No More Learning

What else does the poet mean:--

I spake unto him erst Myself, and sent
Hermes the shining One, to check and warn him,
The husband not to slay, nor woo the wife!




LIV

In the same way my friend Heraclitus, who had a trifling suit about a
petty farm at Rhodes, first showed the judges that his cause was just,
and then at the finish cried, "I will not entreat you: nor do I care
what sentence you pass. It is you who are on your trial, not I! "--And so
he ended the case.




LV

As for us, we behave like a herd of deer. When they flee from the
huntsman's feathers in affright, which way do they turn? What haven of
safety do they make for? Why, they rush upon the nets! And thus they
perish by confounding what they should fear with that wherein no danger
lies. . . . Not death or pain is to be feared, but the fear of death or
pain. Well said the poet therefore:--

Death has no terror; only a Death of shame!




LVI

How is it then that certain external things are said to be natural, and
other contrary to Nature?

Why, just as it might be said if we stood alone and apart from others.
A foot, for instance, I will allow it is natural should be clean. But if
you take it as a foot, and as a thing which does not stand by itself, it
will beseem it (if need be) to walk in the mud, to tread on thorns, and
sometimes even to be cut off, for the benefit of the whole body; else
it is no longer a foot. In some such way we should conceive of ourselves
also. What art thou? --A man. --Looked at as standing by thyself and
separate, it is natural for thee in health and wealth long to live.
But looked at as a Man, and only as a part of a Whole, it is for that
Whole's sake that thou shouldest at one time fall sick, at another brave
the perils of the sea, again, know the meaning of want and perhaps die
an early death. Why then repine? Knowest thou not that as the foot is
no more a foot if detached from the body, so thou in like case art no
longer a Man? For what is a Man? A part of a City:--first of the City
of Gods and Men; next, of that which ranks nearest it, a miniature of
the universal City. . . . In such a body, in such a world enveloping us,
among lives like these, such things must happen to one or another. Thy
part, then, being here, is to speak of these things as is meet, and to
order them as befits the matter.




LVII

That was a good reply which Diogenes made to a man who asked him for
letters of recommendation. --"That you are a man, he will know when he
sees you;--whether a good or bad one, he will know if he has any skill
in discerning the good or bad. But if he has none, he will never know,
though I write him a thousand times. "--It is as though a piece of silver
money desired to be recommended to some one to be tested. If the man be
a good judge of silver, he will know: the coin will tell its own tale.




LVIII

Even as the traveller asks his way of him that he meets, inclined in no
wise to bear to the right rather than to the left (for he desires only
the way leading whither he would go), so should we come unto God as to a
guide; even as we use our eyes without admonishing them to show us some
things rather than others, but content to receive the images of such
things as they present to us. But as it is we stand anxiously
watching the victim, and with the voice of supplication call upon the
augur:--"Master, have mercy on me: vouchsafe unto me a way of escape! "
Slave, would you then have aught else then what is best? is there
anything better than what is God's good pleasure? Why, as far as in you
lies, would you corrupt your Judge, and lead your Counsellor astray?




LIX

God is beneficent. But the Good also is beneficent. It should seem then
that where the real nature of God is, there too is to be found the real
nature of the Good. What then is the real nature of God? --Intelligence,
Knowledge, Right Reason. Here then without more ado seek the real nature
of the Good. For surely thou dost not seek it in a plant or in an animal
that reasoneth not.




LX

Seek then the real nature of the Good in that without whose presence
thou wilt not admit the Good to exist in aught else. --What then? Are not
these other things also works of God? --They are; but not preferred to
honour, nor are they portions of God. But thou art a thing preferred to
honour: thou art thyself a fragment torn from God:--thou hast a portion
of Him within thyself. How is it then that thou dost not know thy high
descent--dost not know whence thou comest? When thou eatest, wilt
thou not remember who thou art that eatest and whom thou feedest? In
intercourse, in exercise, in discussion knowest thou not that it is
a God whom thou feedest, a God whom thou exercisest, a God whom thou
bearest about with thee, O miserable! and thou perceivest it not.
Thinkest thou that I speak of a God of silver or gold, that is without
thee? Nay, thou bearest Him within thee! all unconscious of polluting Him
with thoughts impure and unclean deeds. Were an image of God present,
thou wouldest not dare to act as thou dost, yet, when God Himself is
present within thee, beholding and hearing all, thou dost not blush to
think such thoughts and do such deeds, O thou that art insensible of
thine own nature and liest under the wrath of God!




