A Selection from the Discourses of Epictetus With the Encheiridion - Epictetus
If I have set my admiration on the poor body, I have given myself up to
be a slave; if on my poor possessions, I also make myself a slave. For I
immediately make it plain with what I may be caught; as if the snake
draws in his head, I tell you to strike that part of him which he
guards; and do you be assured that whatever part you choose to guard,
that part your master will attack. Remembering this, whom will you still
flatter or fear?
But I should like to sit where the Senators sit. Do you see that you are
putting yourself in straits, you are squeezing yourself? How then shall
I see well in any other way in the amphitheatre? Man, do not be a
spectator at all, and you will not be squeezed. Why do you give yourself
trouble? Or wait a little, and when the spectacle is over, seat yourself
in the place reserved for the Senators and sun yourself. For remember
this general truth, that it is we who squeeze ourselves, who put
ourselves in straits; that is, our opinions squeeze us and put us in
straits. For what is it to be reviled? Stand by a stone and revile it,
and what will you gain? If then a man listens like a stone, what profit
is there to the reviler? But if the reviler has as a stepping-stone (or
ladder) the weakness of him who is reviled, then he accomplishes
something. Strip him. What do you mean by him? Lay hold of his garment,
strip it off. I have insulted you. Much good may it do you.
This was the practice of Socrates; this was the reason why he always had
one face. But we choose to practise and study anything rather than the
means by which we shall be unimpeded and free. You say: "Philosophers
talk paradoxes." But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? And what
is more paradoxical than to puncture a man's eye in order that he may
see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the surgical art, would
he not ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder, then, if in philosophy
also many things which are true appear paradoxical to the inexperienced?
* * * * *
IN HOW MANY WAYS APPEARANCES EXIST, AND WHAT AIDS WE SHOULD PROVIDE
AGAINST THEM.--Appearances are to us in four ways. For either things
appear as they are; or they are not, and do not even appear to be; or
they are, and do not appear to be; or they are not, and yet appear to
be. Further, in all these cases to form a right judgment (to hit the
mark) is the office of an educated man. But whatever it is that annoys
(troubles) us, to that we ought to apply a remedy. If the sophisms of
Pyrrho and of the Academics are what annoys (troubles), we must apply
the remedy to them. If it is the persuasion of appearances, by which
some things appear to be good, when they are not good, let us seek a
remedy for this. If it is habit which annoys us, we must try to seek aid
against habit. What aid, then, can we find against habit? The contrary
habit. You hear the ignorant say: "That unfortunate person is dead; his
father and mother are overpowered with sorrow; he was cut off by an
untimely death and in a foreign land." Hear the contrary way of
speaking. Tear yourself from these expressions; oppose to one habit the
contrary habit; to sophistry oppose reason, and the exercise and
discipline of reason; against persuasive (deceitful) appearances we
ought to have manifest praecognitions ([Greek: prolaepseis]), cleared of
all impurities and ready to hand.
When death appears an evil, we ought to have this rule in readiness,
that it is fit to avoid evil things, and that death is a necessary
thing. For what shall I do, and where shall I escape it? Suppose that I
am not Sarpedon, the son of Zeus, nor able to speak in this noble way. I
will go and I am resolved either to behave bravely myself or to give to
another the opportunity of doing so; if I cannot succeed in doing
anything myself, I will not grudge another the doing of something noble.
Suppose that it is above our power to act thus; is it not in our power
to reason thus? Tell me where I can escape death; discover for me the
country, show me the men to whom I must go, whom death does not visit.
Discover to me a charm against death. If I have not one, what do you
wish me to do? I cannot escape from death. Shall I not escape from the
fear of death, but shall I die lamenting and trembling? For the origin
of perturbation is this, to wish for something, and that this should not
happen. Therefore if I am able to change externals according to my wish,
I change them; but if I cannot, I am ready to tear out the eyes of him
who hinders me. For the nature of man is not to endure to be deprived of
the good, and not to endure the falling into the evil. Then at last,
when I am neither able to change circumstances nor to tear out the eyes
of him who hinders me, I sit down and groan, and abuse whom I can, Zeus
and the rest of the gods. For if they do not care for me, what are they
to me? Yes, but you will be an impious man. In what respect, then, will
it be worse for me than it is now? To sum up, remember that unless piety
and your interest be in the same thing, piety cannot be maintained in
any man. Do not these things seem necessary (true)?
