, still I’ll follow
Thee.[39]
THE
MANUAL OF EPICTETUS 311
The wise and godly man submits humbly to fate.1
Well, Crito : as God will, so be it ! [40]
[41]
Anytus and Meletus may kill me, but they cannot harm me.[42]
Absence
from home, 180, 181, 182, 183
Abuse
(how to bear), 294, 297 Academics (the), 5, 93, 94, 96 Academy, 228
Achilles,
27, 37, 107, 112, 162, 17g, 254
Acropolis
(the), 78, 189
Admetus,
101, 158
Adulterer,
21, 96, 103, 125, 165
Advertise,
178
Aegistheus,
120
Aeneas,
61
Affection
(how to express), 187,
Agamemnon,
27, 37, 112, 162, 164, 224
Agents
provocateurs, 270
Agrippinus,
2, 281
Aias,
61, 112
Alcander,
275
Alcibiades,
87, 120, 237
Alexander
(Paris), 37, 102
Alexander (the Great), 69, 101, 172, 189
Amphiarus,
103
Anaxarchus,
189
Andromache,
174 Anger, 85, 278 Antigonus, 68 Antipater, 85, 88, 8g, 123 Antisthenes, x
(Intro.), 84, 169,
Anytus
(and Meletus), 39, 46, 177, S”
Apollo,
117, 273, 302
Apollonius,
146, 308
Applause (desire for), 75
Archedemus (King of Lacedaemon), 220
Archedemus (the philosopher), 48, 85, 89, 123
Archelaus, 277
Argos, 182, 199
Argus, 174
Aricia, 281
Aristophanes, 265
Arrianus (Flavius), ix (Intro.), xv (Dedication)
Asclepius
(temples of), 101
Assembly (the), 221
Athena, 58, 91
Athenians, 95, 102, 135, 18g, 204, 220
Athens, x (Intro.), 11, 31, 78, 79, 96, 182,
188, 189, 190, 192, i93> 204, 231, 249, 277
Atreus, 37, 120
Attica, 80
Augustus (priesthood of), 25
Avarice, 86
Bad actions, 232, 251
Bad habits, 60, 85, 86
Bad news, 156, 183
Baiting strangers, 67
Ball (truth learned from games at), 50
Banishment,
1, 54, 222
‘
Bear and Forbear ’,277
Behaviour (natural way of), 296
Blackguarding, 32, 158
Boasting (bragging), 14g, 150, 280
Bodies (our), 281, 282
SIS
Boldness and Prudence, 43, 46
Book learning not enough, 60
Books, 60, 250
Boy (advice to, on leaving school), 28, 29, 30,
31, 32
Brother (relations with a), 62, 143, 299, 300
Caduceus, 158
Caesar, 4, 9, 12, 18, 40, 68, 90, 124, 127, 136,
137, 140, 147, 202, 203, 205, 206, 208, 212, 219, 223, 226, 243, 270, 272
Callicles, 233
Calls on Great Men, 52, 186, 187, 247, 304
Cassiope, 133
Cattle-fair, 72
Chaeroneia (battle of), 163
Christians (Galileans), 245
Chrysanthus, 53
Chryseis (the Lady), 27, 112
Chrysippus, x (Intro.), 5, 53, 84, 85, 88, 89,
90, 109, 123, 128, 160, 256, 309
Cleanliness, 121, 263-6
Cleanthes, 88, 89, 90, 179, 198, 223
(Hymn of), 109, 173, 231, 310
Cnossos (President of), 138
Coat (white), 3
Colours, 6
Commodus, xii (Intro.)
