Book 1, Chapter 29
Steadfastness (or Firmness)
The being (nature) of the Good is a certain Will; the being of the Bad is a certain kind of Will. What then are externals? Materials for the Will, about which the will being conversant shall obtain its own good or evil. How shall it obtain the good. If it does not admire (overvalue) the materials; for the opinions about the materials, if the opinions are right, make the will good: but perverse and distorted opinions make the will bad. God has fixed this law, and says, "If you would have any thing good, receive it from yourself." You say, No, but I will have it from another.—Do not so: but receive it from yourself. Therefore when the tyrant threatens and calls me, I say, Whom do you threaten? If he says, I will put you in chains, I say, You threaten my hands and my feet. If he says, I will cut off your head, I reply, You threaten my head. If he says, I will throw you into prison, I say, You threaten the whole of this poor body. If he threatens me with banishment, I say the same. Does he then not threaten you at all? If I feel that all these things do not concern me, he does not threaten me at all; but if I fear any of them, it is I whom he threatens. Whom then do I fear? the master of what? The master of things which are in my own power? There is no such master. Do I fear the master of things which are not in my power? And what are these things to me?
The essence (nature) of good is a certain kind of will. The essence of evil is another kind of will. What, then, are external things? They are materials for the will. In dealing with them, the will finds its own good or evil. How does it find good? By not admiring (overvaluing) those materials. For right opinions about them make the will good, but perverse and distorted opinions make it bad. God has established this law and says, "If you want anything good, get it from yourself." You say, No, I will get it from someone else. Do not do that. Get it from yourself. So when the tyrant threatens me and calls me before him, I say, Whom do you threaten? If he says, I will put you in chains, I say, You threaten my hands and feet. If he says, I will cut off your head, I reply, You threaten my head. If he says, I will throw you into prison, I say, You threaten the whole of this poor body. If he threatens to banish me, I say the same. Does he not threaten you at all, then? If I feel that none of these things concern me, he does not threaten me at all. But if I fear any of them, then he threatens me. Whom, then, do I fear? What is he master of? Is he master of things within my power? There is no such master. Do I fear the master of things outside my power? And what are those things to me?
The word is οὐσία. Cicero introduced the corresponding Latin word, "essentia" (Seneca, Epist. 58). The English word "essence" has taken on a somewhat different meaning. The proper translation of οὐσία is "being" or "nature."
This is Horace's maxim, Epp. i. 6. See also Macleane's note:
Do you philosophers then teach us to despise kings? I hope not. Who among us teaches to claim against them the power over things which they possess? Take my poor body, take my property, take my reputation, take those who are about me. If I advise any persons to claim these things, they may truly accuse me.—Yes, but I intend to command your opinions also.—And who has given you this power? How can you conquer the opinion of another man? By applying terror to it, he replies, I will conquer it. Do you not know that opinion conquers itself, and is not conquered by another? But nothing else can conquer Will except the Will itself. For this reason too the law of God is most powerful and most just, which is this: Let the stronger always be superior to the weaker. Ten are stronger than one. For what? For putting in chains, for killing, for dragging whither they choose, for taking away what a man has. The ten therefore conquer the one in this in which they are stronger. In what then are the ten weaker? If the one possesses right opinions and the others do not. Well then, can the ten conquer in this matter? How is it possible? If we were placed in the scales, must not the heavier draw down the scale in which it is.
Do you philosophers teach us to despise kings, then? I hope not. Who among us teaches people to challenge their power over the things they control? Take my poor body, my property, my reputation, and the people around me. If I advise anyone to claim these things, they can rightly accuse me. “Yes, but I intend to command your opinions too.” And who gave you that power? How can you conquer another person’s opinion? “I will conquer it by frightening him,” he replies. Don’t you know that opinion conquers itself, and cannot be conquered by anyone else? Nothing but the Will itself can conquer the Will. For this reason, too, the law of God is most powerful and most just. It says: Let the stronger always prevail over the weaker. Ten people are stronger than one. Stronger at what? At putting him in chains, killing him, dragging him wherever they choose, and taking what he has. So the ten conquer the one in the things where they are stronger. Where, then, are the ten weaker? If the one person has right opinions and the others do not, they are weaker in that respect. Well then, can the ten conquer him in this matter? How could they? If we were placed on scales, wouldn’t the heavier side weigh down its pan?
