The necessities of the body are the proper measure of our care for the things of the world; and those that supply these are enough, as the shoe is said to fit the man, which answers to the bigness of the foot. But if once you leave this rule, and exceed those necessities, then you are carried into all the extravagancies in the world. Then you do not value your shoe for fitting the foot, unless it be gilded too, and afterwards from gilding you go to a rich purple; and from that a gain, to having it studded, and set with jewels. For when once a man hath exceeded the bounds of moderation and convenience, he never knows where to stop.

Comment.

There are two things to be considered in clothes, and diet, and goods, and estate, and whatever else is requisite for our bodies, that is, the getting, and the using of them. He hath informed us already, after what manner they are to be used, and directed to this purpose. That those wants of the body, which are necessary to be supplied, so as to render it serviceable to the soul, should determine this point. By which means all superfluities are cut off, and everything which tends only to luxury and vain pomp. Now he tells us, what proportion we ought to be content with, and what should be the measure of our labors and our desires in the getting an estate; and this he says is the body too. For the end of getting these things, is, that we may use them; as far then as they are of use to us, so far, and in such proportions may we desire, and endeavor after them. But they are only so far useful, as they become serviceable to the body, and supply its necessities. Consequently, the body, and its wants, which determine how far these things are capable of being used, do also determine, how far they are fit to be desired, and what measure of them a man ought in reason to be satisfied with.

Let us look then at the foot, for instance, and see what wants it labors under, and what supplies are sufficient for it; and, when we have done so, we shall find, that good plain leather is all it needs. A good upper leather, to keep the foot tight and warm; and a stout sole, to defend the ball of the foot from being hurt by what it treads upon. But now, if a man bears regard to ornament and luxury, as well as use and convenience; then nothing less than gold, and purple, and jewels, will serve the turn, and one of these extravagancies only serves to make way for another. For, it seems, the Romans were grown so curious and vain, as to wear rich purple shoes, and shoes set with precious stones, and these were more exquisite and modish vanities than gilded ones.

Now just thus it is in getting, and spending an estate. When a man hath once transgressed those bounds, which nature and necessity have set him, he wanders nobody knows whither; and is continually adding one foolish expense to another, and one idle whimsy to another, till at last he be plunged over head and ears in luxury and vanity. For these were the only causes of seducing him at first; and, when once he had broke loose from his measures, a thousand imaginary wants presented themselves, and every one of these gave him as great a disturbance, as if they had been real ones. At first he wanted only ten thousand pound, then twenty; and when he was possessed of this, he wanted forty, as much as ever he did the first ten; so he would a hundred, if he had forty, and so to all eternity; for he has now let his desires loose, and these are a boundless ocean never to be filled.

Now nothing is more evident, than that those desires which do not keep within the bounds of use and convenience, do, and must needs, grow infinite and insatiable. Not only, because this is the last fence, and there is nothing left to stop them afterwards; but because we see plainly, that, when they exceed these things, they quickly neglect and disregard them too; forget the ends to which they are directed, and instead of preserving, sometimes destroy, the body. Thus we often ruin our health, and distort our limbs, only for ornament and fashion; and make those very things our diseases, which nature intended for remedies against them.

And possibly, upon this account more particularly, Epictetus might make choice of a shoe to illustrate his argument. For this instance is the more emphatical and significant; because, if we do not take care to fit the foot, but make it bigger than it ought to be, for beauty and ornament; it hinders our going, instead of helping us, and oftentimes makes us stumble, and fall very dangerously. Hence it is plain, the considerations, which relate to our using the things of the world, will give us great light into that part of our duty, which relates to the getting of them; and the rules, we are to be governed by, are in great measure the same in both cases.

These chapters too, which prescribe to us the rules and the duty of moderation, both in using and getting an estate, may, in my opinion, be very properly referred to the same common head of justice, with the former.

When women are grown up to fourteen, they begin to be courted and caressed; then they think, that the recommending themselves to the affections of the men is the only business they have to attend to, and so presently fall to tricking, and dressing, and practicing all the little engaging arts peculiar to their sex: in these they place all their hopes, as they do all their happiness in the success of them. But it is fit they should be given to understand, that there are other attractives much more powerful than these; that the respect we pay them, is not due to their beauty, so much as to their modesty, and innocence, and unaffected virtue. And that these are the true, the irresistible charms, such as will make the surest and most lasting conquests.

Comment.

Since he had in the foregoing discourses allowed his philosopher to marry, it was but reasonable, he should instruct him here, what methods are most proper to be made use of in the choice of a wife, and which are her most necessary and desirable qualifications. This therefore he does, in short, but very significant observations; showing what a wife man should chiefly regard, and exposing at the same time the mischiefs, which the generality of men fall into, by taking wrong measures. Most people, says he, when they are disposed to marry, look for a young and a beautiful mistress; then they cringe, and flatter, and adore her, keep a mighty distance, and accost her in the most respectful and submissive terms imaginable; and the end of all this is no other, than the enjoyment of her person. The women know the meaning of all this well enough, and manage themselves accordingly; they dress, and set off their persons to the best advantage, and these are the arts they study to recommend themselves by.

Now in truth, though we declaim against this vanity and folly in that sex, yet the men are much more to blame, than they. For the original of all this vanity is from ourselves: and the folly is ours, when we pay so much respect upon accounts that so little deserve it. It is in our power to reform what we condemn, and it is our duty to do it. We should show them, that no beauty hath any charms, but the inward one of the mind; and that a gracefulness in their manners is much more engaging, than that of their person and mien. That meekness, and obedience, and modesty, are the true and lasting ornaments: for she, that has these, is qualified as she ought to be, for the management and governing of a family, for the bearing and educating of children, for a affectionate and tender care of her husband, and for submitting to a prudent and frugal way of living. And when all is done, these, and these only, are the charms and the ornaments, which render wives amiable, and give them the best title to our honor and respect.

There is no surer sign of stupidity and want of sense, than to trifle away a great deal of time in things relating to the body; as to be long at exercise, or at meals, or in drinking, or in the other functions of nature. For we ought to look upon all that is done to the body, as things by the bye; and upon the improvement of the soul, as that which challenges our time, and is the true and main end and business of our lives.

Comment.

As men of excellent parts and noble dispositions, are always aiming at something manly and brave, and aspire after as a high degree of accuracy and perfection, as their nature can carry them up to: so sluggish and heavy souls are ever employing themselves, in something that is little, and vulgar, and insignificant, where they hope to meet with no difficulty, and from whence they are sure to reap no honor. So that, when we consider man, as he is a creature, whose very essence is a reasoning soul, and whose body is only the instrument of that soul, contrived for her use, and to be employed at her pleasure; for such a one, I say, to concern himself very little in the operations of the soul, but to let that lie idle and uncultivated, while all his time and pains are bestowed upon the body; argues a mighty defect in nature, and indeed can scarce proceed from any other cause, than such a defect. For what artificer of any note or skill at all would spend his whole time upon scouring his tools, without putting them to the uses they were intended for, and following his trade with them? And yet this senseless wretch is every man, who applies all his care and time to the service of his body, and neglects his mind.

But in truth, this mighty assiduity upon the body, does not only betray want of sense, but excess of passion too. For the time we spend upon any object, is usually proportioned to the pleasure we take in it, and the affection we have for it. And for this reason, we ought to look upon all the pains we are at upon the body, only as a thing by the bye; to have very little tenderness for, and take but small satisfaction in it; and to transfer all these things to an object more worthy of them, even that soul, whose instrument and servant this body is; for they are all its due: and this is the true measure and rule, by which we should be governed, in the distribution of our services to each of them.

When any man does you an injury, or reflects upon your good name, consider with your self, that he does this out of a persuasion, that it is no more than what you deserve, and what becomes him to say or do. And it cannot be expected, that your opinion of things, but his own, should give law to his behavior. Now if that opinion of his be erroneous, the misfortune is not yours, but his, who is thus led into mistakes concerning you. For the truth of a proposition is not shaken one whit, by a man’s supposing it to be false; the consequence is not the worse, but the person who judges amiss of it is. Such considerations as these may serve to dispose you to patience and meekness; and by degrees you will be able to bear the most scurrilous reproaches, and think the bitterest and most insolent traducer worth no other return, than this mild answer, That these, it seems, are his thoughts of you, and it is not strange, that this man should vent his own opinion freely, and act according to it.

Comment.

This chapter is plainly intended to persuade us to bear injuries with meekness and moderation; the arguments that are used to this purpose are two.

