Book 3, Chapter 24
Do Not Be Driven by Desire for What You Cannot Control
Let not that which in another is contrary to nature be an evil to you: for you are not formed by nature to be depressed with others nor to be unhappy with others, but to be happy with them. If a man is unhappy, remember that his unhappiness is his own fault: for God has made all men to be happy, to be free from perturbations. For this purpose he has given means to them, some things to each person as his own, and other things not as his own: some things subject to hindrance and compulsion and deprivation; and these things are not a man's own: but the things which are not subject to hindrances, are his own; and the nature of good and evil, as it was fit to be done by him who takes care of us and protects us like a father, he has made our own.—But you say, I have parted from a certain person, and he is grieved.—Why did he consider as his own that which belongs to another? why, when he looked on you and was rejoiced, did he not also reckon that you are mortal, that it is natural for you to part from him for a foreign country? Therefore he suffers the consequences of his own folly. But why do you or for what purpose bewail yourself? Is it that you also have not thought of these things? but like poor women who are good for nothing, you have enjoyed all things in which you took pleasure, as if you would always enjoy them, both places and men and conversation; and now you sit and weep because you do not see the same persons and do not live in the same places.—Indeed you deserve this, to be more wretched than crows and ravens who have the power of flying where they please and changing their nests for others, and crossing the seas without lamenting or regretting their former condition.―Yes, but this happens to them because they are irrational creatures.—Was reason then given to us by the gods for the purpose of unhappiness and misery, that we may pass our lives in wretchedness and lamentation? Must all persons be immortal and must no man go abroad, and must we ourselves not go abroad, but remain rooted like plants; and if any of our familiar friends goes abroad, must we sit and weep; and on the contrary, when he returns, must we dance and clap our hands like children?
Do not let what is contrary to nature in another person harm you. Nature did not make you to be depressed or unhappy along with others, but to be happy with them. If someone is unhappy, remember that his unhappiness is his own fault. God has made all people to be happy and free from distress. For this purpose, he has given them the means to be happy. He has made some things each person’s own, and other things not their own. Some things can be hindered, compelled, or taken away. These are not a person’s own. But things that cannot be hindered are his own. And God has made good and evil our own concern, as befits one who cares for and protects us like a father. But you say, “I have parted from someone, and he is grieved.” Why did he treat what belongs to another as his own? When he looked at you and was glad, why did he not also remember that you are mortal? Why did he not remember that it is natural for you to leave him for a foreign country? So he suffers the consequences of his own folly. But why do you bewail yourself? What is the purpose of it? Is it because you too have failed to think of these things? Like poor, good-for-nothing women, you have enjoyed everything that pleased you as if you would enjoy it forever. You have enjoyed places, people, and conversation. Now you sit and weep because you no longer see the same people or live in the same places. Indeed, you deserve to be more miserable than crows and ravens. They can fly where they please, exchange one nest for another, and cross the seas without lamenting or regretting their former condition. “Yes, but they can do this because they are irrational creatures.” Were we given reason by the gods to make us unhappy and miserable? Was it given so that we might spend our lives in misery and lamentation? Must everyone be immortal? Must no one go abroad? Must we ourselves never go abroad, but stay rooted like plants? And if any of our close friends goes abroad, must we sit and weep? Then, when he returns, must we dance and clap our hands like children?
See Schweig.'s note.
Shall we not now wean ourselves and remember what we have heard from the philosophers? if we did not listen to them as if they were jugglers: they tell us that this world is one city, and the substance out of which it has been formed is one, and that there must be a certain period, and that some things must give way to others, that some must be dissolved, and others come in their place; some to remain in the same place, and others to be moved; and that all things are full of friendship, first of the gods, and then of men who by nature are made to be of one family; and some must be with one another, and others must be separated, rejoicing in those who are with them, and not grieving for those who are removed from them; and man in addition to being by nature of a noble temper and having a contempt of all things which are not in the power of his will, also possesses this property not to be rooted nor to be naturally fixed to the earth, but to go at different times to different places, sometimes from the urgency of certain occasions, and at others merely for the sake of seeing. So it was with Ulysses, who saw
Should we not now wean ourselves and remember what we have heard from the philosophers? That is, if we did not listen to them as though they were jugglers. They tell us that this world is one city, formed from a single substance. There must be a certain cycle in which some things give way to others. Some must be dissolved, and others must take their place. Some must remain where they are, and others must move. They also tell us that all things are bound by friendship, first among the gods, and then among people. For people are made by nature to be one family. Some must be together, and others must be separated. They should rejoice in those who are with them and not grieve for those who are taken away. Human beings are naturally noble in spirit and hold in contempt everything outside the power of their will. They also have another quality: they are not rooted or naturally fixed to the earth. They go to different places at different times, sometimes because circumstances require it, and sometimes just to see them. So it was with Ulysses, who saw
See ii. 5, 26.
See iii. 13. 15.
Of many men the states, and learned their ways.
The cities of many men, and learned their ways.
Homer, Odyssey i. 3.
And still earlier it was the fortune of Hercules to visit all the inhabited world
Even earlier, Hercules had the chance to visit the entire inhabited world.
