by Epictetus
[11] ‘But wasn’t Plato a philosopher?’16
Yes, and Hippocrates was a physician.
‘And look at how well Hippocrates expresses himself.’
[12] Yes, but is it in his capacity as a physician that Hippocrates expresses himself so well? Don’t confuse qualities that are found in the same writer only incidentally. [13] If Plato had been strong and handsome, should I also try to become strong and handsome, as if this were essential to philosophy, since there was one particular philosopher who combined philosophy with good looks? [14] Can’t you tell the difference between what makes people philosophers and the qualities that are only found in them by chance?
I mean, if I were a philosopher, would you be required to become lame as well?17
So am I slighting these talents? [15] Not at all – any more than I would disparage the gift of sight. [16] But ask me what the real good in man’s case is, and I can only say that it is the right kind of moral character.
I 9 What are the consequences for us of being
related to God?
[1] If what philosophers say about the kinship of God and man is true, then the only logical step is to do as Socrates did, never replying to the question of where he was from with, ‘I am Athenian,’ or ‘I am from Corinth,’ but always, ‘I am a citizen of the world.’ [2] After all, why say, ‘I am Athenian’? Why not just identify yourself with the exact spot your sorry body was dropped at birth? [3] Clearly, you prefer the higher designation because it not only includes that insignificant spot, it also includes your parents and all your ancestors before you; and it’s on these grounds that you characterize yourself as Athenian or Corinthian.
[4] But anyone who knows how the whole universe is administered knows that the first, all-inclusive state is the government composed of God and man. He appreciates it as the source of the seeds of being, descending upon his father, his father’s father – to every creature born and bred on earth, in fact, but to rational beings in particular, [5] since they alone are entitled by nature to govern alongside God, by virtue of being connected with him through reason. [6] So why not call ourselves citizens of the world and children of God? And why should we fear any human contingency? [7] If being related to the emperor or any of the other great ones at Rome is enough to live without fear, in privilege and security, shouldn’t having God as our creator, father and defender protect us even more from trouble and anxiety?
[8] ‘But how am I supposed to eat, if I am destitute?’ someone says.
Well, what about slaves, what about runaways – what do they depend on when they flee their masters? On their lands, their servants and their silver plate? Hardly; they rely on themselves, and still manage to survive. [9] So is our philosopher citizen-of-the-world going to rest his confidence in others wherever he lives or travels, rather than depend on himself? Is he going to be even lower and more servile than irrational wild beasts, all of whom are self-sufficient, provided with food and a mode of survival adapted to and in harmony with their nature?
[10] Personally I think that, as I am older than you, I shouldn’t have to sit here trying my best to keep you from thinking small, or having mean and humble thoughts about you. [11] On the contrary, if there are young men among you who know of their kinship with the gods, and know that we have these chains fastened upon us – the body, possessions and whatever is required for our biological support and sustenance – I should be discouraging them from the wish to shed all these things as so many chains and return to their kind.
[12] That’s the effort that should absorb your teacher and mentor, if he really were one. And you for your part would come to him saying, ‘Epictetus, we can no longer stand being tied to this hateful body, giving it food and drink, resting it and cleaning it, and having to associate with all manner of uncongenial people for its sake. [13] Such things are indifferent, are they not, and as nothing to us; and death no evil thing? Aren’t we akin to God, having come from him? [14] Let us go home, then, to be free, finally, from the shackles that restrain us and weigh us down. [15] Here we find robbers and thieves, and law-courts, and so-called despots who imagine that they wield some power over us precisely because of our body and its possessions. Allow us to show them that they have power over precisely no one.’
[16] Then it would be my turn to say, ‘Friends, wait upon God. Whenever he gives the sign and releases you from service, then you are free to return. But for now agree to remain in the place where you’ve been stationed. [17] Your time here is short enough, and easy to endure for people of your convictions. No despot, thief or court of law can intimidate people who set little store by the body and its appurtenances. So stay, don’t depart without good reason.’
[18] That is the kind of advice that should pass between a teacher and an idealistic youth. [19] But what’s the reality? You – and your teacher – are no better than carcasses. No sooner have you eaten your fill today than you sit and start worrying about where tomorrow’s food will come from. [20] Look, if you get it, then you will have it; if not, you will depart this life: the door is open. Why complain? What place is there left for tears? What occasion for flattery? Why should one man envy another? Why should he admire those who have many possessions, or those who are strong in power and quick to anger? [21] What can they do to us, or for us, after all? The things they have power to do are of no interest to us; and as for the things we do care about, these they are powerless to affect. No one with convictions of this kind can be made to act against their will.
[22] So how did Socrates stand in this regard? Exactly how one would expect of someone who perceived keenly his kinship with the gods. [23] ‘If you were to say to me now, “We will release you on these conditions, that you no longer engage in these dialogues that you have been engaging in up to now, and won’t give any more trouble to anyone young or old,” [24] I will answer that it is absurd to suppose that, if a general of yours stationed me at a post, I would have to maintain and defend it, choosing to die a thousand times rather than quit, but if God has assigned us a post with a set of duties, we might decide to abandon that.’
