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 behaviour 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 behaviour is natural. I cannot, he said; but do you rather show me how it is not according to nature, and is not rightly done.

When a magistrate visited Epictetus, Epictetus asked him about several things, including whether he had a wife and children. The man said he did. Epictetus then asked how he felt about his situation. “Miserable,” the man said. “In what way?” Epictetus asked. “People do not marry and have children to be miserable, but to be happy.” “But I am so miserable about my children,” the man replied. “Recently my little daughter was sick and thought to be in danger. I could not bear to stay with her. I left home until someone sent word that she had recovered.” “Well then,” Epictetus said, “do you think you acted rightly?” “I acted naturally,” the man replied. “Convince me that you acted naturally, and I will convince you that everything that happens according to nature happens rightly.” “All fathers, or at least most, behave this way,” the man said. “I do not deny that. But we are asking whether such behavior is right. By your reasoning, we would have to say that tumors are good for the body, because they occur. More generally, we would have to say that doing wrong is natural, because nearly all of us, or at least most, do wrong. So show me how your behavior is natural.” “I cannot,” he said. “Instead, show me how it is contrary to nature and wrong.”

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 colours 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 (I think). 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 towards 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 paedagogue,⁹³ 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 behaviour was not at all an affectionate act.

“Well,” said Epictetus, “if we were trying to distinguish white from black, what standard would we use?” “Sight,” he said. “And if we were distinguishing hot from cold, or hard from soft, what standard would we use?” “Touch.” “Now we are asking what is according to nature and what is done rightly or wrongly. What standard do you think we should use?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps it is no great harm not to know the standard for judging colors, smells, and tastes. But suppose a man does not know the standard for good and bad. He does not know how to judge what is according to nature and what is contrary to nature. Does that seem a small harm to you?” “The greatest harm, I think.” “Tell me, then. Are all the things that seem good and proper to some people rightly judged so? Take the Jews, Syrians, Egyptians, and Romans today. Can all their opinions about food be right?” “How could they be?” he said. “Well, surely, if the Egyptians are right, all the others must be wrong. If the Jews are right, the others cannot be right.” “Certainly.” “But where there is ignorance, there is also a lack of education and training in necessary matters.” He agreed. “Now that you know this,” said Epictetus, “you will devote yourself seriously to nothing else from now on. You will focus entirely on learning the standard for what is according to nature. Then you will use it to judge each particular thing. But for now, I can offer you this much help toward what you want. “Does affection for your family seem to you natural and good?” “Certainly.” “Well, is such affection natural and good, while what is reasonable is not good?” “Not at all.” “Then does what is reasonable conflict with affection?” “I think not.” “You are right. Otherwise, one of the two would have to be according to nature, and the other contrary to nature. Isn’t that so?” “It is,” he said. “Then whatever we find to be both affectionate and reasonable, we can confidently call right and good.” “Agreed.” “Well, leaving your sick child and going away is not reasonable. I suppose you will not say that it is. But we still need to ask whether leaving her is consistent with affection.” “Yes, let’s consider that.” “You loved your child, but were you right to run away and leave her? And doesn’t her mother love her?” “Certainly, she does.” “Then should her mother have left her too, or not?” “She should not.” “And does the nurse love her?” “She does.” “Should she have left her too?” “Not at all.” “And doesn’t the paedagogue,⁹³ love her?” “He does.” “Should he have deserted her too? Should the child have been left alone and without help because of the great affection of her parents and those around her? Or should she have died in the hands of people who neither loved her nor cared for her?” “Certainly not.” “It is unfair and unreasonable not to let those who love her as much as you do act as you think your own love entitles you to act.” “It is absurd.” “Now, if you were sick, would you want your relations and everyone else, your children and wife, to love you so much that they left you alone and deserted?” “Not at all.” “Would you want your family to love you so much that their excessive affection always left you alone when you were sick? Or, for that reason, would you rather pray, if possible, to be loved by your enemies and deserted by them? But if that is so, it follows that what you did was not an affectionate act at all.”

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 any thing 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 (hereafter) 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,⁹⁴ 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 (δόγματα).

Well then, was it nothing that moved you to leave your child? How could that be possible? But perhaps it was something like what moved a man in Rome. He covered his head while a horse he favored was racing. When the horse won unexpectedly, he fainted and needed sponges to revive him. What, then, moved him? Perhaps a detailed discussion of this is not appropriate now. But if what the philosophers say is true, it is enough to be convinced that we must not look for the cause outside ourselves. In every case, the cause is one and the same. It makes us do or not do something, say or not say something, feel elated or depressed, avoid or pursue something. It is the very same thing that causes both of us to act now. It caused you to come to me, sit down, and listen, and it caused me to say what I am saying. And what is it? Is it anything other than our choice to do so? Nothing else. But if we had chosen otherwise, what else would we be doing but what we chose to do? This, then, was the cause of Achilles' grief, not the death of Patroclus. Another man does not behave this way when his companion dies. Achilles grieved because he chose to do so. And the reason you ran away then was also that you chose to do so. On the other hand, if you stay with her in the future, the reason will be the same. Now you are going to Rome because you choose to go. And if you change your mind,⁹⁴ you will not go. In short, neither death, exile, pain, nor anything of that kind causes us to do or not do anything. The causes are our own opinions and choices (δόγματα).

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 (δόγμα or opinion) 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 be 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.⁹⁵ I hope so. You see then that you must become a Scholasticus,⁹⁶ 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.

Do I convince you of this or not? You do convince me. Then the effects in each case reflect their causes. So from this day on, whenever we do something wrong, we shall blame only the will (δόγμα or opinion) behind it. We shall try to remove and root out that opinion more than we would tumors and abscesses from the body. In the same way, we shall explain the cause of what we do right. And we shall no longer blame any evil that happens to us on a slave, neighbor, wife, or children. For we are convinced that, if we did not hold the opinions we do about things, we would not act on them. And whether we hold those opinions is in our power, not in the power of external things. That is so, he said. From this day on, then, we shall examine nothing but opinions and ask what they are like and what state they are in. We shall not examine land, slaves, horses, dogs, or anything else.⁹⁵ I hope so. You see, then, that you must become a Scholasticus,⁹⁶ a creature everyone ridicules, if you really intend to examine your own opinions. And you know yourself that this is not the work of an hour or a day.