Simplicius: Commentary on Epictetus' Enchiridion 1-28

All things whatsoever may be divide into two sorts; those that are, and those that are not, within our own power: of the former sort are our opinions and notions of things; our affections, our desires, and our aversions. And in short, all our actions of every kind are in our own power.

Comment.

He calls those things in our own power, which we ourselves are master of, and which depend purely upon our own disposal and choice; as we commonly say, anything is a man’s own, which he is not beholden to anybody else for, so as that it should fall within the compass of a second person, to grant or deny it, to permit or debar, or anyway hinder him in the enjoyment of it. Now such are the motions and operations of the soul; they are born and bred within us, and owing solely to our own judgment, and our own choice; for indeed, it is not possible for anything without us to determine our choice. The object of our choice, ‘tis confessed, is very often something without us; but the act of it, and the motions toward it, are entirely our own, and within us. Such, for instance, are the particular opinions we entertain, and the judgments we make of things; as that riches, or death, or the like, are things in their own nature, good, or evil, or indifferent. And, though we are often induced to take up this or that particular opinion upon trust, and from the credit we give, to what we hear other people say of it; yet is not their authority, or their persuasion, of such absolute efficacy, as that the opinion should not still be our own. For at this rate, we should make ourselves as senseless creatures as Parrots, who when they call for a cup of sack, know not what they say. If we be allowed then to think at all, the opinion must be our own act and deed; occasioned, ‘tis true, sometimes by things without us, and recommended and conveyed to us by the instructions and arguments of others; but not infused so mechanically, as that we should be purely passive in the case.

Thus again; The object, which moves our affection, is without us, but the affection itself is excited, and arises, within us. For there is a great difference observable, between the internal motion of the mind, and the external motive or inducement to it. This motion is not like that of men thrust forward by another, forcibly and against their wills; but such a one, as when we move our own bodies, by our own strength, and of our own accord.

The case is the same with our desires; by which the soul does (as it were) put her self forward, and go in pursuit of the thing desired; and so likewise with our aversions too, which are but a kind of turning aside, or running away, to avoid the object that provokes them.

Now it is sufficiently manifest, that of all these, the first in order of nature must be opinion; by which I understand such a knowledge or judgment of things, as is grounded upon reason, and worthy the character of a man. When this opinion relates to any real or seeming good or evil, which we apprehend ourselves to be concerned in, then it presently excites either desire or aversion; and, pursuant to either of these, the proper affections or motions of the soul. For the good must needs be desired, before the soul be affected with it, or move towards it; and the evil must be disapproved, before she flee from it. Though indeed the Stoics have advanced a contrary method, and represented the affections, by which the soul is carried to or from its object, as if they were antecedent to desire and aversion; thus considering these affections, as the beginnings and immediate causes of those desires and aversions in the soul.

But after all, the brutish inclinations, such particularly as anger and sensual appetite, are so much of a piece with the body, so closely and manifestly interwoven with the blood and animal spirits, that they seem to grow from the particular complexions and constitutions of men. So that these must of necessity derive their motion from an external cause in great measure, and cannot be perfectly at their own disposal, nor under the absolute mastery of the persons thus desiring, though they are begun too, and proceed originally from within. Not only so, but the rational soul itself, when subdued by the body, and the brutish impulses of sense, does in a great degree degenerate into machine, is violently agitated, drawn and managed at pleasure, and loses much of its native liberty and power. But when it acts in agreement with nature and reason, it maintains an absolute freedom, and moves only by an internal principle of its own. In a mind thus regularly disposed, it is very easy to discern, how much we have in our own power; though in the former instance of a disorderly mind, the case be somewhat intricate and perplexed. But however, in order to a more exact understanding of the whole matter, both what this liberty and power is, and what objects it extends to; as also, to show, that all the happiness and misery of a man’s life depends upon the use or the abuse of this liberty; I will trace the thing up to its first cause, and examine the whole matter particularly.

The source and original of all things is good. For indeed, that must needs be both the cause, and beginning, and the end and consummate perfection of all, in which all desires center, and to which all things naturally tend. Now this good forms and produces all things out of its own fullness, both the most excellent, the middle sort, and the last and lowest rank of beings. The first and most excellent, bear the closest affinity to itself, are of a piece with it, (as it were) and express images of it. Thus one good being produces many good beings; one simple and uncompounded being, independent and supreme, produces many other simple beings like itself; one principle produces many principles: and this one, this simple being, this principle, and this good, are but so many several names for God, who is before all things, and the cause of all things.

