CHAPTER XIX
How ought we to bear ourselves toward tyrants?
If a man possesses some superiority, or thinks at least that he does, even though he does not, it is quite unavoidable that this man, if he is uneducated, becomes puffed up on account of it. For example, the tyrant exclaims, “I am the mightiest in the world.” Very well, what can you do for me? Can you secure for me desire that is free from any hindrance? How can you? Do you have it yourself? Can you secure for me aversion proof against encountering what it would avoid? Do you have it yourself? Or infallible choice? And where can you claim a share in that? Come, when you are on board ship, do you feel confidence in yourself, or in the skilled navigator? And when you are in a chariot, in whom do you feel confidence other than the skilled driver. And how is it in the other arts? The same way. What does your power amount to, then? “All men pay attention to me.” Yes, and I pay attention to my little plate and wash it and wipe it out, and for the sake of my oil-flask I drive a peg in the wall. What follows, then? Are these things superior to me? No, but they render me some service, and therefore I pay attention to them. Again, do I not pay attention to my donkey? Do I not wash his feet? Do I not curry him? Do you not know that every man pays attention to himself, and to you just as he does to his donkey? For who pays attention to you as to a man? Point him out to me. Who wishes to become like you? Who becomes a zealous follower of yours as men did of Socrates? “But I can cut off your head.” Well said! I had forgotten that I ought to pay attention to you, as to fever or cholera, and set up an altar to you, just as in Rome there is an altar to the God Fever.
What is it, then, that disturbs and bewilders the multitude? Is it the tyrant and his bodyguards? How is that possible? Nay, far from it! It is not possible that that which is by nature free should be disturbed or thwarted by anything but itself. But it is a man’s own judgements that disturb him. For when the tyrant says to a man, “I will chain your leg,” the man who has set a high value on his leg replies, “Nay, have mercy upon me,” while the man who has set a high value on his moral purpose replies, “If it seems more profitable to you to do so, chain it.” “Do you not care?” “No, I do not care.” “I will show you that I am master.” “How can you be my master? Zeus has set me free. Or do you really think that he was likely to let his own son be made a slave? You are, however, master of my dead body, take it.” “You mean, then, that when you approach me you will not pay attention to me?” “No, I pay attention only to myself. But if you wish me to say that I pay attention to you too, I tell you that I do so, but only as I pay attention to my pot.”
This is not mere self-love; such is the nature of the animal man; everything that he does is for himself. Why, even the sun does everything for its own sake, and, for that matter, so does Zeus himself. But when Zeus wishes to be “Rain-bringer,” and “Fruit-giver,” and “Father of men and of gods,” you can see for yourself that he cannot achieve these works, or win these appellations, unless he proves himself useful to the common interest; and in general he has so constituted the nature of the rational animal man, that he can attain nothing of his own proper goods unless he contributes something to the common interest. Hence it follows that it can no longer be regarded as unsocial for a man to do everything for his own sake. For what do you expect? That a man should neglect himself and his own interest? And in that case how can there be room for one and the same principle of action for all, namely, that of appropriation to their own needs?
What then? When men entertain absurd opinions about what lies outside the province of the moral purpose, counting it good or bad, it is altogether unavoidable for them to pay attention to the tyrant. Aye, would that it were merely the tyrants and not their chamberlains too! And yet how can the man suddenly become wise when Caesar puts him in charge of his chamberpot? How can we forthwith say “Felicio has spoken wisely to me”? I would that he were deposed from the superintendency of the dunghill, that you may think him a fool again! Epaphroditus owned a certain cobbler whom he sold because he was useless; then by some chance the fellow was bought by a member of Caesar’s household and became cobbler to Caesar. You should have seen how Epaphroditus honoured him! “How is my good Felicio, I pray you?” he used to say. And then if someone asked us, “What is your master doing?” he was told, “He is consulting Felicio about something or other.” Why, had he not sold him as being useless? Who, then, had suddenly made a wise man out of him? This is what it means to honour something else than what lies within the province of the moral purpose.
“He has been honoured with a tribuneship,” someone says. All who meet him offer their congratulations; one man kisses him on the eyes, another on the neck, his slaves kiss his hands. He goes home; he finds lamps being lighted. He climbs up the Capitol and offers sacrifice. Now who ever sacrificed as a thank-offering for having had right desire, or for having exercised choice in accordance with nature? For we give thanks to the gods for that wherein we set the good.
To-day a man was talking to me about a priesthood of Augustus. I say to him, “Man, drop the matter; you will be spending a great deal to no purpose.” “But,” says he, “those who draw up deeds of sale will inscribe my name.” “Do you really expect, then, to be present when the deeds are read and say, ‘That is my name they have written’? And even supposing you are now able to be present whenever anyone reads them, what will you do if you die?” “My name will remain after me.” “Inscribe it on a stone and it will remain after you. Come now, who will remember you outside of Nicopolis?” “But I shall wear a crown of gold.” “If you desire a crown at all, take a crown of roses and put it on; you will look much more elegant in that.”
