101 AD
THE DISCOURSES
by Epictetus
DISCOURSES
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER 1
Of the things which are in our Power, and not in our Power

Of all the faculties, you will find not one which is capable of
contemplating itself; and, consequently, not capable either of
approving or disapproving. How far does the grammatic art possess
the contemplating power? As far as forming a judgement about what is
written and spoken. And how far music? As far as judging about melody.
Does either of them then contemplate itself? By no means. But when you
must write something to your friend, grammar will tell you what
words you must write; but whether you should write or not, grammar
will not tell you. And so it is with music as to musical sounds; but
whether you should sing at the present time and play on the lute, or
do neither, music will not tell you. What faculty then will tell
you? That which contemplates both itself and all other things. And
what is this faculty? The rational faculty; for this is the only
faculty that we have received which examines itself, what it is, and
what power it has, and what is the value of this gift, and examines
all other faculties: for what else is there which tells us that golden
things are beautiful, for they do not say so themselves? Evidently
it is the faculty which is capable of judging of appearances. What
else judges of music, grammar, and other faculties, proves their
uses and points out the occasions for using them? Nothing else.
As then it was fit to be so, that which is best of all and supreme
over all is the only thing which the gods have placed in our power,
the right use of appearances; but all other things they have not
placed in our power. Was it because they did not choose? I indeed
think that, if they had been able, they would have put these other
things also in our power, but they certainly could not. For as we
exist on the earth, and are bound to such a body and to such
companions, how was it possible for us not to be hindered as to
these things by externals?
But what says Zeus? "Epictetus, if it were possible, I would have
made both your little body and your little property free and not
exposed to hindrance. But now be not ignorant of this: this body is
not yours, but it is clay finely tempered. And since I was not able to
do for you what I have mentioned, I have given you a small portion
of us, this faculty of pursuing an object and avoiding it, and the
faculty of desire and aversion, and, in a word, the faculty of using
the appearances of things; and if you will take care of this faculty
and consider it your only possession, you will never be hindered,
never meet with impediments; you will not lament, you will not
blame, you will not flatter any person."
"Well, do these seem to you small matters?" I hope not. "Be
content with them then and pray to the gods." But now when it is in
our power to look after one thing, and to attach ourselves to it, we
prefer to look after many things, and to be bound to many things, to
the body and to property, and to brother and to friend, and to child
and to slave. Since, then, we are bound to many things, we are
depressed by them and dragged down. For this reason, when the
weather is not fit for sailing, we sit down and torment ourselves, and
continually look out to see what wind is blowing. "It is north."
What is that to us? "When will the west wind blow?" When it shall
choose, my good man, or when it shall please AEolus; for God has not
made you the manager of the winds, but AEolus. What then? We must make
the best use that we can of the things which are in our power, and use
the rest according to their nature. What is their nature then? As
God may please.
"Must I, then, alone have my head cut off?" What, would you have all
men lose their heads that you may be consoled? Will you not stretch
out your neck as Lateranus did at Rome when Nero ordered him to be
beheaded? For when he had stretched out his neck, and received a
feeble blow, which made him draw it in for a moment, he stretched it
out again. And a little before, when he was visited by Epaphroditus,
Nero's freedman, who asked him about the cause of offense which he had
given, he said, "If I choose to tell anything, I will tell your
master."
What then should a man have in readiness in such circumstances? What
else than "What is mine, and what is not mine; and permitted to me,
and what is not permitted to me." I must die. Must I then die
lamenting? I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go
into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and
cheerfulness and contentment? "Tell me the secret which you
possess." I will not, for this is in my power. "But I will put you
in chains." Man, what are you talking about? Me in chains? You may
fetter my leg, but my will not even Zeus himself can overpower. "I
will throw you into prison." My poor body, you mean. "I will cut
your head off." When, then, have I told you that my head alone
cannot be cut off? These are the things which philosophers should
meditate on, which they should write daily, in which they should
exercise themselves.
Thrasea used to say, "I would rather be killed to-day than
banished to-morrow." What, then, did Rufus say to him? "If you
choose death as the heavier misfortune, how great is the folly of your
choice? But if, as the lighter, who has given you the choice? Will you
not study to be content with that which has been given to you?"
What, then, did Agrippinus say? He said, "I am not a hindrance to
myself." When it was reported to him that his trial was going on in
the Senate, he said, "I hope it may turn out well; but it is the fifth
hour of the day"- this was the time when he was used to exercise
himself and then take the cold bath- "let us go and take our
exercise." After he had taken his exercise, one comes and tells him,
"You have been condemned." "To banishment," he replies, "or to death?"
"To banishment." "What about my property?" "It is not taken from you."
"Let us go to Aricia then," he said, "and dine."
This it is to have studied what a man ought to study; to have made
desire, aversion, free from hindrance, and free from all that a man
would avoid. I must die. If now, I am ready to die. If, after a
short time, I now dine because it is the dinner-hour; after this I
will then die. How? Like a man who gives up what belongs to another.
CHAPTER 2
How a Man on every occasion can maintain his Proper Character

To the rational animal only is the irrational intolerable; but
that which is rational is tolerable. Blows are not naturally
intolerable. "How is that?" See how the Lacedaemonians endure whipping
when they have learned that whipping is consistent with reason. "To
hang yourself is not intolerable." When, then, you have the opinion
that it is rational, you go and hang yourself. In short, if we
observe, we shall find that the animal man is pained by nothing so
much as by that which is irrational; and, on the contrary, attracted
to nothing so much as to that which is rational.
But the rational and the irrational appear such in a different way
to different persons, just as the good and the bad, the profitable and
the unprofitable. For this reason, particularly, we need discipline,
in order to learn how to adapt the preconception of the rational and
the irrational to the several things conformably to nature. But in
order to determine the rational and the irrational, we use not only
the of external things, but we consider also what is appropriate to
each person. For to one man it is consistent with reason to hold a
chamber pot for another, and to look to this only, that if he does not
hold it, he will receive stripes, and he will not receive his food:
but if he shall hold the pot, he will not suffer anything hard or
disagreeable. But to another man not only does the holding of a
chamber pot appear intolerable for himself, but intolerable also for
him to allow another to do this office for him. If, then, you ask me
whether you should hold the chamber pot or not, I shall say to you
that the receiving of food is worth more than the not receiving of it,
and the being scourged is a greater indignity than not being scourged;
so that if you measure your interests by these things, go and hold the
chamber pot. "But this," you say, "would not be worthy of me." Well,
then, it is you who must introduce this consideration into the
inquiry, not I; for it is you who know yourself, how much you are
worth to yourself, and at what price you sell yourself; for men sell
themselves at various prices.
For this reason, when Florus was deliberating whether he should go
down to Nero's spectacles and also perform in them himself, Agrippinus
said to him, "Go down": and when Florus asked Agrippinus, "Why do
not you go down?" Agrippinus replied, "Because I do not even
deliberate about the matter." For he who has once brought himself to
deliberate about such matters, and to calculate the value of
external things, comes very near to those who have forgotten their own
character. For why do you ask me the question, whether death is
preferable or life? I say "life." "Pain or pleasure?" I say
"pleasure." But if I do not take a part in the tragic acting, I
shall have my head struck off. Go then and take a part, but I will
not. "Why?" Because you consider yourself to be only one thread of
those which are in the tunic. Well then it was fitting for you to take
care how you should be like the rest of men, just as the thread has no
design to be anything superior to the other threads. But I wish to
be purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest
appear graceful and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make
myself like the many? and if I do, how shall I still be purple?
Priscus Helvidius also saw this, and acted conformably. For when
Vespasian sent and commanded him not to go into the senate, he
replied, "It is in your power not to allow me to be a member of the
senate, but so long as I am, I must go in." "Well, go in then," says
the emperor, "but say nothing." "Do not ask my opinion, and I will
be silent." "But I must ask your opinion." "And I must say what I
think right." "But if you do, I shall put you to death." "When then
did I tell you that I am immortal? You will do your part, and I will
do mine: it is your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in
fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart without sorrow."
What good then did Priscus do, who was only a single person? And
what good does the purple do for the toga? Why, what else than this,
that it is conspicuous in the toga as purple, and is displayed also as
a fine example to all other things? But in such circumstances
another would have replied to Caesar who forbade him to enter the
senate, "I thank you for sparing me." But such a man Vespasian would
not even have forbidden to enter the senate, for he knew that he would
either sit there like an earthen vessel, or, if he spoke, he would say
what Caesar wished, and add even more.
In this way an athlete also acted who was in danger of dying
unless his private parts were amputated. His brother came to the
athlete, who was a philosopher, and said, "Come, brother, what are you
going to do? Shall we amputate this member and return to the
gymnasium?" But the athlete persisted in his resolution and died. When
some one asked Epictetus how he did this, as an athlete or a
philosopher, "As a man," Epictetus replied, "and a man who had been
proclaimed among the athletes at the Olympic games and had contended
in them, a man who had been familiar with such a place, and not merely
anointed in Baton's school. Another would have allowed even his head
to be cut off, if he could have lived without it. Such is that
regard to character which is so strong in those who have been
accustomed to introduce it of themselves and conjoined with other
things into their deliberations."
"Come, then, Epictetus, shave yourself." "If I am a philosopher,"
I answer, "I will not shave myself." "But I will take off your
head?" If that will do you any good, take it off.
Some person asked, "How then shall every man among us perceive
what is suitable to his character?" How, he replied, does the bull
alone, when the lion has attacked, discover his own powers and put
himself forward in defense of the whole herd? It is plain that with
the powers the perception of having them is immediately conjoined;
and, therefore, whoever of us has such powers will not be ignorant
of them. Now a bull is not made suddenly, nor a brave man; but we must
discipline ourselves in the winter for the summer campaign, and not
rashly run upon that which does not concern us.
Only consider at what price you sell your own will; if for no
other reason, at least for this, that you sell it not for a small sum.
But that which is great and superior perhaps belongs to Socrates and
such as are like him. "Why then, if we are naturally such, are not a
very great number of us like him?" Is it true then that all horses
become swift, that all dogs are skilled in tracking footprints? "What,
then, since I am naturally dull, shall I, for this reason, take no
pains?" I hope not. Epictetus is not superior to Socrates; but if he
is not inferior, this is enough for me; for I shall never be a Milo,
and yet I do not neglect my body; nor shall I be a Croesus, and yet
I do not neglect my property; nor, in a word, do we neglect looking
after anything because we despair of reaching the highest degree.
CHAPTER 3
How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the
father of all men to the rest