Now whatever is first, must of necessity be the purest and most simple being. For all compounded things and numbers are after the simple and unit, in order of nature, and inferior to them in dignity. And all compounds, and things not good, do desire the good, as something above, and better than themselves. And whatever is not self-existent must have received its being from something else. So that the first principle and original cause must have all absolute and infinite power; the excellence of which consists, and its exuberance is seen, in the production of all things from itself, and in giving to those that resemble its own perfections, the precedence before others that bear no such resemblance to it. And hence it is, that one common principle produces many principles, many simple beings, many goodnesses, immediately from itself, and its own fullness.

Thus all beings, which are distinguished from one another, by their own peculiar differences, and multiplied into several species, according to the particular forms and circumstances in which they differ, are yet each of them reducible to one principle more properly their own. All things beautiful and lovely (for instance) of whatever kind that loveliness and beauty be, or whatever object they belong to, whether bodies or souls, are yet derived from one common source of beauty and gracefulness.

The case is the same with all manner of congruities, and all truths, and all principles; for these, so far as they are principles and originals to other things, do exactly agree, and are of the same nature with that primary goodness, and original truth, and first principle of all; allowing only for some abatements, and taking that agreement in such proportions, as the capacity of these derived and secondary causes will admit. For the same relation, which that first universal principle bears to all beings in general, the same does each of these subordinate principles bear to the several species, and individuals, contained under it, and partaking of the property peculiar to it. For every species, which is distinguished from the rest by a peculiar difference of its own, must needs have a tendency to, and terminate in, its proper principle; from whence one and the same form is reflected down upon all the particular kinds and creatures comprehended under it.

Thus a unit is the foundation of all numbers, and a single cause is the original of all properties, in this vast variety of beings. So that all partial and subordinate causes do really subsist, and are contained in the first and universal one; and this, not locally or numerically, but essentially and virtually; as the parts in the whole, as generals in a singular, and as numbers in a unit. For this indeed is itself all, above and before all; and out of one principle many principles grow, and in one common good many goodnesses subsist and dwell.

Nor is this principle a limited or particular one (as for instance, a principle of beauty, or gracefulness, or goodness, or truth) as each of the rest are; but simply and universally a principle or cause; a principle, not only of species and beings, but even of all other principles too. For the property of a principle cannot take its rise from particulars, and from many, but must center at last in a unit, and that one is the great original of all, the first beginning and cause of causes.

Now the first and immediate productions of this first original good, are of the same kind and nature with itself. They retain their native goodness, and, like that from whence they spring, are fixed and unchangeable, rooted and confirmed in the same happiness; they stand in need of no additional good from abroad, but are themselves naturally and essentially good and happy. Now all other beings, whose descent from that one original good is more remote, and who derive themselves from that first and these secondary causes in conjunction, lose that perfection of being essentially good, and enjoy what they have by participation only. Fixed indeed they are in God’s essential goodness, and therefore he continually communicates it to them. But the last and lowest sort; which have no power of acting or moving themselves, (as bodies for example) as their existence and motion, is something from without, and what themselves are purely passive in; so likewise is all their good owing to something without them too. And, that their motion and existence is from without, is plain, because they have no discerning or governing faculty; they are subject to perpetual change and division, and consequently cannot be present to themselves in every part, so as to be all in all, or produce themselves entire at once; nor have they any power of moving themselves, as being in their own nature, void of spirit and life. Yet still, there is a middle state between these extremes, a sort of beings, inferior to that fixed immutable nature which is always consistent with itself, and yet superior to the lowest and mechanical sort. And these are moved, not in the same manner with bodies, by a motion impressed upon them from something else, but by one internal and purely theirs. And in this capacity are souls, masters of their own motion, and of that of the body to which they are united. For which reason, we call all bodies, set into motion by a principle from within, animate; and those that have none, but what proceeds from something without, inanimate bodies.