The first proceeds upon a foundation evident to common sense, and confirmed by the practice and experience of all the world; which is, that every man acts in agreement with his own particular notions of things, and does what, at the instant of doing it, appears to him fittest to be done. If therefore, his apprehensions differ from ours, as it cannot be any great matter of wonder, so neither does it minister any just cause of resentment; because he follows the dictates of his breast, and I follow mine, and so do all the world. So that it would be a most extravagant and senseless thing, for me to be angry, for his acting according to nature, and upon a principle universally consented to by all mankind.

But you will say perhaps, that his following his own opinion is not the thing you quarrel with, but the entertaining an ill opinion of you, for which there is no ground or color of justice. Now, upon examination of this pretence too, it will be found, that you have not at all mended the matter, but that this is as ridiculous and absurd a passion, as the other. For if he has done you no harm, where is the provocation? And that it is plain he hath not; for nobody is the worse for it, but himself. He that thinks he does well when he really does ill, and mistakes falsehoods for truth, is under a dangerous delusion, and suffers extremely by his error. And this he does more effectually, and to his own greater prejudice, than it is possible for you in the height of all your desired revenge, or for the most potent and malicious enemy in the world, to do. For whatever the world commonly esteems most noxious, can reach no farther than the body, or the external enjoyments; and consequently does not, in strict peaking, hurt the man himself: but error is a blemish upon the soul, an evil which affects his essence, and taints the very distinguishing character of the human nature.

Now, that the person who entertains this false opinion, and not he concerning whom it is entertained, receives all the prejudice by it, he proves beyond all contradiction, by the instance of a complex proposition. For, suppose one should say, If it be day, then the Sun is above the horizon, and another person should maintain that this is false; his standing out against it, does not in any degree weaken the truth of the assertion, nor invalidate the necessary dependence of the two parts of it upon each other: it remains in the same perfection still; but the person, who judges amiss concerning it, does not so. Thus the man who affronts or traduces you, contrary to all the rules of justice, and honor, and duty, injures himself, but you continue untouched; and neither the edge of the weapon, nor the venom of his tongue can enter you. Especially if you are, as you ought to be, fully convinced, that there is no such thing as good or evil to be had from anything, but what falls within the compass of our own choice.

When therefore you have called up your reason, and have reflected, first, how natural it is for every man to be governed by his own sense of things; and then, that the injury does not really reach you, but falls back upon the person who vainly intended it for you; this will cool your passion, and fill you with a generous disdain. You will think his impotent malice deserves to be slighted only, and may check both his folly, and your own resentment, with some such scornful return as this, That he does but what all the world does; for though all are not of the same mind, yet in that vast variety of opinions every man acts according to his own.

Everything hath two handles: the one soft and manageable, the other such as will not endure to be touched. If then your brother does you an injury, do not take it by the hot and hard handle, by representing to your self all the aggravating circumstances of the fact; but look rather on the soft side, and extenuate it as much as is possible, by considering the nearness of the relation, and the long friendship and familiarity between you, obligations to kindness, which a single provocation ought not to dissolve. And thus you will take the accident by its manageable handle.

Comment.

All the parts of this material world are composed of different principles and contrary qualities: from whence it comes to pass, that in some respects they agree, and can subsist together, and in others they are opposite, and incompatible, and destructive of one another. Thus the fire hath two qualities of hot and dry, most remarkable in it. With regard to its heat, it agrees well with the air, and is compatible with it; but its drought is repugnant to the moisture of the air, and contends with it, and destroys it. And this observation holds in moral, as well as natural philosophy. For thus an injury received from a brother, hath two handles, and is capable of different constructions and different resentments, according to that handle we take it by. Consider the man, my brother, my friend, my old play-fellow, and familiar, and this is the soft and pliable side, it disposes me to patience and reconciliation, and kindness. But if you turn the other side, and regard only the wrong, the indignity, the unnatural usage of so near a relation: this is the untractable part; it will not bear the touch, and disposes to nothing but rage and revenge. Now it is plain, that what we esteem light and very tolerable, is entertained by us with easiness and patience, and makes no change in our cheerfulness and temper; but what we look upon as grievous and insupportable, leaves very angry resentments and melancholy impressions, and utterly discomposes the evenness and quiet of our minds. This is the natural result of such accidents, and such apprehensions. But now, since it is our duty always to preserve the mind sedate and calm, not to suffer it either to be dejected with grief and sullenness, or ruffled with anger; since we are obliged to bear whatever happens to us with patience and moderation; and since all things have two handles, one that will, and the other that will not, abide the touch; it is plain that the way to discharge this obligation, is always to lay hold on the right and tractable handle. For in truth, all things whatsoever, riches and poverty, health and sickness, marriage and celibacy, children and no children, and to be short, all the accidents of human life, are just as you use and receive them: they have both their conveniences to recommend them, and their inconveniences to lessen our esteem of them.

Thus riches are desirable, if you consider the advantages of plenty, and this is their soft handle; but then they are attended with infinite care, acquired with toil, possessed with fear, lost with remorse and trouble; and these anxieties are allays and abatements upon them, and their untractable handle. Poverty seems very tolerable, when we reflect upon the quiet and the undisturbed retirements of that state; but if we turn the tables, and observe the indigence and dependence of it, the neglect, and the scorn that it exposes one to, these make it very dreadful and almost insupportable. Health is very desirable, upon the account of that perfect ease and freedom we enjoy with it; the vigor of our spirits, and the ready and punctual obedience of all our parts, in discharging their respective duties: but even this hath its encumbrances too, the arrogance and assuming pride, and that confidence in their own strength, to which fullness of blood commonly exposes men. Sickness appears a very tolerable evil, when we reflect, that, as the spirits are low, so are the passions too, and the mind is then more free and undisturbed: but the faintings, and languishings, and uneasiness of a sick bed, are the hard and the heavy handle. Marriage is recommended to us by the satisfaction of having issue of our own; the tender care and mutual affection of both parties; but then it hath its bitter, as well as its sweet, the multiplying of cares, and creating new wants to one’s self, an inordinate fondness, and a perpetual uneasiness and fear for those we love so dearly. And surely the want of children, which is commonly esteemed so mighty an unhappiness, hath a great deal to extenuate it; for this leaves a man free and easy, qualifies him to encounter with any difficulties, delivers him from that anxious concern, which the care and dependence of a family must of necessity distract him with; it allows him leisure for attending better studies, and disengages him from that extravagant folly, of making himself a slave to the world, and enjoying nothing while he lives, that he may leave a little more to his family when he dies; and, which in my opinion is the greatest misfortune of all, it brings him under no temptation of indulgence and fondness for lewd and ungracious children. For though their being such is a mighty affliction, yet, alas! we too often make it a greater to ourselves; and live their very vices, because our own children are guilty of them. Even insolencies and injuries, and affronts, have something to extenuate them; for very often, when men reproach us, they bring us better acquainted with our own concerns, and tell us something we did no know before; but, to be sure, they always minister occasions of patience, and exercise our virtue. Corporal pains and punishments are of all others the most formidable to human nature; and yet the anguish of these would be mitigated, and we should in some degree be reconciled to them, did we but reflect what good they do us, did we consider, that they try the soul, as fire does metals, and purify it from its dross. And if there were no other benefit to be had from them, yet the very enduring them with courage and constancy is itself a very great one. And much more it is for a man’s real advantage, to fall into afflictions and behave himself gallantly under them, then never to be distressed or afflicted at all. For the escaping afflictions is only a piece of good fortune, which reaches to the body, or the estate, and no farther; but the bearing them with fortitude and decency is a happiness of the soul, and what the man is properly the better for. Nay, lastly, to show that there neither is, nor can be, anything without the two handles we spoke of, even our enemies themselves have them; and it is a very feasible thing to make a benefit of them too; for their spite awakens our care, puts us upon examining into our own passions and failings more nicely; and the knowing, how curious they will be to observe, and how pleased to find our faults, renders us more circumspect and wary in all our behaviors. And these are such valuable considerations, that Plutarch thought it worth his while to write a tract on purpose upon this subject, to show, how a man may manage himself so, as to improve the malice of his enemies, and convert it to his own advantage.

There is no consequence or necessary connection at all between these assertions: I am richer than you, therefore I am a better man than you; or, I am more learned, or eloquent than you, therefore I am better than you. But all the inference that can be made from such comparisons, is only this: I am a richer man than you, therefore my estate is larger than yours; I am more eloquent than you, therefore my expressions are more proper, and my style more delicate than yours. And what is all this to the purpose? for neither the estate nor the style is the man: and consequently these may be the better, and yet you may not be one whit the better.

Comment.

