The Teaching of Epictetus Part 13

If Reason demand it, for the sake of country, of kinsmen, of mankind, wherefore shouldst thou not go? Thou art not ashamed to go to the doors of a cobbler when thou art in want of shoes, nor to those of a gardener for lettuces; and why to those of a rich man when thou art in need of some like thing?

--"Yea, but I have no awe of the cobbler."

Then have none of the rich.

--"Nor will I flatter the gardener."

And do not flatter the rich.

--"How, then, shall I gain what I want?"

Did I say to thee, _Go, for the sake of gaining it_; or did I not only say, _Go, that thou mayest do what it beseems thee to do_.

--"And why, then, should I yet go?"

That thou mayest have gone; that thou mayest have played the part of a citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And, for the rest, remember that the shoemaker, the vegetable-seller, to whom thou didst go, hath nothing great or exalted to give, even though he sell it dear. Thy aim was lettuces; they are worth an obol, they are not worth a talent. And so it is here. Is the matter worth going to the rich man's door for? So be it; I will go. Is it worth speaking to him about? So be it; I will speak.

But must I also kiss his hand, and fawn upon him with praise? Out upon it! that is a talent's worth. It is no profit to me, nor to the State, nor to my friends, that they should lose a good citizen and friend.

11.--"How, then, shall I become of an affectionate disposition?"

In having a generous and happy one. For Reason doth never decree that a man must be abject, or lament, or depend on another, or blame G.o.d or man. And thus be thou affectionate, as one who will keep this faith.

But if through this affection, or what happens to be so called by thee, thou art like to prove a miserable slave, then it shall not profit thee to be affectionate. And what hinders us to love as though we loved a mortal, or one who may depart to other lands? Did Socrates not love his children? Yea, but as a free man; as one who remembered that he must first love the G.o.ds. And, therefore, he never did transgress anything that it becomes a good man to observe, neither in his defense, nor in fixing his punishment, nor beforetime when he was of the Council, nor when he was serving in the field. But we are well supplied with every excuse for baseness; some through children, some through mothers, some through brothers. But it behooveth no man to be unhappy through any person, but happy through all, and most of all through G.o.d, which hath framed us to that end.

12. And, for the rest, in all things which are delightful to thee, set before thyself the appearances that oppose them. What harm is it, while kissing thy child, to whisper, _To-morrow thou shalt die_; and likewise with thy friend, _To-morrow thou shall depart, either thou or I, and we shall see each other no more_?

--"But these are words of ill-omen."

And so are some incantations, but in that they are useful I regard not this; only let them be of use. But dost thou call anything of ill-omen, save only that which betokeneth some evil? Cowardice is a word of ill-omen, and baseness and grief and mourning and shamelessness, these words are of ill-omen. And not even them must we dread to speak, if so we may defend ourselves against the things. But wilt thou say that any word is of ill-omen that betokeneth some natural thing? Say that it is of ill-omen to speak of the reaping of ears of corn, for it betokeneth the destruction of the ears-but not of the universe. Say that the falling of the leaves is of ill-omen, and the dried fig coming in the place of the green, and raisins in the place of grapes. For all these things are changes from the former estate to another; no destruction, but a certain appointed order and disposition. Here is parting for foreign lands, and a little change. Here is death-a greater change, not from that which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not now.

CHAPTER IX.

ON SOLITUDE.