What follows explains this. An opinion cannot really defeat itself. Only another opinion can defeat it.
How strange then that Socrates should have been so treated by the Athenians. Slave, why do you say Socrates? Speak of the thing as it is: how strange that the poor body of Socrates should have been carried off and dragged to prison by stronger men, and that any one should have given hemlock to the poor body of Socrates, and that it should breathe out the life. Do these things seem strange, do they seem unjust, do you on account of these things blame God? Had Socrates then no equivalent for these things? Where then for him was the nature of good? Whom shall we listen to, you or him? And what does Socrates say? Anytus and Melitus can kill me, but they cannot hurt me: and further, he says, "If it so pleases God, so let it be."
How strange, then, that the Athenians treated Socrates this way. Slave, why do you say Socrates? Describe what happened as it really was. How strange that stronger men carried Socrates’ poor body away and dragged it to prison. How strange that someone gave his poor body hemlock, and that it breathed its last. Do these things seem strange? Do they seem unjust? Do you blame God for them? Did Socrates get nothing in return for these things? Where, then, was the good for him? Whom should we listen to, you or him? And what does Socrates say? Anytus and Melitus can kill me, but they cannot hurt me. He also says, "If it pleases God, then let it be."
The two main prosecutors of Socrates (Plato, Apology, c. 18; Epictetus, ii. 2, 15).
But show me that he who has the inferior principles overpowers him who is superior in principles. You will never show this, nor come near showing it; for this is the law of nature and of God that the superior shall always overpower the inferior. In what? In that in which it is superior. One body is stronger than another: many are stronger than one: the thief is stronger than he who is not a thief. This is the reason why I also lost my lamp, because in wakefulness the thief was superior to me. But the man bought the lamp at this price: for a lamp he became a thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast. This seemed to him a good bargain. Be it so. But a man has seized me by the cloak, and is drawing me to the public place then others bawl out, Philosopher, what has been the use of your opinions? see you are dragged to prison, you are going to be beheaded. And what system of philosophy (εἰσαγωγήν) could I have made so that, if a stronger man should have laid hold of my cloak, I should not be dragged off; that if ten men should have laid hold of me and cast me into prison, I should not be cast in? Have I learned nothing else then? I have learned to see that every thing which happens, if it be independent of my will, is nothing to me. I may ask, if you have not gained by this. Why then do you seek advantage in any thing else than in that in which you have learned that advantage is?
But show me that someone with inferior principles overpowers someone with superior principles. You will never show this, or even come close. For the law of nature and of God is that the superior always overpowers the inferior. In what respect? In the respect in which it is superior. One body is stronger than another. Many people are stronger than one. A thief is stronger than someone who is not a thief. That is why I lost my lamp, because the thief was better than I was at staying awake. But the man paid this price for the lamp: he became a thief, a dishonest fellow, and like a wild beast. He thought it was a good bargain. Let it be so. But suppose a man grabs me by the cloak and drags me to the public square. Then others shout, Philosopher, what good have your beliefs done you? Look, you are being dragged to prison. You are going to be beheaded. But what system of philosophy (εἰσαγωγήν) could I have developed to prevent a stronger man from dragging me away by my cloak? Or to prevent ten men from throwing me into prison if they seized me? Have I learned nothing else, then? I have learned to see that anything that happens outside my control is nothing to me. I may ask whether you have gained from this. Why, then, do you look for benefit in anything other than what you have learned is beneficial?
See i. 18, 15, p. 58.
ὠφέλησαι. See Schweighaeuser's note.
Then sitting in prison I say: The man who cries out in this way neither hears what words mean, nor understands what is said, nor does he care at all to know what philosophers say or what they do. Let him alone.
Then, sitting in prison, I say: The man who cries out like this does not grasp the meaning of words or understand what is being said. He does not care at all to know what philosophers say or do. Leave him alone.
One of those who call out "Philosopher," etc.
