A Selection from the Discourses of Epictetus with the Encheiridion
another die, and another be condemned? Yes, for it is impossible in
such a universe of things, among so many living together, that such
things should not happen, some to one and others to others. It is your
duty then since you are come here, to say what you ought, to arrange
these things as it is fit. Then some one says, “I shall charge you with
doing me wrong.” Much good may it do you: I have done my part; but
whether you also have done yours, you must look to that; for there is
some danger of this too, that it may escape your notice.
OF INDIFFERENCE.—The hypothetical proposition is indifferent: the
judgment about it is not indifferent, but it is either knowledge or
opinion or error. Thus life is indifferent: the use is not indifferent.
When any man then tells you that these things also are indifferent, do
not become negligent; and when a man invites you to be careful (about
such things), do not become abject and struck with admiration of
material things. And it is good for you to know your own preparation
and power, that in those matters where you have not been prepared, you
may keep quiet, and not be vexed, if others have the advantage over
you. For you too in syllogisms will claim to have the advantage over
them; and if others should be vexed at this, you will console them by
saying, “I have learned them, and you have not.” Thus also where there
is need of any practice, seek not that which is acquired from the need
(of such practice), but yield in that matter to those who have had
practice, and be yourself content with firmness of mind.
Go and salute a certain person. How? Not meanly. But I have been shut
out, for I have not learned to make my way through the window; and when
I have found the door shut, I must either come back or enter through
the window. But still speak to him. In what way? Not meanly. But
suppose that you have not got what you wanted. Was this your business,
and not his? Why then do you claim that which belongs to another?
Always remember what is your own, and what belongs to another; and you
will not be disturbed. Chrysippus therefore said well, So long as
future things are uncertain, I always cling to those which are more
adapted to the conservation of that which is according to nature; for
God himself has given me the faculty of such choice. But if I knew that
it was fated (in the order of things) for me to be sick, I would even
move towards it; for the foot also, if it had intelligence, would move
to go into the mud. For why are ears of corn produced? Is it not that
they may become dry? And do they not become dry that they may be
reaped? for they are not separated from communion with other things. If
then they had perception, ought they to wish never to be reaped? But
this is a curse upon ears of corn to be never reaped. So we must know
that in the case of men too it is a curse not to die, just the same as
not to be ripened and not to be reaped. But since we must be reaped,
and we also know that we are reaped, we are vexed at it; for we neither
know what we are nor have we studied what belongs to man, as those who
have studied horses know what belongs to horses. But Chrysantas when he
was going to strike the enemy checked himself when he heard the trumpet
sounding a retreat: so it seemed better to him to obey the general’s
command than to follow his own inclination. But not one of us chooses,
even when necessity summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and
groaning we suffer what we do suffer, and we call them “circumstances.”
What kind of circumstances, man? If you give the name of circumstances
to the things which are around you, all things are circumstances; but
if you call hardships by this name, what hardship is there in the dying
of that which has been produced? But that which destroys is either a
sword, or a wheel, or the sea, or a tile, or a tyrant. Why do you care
about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal. But if you
will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is
shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in six months: but a fever is
often a year about it. All these things are only sound and the noise of
empty names.
HOW WE OUGHT TO USE DIVINATION.—Through an unreasonable regard to
divination many of us omit many duties. For what more can the diviner
see than death or danger or disease, or generally things of that kind?
If then I must expose myself to danger for a friend, and if it is my
duty even to die for him, what need have I then for divination? Have I
not within me a diviner who has told me the nature of good and of evil,
and has explained to me the signs (or marks) of both? What need have I
then to consult the viscera of victims or the flight of birds, and why
do I submit when he says, It is for your interest? For does he know
what is for my interest, does he know what is good; and as he has
learned the signs of the viscera, has he also learned the signs of good
and evil? For if he knows the signs of these, he knows the signs both
of the beautiful and of the ugly, and of the just and of the unjust. Do
you tell me, man, what is the thing which is signified for me: is it
life or death, poverty or wealth? But whether these things are for my
interest or whether they are not, I do not intend to ask you. Why don’t
you give your opinion on matters of grammar, and why do you give it
here about things on which we are all in error and disputing with one
another?
What then leads us to frequent use of divination? Cowardice, the dread
of what will happen. This is the reason why we flatter the diviners.
Pray, master, shall I succeed to the property of my father? Let us see:
let us sacrifice on the occasion. Yes, master, as fortune chooses. When
he has said, You shall succeed to the inheritance, we thank him as if
we received the inheritance from him. The consequence is that they play
upon us.