Men of letters commonly show their talent in quaintness of expression and exact composition: which is a nicety unbecoming a philosopher, except this faculty were instilled very early, and grew up with him; so that education and long custom have made him so great a master of language, that his rhetoric be not labored or affected, but flows naturally from him. And even the man who is thus happy, must not value himself upon it; because this is not the end a philosopher ought to aim at, nor the peculiar excellence of human nature. Elegance is properly what such studies pretend to; and he that succeeds well in them, gains the reputation of a good poet, or a good historian. But he that aspires to the character of a good man, and desires to distinguish himself by a life conformable to the best reason, proposes an end agreeable to such a life; and consequently cannot have any pretence to prefer himself before another, for any advantages of eloquence which he may have above him. For there is a wide difference between such a one’s eloquence and himself: nor is this the essential property and prerogative of his nature, that he should receive his denomination from it, as every artificer is distinguished by his profession. All the boast then, that can be allowed him in this case, comes only to thus much, My language is better than yours. And this instance is what I have chosen to insist upon, because I imagine, Epictetus’ main intention here, was to give his philosophers a check, for that superstitious nicety very common among them, of being over-curious and elaborate in their compositions, and spending too much time and pains about words. But, because this was a tender point, that other instance of the richer man’s exalting himself is added, the better to cover his design, and make the reproof the softer.

If any man bathes too soon, do not presently say, He hath done ill in it; but only, that he did it early. If a man drink a great deal of wine, do not censure him for having done ill; but only say, that he drinks a great deal: for how is it possible for you to know whether he did ill or not, unless you were conscious of his intentions, and say the grounds he went upon? And this caution, which I here advise you, is the only way to prevent that common injury and inconvenience, of determining rashly upon outward appearance, and denouncing peremptorily concerning things that you do not know.

Comment.

He would have us proceed in our judgment of men and actions, with great accuracy and circumspection: not to be too forward in giving our opinion of any kind, either in praise or dispraise, acquitting or condemning of them, till we are first well satisfied of the person’s intention, what reasons he proceeded upon, and what end he directed it to. For these are the very considerations which make an action formally good or evil; and according as these vary, they may deserve a very different interpretation. Thus a man may give blows, and do good in it (if this be intended to correct a fault;) he may give one substance to his prejudice (if it be designed to feed his disease;) nay, matters may be so ordered, that stealing shall be an act of justice, and restitution an injury, as if the object of both be a madman’s sword.

If then we would deal honestly and fairly, we must judge of actions according to the circumstances that appear to us, and as they are in themselves. When we see a man bathe before the usual hour, all we should say of it is, that he hath done it early; without pretending to determine the quality of the fact, or calling it good or evil, till we know what it was that moved him to do so. Possibly he was obliged to sit up all night, and wanted this refreshment to supply his loss of sleep. Now this and the like are very material considerations; for a man’s motives and intention quite alter the nature of the thing. You ought not then to be too hasty in passing judgment upon this bathing out of course; for till these things are known, the quality of the fact does not lie before you, nor have you any matter to proceed upon. Thus again, a man may drink a larger proportion of wine than ordinary, and there may be several reasons which will justify him in it; the constitution of his body, or the season of the year, or the temperament of the air, may make it necessary. And consequently, what rash and busy people are apt to condemn, when well inquired into, proves no more than duty and prudence; done to satisfy nature, or to support the spirits in faint sultry weather, or to keep out moist fogs or pestilential vapors.

Now if we do thus, as he advises, and stop at the actions themselves, without presuming to applaud or to condemn them, till we have thoroughly examined into the grounds of them, and are satisfied of the man’s disposition and design; we decline an injustice and an inconvenience, which otherwise it is impossible to avoid. And that is, the knowing one thing, and judging another; the determining more than we have evidence for. For in both the instances before us, nothing appears but the outward act, and its circumstances; that the bathing was early, that the wine was much; but the causes of these do not appear, upon which depends the moral good or evil of the thing; and yet the busy world is ever giving its definitive sentence in this point too. And what can be more rash, more injurious, more absurd than this, from what they do see, peremptorily to pronounce of what they do not see?

Now since the minds of men, and the secret springs of their actions, do so very seldom fall within our notice, I take Epictetus’ design here to be, the dissuading us in general from judging men at all. And indeed it is but prudent for our own sakes, as well as fit for theirs, to be very sparing in this particular; that, by suspending our judgment, we may not fall under the shame of retracting it afterwards upon better information. And therefore he would not have us over-forward, either in our censures, or our commendations; though he leveled this chapter chiefly, no doubt, against the condemning side; because the injury done by rash censures, is generally greater; and because the evil is a great deal more popular. For the world is not rash only, but ill-natured too; they are apt and glad to find faults, and forward sometimes to make them. This base practice therefore lay more directly to the author’s purpose, which was to instruct us in another branch of justice, one indeed no less necessary than any of the rest; viz. That which concerns our neighbor’s reputation.

Never profess yourself a philosopher, nor talk much of rules and wise observations, among the ignorant and vulgar; but let your rules be seen in your practice: thus, when you are at a public entertainment, discourse not of temperance and moderation to the company; but let your own example teach it to them; and remember that Socrates upon all occasions declined ostentation; insomuch, that when some persons in derision came to him, and desired him to recommend them to a philosopher, he carried them to some who professed themselves such, without expressing the least indignation at the affront they had put upon him.

Nay, if you happen in conversation with ignorant and common men, though they start a discourse concerning some points of philosophy, refrain from joining with them in it: for when men are forward to vent their notions, it is a shrewd sign they are not well digested. It is possible your silence may be interpreted as ignorance, and that some of the company may be confident, and rude enough, to tell you so. But if you hear this reproach without being concerned, then be assured, your philosophy begins to have its due effect: for, as sheep do not give up again the grass they have eaten, to show how well they are fed; but prove the goodness of the pasture and their own case, by concocting their meat well, and bringing a large fleece, and giving large quantities of milk; so must you approve the excellence of your doctrines to the world, not by disputes and plausible harangues, but by digesting them into practice , and growing strong in virtue.

Comment.

By this passage you may plainly perceive, that the person addressed to, is not supposed to be a complete philosopher; for such a one is in no danger of bringing up undigested notions; nor can he need the advice given to that purpose. This is applicable only to one still in a state of probation and proficiency, who hath not yet absolutely delivered his mind from the importunate passions of popularity, and self-conceit, and affecting to be thought wise. Vices, which this author hath taken great pains to expose and reform; as by other arguments, so particularly by one, which the method taken in this chapter plainly insinuates; viz.

That as one cannot with any truth say, that the brass, while it is melting down, is a statue, or that an Embryo is a man; so neither can we, that a person, who is still under discipline and proficiency, is a philosopher. These are the rude and imperfect beginnings of what is to come after; but they are not the things themselves. They are the matter under preparation, but they have not the form, which must constitute their essence: and, though they be in never so fair a disposition to receive it, yet till this is done, they are not the perfect beings, which they must and would be. But, though in other cases it be sufficient to say, that to call them so were a breach of truth, yet in this that seems too gentle an imputation: for there is, in a truly philosophical life, something so great and venerable, something so much above the common condition of human nature, and so very near approaching to divine, that the ascribing such exquisite perfection to persons, who are as yet only climbing up to it, may justly seem, not only a bold falsehood, but an impious and blasphemous one too.

Shall then that man, who must not presume to call himself a philosopher, take upon him the office of one? Shall he set himself in the chair, and think it becomes him, who is but a learner, to teach, and magisterially dictate to others? No, certainly. It is fit he should know his distance, and keep it. But you’ll object, that this will be a mighty hindrance to his proficiency, by debarring him that discourse with men of less attainments, which should exercise and improve his talent. I answer, that discourse Epictetus disallows, is not such, as is intended for a trial, but the effect of vanity; nor is the design of it advancement in wisdom, but ostentation and applause. Well, but how must he behave himself in such company then? Why, the most proper and effectual course to recommend himself, will be, to forbear the venting his principles in works, which is but an empty and a very superficial way of propagating them; and to demonstrate the power and influence of them in his actions. This is a substantial argument, and answers the true end of philosophy, which is not florid harangue and nice dispute, but prudent and unblamable practice; for this was never intended to teach us to talk well, but to live well. If therefore you be at a public dinner, do not trouble yourself to read grave lectures to the company, concerning temperance in eating, and its just bounds and measures; but take care to observe those measures, and keep within those bounds yourself. For by this means you will gain authority to your instructions; and, when it comes to your turn to prescribe to others, every word will make its own way. For, how ridiculous and absurd is it, to set other men rules of temperance, or patience, and at the same time to be guilty of gluttony, or sink under the burden of affliction oneself. What force or weight can such a one expect his most studied discourses should find? And, how unreasonable and inconsistent is it, to impose such laws upon the conduct of others, as we are not content to submit to in our own?