Seeing men's lawless deeds and their good rules of law:
Seeing men's lawless acts and their good laws:
Odyssey, xvii. 487.
casting out and clearing away their lawlessness and introducing in their place good rules of law. And yet how many friends do you think that he had in Thebes, how many in Argos, how many in Athens? and how many do you think that he gained by going about? And he married also, when it seemed to him a proper occasion, and begot children, and left them without lamenting or regretting or leaving them as orphans; for he knew that no man is an orphan; but it is the father who takes care of all men always and continuously. For it was not as mere report that he had heard that Zeus is the father of men, for he thought that Zeus was his own father, and he called him so, and to him he looked when he was doing what he did. Therefore he was enabled to live happily in all places. And it is never possible for happiness and desire of what is not present to come together. For that which is happy must have all that it desires, must resemble a person who is filled with food, and must have neither thirst nor hunger.—But Ulysses felt a desire for his wife and wept as he sat on a rock.—Do you attend to Homer and his stories in every thing? Or if Ulysses really wept, what was he else than an unhappy man? and what good man is unhappy? In truth the whole is badly administered, if Zeus does not take care of his own citizens that they may be happy like himself. But these things are not lawful nor right to think of: and if Ulysses did weep and lament, he was not a good man. For who is good if he knows not who he is? and who knows what he is, if he forgets that things which have been made are perishable, and that it is not possible for one human being to be with another always? To desire then things which are impossible is to have a slavish character, and is foolish: it is the part of a stranger, of a man who fights against God in the only way that he can, by his opinions.
driving out lawlessness and replacing it with good laws. Yet how many friends do you think he had in Thebes, in Argos, and in Athens? How many do you think he gained in his travels? He also married when the time seemed right and had children. He left them without grief or regret, and without leaving them orphans. For he knew that no one is an orphan. The father always cares for all people, without interruption. He had not merely heard it said that Zeus is the father of all people. He believed Zeus was his own father, called him father, and looked to him in all he did. That is why he could live happily anywhere. Happiness can never exist alongside a desire for what is absent. A happy person must have all that they desire. They must be like someone who has eaten their fill, with neither thirst nor hunger. But Ulysses longed for his wife and wept as he sat on a rock. Do you believe everything Homer tells in his stories? Or, if Ulysses really did weep, what was he but an unhappy man? And what good man is unhappy? In truth, the whole world is badly governed if Zeus does not care for his own citizens so they can be happy like him. But it is neither permissible nor right to think such things. And if Ulysses did weep and lament, he was not a good man. For who is good if he does not know who he is? And who knows what he is if he forgets that all things that have been made can perish? If he forgets that one human being cannot always be with another? To desire impossible things is therefore foolish and shows a slavish character. It is the behavior of a stranger who fights against God in the only way he can, through his opinions.
ἀπέχειν. See iii. 2, 13. Paul to the Philippians, iv. 18.
But my mother laments when she does not see me.—Why has she not learned these principles? and I do not say this, that we should not take care that she may not lament, but I say that we ought not to desire in every way what is not our own. And the sorrow of another is another's sorrow: but my sorrow is my own. I then will stop my own sorrow by every means, for it is in my power: and the sorrow of another I will endeavour to stop as far as I can; but I will not attempt to do it by every means; for if I do, I shall be fighting against God, I shall be opposing Zeus and shall be placing myself against him in the administration of the universe; and the reward (the punishment) of this fighting against God and of this disobedience not only will the children of my children pay, but I also shall myself, both by day and by night, startled by dreams, perturbed, trembling at every piece of news, and having my tranquillity depending on the letters of others.—Some person has arrived from Rome. I only hope that there is no harm. But what harm can happen to you, where you are not?—From Hellas (Greece) some one is come: I hope that there is no harm.—In this way every place may be the cause of misfortune to you. Is it not enough for you to be unfortunate there where you are, and must you be so even beyond sea, and by the report of letters? Is this the way in which your affairs are in a state of security?—Well then suppose that my friends have died in the places which are far from me.—What else have they suffered than that which is the condition of mortals? Or how are you desirous at the same time to live to old age, and at the same time not to see the death of any person whom you love? Know you not that in the course of a long time many and various kinds of things must happen; that a fever shall overpower one, a robber another, and a third a tyrant? Such is the condition of things around us, such are those who live with us in the world: cold and heat, and unsuitable ways of living, and journeys by land, and voyages by sea, and winds, and various circumstances which surround us, destroy one man, and banish another, and throw one upon an embassy and another into an army. Sit down then in a flutter at all these things, lamenting, unhappy, unfortunate, dependent on another, and dependent not on one or two, but on ten thousands upon ten thousands.
But my mother mourns when she does not see me. Why has she not learned these principles? I do not mean that we should not try to keep her from mourning. I mean that we should not use every possible means to seek what is not ours to control. Another person's sorrow is theirs, but my sorrow is mine. I will therefore use every means to stop my own sorrow, because I have the power to do so. I will also try to stop another person's sorrow as far as I can. But I will not try to do so by every means. If I did, I would be fighting against God. I would be opposing Zeus and setting myself against him in his governance of the universe. The reward, or rather the punishment, for fighting against God and disobeying him will fall not only on my grandchildren. I too will pay for it, both day and night. Dreams will startle me. I will be troubled, trembling at every piece of news, and my peace of mind will depend on other people's letters. Someone has arrived from Rome. I only hope there is no harm. But what harm can happen to you in a place where you are not? Someone has come from Hellas (Greece). I hope there is no harm. In this way, every place can become a cause of misfortune for you. Is it not enough to be miserable where you are? Must you also be miserable over events across the sea, when you hear about them in letters? Is this how you keep your affairs secure? Well then, suppose my friends have died in distant places. What have they suffered except what is the fate of mortals? How can you want to live to old age and yet never see the death of anyone you love? Do you not know that over a long life, many different things must happen? A fever will overcome one person, a robber another, and a tyrant a third. This is the state of the world around us, and this is the fate of those who live in it with us. Cold and heat, unhealthy ways of living, journeys by land, voyages by sea, winds, and various circumstances around us kill one person and send another into exile. They send one person on an embassy and another into an army. So sit there in a panic over all these things, mourning, unhappy, and unfortunate. Depend on others, not just one or two, but tens of thousands upon tens of thousands.