* * * * *
THAT WE OUGHT NOT TO BE ANGRY WITH MEN; AND WHAT ARE THE SMALL AND THE
GREAT THINGS AMONG MEN.--What is the cause of assenting to anything? The
fact that it appears to be true. It is not possible then to assent to
that which appears not to be true. Why? Because this is the nature of
the understanding, to incline to the true, to be dissatisfied with the
false, and in matters uncertain to withhold assent. What is the proof of
this? Imagine (persuade yourself), if you can, that it is now night. It
is not possible. Take away your persuasion that it is day. It is not
possible. Persuade yourself or take away your persuasion that the stars
are even in number. It is impossible. When then any man assents to that
which is false, be assured that he did not intend to assent to it as
false, for every soul is unwillingly deprived of the truth, as Plato
says; but the falsity seemed to him to be true. Well, in acts what have
we of the like kind as we have here truth or falsehood? We have the fit
and the not fit (duty and not duty), the profitable and the
unprofitable, that which is suitable to a person and that which is not,
and whatever is like these. Can then a man think that a thing is useful
to him and not choose it? He cannot. How says Medea?
"'Tis true I know what evil I shall do,
But passion overpowers the better counsel."
She thought that to indulge her passion and take vengeance on her
husband was more profitable than to spare her children. It was so; but
she was deceived. Show her plainly that she is deceived, and she will
not do it; but so long as you do not show it, what can she follow except
that which appears to herself (her opinion)? Nothing else. Why then are
you angry with the unhappy woman that she has been bewildered about the
most important things, and is become a viper instead of a human
creature? And why not, if it is possible, rather pity, as we pity the
blind and the lame, so those who are blinded and maimed in the faculties
which are supreme?
Whoever then clearly remembers this, that to man the measure of every
act is the appearance (the opinion), whether the thing appears good or
bad. If good, he is free from blame; if bad, himself suffers the
penalty, for it is impossible that he who is deceived can be one person,
and he who suffers another person--whoever remembers this will not be
angry with any man, will not be vexed at any man, will not revile or
blame any man, nor hate, nor quarrel with any man.
So then all these great and dreadful deeds have this origin, in the
appearance (opinion)? Yes, this origin and no other. The Iliad is
nothing else than appearance and the use of appearances. It appeared to
Alexander to carry off the wife of Menelaus. It appeared to Helene to
follow him. If then it had appeared to Menelaus to feel that it was a
gain to be deprived of such a wife, what would have happened? Not only
would the Iliad have been lost, but the Odyssey also. On so small a
matter then did such great things depend? But what do you mean by such
great things? Wars and civil commotions, and the destruction of many men
and cities. And what great matter is this? Is it nothing? But what great
matter is the death of many oxen, and many sheep, and many nests of
swallows or storks being burnt or destroyed? Are these things then like
those? Very like. Bodies of men are destroyed, and the bodies of oxen
and sheep; the dwellings of men are burnt, and the nests of storks. What
is there in this great or dreadful? Or show me what is the difference
between a man's house and a stork's nest, as far as each is a dwelling;
except that man builds his little houses of beams and tiles and bricks,
and the stork builds them of sticks and mud. Are a stork and a man then
like things? What say you? In body they are very much alike.
Does a man then differ in no respect from a stork? Don't suppose that I
say so; but there is no difference in these matters (which I have
mentioned). In what then is the difference? Seek and you will find that
there is a difference in another matter. See whether it is not in a man
the understanding of what he does, see if it is not in social community,
in fidelity, in modesty, in steadfastness, in intelligence. Where then
is the great good and evil in men? It is where the difference is. If the
difference is preserved and remains fenced round, and neither modesty is
destroyed, nor fidelity, nor intelligence, then the man also is
preserved; but if any of these things is destroyed and stormed like a
city, then the man too perishes: and in this consist the great things.