But this is not all. He requires a higher degree of self-denial still. He does not only forbid the beginning such kind of discourse; but if any of the ignorant and vulgar engage in it of their own accord, he will not allow us to join with them, nor set up for an oracle, or great doctor, among men of meaner attainments than ourselves. Fr this (he says) is very suspicious; it looks, as if what is so very ready to come up, loaded the stomach, and was never well digested. For as meats, when duly concocted, distribute themselves into the several parts, and mix with the vital juices and blood to nourish and strengthen the body; so do maxims and doctrines, when well digested, convert into nourishment, and make the soul healthful and vigorous. There they lie, like sap in the root; which, when occasion serves, spreads itself, and brings forth the fruits of virtuous actions first; and when the proper season comes, and these have attained a just maturity, then of edifying discourses in great abundance. But if any one shall force this fruit of discourse before its time, when it is not yet ripe and kindly; this in all likelihood will turn to no better account, than the discharging one’s stomach of undigested meat. And there cannot be a clearer proof that it wants digestion, than our not being able to keep it any longer. For this is directly that man’s case, who brings up his precepts of philosophy again, while they are raw and whole, and does not show the effect and strength of them, in the improvement of his mind, and growing in those virtuous habits, which they were intended to produce and confirm.

Farther, the soul is naturally given to look abroad into the world, and, for that reason, feels itself very powerfully wrought upon by good examples, he proposes Socrates for an eminent pattern of modesty: who, though a most accomplished philosopher, and declared by the testimony of Apollo himself to be the wisest man in the world: one, who consequently had good warrant to take more upon him, than any mere proficient ought to pretend to, was yet the farthest that could be from an assuming temper, and made it the business of his whole life, to decline and discountenance pride and ostentation. One very remarkable instance of this kind was his behavior to some silly people, who came with a design to put a slur upon him, and desired, that he would recommend them to some philosopher, capable of instructing them. He saw through their pretence well enough; but without taking any notice, or showing the least resentment of the affront they intended him, carried them to the sophisters: men, who had the confidence to call themselves masters and professors, and made a trade of teaching others. Thus when Hippocrates the son of Apollodorus, made it his request, to be helped to a master, he recommended him to Protagoras. And in that tract of Plato, which is entitled Theaetetus, he says of himself, that he delivered over several to the tuition of Prodicus, and several to other wise and great men: so very sparing was this divine person in putting himself forward, and so far was he from thinking it a diminution or reflection upon himself, to be so.

For this, after all, is the mighty objection, and that against which Epictetus fortifies his scholar. He does not think it a sufficient renouncing of vain-glory, not to begin a philosophical discourse among men, who do not make philosophy their business: no, nor to sit still, and not interpose when they have begun it: but there is yet a farther disclaiming of this vicious quality expected. It is probable, this silence may be thought to betray your ignorance; it is possible some of the company may be so plain as to tell you so; and though no reproach can be more grating, than that of a defect in one’s own profession, yet this proficient is to run the risk of that, and to hear it without being moved. This if he can do, it is a surer sign that he hath mortified his vanity, than his uttering the most elaborate satire in the world against it; for you have an affluence now that other people contemn you. And if you can see and hear this without passion; if you find, that the resentments, which used formerly to boil up in your breast upon the like occasions, now lie cool and quiet; take comfort, and triumph. For the subduing of your anger proves, that the operation is begun, and that you are now reaping those fruits, which all the wise exhortations you have heard, were intended to cultivate, and all your own pains and study proposed to produce. I mean, a life of virtue and strict reason, and the making you not so much a florid and well-spoken, as a prudent and a good man. For moral precepts are learnt, not to be repeated but practiced; and the excellency of them must be proved, not by the memory, or the tongue, but by the conversation of the hearer. And the bearing this imputation of ignorance without any disorder, is itself such a proof; for it shows the mind to be got above both the fame and the censures of the world. And this is the improvement every master expects to find; for he, that, instead of practice, gives him his lectures again, and thinks himself the better for being able to remember and repeat them, is guilty of as great an absurdity in nature, as it would be for sheep to throw up the grass they had eat, that so the shepherd may be satisfied of that good feeding, which ought to show itself in a large fleece, firmness of flesh, and abundance of milk.

If you have so far mastered your appetite, as to have brought your body to coarse fare, and to be well contented with mere necessaries, do not glory in your abstemious diet. And if you drink nothing but water, proclaim not your own sobriety upon every occasion: or if you would inure yourself to hardship, do it for your own benefit, not to attract the admiration of other people. Let vain-glorious fools embrace statues in the streets, to show the crowd, how long they can endure the cold; but let your trials of yourself be private: and if you would be hardy in good earnest, when you are almost quite parched with extreme thirst, take cold water in your mouth; then deny yourself the satisfaction of drinking, and spit it out again, and tell nobody.

Comment.

Vain-glory hath a thousand several pretences to ground itself upon; but the most usual, and most plausible, are such as Epictetus hath touched upon in this treatise. Some people court applause, by assuming narratives of their own performances; others depend upon their eloquence for it; a third sort expect to be admired, by dictating to all the companies they come in, and taking upon them to talk gravely, and teach everyone they converse with his duty; and these he hath exploded and warned us of already. There is another sort of vanity very frequent, which is the valuing ourselves upon voluntary austerities; a spare diet, a frugal way of living, abstaining from lawful pleasures, and using the body to great hardships; and that makes the subject of the chapter now before us.

The persons therefore, who put these severities upon themselves, are advised not to look big upon the matter; that is, not to be too much exalted with an opinion of their own merit; or imagine, that they have attained to some peculiar excellence, and made some mighty conquest upon human nature, which none but they ever made before. For alas! how extravagant an imagination is this, when we see ourselves outdone every day and many hundreds of indigent wretches take up with less, and endure more, than the greatest of these boasters can pretend to? ‘Tis true, the one does it out of necessity, the other out of choice. But still human nature is the same in both; and therefore it is plain, these men, after all their practice and pains, have not carried it so far as it is capable of going. Besides, there is always this consideration ready at hand to mortify our pride and self-conceit of all kinds: that if we excel in this particular, yet there are several others wherein we are deficient; and for one good quality, which we have and others want, there might many be reckoned, which others have and we want. But there is indeed one peculiar misfortune, which attends a man’s thinking highly of himself upon the account of any excellence whatsoever; which is, that it both hinders him from improving and refining that particular virtue, as otherwise he might do, supposing that he hath attained to the perfection of it already; and it checks and cools his endeavors after other virtues, as over-rating this single one, and thinking that alone sufficient.

But do not (says he) exercise any of your virtues for pomp and show; nor, if you drink water, beat about the bush in all companies, to wriggle in a discourse of your own abstemiousness and sobriety: if you would exercise any bodily severity, do it for your benefit, for a trial of your own patience, to harden your constitution, and to qualify you still more and more for toil, and trouble, and self-denial. And if these be, as they should be, the true ends you propose from the practice of them, you will be well satisfied with repeating them in private, and not covet the eyes and admiration of the multitude, nor make it your business to gather a number of spectators; like those wretches, who when they run away from the violence of too mighty an enemy, implore the assistance of the people, and get upon the statues to cry help, that they may be more seen, and sooner get a rabble about them: their business being only to draw company together in their own defense, and to make themselves and their oppression more conspicuous and deplorable.

But, if you will be mortifying, do it privately and in good earnest. When you are extremely thirsty, take cold water into your mouth; and though your entrails are ready to be burnt up, yet spit it out again; and when you have thus subdued the importunate clamors of nature and necessity, tell nobody what you have done. This is mortification and severity indeed. But things of this kind, done to be seen and commended of men, show plainly that the bent of the soul lies outwards; that the man is more concerned for the fame of the world, than the real and intrinsic goodness of the action; and lays a greater stress upon their praise or dispraise, than upon the approbation, or the reproaches, of his own conscience. Besides, he loses all the real good of his abstinence and severity, and profanes a virtuous action, by an end so base and indirect, as popular applause.

Now, that the practicing such austerities as these upon oneself, is of excellent use, experience daily demonstrates. For by this buffeting of the body, we keep that, and its sensual inclinations under; and reduce them so low, as not only to prevent any rebellious insurrections against reason, but to bring them to a willing and ready compliance, even with those of its commands, which are of hardest digestion to flesh and sense. There is moreover this mighty convenience in it; that these voluntary hardships fit and prepare us for necessary and unavoidable ones. Every man’s circumstances are fickle and changeable; and surely, when any affliction, as want, or the like, happens to us; it is no small advantage for the body to be so habituated, as to bear those evils without any great alteration or reluctancy, which it is not possible to run away from. This gains an absolute mastery over the world, and sets us above all the uncertainties of human affairs, when it is no longer in the power of the most spiteful fortune to hurt us. For whatever extremity of suffering she can possibly drive us to, this is only what we have by long custom made easy and familiar to ourselves before.