But now he says to the prisoner, Come out from your prison.—If you have no further need of me in prison, I come out if you should have need of me again, I will enter the prison.—How long will you act thus?—So long as reason requires me to be with the body: but when reason does not require this, take away the body, and fare you well. Only we must not do it inconsiderately, nor weakly, nor for any slight reason; for, on the other hand, God does not wish it to be done, and he has need of such a world and such inhabitants in it. But if he sounds the signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates, we must obey him who gives the signal, as if he were a general.
But now he says to the prisoner, “Come out of your prison.” “If you no longer need me in prison, I will come out. If you need me there again, I will go back.” “How long will you act this way?” “As long as reason requires me to remain in the body. But when reason no longer requires it, take away the body, and farewell.” Still, we must not do this without careful thought, or out of weakness, or for any slight reason. For God does not wish it to be done, and he needs such a world with such inhabitants in it. But if he sounds the signal to retreat, as he did to Socrates, we must obey him as we would a general.
See i. 9. 20.
See i. 6. 13.
The Athenians sentenced Socrates to death. He was content to die and thought it was a good thing. That is why he defended himself as he did, bringing about his conviction. He preferred conviction to escaping it by begging the judges, lamenting, and saying and doing things unworthy of himself, as others did. Plato, Apology, cc. 29–33. Compare Epict. i. 9, 16.
Well then, ought we to say such things to the many? Why should we? Is it not enough for a man to be persuaded himself? When children come clapping their hands and crying out, "To-day is the good Saturnalia," do we say, "The Saturnalia are not good"? By no means, but we clap our hands also. Do you also then, when you are not able to make a man change his mind, be assured that he is a child, and clap your hands with him; and if you do not choose to do this, keep silent.
Well then, should we say such things to the public? Why should we? Isn’t it enough to be convinced ourselves? When children come clapping their hands and shouting, "Today is the good Saturnalia," do we say, "The Saturnalia are not good"? Not at all. We clap our hands too. So when you cannot change someone’s mind, recognize that he is a child and clap your hands with him. If you choose not to do that, keep silent.
See i. 25, 8.
Read θέλῃς instead of θέλῃ. See Schweighaeuser's note.
A man must keep this in mind; and when he is called to any such difficulty, he should know that the time is come for showing if he has been instructed. For he who is come into a difficulty is like a young man from a school who has practised the resolution of syllogisms; and if any person proposes to him an easy syllogism, he says, rather propose to me a syllogism which is skilfully complicated that I may exercise myself on it. Even athletes are dissatisfied with slight young men, and say, "He cannot lift me."—"This is a youth of noble disposition." [You do not so]; but when the time of trial is come, one of you must weep and say, "I wish that I had learned more." A little more of what? If you did not learn these things in order to show them in practice, why did you learn them? I think that there is some one among you who are sitting here, who is suffering like a woman in labour, and saying, "Oh, that such a difficulty does not present itself to me as that which has come to this man; oh, that I should be wasting my life in a corner, when I might be crowned at Olympia. When will any one announce to me such a contest?" Such ought to be the disposition of all of you. Even among the gladiators of Caesar (the Emperor) there are some who complain grievously that they are not brought forward and matched, and they offer up prayers to God and address themselves to their superintendents intreating that they may fight. And will no one among you show himself such? I would willingly take a voyage [to Rome] for this purpose and see what my athlete is doing, how he is studying his subject.—I do not choose such a subject, he says. Why, is it in your power to take what subject you choose? There has been given to you such a body as you have, such parents, such brethren, such a country, such a place in your country:—then you come to me and say, Change my subject. Have you not abilities which enable you to manage the subject which has been given to you? [You ought to say]: It is your business to propose; it is mine to exercise myself well. However, you do not say so, but you say, Do not propose to me such a tropic, but such [as I would choose]: do not urge against me such an objection, but such [as I would choose]." There will be a time perhaps when tragic actors will suppose that they are [only] masks and buskins and the long cloak. I say, these things, man, are your material and subject. Utter something that we may know whether you are a tragic actor or a buffoon; for both of you have all the rest in common. If any one then should take away the tragic actor's buskins and his mask, and introduce him on the stage as a phantom, is the tragic actor lost, or does he still remain? If he has voice, he still remains.