1. Solitude is the state of one who is helpless. For he who is alone is not therefore solitary; even as he who is in a great company is not therefore not solitary. When, therefore, we have lost a brother or a son or a friend on whom we were wont to rest, we say that we are left solitary, and oftentimes we say it in Rome, with such a crowd meeting us and so many dwelling about us, and, it may be, having a mult.i.tude of slaves. For the solitary man, in his conception, meaneth to be thought helpless, and laid open to those who wish him harm. Therefore when we are on a journey we then, above all, say that we are solitary when we are fallen among thieves; for that which taketh away solitude is not the sight of a man, but of a faithful and pious and serviceable man. For if to be solitary it sufficeth to be alone, then say that Zeus is solitary in the conflagration,[1] and bewails himself. _Woe is me! I have neither Hera nor Athene nor Apollo_, nor, in short, either brother or son or descendant or kinsman. And so some say he doth when alone in the conflagration. For they comprehend not the life of a man who is alone, setting out from a certain natural principle, that we are by nature social, and inclined to love each other, and pleased to be in the company of other men. But none the less is it needful that one find the means to this also, to be able to suffice to himself, and to be his own companion. For as Zeus is his own companion, and is content with himself, and considereth his own government, what it is, and is occupied in designs worthy of himself; thus should we be able to converse with ourselves, and feel no need of others, nor want means to pa.s.s the time; but to observe the divine government, and the relation of ourselves with other things; to consider how we stood formerly towards the events that befall us, and how we stand now; what things they are that still afflict us; how these, too, may be healed, how removed; and if aught should need perfecting, to perfect it according to the reason of the case.

2. Ye see now how that Caesar seemeth to have given us a great peace; how there are no longer wars nor battles nor bands of robbers nor of pirates, but a man may travel at every season, and sail from east to west. But can he give us peace from fever? or from shipwreck? or from fire? or earthquake? or lightning? ay, or from love? _He cannot._ Or from grief? _He cannot._ Or from envy? _He cannot._ Briefly, then, he cannot secure us from any of such things. But the word of the philosophers doth promise us peace even from these things. And what saith it? _If ye will hearken unto me, O men, wheresoever ye be, whatsoever ye do, ye shall not grieve, ye shall not be wroth, ye shall not be compelled or hindered, but ye shall live untroubled and free from every ill._ Whosoever hath this peace, which Caesar never proclaimed (for how could he proclaim it?), but which G.o.d proclaimed through His word, shall he not suffice to himself when he may be alone? for he beholdeth and considereth, _Now can no evil happen to me; for me there is no robber, no earthquake; all things are full of peace, full of calm; for me no way, no city, no a.s.sembly, no neighbor, no a.s.sociate hath any hurt_. He is supplied by one, whose part that is, with food, by another with raiment, by another with senses, by another with natural conceptions. And when it may be that the necessary things are no longer supplied, that is the signal for retreat: the door is opened, and G.o.d saith to thee, _Depart_.

--"Whither?"

To nothing dreadful, but to the place from whence thou camest-to things friendly and akin to thee, to the elements of Being. Whatever in thee was fire shall go to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water, to water;[2] no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Coeytus, nor Phlegethon, but all things are full of G.o.ds and Powers.[3] Whoso hath these things to think on, and seeth the sun and the moon and the stars, and rejoiceth in the earth and the sea, he is no more solitary than he is helpless.

--"What, then, if one come and find me alone and slay me?"

Fool! not thee, but thy wretched body.

3. Thou art a little soul bearing up a corpse.

4. What solitude, then, is there any longer, what lack? Why do we make ourselves worse than children, which, when they are left alone, what do they?-they take sh.e.l.ls and sand and build up somewhat, and then throw it down, and again build up something else, and so they never lack pastime. And shall I, if ye sail away from me, sit down and weep for that I am left alone and solitary? Shall I have no sh.e.l.ls nor sand? But children do these things through their folly, and we through our wisdom are made unhappy.

CHAPTER X.

AGAINST THE CONTENTIOUS AND REVENGEFUL.

1. To suppose that we shall become contemptible in the eyes of others, unless in some way we inflict an injury on those who first showed hostility to us, is the character of most ign.o.ble and thoughtless men.

For thus we say, that a man is to be despised according to his inability to do hurt; but much rather is he to be despised according to his inability to do good.

2. The wise and good man neither strives with any himself, nor in the measure of his power will he allow another to strive. And in this, as in all other things, the life of Socrates is set before us as an example; who did not only himself fly all contention, but also forbade it to others. See in Xenophon's _Symposium_ how many quarrels he ended; and, again, how he bore with Thrasymachus, and how with Polus and with Callicles; and how he endured his wife, and how his son, which opposed him with sophistical arguments. For he remembered very well that no man can command the ruling faculty of another.