Conceit and diffidence, 149
Confidences to friends and strangers, 269, 270,
271, 272
Considered opinions, 73-5
Consul (cost of becoming a), 260
Corinth, 79, 82, 119, 188
Corinthians, 189, 220
Corn Distribution Department at Rome, 11
Crates, x (Intro.), 169, 170
Cretan gentleman, 138
Crete, 281
Crinus,
123
Crite,
221, 311
Croesus,
2, 164
Cybele
(the Great Mother), 94
Cynic (what is a) ?, 161-74 (physique of), 160,
172
Cyrenaica,
281
Cyrus
(King of Persia), 241
Death
(see also ς Open Door ‘ Door of Escape ’, ‘ Signal to Retire
’ and ‘ Harbour of Refuge ’)
a bogey, 44
after death, 191
fear of, 200, 289
forms of, 54, 249
nature of, 249
not
an evil, 29, 61 thoughts at moment of, 129 to be welcomed, 61
Other references to : 35, 125,129 Decisions,
73-5
Delphi (Apollo’s temple at), 273, 302
Demeter,
96
Demi-gods,
50
Demosthenes, 109
Denier (the) (problem), 141
Desire (gratification of), 305
Dice (games at), 49
Diffidence and conceit, 149
Dio, 177
Diodorus, 88
Diogenes, a really free man, 220
Other references to : x (Intro.), 29, 3°, 47,
69, 78, 122, 145, 161, 163, 168, 169, 172, 188, 189, 198, 204, 215, 216, 234,
249, 256, 265, 292
Diogenes,
Treatise on Ethics, 90
Dirce
(fountain of), 78
Discipline (receipt for self-), 146, 308
Diseases
(welcome), 61
Diviners,
55, 301
Domitian,
ix, xii (Intro.), 56 Door (the Open, and of escape) (see Death), 44,
137, 148, 261
Earthquakes,
54, 77
Eating,
manner of, 16 Ecbatana, 79
Education,
3, 27, 34, 83 Encheiridion, ix (Intro.) Epaminondas, 171 Epaphroditus,
ix (Intro.), 24, 33 Epictetus, age, ix (Intro.), 84, 91
a
great moral teacher, xi (Intro.) a philosopher, 9 a stoic, x (Intro.)
dislike
of owning property, 140 ‘ futile little old man ’, 55 indiscriminate teaching,
40 iron lamp stolen, 22, 39 lameness, 9, 16, 290 no good at games, 50 not
entirely free, 219 not good-looking, 9
‘
old and lacking the milk of human kindness ’, 84
once
fond of baiting people, 67 slave to Epaphroditus, 24 thoughts at moment of
death, 129 very annoyed, 33
wore the grey beard and rough cloak of a
philosopher, 118
wrote
nothing, ix (Intro.)
Epicureans,
xii (Intro.), 91, 95, . '35, '35
Epicurus, letter on death-bed, 106 Other
references to : 28, 93, 94, 102, 106, 133, 134, 185, 278
Epirus
(Governor of), 127 Eriphyle, 103
Eteocles,
ιοί, 236, 301
Euphrates
(philosopher), x (Intro.), 151, 252, 298
Euripides,
38 Eurystheus, 79, 168, 199
Faculty,
of continency, 290
of
courage, 7
of
endurance, 7, 290
of
expression, 104, 105
of
hearing, 104, 105
of
magnanimity, 7
of
patience, 290
of
reasoning, 1
of
speech, 104
of
the moral purpose, 105, 129 of vision, 22, 104, 105
Faithfulness,
48
Fault-finders,
214
Faults
(admission of), 97
Favours
(asking for, from Great
Men),
52, 186, 187, 249, 304
Felicio,
24, 219
Fever
(a Roman God), 24
Fields
of study, First field, 83, 121, 197
Second
field, 82, 121, 146, 197
Third
field, 82, 121, 122, 123, 140, 146, 197, 259
Flavius (Arrianus), ix (Intro.), xv (Dedication)
Food
for lower animals, 10 for runaway slaves, 10, 195
Foot
(not a separate entity), 51 Freedom, 15, 45, 46, 201-23 Friends, 30, 100-104,
224 Furies, 94
Galileans
(Christians), 245
Galli,
94
Games,
50
Geta,
203
Getae,
102
Gibbon,
xii (Intro.)