A person must keep this in mind. When called to face such a difficulty, he should know that the time has come to show whether he has been taught. Someone facing a difficulty is like a young man from a school who has practiced solving syllogisms. If someone gives him an easy syllogism, he says, “Give me a skillfully complicated one instead, so I can practice on it.” Even athletes are dissatisfied with slightly built young men. They say, “He cannot lift me.” “This is a young man of noble character.” [You do not act like that]. Instead, when the time of trial comes, one of you weeps and says, “I wish I had learned more.” A little more of what? If you did not learn these things to put them into practice, why did you learn them? I think someone sitting here is suffering like a woman in labor. He is saying, “Oh, why does a difficulty like the one that came to this man not come to me? Why should I waste my life in a corner when I might be crowned at Olympia? When will someone announce such a contest for me?” All of you should feel this way. Even among Caesar’s (the Emperor’s) gladiators, some complain bitterly that they are not brought out and matched against opponents. They pray to God and beg their supervisors to let them fight. Will none of you show the same spirit? I would gladly take a voyage [to Rome] for this purpose, to see what my athlete is doing and how he is studying his subject. “I do not choose that subject,” he says. But is it up to you to choose your subject? You have been given the body you have, your parents, your brothers, your country, and your place in that country. Then you come to me and say, “Change my subject.” Don’t you have the abilities to deal with the subject you have been given? [You ought to say]: “It is your job to set the subject. It is mine to practice well.” But you do not say that. Instead, you say, “Do not give me that topic, but the one [I would choose]. Do not raise that objection against me, but the one [I would choose].” Perhaps a time will come when tragic actors think they are [only] their masks, buskins, and long cloaks. I say, man, these things are your material and subject. Say something so we can tell whether you are a tragic actor or a buffoon. Both of you have everything else in common. Suppose someone takes away a tragic actor’s buskins and mask and brings him on stage as a phantom. Is the tragic actor lost, or does he remain? If he has a voice, he remains.
See Schweighaeuser's note. This appears to be a remark by Epictetus. If so, what follows is unclear. Schweighaeuser explains it as: "But most of you act otherwise."
The Roman emperors kept gladiators to entertain themselves and the people (Lipsius, Saturnalia, ii. 16). Seneca says (De Provid. c. 4), "I have heard a mirmillo (a kind of gladiator) in the time of C. Caesar (Caligula) complaining of the rarity of gladiatorial exhibitions: "What a glorious period of life is wasting." "Virtue," says Seneca, "is eager after dangers; and it considers only what it seeks, not what it may suffer." (Upton.)
The word is Hypothesis (ὑπόθεσις). Here it means "matter to work on," "material," or "subject." It has the same sense in ii. 5, 11, where it means the "business of the pilot." In i. 7, hypothesis means a proposition assumed to be true for the moment and used as the basis for an argument.
Tropic (τροπικόν) is a logical term used by the Stoics. Schweighaeuser translates it as "propositio connexa in syllogismo hypothetico." The passage means this: You do not like the work set before you. As we say, you are not content "to do your duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call you." Wolf says this is as foolish as demanding that an opponent in a discussion raise only objections that help your case.
A time will come when tragic actors will not know their job and will think it is all show. In the same way, Wolf says, philosophers will be nothing but beards and cloaks. Their lives and morals will not show what they really are. Or they will be like false monks, who only wear the cowl and do not live pious and holy lives.
An example of another kind. "Assume the governorship of a province." I assume it, and when I have assumed it, I show how an instructed man behaves. "Lay aside the laticlave (the mark of senatorial rank), and clothing yourself in rags, come forward in this character." What then have I not the power of displaying a good voice (that is, of doing something that I ought to do)? How then do you now appear (on the stage of life)? As a witness summoned by God. "Come forward, you, and bear testimony for me, for you are worthy to be brought forward as a witness by me: is any thing external to the will good or bad? do I hurt any man? have I made every man's interest dependent on any man except himself? What testimony do you give for God?"—I am in a wretched condition, Master (Lord), and I am unfortunate; no man [19] cares for me, no man gives me anything; all blame me, all speak ill of me.—Is this the evidence that you are going to give, and disgrace his summons, who has conferred so much honour on you, and thought you worthy of being called to bear such testimony?
