Delphi Complete Works of Epictetus (Illustrated) (Delphi Ancient Classics Book 86)

by Epictetus

  And yet, says one, I cannot follow all these things at one and the same time. — But does anyone go so far as to tell you this, namely, that you possess a faculty which is equal to that of Zeus? Yet none the less He has stationed by each man’s side as guardian his particular genius, — and has committed the man to his care, — and that too a guardian who never sleeps and is not to be beguiled. For to what other guardian, better and more careful, could He have committed each one of us? Wherefore, when you close your doors and make darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone, for you are not alone; nay, God is within, and your own genius is within. And what need have they of light in order to see what you are doing? Yes, and to this God you also ought to swear allegiance, as the soldiers do to Caesar. They are but hirelings, yet they swear that they will put the safety of Caesar above everything; and shall you, indeed, who have been counted worthy of blessings so numerous and so great be unwilling to swear, or, when you have sworn, to abide by your oath? And what shall you swear? Never to disobey under any circumstances, never to prefer charges, never to find fault with anything that God has given, never to let your will rebel when you have either to do or to suffer something that is inevitable. Can the oath of the soldiers in any way be compared with this of ours? Out there men swear never to prefer another in honour above Caesar; but here we swear to prefer ourselves in honour above everything else.

  CHAPTER XV

  What does philosophy profess?

  When someone consulted Epictetus as to how he could persuade his brother to cease being angry with him, he replied, Philosophy does not profess to secure for man any external possession. Otherwise it would be undertaking something that lies outside its proper subject-matter. For as wood is the material of the carpenter, bronze that of the statuary, just so each man’s own life is the subject-matter of the art of living. — Well, what about my brother’s life? — That again is the subject-matter of his own art of living, but with respect to your art of living it comes under the category of externals, like a farm, like health, like good repute. Philosophy promises none of these things, but rather, “In every circumstance I will keep the governing principle in a state of accord with nature.” — Whose governing principle?— “His in whom I am.” — How, then, shall I keep my brother from being angry at me? — Bring him to me and I will tell him, but I have nothing to say to you on the subject of his anger.

  And when the man who was consulting him said. What I seek to know is this, how, even if my brother refuses to be reconciled with me, I may yet be in accord with nature, Epictetus replied: Nothing great comes into being all at once; why, not even does the bunch of grapes, or a fig. If you say to me now, “I want a fig,” I shall answer, “That requires time.” Let the tree blossom first, then put forth its fruit, and finally let the fruit ripen. Now although the fruit of even a fig-tree is not brought to perfection all at once and in a single hour, would you still seek to secure the fruit of a man’s mind in so short a while and so easily? Do not expect it, not even if I should tell you so myself.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Of providence

  Marvel not that the animals other than man have furnished them, ready prepared by nature, what pertains to their bodily needs — not merely food and drink, but also a bed to lie on, — and that they have no need of shoes, or bedding, or clothing, while we are in need of all these things. For in the case of animals, born not for their own sake, but for service, to have created them in need of other things was not beneficial. Why, consider what it would be for us to have to take thought not for merely ourselves, but also for our sheep and our asses, how they are to be clothed and shod, how they are to find food and drink. But just as soldiers appear before their general, all ready for service, shod, clothed and armed, and it would be shocking if the colonel had to go around and equip his regiment with shoes or uniforms; so also nature has made animals, which are born for service, ready for use, equipped, and in need of no further attention. Consequently one small child with a rod can drive a flock of sheep.

  But as it is, we first forbear to give thanks for these beasts, because we do not have to bestow upon them the same care as we require for ourselves, and then proceed to complain against God on our own account! Yet, by Zeus and the gods, one single gift of nature would suffice to make a man who is reverent and grateful perceive the providence of God. Do not talk to me now of great matters: take the mere fact that milk is produced from grass, and cheese from milk, and that wool grows from skin — who is it that has created or devised these things? “No one,” somebody says. Oh, the depth of man’s stupidity and shamelessness!

  Come, let us leave the chief works of nature, and consider merely what she does in passing. Can anything be more useless than the hairs on a chin? Well, what then? Has not nature used even these in the most suitable way possible? Has she not by these means distinguished between the male and the female? Does not the nature of each one among us cry aloud forthwith from afar, “I am a man; on this understanding approach me, on this understanding talk with me; ask for nothing further; behold the signs”? Again, in the case of women, just as nature has mingled in their voice a certain softer note, so likewise she has taken the hair from their chins. Not so, you say; on the contrary the human animal ought to have been left without distinguishing features, and each of us ought to proclaim by word of mouth, “I am a man.” Nay, but how fair and becoming and dignified the sign is! How much more fair than the cock’s comb, how much more magnificent than the lion’s mane! Wherefore, we ought to preserve the signs which God has given; we ought not to throw them away; we ought not, so far as in us lies, to confuse the sexes which have been distinguished in this fashion.