If a man should be able to assent to this doctrine as he ought, that
we are all sprung from God in an especial manner, and that God is
the father both of men and of gods, I suppose that he would never have
any ignoble or mean thoughts about himself. But if Caesar should adopt
you, no one could endure your arrogance; and if you know that you
are the son of Zeus, will you not be elated? Yet we do not so; but
since these two things are mingled in the generation of man, body in
common with the animals, and reason and intelligence in common with
the gods, many incline to this kinship, which is miserable and mortal;
and some few to that which is divine and happy. Since then it is of
necessity that every man uses everything according to the opinion
which he has about it, those, the few, who think that they are
formed for fidelity and modesty and a sure use of appearances have
no mean or ignoble thoughts about themselves; but with the many it
is quite the contrary. For they say, "What am I? A poor, miserable
man, with my wretched bit of flesh." Wretched. Indeed; but you possess
something better than your "bit of flesh." Why then do you neglect
that which is better, and why do you attach yourself to this?
Through this kinship with the flesh, some of us inclining to it
become like wolves, faithless and treacherous and mischievous: some
become like lions, savage and untamed; but the greater part of us
become foxes and other worse animals. For what else is a slanderer and
a malignant man than a fox, or some other more wretched and meaner
animal? See, then, and take care that you do not become some one of
these miserable things.
CHAPTER 4
Of progress or improvement

He who is making progress, having learned from philosophers that
desire means the desire of good things, and aversion means aversion
from bad things; having learned too that happiness and tranquillity
are not attainable by man otherwise than by not failing to obtain what
he desires, and not falling into that which he would avoid; such a man
takes from himself desire altogether and defers it, but he employs his
aversion only on things which are dependent on his will. For if he
attempts to avoid anything independent of his will, he knows that
sometimes he will fall in with something which he wishes to avoid, and
he will be unhappy. Now if virtue promises good fortune and
tranquillity and happiness, certainly also the progress toward
virtue is progress toward each of these things. For it is always
true that to whatever point the perfecting of anything leads us,
progress is an approach toward this point.
How then do we admit that virtue is such as I have said, and yet
seek progress in other things and make a display of it? What is the
product of virtue? Tranquillity. Who then makes improvement? It is
he who has read many books of Chrysippus? But does virtue consist in
having understood Chrysippus? If this is so, progress is clearly
nothing else than knowing a great deal of Chrysippus. But now we admit
that virtue produces one thing. and we declare that approaching near
to it is another thing, namely, progress or improvement. "Such a
person," says one, "is already able to read Chrysippus by himself."
Indeed, sir, you are making great progress. What kind of progress? But
why do you mock the man? Why do you draw him away from the
perception of his own misfortunes? Will you not show him the effect of
virtue that he may learn where to look for improvement? Seek it there,
wretch, where your work lies. And where is your work? In desire and in
aversion, that you may not be disappointed in your desire, and that
you may not fall into that which you would avoid; in your pursuit
and avoiding, that you commit no error; in assent and suspension of
assent, that you be not deceived. The first things, and the most
necessary, are those which I have named. But if with trembling and
lamentation you seek not to fall into that which you avoid, tell me
how you are improving.
Do you then show me your improvement in these things? If I were
talking to an athlete, I should say, "Show me your shoulders"; and
then he might say, "Here are my halteres." You and your halteres
look to that. I should reply, "I wish to see the effect of the
halteres." So, when you say: "Take the treatise on the active
powers, and see how I have studied it." I reply, "Slave, I am not
inquiring about this, but how you exercise pursuit and avoidance,
desire and aversion, how your design and purpose and prepare yourself,
whether conformably to nature or not. If conformably, give me evidence
of it, and I will say that you are making progress: but if not
conformably, be gone, and not only expound your books, but write
such books yourself; and what will you gain by it? Do you not know
that the whole book costs only five denarii? Does then the expounder
seem to be worth more than five denarii? Never, then, look for the
matter itself in one place, and progress toward it in another."
Where then is progress? If any of you, withdrawing himself from
externals, turns to his own will to exercise it and to improve it by
labour, so as to make it conformable to nature, elevated, free,
unrestrained, unimpeded, faithful, modest; and if he has learned
that he who desires or avoids the things which are not in his power
can neither be faithful nor free, but of necessity he must change with
them and be tossed about with them as in a tempest, and of necessity
must subject himself to others who have the power to procure or
prevent what he desires or would avoid; finally, when he rises in
the morning, if he observes and keeps these rules, bathes as a man
of fidelity, eats as a modest man; in like manner, if in every
matter that occurs he works out his chief principles as the runner
does with reference to running, and the trainer of the voice with
reference to the voice- this is the man who truly makes progress,
and this is the man who has not traveled in vain. But if he has
strained his efforts to the practice of reading books, and labours
only at this, and has traveled for this, I tell him to return home
immediately, and not to neglect his affairs there; for this for
which he has traveled is nothing. But the other thing is something, to
study how a man can rid his life of lamentation and groaning, and
saying, "Woe to me," and "wretched that I am," and to rid it also of
misfortune and disappointment and to learn what death is, and exile,
and prison, and poison, that he may be able to say when he is in
fetters, "Dear Crito, if it is the will of the gods that it be so, let
it be so"; and not to say, "Wretched am I, an old man; have I kept
my gray hairs for this?" Who is it that speaks thus? Do you think that
I shall name some man of no repute and of low condition? Does not
Priam say this? Does not OEdipus say this? Nay, all kings say it!
For what else is tragedy than the perturbations of men who value
externals exhibited in this kind of poetry? But if a man must learn by
fiction that no external things which are independent of the will
concern us, for this? part I should like this fiction, by the aid of
which I should live happily and undisturbed. But you must consider for
yourselves what you wish.
What then does Chrysippus teach us? The reply is, "to know that
these things are not false, from which happiness comes and
tranquillity arises. Take my books, and you will learn how true and
conformable to nature are the things which make me free from
perturbations." O great good fortune! O the great benefactor who
points out the way! To Triptolemus all men have erected temples and
altars, because he gave us food by cultivation; but to him who
discovered truth and brought it to light and communicated it to all,
not the truth which shows us how to live, but how to live well, who of
you for this reason has built an altar, or a temple, or has
dedicated a statue, or who worships God for this? Because the gods
have given the vine, or wheat, we sacrifice to them: but because
they have produced in the human mind that fruit by which they designed
to show us the truth which relates to happiness, shall we not thank
God for this?
CHAPTER 5
Against the academics

If a man, said Epictetus, opposes evident truths, it is not easy
to find arguments by which we shall make him change his opinion. But
this does not arise either from the man's strength or the teacher's
weakness; for when the man, though he has been confuted, is hardened
like a stone, how shall we then be able to deal with him by argument?
Now there are two kinds of hardening, one of the understanding,
the other of the sense of shame, when a man is resolved not to
assent to what is manifest nor to desist from contradictions. Most
of us are afraid of mortification of the body, and would contrive
all means to avoid such a thing, but we care not about the soul's
mortification. And indeed with regard to the soul, if a man be in such
a state as not to apprehend anything, or understand at all, we think
that he is in a bad condition: but if the sense of shame and modesty
are deadened, this we call even power.
Do you comprehend that you are awake? "I do not," the man replies,
"for I do not even comprehend when in my sleep I imagine that I am
awake." Does this appearance then not differ from the other? "Not at
all," he replies. Shall I still argue with this man? And what fire
or what iron shall I apply to him to make him feel that he is
deadened? He does perceive, but he pretends that he does not. He's
even worse than a dead man. He does not see the contradiction: he is
in a bad condition. Another does see it, but he is not moved, and
makes no improvement: he is even in a worse condition. His modesty
is extirpated, and his sense of shame; and the rational faculty has
not been cut off from him, but it is brutalized. Shall I name this
strength of mind? Certainly not, unless we also name it such in
catamites, through which they do and say in public whatever comes into
their head.
CHAPTER 6
Of providence