Here is another kind of example. "Become the governor of a province." I become governor, and I show how a well-trained person behaves. "Take off the laticlave (the mark of senatorial rank), put on rags, and appear in this role." Can I not still show that I have a good voice? In other words, can I not still do what I ought to do? So how do you now appear on the stage of life? As a witness summoned by God. "Come forward, you, and testify for me, for you are worthy to be called as my witness. Is anything outside the will good or bad? Do I harm anyone? Have I made anyone's interests depend on anyone but themselves? What testimony do you give for God?" "I am miserable, Master (Lord), and unfortunate. No one [19] cares for me. No one gives me anything. Everyone blames me. Everyone speaks ill of me." Is this the testimony you will give? Will you dishonor the summons of the one who has honored you so greatly and thought you worthy of giving such testimony?
God is presented as speaking. (Schweighaeuser.)
But suppose that he who has the power has declared, "I judge you to be impious and profane." What has happened to you? I have been judged to be impious and profane? Nothing else? Nothing else. But if the same person had passed judgment on an hypothetical syllogism (συνημμένου), and had made a declaration, "the conclusion that, if it is day, it is light, I declare to be false," what has happened to the hypothetical syllogism? who is judged in this case? who has been condemned? the hypothetical syllogism, or the man who has been deceived by it? Does he then who has the power of making any declaration about you know what is pious or impious? Has he studied it, and has he learned it? Where? From whom? Then is it the fact that a musician pays no regard to him who declares that the lowest chord in the lyre is the highest; nor yet a geometrician, if he declares that the lines from the centre of a circle to the circumference are not equal; and shall he who is really instructed pay any regard to the uninstructed man when he pronounces judgment on what is pious and what is impious, on what is just and unjust? Oh, the signal wrong done by the instructed. Did they learn this here?
But suppose the person in power declares, "I judge you to be impious and profane." What has happened to you? I have been judged impious and profane? Nothing else? Nothing else. But suppose the same person judged a hypothetical syllogism (συνημμένου). Suppose he declared, "I declare the conclusion that, if it is day, it is light, to be false." What has happened to the hypothetical syllogism? Who is judged in this case? Who has been condemned? The hypothetical syllogism, or the man it has deceived? Does the person who has the power to make any declaration about you know what is pious or impious? Has he studied and learned about it? Where? From whom? A musician pays no attention to someone who declares that the lowest chord on the lyre is the highest. Nor does a geometrician listen if someone declares that the lines from a circle's center to its circumference are unequal. So should someone who is truly educated pay attention when an uneducated man judges what is pious or impious, just or unjust? Oh, what a terrible wrong the educated commit! Did they learn this here?
The words in the text are: περὶ τῆς νήτης (νεάτης) εἶναι ὑπάτην, "When ὑπάτη is translated 'the lowest chord or note,' it must be remembered that the names employed in the Greek musical terminology are precisely the opposite to ours. Compare νεάτη 'the highest note,' though the word in itself means lowest." Key's Philological Essays, p. 42, note 1.
I think Schweighaeuser's interpretation is right. "The instructed" are people who think they are educated but are not. They show this by accepting an ignorant man's judgment on moral matters. Yet they would not accept his judgment on music or geometry.
Will you not leave the small arguments (λογάρια) about these matters to others, to lazy fellows, that they may sit in a corner and receive their sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them any thing; and will you not come forward and make use of what you have learned? For it is not these small arguments that are wanted now: the writings of the Stoics are full of them. What then is the thing which is wanted? A man who shall apply them, one who by his acts shall bear testimony to his words. Assume, I intreat you, this character, that we may no longer use in the schools the examples of the antients, but may have some example of our own.
Won't you leave the petty arguments (λογάρια) about these matters to others, to lazy fellows? Let them sit in a corner and collect their miserable pay, or complain that no one gives them anything. Won't you step forward and put what you have learned into practice? For petty arguments are not what we need now. The writings of the Stoics are full of them. What do we need, then? A man who will put them into practice, whose actions will bear witness to his words. Please, be that man. Then we can stop using examples from the ancients in our schools and have an example of our own.