Alexander, you say, sustained great damage then when the Hellenes
invaded and when they ravaged Troy, and when his brothers perished. By
no means; for no man is damaged by an action which is not his own; but
what happened at that time was only the destruction of stork's nests.
Now the ruin of Alexander was when he lost the character of modesty,
fidelity, regard to hospitality, and to decency. When was Achilles
ruined? Was it when Patroclus died? Not so. But it happened when he
began to be angry, when he wept for a girl, when he forgot that he was
at Troy not to get mistresses, but to fight. These things are the ruin
of men, this is being besieged, this is the destruction of cities, when
right opinions are destroyed, when they are corrupted.
* * * * *
ON CONSTANCY (OR FIRMNESS).--The being (nature) of the good is a certain
will; the being of the bad is a certain kind of will. What, then, are
externals? Materials for the will, about which the will being conversant
shall obtain its own good or evil. How shall it obtain the good? If it
does not admire (over-value) the materials; for the opinions about the
materials, if the opinions are right, make the will good: but perverse
and distorted opinions make the will bad. God has fixed this law, and
says, "If you would have anything good, receive it from yourself." You
say, No, but I will have it from another. Do not so: but receive it from
yourself. Therefore when the tyrant threatens and calls me, I say, Whom
do you threaten? If he says, I will put you in chains, I say, You
threaten my hands and my feet. If he says, I will cut off your head, I
reply, You threaten my head. If he says, I will throw you into prison, I
say, You threaten the whole of this poor body. If he threatens me with
banishment, I say the same. Does he then not threaten you at all? If I
feel that all these things do not concern me, he does not threaten me at
all; but if I fear any of them, it is I whom he threatens. Whom then do
I fear? the master of what? The master of things which are in my own
power? There is no such master. Do I fear the master of things which are
not in my power? And what are these things to me?
Do you philosophers then teach us to despise kings? I hope not. Who
among us teaches to claim against them the power over things which they
possess? Take my poor body, take my property, take my reputation, take
those who are about me. If I advise any persons to claim these things,
they may truly accuse me. Yes, but I intend to command your opinions
also. And who has given you this power? How can you conquer the opinion
of another man? By applying terror to it, he replies, I will conquer it.
Do you not know that opinion conquers itself, and is not conquered by
another? But nothing else can conquer will except the will itself. For
this reason too the law of God is most powerful and most just, which is
this: Let the stronger always be superior to the weaker. Ten are
stronger than one. For what? For putting in chains, for killing, for
dragging whither they choose, for taking away what a man has. The ten
therefore conquer the one in this in which they are stronger. In what
then are the ten weaker? If the one possesses right opinions and the
others do not. Well then, can the ten conquer in this matter? How is it
possible? If we were placed in the scales, must not the heavier draw
down the scale in which it is.
How strange then that Socrates should have been so treated by the
Athenians. Slave, why do you say Socrates? Speak of the thing as it is:
how strange that the poor body of Socrates should have been carried off
and dragged to prison by stronger men, and that anyone should have given
hemlock to the poor body of Socrates, and that it should breathe out the
life. Do these things seem strange, do they seem unjust, do you on
account of these things blame God? Had Socrates then no equivalent for
these things? Where then for him was the nature of good? Whom shall we
listen to, you or him? And what does Socrates say? "Anytus and Melitus
can kill me, but they cannot hurt me." And further, he says, "If it so
pleases God, so let it be."
But show me that he who has the inferior principles overpowers him who
is superior in principles. You will never show this, nor come near
showing it; for this is the law of nature and of God that the superior
shall always overpower the inferior. In what? In that in which it is
superior. One body is stronger than another: many are stronger than one:
the thief is stronger than he who is not a thief. This is the reason why
I also lost my lamp, because in wakefulness the thief was superior to
me. But the man bought the lamp at this price: for a lamp he became a
thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast. This seemed to him a
good bargain. Be it so. But a man has seized me by the cloak, and is
drawing me to the public place: then others bawl out, Philosopher, what
has been the use of your opinions? see, you are dragged to prison, you
are going to be beheaded. And what system of philosophy ([Greek:
eisagogaen)] could I have made so that, if a stronger man should have
laid hold of my cloak, I should not be dragged off; that if ten men
should have laid hold of me and cast me into prison, I should not be
cast in? Have I learned nothing else then? I have learned to see that
everything which happens, if it be independent of my will, is nothing to
me. I may ask, if you have not gained by this. Why then do you seek
advantage in anything else than in that in which you have learned that
advantage is?