Did you hear this when you were with the philosophers? did you learn this? do you not know that human life is a warfare? that one man must keep watch, another must go out as a spy, and a third must fight? and it is not possible that all should be in one place, nor is it better that it should be so. But you neglecting to do the commands of the general complain when any thing more hard than usual is imposed on you, and you do not observe what you make the army become as far as it is in your power; that if all imitate you, no man will dig a trench, no man will put a rampart round, nor keep watch, nor expose himself to danger, but will appear to be useless for the purposes of an army. Again, in a vessel if you go as a sailor, keep to one place and stick to it. And if you are ordered to climb the mast, refuse; if to run to the head of the ship, refuse; and what master of a ship will endure you? and will he not pitch you overboard as a useless thing, an impediment only and bad example to the other sailors? And so it is here also: every man's life is a kind of warfare, and it is long and diversified. You must observe the duty of a soldier and do every thing at the nod of the general; if it is possible, divining what his wishes are: for there is no resemblance between that general and this, neither in strength nor in superiority of character. You are placed in a great office of command and not in any mean place; but you are always a senator. Do you not know that such a man must give little time to the affairs of his household, but be often away from home, either as a governor or one who is governed, or discharging some office, or serving in war or acting as a judge? Then do you tell me that you wish, as a plant, to be fixed to the same places and to be rooted?—Yes, for it is pleasant.—Who says that it is not? but a soup is pleasant, and a handsome woman is pleasant. What else do those say who make pleasure their end? Do you not see of what men you have uttered the language? that it is the language of Epicureans and catamites? Next while you are doing what they do and holding their opinions, do you speak to us the words of Zeno and of Socrates? Will you not throw away as far as you can the things belonging to others with which you decorate yourself, though they do not fit you at all? For what else do they desire than to sleep without hindrance and free from compulsion, and when they have risen to yawn at their leisure, and to wash the face, then write and read what they choose, and then talk about some trifling matter being praised by their friends whatever they may say, then to go forth for a walk, and having walked about a little to bathe, and then eat and sleep, such sleep as is the fashion of such men? why need we say how? for one can easily conjecture. Come, do you also tell your own way of passing the time which you desire, you who are an admirer of truth and of Socrates and Diogenes. What do you wish to do in Athens? the same (that others do), or something else? Why then do you call yourself a Stoic? Well, but they who falsely call themselves Roman citizens, are severely punished; and should those, who falsely claim so great and reverend a thing and name, get off unpunished? or is this not possible, but the law divine and strong and inevitable is this, which exacts the severest punishments from those who commit the greatest crimes? For what does this law say? Let him who pretends to things which do not belong to him be a boaster, a vain-glorious man: let him who disobeys the divine administration be base, and a slave; let him suffer grief, let him be envious, let him pity; and in a word let him be unhappy and lament.
Did you hear this when you were with the philosophers? Did you learn this? Do you not know that human life is warfare? One man must stand guard, another must go out as a spy, and a third must fight. They cannot all be in one place, nor would it be better if they were. But you neglect the general’s orders and complain when you are given an unusually hard task. You do not see what you are doing to the army, as far as you have the power to affect it. If everyone imitated you, no one would dig a trench or build a rampart. No one would stand guard or face danger. Everyone would be useless to the army. Again, suppose you serve as a sailor on a ship. Stay in one place and refuse to leave it. If you are ordered to climb the mast, refuse. If you are ordered to run to the front of the ship, refuse. What ship’s captain would put up with you? Would he not throw you overboard as useless, a mere obstacle and a bad example to the other sailors? The same is true here. Every man’s life is a kind of warfare, long and varied. You must do a soldier’s duty and obey the general’s every signal. If possible, you must even guess what he wants. For that general and this one are not alike in strength or superiority of character. You hold a great office of command, not some lowly position. You are always a senator. Do you not know that such a man must give little time to his household affairs? He must often be away from home, governing or being governed, holding office, serving in war, or acting as a judge. And then you tell me you want to stay in the same places, rooted like a plant? “Yes, because it is pleasant.” Who says it is not? But soup is pleasant, and a handsome woman is pleasant. What else do those who make pleasure their goal say? Do you not see whose language you have used? It is the language of Epicureans and catamites. Yet while you do what they do and hold their opinions, do you speak to us in the words of Zeno and Socrates? Will you not throw away, as far as you can, the things you have borrowed from others to decorate yourself? They do not suit you at all. What else do such people want? They want to sleep undisturbed and free from obligation. When they get up, they want to yawn at their leisure and wash their faces. Then they want to write and read what they please, and talk about some trivial matter. Whatever they say, their friends praise them. Then they go out for a walk. After walking a little, they bathe, eat, and sleep, as such men sleep. Why should we say how? It is easy enough to guess. Come, you who admire truth, Socrates, and Diogenes, tell us how you want to spend your time. What do you want to do in Athens? The same things as the others, or something else? Then why do you call yourself a Stoic? People who falsely claim to be Roman citizens are severely punished. Should those who falsely claim such a great and venerable thing and name escape punishment? Is that possible? Or is there a divine, powerful, and unavoidable law that demands the harshest punishments for the greatest crimes? What does this law say? Let the man who claims what does not belong to him be a boaster, a vain man. Let the man who disobeys divine rule be base and a slave. Let him suffer grief, envy others, and feel pity. In short, let him be unhappy and lament.
Suetonius (Claudius, 25) says: 'Peregrinae conditionis homines vetuit usurpare Romana nomina, duntaxat gentilia. Civitatem Romanam usurpantes in campo Esquilino securi percussit.' Upton.
This condemns the hypocrite.
'Pity' perhaps means that he will be troubled by pity when he should not feel it. I am not sure of the exact meaning.