Golden
verses of Pythagoras, 141, 243, 244
Gratifia,
56
‘
Great events ’, 36
Great
King of Persia, 102, 169, 189, 204, 207, 220, 241
Great
Men (calling on), 186
Greece,
102
Greeks,
37, 60, 165
Grief,
292
Guardian
angel, 17
Gyaros (Gyara), 31, 54, 192, i93, 231
Habits (strengthened by exercise), 85
Hades,
148
Harbour of Refuge {see also Death), 261
Hardships,
44, 54
Health,
157-8
Hector,
112, 162, 174
Helen,
36, 107
Hell,
148
Hellanicus
{History of Egypt), 89
Helvidius
Priscus, 4, 216
Hephaestion,
ιοί
Hephaestus,
253
Heracleitus (the philosopher), 292 (friend of
Epictetus), 47
Herakles, 7, 8, 79, 80, 168, 182, 199, 258
Hermes,
120, 158
Hippias,
130
Hippocrates,
9, 81
Hippolytus,
37
Homer,
38, 171, 172
(quotations
from), 144, 164, 182, 262
Host (a guest’s duties towards), 3°5
Hunger
(death from), 195-6
Hymn of Cleanthes, 109, 173,231, 310
Hymns
of Praise, 228, 281
Iliad, the, 36
Ilium,
162
Ill (how to be), 53, 129, 142, 143, 158,
*59? i69
Ill-omen
(words of), 191, 293
Imperial
Bailiff, 132
Injury
(requiting an), 63, 270 Instincts (our), 3
(God’s
promptings), 30, 34 Intelligence (normal), 132 Italicus, 138
Jews,
13, 26, 60
Judgements
(false), 103, 137
Judges,
be civil to, 47
duties
of, 51
Other references to : 46,136, 156
Kore,
96
Lacedaemonians, 102, 135, 220, 237, 275
Laius,
117
Lamp
(Epictetus’), 22, 39 Lamprocles, 233
Lamps (lighting of, in thankfulness), 84
Lascivious
thoughts, 86
Law
(on going to), 46
Law
Student, 115
Laws
(obedience to the), 39, 250
Lecturers on philosophy, 160, 161 Advice to a
fashionable lecturer, 175-80
Lectures on philosophy (use of), 98, no
Leisure,
250
Leon,
221, 249
Lesbius,
159
Liar (the) (problem), 84, 87, 122, 141
Lies,
310
Life
(a campaign), 184
(a
banquet), 129
Light,
6
Litigation,
46, 103
Logic,
importance of, 8, 65, 113 only a means to an end, 109 . part of third field of
study, 82, 121, 122, 140
progress
in, 131
Loneliness,
15, 146, 147
Lycaeum,
the, 190, 228
Lycurgus,
95, 275
Macedonia,
277
Macedonians,
102
Man,
a good man never quarrels, 232
a
little soul, 282
a
rational animal, 6, 59, 118, 245
a
real man, 59
a
social being, 28, 263, 273
a
spectator of God’s works, 7,214 a tame animal, 282 an actor in a play, 293
an
interpreter of God’s works, 7 distinct from his property and education, 306
does
not do wrong deliberately, 21, 113
duty—as
a son, 61
—
as a town councillor, 62 has a sense of fellowship, 94 has
free moral choice, 61 himself is his governing prin
ciple,
250
not
a separate entity, 51
not
self-supporting, 278 object of his creation, 7, 191, should develop his mind,
306 sons of God, 9, 144, 150 unpleasant body, 281
Manhood,
59-61
Marcian
aqueduct, 78
Marcus
Aurelius Antoninus, x (Intro.)