Will you not leave the small arguments ([Greek: logaria]) about these
matters to others, to lazy fellows, that they may sit in a corner and
receive their sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them anything; and
will you not come forward and make use of what you have learned? For it
is not these small arguments that are wanted now; the writings of the
Stoics are full of them. What then is the thing which is wanted? A man
who shall apply them, one who by his acts shall bear testimony to his
words. Assume, I intreat you, this character, that we may no longer use
in the schools the examples of the ancients, but may have some example
of our own.
To whom then does the contemplation of these matters (philosophical
inquiries) belong? To him who has leisure, for man is an animal that
loves contemplation. But it is shameful to contemplate these things as
runaway slaves do; we should sit, as in a theatre, free from
distraction, and listen at one time to the tragic actor, at another time
to the lute-player; and not do as slaves do. As soon as the slave has
taken his station he praises the actor and at the same time looks round;
then if any one calls out his master's name, the slave is immediately
frightened and disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus to
contemplate the works of nature. For what is a master? Man is not the
master of man; but death is, and life and pleasure and pain; for if he
comes without these things, bring Caesar to me and you will see how firm
I am. But when he shall come with these things, thundering and
lightning, and when I am afraid of them, what do I do then except to
recognize my master like the runaway slave? But so long as I have any
respite from these terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the theatre, so
do I. I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all this I do with terror and
uneasiness. But if I shall release myself from my masters, that is from
those things by means of which masters are formidable, what further
trouble have I, what master have I still?
What then, ought we to publish these things to all men? No, but we ought
to accommodate ourselves to the ignorant ([Greek: tois idiotais]) and to
say: "This man recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself. I
excuse him." For Socrates also excused the jailer who had the charge of
him in prison and was weeping when Socrates was going to drink the
poison, and said, "How generously he laments over us." Does he then say
to the jailer that for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but
he says it to his friends who were able to hear (understand) it; and he
treats the jailer as a child.
* * * * *
THAT CONFIDENCE (COURAGE) IS NOT INCONSISTENT WITH CAUTION.--The opinion
of the philosophers perhaps seem to some to be a paradox; but still let
us examine as well as we can, if it is true that it is possible to do
everything both with caution and with confidence. For caution seems to
be in a manner contrary to confidence, and contraries are in no way
consistent. That which seems to many to be a paradox in the matter under
consideration in my opinion is of this kind; if we asserted that we
ought to employ caution and confidence in the same things, men might
justly accuse us of bringing together things which cannot be united. But
now where is the difficulty in what is said? for if these things are
true, which have been often said and often proved, that the nature of
good is in the use of appearances, and the nature of evil likewise, and
that things independent of our will do not admit either the nature of
evil or of good, what paradox do the philosophers assert if they say
that where things are not dependent on the will, there you should employ
confidence, but where they are dependent on the will, there you should
employ caution? For if the bad consists in the bad exercise of the will,
caution ought only to be used where things are dependent on the will.
But if things independent of the will and not in our power are nothing
to us, with respect to these we must employ confidence; and thus we
shall both be cautious and confident, and indeed confident because of
our caution. For by employing caution towards things which are really
bad, it will result that we shall have confidence with respect to things
which are not so.
We are then in the condition of deer; when they flee from the huntsmen's
feathers in fright, whither do they turn and in what do they seek refuge
as safe? They turn to the nets, and thus they perish by confounding
things which are objects of fear with things that they ought not to
fear. Thus we also act: in what cases do we fear? In things which are
independent of the will. In what cases on the contrary do we behave with
confidence, as if there were no danger? In things dependent on the will.