It is the peculiar quality, and a character of an undisciplined man, and a man of the world, to expect no advantage, and to apprehend no mischief from himself, but all from objects without him: whereas the philosopher, quite contrary, looks only inward, and apprehends, no good or evil can happen to him, but from himself alone.

The marks by which a proficient in philosophy may be known, are such as these. He is not inquisitive or busy in other men’s matters, so as to censure, or to commend; to accuse, or to complain of anybody. He never talks big of himself, nor magnifies his own virtue or wisdom. When he falls under any hindrance or disappointment in his designs, he blames none but himself. If any person commends him, he smiles within himself, and receives it with a secret disdain; and if other people find fault with him, he is not at all solicitous in his own vindication. His whole behavior is like that of a sick man upon recovery, full of caution and fear lest he should relapse again, and injure his advances towards health, before it be confirmed and perfectly sound. As for desire, he hath utterly abandoned it, except what depends upon his own self; and aversions he hath one, but to such objects only, as are vicious and repugnant to nature and reason, the affections and appetites, which nature made strong, he hath abated, and taken off all the edge and eagerness of them. If he be disparaged, and passes for an ignorant or insensible man, he values it not. And, to sum up all in a word, he is exceedingly jealous of himself, and observes every motion of his mind as rigorously, as a man would watch a thief, or an enemy, who lies lurking to rob, or to kill him.

Comment.

He hath now gone through all the instructive parts of his book, and is drawing on towards a conclusion. And the substance of what he chooses to close up all with, is this most necessary caution; that we must not content ourselves with reading, or understanding, or remembering rules of morality; but take care, that they influence our lives, and be transcribed in all our actions. That no man who addicts himself to the study of philosophy, must propose so mean an end, as only the informing his judgment, the filling his head with curious notions, or furnishing his tongue with matter of learned discourse; but the reforming his vices, and bettering his conversation: considering, that the design of moral precepts is never answered by anything short of practice. To this purpose, he first describes to us three sorts of people, whose characters are so comprehensive, that all mankind comes under some one or other of them.

For every person whatsoever is, either a secular man, one that lives at the common rate, and minds the affairs of the world, and this is one extreme: or else he is a philosopher, who hath abandoned all other care and concern, but what relates to virtue, and the improvement of his own mind; and this is the other opposite extreme: or else he must be one of a rank between both these; neither so untaught as the secular and common man, nor yet so accomplished as a philosopher; but such a one as hath renounced the world, and is aspiring to a moral perfection. These are called proficients, and to them the several exhortations, which hath lately fallen under our consideration, are particularly directed. But of these we are to take notice, that Epictetus makes two sorts; some that are young beginners, and lately entered into this discipline; and others, that have used it longer, and made some competent advances in it.

Now here he presents us with a description of every one of these. He begins with that of the vulgar and undisciplined man, he gives him this distinguishing mark; that he expects no part of his happiness or misery from himself, but from outward objects: and the account of this is as follows.

Reason, which is our very essence and form, that which makes and denominates us men, is placed in our own power. And so likewise are the sensual appetites and passions; only with this difference, that these are not peculiar to us alone, but given to us in common with brutes. So that reason is the incommunicable privilege, and proper prerogative of human nature, that which is given to all men in common, and to none but men. For, though there be a difference between one man’s reason and another’s, when you come to particular persons, and operations, and objects; yet the faculty in general is the same; the foundation it proceeds upon, the same; and its ends and motives are the same. all men are directed by it to pursue the same good things, to detest and shun the same evils, to assent to the same truths, and to reject the same errors and untruths. So that reason is every man’s guide; and from this he takes his measures of good and evil, of true and false.

Now the objects, which reason inspires us with a love and desire of, are certain incorporeal excellencies, indivisible and immutable; such as justice, and moderation, and prudence. The advantage of these, and the like good things is, that each person may enjoy the whole of them, without injuring or depriving his neighbors. They are of unbounded extent; and no one man hath the less, for any other man’s having more. From hence it comes to pass, that the determinations of right reason can never be repugnant to one another; and, so long as we pursue the objects it presents and recommends to our affection, there follows no strife or contention, but all is union, and mutual consent, sweet harmony, and perfect peace.

But now, the sensual appetites and passions, such as anger, and concupiscence, and the rest which are subordinate to these two; though in general, and in their own nature, they be the same in you, and me, and everyone, yet the objects they fasten upon are not the same in each person. But I fix upon one thing, and you upon another; and so both the desires themselves, and the objects of them, and consequently the aversions, and their objects too, are extremely distant from one another, and peculiar to each single man. And, though it should happen, that all should agree in the same objects, yet would not this put an end to the difference neither; because the things themselves which engage these affections, are corporeal, and singular, and divisible, such, as that one man’s plenty necessarily infers another man’s want: as money, for instance, or lands, or women, or honor, or power, or preferments. No man can enjoy the whole of these, nor indeed a part of them, without depriving or confining somebody else, in proportion to the quantity which he himself enjoys. Upon these accounts it is, that in these cases men differ vastly in their judgments; and not only so, but the order and good government of the world is overturned by them. For whenever the peace of mankind is disturbed, either by private grudges, family quarrels, civil insurrections, or foreign wars; some of these things are constantly at the bottom of them. So then, the common and untaught man betrays his folly, in forsaking the general rule, and slighting the common good of his nature, and setting up a particular standard of his own, one, that misleads his judgment, and, instead of that good which is universal, cramps up his desires, and confines him to one that is personal, individual, and corporeal, such as does not approve itself to the concurring judgment of all mankind, but only seems so to his own private opinion and mistaken sense of things. For this is the true case of external objects. And wheresoever the desire, or the aversion fixes; whether it be a virtuous and reasonable, or whether a vicious and unnatural one; that, to be sure, is what we apprehend to be our good, and our evil; and we look for the happiness and the misery of our lives from thence. For whatsoever we desire, excites our love under the notion of good; and whatsoever we detest or avoid, provokes our aversion under the notion of evil.

Now the philosopher, on the other hand, hath discarded all outward things; he will have nothing to do with matter and body, but looks upon them as things that very little concern him, and such as he cannot have any strict propriety in. He hath divested his mind of all those prejudices, which might misguide it, and refined his reason from the dross of sense and passion; so that these shadows and gaudy delusions can impose upon him no longer. Consequently he is concerned for no good, but what is substantial; nor attends to any other business, than the improvement of himself, the promotion of wisdom and goodness, and the aspiring after those incorporeal excellencies, which appear so charming and lovely to clear-sighted reason. Such a one need never go out of himself to be happy; virtue is his good, and that is always at home: and as for evil, it is utterly banished hence, and can never annoy, or get within him.

After this description of the persons, who make up the two distant extremes, he proceeds in the next place to give a representation of the middle sort; viz. Those whom he calls his proficients, and for whose use all that went before was principally intended. For the very nature of the subject shows us plainly, that it could belong to none else. The complete philosopher needs no instruction or assistance, but it is properly his business to assist and instruct others. Nor can this be laid down as a necessary qualification of a philosopher, that he neither censures, nor commends anybody; for his is a master, and a corrector of manners, and consequently, as his authority will bear him out in both, so his post requires he should do both, as he sees occasion. Nor can these discourse belong properly to the common and undisciplined man; for as the other is above them, so this man is not capable of them; they would be utterly lost upon him, till he changes his course of living, and begins to act upon a nobler principle. This chapter therefore is a very compendious recollection of what went before at large; it is a kind of remembrancer to us, and presents us with the substance of the whole book in little, and at one view.

I only add, before I quite shut up this chapter, that that passage of watching himself, as he would watch an enemy, is very pertinent, and elegantly expressed. For, we are to consider such a man, in the mid-way as it were, between that vice which he hath disclaimed, and is running away from. And that virtue which he is moving towards the perfection of. In this state we cannot but suppose him frequently to reflect upon his former misery; and like a patient, who is in a way of recovery, but far from perfect health, to be exceedingly jealous and tender, fearful of a relapse, and cautious of indulging himself in any liberties, which may keep him back from a sound and confirmed state. This jealousy therefore must needs make him a curious observer of his own actions, and as severe in his sentences upon them, as if they were done by an enemy. And this rigor is of excellent use; because it frees the mind of all that partial fondness, to which we are too much inclined; and which oftentimes makes us either wholly overlook our own and our friend’s faults; or at least pass very gentle and favorable constructions upon them. And indeed this is the only way to make us honest and sincere; for a dissolute man hath no principles to restrain him; but is (according to the proverb) a limber leather, which will stretch and bend to anything, and you never know where to have him.