Mask,
32
Master
problem (the), 86, 88
Material
things (proper use of), b 49, 50, H3,
Mating
instinct, 6
Matter
(ultimate constitution of), 273
Maximus,
133
Medea,
36, 82
Melancholy
(excessive), 86
Meletus
{see Anytus), 39, 46, 177, 311
Memories,
194
Men,
the proper way to govern, 136
should
be self-sufficient, 147 Menelaus, 36, 102
Menial
occupations, 196
Menoeceus,
158
Milo,
2
Mistakes,
113, 180, 194, 266, 269, 306
Moderation,
285
Money
a bad thing, 75
Moral
purpose, 1, 2, 9, 143, 144, 145
(faculty
of), 105, 129
Motives,
226, 251, 307
Musonius
Rufus, ix (Intro.), 8 Mycenae, 199
Myron,
164
Naso,
70
Nature
: we ought to live in harmony with, 10, 15, 258 chief function of, 275
everything contrary to is evil, 216, 217
existence
of, 273
Nausicaa,
200
Neoptolemus,
254
Nero,
ix (Intro.), 164, 281
News
(bad), 156, 183
Nicocreon,
189
Nicopolis,
ix (Intro.), 31, 54, 98, 128, 202
Noise,
229, 231
Normal
intelligence, 132
Nymphs,
176
Oath,
302
Occupation
(want of), 226
Odysseus,
113, 181, 182, 199, 200, 278
belief
in God, 15
Odyssey, 36
Oedipus,
5, 37, 117
at
Colonnus, 278
Tyrannos,
278
Olympia,
7, 29, 168, 187
Olympic
Games (training for), 150, 167, 194, 213, 297
Omens,
191, 293
Ophelius,
164
Opinions,
other people’s may be right, 65
considered,
73-5
Oratory,
109
Orestes,
94, 120
Pan,
176
Panthoides,
88
Paris
(Alexander), 37, 102 Patroclus, 37
Peace,
147
Peloponnesus,
237
Penalty
for one’s acts, 36 Penelope, 182 Perdiccas, 189 Peripatetics, 91 Perrhaebians,
188
Persia
(Great King of), 102, 169, 189, 204, 207, 220, 241
Pheidias,
7, 58, 91
Pheres,
ιοί, 158
Philip
of Macedonia, 69, 163, 189 Philosopher, mentality of a, 70 how to be a, 64, 80
behaviour of a, 251-2 what Romans thought of, 138
Philosophic
principles (Divisions of), 310
Philosophy
(one should not parade one’s), 252
Philostorgus,
155 Phoenix, 113 Piraeus, 189
Pirates, 69, 189
Plato, 9, 35, 80, 81, 84, 87, 104, 222, 279
Pleasure, lawful, 278
unaccustomed, 285
Pluto, 96
Polemo,
116, 266
Polus
(friend of Socrates), 233
(the actor), 278
Polyneices, 101, 236, 301
Poverty, 155, 156
Preachings, 253
Priam, 5, 171
Priscus (Helvidius), 4
Procrustes, 80
Progress
(signs of making), 4, 308
Properties should not be overlarge, 305
Protagoras, 130
Prudence
(boldness and), 43
Punishment (of adulterers, &c.), 21
Purity, 87
Pythagoras (Golden Verses of), 141, 243, 244
Quarrels, 232, 233
Quiescent (the), 87
Quiet, 229
Qui vive (we should always be on the), 225, 269
Reading,
5, 226, 227, 228
Reason,
a gift from Heaven, 4 the only thing that really matters, I
Reasonableness as a test of the moral purpose, 3
Red,
band (or thread) of, 3, 118
Republic
(of Plato), 279
Revealed religion, xii (Intro.)
Revenge,
63, 270
Rhodes, 47
Ridicule, how to bear, 294
Righteous, the, 278
Romans, 13, 102, 138, 185
Rome, 12, 31, 33, 54, 119, 134, Ι3θ> 139, Ηθ,
*78, !92, 193, 231, 270
Rufus, Musonius, ix, x (Intro.), 8, 132, 179
Salamis, 221, 249
Sardanapalus, 164
Sarpedon, 35
Sciron, 80
Scout, 28, 163
Seducer, 21
Seeds, growth of, 254
Self-control, 94, 116
Self-examination, 34, 146, 149, 154
Self-interest, 101
Seneca, x (Intro.)