From everything which is or happens in the world, it is easy to
praise Providence, if a man possesses these two qualities, the faculty
of seeing what belongs and happens to all persons and things, and a
grateful disposition. If he does not possess these two qualities,
one man will not see the use of things which are and which happen;
another will not be thankful for them, even if he does know them. If
God had made colours, but had not made the faculty of seeing them,
what would have been their use? None at all. On the other hand, if
He had made the faculty of vision, but had not made objects such as to
fall under the faculty, what in that case also would have been the use
of it? None at all. Well, suppose that He had made both, but had not
made light? In that case, also, they would have been of no use. Who is
it, then, who has fitted this to that and that to this? And who is
it that has fitted the knife to the case and the case to the knife? Is
it no one? And, indeed, from the very structure of things which have
attained their completion, we are accustomed to show that the work
is certainly the act of some artificer, and that it has not been
constructed without a purpose. Does then each of these things
demonstrate the workman, and do not visible things and the faculty
of seeing and light demonstrate Him? And the existence of male and
female, and the desire of each for conjunction, and the power of using
the parts which are constructed, do not even these declare the
workman? If they do not, let us consider the constitution of our
understanding according to which, when we meet with sensible
objects, we simply receive impressions from them, but we also select
something from them, and subtract something, and add, and compound
by means of them these things or those, and, in fact, pass from some
to other things which, in a manner, resemble them: is not even this
sufficient to move some men, and to induce them not to forget the
workman? If not so, let them explain to us what it is that makes
each several thing, or how it is possible that things so wonderful and
like the contrivances of art should exist by chance and from their own
proper motion?
What, then, are these things done in us only. Many, indeed, in us
only, of which the rational animal had peculiar need; but you will
find many common to us with irrational animals. Do they them
understand what is done? By no means. For use is one thing, and
understanding is another: God had need of irrational animals to make
use of appearances, but of us to understand the use of appearances. It
is therefore enough for them to eat and to drink, and to sleep and
to copulate, and to do all the other things which they severally do.
But for us, to whom He has given also the faculty, these things are
not sufficient; for unless we act in a proper and orderly manner,
and conformably to the nature and constitution of each thing, we shall
never attain our true end. For where the constitutions of living
beings are different, there also the acts and the ends are
different. In those animals, then, whose constitution is adapted
only to use, use alone is enough: but in an animal which has also
the power of understanding the use, unless there be the due exercise
of the understanding, he will never attain his proper end. Well then
God constitutes every animal, one to be eaten, another to serve for
agriculture, another to supply cheese, and another for some like
use; for which purposes what need is there to understand appearances
and to be able to distinguish them? But God has introduced man to be a
spectator of God and of His works; and not only a spectator of them,
but an interpreter. For this reason it is shameful for man to begin
and to end where irrational animals do, but rather he ought to begin
where they begin, and to end where nature ends in us; and nature
ends in contemplation and understanding, in a way of life
conformable to nature. Take care then not to die without having been
spectators of these things.
But you take a journey to Olympia to see the work of Phidias, and
all of you think it a misfortune to die without having seen such
things. But when there is no need to take a journey, and where a man
is, there he has the works (of God) before him, will you not desire to
see and understand them? Will you not perceive either what you are, or
what you were born for, or what this is for which you have received
the faculty of sight? But you may say, "There are some things
disagreeable and troublesome in life." And are there none in
Olympia? Are you not scorched? Are you not pressed by a crowd? Are you
not without comfortable means of bathing? Are you not wet when it
rains? Have you not abundance of noise, clamour, and other
disagreeable things? But I suppose that setting all these things off
against the magnificence of the spectacle, you bear and endure.
Well, then, and have you not received faculties by which you will be
able to bear all that happens? Have you not received greatness of
soul? Have you not received manliness? Have you not received
endurance? And why do I trouble myself about anything that can
happen if I possess greatness of soul? What shall distract my mind
or disturb me, or appear painful? Shall I not use the power for the
purposes for which I received it, and shall I grieve and lament over
what happens?
"Yes, but my nose runs." For what purpose then, slave, have you
hands? Is it not that you may wipe your nose? "Is it, then, consistent
with reason that there should be running of noses in the world?"
Nay, how much better it is to wipe your nose than to find fault.
What do you think that Hercules would have been if there had not
been such a lion, and hydra, and stag, and boar, and certain unjust
and bestial men, whom Hercules used to drive away and clear out? And
what would he have been doing if there had been nothing of the kind?
Is it not plain that he would have wrapped himself up and have
slept? In the first place, then he would not have been a Hercules,
when he was dreaming away all his life in such luxury and case; and
even if he had been one what would have been the use of him? and
what the use of his arms, and of the strength of the other parts of
his body, and his endurance and noble spirit, if such circumstances
and occasions had not roused and exercised him? "Well, then, must a
man provide for himself such means of exercise, and to introduce a
lion from some place into his country, and a boar and a hydra?" This
would be folly and madness: but as they did exist, and were found,
they were useful for showing what Hercules was and for exercising him.
Come then do you also having observed these things look to the
faculties which you have, and when you have looked at them, say:
"Bring now, O Zeus, any difficulty that Thou pleasest, for I have
means given to me by Thee and powers for honoring myself through the
things which happen." You do not so; but you sit still, trembling
for fear that some things will happen, and weeping, and lamenting
and groaning for what does happen: and then you blame the gods. For
what is the consequence of such meanness of spirit but impiety? And
yet God has not only given us these faculties; by which we shall be
able to bear everything that happens without being depressed or broken
by it; but, like a good king and a true father, He has given us
these faculties free from hindrance, subject to no compulsion
unimpeded, and has put them entirely in our own power, without even
having reserved to Himself any power of hindering or impeding. You,
who have received these powers free and as your own, use them not: you
do not even see what you have received, and from whom; some of you
being blinded to the giver, and not even acknowledging your
benefactor, and others, through meanness of spirit, betaking
yourselves to fault finding and making charges against God. Yet I will
show to you that you have powers and means for greatness of soul and
manliness but what powers you have for finding fault and making
accusations, do you show me.
CHAPTER 7
Of the use of sophistical arguments, and hypothetical, and the like

The handling of sophistical and hypothetical arguments, and of those
which derive their conclusions from questioning, and in a word the
handling of all such arguments, relates to the duties of life,
though the many do not know this truth. For in every matter we inquire
how the wise and good man shall discover the proper path and the
proper method of dealing with the matter. Let, then, people either say
that the grave man will not descend into the contest of question and
answer, or that, if he does descend into the contest, he will take
no care about not conducting himself rashly or carelessly in
questioning and answering. But if they do not allow either the one
or the other of these things, they must admit that some inquiry
ought to be made into those topics on which particularly questioning
and answering are employed. For what is the end proposed in reasoning?
To establish true propositions, to remove the false, to withhold
assent from those which are not plain. Is it enough then to have
learned only this? "It is enough," a man may reply. Is it, then,
also enough for a man, who would not make a mistake in the use of
coined money, to have heard this precept, that he should receive the
genuine drachmae and reject the spurious? "It is not enough." What,
then, ought to be added to this precept? What else than the faculty
which proves and distinguishes the genuine and the spurious
drachmae? Consequently also in reasoning what has been said is not
enough; but is it necessary that a man should acquire the faculty of
examining and distinguishing the true and the false, and that which is
not plain? "It is necessary." Besides this, what is proposed in
reasoning? "That you should accept what follows from that which you
have properly granted." Well, is it then enough in this case also to
know this? It is not enough; but a man must learn how one thing is a
consequence of other things, and when one thing follows from one
thing, and when it follows from several collectively. Consider, then
if it be not necessary that this power should also be acquired by
him who purposes to conduct himself skillfully in reasoning, the power
of demonstrating himself the several things which he has proposed, and
the power of understanding the demonstrations of others, including
of not being deceived by sophists, as if they were demonstrating.
Therefore there has arisen among us the practice and exercise of
conclusive arguments and figures, and it has been shown to be
necessary.
But in fact in some cases we have properly granted the premisses
or assumptions, and there results from them something; and though it
is not true, yet none the less it does result. What then ought I to
do? Ought I to admit the falsehood? And how is that possible? Well,
should I say that I did not properly grant that which we agreed
upon? "But you are not allowed to do even this." Shall I then say that
the consequence does not arise through what has been conceded? "But
neither is it allowed." What then must be done in this case?
Consider if it is not this: as to have borrowed is not enough to
make a man still a debtor, but to this must be added the fact that
he continues to owe the money and that the debt is not paid, so it
is not enough to compel you to admit the inference that you have
granted the premisses, but you must abide by what you have granted.
Indeed, if the premisses continue to the end such as they were when
they were granted, it is absolutely necessary for us to abide by
what we have granted, and we must accept their consequences: but if
the premisses do not remain such as they were when they were
granted, it is absolutely necessary for us also to withdraw from
what we granted, and from accepting what does not follow from the
words in which our concessions were made. For the inference is now not
our inference, nor does it result with our assent, since we have
withdrawn from the premisses which we granted. We ought then both to
examine such kind of premisses, and such change and variation of them,
by which in the course of questioning or answering, or in making the
syllogistic conclusion, or in any other such way, the premisses
undergo variations, and give occasion to the foolish to be confounded,
if they do not see what conclusions are. For what reason ought we to
examine? In order that we may not in this matter be employed in an
improper manner nor in a confused way.
And the same in hypotheses and hypothetical arguments; for it is
necessary sometimes to demand the granting of some hypothesis as a
kind of passage to the argument which follows. Must we then allow
every hypothesis that is proposed, or not allow every one? And if
not every one, which should we allow? And if a man has allowed an
hypothesis, must he in every case abide by allowing it? or must he
sometimes withdraw from it, but admit the consequences and not admit
contradictions? Yes; but suppose that a man says, "If you admit the
hypothesis of a possibility, I will draw you to an impossibility."
With such a person shall a man of sense refuse to enter into a
contest, and avoid discussion and conversation with him? But what
other man than the man of sense can use argumentation and is
skillful in questioning and answering, and incapable of being
cheated and deceived by false reasoning? And shall he enter into the
contest, and yet not take care whether he shall engage in argument not
rashly and not carelessly? And if he does not take care, how can he be
such a man as we conceive him to be? But without some such exercise
and preparation, can he maintain a continuous and consistent argument?
Let them show this; and all these speculations become superfluous, and
are absurd and inconsistent with our notion of a good and serious man.
Why are we still indolent and negligent and sluggish, and why do
we seek pretences for not labouring and not being watchful in
cultivating our reason? "If then I shall make a mistake in these
matters may I not have killed my father?" Slave, where was there a
father in this matter that you could kill him? What, then, have you
done? The only fault that was possible here is the fault which you
have committed. This is the very remark which I made to Rufus when
he blamed me for not having discovered the one thing omitted in a
certain syllogism: "I suppose," I said, "that I have burnt the
Capitol." "Slave," he replied, "was the thing omitted here the
Capitol?" Or are these the only crimes, to burn the Capitol and to
kill your father? But for a man to use the appearances resented to him
rashly and foolishly and carelessly, not to understand argument, nor
demonstration, nor sophism, nor, in a word, to see in questioning
and answering what is consistent with that which we have granted or is
not consistent; is there no error in this?
CHAPTER 8
That the faculties are not safe to the uninstructed