Well then; do you wish me to pay court to a certain person? to go to his doors?—If reason requires this to be done for the sake of country, for the sake of kinsmen, for the sake of mankind, why should you not go? You are not ashamed to go to the doors of a shoemaker, when you are in want of shoes, nor to the door of a gardener, when you want lettuces; and are you ashamed to go to the doors of the rich when you want any thing?—Yes, for I have no awe of a shoemaker—Don't feel any awe of the rich—Nor will I flatter the gardener—And do not flatter the rich—How then shall I get what I want?—Do I say to you, go as if you were certain to get what you want? And do not I only tell you, that you may do what is becoming to yourself? Why then should I still go? That you may have gone, that you may have discharged the duty of a citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And further remember that you have gone to the shoemaker, to the seller of vegetables, who have no power in any thing great or noble, though he may sell dear. You go to buy lettuces: they cost an obolus (penny), but not a talent. So it is here also. The matter is worth going for to the rich man's door—Well, I will go—It is worth talking about—Let it be so; I will talk with him—But you must also kiss his hand and flatter him with praise—Away with that, it is a talent's worth it is not profitable to me, nor to the state nor to my friends, to have done that which spoils a good citizen and a friend.—But you will seem not to have been eager about the matter, if you do not succeed. Have you again forgotten why you went? Know you not that a good man does nothing for the sake of appearance, but for the sake of doing right? What advantage is it then to him to have done right?—And what advantage is it to a man who writes the name of Dion to write it as he ought?—The advantage is to have written it.—Is there no reward then?—Do you seek a reward for a good man greater than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the games. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and happy? For these purposes being introduced by the gods into this city (the world), and it being now your duty to undertake the work of a man, do you still want nurses also and a mamma, and do foolish women by their weeping move you and make you effeminate? Will you thus never cease to be a foolish child? know you not that he who does the acts of a child, the older he is, the more ridiculous he is?
Well then, do you want me to court someone? To go to his door? If reason calls for it, why not go? You might go for your country, your relatives, or humanity. You are not ashamed to go to a shoemaker when you need shoes. Nor are you ashamed to go to a gardener when you want lettuce. Are you ashamed to go to a rich man's door when you need something? “Yes, because I do not stand in awe of a shoemaker.” Then do not stand in awe of the rich. “And I would not flatter the gardener.” Then do not flatter the rich. “How, then, will I get what I want?” Do I tell you to go as if you were certain to get it? Do I not simply tell you that you can do what is proper for you? “Then why should I go at all?” So that you will have gone and done your duty as a citizen, a brother, and a friend. Remember, too, that you have gone to a shoemaker, a vegetable seller. He has no power over anything great or noble, though he may charge high prices. You go to buy lettuce. It costs an obolus (a penny), not a talent. It is the same here. The matter is worth going to the rich man's door for. “All right, I will go.” It is worth talking about. “Very well, I will talk with him.” But you must also kiss his hand and flatter him with praise. “No, that costs a talent.” Doing something that ruins a good citizen and friend benefits neither me, nor the state, nor my friends. “But if you do not succeed, you will seem not to have cared enough about the matter.” Have you forgotten again why you went? Do you not know that a good man does nothing for appearances, but acts to do what is right? “Then what benefit does he get from doing right?” What benefit does a man get from writing the name of Dion correctly? “The benefit is that he has written it correctly.” “Is there no reward, then?” Do you seek a greater reward for a good man than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you want nothing more than to be crowned at the games. That seems enough to you. Does being good and happy seem so small and worthless? The gods brought you into this city, the world, for these purposes. Now it is your duty to take on the work of a man. Do you still want nurses and a mama too? Do foolish women move you with their tears and make you effeminate? Will you never stop being a foolish child? Do you not know that the older a man is, the more ridiculous he is when he acts like a child?
'What follows hath no connection with what immediately preceded; but belongs to the general subject of the chapter.' Mrs Carter. 'The person with whom Epictetus chiefly held this discourse, seems to have been instructed by his friends to pay his respects to some great man at Nicopolis (perhaps the procurator, iii. 4. 1) and to visit his house.' Schweig.
The reward of virtue lies in virtuous acts. The Stoics taught that virtue is its own reward. As a boy, I copied this saying, but I did not understand it. I now know that few people believe it. Like the man here, they ask what reward they will receive for doing what they ought to do. A person with common sense would give the same answer as Epictetus. But that answer will not satisfy everyone. The heathens must give the answer: 'For what more dost thou want when thou hast done a man a service? Art thou not content that thou hast done something conformable to thy nature, and dost thou seek to be paid for it? just as if the eye demanded a recompense for seeing or the feet for walking.' M. Antoninus, ix. 42. Compare Seneca, de Vita Beata, c. 9.
In Athens did you see no one by going to his house?—I visited any man that I pleased—Here also be ready to see, and you will see whom you please: only let it be without meanness, neither with desire nor with aversion, and your affairs will be well managed. But this result does not depend on going nor on standing at the doors, but it depends on what is within, on your opinions. When you have learned not to value things which are external and not dependent on the will, and to consider that not one of them is your own, but that these things only are your own, to exercise the judgment well, to form opinions, to move towards an object, to desire, to turn from a thing, where is there any longer room for flattery, where for meanness? why do you still long for the quiet there (at Athens), and for the places to which you are accustomed? Wait a little and you will again find these places familiar: then, if you are of so ignoble a nature, again if you leave these also, weep and lament.
In Athens, did you have to go to someone’s house to see him? I visited anyone I pleased. Here too, be ready to visit, and you will see anyone you please. Just do it without degrading yourself, and without desire or aversion, and your affairs will go well. But that does not depend on visiting people or waiting at their doors. It depends on what is within you, on your opinions. Learn not to value external things that do not depend on your will. Consider that none of them is your own. Only these things are your own: using your judgment well, forming opinions, pursuing a goal, desiring, and turning away from something. Once you have learned this, where is there room for flattery or degrading yourself? Why do you still long for the quiet of Athens and the places you know so well? Wait a little, and you will find these places familiar too. Then, if you are so ignoble, weep and lament again when you leave them.