Sex novels, 256
Shakespeare, 255
Sickness, see Ill (how to be), 53,
Sight, 7
Signal to retire (God’s), see Death
Simple life, 308
Socrates : a really free man, 221, 222
always successful, 188
and Alcibiades, 87, 120
and Archelaus, King of Macedonia, 277
and the game of the law courts, 50
belief in God, 15
bodily
cleanliness of, 264 capable of the greatest deeds, 2 citizen of the Universe, 9
constant self-examination, 34, 146, 149, 154
death a bogey, 44
defence of, 46, 118
did not pose as a philosopher,
duty to cross-examine, 161
free in prison, 16
his daily delight, 130
his obstreperous son, 237
his
shrewish wife, 237 indifference as to place of residence, 78-9
loved his fellow-men, 118 method of argument,
65, 114, 283
rebukes Judges, 11, 46, 47, 69, 192
signal to retire, see Death
4 The red thread in the mantle ’, 118
writes hymns of praise in prison, 55, 228
Other references to : x (Intro.), 20, 21, 23,
32, 38, 40, 66, 78, 117, 136, 153, 173, 177, 179, 185, 198, 205, 216, 233» 256,
289, 304, 310
Sophists, 122, 123, 137
Sophocles, 38, 278
Sophron, 128
Sorrow, 35
Soul, 66, 282, 283
Spartans,
3, 95, 275
Standard for right and wrong, 14, 226
Starvation, fear of, 10
Station in life, 3
Statues
(embrace), 145, 234, 308 Stoic, ix, x (Intro.), 20, 65, 92, 134
claiming falsely to be a, 91, 185
Strangers, 66
Strength of character, 6
Stupidity (hall-mark of slaves), 97
Style, 108
Suicide, 3, 11, 30, 31, 38, 40, 54, 73, 74, 79,
U8, 261, 289
Sura, 155
Susa, 79
Syllogisms, 8, 83, 122, 131, 190, 197> 198
Sympathy,
238-44
Symposium,
233
Talents (strengthened by exercise), 85
Tasks
beyond our powers, 305
Teaching
(indiscriminate), 40
Teetotallers,
149
Temper
(less of), 86
Thebans,
102, 171
Thebes,
158, 182, 192
Theopompus,
80
Thermopylae,
95, 180
Thersites,
107, 162, 224
Theseus,
80
Thessaly,
188, 222
Things,
under and not under oui control, 274, 287
three classes of (good, evil and indifferent),
89
Thirty
Tyrants (the), 69, 221, 249
Thoughts
(lascivious), 86
Thrasonides,
203
Thrasymachus,
233
Triptolemus,
5
Trojans,
112, 165, 166
Troubles
(really a boon), 8, 283
Troy,
37, 102, 112, 165
Truth (standard for determining), θ5
Universe, What is the Universe ?, 72
God
designed, 245
self-supporting,
278
periodic conflagration of, 147 Other references to
: 9, 17, 183, 191, 213, 220, 259, 276
Unnatural vice, 63
Valet (how not to treat your), 16
Vespasian, 4, 216
Vices (the two worst), 106
Vision (the faculty of), 22, 104, 105
War (the folly of), 166
origin of, 102
Water (drinking), 146, 308, 149
Weigall, Arthur, x (Intro.)
Women, the common property of men, 48, 279
lust after, 86
should cultivate modesty and self-respect, 306
Word (ill-omened), 191, 293
Worrying, 67, 68
Wrong (cannot be done with impunity), 216
Xanthippe, 233, 237
Xenocrates, 116, 266
Xenophon, 20, 84, 233
Xerxes, 180
Zeno, x (Intro.), 26, 68, 161, 179, ιθ5, 256,
304
Zeus, gold and ivory statue of, 7, 58, 91
loneliness of, 147
Other references to : 16, 35, 83, 112, 120, 173,
239
Printed in Great Britain
by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
[1] See
Index.
[2] Rivington,
London, 1768, and Dent’s Everyman’s Library, No. 404 (1910).
[4] Thornton Butterworth, 1923.
[5] See
Fragment xxi, p. 281.
[6] Milo (of
Crotona, Italy, circa 300 b.c.).
A famous athlete and the typical strong man (Samson) of antiquity.