CHAPTER XX
How the reasoning faculty contemplates itself
Every art and faculty makes certain things the special object of its contemplation. Now when the art or faculty itself is of like kind with what it contemplates, it becomes inevitably self-contemplative; but when it is of unlike kind, it cannot contemplate itself. For example, the art of leather-working has to do with hides, but the art itself is altogether different from the material of hides, wherefore it is not self-contemplative. Again, the art of grammar has to do with written speech; it is not, therefore, also itself written speech, is it? Not at all. For this reason it cannot contemplate itself. Well then, for what purpose have we received reason from nature? For the proper use of external impressions. What, then, is reason itself? Something composed out of a certain kind of external impressions. Thus it comes naturally to be also self-contemplative. Once more, what are the things that wisdom has been given us to contemplate? Things good, bad, and neither good nor bad. What, then, is wisdom itself? A good. And what is folly? An evil. Do you see, then, that wisdom inevitably comes to contemplate both itself and its opposite? Therefore, the first and greatest task of the philosopher is to test the impressions and discriminate between them, and to apply none that has not been tested. You all see in the matter of coinage, in which it is felt that we have some interest, how we have even invented an art, and how many means the tester employs to test the coinage — sight, touch, smell, finally hearing; he throws the denarius down and then listens to the sound, and is not satisfied with the sound it makes on a single test, but, as a result of his constant attention to the matter, he catches the tune, like a musician. Thus, where we feel that it makes a good deal of difference to us whether we go wrong or do not go wrong, there we apply any amount of attention to discriminating between things that are capable of making us go wrong, but in the case of our governing principle, poor thing, we yawn and sleep and erroneously accept any and every external impression; for here the loss that we suffer does not attract our attention.
When, therefore, you wish to realize how careless you are about the good and the evil, and how zealous you are about that which is indifferent, observe how you feel about physical blindness on the one hand, and mental delusion on the other, and you will find out that you are far from feeling as you ought about things good and things e
vil. “Yes, but this requires much preparation, and much hard work, and learning many things.” Well, what then? Do you expect it to be possible to acquire the greatest art with a slight effort? And yet the chief doctrine of the philosophers is extremely brief. If you would know, read what Zeno has to say and you will see. For what is there lengthy in his statement: “To follow the gods is man’s end, and the essence of good is the proper use of external impressions”? Ask, “What, then, is God, and what is an external impression? And what is nature in the individual and nature in the universe?” You already have a lengthy statement. If Epicurus should come and say that the good ought to be in the flesh, again the explanation becomes lengthy, and you must be told what is the principal faculty within us, and what our substantial, and what our essential, nature is. Since it is not probable that the good of a snail lies in its shell, is it, then, probable that the good of man lies in his flesh? But take your own case, Epicurus; what more masterful faculty do you yourself possess? What is that thing within you which takes counsel, which examines into all things severally, which, after examining the flesh itself, decides that it is the principal matter? And why do you light a lamp and toil in our behalf, and write such quantities of books? Is it that we may not fail to know the truth? Who are we? And what are we to you? And so the argument becomes lengthy.
CHAPTER XXI
To those who would be admired
When a man has his proper station in life, he is not all agape for things beyond it. Man, what is it you want to have happen to you? As for myself, I am content if I exercise desire and aversion in accordance with nature, if I employ choice and refusal as my nature is, and similarly employ purpose and design and assent. Why, then, do you walk around in our presence as though you had swallowed a spit? “It has always been my wish that those who meet me should admire me and as they follow me should exclaim, ‘O the great philosopher!’” Who are those people by whom you wish to be admired? Are they not these about whom you are in the habit of saying that they are mad? What then? Do you wish to be admired by the mad?
CHAPTER XXII
Of our preconceptions
Preconceptions are common to all men, and one preconception does not contradict another. For who among us does not assume that the good is profitable and something to be chosen, and that in every circumstance we ought to seek and pursue it? And who among us does not assume that righteousness is beautiful and becoming? When, then, does contradiction arise? It arises in the application of our preconceptions to the particular cases, when one person says, “He did nobly, he is brave”; another, “No, but he is out of his mind.” Thence arises the conflict of men with one another. This is the conflict between Jews and Syrians and Egyptians and Romans, not over the question whether holiness should be put before everything else and should be pursued in all circumstances, but whether the particular act of eating swine’s flesh is holy or unholy. This, you will find, was also the cause of conflict between Agamemnon and Achilles. Come, summon them before us. What do you say, Agamemnon? Ought not that to be done which is proper, and that which is noble? “Indeed it ought.” And what do you say, Achilles? Do you not agree that what is noble ought to be done? “As for me, I agree most emphatically with that principle.” Very well, then, apply your preconceptions to the particular cases. It is just there the conflict starts. The one says, “I ought not to be compelled to give back Chryseis to her father,” while the other says, “Indeed you ought.” Most certainly one of the two is making a bad application of the preconception “what one ought to do.” Again, the one of them says, “Very well, if I ought to give back Chryseis, then I ought to take from some one of you the prize he has won,” and the other replies, “Would you, then, take the woman I love?” “Yes, the woman you love,” the first answers. “Shall I, then, be the only one — ?” “But shall I be the only one to have nothing?” So a conflict arises.