LXI

Why then are we afraid when we send a young man from the Schools into
active life, lest he should indulge his appetites intemperately, lest
he should debase himself by ragged clothing, or be puffed up by fine
raiment? Knows he not the God within him; knows he not with whom he is
starting on his way? Have we patience to hear him say to us, Would I
had thee with me! --Hast thou not God where thou art, and having Him dost
thou still seek for any other! Would He tell thee aught else than these
things? Why, wert thou a statue of Phidias, an Athena or a Zeus, thou
wouldst bethink thee both of thyself and thine artificer; and hadst thou
any sense, thou wouldst strive to do no dishonour to thyself or him that
fashioned thee, nor appear to beholders in unbefitting guise. But now,
because God is thy Maker, is that why thou carest not of what sort
thou shalt show thyself to be? Yet how different the artists and their
workmanship! What human artist's work, for example, has in it the
faculties that are displayed in fashioning it? Is it aught but marble,
bronze, gold, or ivory? Nay, when the Athena of Phidias has put forth
her hand and received therein a Victory, in that attitude she stands
for evermore. But God's works move and breathe; they use and judge the
things of sense. The workmanship of such an Artist, wilt thou dishonor
Him? Ay, when he not only fashioned thee, but placed thee, like a ward,
in the care and guardianship of thyself alone, wilt thou not only forget
this, but also do dishonour to what is committed to thy care! If God had
entrusted thee with an orphan, wouldst thou have thus neglected him? He
hath delivered thee to thine own care, saying, I had none more faithful
than myself: keep this man for me such as Nature hath made him--modest,
faithful, high-minded, a stranger to fear, to passion, to perturbation.
. . .

Such will I show myself to you all. --"What, exempt from sickness also:
from age, from death? "--Nay, but accepting sickness, accepting death as
becomes a God!




LXII

No labour, according to Diogenes, is good but that which aims at
producing courage and strength of soul rather than of body.




LXIII

A guide, on finding a man who has lost his way, brings him back to the
right path--he does not mock and jeer at him and then take himself off.
You also must show the unlearned man the truth, and you will see that he
will follow. But so long as you do not show it him, you should not mock,
but rather feel your own incapacity.




LXIV

It was the first and most striking characteristic of Socrates never to
become heated in discourse, never to utter an injurious or insulting
word--on the contrary, he persistently bore insult from others and thus
put an end to the fray. If you care to know the extent of his power
in this direction, read Xenophon's Banquet, and you will see how many
quarrels he put an end to. This is why the Poets are right in so highly
commending this faculty:--

Quickly and wisely withal even bitter feuds would he settle.

Nevertheless the practice is not very safe at present, especially in
Rome. One who adopts it, I need not say, ought not to carry it out in an
obscure corner, but boldly accost, if occasion serve, some personage of
rank or wealth.

"Can you tell me, sir, to whose care you entrust your horses? "

"I can. "

"Is it to the first comer, who knows nothing about them? "

"Certainly not. "

"Well, what of the man who takes care of your gold, your silver or your
raiment? "

"He must be experienced also. "

"And your body--have you ever considered about entrusting it to any
one's care? "

"Of course I have. "

"And no doubt to a person of experience as a trainer, a physician? "

"Surely. "

"And these things the best you possess, or have you anything more
precious? "

"What can you mean? "

"I mean that which employs these; which weights all things; which takes
counsel and resolve. "

"Oh, you mean the soul. "

"You take me rightly; I do mean the soul. By Heaven, I hold that far
more precious than all else I possess. Can you show me then what care
you bestow on a soul? For it can scarcely be thought that a man of your
wisdom and consideration in the city would suffer your most precious
possession to go to ruin through carelessness and neglect. "

"Certainly not. "

"Well, do you take care of it yourself? Did any one teach you the right
method, or did you discover it yourself? "

Now here comes in the danger: first, that the great man may answer,
"Why, what is that to you, my good fellow? are you my master? " And then,
if you persist in troubling him, may raise his hand to strike you. It is
a practice of which I was myself a warm admirer until such experiences
as these befell me.