[7] Croesus,
King of Lydia, 562-548 b.c., the
typical rich man of antiquity.
[8] Pheidias,
the celebrated Athenian sculptor (obiit 432 b.c.).
[9] Zeus : As far as
possible the name Zeus has throughout been replaced by the title God, but there
are a number of passages in which the context makes this impossible.
[10] See Book IV, Ch. ii, p. 223. 2 See
Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 163.
[11] Cp.
Book II, Ch. ii, p. 46 ; Book III, Ch. xxiii, p. 177 ; Manual, 53 ; and
Plato’s Apology 30, C-D.
[12] Also
quoted, Book I, Ch. iv, p. 5 ; Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 173 ; Book IV, Ch. iv, p.
228 ; and Manual, 53, p. 311.
[14] See Book
III, Ch. xx, p. 158.
[15] See Book
IV, Ch. v, p. 236, and Manual, 31, p. 301.
[16] Odyssey, I, 35-47.
[17] Cp. Manual, 19, p. 293.
We ought to have our
principles cut-and-dried and ready for instant use on any and every conceivable
subject. Remember the golden verses
which some say were composed by Pythagoras,3 and which run :
At night, before you close your eyes in sleep, Recall to mind
each hour of the now dead day, Reviewing all your deeds and words and thoughts,
Asking : ‘ Where went I wrong ? when was I right ? ’ And, as your conscience
judges yea or no, Repent the bad, rejoice at all well done.
These are practical verses
and are meant for use.
1See Book II, Ch. xvii, p.
84, Ch. xviii, p. 87 ; Book III, Ch. ii, p. 122.
2 Unknown. 3 Cp. Book
IV, Ch. vi, p. 243.
[19] Gp. Manual,
22, p. 294.
[20] Cp.
Book I, Ch. xxvi, p. 34 ; Book III, Ch. xii, p. 146s and xiv (f), p. 149.
[21] Cp. Book
III, Ch. xxiv, p. 183.
[22] Cp. Book
II, Ch. v, p. 51.
[23] Cp.
Book IV, Ch. x, p. 258 ; Manual, 18, p. 293, and 32, p. 302.
[24] See Book
III, Ch. x, p. 143, Ch. xxii, p. 169.
[25] Also
quoted : Book II, Ch. xxiii, p. 109 ; Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 231 ; and Manual,
53, p. 310.
[26] Also
quoted : Book I, Ch. iv, p. 5, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book VI, Ch. iv, p. 228; and Manual,
53, p. 311.
[27] Cp. Book
I, Ch. xxv, p. 32.
[28] Book III,
Ch. xvii, p. 155.
[29] Who
had a hundred eyes, only two of which slept at a time.
[30] Cp. Book
II, Ch. i, p. 44.
[31] Iliad, VI, 492. See also Odyssey, I, 356.
[32] Odyssey, I, 3, 4.
[33] Odyssey, XVII, 487.
[34] Cp. Book
IV, Ch. x, p. 261.
[35] Cp.
Book III, Ch. x, p. 141.
[36] Iliad, XIX, 321.
[37] Cp. Book II, Ch. iv, p. 48.
[38] Heracleitus of Ephesus : circa 500 b.c. ; a philosopher whose views about
the origin of things were adopted by the Stoics. Not the Heracleitus referred
to in Book II, Ch. ii, p. 47, supra.
[39] The first line of this ‘ Hymn of Cleanthes ’ is
also quoted in Book II, Ch. xxiii, p. 109 ; Book III, Ch. xxii, p. 173 ; and
Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 231.
[40] Euripides,
Fragment 965 (Nauck).
[41] Plato,
Crito, 43 D. Also quoted in Book I, Ch. iv, p. 5, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book
III, Ch. xxii, p. 173 ; Book IV, Ch. iv, p. 228.
[42] Plato, Apology,
30, C-D. Also quoted in Book I, Ch. xxix, p. 39 ; Book II, Ch. ii, p. 46 ; Book
III, Ch. xxiii, p. 177.
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