In as many ways as we can change things which are equivalent to
one another, in just so many ways we can change the forms of arguments
and enthymemes in argumentation. This is an instance: "If you have
borrowed and not repaid, you owe me the money: you have not borrowed
and you have not repaid; then you do not owe me the money." To do this
skillfully is suitable to no man more than to the philosopher; for
if the enthymeme is all imperfect syllogism. it is plain that he who
has been exercised in the perfect syllogism must be equally expert
in the imperfect also.
"Why then do we not exercise ourselves and one another in this
manner?" Because, I reply, at present, though we are not exercised
in these things and not distracted from the study of morality, by me
at least, still we make no progress in virtue. What then must we
expect if we should add this occupation? and particularly as this
would not only be an occupation which would withdraw us from more
necessary things, but would also be a cause of self conceit and
arrogance, and no small cause. For great is the power of arguing and
the faculty of persuasion, and particularly if it should be much
exercised, and also receive additional ornament from language: and
so universally, every faculty acquired by the uninstructed and weak
brings with it the danger of these persons being elated and inflated
by it. For by what means could one persuade a young man who excels
in these matters that he ought not to become an appendage to them, but
to make them an appendage to himself? Does he not trample on all
such reasons, and strut before us elated and inflated, not enduring
that any man should reprove him and remind him of what he has
neglected and to what he has turned aside?
"What, then, was not Plato a philosopher?" I reply, "And was not
Hippocrates a physician? but you see how Hippocrates speaks." Does
Hippocrates, then, speak thus in respect of being a physician? Why
do you mingle things which have been accidentally united in the same
men? And if Plato was handsome and strong, ought I also to set to work
and endeavor to become handsome or strong, as if this was necessary
for philosophy, because a certain philosopher was at the same time
handsome and a philosopher? Will you not choose to see and to
distinguish in respect to what men become philosophers, and what
things belong to belong to them in other respects? And if I were a
philosopher, ought you also to be made lame? What then? Do I take away
these faculties which you possess? By no means; for neither do I
take away the faculty of seeing. But if you ask me what is the good of
man, I cannot mention to you anything else than that it is a certain
disposition of the will with respect to appearances.
CHAPTER 9
How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the
consequences

If the things are true which are said by the philosophers about
the kinship between God and man, what else remains for men to do
then what Socrates did? Never in reply to the question, to what
country you belong, say that you are an Athenian or a Corinthian,
but that you are a citizen of the world. For why do you say that you
are an Athenian, and why do you not say that you belong to the small
nook only into which your poor body was cast at birth? Is it not plain
that you call yourself an Athenian or Corinthian from the place
which has a greater authority and comprises not only that small nook
itself and all your family, but even the whole country from which
the stock of your progenitors is derived down to you? He then who
has observed with intelligence the administration of the world, and
has learned that the greatest and supreme and the most comprehensive
community is that which is composed of men and God, and that from
God have descended the seeds not only to my father and grandfather,
but to all beings which are generated on the earth and are produced,
and particularly to rational beings- for these only are by their
nature formed to have communion with God, being by means of reason
conjoined with Him- why should not such a man call himself a citizen
of the world, why not a son of God, and why should he be afraid of
anything which happens among men? Is kinship with Caesar or with any
other of the powerful in Rome sufficient to enable us to live in
safety, and above contempt and without any fear at all? and to have
God for your maker and father and guardian, shall not this release
us from sorrows and fears?
But a man may say, "Whence shall I get bread to eat when I have
nothing?"
And how do slaves, and runaways, on what do they rely when they
leave their masters? Do they rely on their lands or slaves, or their
vessels of silver? They rely on nothing but themselves, and food
does not fail them. And shall it be necessary for one among us who
is a philosopher to travel into foreign parts, and trust to and rely
on others, and not to take care of himself, and shall he be inferior
to irrational animals and more cowardly, each of which, being
self-sufficient, neither fails to get its proper food, nor to find a
suitable way of living, and one conformable to nature?
I indeed think that the old man ought to be sitting here, not to
contrive how you may have no mean thoughts nor mean and ignoble talk
about yourselves, but to take care that there be not among us any
young men of such a mind that, when they have recognized their kinship
to God, and that we are fettered by these bonds, the body, I mean, and
its possessions, and whatever else on account of them is necessary
to us for the economy and commerce of life, they should intend to
throw off these things as if they were burdens painful and
intolerable, and to depart to their kinsmen. But this is the labour
that your teacher and instructor ought to be employed upon, if he
really were what he should be. You should come to him and say,
"Epictetus, we can no longer endure being bound to this poor body, and
feeding it and giving it drink, and rest, and cleaning it, and for the
sake of the body complying with the wishes of these and of those.
Are not these things indifferent and nothing to us, and is not death
no evil? And are we not in a manner kinsmen of God, and did we not
come from Him? Allow us to depart to the place from which we came;
allow us to be released at last from these bonds by which we are bound
and weighed down. Here there are robbers and thieves and courts of
justice, and those who are named tyrants, and think that they have
some power over us by means of the body and its possessions. Permit us
to show them that they have no power over any man." And I on my part
would say, "Friends, wait for God; when He shall give the signal and
release you from this service, then go to Him; but for the present
endure to dwell in this place where He has put you: short indeed is
this time of your dwelling here, and easy to bear for those who are so
disposed: for what tyrant or what thief, or what courts of justice,
are formidable to those who have thus considered as things of no value
the body and the possessions of the body? Wait then, do not depart
without a reason."
Something like this ought to be said by the teacher to ingenuous
youths. But now what happens? The teacher is a lifeless body, and
you are lifeless bodies. When you have been well filled to-day, you
sit down and lament about the morrow, how you shall get something to
eat. Wretch, if you have it, you will have it; if you have it not, you
will depart from life. The door is open. Why do you grieve? where does
there remain any room for tears? and where is there occasion for
flattery? why shall one man envy another? why should a man admire
the rich or the powerful, even if they be both very strong and of
violent temper? for what will they do to us? We shall not care for
that which they can do; and what we do care for, that they cannot
do. How did Socrates behave with respect to these matters? Why, in
what other way than a man ought to do who was convinced that he was
a kinsman of the gods? "If you say to me now," said Socrates to his
judges, "'We will acquit you on the condition that you no longer
discourse in the way in which you have hitherto discoursed, nor
trouble either our young or our old men,' I shall answer, 'you make
yourselves ridiculous by thinking that, if one of our commanders has
appointed me to a certain post, it is my duty to keep and maintain it,
and to resolve to die a thousand times rather than desert it; but if
God has put us in any place and way of life, we ought to desert
it.'" Socrates speaks like a man who is really a kinsman of the
gods. But we think about ourselves as if we were only stomachs, and
intestines, and shameful parts; we fear, we desire; we flatter those
who are able to help us in these matters, and we fear them also.
A man asked me to write to Rome about him, a man who, as most people
thought, had been unfortunate, for formerly he was a man of rank and
rich, but had been stripped of all, and was living here. I wrote on
his behalf in a submissive manner; but when he had read the letter, he
gave it back to me and said, "I wished for your help, not your pity:
no evil has happened to me."
Thus also Musonius Rufus, in order to try me, used to say: "This and
this will befall you from your master"; and I replied that these
were things which happen in the ordinary course of human affairs.
"Why, then," said he, "should I ask him for anything when I can obtain
it from you?" For, in fact, what a man has from himself, it is
superfluous and foolish to receive from another? Shall I, then, who am
able to receive from myself greatness of soul and a generous spirit,
receive from you land and money or a magisterial office? I hope not: I
will not be so ignorant about my own possessions. But when a man is
cowardly and mean, what else must be done for him than to write
letters as you would about a corpse. "Please to grant us the body of a
certain person and a sextarius of poor blood." For such a person is,
in fact, a carcass and a sextarius of blood, and nothing more. But
if he were anything more, he would know that one man is not
miserable through the means of another.
CHAPTER 10
Against those who eagerly seek preferment at Rome