LXV

When a youth was giving himself airs in the Theatre and saying, "I am
wise, for I have conversed with many wise men," Epictetus replied, "I
too have conversed with many rich men, yet I am not rich! "




LXVI

We see that a carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things:
that a pilot, by learning certain things, becomes a pilot. Possibly also
in the present case the mere desire to be wise and good is not enough.
It is necessary to learn certain things. This is then the object of our
search. The Philosophers would have us first learn that there is a God,
and that His Providence directs the Universe; further, that to hide
from Him not only one's acts but even one's thoughts and intentions is
impossible; secondly, what the nature of God is. Whatever that nature is
discovered to be, the man who would please and obey Him must strive with
all his might to be made like unto him. If the Divine is faithful, he
also must be faithful; if free, he also must be free; if beneficent, he
also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, he also must be magnanimous.
Thus as an imitator of God must he follow Him in every deed and word.




LXVII

If I show you, that you lack just what is most important and necessary
to happiness, that hitherto your attention has been bestowed on
everything rather than that which claims it most; and, to crown all,
that you know neither what God nor Man is--neither what Good or Evil is:
why, that you are ignorant of everything else, perhaps you may bear to
be told; but to hear that you know nothing of yourself, how could you
submit to that? How could you stand your ground and suffer that to be
proved? Clearly not at all. You instantly turn away in wrath. Yet what
harm have I done to you? Unless indeed the mirror harms the ill-favoured
man by showing him to himself just as he is; unless the physician can
be thought to insult his patient, when he tells him:--"Friend, do you
suppose there is nothing wrong with you? why, you have a fever. Eat
nothing to-day, and drink only water. " Yet no one says, "What an
insufferable insult! " Whereas if you say to a man, "Your desires are
inflamed, your instincts of rejection are weak and low, your aims
are inconsistent, your impulses are not in harmony with Nature, your
opinions are rash and false," he forthwith goes away and complains that
you have insulted him.




LXVIII

Our way of life resembles a fair. The flocks and herds are passing along
to be sold, and the greater part of the crowd to buy and sell. But there
are some few who come only to look at the fair, to inquire how and why
it is being held, upon what authority and with what object. So too, in
this great Fair of life, some, like the cattle, trouble themselves about
nothing but the fodder. Know all of you, who are busied about land,
slaves and public posts, that these are nothing but fodder! Some few
there are attending the Fair, who love to contemplate what the world
is, what He that administers it. Can there be no Administrator? is it
possible, that while neither city nor household could endure even a
moment without one to administer and see to its welfare, this Fabric, so
fair, so vast, should be administered in order so harmonious, without a
purpose and by blind chance? There is therefore an Administrator. What
is His nature and how does He administer? And who are we that are
His children and what work were we born to perform? Have we any close
connection or relation with Him or not?

Such are the impressions of the few of whom I speak. And further, they
apply themselves solely to considering and examining the great assembly
before they depart. Well, they are derided by the multitude. So are the
lookers-on by the traders: aye, and if the beasts had any sense, they
would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder!




LXIX

I think I know now what I never knew before--the meaning of the common
saying, A fool you can neither bend nor break. Pray heaven I may never
have a wise fool for my friend! There is nothing more intractable. --"My
resolve is fixed! "--Why so madman say too; but the more firmly they
believe in their delusions, the more they stand in need of treatment.