He calls these "small arguments" λογάρια, which Cicero (Tusc. Disput. ii. 12) calls "ratiunculae."
"What is the profit, my brethren, if any one should say that he hath faith and have not works?. . . . . .Thus also faith, if it hath not works, is dead in itself. But a man may say, Thou hast faith, and I have works: shew me thy faith without thy works, and I will shew thee my faith by my works." Epistle of James, ii. 14-18.
To whom then does the contemplation of these matters (philosophical inquiries) belong? To him who has leisure, for man is an animal that loves contemplation. But it is shameful to contemplate these things as runaway slaves do: we should sit, as in a theatre, free from distraction, and listen at one time to the tragic actor, at another time to the lute-player; and not do as slaves do. As soon as the slave has taken his station he praises the actor and at the same time looks round: then if any one calls out his master's name, the slave is immediately frightened and disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus to contemplate the works of nature. For what is a master? Man is not the master of man; but death is, and life and plea sure and pain; for if he comes without these things, bring Caesar to me and you will see how firm I am. But when he shall come with these things, thundering and lightning, and when I am afraid of them, what do I do then except to recognize my master like the runaway slave? But so long as I have any respite from these terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the theatre, so do I: I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all this I do with terror and uneasiness. But if I shall release myself from my masters, that is from those things by means of which masters are formidable, what further trouble have I, what master have I still?
Who, then, should reflect on these matters (philosophical questions)? Those who have leisure, for human beings love to reflect. But it is shameful to reflect on them as runaway slaves do. We should sit free from distraction, as in a theater, and listen now to the tragic actor, now to the lute-player. We should not behave like slaves. As soon as a slave takes his place, he praises the actor while looking around. Then, if anyone calls out his master’s name, the slave is immediately frightened and unsettled. It is shameful for philosophers to contemplate the works of nature in this way. For what is a master? One person is not another’s master. Death and life, pleasure and pain are our masters. If Caesar comes without these things, bring him to me and you will see how firm I am. But suppose he comes with them, like thunder and lightning, and I am afraid of them. What am I doing then but recognizing my master, like the runaway slave? As long as I have some relief from these terrors, I am like a runaway slave standing in the theater. I bathe, I drink, I sing, but I do all this with fear and uneasiness. But suppose I free myself from my masters, the things that make masters frightening. What trouble do I have then? What master do I still have?
See Schweighaeuser's note on ἐπέστη.
The word is εὐσταθῶ. The related noun is εὐστάθεια, the title of this chapter.
Upton believes that Epictetus is referring to the verse by Aristophanes (Acharn. 531), which says of Pericles:
What then, ought we to publish these things to all men? No, but we ought to accommodate ourselves to the ignorant (τοῖς ἰδιώταις) and to say: "This man recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself: I excuse him." For Socrates also excused the jailor, who had the charge of him in prison and was weeping when Socrates was going to drink the poison, and said, How generously he laments over us. Does he then say to the jailor that for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but he says it to his friends who were able to hear (understand) it; and he treats the jailor as a child.
Should we then tell everyone these things? No, we should make allowances for the ignorant (τοῖς ἰδιώταις) and say: "This man recommends what he thinks is good for himself. I excuse him." Socrates also excused the jailor who was in charge of him in prison. The jailor was weeping as Socrates was about to drink the poison. Socrates said, How generously he grieves for us. Does Socrates then tell the jailor that this is why they sent the women away? No, he says it to his friends, who could understand it. He treats the jailor like a child.
He calls the uneducated and ignorant by the Greek word "Idiotae," "idiots," which we now use in a different sense. An Idiota was a private person, as opposed to someone holding public office. From there, the word generally came to mean someone ignorant of a particular art, such as someone who had not studied philosophy.
Compare Plato's Phaedon (p. 116). Socrates' children were brought in to see him before he took the poison that killed him. The wives of the friends who stayed with him until his death were also brought in. Before his last conversation with his friends, Socrates had ordered his wife Xanthippe to be taken home. She was led away, weeping and lamenting.
"Nil admirari prope res est una, Numici, Solaque quae possit facere et servare beatum."
"To be amazed by nothing, Numicius, is almost the only thing that can make and keep a person happy."