  Are these the only works of Providence in us? Nay, what language is adequate to praise them all or bring them home to our minds as they deserve? Why, if we had sense, ought we to be doing anything else, publicly and privately, than hymning and praising the Deity, and rehearsing His benefits? Ought we not, as we dig and plough and eat, to sing the hymn of praise to God? “Great is God, that He hath furnished us these instruments wherewith we shall till the earth. Great is God, that He hath given us hands, and power to swallow, and a belly, and power to grow unconsciously, and to breathe while asleep.” This is what we ought to sing on every occasion, and above all to sing the greatest and divinest hymn, that God has given us the faculty to comprehend these things and to follow the path of reason. What then? Since most of you have become blind, ought there not to be someone to fulfil this office for you, and in behalf of all sing the hymn of praise to God? Why, what else can I, a lame old man, do but sing hymns to God? If, indeed, I were a nightingale, I should be singing as a nightingale; if a swan, as a swan. But as it is, I am a rational being, therefore I must be singing hymns of praise to God. This is my task; I do it, and will not desert this post, as long as it may be given me to fill it; and I exhort you to join me in this same song.

  CHAPTER XVII

  That the art of reasoning is indispensable

  Since it is reason that analyzes and perfects all else, and reason itself ought not to remain unanalyzed, wherewithal shall it be analyzed? Why, clearly, either by itself, or by something else. This latter is assuredly either reason, or it will prove to be something else superior to reason, which is impossible. If it be reason, who again will analyze that reason? For if it analyzes its own self, the reason with which we started can do as much. If we are going to require something else at each step, our process will be endless and unceasing.

  “Yes,” says someone, “but the cure (of the decisions of our will) is a much more pressing need (than the study of logic),” and the like. Do you then wish to hear about this other matter? Very well, listen. But if you say to me, “I do not know whether your argument is true or false,” and, if I use some ambiguous term, and you should then say, “Distinguish,” I shall bear with you no longer, but shall tell you, “‘Nay, but there is a much more pressing need.’” This is the reason, I suppose, why the Stoic philosophers put Logic
first, just as in the measuring of grain we put first the examination of the measure. And if we do not define first what a modius is, and do not define first what a scale is, how shall we be able to proceed with measuring or weighing anything? So, in the field of our present enquiry, if we have neglected the thorough knowledge and intellectual mastery of our standard of judgement for all other things, whereby they come to be known thoroughly, shall we ever be able to attain intellectual mastery and thorough knowledge of the rest of the world? And how could we possibly? “Yes,” we are told, “but the modius is made out of wood and bears no fruit.” True, but it is something with which we can measure grain. “Logic also bears no fruit.” Now as for this statement we shall see later; but if one should grant even this, it is enough to say in defence of Logic that it has the power to discriminate and examine everything else, and. as one might say, to measure and weigh them. Who says this? Only Chrysippus and Zeno and Cleanthes? Well, does not Antisthenes say it? And who is it that wrote, “The beginning of education is the examination of terms”? Does not Socrates, too, say the same thing? And of whom does Xenophon write, that he began with the examination of terms, asking about each, “What does it mean?”

  Is this, then, your great and admirable achievement — the ability to understand and to interpret Chrysippus? And who says that? What, then, is your admirable achievement? To understand the will of nature. Very well; do you understand it all by yourself? And if that is the case, what more do you need? For if it is true that “all men err involuntarily,” and you have learned the truth, it must needs be that you are doing right already. But, so help me Zeus, I do not comprehend the will of nature. Who, then, interprets it? Men say, Chrysippus. I go and try to find out what this interpreter of nature says. I begin not to understand what he says, and look for the man who can interpret him. “Look and consider what this passage means,” says the interpreter, “just as if it were in Latin!” What place is there here, then, for pride on the part of the interpreter? Why, there is no just place for pride even on the part of Chrysippus, if he merely interprets the will of nature, but himself does not follow it; how much less place for pride, then, in the case of his interpreter! For we have no need of Chrysippus on his own account, but only to enable us to follow nature. No more have we need of him who divines through sacrifice, considered on his own account, but simply because we think that through his instrumentality we shall understand the future and the signs given by the gods; nor do we need the entrails on their own account, but only because through them the signs are given; nor do we admire the crow or the raven, but God, who gives His signs through them.

  Wherefore, I go to this interpreter and diviner and say, “Examine for me the entrails, and tell me what signs they give.” The fellow takes and spreads them out and then interprets: “Man, you have a moral purpose free by nature from hindrances and constraint. This stands written here in these entrails. I will prove you that first in the sphere of assent. Can anyone prevent you from assenting to truth? No one at all. Can anyone force you to accept the false? No one at all. Do you see that in this sphere you have a moral purpose free from hindrance, constraint, obstruction? Come, in the sphere of desire and choice is it otherwise? And what can overcome one impulse but another impulse? And what can overcome one desire or aversion but another desire or aversion?” “But,” says someone, “if a person subjects me to the fear of death, he compels me.” “No, it is not what you are subjected to that impels you, but the fact that you decide it is better for you to do something of the sort than to die. Once more, then, it is the decision of your own will which compelled you, that is, moral purpose compelled moral purpose. For if God had so constructed that part of His own being which He has taken from Himself and bestowed upon us, that it could be subjected to hindrance or constraint either from Himself or from some other. He were no longer God, nor would He be caring for us as He ought. This is what I find,” says the diviner, “in the sacrifice. These are the signs vouchsafed you. If you will, you are free; if you will, you will not have to blame anyone, or complain against anyone; everything will be in accordance with what is not merely your own will, but at the same time the will of God.” This is the prophecy for the sake of which I go to this diviner — in other words, the philosopher, — not admiring him because of his interpretation, but rather the interpretation which he gives.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  That we ought not to be angry with the erring