LXX

--"O! when shall I see Athens and its Acropolis again? "--Miserable man!
art thou not contented with the daily sights that meet thine eyes? canst
thou behold aught greater or nobler than the Sun, Moon, and Stars;
than the outspread Earth and Sea? If indeed thou apprehendest Him who
administers the universe, if thou bearest Him about within thee, canst
thou still hanker after mere fragments of stone and fine rock? When thou
art about to bid farewell to the Sun and Moon itself, wilt thou sit down
and cry like a child? Why, what didst thou hear, what didst thou learn?
why didst thou write thyself down a philosopher, when thou mightest have
written what was the fact, namely, "I have made one or two Compendiums,
I have read some works of Chrysippus, and I have not even touched the
hem of Philosophy's robe! "




LXXI

Friend, lay hold with a desperate grasp, ere it is too late, on Freedom,
on Tranquility, on Greatness of soul! Lift up thy head, as one escaped
from slavery; dare to look up to God, and say:--"Deal with me henceforth
as Thou wilt; Thou and I are of one mind. I am Thine: I refuse nothing
that seeeth good to Thee; lead on whither Thou wilt; clothe me in what
garb Thou pleasest; wilt Thou have me a ruler or a subject--at home or
in exile--poor or rich? All these things will I justify unto men for
Thee. I will show the true nature of each. . . . "

Who would Hercules have been had he loitered at home? no Hercules, but
Eurystheus. And in his wanderings through the world how many friends and
comrades did he find? but nothing dearer to him than God. Wherefore he
was believed to be God's son, as indeed he was. So then in obedience to
Him, he went about delivering the earth from injustice and lawlessness.

But thou art not Hercules, thou sayest, and canst not deliver others
from their iniquity--not even Theseus, to deliver the soil of Attica
from its monsters? Purge away thine own, cast forth thence--from thine
own mind, not robbers and monsters, but Fear, Desire, Envy, Malignity,
Avarice, Effeminacy, Intemperance. And these may not be cast out, except
by looking to God alone, by fixing thy affections on Him only, and by
consecrating thyself to His commands. If thou choosest aught else, with
sighs and groans thou wilt be forced to follow a Might greater than
thine own, ever seeking Tranquillity without, and never able to attain
unto her. For thou seekest her where she is not to be found; and where
she is, there thou seekest her not!




LXXII

If a man would pursue Philosophy, his first task is to throw away
conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn what he has a
conceit that he already knows.




LXXIII

Give me but one young man, that has come to the School with this
intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause, and says, "All
else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life free from
hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as a
free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that
may come to pass! " Point out such a one to me, that I may say, "Enter,
young man, into possession of that which is thine own. For thy lot is to
adorn Philosophy. Thine are these possessions; thine these books, these
discourses! "

And when our champion has duly exercised himself in this part of the
subject, I hope he will come back to me and say:--"What I desire is to
be free from passion and from perturbation; as one who grudges no pains
in the pursuit of piety and philosophy, what I desire is to know my duty
to the Gods, my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country, to
strangers. "

"Enter then on the second part of the subject; it is thine also. "

"But I have already mastered the second part; only I wished to stand
firm and unshaken--as firm when asleep as when awake, as firm when
elated with wine as in despondency and dejection. "

"Friend, you are verily a God! you cherish great designs. "




LXXIV

"The question at stake," said Epictetus, "is no common one; it is
this:--Are we in our senses, or are we not? "




LXXV

If you have given way to anger, be sure that over and above the evil
involved therein, you have strengthened the habit, and added fuel to
the fire. If overcome by a temptation of the flesh, do not reckon it
a single defeat, but that you have also strengthened your dissolute
habits.
Habits and faculties are necessarily affected by the
corresponding acts. Those that were not there before, spring up: the
rest gain in strength and extent. This is the account which Philosophers
give of the origin of diseases of the mind:--Suppose you have once
lusted after money: if reason sufficient to produce a sense of evil
be applied, then the lust is checked, and the mind at once regains its
original authority; whereas if you have recourse to no remedy, you can
no longer look for this return--on the contrary, the next time it is
excited by the corresponding object, the flame of desire leaps up more
quickly than before. By frequent repetition, the mind in the long
run becomes callous; and thus this mental disease produces confirmed
Avarice.