To be deceived then, or to act rashly, or shamelessly, or with base
desire to seek something, does not concern us at all, if we only hit the
mark in things which are independent of our will. But where there is
death or exile or pain or infamy, there we attempt to run away, there we
are struck with terror. Therefore, as we may expect it to happen with
those who err in the greatest matters, we convert natural confidence
(that is, according to nature) into audacity, desperation, rashness,
shamelessness; and we convert natural caution and modesty into cowardice
and meanness, which are full of fear and confusion. For if a man should
transfer caution to those things in which the will may be exercised and
the acts of the will, he will immediately by willing to be cautious have
also the power of avoiding what he chooses; but if he transfer it to the
things which are not in his power and will, and attempt to avoid the
things which are in the power of others, he will of necessity fear, he
will be unstable, he will be disturbed; for death or pain is not
formidable, but the fear of pain or death. For this reason we commend
the poet, who said:
"Not death is evil, but a shameful death."
Confidence (courage) then ought to be employed against death, and
caution against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary, and
employ against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it
we employ carelessness, rashness, and indifference. These things
Socrates properly used to call tragic masks; for as to children masks
appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we also are affected in
like manner by events (the things which happen in life) for no other
reason than children are by masks. For what is a child? Ignorance. What
is a child? Want of knowledge. For when a child knows these things, he
is in no way inferior to us. What is death? A tragic mask. Turn it and
examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from
the spirit either now or later as it was separated from it before. Why
then are you troubled if it be separated now? for if it is not separated
now, it will be separated afterwards. Why? That the period of the
universe may be completed, for it has need of the present, and of the
future, and of the past. What is pain? A mask. Turn it and examine it.
The poor flesh is moved roughly, then on the contrary smoothly. If this
does not satisfy (please) you, the door is open; if it does, bear (with
things). For the door ought to be open for all occasions; and so we have
no trouble.
What then is the fruit of these opinions? It is that which ought to be
the most noble and the most becoming to those who are really educated,
release from perturbation, release from fear. Freedom. For in these
matters we must not believe the many, who say that free persons only
ought to be educated, but we should rather believe the philosophers who
say that the educated only are free. How is this? In this manner: Is
freedom anything else than the power of living as we choose? Nothing
else. Tell me then, ye men, do you wish to live in error? We do not. No
one then who lives in error is free. Do you wish to live in fear? Do you
wish to live in sorrow? Do you wish to live in perturbation? By no
means. No one then who is in a state of fear or sorrow or perturbation
is free; but whoever is delivered from sorrows and fears and
perturbations, he is at the same time also delivered from servitude. How
then can we continue to believe you, most dear legislators, when you
say, We only allow free persons to be educated? For philosophers say we
allow none to be free except the educated; that is, God does not allow
it. When then a man has turned round before the praetor his own slave,
has he done nothing? He has done something. What? He has turned round
his own slave before the praetor. Has he done nothing more? Yes: he is
also bound to pay for him the tax called the twentieth. Well then, is
not the man who has gone through this ceremony become free? No more than
he is become free from perturbations. Have you who are able to turn
round (free) others no master? is not money your master, or a girl or a
boy, or some tyrant or some friend of the tyrant? Why do you trouble
then when you are going off to any trial (danger) of this kind? It is
for this reason that I often say, study and hold in readiness these
principles by which you may determine what those things are with
reference to which you ought to be cautious, courageous in that which
does not depend on your will, cautious in that which does depend on it.
* * * * *
OF TRANQUILLITY (FREEDOM FROM PERTURBATION).--Consider, you who are
going into court, what you wish to maintain and what you wish to succeed
in. For if you wish to maintain a will conformable to nature, you have
every security, every facility, you have no troubles. For if you wish to
maintain what is in your own power and is naturally free, and if you are
content with these, what else do you care for? For who is the master of
such things? Who can take them away? If you choose to be modest and
faithful, who shall not allow you to be so? If you choose not to be
restrained or compelled, who shall compel you to desire what you think
that you ought not to desire? who shall compel you to avoid what you do
not think fit to avoid? But what do you say? The judge will determine
against you something that appears formidable; but that you should also
suffer in trying to avoid it, how can he do that? When then the pursuit
of objects and the avoiding of them are in your power, what else do you
care for? Let this be your preface, this your narrative, this your
confirmation, this your victory, this your peroration, this your
applause (or the approbation which you will receive).