  If what the philosophers say is true, that in all men thought and action start from a single source, namely feeling — as in the case of assent the feeling that a thing is so, and in the case of dissent the feeling that it is not so, yes, and, by Zeus, in the case of suspended judgement the feeling that it is uncertain, so also in the case of impulse towards a thing, the feeling that it is expedient for me and that it is impossible to judge one thing expedient and yet desire another, and again, to judge one thing fitting, and yet be impelled to another — if all this be true, why are we any longer angry with the multitude?— “They are thieves,” says someone, “and robbers.” — What do you mean by “thieves and robbers?” They have simply gone astray in questions of good and evil. Ought we, therefore, to be angry with them, or rather pity them? Only show them their error and you will see how quickly they will desist from their mistakes. But if their eyes are not opened, they have nothing superior to their mere opinion.

  Ought not this brigand, then, and this adulterer to be put to death? you ask. Not at all, but you should ask rather, “Ought not this man to be put to death who is in a state of error and delusion about the greatest matters, and is in a state of blindness, not, indeed, in the vision which distinguishes between white and black, but in the judgement which distinguishes between the good and the evil?” And if you put it this way, you will realize how inhuman a sentiment it is that you are uttering, and that it is just as if you should say, “Ought not this blind man, then, or this deaf man to be put to death?” For if the loss of the greatest things is the greatest harm that can befall a man, while the greatest thing in each man is a right moral purpose, and if a man is deprived of this very thing, what ground is left for you to be angry at him? Why, man, if you must needs be affected in a way that is contrary to nature at the misfortunes of another, pity him rather, but do not hate him: drop this readiness to take offence and this spirit of hatred; do not introduce those words which the multitude of the censorious use: “Well, then, these accursed and abominable fools!” Very well; but how is it that you have so suddenly been converted to wisdom that you are angry at fools? Why, then, are we angry? Because we admire the goods of which these men rob us. For, mark you, stop admiring your clothes, and you are not angry at the man who steals them; stop admiring your wife’s beauty, and you are not angry at her adulterer. Know that a thief or an adulterer has no place among the things that are your own, but only among the things that are another’s and that are not under your control. If you give these things up and count them as nothing, at whom have you still ground to feel angry? But so long as you admire these things, be angry at yourself and not at the men that I have just mentioned. For consider; you have fine clothes and your neighbour does not; you have a window and wish to air them. He does not know wherein the true good of man consists, but fancies that it consists in having fine clothes, the very same fancy that you also entertain. Shall he not come, then, and carry them off? Why, when you show a cake to gluttonous men and then gulp it down all to yourself, are you not wanting them to snatch it? Stop provoking them, stop having a window, stop airing your clothes.

  Something similar happened to me also the other day. I keep an iron lamp by the side of my household gods, and, on hearing a noise at the window, I ran down. I found that the lamp had been stolen. I reflected that the man who stole it was moved by no unreasonable motive. What then? To-morrow, I say, you will find one of earthenware. Indeed, a man loses only that which he already has. “I have lost my cloak.” Yes, for you had a cloak. “I have a pain in my head.” You don’t have a
pain in your horns, do you? Why, then, are you indignant? For our losses and our pains have to do only with the things which we possess.

  “But the tyrant will chain —— —” What? Your leg. “But he will cut off —— —” What? Your neck. What, then, will he neither chain nor cut off? Your moral purpose. This is why the ancients gave us the injunction, “Know thyself.” What follows, then? Why, by the Gods, that one ought to practise in small things, and beginning with them pass on to the greater. “I have a head-ache.” Well, do not say “Alas!” “I have an ear-ache.” Do not say “Alas!” And I am not saying that it is not permissible to groan, only do not groan in the centre of your being. And if your slave is slow in bringing your bandage, do not cry out and make a wry face and say, “Everybody hates me.” Why, who would not hate such a person? For the future put your confidence in these doctrines and walk about erect, free, not putting your confidence in the size of your body, like an athlete; for you ought not to be invincible in the way an ass is invincible.

  Who, then, is the invincible man? He whom nothing that is outside the sphere of his moral purpose can dismay. I then proceed to consider the circumstances one by one, as I would do in the case of the athlete. “This fellow has won the first round. What, then, will he do in the second? What if it be scorching hot? And what will he do at Olympia?” It is the same way with the case under consideration. If you put a bit of silver coin in a man’s way, he will despise it. Yes, but if you put a bit of a wench in his way, what then? Or if it be in the dark, what then? Or if you throw a bit of reputation in his way, what then? Or abuse, what then? Or praise, what then? Or death, what then? All these things he can overcome. What, then, if it be scorching hot — that is, what if he be drunk? What if he be melancholy-mad? What if asleep? The man who passes all these tests is what I mean by the invincible athlete.