One who has had fever, even when it has left him, is not in the same
condition of health as before, unless indeed his cure is complete.
Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of the mind. Behind,
there remains a legacy of traces and blisters: and unless these are
effectually erased, subsequent blows on the same spot will produce
no longer mere blisters, but sores. If you do not wish to be prone
to anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend its
increase. At first, keep quiet and count the days when you were not
angry: "I used to be angry every day, then every other day: next every
two, next every three days! " and if you succeed in passing thirty days,
sacrifice to the Gods in thanksgiving.




LXXVI

How then may this be attained? --Resolve, now if never before, to approve
thyself to thyself; resolve to show thyself fair in God's sight; long to
be pure with thine own pure self and God!




LXXVII

That is the true athlete, that trains himself to resist such outward
impressions as these.

"Stay, wretched man! suffer not thyself to be carried away! " Great is
the combat, divine the task! you are fighting for Kingship, for Liberty,
for Happiness, for Tranquillity. Remember God: call upon Him to aid
thee, like a comrade that stands beside thee in the fight.




LXXVIII

Who then is a Stoic--in the sense that we call a statue of Phidias
which is modelled after that master's art? Show me a man in this sense
modelled after the doctrines that are ever upon his lips. Show me a man
that is sick--and happy; an exile--and happy; in evil report--and happy!
Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I long to see one Stoic!
Nay, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at least see one
in whom the process is at work--one whose bent is in that direction. Do
me that favour! Grudge it not to an old man, to behold a sight he has
never yet beheld. Think you I wish to see the Zeus or Athena of Phidias,
bedecked with gold and ivory? --Nay, show me, one of you, a human soul,
desiring to be of one mind with God, no more to lay blame on God or man,
to suffer nothing to disappoint, nothing to cross him, to yield neither
to anger, envy, nor jealousy--in a word, why disguise the matter? one
that from a man would fain become a God; one that while still imprisoned
in this dead body makes fellowship with God his aim. Show me him! --Ah,
you cannot! Then why mock yourselves and delude others? why stalk about
tricked out in other men's attire, thieves and robbers that you are of
names and things to which you can show no title!




LXXIX

If you have assumed a character beyond your strength, you have both
played a poor figure in that, and neglected one that is within your
powers.




LXXX

Fellow, you have come to blows at home with a slave: you have turned the
household upside down, and thrown the neighbourhood into confusion; and
do you come to me then with airs of assumed modesty--do you sit down
like a sage and criticise my explanation of the readings, and whatever
idle babble you say has come into my head? Have you come full of envy,
and dejected because nothing is sent you from home; and while the
discussion is going on, do you sit brooding on nothing but how your
father or your brother are disposed towards you:--"What are they saying
about me there? at this moment they imagine I am making progress and
saying, He will return perfectly omniscient! I wish I could become
omniscient before I return; but that would be very troublesome. No one
sends me anything--the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; things are wretched
at home and wretched here. " And then they say, "Nobody is any the better
for the School. "--Who comes to the School with a sincere wish to learn:
to submit his principles to correction and himself to treatment? Who, to
gain a sense of his wants? Why then be surprised if you carry home from
the School exactly what you bring into it?




LXXXI

"Epictetus, I have often come desiring to hear you speak, and you have
never given me any answer; now if possible, I entreat you, say something
to me. "

"Is there, do you think," replied Epictetus, "an art of speaking as
of other things, if it is to be done skilfully and with profit to the
hearer? "

"Yes. "

"And are all profited by what they hear, or only some among them? So
that it seems there is an art of hearing as well as of speaking. . . .
To make a statue needs skill: to view a statue aright needs skill also. "

"Admitted. "

"And I think all will allow that one who proposes to hear philosophers
speak needs a considerable training in hearing. Is that not so? The tell
me on what subject your are able to hear me. "

"Why, on good and evil. "

"The good and evil of what? a horse, an ox? "

"No; of a man. "