If you observe any man value himself for understanding Chrysippus’ book thoroughly, and giving a just explanation of it; represent to yourself the intolerable absurdity of such a man’s pride, by this single reflection; that if Chrysippus’ writings had not been obscure, this expounder would have nothing to brag of. Well, but what is it that I think most worthy my study? Why my duty, resulting from the condition of my nature. I desire to know then, who it is that can teach me this duty, and I am told Chrysippus can. Upon this information I apply myself to the reading his book; I read, but I do not understand him. My next care then is to look for a good expositor. In all this I have done no great matter. For when by the help of this exposition I comprehend his meaning, yet still I want the practical part; and this in truth is the only valuable progress. For, if I rest in the author, or in the commentator, and content myself with a bare understanding, or apt explication; I have forgotten the matter I took in hand, and am no longer studying the perfections of a philosopher, but those of a grammarian. The difference is only this, that, whereas I have chosen Chrysippus to exercise my talent upon, he would have pitched rather upon Homer, or some other classic author. But this I am sure of, that the more capable I am thought of explaining Chrysippus, the more I ought to be out of countenance, if what I can teach others so well, I do not take due care to practice as exactly myself.

Comment.

After having distinguished mankind into three classes, and represented the qualities proper to each of them; and also made a short recapitulation of the directions given before at large to his proficient; he now begins to enter upon the concluding part, inculcating in this and the following chapters, that rule, which alone can give life and energy to all the rest; viz. That the reducing these precepts into practice, must be our chief study and care; and that the good works, which they are excellently accommodated to produce, are the genuine fruits expected from them, and the very end for which they were composed and communicated. For what an eminent orator said once upon a like occasion, is extremely applicable to the case now in hand, Words without actions are but mere air, and empty sound.

To this purpose, he says, a man should reflect seriously with himself, what his meaning is, when he reads such moral instructions, and puts his mind upon a sedulous enquiry after its true and proper happiness. The answer to this question will be, that he intends to examine into human nature, and see what is the constitution, and true condition of it: and from thence to pursue his enquiry farther, and consider what actions, and what sentiments are agreeable to this nature; what impressions are fit for a creature so framed to admit and indulge; and what are to be stifled and restrained as incongruous and unseemly. Well, upon due reflection, I find, that I have a principle of reason, and a body; but these, not equal in authority or value. For my reason is the character of my nature, it challenges a right over my body, and commands it as an instrument, subservient to it, and over-ruled by it. The inference then from hence is plainly this, that God and nature designed I should live a life of reason, and not of sense; that all my bodily passion should conform themselves to the commands of their lawful superior; that all my fears, and all my desires, should be reduced into due order, and pay homage to the more illustrious perfections of the soul.

But still I am at a loss, how this is to be effected. I am told, that Chrysippus hath written an excellent piece to this purpose. I fall immediately to reading his book, but I find it so abstruse and dark, that I can make nothing at all of it. I am directed to a good commentary, and by the help of this I understand him perfectly. But all this while here is very little good done, and but small praise due, either to the intelligent reader, or the perspicuous commentator. For when Chrysippus wrote this, he did not intend only to be understood and expounded, he had a farther and much better view; viz. That both his reader and his interpreter should practice what he hath written. If then I do this, I attain to the benefit these writings were properly intended for, and they have had their due and full effect upon me. But if I delight in the author, or applaud the expositor never so much; if I am skilled in all his criticisms, see through all his intricacies, admire the weight of his sentences, or the turn of his style; in short, if I master every difficulty, and have every attainment, but only that of practice; I am not one whit improved in my business. The title of a more nice and exact grammarian I may indeed have some pretension to, but can lay no claim at all to that of a philosopher. For this talent of explaining an author’s meaning, is properly the qualification of a grammarian; the only difference is, that Chrysippus is an author something out of his way, and Homer a much more likely man to come under his consideration.

But there is another difference, which is much more to my disadvantage. For a man may read Homer, or explain him, and rest there, and yet not be the worse, if he be never the better for it. Whereas with Chrysippus it is much otherwise; for the unedifying reader, in this case, cannot be innocent: and those, who do not mend by his precepts, contract a deeper guilt, and incur a more just and severe condemnation. Would it not be an intolerable reproach to any sick man, who should read prescriptions proper for his own distemper, and value himself upon pronouncing the receipts gracefully, and descanting handsomely upon the virtues of the several ingredients, and upon being able to direct others, how these are to be applied, and yet make use of none of them himself? Does such a man deserve pity? And yet, as extravagant and absurd a folly as this is, ours is every whit as bad, or worse; when we have the disease of our souls set plainly before us, and are fully instructed in the medicines and restoratives proper for them, and yet are so careless and stupid, as to do nothing towards our recovery.

Whatever directions are given you, look upon them as so many laws, which have a binding power, and such as you cannot without impiety depart from. Persevere therefore in the observance of them all; and be not diverted from your duty by any idle reflections the silly world may make upon you; for their censures are not in your power, and consequently should not be any part of your concern.

Comment.

One swallow, we commonly say, makes no summer; no more do a few single acts of virtue make a habit, or observing the directions of Chrysippus, in one or two instances, constitute a good man. But our obedience must be firm and constant; we must consider our duty, as that which is our happiness and truest advantage; and must suffer no consideration, how tempting so ever, to draw us off from it. We must look upon ourselves as under indispensable obligations, such as cannot be broken loose from, without the highest impiety. And reason good there is to do so; for if we esteem it dishonorable and impious, to fail of our promise, or fly off from an agreement in every trifling matter, because, though the thing is of no value, yet the violation of our word is of horrible consequence (as tending to take way that mutual faith and good assurance, by which all society and commerce is maintained among men;) how much more solemn and sacred ought those engagements to be esteemed, by which we have tied ourselves up to wisdom, and virtue, and innocency of life? Now these are violated, when a man assents to the truth of what he is taught, and the reasonableness of what he is commanded, and expresses this assent by living accordingly for a time, but afterwards relapses and turns deserter.

Upon this account, he advises us by all means to persevere in goodness, and particularly not to be discomposed with any reflections the idle world shall cast upon us: for, as he intimated before (Chap. XXIX) it is highly probable, they will take upon them to censure our conduct pretty freely; they will tax us with singularity and preciseness, and call our change, pride or affectation. Now such discouragements as these, we must be provided against, and not let them cool our zeal, or shake our virtue; and that, because other men’s tongues are not at our disposal, and therefore what they say should give us no disturbance.

This passage may probably enough allude to that allegorical saying of Pythagoras and his followers: That when a man comes into the temple, he should never look behind him. By which they designed to insinuate, that religious purposes should be fixed and steady; and that, when we come to God, we should come with settled resolutions, not with doubtful and wavering minds, such as would fain divide themselves between God and the world.

Up then, and be doing; how long will you defer your own happiness, and neglect the due observance of those directions, which show you the way to it, and the dictates of reason, which, if duly followed, would always choose the best! You have the rules and precepts to this purpose laid plainly before your eyes; you have perused and assented to the truth and equity of them: What master do you stay for now? Whom can you with any color lay these delays of reformation upon? You are past the giddiness of youth, and have all the advantages of sound reason, and a ripe judgment. If you neglect this opportunity, and grow slothful now, and make one resolution after another, and fix first one day, and then another, for the turning over a new leaf with yourself, and still do nothing; you will cheat yourself, and go backwards, and at last drop out of the world, not one jot a better man than you came into it. Lose no time then, but set about a good life just now; and let the determinations of right reason be an inviolable law to you from this very moment. If you meet with a discouraging difficulty, or an enticing pleasure; if you are invited by a prospect of honor, or affrighted with fear of disgrace, encounter the temptation bravely, whatever it be. Remember this is the combat you are called to; this is the field, in which you are to signalize yourself, and there is no declining the trial. All your fortunes depend upon one engagement; and the ground you have gotten heretofore, must either be maintained by one gallant victory, or lost by one base retreat. It was thus that Socrates grew so great, by putting himself forward upon all occasions, pushing every advantage as far as it would go, and never hearkening to any other persuasions, but those of his own reason. And if you are not so great a man as Socrates, yet it will become you to live and act, as if you intended in time to be as great as he.

Comment.

This also is an admonition, no less requisite than the former: and highly necessary it is, that a man, who hath embraced this philosophical discipline, and resolved to submit to it, should be put in mind how precious time is, and awaken into diligence.