3. How, then, is there yet any place for contention in one so minded?

For what event can amaze him? what appear strange to him? Doth he not look for even worse and more grievous things at the hands of evil men than do befall him? Doth he not count everything for gain which is short of the extreme of injury? Hath such a one reviled thee? Much thanks to him that he did not strike thee. _But he did also strike me._ Much thanks that he did not wound thee. _But he did also wound me._ Much thanks that he did not slay thee. For when did he learn, or from whom, that he was a tame animal, and affectionate to others, and that to the wrongdoer the wrong-doing itself is a heavy injury? For since he hath not learned these things, nor believes them, wherefore should he not follow that which appears to be his advantage? Thy neighbor hath flung stones!

Hast thou, then, sinned in aught? But he has broken things in the house?

And art thou a household vessel? Nay-but a Will.

4. What, then, hath been given thee for this occasion? To a wolf it were given to bite-to fling more stones. But if thou seek what is becoming for a man, look into thy stores, see what faculties thou hast come here furnished withal. Hast thou the nature of a wild beast? the temper of revenge?

5. When is a horse in wretched case? When he is bereaved of his natural faculties; not when he cannot crow, but when he cannot run. When is a dog? Not when he cannot fly, but when he cannot track. Is not a man, then, also thus wretched, not when he cannot strangle lions or embrace statues[1]-for to this he came endowed with no faculties by Nature-but when he hath lost his honesty, his faithfulness? Surely we should meet together and lament over such a man; so great are the evils into which he hath fallen. Not, indeed, that we should lament for his birth, or for his death, but in that while yet living he hath suffered the loss of his own true possessions. I speak not of his paternal inheritance, not of his land, or his house, or his inn, or his slaves (for not one of these things is the true possession of a man, but all are alien, servile, subject, given now to some, now to others, by those that can command them); but of his human qualities, the stamps of his spirit wherewith he came into the world. Even such we seek for also on coins, and if we find them we approve the coins, and if not, we cast them away. What is the stamp of this sestertius? _The stamp of Trajan._ Then give it me. _The stamp of Nero._[2] Fling it away-it will not pa.s.s, it is bad. And so here too. What is the stamp of his mind? He is gentle, social, forbearing, affectionate. Come, then, I receive him, I admit him to citizenship, I receive him as a neighbor, a fellow-traveler. See to it only that he have not Nero's stamp. Is he wrathful, revengeful, complaining? Doth he, when it may seem good to him, break the heads of all who stand in his way? Why, then, didst thou say he was a man? Shall everything be judged by the bare form? If so, then say that a wax apple is a real apple, and that it has the smell and taste of an apple. But the outward shape doth not suffice, nor are eyes and nose enough to make a man, but he is a man only if he have a man's mind. Here is one that will not hear reason, that will not submit when he is confuted-he is an a.s.s. In another, reverence hath died-he is worthless, anything rather than a man. This one seeketh whom he may meet and kick or bite-so that he is not even a sheep or an a.s.s, but some kind of savage beast.

6. But this is the nature of every creature, to pursue the Good and fly the Evil; and to hold every man an enemy and a plotter for our woe, were it even a brother, or son, or father, who takes away from us the one, or brings us into the other. For nothing is nearer or dearer to us than the Good. It remains, therefore, if outward things be good and evil, that a father is no longer the friend of his sons, nor the brother of his brother, but every place is full of enemies and plotters and slanderers.

But if the only Good is that the Will should be as it ought to be, and the only Evil as it ought not, where is there then any place for strife, for reviling? For about what things shall we strive? about those that are nothing to us? and with whom? with the ignorant, the unhappy, with men who are deceived concerning the greatest things?

7. Remembering these things, Socrates managed his own household, enduring a most shrewish wife and an undutiful son. For these doctrines make love in a household, and concord in a State, peace among nations, and grat.i.tude towards G.o.d, with boldness in every place, as of one who hath to do with things alien to him, and of no estimation. And we are the men to write and read these things, and to applaud them when they are delivered to us, but to the belief of them we have not even come near. And therefore that saying concerning the Lacedaemonians,

"Lions at home, but in Ephesus foxes,"[3]

will fit us too-lions in the school and foxes without.

END OF BOOK III.

_BOOK IV._

CHAPTER I.

OF RELIGION.