"Do we know then what Man is? what his nature is? what is the idea we
have of him? And are our ears practised in any degree on the subject?
Nay, do you understand what Nature is? can you follow me in any degree
when I say that I shall have to use demonstration? Do you understand
what Demonstration is? what True or False is? . . . must I drive you to
Philosophy? . . . Show me what good I am to do by discoursing with you.
Rouse my desire to do so. The sight of a pasture it loves stirs in
a sheep the desire to feed: show it a stone or a bit of bread and it
remains unmoved. Thus we also have certain natural desires, aye, and one
that moves us to speak when we find a listener that is worth his salt:
one that himself stirs the spirit. But if he sits by like a stone or a
tuft of grass, how can he rouse a man's desire? "

"Then you will say nothing to me? "

"I can only tell you this: that one who knows not who he is and to
what end he was born; what kind of world this is and with whom he is
associated therein; one who cannot distinguish Good and Evil, Beauty and
Foulness, . . . Truth and Falsehood, will never follow Reason in shaping
his desires and impulses and repulsions, nor yet in assent, denial, or
suspension of judgement; but will in one word go about deaf and blind,
thinking himself to be somewhat, when he is in truth of no account. Is
there anything new in all this? Is not this ignorance the cause of all
the mistakes and mischances of men since the human race began? . . . "

"This is all I have to say to you, and even this against the grain. Why?
Because you have not stirred my spirit. For what can I see in you to
stir me, as a spirited horse will stir a judge of horses? Your body?
That you maltreat. Your dress? That is luxurious. You behavior, your
look? --Nothing whatever. When you want to hear a philosopher, do not
say, You say nothing to me'; only show yourself worthy or fit to hear,
and then you will see how you will move the speaker. "




LXXXII

And now, when you see brothers apparently good friends and living in
accord, do not immediately pronounce anything upon their friendship,
though they should affirm it with an oath, though they should declare,
"For us to live apart in a thing impossible! " For the heart of a bad
man is faithless, unprincipled, inconstant: now overpowered by one
impression, now by another. Ask not the usual questions, Were they born
of the same parents, reared together, and under the same tutor; but ask
this only, in what they place their real interest--whether in outward
things or in the Will. If in outward things, call them not friends, any
more than faithful, constant, brave or free: call them not even human
beings, if you have any sense. . . . But should you hear that these men
hold the Good to lie only in the Will, only in rightly dealing with the
things of sense, take no more trouble to inquire whether they are father
and son or brothers, or comrades of long standing; but, sure of this
one thing, pronounce as boldly that they are friends as that they are
faithful and just: for where else can Friendship be found than where
Modesty is, where there is an interchange of things fair and honest, and
of such only?




LXXXIII

No man can rob us of our Will--no man can lord it over that!




LXXXIV

When disease and death overtake me, I would fain be found engaged in
the task of liberating mine own Will from the assaults of passion, from
hindrance, from resentment, from slavery.

Thus would I fain to be found employed, so that I may say to God, "Have
I in aught transgressed Thy commands? Have I in aught perverted the
faculties, the senses, the natural principles that Thou didst give me?
Have I ever blamed Thee or found fault with Thine administration? When
it was Thy good pleasure, I fell sick--and so did other men: by my will
consented. Because it was Thy pleasure, I became poor: but my heart
rejoiced. No power in the State was mine, because Thou wouldst not:
such power I never desired! Hast Thou ever seen me of more doleful
countenance on that account? Have I not ever drawn nigh unto Thee with
cheerful look, waiting upon Thy commands, attentive to Thy signals? Wilt
Thou that I now depart from the great Assembly of men? I go: I give Thee
all thanks, that Thou hast deemed me worthy to take part with Thee
in this Assembly: to behold Thy works, to comprehend this Thine
administration. "

Such I would were the subject of my thoughts, my pen, my study, when
death overtakes me.




LXXXV

Seemeth it nothing to you, never to accuse, never to blame either God or
Man? to wear ever the same countenance in going forth as in coming
in? This was the secret of Socrates: yet he never said that he knew
or taught anything. . . . Who amongst you makes this his aim? Were it
indeed so, you would gladly endure sickness, hunger, aye, death itself.