If we applied ourselves as busily to our own work as the old men
at Rome do to those matters about which they are employed, perhaps
we also might accomplish something. I am acquainted with a man older
than myself who is now superintendent of corn at Rome, and remember
the time when he came here on his way back from exile, and what he
said as he related the events of his former life, and how he
declared that with respect to the future after his return he would
look after nothing else than passing the rest of his life in quiet and
tranquillity. "For how little of life," he said, remains for me." I
replied, "You will not do it, but as soon as you smell Rome, you
will forget all that you have said; and if admission is allowed even
into the imperial palace, you will gladly thrust yourself in and thank
God." "If you find me, Epictetus," he answered, "setting even one foot
within the palace, think what you please." Well, what then did he
do? Before he entered the city he was met by letters from Caesar,
and as soon as he received them he forgot all, and ever after has
added one piece of business to another. I wish that I were now by
his side to remind him of what he said when he was passing this way
and to tell him how much better a seer I am than he is.
Well, then, do I say that man is an animal made for doing nothing?
Certainly not. But why are we not active? For example, as to myself,
as soon as day comes, in a few words I remind myself of what I must
read over to my pupils; then forthwith I say to myself, "But what is
it to me how a certain person shall read? the first thing for me is to
sleep." And indeed what resemblance is there between what other
persons do and what we do? If you observe what they do, you will
understand. And what else do they do all day long than make up
accounts, inquire among themselves, give and take advice about some
small quantity of grain, a bit of land, and such kind of profits? Is
it then the same thing to receive a petition and to read in it: "I
entreat you to permit me to export a small quantity of corn"; and
one to this effect: "I entreat you to learn from Chrysippus what is
the administration of the world, and what place in it the rational
animal holds; consider also who you are, and what is the nature of
your good and bad." Are these things like the other, do they require
equal care, and is it equally base to neglect these and those? Well,
then, are we the only persons who are lazy and love sleep? No; but
much rather you young men are. For we old men, when we see young men
amusing themselves, are eager to play with them; and if I saw you
active and zealous, much more should I be eager myself to join you
in your serious pursuits.
CHAPTER 11
Of natural affection

When he was visited by one of the magistrates, Epictetus inquired of
him about several particulars, and asked if he had children and a
wife. The man replied that he had; and Epictetus inquired further, how
he felt under the circumstances. "Miserable," the man said. Then
Epictetus asked, "In what respect," for men do not marry and beget
children in order to be wretched, but rather to be happy. "But I," the
man replied, "am so wretched about my children that lately, when my
little daughter was sick and was supposed to be in danger, I could not
endure to stay with her, but I left home till a person sent me news
that she had recovered." Well then, said Epictetus, do you think
that you acted right? "I acted naturally," the man replied. But
convince me of this that you acted naturally, and I will convince
you that everything which takes place according to nature takes
place rightly. "This is the case," said the man, "with all or at least
most fathers." I do not deny that: but the matter about which we are
inquiring is whether such behavior is right; for in respect to this
matter we must say that tumours also come for the good of the body,
because they do come; and generally we must say that to do wrong is
natural, because nearly all or at least most of us do wrong. Do you
show me then how your behavior is natural. "I cannot," he said; "but
do you rather show me how it is not according to nature and is not
rightly done.
Well, said Epictetus, if we were inquiring about white and black,
what criterion should we employ for distinguishing between them?
"The sight," he said. And if about hot and cold, and hard and soft,
what criterion? "The touch." Well then, since we are inquiring about
things which are according to nature, and those which are done rightly
or not rightly, what kind of criterion do you think that we should
employ? "I do not know," he said. And yet not to know the criterion of
colors and smells, and also of tastes, is perhaps no great harm; but
if a man do not know the criterion of good and bad, and of things
according to nature and contrary to nature, does this seem to you a
small harm? "The greatest harm." Come tell me, do all things which
seem to some persons to be good and becoming rightly appear such;
and at present as to Jews and Syrians and Egyptians and Romans, is
it possible that the opinions of all of them in respect to food are
right? "How is it possible?" he said. Well, I suppose it is absolutely
necessary that, if the opinions of the Egyptians are right, the
opinions of the rest must be wrong: if the opinions of the Jews are
right, those of the rest cannot be right. "Certainly." But where there
is ignorance, there also there is want of learning and training in
things which are necessary. He assented to this. You then, said
Epictetus, since you know this, for the future will employ yourself
seriously about nothing else, and will apply your mind to nothing else
than to learn the criterion of things which are according to nature,
and by using it also to determine each several thing. But in the
present matter I have so much as this to aid you toward what you wish.
Does affection to those of your family appear to you to be according
to nature and to be good? "Certainly." Well, is such affection natural
and good, and is a thing consistent with reason not good? "By no
means." Is then that which is consistent with reason in
contradiction with affection? "I think not." You are right, for if
it is otherwise, it is necessary that one of the contradictions
being according to nature, the other must be contrary to nature. Is it
not so? "It is," he said. Whatever, then, we shall discover to be at
the same time affectionate and also consistent with reason, this we
confidently declare to be right and good. "Agreed." Well then to leave
your sick child and to go away is not reasonable, and I suppose that
you will not say that it is; but it remains for us to inquire if it is
consistent with affection. "Yes, let us consider." Did you, then,
since you had an affectionate disposition to your child, do right when
you ran off and left her; and has the mother no affection for the
child? "Certainly, she has." Ought, then, the mother also to have left
her, or ought she not? "She ought not." And the nurse, does she love
her? "She does." Ought, then, she also to have left her? "By no
means." And the pedagogue, does he not love her? "He does love her."
Ought, then, he also to have deserted her? and so should the child
have been left alone and without help on account of the great
affection of you, the parents, and of those about her, or should she
have died in the hands of those who neither loved her nor cared for
her? "Certainly not." Now this is unfair and unreasonable, not to
allow those who have equal affection with yourself to do what you
think to be proper for yourself to do because you have affection. It
is absurd. Come then, if you were sick, would you wish your
relations to be so affectionate, and all the rest, children and
wife, as to leave you alone and deserted? "By no means." And would you
wish to be so loved by your own that through their excessive affection
you would always be left alone in sickness? or for this reason would
you rather pray, if it were possible, to be loved by your enemies
and deserted by them? But if this is so, it results that your behavior
was not at all an affectionate act.
Well then, was it nothing which moved you and induced you to
desert your child? and how is that possible? But it might be something
of the kind which moved a man at Rome to wrap up his head while a
horse was running which he favoured; and when contrary to
expectation the horse won, he required sponges to recover from his
fainting fit. What then is the thing which moved? The exact discussion
of this does not belong to the present occasion perhaps; but it is
enough to be convinced of this, if what the philosophers say is
true, that we must not look for it anywhere without, but in all
cases it is one and the same thing which is the cause of our doing
or not doing something, of saying or not saying something, of being
elated or depressed, of avoiding anything or pursuing: the very
thing which is now the cause to me and to you, to you of coming to
me and sitting and hearing, and to me of saying what I do say. And
what is this? Is it any other than our will to do so? "No other."
But if we had willed otherwise, what else should we have been doing
than that which we willed to do? This, then, was the cause of
Achilles' lamentation, not the death of Patroclus; for another man
does not behave thus on the death of his companion; but it was because
he chose to do so. And to you this was the very cause of your then
running away, that you chose to do so; and on the other side, if you
should stay with her, the reason will be the same. And now you are
going to Rome because you choose; and if you should change your
mind, you will not go thither. And in a word, neither death nor
exile nor pain nor anything of the kind is the cause of our doing
anything or not doing; but our own opinions and our wills.
Do I convince you of this or not? "You do convince me." Such,
then, as the causes are in each case, such also are the effects. When,
then, we are doing anything not rightly, from this day we shall impute
it to nothing else than to the will from which we have done it: and it
is that which we shall endeavour to take away and to extirpate more
than the tumours and abscesses out of the body. And in like manner
we shall give the same account of the cause of the things which we
do right; and we shall no longer allege as causes of any evil to us,
either slave or neighbour, or wife or children, being persuaded
that, if we do not think things to he what we do think them to be,
we do not the acts which follow from such opinions; and as to thinking
or not thinking, that is in our power and not in externals. "It is
so," he said. From this day then we shall inquire into and examine
nothing else, what its quality is, or its state, neither land nor
slaves nor horses nor dogs, nothing else than opinions. "I hope so."
You see, then, that you must become a Scholasticus, an animal whom all
ridicule, if you really intend to make an examination of your own
opinions: and that this is not the work of one hour or day, you know
yourself.
CHAPTER 12
Of contentment