[25] There you have a man who was a genuine kinsman of the gods. [26] But we, on the other hand, identify with our stomachs, guts and genitals. Because we are still vulnerable to fear and desire, we flatter and creep before anyone with the power to hurt us where any of those things are concerned.
[27] A man once asked me to write to Rome for him because he had met with what most people consider misfortune. He had once been rich and famous but later lost everything, and was living here in Nicopolis. So I wrote a letter on his behalf in a deferential tone.
[28] When he had read the letter he handed it back to me, saying, ‘I wanted your help, not your pity; nothing really bad has happened to me.’
[29] Similarly, Musonius used to test me by saying, ‘Your master is going to afflict you with some hardship or other.’ [30] And when I would answer, ‘Such is life,’ he would say, ‘Should I still intercede with him when I can get the same things from you?’ [31] For in fact it is silly and pointless to try to get from another person what one can get for oneself. [32] Since I can get greatness of soul and nobility from myself, why should I look to get a farm, or money, or some office, from you? I will not be so insensible of what I already own.
[33] For men who are meek and cowardly, though, there is no option but to write letters for them as if they were already dead. ‘Please grant us the body of so-and-so together with his meagre ration of blood.’ [34] For, really, such a person amounts to no more than a carcass and a little blood. If he were anything more, he would realize that no one is ever unhappy because of someone else.
I 10 To those who have applied themselves to advancement at Rome
[1] If we philosophers had applied ourselves to our job as seriously as those old men in Rome pursue their interests, we, too, might be getting somewhere. [2] I have a friend even older than I who is now in charge of the grain supply in Rome. When he passed through here on his return fr
om exile, what things he said in disparagement of his former life, swearing when he returned that from then on he would devote himself exclusively to a life of peace and tranquillity. ‘How much time have I got left, after all?’
[3] And I said to him, ‘I don’t believe you. As soon as you get a whiff of Rome you will forget everything you’ve said’ – and I added that if the least access to court became available to him, he would rush in, singing hymns of praise to the Almighty. [4] ‘Listen, Epictetus,’ he said, ‘if you find me even putting a foot inside the court, feel free to think as little of me as you like.’ [5] So what did he do? Before he even reached the limits of the capital he received letters from Caesar, immediately forgot all he’d said, and doesn’t seem to have given it a thought since. [6] I’d like to be there with him now to repeat to him the words he said when passing through here, and add, ‘How much more shrewd a prophet I proved than you!’
[7] Well, am I implying that man is an animal unfit for action? Not at all. So why aren’t we more active? [8] I mean, look at me. When day begins, I remind myself of the author we are supposed to be reading; but then I think to myself, ‘Who cares how this or that student reads the author; first let me get my sleep!’
[9] And yet how can their business compare in importance to ours? If you could see them at Rome, you would find that they do nothing all day but vote on a resolution, then huddle together a while to deliberate about grain, land or some other means to make a living. [10] Is it the same thing to receive a petition that reads, ‘Please allow me to export a bit of grain,’ and ‘Please learn from Chrysippus how the universe is governed, and what place the rational creature has in it; find out, too, who you are, and what constitutes your good and your evil’? [11] Is one to be compared with the other? Do they deserve the same degree of application? [12] Is it equally wrong to neglect this one as that?
Well, am I and the other teachers the only ones who are lazy and indifferent? [13] You young people are even worse. Old men like us, you know, when we see children at play, like nothing better than to join them in their game. Likewise, I would be a lot more excited about joining you in serious study if I were once to see you bright-eyed and enthusiastic.
I 11 Concerning family affection
[1] During a visit from a magistrate Epictetus, in the course of conversing, asked the man whether he had a wife and children. [2] He replied that he did. Epictetus then asked, ‘And how do you like it?’
‘I’m miserable,’ he said.
So Epictetus asked, ‘How so? [3] Men don’t marry and have children in order to be miserable, but to be happy.’
[4] ‘I’m so anxious about my poor children,’ the man said, ‘that the other day, when my little daughter was sick and appeared in danger of her life, I could not bear even to remain with her. I had to leave her side and go off until word was brought me that her condition had improved.’
‘Well,’ said Epictetus, ‘do you think you acted correctly in this case?’
[5] ‘I acted naturally,’ he answered.
‘If you can convince me that you acted naturally, I am ready on my side to show that anything done in accord with nature is done correctly.’
[6] ‘It’s what nearly all we fathers go through.’
‘I don’t dispute that reactions like yours occur,’ Epictetus said. ‘The point at issue between us is whether they ought to. [7] For by your reasoning we must allow that tumours happen for the good of the body, because they happen, and that doing wrong is in accord with nature, because all, or at least most of us, do wrong. [8] So show me how, exactly, you acted in accordance with nature.’