How then shall I become of an affectionate temper? By being of a noble disposition, and happy. For it is not reasonable to be mean-spirited nor to lament yourself, nor to depend on another, nor ever to blame God or man. I entreat you, become an affectionate person in this way, by observing these rules. But if through this affection, as you name it, you are going to be a slave and wretched, there is no profit in being affectionate. And what prevents you from loving another as a person subject to mortality, as one who may go away from you. Did not Socrates love his own children? He did; but it was as a free man, as one who remembered that he must first be a friend to the gods. For this reason he violated nothing which was becoming to a good man, neither in making his defence nor by fixing a penalty on himself, nor even in the former part of his life when he was a senator or when he was a soldier. But we are fully supplied with every pretext for being of ignoble temper, some for the sake of a child, some for a mother, and others for brethren's sake. But it is not fit for us to be unhappy on account of any person, but to be happy on account of all, but chiefly on account of God who has made us for this end. Well, did Diogenes love nobody, who was so kind and so much a lover of all that for mankind in general he willingly undertook so much labour and bodily sufferings? He did love mankind, but how? As became a minister of God, at the same time caring for men, and being also subject to God. For this reason all the earth was his country, and no particular place; and when he was taken prisoner he did not regret Athens nor his associates and friends there, but even he became familiar with the pirates and tried to improve them; and being sold afterwards he lived in Corinth as before at Athens; and he would have behaved the same, if he had gone to the country of the Perrhaebi. Thus is freedom acquired. For this reason he used to say, Ever since Antisthenes made me free, I have not been a slave. How did Antisthenes make him free? Hear what he says: Antisthenes taught me what is my own, and what is not my own; possessions are not my own, nor kinsmen, domestics, friends, nor reputation, nor places familiar, nor mode of life; all these belong to others. What then is your own? The use of appearances. This he showed to me, that I possess it free from hindrance, and from com pulsion, no person can put an obstacle in my way, no person can force me to use appearances otherwise than I wish. Who then has any power over me? Philip or Alexander, or Perdiccas or the great king? How have they this power? For if a man is going to be overpowered by a man, he must long before be overpowered by things. If then pleasure is not able to subdue a man, nor pain, nor fame, nor wealth, but he is able, when he chooses, to spit out all his poor body in a man's face and depart from life, whose slave can he still be? But if he dwelt with pleasure in Athens, and was overpowered by this manner of life, his affairs would have been at every man's command; the stronger would have had the power of grieving him. How do you think that Diogenes would have flattered the pirates that they might sell him to some Athenian, that some time he might see that beautiful Piraeus, and the Long Walls and the Acropolis? In what condition would you see them? As a captive, a slave and mean: and what would be the use of it for you?—Not so: but I should see them as a free man—Show me, how you would be free. Observe, some person has caught you, who leads you away from your accustomed place of abode and says, You are my slave, for it is in my power to hinder you from living as you please, it is in my power to treat you gently, and to humble you: when I choose, on the contrary you are cheerful and go elated to Athens. What do you say to him who treats you as a slave? What' means have you of finding one who will rescue you from slavery? Or cannot you even look him in the face, but without saying more do you intreat to be set free? Man, you ought to go gladly to prison, hastening, going before those who lead you there. Then, I ask you, are you unwilling to live in Rome and desire to live in Hellas (Greece)? And when you must die, will you then also fill us with your lamentations, because you will not see Athens nor walk about in the Lyceion? Have you gone abroad for this? was it for this reason you have sought to find some person from whom you might receive benefit? What benefit? That you may solve syllogisms more readily, or handle hypothetical arguments? and for this reason did you leave brother, country, friends, your family, that you might return when you had learned these things? So you did not go abroad to obtain constancy of mind, nor freedom from perturbation, nor in order that being secure from harm you may never complain of any person, accuse no person, and no man may wrong you, and thus you may maintain your relative position without impediment? This is a fine traffic that you have gone abroad for in syllogisms and sophistical arguments and hypothetical: if you like, take your place in the agora (market or public place) and proclaim them for sale like dealers in physic. Will you not deny even all that you have learned that you may not bring a bad name on your theorems as useless? What harm has philosophy done you? Wherein has Chrysippus injured. you that you should prove by your acts that his labours are useless? Were the evils that you had there (at home) not enough, those which were the cause of your pain and lamentation, even if you had not gone abroad? Have you added more to the list? And if you again have other acquaintances and friends, you will have more causes for lamentation; and the same also if you take an affection for another country. Why then do you live to surround yourself with other sorrows upon sorrows through which you are unhappy? Then, I ask you, do you call this affection? What affection, man! If it is a good thing, it is the cause of no evil: if it is bad, I have nothing to do with it. I am formed by nature for my own good: I am not formed for my own evil.
How, then, can I become affectionate? By being noble in character and happy. For it makes no sense to be mean-spirited, pity yourself, depend on someone else, or blame God or man. I urge you to become affectionate by following these rules. But if what you call affection is going to make you a slave and miserable, there is no benefit in it. What prevents you from loving another person while remembering that they are mortal and may leave you? Did Socrates not love his own children? He did, but he loved them as a free man. He remembered that he must first be a friend to the gods. For this reason, he never acted in a way unworthy of a good man. He did not do so in his defense or when proposing a penalty for himself, or earlier in life, when he was a senator or a soldier. But we have plenty of excuses for being ignoble. Some of us act that way for a child, some for a mother, and others for brothers. Yet we should not be unhappy because of anyone. We should be happy because of everyone, but above all because of God, who made us for this purpose. Did Diogenes love no one? He was so kind and loved everyone so much that he willingly endured great labor and bodily suffering for all mankind. He did love mankind, but how? As a minister of God should, caring for men while remaining subject to God. For this reason, the whole earth was his country, not any particular place. When he was taken prisoner, he did not pine for Athens or his associates and friends there. Instead, he made friends with the pirates and tried to improve them. After he was sold, he lived in Corinth as he had lived in Athens. He would have behaved the same way if he had gone to the country of the Perrhaebi. This is how freedom is gained. For this reason, Diogenes used to say, Ever since Antisthenes made me free, I have not been a slave. How did Antisthenes make him free? Listen to what he says: Antisthenes taught me what is mine and what is not. Possessions are not