With respect to gods, there are some who say that a divine being
does not exist: others say that it exists, but is inactive and
careless, and takes no forethought about anything; a third class say
that such a being exists and exercises forethought, but only about
great things and heavenly things, and about nothing on the earth; a
fourth class say that a divine being exercises forethought both
about things on the earth and heavenly things, but in a general way
only, and not about things severally. There is a fifth class to whom
Ulysses and Socrates belong, who say: "I move not without thy
knowledge."
Before all other things, then, it is necessary to inquire about each
of these opinions, whether it is affirmed truly or not truly. For if
there are no gods, how is it our proper end to follow them? And if
they exist, but take no care of anything, in this case also how will
it be right to follow them? But if indeed they do exist and look after
things, still if there is nothing communicated from them to men, nor
in fact to myself, how even so is it right? The wise and good man,
then, after considering all these things, submits his own mind to
him who administers the whole, as good citizens do to the law of the
state. He who is receiving instruction ought to come to the instructed
with this intention: How shall I follow the gods in all things, how
shall I be contented with the divine administration, and how can I
become free?" For he is free to whom everything happens according,
to his will, and whom no man can hinder. "What then, is freedom
madness?" Certainly not: for madness and freedom do not consist.
"But," you say, "I would have everything result just as I like, and in
whatever way I like." You are mad, you are beside yourself. Do you not
know that freedom is a noble and valuable thing? But for me
inconsiderately to wish for things to happen as I inconsiderately
like, this appears to be not only not noble, but even most base. For
how do we proceed in the matter of writing? Do I wish to write the
name of Dion as I choose? No, but I am taught to choose to write it as
it ought to be written. And how with respect to music? In the same
manner. And what universally in every art or science? Just the same.
If it were not so, it would be of no value to know anything, if
knowledge were adapted to every man's whim. Is it, then, in this
alone, in this which is the greatest and the chief thing, I mean
freedom, that I am permitted to will inconsiderately? By no means; but
to be instructed is this, to learn to wish that everything may
happen as it does. And how do things happen? As the disposer has
disposed them? And he has appointed summer and winter, and abundance
and scarcity, and virtue and vice, and all such opposites for the
harmony of the whole; and to each of us he has given a body, and parts
of the body, and possessions, and companions.
Remembering, then, this disposition of things we ought to go to be
instructed, not that we may change the constitution of things- for
we have not the power to do it, nor is it better that we should have
the power-but in order that, as the things around us are what they are
and by nature exist, we may maintain our minds in harmony with them
things which happen. For can we escape from men? and how is it
possible? And if we associate with them, can we chance them? Who gives
us the power? What then remains, or what method is discovered of
holding commerce with them? Is there such a method by which they shall
do what seems fit to them, and we not the less shall be in a mood
which is conformable to nature? But you are unwilling to endure and
are discontented: and if you are alone, you call it solitude; and of
you are with men, you call them knaves and robbers; and you find fault
with your own parents and children, and brothers and neighbours. But
you ought when you are alone to call this condition by the name of
tranquillity and freedom, and to think yourself like to the gods;
and when you are with many, you ought not to call it crowd, nor
trouble, nor uneasiness, but festival and assembly, and so accept
all contentedly.
What, then, is the punishment of those who do not accept? It is to
be what they are. Is any person dissatisfied with being alone, let him
be alone. Is a man dissatisfied with his parents? let him be a bad
son, and lament. Is he dissatisfied with his children? let him be a
bad father. "Cast him into prison." What prison? Where he is
already, for he is there against his will; and where a man is
against his will, there he is in prison. So Socrates was not in
prison, for he was there willingly. "Must my leg then be lamed?"
Wretch, do you then on account of one poor leg find fault with the
world? Will you not willingly surrender it for the whole? Will you not
withdraw from it? Will you not gladly part with it to him who gave it?
And will you be vexed and discontented with the things established
by Zeus, which he with the Moirae who were present and spinning the
thread of your generation, defined and put in order? Know you not
how small a part you are compared with the whole. I mean with
respect to the body, for as to intelligence you are not inferior to
the gods nor less; for the magnitude of intelligence is not measured
by length nor yet by height, but by thoughts.
Will you not, then, choose to place your good in that in which you
are equal to the gods? "Wretch that I am to have such a father and
mother." What, then, was it permitted to you to come forth, and to
select, and to say: "Let such a man at this moment unite with such a
woman that I may be produced?" It was not permitted, but it was a
necessity for your parents to exist first, and then for you to be
begotten. Of what kind of parents? Of such as they were. Well then,
since they are such as they are, is there no remedy given to you?
Now if you did not know for what purpose you possess the faculty of
vision, you would be unfortunate and wretched if you closed your
eyes when colors were brought before them; but in that you possess
greatness of soul and nobility of spirit for every event that may
happen, and you know not that you possess them, are you not more
unfortunate and wretched? Things are brought close to you which are
proportionate to the power which you possess, but you turn away this
power most particularly at the very time when you ought to maintain it
open and discerning. Do you not rather thank the gods that they have
allowed you to be above these things which they have not placed in
your power; and have made you accountable only for those which are
in your power? As to your parents, the gods have left you free from
responsibility; and so with respect to your brothers, and your body,
and possessions, and death and life. For what, then, have they made
you responsible? For that which alone is in your power, the proper use
of appearances. Why then do you draw on yourself the things for
which you are not responsible? It is, indeed, a giving of trouble to
yourself.
CHAPTER 13
How everything may he done acceptably to the gods

When some one asked, how may a man eat acceptably to the gods, he
answered: If he can eat justly and contentedly, and with equanimity,
and temperately and orderly, will it not be also acceptably to the
gods? But when you have asked for warm water and the slave has not
heard, or if he did hear has brought only tepid water, or he is not
even found to be in the house, then not to be vexed or to burst with
passion, is not this acceptable to the gods? "How then shall a man
endure such persons as this slave?" Slave yourself, will you not
bear with your own brother, who has Zeus for his progenitor, and is
like a son from the same seeds and of the same descent from above? But
if you have been put in any such higher place, will you immediately
make yourself a tyrant? Will you not remember who you are, and whom
you rule? that they are kinsmen, that they are brethren by nature,
that they are the offspring of Zeus? "But I have purchased them, and
they have not purchased me." Do you see in what direction you are
looking, that it is toward the earth, toward the pit, that it is
toward these wretched laws of dead men? but toward the laws of the
gods you are not looking.
CHAPTER 14
That the deity oversees all things

When a person asked him how a man could be convinced that all his
actions are under the inspection of God, he answered, Do you not think
that all things are united in one? "I do," the person replied. Well,
do you not think that earthly things have a natural agreement and
union with heavenly things "I do." And how else so regularly as if
by God's command, when He bids the plants to flower, do they flower?
when He bids them to send forth shoots, do they shoot? when He bids
them to produce fruit, how else do they produce fruit? when He bids
the fruit to ripen, does it ripen? when again He bids them to cast
down the fruits, how else do they cast them down? and when to shed the
leaves, do they shed the leaves? and when He bids them to fold
themselves up and to remain quiet and rest, how else do they remain
quiet and rest? And how else at the growth and the wane of the moon,
and at the approach and recession of the sun, are so great an
alteration and change to the contrary seen in earthly things? But
are plants and our bodies so bound up and united with the whole, and
are not our souls much more? and our souls so bound up and in
contact with God as parts of Him and portions of Him; and does not God
perceive every motion of these parts as being His own motion connate
with Himself? Now are you able to think of the divine
administration, and about all things divine, and at the same time also
about human affairs, and to be moved by ten thousand things at the
same time in your senses and in your understanding, and to assent to
some, and to dissent from others, and again as to some things to
suspend your judgment; and do you retain in your soul so many
impressions from so many and various things, and being moved by
them, do you fall upon notions similar to those first impressed, and
do you retain numerous arts and the memories of ten thousand things;
and is not God able to oversee all things, and to be present with all,
and to receive from all a certain communication? And is the sun able
to illuminate so large a part of the All, and to leave so little not
illuminated, that part only which is occupied by the earth's shadow;
and He who made the sun itself and makes it go round, being a small
part of Himself compared with the whole, cannot He perceive all
things?
"But I cannot," the man may reply, "comprehend all these things at
once." But who tells you that you have equal power with Zeus?
Nevertheless he has placed by every man a guardian, every man's Demon,
to whom he has committed the care of the man, a guardian who never
sleeps, is never deceived. For to what better and more careful
guardian could He have entrusted each of us? When, then, you have shut
the doors and made darkness within, remember never to say that you are
alone, for you are not; but God is within, and your Demon is within,
and what need have they of light to see what you are doing? To this
God you ought to swear an oath just as the soldiers do to Caesar.
But they who are hired for pay swear to regard the safety of Caesar
before all things; and you who have received so many and such great
favours, will you not swear, or when you have sworn, will you not
abide by your oath? And what shall you swear? Never to be disobedient,
never to make any charges, never to find fault with anything that he
has given, and never unwillingly to do or to suffer anything, that
is necessary. Is this oath like the soldier's oath? The soldiers swear
not to prefer any man to Caesar: in this oath men swear to honour
themselves before all.
CHAPTER 15
What philosophy promises

When a man was consulting him how he should persuade his brother
to cease being angry with him, Epictetus replied: Philosophy does
not propose to secure for a man any external thing. If it did
philosophy would be allowing something which is not within its
province. For as the carpenter's material is wood, and that of the
statuary is copper, so the matter of the art of living is each man's
life. "What then is my brother's?" That again belongs to his own
art; but with respect to yours, it is one of the external things, like
a piece of land, like health, like reputation. But Philosophy promises
none of these. "In every circumstance I will maintain," she says, "the
governing part conformable to nature." Whose governing part? "His in
whom I am," she says.
"How then shall my brother cease to be angry with me?" Bring him
to me and I will tell him. But I have nothing to say to you about
his anger.
When the man, who was consulting him, said, "I seek to know this-
how, even if my brother is not reconciled to me, shall I maintain
myself in a state conformable to nature?" Nothing great, said
Epictetus, is produced suddenly, since not even the grape or the fig
is. If you say to me now that you want a fig, I will answer to you
that it requires time: let it flower first, then put forth fruit,
and then ripen. Is, then, the fruit of a fig-tree not perfected
suddenly and in one hour, and would you possess the fruit of a man's
mind in so short a time and so easily? Do not expect it, even if I
tell you.
CHAPTER 16
Of providence