Delays (as we commonly say of them) are dangerous; and one certain ill effect of them is, that they are but so many pretences for indulging our sloth. To what purpose therefore (says he) do you defer your own happiness, and the practice of those rules you have received? For it is this practice only, that can render you virtuous and happy, and answer the design both of the composing and the learning them. The operation expected from them, is, to conform all your actions to right reason; to fix this as a perpetual and inviolable law; to retrench your desires, allay all your passions, and bring every inclination and every aversion, to fix upon proper objects, and confine themselves within their just bounds.

Another possibly might allege want of instruction in his own excuse, and declare himself most ready to be good, were he but sufficiently taught how to be so. But this cannot do you any service, who have had all the advantages imaginable of knowledge and improvement. You, I say, who have not only had the maxims of philosophy, and the measures of virtue fully explained and illustrated; but have applied your mind to the study of these things, and made some considerable progress in them. You especially, who have had it evidently proved, that you are by no means to content yourself, with having your understanding enlightened, and your judgment convinced by these rules, unless you digest and make them a piece with your soul, that they may be like a principle of new life within you, exerting itself in virtuous habits, and influencing your whole conversation. Since therefore all this, and indeed all that can be necessary for your due information, hath been so fully opened, and so pathetically urged upon you; make not ignorance and want of means a pretence, as if you still were to wait for some more powerful call.

Others may possibly plead their age, and the heats and unthinking follies of youth, which render them incapable of sober reflection and severe discipline. But you are in the very season of life, which is most kindly for virtue; the vehemences of youth are worn off, and the weaknesses of old age have not yet disabled you. Your passions are sedate, your judgment solid, and your strength in its perfection. And if this inviting opportunity be suffered to slip through your hands; if you cannot now find in your heart to take some pains to be good, when you are best qualified to master what you attempt; if sloth and supineness get the power over you, to make appointments and break them to fix upon particular days for setting about this great work; and, when they are come, to drive it off to a farther day again, you do but play booty with your conscience, and deal like dishonest debtors, who stop their creditor’s mouths with fair promises, and fix a distant time for those payments, which they never intend to make. Thus, while your soul is deluded with a vain hope and expectation of doing something, you stifle the reproaches from within, by fresh resolves; but still those new are as insignificant as the old, and pitch upon a tomorrow which will never come. And it were well indeed, if this were the worst of it; but, alas! in virtue there can be no such thing as standing still: while you defer growing better, you necessarily grow worse, and by insensible decay relapse into ignorance and vice again. Thus, after a number of years spent in fruitless intentions, you live and die a fool, and so must continue forever. For, as our state of separation, before we came into these bodies, had a great influence upon what we do here, and the disposition of the souls we brought into the world, is a marvelous advantage to our future virtue: so our behavior here is but the preface and preparation to what we shall do there again. For the whole of this taken together, is one entire life, and the time we pass here but one stage of it; only the state of pre-existence makes some alteration in our life here; and our life here makes a considerable one, and indeed determines us, as to the state of our separation hereafter.

Now therefore, now aspire (says he) to perfection, and live as one that does so. Absolute perfection he does not mean; for then his exhortation would be needless: but the perfection of a proficient, such a degree, as a state of discipline and probation is capable of; that is, so as never to lose ground, but to be continually advancing forwards. And to this purpose, whatever, upon mature consideration, appears most reasonable, let it have the force of a law with you; a law, I say, which cannot be satisfied with being known and understood, but requires a positive and punctual obedience.

To strengthen you in this resolution, you have one mighty encouragement; which is, that all the accidents of human life are so far in subjection to you, that you may with a prudent care make them all, though never so different in themselves, conspire together to your own advantage. For, whether you meet with anything successful or disastrous, pleasant or painful; whether it tends to honor or ignominy, all are manageable: only be sure, let the temptation be never so small, do not slight or neglect it; and though it be never so great, do not be dispirited at it. Security will give a defeat, where there was no strength to do it; and despondency will lose the prize, where there is force enough to win it.

Be sure then, that you let no accident pass unimproved; but imagine, that every one is an adversary challenging you to the field, and that virtue is the crown you are to contend for. Remember, that there is no middle state, no getting off without blows, but conquest or ruin must be the fate of the day. Nor are you to slip one day, or overlook one single action, upon a vain imagination, that such little things cannot turn to your prejudice: for that one day, that single action, determines your whole fortune; and your preservation, or your destruction, depends upon this nice point. Thus Epictetus assure you, and he tells you very true. And if it seems incredible and surprising, pray and be pleased to consider, that every indulgence of a vice gives it new force to assault us, and abates of our power to resist it. He that is slothful and irresolute today, will be a great deal more so tomorrow; and if there be (as there will be sure to be) any fresh objection to palliate his idleness, he will have a great deal less mind to encounter it the third day, than he had the second. Thus by degrees the disposition to goodness will waste away, and all the vigor of his mind will languish and die. It will yield more and more tamely to every fresh attack, till at last reason be quite enfeebled and over-powered, and all the advances the man had formerly made in goodness, be lost to all other intents and purposes, except that only of adding to his shame and his guilt.

Now the very same single trials, which, when neglected, do thus lose ground, do, when attended to and improved, get and maintain it. For virtue increases by the same methods, and much in the same proportions, that it declines. The practice of one day, and the performance of one act, leaves an impression behind it, and confirms the mind so, that the next attempt proves a great deal more easy. The reluctancies of sense wear off, and repeated acts become habitual and familiar, and we daily feel our own advantages. Frequent use gives us a more masterly hand; and what we can do well, and with ease, we naturally come to do with delight. Thus men never continue long the same; but every hour, every moral action, every single accident of their lives, makes some alteration in them.

Socrates had a just sense of this, and expressed it abundantly in the circumspection of his life. For the very thing, which raised him so high, and gave him the character of the wisest of men, was his constant care, never to neglect any advantage, or delay the doing any good. He made every accident of every kind turn to some good account; and was deaf to all other solicitations, though never so importunate, except those of his own reason, and the results of his most careful and composed thoughts. You will say, perhaps, this signifies very little to you, who have not the vanity, to think yourself like Socrates. But give me leave to say, if you are not like him, you would do well to endeavor it. And, whatever you want of his perfections at present, live with that exactness, as if you meant and hoped one day to equal them. For the prospect of an eminent example is a wonderful advantage; it fires a man with noble emulation; and, whilst he keeps the pattern in his eye, he is provoked to imitate his excellencies, and feels himself at once directed how to copy after them, and ashamed not to do so.

The first and most useful topic in philosophy, is the moral part, which teaches men their duty; as for instance, that they should not lie: the second is the demonstrative part, which gives us infallible proofs of it, and shows us evident reasons wherefore we ought not to lie: the third is the distinguishing and argumentative part, which instructs us, what a demonstration is, and how this in the case before us is one; what is a consequence; what a contradiction; what is true, and what is false. Now from hence it is plain, that the last of these is subservient to the second; that the second is subordinate to the first, and that the first is the most important and necessary point of all: that which all our studies should be directed to, and wherein they should all center and rest at last. But we quite invert this order. The third employs most of your time and pains, and the first is not thought worth either: so that, by a strange absurdity, we commit the crime, and at the same time value ourselves exceedingly, for being able to demonstrate beyond all contradiction, that we ought not to commit it.

Comment.

It is absolutely necessary, that a man, who makes any pretensions to philosophy, and aims at the peculiar perfection of his nature, both as he is an animal and a rational creature, should have a clear and demonstrative knowledge of the truth. Otherwise, he may be liable to great errors, and run into infinite inconveniencies, by taking things upon trust, and leaning too much, either to the bare authority, or the insufficient proofs, of confident pretenders. Virtue is a thing of the highest consequence, and it is not fit we should take up with so slight and feeble persuasions concerning it, as mere opinion and probabilities are capable of creating in us. Now clear and undoubted evidence is an effect owing only to demonstration. And it is logic’s peculiar province, to inform us in the nature of a demonstration: as, that it is a syllogism consisting of propositions put together according to rules of art; and that those propositions must be of clear and undoubted truth: as also to acquaint us, what propositions are qualified, and what method is to be observed, for the forming them into a true syllogism.