mine, nor are relatives, servants, friends, reputation, familiar places, or a way of life. All these belong to others. What, then, is mine? The way I use appearances. He showed me that I possess this power without hindrance or compulsion. No one can stand in my way or force me to use appearances otherwise than I wish. Who, then, has any power over me? Philip, Alexander, Perdiccas, or the great king? How can they have such power? For if a man is to be overpowered by another man, he must first have been overpowered by things. Suppose pleasure, pain, fame, and wealth cannot subdue a man. Suppose he can, whenever he chooses, spit out his poor body in another man's face and depart from life. Whose slave can he still be? But if he had delighted in living in Athens and been overcome by that way of life, his affairs would have been at everyone's command. Anyone stronger would have had the power to make him suffer. How do you imagine Diogenes would have flattered the pirates? He would have begged them to sell him to an Athenian, so he might someday see that beautiful Piraeus, the Long Walls, and the Acropolis. In what condition would you see them? As a captive, a slave, and a mean-spirited man. What good would seeing them do you? Not so, you say. I would see them as a free man. Show me how you would be free. Look, someone has seized you and is leading you away from your accustomed home. He says, You are my slave. I have the power to prevent you from living as you please. I can treat you gently or humble you. When I choose, on the other hand, you can go cheerfully and happily to Athens. What do you say to the man who treats you as a slave? How will you find someone to rescue you from slavery? Or can you not even look him in the face? Do you simply beg to be set free? Man, you ought to go gladly to prison. You should hurry there, going ahead of the men who lead you. Then, I ask you, are you unwilling to live in Rome and eager to live in Hellas (Greece)? And when you must die, will you fill our ears with your complaints then too? Will you complain because you cannot see Athens or walk about in the Lyceion? Is this why you went abroad? Is this why you sought someone who could help you? What help did you seek? Was it to solve syllogisms more quickly or handle hypothetical arguments? Did you leave your brother, country, friends, and family just to return after learning these things? So you did not go abroad to gain steadiness of mind and freedom from disturbance? Did you not go so that, secure from harm, you might never complain about or accuse anyone, and no man could wrong you? Did you not go so that you might fulfill your proper role in relation to others without hindrance? What a fine trade you have gone abroad to learn, dealing in syllogisms, sophistical arguments, and hypothetical arguments! If you like, take your place in the agora (market or public place) and advertise them for sale like dealers in medicine. Will you not even disown everything you have learned, rather than give your theories a bad name by making them look useless? What harm has philosophy done you? How has Chrysippus injured you, that you should show by your actions that his work is useless? Were the troubles you had at home not enough? Even if you had not gone abroad, they would have caused you pain and made you complain. Have you added more troubles to the list? If you make other acquaintances and friends, you will have more reasons to complain. The same is true if you grow attached to another country. Why, then, do you go on surrounding yourself with sorrow upon sorrow, making yourself unhappy? And do you call this affection? What kind of affection is that, man? If it is good, it causes no evil. If it is bad, I want nothing to do with it. Nature made me for my own good, not for my own evil.
In Athens, when the court (the dicasts) decided to convict someone, it sometimes asked the accused to propose a penalty. But Socrates refused to do this or let his friends do it. He said that proposing a penalty was the same as admitting guilt (Xenophon, Apologia, 23). Socrates said that if he did propose a proper penalty for himself, it would be daily meals in the Prytaneium (Plato, Apology, c. 26; Cicero, De Oratore, i. 54).
Epictetus describes Diogenes's character very differently from how it is described in common books.
A people in Thessaly, between the river Peneius and Mount Olympus. It is as if Epictetus had referred to any remote country.
For καρπιστήν, see the notes in Schweig.'s edition. The word is thought to derive from καρπίς, καρφίς, festuca.
Μεταπίπτοντας. See i. 7.
Traveling around and selling medicine is an old practice. Cicero (Pro Cluentio, c. 14) mentions such a quack (pharmacopola), who would poison someone for the right price. I saw a traveling doctor in France who went around in a cart and rang a bell. People gathered around him when they heard it. He poured stuff into the ears of some deaf people. They paid him and made way for others with different complaints.
What then is the discipline for this purpose? First of all the highest and the principal, and that which stands as it were at the entrance, is this; when you are delighted with anything, be delighted as with a thing which is not one of those which cannot be taken away, but as with something of such a kind, as an earthen pot is, or a glass cup, that when it has been broken, you may remember what it was, and may not be troubled. So in this matter also if you kiss your own child, or your brother or friend, never give full license to the appearance (φαντασίαν), and allow not your pleasure to go as far as it chooses; but check it, and curb it as those who stand behind men in. their triumphs and remind them that they are mortal. Do you also remind yourself in like manner, that he whom you love is mortal, and that what you love is nothing of your own it has been given to you for the present, not that it should not be taken from you, nor has it been given to you for all time, but as a fig is given to you or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year. But if you wish for these things in winter, you are a fool. So if you wish for your son or friend when it is not allowed to you, you must know that you are wishing for a fig in winter. For such as winter is to a fig, such is every event which happens from the universe to the things which are taken away according to its nature. And further, at the times when you are delighted with a thing, place before yourself the contrary appearances. What harm is it while you are kissing your child to say with a lisping voice, To-morrow you will die; and to a friend also, To-morrow you will go away or I shall, and never shall we see one another again?—But these are words of bad omen—And some incantations also are of bad omen; but because they are useful, I don't care for this; only let them be useful. But do you call things to be of bad omen except those which are significant of some evil? Cowardice is a word of bad omen, and meanness of spirit, and sorrow, and grief and shamelessness. These words are of bad omen and yet we ought not to hesitate to utter them in order to protect ourselves against the things. Do you tell me that a name which is significant of any natural thing is of evil omen? say that even for the ears of corn to be reaped is of bad omen, for it signifies the destruction of the ears, but not of the world. Say that the falling of the leaves also is of bad omen, and for the dried fig to take the place of the green fig, and for raisins to be made from the grapes. For all these things are changes from a former state into other states; not a destruction, but a certain fixed economy and administration. Such is going away from home and a small change: such is death, a greater change, not from the state which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not now.—Shall I then no longer exist?—You will not exist, but you will be something else, of which the world now has need: for you also came into existence not when you chose, but when the world had need of you.