LXXXVI

How are we constituted by Nature? To be free, to be noble, to be modest
(for what other living thing is capable of blushing, or of feeling the
impression of shame? ) and to subordinate pleasure to the ends for which
Nature designed us, as a handmaid and a minister, in order to call forth
our activity; in order to keep us constant to the path prescribed by
Nature.




LXXXVII

The husbandman deals with land; physicians and trainers with the body;
the wise man with his own Mind.




LXXXVIII

Which of us does not admire what Lycurgus the Spartan did? A young
citizen had put out his eye, and been handed over to him by the people
to be punished at his own discretion. Lycurgus abstained from all
vengeance, but on the contrary instructed and made a good man of him.
Producing him in public in the theatre, he said to the astonished
Spartans:--"I received this young man at your hands full of violence
and wanton insolence; I restore him to you in his right mind and fit to
serve his country. "




LXXXIX

A money-changer may not reject Caesar's coin, nor may the seller of
herbs, but must when once the coin is shown, deliver what is sold for
it, whether he will or no. So is it also with the Soul. Once the Good
appears, it attracts towards itself; evil repels. But a clear and
certain impression of the Good the Soul will never reject, any more than
men do Caesar's coin. On this hangs every impulse alike of Man and God.




XC

Asked what Common Sense was, Epictetus replied:--

As that may be called a Common Ear which distinguishes only sounds,
while that which distinguishes musical notes is not common but produced
by training; so there are certain things which men not entirely
perverted see by the natural principles common to all. Such a
constitution of the Mind is called Common Sense.




XCI

Canst thou judge men? . . . then make us imitators of thyself, as
Socrates did. Do this, do not do that, else will I cast thee into
prison; this is not governing men like reasonable creatures. Say
rather, As God hath ordained, so do; else thou wilt suffer chastisement
and loss. Askest thou what loss? None other than this: To have left
undone what thou shouldst have done: to have lost the faithfulness, the
reverence, the modesty that is in thee! Greater loss than this seek not
to find!




XCII

"His son is dead. "

What has happened?

"His son is dead. "

Nothing more?

"Nothing. "

"His ship is lost. "

"He has been haled to prison. "

What has happened?

"He has been haled to prison. "

But that any of these things are misfortunes to him, is an addition
which every one makes of his own. But (you say) God is unjust is
this. --Why? For having given thee endurance and greatness of soul? For
having made such things to be no evils? For placing happiness within thy
reach, even when enduring them? For open unto thee a door, when things
make not for thy good? --Depart, my friend and find fault no more!




XCIII

You are sailing to Rome (you tell me) to obtain the post of Governor of
Cnossus. You are not content to stay at home with the honours you had
before; you want something on a larger scale, and more conspicuous. But
when did you ever undertake a voyage for the purpose of reviewing your
own principles and getting rid of any of them that proved unsound? Whom
did you ever visit for that object? What time did you ever set yourself
for that? What age? Run over the times of your life--by yourself, if you
are ashamed before me. Did you examine your principles when a boy? Did
you not do everything just as you do now? Or when you were a stripling,
attending the school of oratory and practising the art yourself, what
did you ever imagine you lacked? And when you were a young man, entered
upon public life, and were pleading causes and making a name, who any
longer seemed equal to you? And at what moment would you have endured
another examining your principles and proving that they were unsound?
What then am I to say to you? "Help me in this matter! " you cry. Ah, for
that I have no rule! And neither did you, if that was your object, come
to me as a philosopher, but as you might have gone to a herb-seller or
a cobbler. --"What do philosophers have rules for, then? "--Why, that
whatever may betide, our ruling faculty may be as Nature would have it,
and so remain. Think you this a small matter? Not so! but the greatest
thing there is. Well, does it need but a short time? Can it be grasped
by a passer-by? --grasp it, if you can!

Then you will say, "Yes, I met Epictetus! "

Aye, just as you might a statue or a monument. You saw me! and that is
all.