From hence we plainly perceive, that the whole compass of philosophy may be reduced to three heads; and that these will comprehend, if not all absolutely, yet all that is material and necessary in it. The first is the preceptive part, that which converts our speculation into practice, which prescribes modesty and temperance in our actions, and prohibits lying in all our discourse and conversation. The second is the demonstrative part, which shows us clearly, not only that we should or should not, but also assigns convincing reasons, why we should or should not, do this or that. The third is the illustrating and arguing part, which set rules to our reasoning, and assists nature by art. This prevents our being imposed upon by any false appearance, by teaching us the difference, between a real demonstration, and a pretended one; and shows the mutual connections and consequences of some propositions, and the irreconcilable opposition between others; as, that the species necessarily infers its genus, and the being of a man implies that of an animal: that a particular affirmative and an universal negative, and so likewise a particular negative and an universal affirmative, are direct contradictions, never to be reconciled, and impossible to be both true, or both false together. It acquaints us too with the qualifications of a syllogism: what propositions it consists of; how these propositions must be put together; what difference there will be in the conclusion according to the manner of forming it; and what difference there are between true and fair syllogisms, and irregular, sophistical, and ensnaring ones.

Now nothing can be more plain, than that this third topic, which instructs us in all the subtleties of reasoning, is intended to serve the second; and that this is an ingenious and artificial expedient, contrived, as we see, to remove all the scruples and dissatisfaction of your minds, to direct and fix our judgments, and give us the most uncontestable and satisfactory assurance, what is our real happiness, and what our duty. This, I say, is the business of the second head, which consists in demonstrative proofs. But then it is every whit as plain too, that this second is subordinate to something beyond it; viz. The practical and preceptive part; and consequently both the other are resolved into the first. For our knowledge is intended only to qualify us for action, and lead us to it; and therefore the practice of virtue and a good life is the ultimate design of all study, and all instruction. Here we must fix at last; for everything else conspires to promote this; but beyond this there is no end of greater consequence, or higher perfection.

And happy were it for us, if we governed ourselves by this rule. But, alas! we take quite contrary measures. The greatest part of our time and pains is employed upon the third head; in nice disputes and controverted points; and we can spare but very little for the second, which should convince us of the excellence, and the necessity of being virtuous, and possess our souls with a lively and vigorous sense of our duty. But for the first of these topics, which consists in reducing our knowledge into practice, we allow this no portion of our care at all. We wrangle and dispute eternally, about curious and unprofitable questions; and overlook that which would conduce to the promoting true goodness. We study this now and then, and talk learnedly, and affectionately upon it; but still we do no part of what we say. Nay, which is the most monstrous inconsistency that can be, we are guilty of gross enormities in our own persons, and at the same time are proud, that we are able to convince and persuade others; that we can show, we ought not to be what we are; and it pleases us much to think, that nobody can expose the deformity of our own actions, better than ourselves.

Now all this is turning things upside down, and beginning at the wrong end. The method in which we ought to proceed is this: first, to learn how to argue against vice; then, to employ our talent in demonstrating the baseness and incongruity of it to ourselves; and, when we are arrived to a full and undoubted conviction, then actually to decline it, and to persevere in the practice of what we have learnt. Considering, that we learnt it for that very purpose; and that the preceptive part, though superior to all the rest, is yet itself subordinate to the practical.

This is the substance and design of Epictetus in the chapter now before us; where he does, with great dexterity, enforce the practice of his moral maxims, and exposes the vanity of those men, who make speculation the end of their knowledge, with that indignation, which so exquisite a folly deserves.

In every undertaking we shall do well to resign ourselves to the disposal of providence, in some such ejaculation as this:

Conduct me, Jove, and thou, O powerful fate,
In every enterprise, in every state,
As you determine: for I must obey
The wise injunctions, which you on me lay.
For should I at your dread decrees repine,
And strive your sacred order to decline;
I should but labor wickedly in vain,
And struggle with an everlasting chain,
And after all, be dragged along with pain.

He that submits to destiny’s decrees, Is justly counted wise by men, and knows The due respect which to the gods he owes.

Comment.

In regard some of the ancients have collected together those moral axioms, which were occasionally delivered, and lie scattered up and down in larger books; he advises us to have some of these significant sentences always ready at hand; as being not only short, and so no burden to the memory, but also likely to make a deeper and more lasting impression, both upon the account of their own weight, and the celebrated name of their authors. For this reason he subjoins some here. The first was a meditation of Cleanthes, scholar to Zeno, and master to Chrysippus. The eminence of this man was so great, that I myself have seen at Assos, (of which place he was a native) a very noble stature, worthy his fame, and the magnificence of the senate of Rome, who set it up in honor of him.

In these verses he begs the guidance of God, and that providence and power, whereof God is the source, and which makes and moves all things. This he calls here by the name of FATE; and promises for his part, that he will obey its motions, and follow it whithersoever it leads him. And it is but reasonable, that he, and every man, should dispose his mind to a willing and ready compliance; because opposition (as he observes) will not only be wicked but fruitless too, and follow it we must, whether we will or no. Only it is in our choice, whether this shall be done with cheerfulness and contentment; or with reluctance and sorrow. Shake our chain, and gall ourselves with it we may, but break it we cannot. For the cause will always be stronger than its effect, and there is no getting loose from him, in whom we live, and move, and have our being.

To this purpose Epictetus advised us before (Chap. XIII.) Trouble not yourself (says he) with wishing, that things may be just as you would have them, but be well pleased they should be just as they are; and then you will live easy. And indeed this of submission is a most comprehensive duty; it takes in the whole substance of morality and virtue; and a man may very deservedly be called good, when he is satisfied with his lot in common with the rest of the world, and can look upon himself as a part of this vast universe, without any such greedy and assuming notions, as would restrain providence within a narrow compass, and make a world of himself alone, and oppose that harmony of events, which consults the good of the whole. As if the course of the world were to be changed, and its order disturbed, to follow so inconsiderable a part; rather than he should move along with this great engine, and take up with what falls to his own share.

The second sentence is taken out of one of Euripides’ tragedies, and hath a great affinity to the former. For necessity signifies that overruling power, which submits all thing to God, and makes all contribute to the first cause, (that is, to obeying the divine pleasure, and promoting his glory) whether they will or no. The man therefore who strikes in, and acts in consent with this, who follows it with alacrity, and betrays no lothness, or regret, gives a good proof of his wisdom: his behavior shows, that he understands the nature of the world; and, that partiality to a private interest, hath not so far biased him, but he can still make a just distinction between a whole and a part. And, as this proves his wisdom, so does it his piety too; for nothing better expresses our reverence for God, than such a cheerful resignation of ourselves, and receiving contentedly whatever he sends upon us.

Or this other. O Crito, if this be God’s pleasure concerning me, his will be done; Anytus and Melitus may take away my life, but it is not in their power to do me any hurt.

Comment.

This is quoted out of a discourse of Plato’s, entitled Crito, and is spoken there in the person of Socrates. The sense is much the same with the former, only wrapped up a little closer, and delivered in fewer words. And indeed the man, who can make this profession, and whose life speaks it as well as his tongue, hath vanquished all his pride and discontent, and cured the degeneracy of his nature. He hath abandoned corruption, given up himself to God without any reserve, and submits to all his dispensations with a perfect acquiescence of mind. And to me Epictetus seems to have produced these saying at the close of his book, that, by the testimony and example of such eminent persons, he might confirm us in this belief, that the utmost perfection attainable by a human soul, is a sincere conversion or turning to God; and that a ready compliance with the divine will upon all occasions, is the crown and complement of all virtues.

That last clause, Anytus and Melitus may kill me, but they cannot hurt me, is taken out of Plato’s defense of Socrates, and spoken to his accusers. And thus our author brings both ends together, by refreshing our memory here, with what he insisted upon so largely at the beginning; viz. That the man, who places his good and evil in the use of his native liberty only, and in those things which come within the compass of his own choice, does not depend upon external objects for his happiness; this man, I say, is above the world, he cannot be brought under the dominion of anything, nor is it in the power of men, or accidents, to do him the least prejudice.

Thus I have finished those meditations, which occurred to me upon this subject. And because I thought they might be of some service to as many as shall read Epictetus, I was willing to contribute the little assistance I could, to the truly understanding so excellent an author. Nor does my writing this commentary prove beneficial to others only, for I myself have already found great advantage from it, by the agreeable diversion it hath given me, in a season of trouble and public calamity. All I have more to add, is only a prayer, proper to this subject, and with it I conclude.

Grant, I beseech thee, O Lord, the giver and guide of all reason, that we may always be mindful of the dignity, of the nature, and of the privileges, thou has honored us withal; that we may act in all things as becomes free agents, to the subduing and governing our passions, to the refining them from flesh and sense, and to the rendering them subservient to excellent purposes. Grant us also thy favorable assistance, in the reforming and directing our judgment; and enlighten us with thy truth, that we may discern those things that are really good; and, having discovered them, may love and cleave steadfastly to the same. And, finally, disperse, we pray thee, those mists, which darken the eyes of our mind, that so we may have a perfect understanding: and (as Homer expresses it) know both God and man, and what to each is due.