‘I don’t think I can,’ the man said. ‘Why don’t you show me instead how it is not in accordance with nature, and shouldn’t happen?’
So Epictetus said, [9] ‘Well, if we were in any uncertainty about white and black things, what criterion would we adduce to choose between them?’
‘Sight,’ the man said.
‘And what about things hot and cold, or hard and soft -what would decide in those cases?’
‘Touch.’
[10] ‘Now, since we have a difference of opinion about what is in agreement with nature and what is right and wrong, what standard should we apply here, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ the man said.
[11] ‘Well, ignorance in discriminating between colours, smells or flavours probably does no great harm. But not to know about right and wrong, about what is natural in man’s case and what is not – is that a minor shortcoming, do you think?’
‘No, a very great one, I admit.’
[12] ‘Consider now – is everything that people judge to be good and appropriate rightly judged so? Can Jews, Syrians, Egyptians and Romans all be right in the opinions they have about food, for example?’18
‘How could they?’
[13] ‘Instead, if the opinions of the Egyptians are right, I suppose that the others are wrong. Or if the Jews are right, then the others can’t be.’
‘No, they cannot.’
[14] ‘And where there is ignorance, there is also want of learning and instruction in essentials.’
The man agreed.
[15] ‘Once you’ve realized this, you will occupy your mind and devote all your attention toward finding that standard that discriminates between what is natural and what is not; and then apply it to particular cases as they arise.
[16] ‘For the present, I can only offer the following by way of assistance toward solving our problem. [17] Tell me, then, do you think family affection is good and agrees with nature’s norms?’
‘I do.’
‘Can family affection be good and natural,∗ while what agrees with reason is not good?’
‘Of course not.’
[18] ‘So whatever is rational will not be in conflict with family affection.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Because, if they were, one would be in agreement with nature while the other would have to conflict.’
‘Correct.’
[19] ‘So if there’s anything out there that’s both affectionate and rational, this we can safely say is also both right and good.’
‘Agreed.’
[20] ‘Now, to leave your child’s side when she is sick, and go away, is not a rational act, and I don’t suppose that even you will argue otherwise. But we still have to consider whether it is consistent with family affection.’
‘Then let’s do so.’
[21] ‘Was it right for you, being affectionately disposed toward your child, to go off and leave her? Let’s take her mother instead. Doesn’t she feel affection for her daughter?’
[22] ‘Of course she does.’
‘Then should she, too, have left her?’
‘No.’
‘And the nurse – does she have affectionate feelings toward the girl?’
‘She does.’
‘So should she, also, have left her?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘And her personal slave and teacher, doesn’t he have feelings for her?’
‘Yes.’
[23] ‘I suppose that means that he, too, should have gone off and left her – the result being that, owing to this very great affection on the part of parents as well as guardians, the girl would have been completely forsaken by those who love and protect her, to die in the company of people who had no part in bringing her up, and therefore no special feelings for her.’
‘I can hardly suppose so.’
[24] ‘In fact, it is unfair and illogical to say that people whose affection is the equal of yours should not be permitted to do what you claim was justified in your case owing to this very great affection you profess.’
‘True enough.’
[25] ‘I mean, if you were sick, would you want your family, your wife, children and the rest, to be so caring as to walk away from you and leave you to yourself?’
‘No.’
[26] ‘And would you want to be so loved by them that, because of their lo
ve, you would always suffer sickness in isolation? Isn’t that more like the affection you pray your enemies would show you, that they should go away and leave you be? And if so, the inescapable conclusion is that what you did was no act of affection at all.
[27] ‘Well, it had to have been something that affected you so much that you walked out on your child. It might be related to the impulse that made a man at Rome cover his head while his favourite horse was running, and who later required sponges to be revived when his horse unexpectedly won. [28] The precise explanation for such behaviour might be out of place here. For now, assuming that philosophy contains at least a grain of truth, it’s enough to be convinced that you will not find it by looking for any cause outside yourself. The same thing is always the reason for our doing or not doing something, for saying or not saying something, for being elated or depressed, for going after something or avoiding it. [29] It’s the same reason that you’re here now listening to me, and I’m saying the things that I’m now saying – [30] our opinion that all these things are right.’
‘Of course.’
‘If we saw things differently we would act differently, in line with our different idea of what is right and wrong. [31] This, then, was the cause of Achilles’ lamentations – not the fact that Patroclus died, since other people don’t carry on so when a friend or companion dies – but the fact that he chose to lament. [32] The same cause lies behind your desertion of your daughter – you thought it was a good idea at the time. Conversely, if you stay with her, it would be for the same reason. Now you are about to return to Rome; that is your decision – but if it changes, you won’t go. [33] In other words, it isn’t death, pain, exile or anything else you care to mention that accounts for the way we act, only our opinion about death, pain and the rest.