The Golden Sayings of Epictetus, with the Hymn of Cleanthes
born to perform? Have we any close connection or relation with Him or
not?
Such are the impressions of the few of whom I speak. And further, they
apply themselves solely to considering and examining the great assembly
before they depart. Well, they are derided by the multitude. So are the
lookers-on by the traders: aye, and if the beasts had any sense, they
would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder!
LXIX
I think I know now what I never knew before—the meaning of the common
saying, _A fool you can neither bend nor break_. Pray heaven I may
never have a _wise fool_ for my friend! There is nothing more
intractable.—“My resolve is fixed!”—Why so madman say too; but the more
firmly they believe in their delusions, the more they stand in need of
treatment.
LXX
—“O! when shall I see Athens and its Acropolis again?”—Miserable man!
art thou not contented with the daily sights that meet thine eyes?
canst thou behold aught greater or nobler than the Sun, Moon, and
Stars; than the outspread Earth and Sea? If indeed thou apprehendest
Him who administers the universe, if thou bearest Him about within
thee, canst thou still hanker after mere fragments of stone and fine
rock? When thou art about to bid farewell to the Sun and Moon itself,
wilt thou sit down and cry like a child? Why, what didst thou hear,
what didst thou learn? why didst thou write thyself down a philosopher,
when thou mightest have written what was the fact, namely, “I have made
one or two _Compendiums_, I have read some works of Chrysippus, and I
have not even touched the hem of Philosophy’s robe!”
LXXI
Friend, lay hold with a desperate grasp, ere it is too late, on
Freedom, on Tranquility, on Greatness of soul! Lift up thy head, as one
escaped from slavery; dare to look up to God, and say:—“Deal with me
henceforth as Thou wilt; Thou and I are of one mind. I am Thine: I
refuse nothing that seeeth good to Thee; lead on whither Thou wilt;
clothe me in what garb Thou pleasest; wilt Thou have me a ruler or a
subject—at home or in exile—poor or rich? All these things will I
justify unto men for Thee. I will show the true nature of each. . . .”
Who would Hercules have been had he loitered at home? no Hercules, but
Eurystheus. And in his wanderings through the world how many friends
and comrades did he find? but nothing dearer to him than God. Wherefore
he was believed to be God’s son, as indeed he was. So then in obedience
to Him, he went about delivering the earth from injustice and
lawlessness.
But thou art not Hercules, thou sayest, and canst not deliver others
from their iniquity—not even Theseus, to deliver the soil of Attica
from its monsters? Purge away thine own, cast forth thence—from thine
own mind, not robbers and monsters, but Fear, Desire, Envy, Malignity,
Avarice, Effeminacy, Intemperance. And these may not be cast out,
except by looking to God alone, by fixing thy affections on Him only,
and by consecrating thyself to His commands. If thou choosest aught
else, with sighs and groans thou wilt be forced to follow a Might
greater than thine own, ever seeking Tranquillity without, and never
able to attain unto her. For thou seekest her where she is not to be
found; and where she is, there thou seekest her not!
LXXII
If a man would pursue Philosophy, his first task is to throw away
conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn what he has a
conceit that he already knows.
LXXIII
Give me but one young man, that has come to the School with this
intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause, and says, “All
else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life free from
hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as a
free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that
may come to pass!” Point out such a one to me, that I may say, “Enter,
young man, into possession of that which is thine own. For thy lot is
to adorn Philosophy. Thine are these possessions; thine these books,
these discourses!”
And when our champion has duly exercised himself in this part of the
subject, I hope he will come back to me and say:—“What I desire is to
be free from passion and from perturbation; as one who grudges no pains
in the pursuit of piety and philosophy, what I desire is to know my
duty to the Gods, my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country,
to strangers.”
“Enter then on the second part of the subject; it is thine also.”
“But I have already mastered the second part; only I wished to stand
firm and unshaken—as firm when asleep as when awake, as firm when
elated with wine as in despondency and dejection.”
“Friend, you are verily a God! you cherish great designs.”
LXXIV
“The question at stake,” said Epictetus, “is no common one; it is
this:—_Are we in our senses, or are we not?_”
LXXV
If you have given way to anger, be sure that over and above the evil
involved therein, you have strengthened the habit, and added fuel to
the fire. If overcome by a temptation of the flesh, do not reckon it a
single defeat, but that you have also strengthened your dissolute
habits. Habits and faculties are necessarily affected by the
corresponding acts. Those that were not there before, spring up: the
rest gain in strength and extent. This is the account which
Philosophers give of the origin of diseases of the mind:—Suppose you
have once lusted after money: if reason sufficient to produce a sense
of evil be applied, then the lust is checked, and the mind at once
regains its original authority; whereas if you have recourse to no
remedy, you can no longer look for this return—on the contrary, the
next time it is excited by the corresponding object, the flame of
desire leaps up more quickly than before. By frequent repetition, the
mind in the long run becomes callous; and thus this mental disease
produces confirmed Avarice.