What, then, does it mean to be getting an education? It means to be learning how to apply the natural preconceptions to particular cases, each to the other in conformity with nature, and, further, to make the distinction, that some things are under our control while others are not under our control. Under our control are moral purpose and all the acts of moral purpose; but not under our control are the body, the parts of the body, possessions, parents, brothers, children, country — in a word, all that with which we associate. Where, then, shall we place “the good”? To what class of things are we going to apply it? To the class of things that are under our control? — What, is not health, then, a good thing, and a sound body, and life? Nay, and not even children, or parents, or country? — And who will tolerate you if you deny that? Therefore, let us transfer the designation “good” to these things. But is it possible, then, for a man to be happy if he sustains injury and fails to get that which is good? — It is not possible. — And to maintain the proper relations with his associates? And how can it be possible? For it is my nature to look out for my own interest. If it is my interest to have a farm, it is my interest to take it away from my neighbour; if it is my interest to have a cloak, it is my interest also to steal it from a bath. This is the source of wars, seditions, tyrannies, plots. And again, how shall I any longer be able to perform my duty towards Zeus? For if I sustain injury and am unfortunate, he pays no heed to me. And then we hear men saying, “What have I to do with him, if he is unable to help us?” And again, “What have I to do with him, if he wills that I be in such a state as I am now?” The next step is that I begin to hate him. Why, then, do we build temples to the gods, and make statues of them, as for evil spirits — for Zeus as for a god of Fever? And how can he any longer be “Saviour,” and “Rain-bringer,” and “Fruit-giver?” And, in truth, if we set the nature of the good somewhere in this sphere, all these things follow.
What, then, shall we do? — This is a subject of enquiry for the man who truly philosophizes and is in travail of thought. Says such a man to himself, “I do not now see what is the good and what is the evil; am I not mad?” Yes, but suppose I set the good somewhere here, among the things that the will controls, all men will laugh at me. Some white-haired old man with many a gold ring on his fingers will come along, and then he will shake his head and say, “Listen to me, my son; one ought of course to philosophize, but one ought also to keep one’s head; this is all nonsense. You learn a syllogism from the philosophers, but you know better than the philosophers what you ought to do.” Man, why, then, do you censure me, if I know? What shall I say to this slave? If I hold my peace, the fellow bursts with indignation. So I must say, “Forgive me as you would lovers; I am not my own master; I am mad.”
CHAPTER XXIII
In answer to Epicurus
Even Epicurus understands that we are by nature social beings, but having once set our good in the husk which we wear, he cannot go on and say anything inconsistent with this. For, he next insists emphatically upon the principle that we ought neither to admire nor to accept anything that is detached from the nature of the good; and he is right in so doing. But how, then, can we still be social beings, if affection for our own children is not a natural sentiment? Why do you dissuade the wise man from bringing up children? Why are you afraid that sorrow will come to him on their account? What, does sorrow come to him on account of his house-slave Mouse? Well, what does it matter to him if his little Mouse in his home begins to cry? Nay he knows, that if once a child is born, it is no longer in our power not to love it or to care for it. For the same reason Epicurus says that a man of sense does not engage in politics either; for he knows what the man who engages in politics has to do — since, of course, if you are going to live among men as though you were a fly among flies, what is to hinder you? Yet, despite the fact that he knows this, he still has the audacity to say, “Let us not bring up children.” But a sheep does not abandon its own offspring, nor a wolf; and yet does a man abandon his? What do you wish us to do? Would you have us be foolish as sheep? But even they do not desert their offspring. Would you have us be fierce as wolves?
But even they do not desert their offspring. Come now, who follows your advice when he sees his child fallen on the ground and crying? Why, in my opinion, your mother and your father, even if they had divined that you were going to say such things, would not have exposed you!
CHAPTER XXIV
How should we struggle against difficulties?
It is difficulties that show what men are. Consequently, when a difficulty befalls, remember that God, like a physical trainer, has matched you with a rugged young man. What for? some one says. So that you may become an Olympic victor; but that cannot be done without sweat. To my way of thinking no one has got a finer difficulty than the one which you have got, if only you are willing to make use of it as an athlete makes use of a young man to wrestle with. And now we are sending you to Rome as a scout, to spy out the land. But no one sends a coward as a scout, that, if he merely hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, he may come running back in terror and report “The enemy is already upon us.” So now also, if you should come and tell us, “The state of things at Rome is fearful; terrible is death, terrible is exile, terrible is reviling, terrible is poverty; flee, sirs, the enemy is upon us!” we shall say to you, “Away, prophesy to yourself! Our one mistake was that we sent a man like you as a scout.”