Do not wonder if for other animals than man all things are
provided for the body, not only food and drink, but beds also, and
they have no need of shoes nor bed materials, nor clothing; but we
require all these additional things. For, animals not being made for
themselves, but for service, it was not fit for them to he made so
as to need other things. For consider what it would be for us to
take care not only of ourselves, but also about cattle and asses,
how they should be clothed, and how shod, and how they should eat
and drink. Now as soldiers are ready for their commander, shod,
clothed and armed: but it would be a hard thing, for the chiliarch
to go round and shoe or clothe his thousand men; so also nature has
formed the animals which are made for service, all ready, prepared,
and requiring no further care. So one little boy with only a stick
drives the cattle.
But now we, instead of being thankful that we need not take the same
care of animals as of ourselves, complain of God on our own account;
and yet, in the name of Zeus and the gods, any one thing of those
which exist would be enough to make a man perceive the providence of
God, at least a man who is modest and grateful. And speak not to me
now of the great thins, but only of this, that milk is produced from
grass, and cheese from milk, and wool from skins. Who made these
things or devised them? "No one," you say. Oh, amazing shamelessness
and stupidity!
Well, let us omit the works of nature and contemplate her smaller
acts. Is there anything less useful than the hair on the chin? What
then, has not nature used this hair also in the most suitable manner
possible? Has she not by it distinguished the male and the female?
does not the nature of every man forthwith proclaim from a distance,
"I am a man; as such approach me, as such speak to me; look for
nothing else; see the signs"? Again, in the case of women, as she
has mingled something softer in the voice, so she has also deprived
them of hair (on the chin). You say: "Not so; the human animal ought
to have been left without marks of distinction, and each of us
should have been obliged to proclaim, 'I am a man.' But how is not the
sign beautiful and becoming, and venerable? how much more beautiful
than the cock's comb, how much more becoming than the lion's mane? For
this reason we ought to preserve the signs which God has given, we
ought not to throw them away, nor to confound, as much as we can,
the distinctions of the sexes.
Are these the only works of providence in us? And what words are
sufficient to praise them and set them forth according to their worth?
For if we had understanding, ought we to do anything else both jointly
and severally than to sing hymns and bless the deity, and to tell of
his benefits? Ought we not when we are digging and ploughing and
eating to sing this hymn to God? "Great is God, who has given us
such implements with which we shall cultivate the earth: great is
God who has given us hands, the power of swallowing, a stomach,
imperceptible growth, and the power of breathing while we sleep." This
is what we ought to sing on every occasion, and to sing the greatest
and most divine hymn for giving us the faculty of comprehending
these things and using a proper way. Well then, since most of you have
become blind, ought there not to be some man to fill this office,
and on behalf of all to sing the hymn to God? For what else can I
do, a lame old man, than sing hymns to God? If then I was a
nightingale, I would do the part of a nightingale: if I were a swan, I
would do like a swan. But now I am a rational creature, and I ought to
praise God: this is my work; I do it, nor will I desert this post,
so long as I am allowed to keep it; and I exhort you to join in this
same song.
CHAPTER 17
That the logical art is necessary

Since reason is the faculty which analyses and perfects the rest,
and it ought itself not to be unanalysed, by what should it be
analysed? for it is plain that this should be done either by itself or
by another thing. Either, then, this other thing also is reason, or
something else superior to reason; which is impossible. But if it is
reason, again who shall analyse that reason? For if that reason does
this for itself, our reason also can do it. But we shall require
something else, the thing, will go on to infinity and have no end.
Reason therefore is analysed by itself. "Yes: but it is more urgent to
cure (our opinions) and the like." Will you then hear about those
things? Hear. But if you should say, "I know not whether you are
arguing truly or falsely," and if I should express myself in any way
ambiguously, and you should say to me, " Distinguish," I will bear
with you no longer, and I shall say to "It is more urgent." This is
the reason, I suppose, why they place the logical art first, as in the
measuring of corn we place first the examination of the measure. But
if we do not determine first what is a modius, and what is a
balance, how shall we be able to measure or weigh anything?
In this case, then, if we have not fully learned and accurately
examined the criterion of all other things, by which the other
things are learned, shall we be able to examine accurately and to
learn fully anything else? "Yes; but the modius is only wood, and a
thing which produces no fruit." But it is a thing which can measure
corn. "Logic also produces no fruit." As to this indeed we shall
see: but then even if a man should rant this, it is enough that
logic has the power of distinguishing and examining other things, and,
as we may say, of measuring and weighing them. Who says this? Is it
only Chrysippus, and Zeno, and Cleanthes? And does not Antisthenes say
so? And who is it that has written that the examination of names is
the beginning of education? And does not Socrates say so? And of
whom does Xenophon write, that he began with the examination of names,
what each name signified? Is this then the great and wondrous thing to
understand or interpret Chrysippus? Who says this? What then is the
wondrous thing? To understand the will of nature. Well then do you
apprehend it yourself by your own power? and what more have you need
of? For if it is true that all men err involuntarily, and you have
learned the truth, of necessity you must act right. "But in truth I do
not apprehend the will of nature." Who then tells us what it is?
They say that it is Chrysippus. I proceed, and I inquire what this
interpreter of nature says. I begin not to understand what he says;
I seek an interpreter of Chrysippus. "Well, consider how this is said,
just as if it were said in the Roman tongue." What then is this
superciliousness of the interpreter? There is no superciliousness
which can justly he charged even to Chrysippus, if he only
interprets the will of nature, but does not follow it himself; and
much more is this so with his interpreter. For we have no need of
Chrysippus for his own sake, but in order that we may understand
nature. Nor do we need a diviner on his own account, but because we
think that through him we shall know the future and understand the
signs given by the gods; nor do we need the viscera of animals for
their own sake, but because through them signs are given; nor do we
look with wonder on the crow or raven, but on God, who through them
gives signs?
I go then to the interpreter of these things and the sacrificer, and
I say, "Inspect the viscera for me, and tell me what signs they give."
The man takes the viscera, opens them, and interprets them: "Man,"
he says, "you have a will free by nature from hindrance and
compulsion; this is written here in the viscera. I will show you
this first in the matter of assent. Can any man hinder you from
assenting to the truth? No man can. Can any man compel you to
receive what is false? No man can. You see that in this matter you
have the faculty of the will free from hindrance, free from
compulsion, unimpeded." Well, then, in the matter of desire and
pursuit of an object, is it otherwise? And what can overcome pursuit
except another pursuit? And what can overcome desire and aversion
except another desire and aversion? But, you object: "If you place
before me the fear of death, you do compel me." No, it is not what
is placed before you that compels, but your opinion that it is
better to do so-and-so than to die. In this matter, then, it is your
opinion that compelled you: that is, will compelled will. For if God
had made that part of Himself, which He took from Himself and gave
to us, of such a nature as to be hindered or compelled either by
Himself or by another, He would not then be God nor would He be taking
care of us as He ought. "This," says the diviner, "I find in the
victims: these are the things which are signified to you. If you
choose, you are free; if you choose, you will blame no one: you will
charge no one. All will be at the same time according to your mind and
the mind of God." For the sake of this divination I go to this diviner
and to the philosopher, not admiring him for this interpretation,
but admiring the things which he interprets.
CHAPTER 18
That we ought not to he angry with the errors of others

If what philosophers say is true, that all men have one principle,
as in the case of assent the persuasion that a thing is so, and in the
case of dissent the persuasion that a thing is not so, and in the case
of a suspense of judgment the persuasion that a thing is uncertain, so
also in the case of a movement toward anything the persuasion that a
thing is for a man's advantage, and it is impossible to think that one
thing is advantageous and to desire another, and to judge one thing to
be proper and to move toward another, why then are we angry with the
many? "They are thieves and robbers," you may say. What do you mean by
thieves and robbers? "They are mistaken about good and evil." Ought we
then to be angry with them, or to pity them? But show them their
error, and you will see how they desist from their errors. If they
do not see their errors, they have nothing superior to their present
opinion.
"Ought not then this robber and this adulterer to be destroyed?"
By no means say so, but speak rather in this way: "This man who has
been mistaken and deceived about the most important things, and
blinded, not in the faculty of vision which distinguishes white and
black, but in the faculty which distinguishes good and bad, should
we not destroy him?" If you speak thus, you will see how inhuman
this is which you say, and that it is just as if you would say, "Ought
we not to destroy this blind and deaf man?" But if the greatest harm
is the privation of the greatest things, and the greatest thing in
every man is the will or choice such as it ought to be, and a man is
deprived of this will, why are you also angry with him? Man, you ought
not to be affected contrary to nature by the bad things of another.
Pity him rather: drop this readiness to be offended and to hate, and
these words which the many utter: "These accursed and odious fellows."
How have you been made so wise at once? and how are you so peevish?
Why then are we angry? Is it because we value so much the things of
which these men rob us? Do not admire your clothes, and then you
will not be angry with the thief. Do not admire the beauty of your
wife, and you will not be angry with the adulterer. Learn that a thief
and an adulterer have no place in the things which are yours, but in
those which belong to others and which are not in your power. If you
dismiss these things and consider them as nothing, with whom are you
still angry? But so long as you value these things, be angry with
yourself rather than with the thief and the adulterer. Consider the
matter thus: you have fine clothes; your neighbor has not: you have
a window; you wish to air the clothes. The thief does not know wherein
man's good consists, but he thinks that it consists in having fine
clothes, the very thing which you also think. Must he not then come
and take them away? When you show a cake to greedy persons, and
swallow it all yourself, do you expect them not to snatch it from you?
Do not provoke them: do not have a window: do not air your clothes.
I also lately had an iron lamp placed by the side of my household
gods: hearing a noise at the door, I ran down, and found that the lamp
had been carried off. I reflected that he who had taken the lamp
had done nothing strange. What then? To-morrow, I said, you will
find an earthen lamp: for a man only loses that which he has. "I
have lost my garment." The reason is that you had a garment. "I have
pain in my head." Have you any pain in your horns? Why then are you
troubled? for we only lose those things, we have only pains about
those things which we possess.
"But the tyrant will chain." What? the leg. "He will take away."
What? the neck. What then will he not chain and not take away? the
will. This is why the ancients taught the maxim, "Know thyself."
Therefore we ought to exercise ourselves in small things and,
beginning with them, to proceed to the greater. "I have pain in the
head." Do not say, "Alas!" "I have pain in the ear." Do not say,
"Alas!" And I do not say that you are not allowed to groan, but do not
groan inwardly; and if your slave is slow in bringing a bandage, do
not cry out and torment yourself, and say, "Everybody hates me": for
who would not hate such a man? For the future, relying on these
opinions, walk about upright, free; not trusting to the size of your
body, as an athlete, for a man ought not to be invincible in the way
that an ass is.
Who then is the invincible? It is he whom none of the things disturb
which are independent of the will. Then examining one circumstance
after another I observe, as in the case of an athlete; he has come off
victorious in the first contest: well then, as to the second? and what
if there should be great heat? and what, if it should be at Olympia?
And the same I say in this case: if you should throw money in his way,
he will despise it. Well, suppose you put a young girl in his way,
what then? and what, if it is in the dark? what if it should be a
little reputation, or abuse; and what, if it should be praise; and
what if it should be death? He is able to overcome all. What then if
it be in heat, and what if it is in the rain, and what if he be in a
melancholy mood, and what if he be asleep? He will still conquer. This
is my invincible athlete.
CHAPTER 19
How we should behave to tyrants