What training serves this purpose? First comes the most important and principal rule, the one that stands at the entrance. When you delight in anything, remember that it is not something that cannot be taken away. Think of it as something like a clay pot or a glass cup. Then, when it is broken, you can remember what it was and not be troubled. Likewise, when you kiss your child, brother, or friend, never give the impression (φαντασίαν) free rein. Do not let your pleasure go as far as it wants. Instead, check and restrain it. Do this like those who stand behind men in their triumphs and remind them that they are mortal. In the same way, remind yourself that the person you love is mortal. What you love is not your own. It has been given to you for the present. It has not been given to you forever, or on the condition that it cannot be taken away. It has been given to you as a fig or a bunch of grapes is given in its season. But if you want these things in winter, you are a fool. So if you want your son or friend when you are not allowed to have him, know what you want. You are wishing for a fig in winter. What winter is to a fig, every event in the universe is to things taken away according to its nature. Further, when you delight in something, set the opposite impressions before yourself. What harm is there in saying to your child, as you kiss him in a lisping voice, “Tomorrow you will die”? Or in saying to a friend, “Tomorrow you or I will go away, and we will never see each other again”? But these are words of bad omen, you say. Some incantations are also of bad omen. But because they are useful, I do not care. Let them only be useful. Do you call anything a bad omen unless it signifies some evil? Cowardice is a word of bad omen, and so are meanness of spirit, sorrow, grief, and shamelessness. Yet we should not hesitate to speak these words to protect ourselves against those things. Do you tell me that a word signifying something natural is a bad omen? Then say that the reaping of ears of corn is also a bad omen. It signifies the destruction of the ears, but not of the world. Say that the falling of leaves is a bad omen too. Say the same when a green fig becomes a dried fig, and grapes become raisins. All these are changes from one state to another. They are not destruction, but part of an ordered plan and administration. Leaving home is such a change, a small one. Death is a greater change, but it is not a change from what now exists to what does not exist. It is a change to what does not exist now. “Will I no longer exist, then?” You will not exist, but you will be something else, something the world now needs. You too came into existence not when you chose, but when the world needed you.
During Roman triumphs, a slave stood behind the victorious general in his chariot and reminded him that he was still immortal. Juvenal, x. 41.
Compare Autoninus xi. 33 and 34.
Marcus Antoninus, xi. 35. Compare Epict., iii. 13, 14, and iv. 7.75.
Upton changed the text οὐκέτι οὖν ἔσομαι; Οὐκ ἔσῃ ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο τι, οὗ νῦν ὁ κόσμος χρείαν ἔχει to οὔκετι οὖν ἔσομαι; Ἔσῃ ἀλλ᾽ ἄλλο τι, οὗ νῦν ὁ κόσμος χρείαν οὐκ ἔχει. He says he made the change without manuscript authority, but that the meaning requires it. Schweighaeuser does not accept the change, and neither do I. Schweig. notes that there may be some difficulty with the words οὗ νῦν ὁ κόσμος χρείαν ἔχει. He first suggests that 'now' (νῦν) means after a man's death. But he then suggests that ἄλλο τι οὗ means 'something different from that of which the world has now need.' A reader might not find any difficulty. He might also suggest leaving out νῦν, since the meaning would be even clearer without it. See iii. 13. 15, and iv. 7. 15.
[22] Wherefore the wise and good man, remembering who he is and whence he came, and by whom he was produced, is [22] attentive only to this, how he may fill his place with due regularity, and obediently to God. Dost thou still wish me to exist (live)? I will continue to exist as free, as noble in nature, as thou hast wished me to exist: for thou hast made me free from hindrance in that which is my own. But hast thou no further need of me? I thank thee; and so far I have remained for thy sake, and for the sake of no other person, and now in obedience to thee I depart. How dost thou depart? Again, I say, as thou hast pleased, as free, as thy servant, as one who has known thy commands and thy prohibitions. And so long as I shall stay in thy service, whom dost thou will me to be? A prince or a private man, a senator or a common person, a soldier or a general, a teacher or a master of a family? whatever place and position thou mayest assign to me, as Socrates says, I will die ten thousand times rather than desert them. And where dost thou will me to be? in Rome or Athens, or Thebes or Gyara. Only remember me there where I am. If thou sendest me to a place where there are no means for men living according to nature, I shall not depart (from life) in disobedience to thee, but as if thou wast giving me the signal to retreat: I do not leave thee, let this be far from my intention, but I perceive that thou hast no need of me. If means of living according to nature be allowed to me, I will seek no other place than that in which I am, or other men than those among whom I am.
[22] Therefore, the wise and good person remembers who he is, where he came from, and who made him. He pays attention only [22] to how he can fulfill his role properly and obey God. Do you still want me to live? I will go on living free and noble by nature, as you wanted me to live. For you made me free from hindrance in what is my own. But do you no longer need me? I thank you. Until now I have stayed for your sake and no one else’s. Now, in obedience to you, I depart. How do I depart? Again, I say, as you have wished: free, your servant, and one who has known your commands and prohibitions. As long as I remain in your service, who do you want me to be? A prince or a private citizen, a senator or an ordinary person, a soldier or a general, a teacher or the head of a family? Whatever role and position you assign me, I will die ten thousand times rather than desert them, as Socrates says. And where do you want me to be? In Rome or Athens, or Thebes or Gyara? Only remember me wherever I am. If you send me somewhere with no means for people to live according to nature, I will leave life without disobeying you. It will be as if you are signaling me to retreat. I am not leaving you. That is far from my intention. Rather, I see that you have no need of me. If I am allowed the means to live according to nature, I will seek no place other than where I am, and no people other than those among whom I live.
Let these thoughts be ready to hand by night and by day: these you should write, these you should read: about these you should talk to yourself, and to others. Ask a man, Can you help me at all for this purpose? and further, go to another and to another. Then if any thing that is said be contrary to your wish, this reflection first will immediately relieve you, that it is not unexpected. For it is a great thing in all cases to say, I knew that I begot a son who is mortal. For so you also will say, I knew that I am mortal, I knew that I may leave my home, I knew that I may be ejected from it, I knew that I may be led to prison. Then if you turn round and look to yourself, and seek the place from which comes that which has happened, you will forthwith recollect that it comes from the place of things which are out of the power of the will, and of things which are not my own. What then is it to me? Then, you will ask, and this is the chief thing: And who is it that sent it? The leader, or the general, the state, the law of the state. Give it me then, for I must always obey the law in every thing. Then, when the appearance (of things) pains you, for it is not in your power to prevent this, contend against it by the aid of reason, conquer it: do not allow it to gain strength nor to lead you to the consequences by raising images such as it pleases and as it pleases. If you be in Gyara, do not imagine the mode of living at Rome, and how many pleasures there were for him who lived there and how many there would be for him who returned to Rome: but fix your mind on this matter, how a man who lives in Gyara ought to live in Gyara like a man of courage. And if you be in Rome, do not imagine what the life in Athens is, but think only of the life in Rome.