Will you not then seek the nature of good in the rational animal? for
if it is not there, you will not choose to say that it exists in any
other thing (plant or animal). What then? are not plants and animals
also the works of God? They are; but they are not superior things, nor
yet parts of the gods. But you are a superior thing; you are a portion
separated from the Deity; you have in yourself a certain portion of
him. Why then are you ignorant of your own noble descent? Why do you
not know whence you came? will you not remember when you are eating who
you are who eat and whom you feed? When you are in social intercourse,
when you are exercising yourself, when you are engaged in discussion,
know you not that you are nourishing a god, that you are exercising a
god? Wretch, you are carrying about a god with you, and you know it
not. Do you think that I mean some god of silver or of gold, and
external? You carry him within yourself, and you perceive not that you
are polluting him by impure thoughts and dirty deeds. And if an image
of God were present, you would not dare to do any of the things which
you are doing; but when God himself is present within and sees all and
hears all, you are not ashamed of thinking such things and doing such
things, ignorant as you are of your own nature and subject to the anger
of God. Then why do we fear when we are sending a young man from the
school into active life, lest he should do anything improperly, eat
improperly, have improper intercourse with women; and lest the rags in
which he is wrapped should debase him, lest fine garments should make
him proud. This youth (if he acts thus) does not know his own God; he
knows not with whom he sets out (into the world). But can we endure
when he says, “I wish I had you (God) with me.” Have you not God with
you? and do you seek for any other when you have him? or will God tell
you anything else than this? If you were a statue of Phidias, either
Athena or Zeus, you would think both of yourself and of the artist, and
if you had any understanding (power of perception) you would try to do
nothing unworthy of him who made you or of yourself, and try not to
appear in an unbecoming dress (attitude) to those who look upon you.
But now because Zeus has made you, for this reason do you care not how
you shall appear? And yet is the artist (in the one case) like the
artist in the other? or the work in the one case like the other? And
what work of an artist, for instance, has in itself the faculties,
which the artist shows in making it? Is it not marble or bronze, or
gold or ivory? and the Athena of Phidias, when she has once extended
the hand and received in it the figure of Victory, stands in that
attitude for ever. But the works of God have power of motion, they
breathe, they have the faculty of using the appearances of things and
the power of examining them. Being the work of such an artist do you
dishonor him? And what shall I say, not only that he made you, but also
entrusted you to yourself and made you a deposit to yourself? Will you
not think of this too, but do you also dishonor your guardianship? But
if God had entrusted an orphan to you, would you thus neglect him? He
has delivered yourself to your own care, and says: “I had no one fitter
to entrust him to than yourself; keep him for me such as he is by
nature, modest, faithful, erect, unterrified, free from passion and
perturbation.” And then you do not keep him such.
But some will say, Whence has this fellow got the arrogance which he
displays and these supercilious looks? I have not yet so much gravity
as befits a philosopher; for I do not yet feel confidence in what I
have learned and in what I have assented to. I still fear my own
weakness. Let me get confidence and then you shall see a countenance
such as I ought to have and an attitude such as I ought to have; then I
will show to you the statue, when it is perfected, when it is polished.
What do you expect? a supercilious countenance? Does the Zeus at
Olympia lift up his brow? No, his look is fixed as becomes him who is
ready to say:
Irrevocable is my word and shall not fail.—Iliad, i., 526.
Such will I show myself to you, faithful, modest, noble, free from
perturbation. What, and immortal, too, except from old age, and from
sickness? No, but dying as becomes a god, sickening as becomes a god.
This power I possess; this I can do. But the rest I do not possess, nor
can I do. I will show the nerves (strength) of a philosopher. What
nerves are these? A desire never disappointed, an aversion which never
falls on that which it would avoid, a proper pursuit ([Greek:
hormaen]), a diligent purpose, an assent which is not rash. These you
shall see.
THAT WHEN WE CANNOT FULFIL THAT WHICH THE CHARACTER OF A MAN PROMISES,
WE ASSUME THE CHARACTER OF A PHILOSOPHER.—It is no common (easy) thing
to do this only, to fulfil the promise of a man’s nature. For what is a
man? The answer is, A rational and mortal being. Then by the rational
faculty from whom are we separated? From wild beasts. And from what
others? From sheep and like animals. Take care then to do nothing like
a wild beast; but if you do, you have lost the character of a man; you
have not fulfilled your promise. See that you do nothing like a sheep;
but if you do, in this case also the man is lost. What then do we do as
sheep? When we act gluttonously, when we act lewdly, when we act
rashly, filthily, inconsiderately, to what have we declined? To sheep.
What have we lost? The rational faculty. When we act contentiously and
harmfully and passionately and violently, to what have we declined? To
wild beasts. Consequently some of us are great wild beasts, and others
little beasts, of a bad disposition and small, whence we may say, Let
me be eaten by a lion. But in all these ways the promise of a man
acting as a man is destroyed. For when is a conjunctive (complex)