If a man possesses any superiority, or thinks that he does, when
he does not, such a man, if he is uninstructed, will of necessity be
puffed up through it. For instance, the tyrant says, "I am master of
all." And what can you do for me? Can you give me desire which shall
have no hindrance? How can you? Have you the infallible power of
avoiding what you would avoid? Have you the power of moving toward
an object without error? And how do you possess this power? Come, when
you are in a ship, do you trust to yourself or to the helmsman? And
when you are in a chariot, to whom do you trust but to the driver? And
how is it in all other arts? Just the same. In what then lies your
power? "All men pay respect to me." Well, I also pay respect to my
platter, and I wash it and wipe it; and for the sake of my oil
flask, I drive a peg into the wall. Well then, are these things
superior to me? No, but they supply some of my wants, and for this
reason I take care of them. Well, do I not attend to my ass? Do I
not wash his feet? Do I not clean him? Do you not know that every
man has regard to himself, and to you just the same as he has regard
to his ass? For who has regard to you as a man? Show me. Who wishes to
become like you? Who imitates you, as he imitates Socrates? "But I can
cut off your head." You say right. I had forgotten that I must have
regard to you, as I would to a fever and the bile, and raise an
altar to you, as there is at Rome an altar to fever.
What is it then that disturbs and terrifies the multitude? is it the
tyrant and his guards? I hope that it is not so. It is not possible
that what is by nature free can be disturbed by anything else, or
hindered by any other thing than by itself. But it is a man's own
opinions which disturb him: for when the tyrant says to a man, "I will
chain your leg," he who values his leg says, "Do not; have pity":
but he who values his own will says, "If it appears more
advantageous to you, chain it." "Do you not care?" I do not care. "I
will show you that I am master." You cannot do that. Zeus has set me
free: do you think that he intended to allow his own son to be
enslaved? But you are master of my carcass: take it. "So when you
approach me, you have no regard to me?" No, but I have regard to
myself; and if you wish me to say that I have regard to you also, I
tell you that I have the same regard to you that I have to my pipkin.
This is not a perverse self-regard, for the animal is constituted so
as to do all things for itself. For even the sun does all things for
itself; nay, even Zeus himself. But when he chooses to be the Giver of
rain and the Giver of fruits, and the Father of gods and men, you
see that he cannot obtain these functions and these names, if he is
not useful to man; and, universally, he has made the nature of the
rational animal such that it cannot obtain any one of its own proper
interests, if it does not contribute something to the common interest.
In this manner and sense it is not unsociable for a man to do
everything, for the sake of himself. For what do you expect? that a
man should neglect himself and his own interest? And how in that
case can there be one and the same principle in all animals, the
principle of attachment to themselves?
What then? when absurd notions about things independent of our will,
as if they were good and bad, lie at the bottom of our opinions, we
must of necessity pay regard to tyrants; for I wish that men would pay
regard to tyrants only, and not also to the bedchamber men. How is
it that the man becomes all at once wise, when Caesar has made him
superintendent of the close stool? How is it that we say
immediately, "Felicion spoke sensibly to me." I wish he were ejected
from the bedchamber, that he might again appear to you to be a fool.
Epaphroditus had a shoemaker whom he sold because he was good for
nothing. This fellow by some good luck was bought by one of Caesar's
men, and became Caesar's shoemaker. You should have seen what
respect Epaphroditus paid to him: "How does the good Felicion do, I
pray?" Then if any of us asked, "What is master doing?" the answer "He
is consulting about something with Felicion." Had he not sold the
man as good for nothing? Who then made him wise all at once? This is
an instance of valuing something else than the things which depend
on the will.
Has a man been exalted to the tribuneship? All who meet him offer
their congratulations; one kisses his eyes, another the neck, and
the slaves kiss his hands. He goes to his house, he finds torches
lighted. He ascends the Capitol: he offers a sacrifice of the
occasion. Now who ever sacrificed for having had good desires? for
having acted conformably to nature? For in fact we thank the gods
for those things in which we place our good.
A person was talking to me to-day about the priesthood of
Augustus. I say to him: "Man, let the thing alone: you will spend much
for no purpose." But he replies, "Those who draw up agreements will
write any name." Do you then stand by those who read them, and say
to such persons, "It is I whose name is written there;" And if you can
now be present on all such occasions, what will you do when you are
dead? "My name will remain." Write it on a stone, and it will
remain. But come, what remembrance of you will there be beyond
Nicopolis? "But I shall wear a crown of gold." If you desire a crown
at all, take a crown of roses and put it on, for it will be more
elegant in appearance.
CHAPTER 20
About reason, how it contemplates itself

Every art and faculty contemplates certain things especially. When
then it is itself of the same kind with the objects which it
contemplates, it must of necessity contemplate itself also: but when
it is of an unlike kind, it cannot contemplate itself. For instance,
the shoemaker's art is employed on skins, but itself is entirely
distinct from the material of skins: for this reason it does not
contemplate itself. Again, the grammarian's art is employed about
articulate speech; is then the art also articulate speech? By no
means. For this reason it is not able to contemplate itself. Now
reason, for what purpose has it been given by nature? For the right
use of appearances. What is it then itself? A system of certain
appearances. So by its nature it has the faculty of contemplating
itself so. Again, sound sense, for the contemplation of what things
does it belong to us? Good and evil, and things which are neither.
What is it then itself? Good. And want of sense, what is it? Evil.
Do you see then that good sense necessarily contemplates both itself
and the opposite? For this reason it is the chief and the first work
of a philosopher to examine appearances, and to distinguish them,
and to admit none without examination. You see even in the matter of
coin, in which our interest appears to be somewhat concerned, how we
have invented an art, and how many means the assayer uses to try the
value of coin, the sight, the touch, the smell, and lastly the
hearing. He throws the coin down, and observes the sound, and he is
not content with its sounding once, but through his great attention he
becomes a musician. In like manner, where we think that to be mistaken
and not to be mistaken make a great difference, there we apply great
attention to discovering the things which can deceive. But in the
matter of our miserable ruling faculty, yawning and sleeping, we
carelessly admit every appearance, for the harm is not noticed.
When then you would know how careless you are with respect to good
and evil, and how active with respect to things which are indifferent,
observe how you feel with respect to being deprived of the sight of
eyes, and how with respect of being deceived, and you will discover
you are far from feeling as you ought to in relation to good and evil.
"But this is a matter which requires much preparation, and much
labor and study." Well then do you expect to acquire the greatest of
arts with small labor? And yet the chief doctrine of philosophers is
brief. If you would know, read Zeno's writings and you will see. For
how few words it requires to say man's end is to follow the god's, and
that the nature of good is a proper use of appearances. But if you say
"What is 'God,' what is 'appearance,' and what is 'particular' and
what is 'universal nature'? then indeed many words are necessary. If
then Epicures should come and say that the good must be in the body;
in this case also many words become necessary, and we must be taught
what is the leading principle in us, and the fundamental and the
substantial; and as it is not probable that the good of a snail is
in the shell, is it probable that the good of a man is in the body?
But you yourself, Epicurus, possess something better than this. What
is that in you which deliberates, what is that which examines
everything, what is that which forms a judgement about the body
itself, that it is the principle part? and why do you light your
lamp and labor for us, and write so many books? is it that we may
not be ignorant of the truth, who we are, and what we are with respect
to you? Thus the discussion requires many words.
CHAPTER 21
Against those who wish to be admired

When a man holds his proper station in life, he does not gape
after things beyond it. Man, what do you wish to happen to you? "I
am satisfied if I desire and avoid conformably to nature, if I
employ movements toward and from an object as I am by nature formed to
do, and purpose and design and assent." Why then do you strut before
us as if you had swallowed a spit? "My wish has always been that those
who meet me should admire me, and those who follow me should
exclaim, 'Oh, the great philosopher.'" Who are they by whom you wish
to be admired? Are they not those of whom you are used to say that
they are mad? Well then do you wish to be admired by madmen?
CHAPTER 22
On precognitions

Precognitions are common to all men, and precognition is not
contradictory to precognition. For who of us does not assume that Good
is useful and eligible, and in all circumstances that we ought to
follow and pursue it? And who of us does not assume that justice is
beautiful and becoming? When, then, does the contradiction arise? It
arises in the adaptation of the precognitions to the particular cases.
When one man says, "He has done well: he is a brave man," and
another says, "Not so; but he has acted foolishly"; then the
disputes arise among men. This is the dispute among the Jews and the
Syrians and the Egyptians and the Romans; not whether holiness
should be preferred to all things and in all cases should be
pursued, but whether it is holy to eat pig's flesh or not holy. You
will find this dispute also between Agamemnon and Achilles; for call
them forth. What do you say, Agamemnon ought not that to be done which
is proper and right? "Certainly." Well, what do you say, Achilles?
do you not admit that what is good ought to be done? "I do most
cert