Keep these thoughts ready at hand, night and day. Write them down and read them. Discuss them with yourself and with others. Ask someone, “Can you help me with this?” Then go to another person, and another. If someone says something you do not wish to hear, one thought will immediately bring you relief: you did not expect otherwise. For in every situation, it is a great thing to say, “I knew that my son was mortal.” In the same way, you can say, “I knew that I am mortal. I knew that I may leave my home. I knew that I may be forced out of it. I knew that I may be sent to prison.” Then look within yourself and ask where what has happened comes from. You will immediately remember that it comes from things beyond the power of your will, things that are not your own. What, then, does it matter to me? Next, ask the most important question: “Who sent it?” The leader, the general, the state, or the law of the state. Then let it come, for I must always obey the law in everything. When an appearance causes you pain, you cannot prevent that. But fight it with reason and overcome it. Do not let it gain strength or lead you into further thoughts by conjuring up whatever images it pleases, however it pleases. If you are in Gyara, do not imagine life in Rome, or how many pleasures someone living there enjoyed. Do not imagine how many pleasures await someone who returns to Rome. Instead, focus on how a person living in Gyara should live there with courage. And if you are in Rome, do not imagine what life in Athens is like. Think only of life in Rome.
Seneca, de Consol. ad Pol. c. 30. Cicero, Tuscul. Disp. iii. 13.
Then in the place of all other delights substitute this, that of being conscious that you are obeying God, that not in word, but in deed you are performing the acts of a wise and good man.: For what a thing it is for a man to be able to say to himself, Now whatever the rest may say in solemn manner in the schools and may be judged to be saying in a way contrary to common opinion (or in a strange way), this I am doing; and they are sitting and are discoursing of my virtues and inquiring about me and praising me; and of this Zeus has willed that I shall receive from myself a demonstration, and shall myself know if he has a soldier such as he ought to have, a citizen such as he ought to have, and if he has chosen to produce me to the rest of mankind as a witness of the things which are independent of the will: See that you fear without reason, that you foolishly desire what you do desire: seek not the good in things external; seek it in yourselves: if you do not, you will not find it. For this purpose he leads me at one time hither, at another time sends me thither, shows me to men as poor, without authority, and sick; sends me to Gyara, leads me into prison, not because he hates me, far from him be such a meaning, for who hates the best of his servants? nor yet because he cares not for me, for he does not neglect any even of the smallest things; but he does this for the purpose of exercising me and making use of me as a witness to others. Being appointed to such a service, do I still care about the place in which I am, or with whom I am, or what men say about me? and do I not entirely direct my thoughts to God and to his instructions and commands?
Then replace all other pleasures with the pleasure of knowing that you are obeying God. Know that you are acting like a wise and good man, not merely talking like one. What a thing it is to be able to say to yourself: Others speak solemnly in the schools and are thought to say strange things that go against common opinion. But I am putting those things into practice. They sit and discuss my virtues, inquire about me, and praise me. Zeus has willed that I should prove this through my own actions. I shall know for myself whether he has the soldier and citizen he ought to have. I shall also know whether he has chosen to present me to the rest of mankind as a witness to things beyond our control: See that you fear without reason and foolishly desire the things you desire. Do not seek the good in external things. Seek it in yourselves. If you do not, you will not find it. For this purpose, Zeus leads me here at one time and sends me there at another. He shows me to people as poor, powerless, and sick. He sends me to Gyara and leads me into prison. He does not do this because he hates me. Far be such a thought from him, for who hates the best of his servants? Nor does he do it because he does not care for me. He neglects none of even the smallest things. Rather, he does it to train me and use me as a witness to others. Since I have been appointed to such a service, do I still care where I am, who is with me, or what people say about me? Should I not direct all my thoughts to God and to his instructions and commands?
Compare i. 12. 2, ii. 14. 11, iii. 26. 28. 'Compare this with the description of the universal care of Providence, Matthew, x. 29, 30, and the occasion on which it was produced.' Mrs. Carter.
Having these things (or thoughts) always in hand, and exercising them by yourself, and keeping them in readiness, you will never be in want of one to comfort you and strengthen you. For it is not shameful to be without something to eat, but not to have reason sufficient for keeping away fear and sorrow. But if once you have gained exemption from sorrow and fear, will there any longer be a tyrant for you, or a tyrant's guard, or attendants on Caesar? Or shall any appointment to offices at court cause you pain, or shall those who sacrifice in the Capitol on the occasion of being named to certain functions, cause pain to you who have received so great authority from Zeus? Only do not make a proud display of it, nor boast of it; but shew it by your acts; and if no man perceives it, be satisfied that you are yourself in a healthy state and happy.
Keep these thoughts close at hand. Practice them on your own and have them ready. Then you will never lack someone to comfort and strengthen you. It is not shameful to have nothing to eat. What is shameful is not having enough reason to keep fear and sorrow away. But once you are free from sorrow and fear, can a tyrant still have power over you? Can a tyrant's guards or Caesar's attendants? Will appointments to court offices cause you pain? Will you be troubled by those who sacrifice in the Capitol when appointed to certain offices? You have received such great authority from Zeus. Just do not make a proud display of your authority or boast about it. Show it through your actions. If no one notices, be content that you are healthy and happy.
See i. 19. 19.
For the unusual words ὀρδινατίων and ὀπτικίοις in this sentence, see the notes in Schweighaeuser's edition.