One who has had fever, even when it has left him, is not in the same
condition of health as before, unless indeed his cure is complete.
Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of the mind.
Behind, there remains a legacy of traces and blisters: and unless these
are effectually erased, subsequent blows on the same spot will produce
no longer mere blisters, but sores. If you do not wish to be prone to
anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend its
increase. At first, keep quiet and count the days when you were not
angry: “I used to be angry every day, then every other day: next every
two, next every three days!” and if you succeed in passing thirty days,
sacrifice to the Gods in thanksgiving.
LXXVI
How then may this be attained?—Resolve, now if never before, to approve
thyself to thyself; resolve to show thyself fair in God’s sight; long
to be pure with thine own pure self and God!
LXXVII
That is the true athlete, that trains himself to resist such outward
impressions as these.
“Stay, wretched man! suffer not thyself to be carried away!” Great is
the combat, divine the task! you are fighting for Kingship, for
Liberty, for Happiness, for Tranquillity. Remember God: call upon Him
to aid thee, like a comrade that stands beside thee in the fight.
LXXVIII
Who then is a Stoic—in the sense that we call a statue of Phidias which
is modelled after that master’s art? Show me a man in this sense
modelled after the doctrines that are ever upon his lips. Show me a man
that is sick—and happy; an exile—and happy; in evil report—and happy!
Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I long to see _one_ Stoic!
Nay, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at least see one
in whom the process is at work—one whose bent is in that direction. Do
me that favour! Grudge it not to an old man, to behold a sight he has
never yet beheld. Think you I wish to see the _Zeus_ or _Athena_ of
Phidias, bedecked with gold and ivory?—Nay, show me, one of you, a
human soul, desiring to be of one mind with God, no more to lay blame
on God or man, to suffer nothing to disappoint, nothing to cross him,
to yield neither to anger, envy, nor jealousy—in a word, why disguise
the matter? one that from a man would fain become a God; one that while
still imprisoned in this dead body makes fellowship with God his aim.
Show me him!—Ah, you cannot! Then why mock yourselves and delude
others? why stalk about tricked out in other men’s attire, thieves and
robbers that you are of names and things to which you can show no
title!
LXXIX
If you have assumed a character beyond your strength, you have both
played a poor figure in that, and neglected one that is within your
powers.
LXXX
Fellow, you have come to blows at home with a slave: you have turned
the household upside down, and thrown the neighbourhood into confusion;
and do you come to me then with airs of assumed modesty—do you sit down
like a sage and criticise my explanation of the readings, and whatever
idle babble you say has come into my head? Have you come full of envy,
and dejected because nothing is sent you from home; and while the
discussion is going on, do you sit brooding on nothing but how your
father or your brother are disposed towards you:—“What are they saying
about me there? at this moment they imagine I am making progress and
saying, He will return perfectly omniscient! I wish I could become
omniscient before I return; but that would be very troublesome. No one
sends me anything—the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; things are wretched
at home and wretched here.” And then they say, “Nobody is any the
better for the School.”—Who comes to the School with a sincere wish to
learn: to submit his principles to correction and himself to
_treatment?_ Who, to gain a sense of his wants? Why then be surprised
if you carry home from the School exactly what you bring into it?
LXXXI
“Epictetus, I have often come desiring to hear you speak, and you have
never given me any answer; now if possible, I entreat you, say
something to me.”
“Is there, do you think,” replied Epictetus, “an _art_ of speaking as
of other things, if it is to be done skilfully and with profit to the
hearer?”
“Yes.”
“And are all profited by what they hear, or only some among them? So
that it seems there is an art of hearing as well as of speaking. . . .
To make a statue needs skill: to view a statue aright needs skill
also.”
“Admitted.”
“And I think all will allow that one who proposes to hear philosophers
speak needs a considerable training in hearing. Is that not so? The
tell me on what subject your are able to _hear_ me.”
“Why, on good and evil.”
“The good and evil of what? a horse, an ox?”
“No; of a man.”
“Do we know then what Man is? what his nature is? what is the idea we
have of him? And are our _ears_ practised in any degree on the subject?
Nay, do you understand what Nature is? can you follow me in any degree
when I say that I shall have to use demonstration? Do you understand
what Demonstration is? what True or False is? . . . must I _drive_ you
to Philosophy? . . . Show me what good I am to do by discoursing with
you. Rouse my desire to do so. The sight of a pasture it loves stirs in
a sheep the desire to feed: show it a stone or a bit of bread and it
remains unmoved. Thus we also have certain natural desires, aye, and
one that moves us to speak when we find a listener that is worth his
salt: one that himself stirs the spirit. But if he sits by like a stone
or a tuft of grass, how can he rouse a man’s desire?”
“Then you will say nothing to me?”
“I can only tell you this: that one who knows not who he is and to what
end he was born; what kind of world this is and with whom he is
associated therein; one who cannot distinguish Good and Evil, Beauty
and Foulness, . . . Truth and Falsehood, will never follow Reason in