So then the soul gives motion, both to itself, and to the Body. For if it received its own motion from something without, and afterwards put the body into motion, this motion of the body could not, with any propriety of speech, be imputed to the soul, but would be wholly owing to that, which first moved the soul. Now this free being is beneath the fixed and unchangeable Goodness, and enjoys its good by participation only, and so is carried towards it; yet this is done by no foreign force, but by its own spontaneous act, its own inclinations and desires. For inclinations, and desires, and affections and choice, are motions proper to souls, and entirely their own.

Now of these, the first and best, being the immediate production of things essentially and in their own nature good, (though with this abatement, that they are not so themselves, but only are desirous of good) do bear so near a relation to them, that they desire it with a natural and unchangeable affection; their choice is ever uniform and consistent; determined to the good part, and never perverted to the worse. And if by choice we mean the preferring of one thing before another; they can scarce by allowed to have any, unless you will call it so, because they ever take the chiefest and most perfect good. But the souls of men are so contrived, as to link together, into one person, a heavenly and an earthly nature; and consequently, must be capable of inclining to both sides, of soaring upwards, or of sinking downwards. When they make the former their constant care; their desires and their determinations are uniform, and free, and above contradiction; but when they lose this power, all is inverted and out of course, because they employ themselves wholly upon pursuing mean ends, and only affect low actions: notwithstanding nature hath qualified them for the animating and moving of bodies inanimate and purely passive; and for governing those things, which are incapable of procuring or partaking of any good by their own act; and hath given them a power, not only of acting as they please themselves, but of putting other things into action at pleasure too, which otherwise are not capable of any such thing.

Now when the soul hath conversed too familiarly with, and addicted herself too much to temporal and corruptible things, such as have but a perishing and transitory good in them; her choice is no longer above contradiction, but attended with many struggles and strong oppositions; ‘tis directed still indeed to objects eligible and good; but then this is sometimes a real good, and sometimes a treacherous and deceitful one, which, upon the account of some pleasure attending it, prevails upon us. And because this is most certain, that true good is always attended with true pleasure; hence it is, that, wherever the soul discovers the least shadow of this, she catches at it greedily, without staying to consider of what kind the pleasure is; whether it be real and agreeable to that good which is truly so; or whether it be false, and only carries a counterfeit face of good; never recollecting that it is necessarily attended with many troubles and great uneasinesses, and would not be pleasure without these to introduce and recommend it to us. For he that takes pleasure in eating, would have none if he had not first been hungry; nor would drinking give a man any, but for the thirst, that afflicted him before. Thus uneasiness and pain are the constant attendants of pleasure, and ever mingled with it: So that if you suppose any pleasure in drinking, you shall find, that it comes from some remains of thirst; for the pleasure last no longer, than while the pain continues with it. So long as we are hungry, or dry, or cold, or the like, the meat, and drink, and fire, that allay these uneasinesses, are agreeable to us; but when once the sense of those pains ceases, we quickly grow weary, and have too much of them. And what before gave satisfaction and relief, soon becomes our loathing and aversion, and is itself a pain to us. Thus also the men, who suffer themselves to be carried away into inordinate and extravagant enjoyments, and make pleasure the only end and business of their lives, generally undergo a great deal of trouble and uneasiness along with it.

Now the choice of this pleasant treacherous good is the cause of all our faults; as on the contrary, the choice of true substantial good is the foundation of all our virtue. And indeed all the good and evil of our whole lives, the happiness and misery of them, depend upon this freedom of will, and power of choice in us. For when the will is disengaged, when it proceeds from a free principle, and its determinations are properly the acts of that rational soul, of which our very essence and nature consists; then it is directed to objects truly eligible and good. And for this reason, virtue, which is its proper happiness and perfection is called in Greek, aretê. A name which hath great affinity to a word that signifies eligible, not only because virtue is properly the object, but also, because it is the effect of our own choice. But when the will acts in compliance with the brutish appetites and Inclinations, and proposes their enjoyments to itself as its own happiness; then it makes an ill choice, and fixes upon counterfeit good instead of true: so that all this freedom and choice is in our own disposal. For the opinions and affections of the soul, its Inclinations and aversions, are but so many steps towards choice; and all terminate in that at last: and these are properly the motions of the mind, arising from within, and not from any violent impulses from without us. So that we ourselves are masters of all these things.

This is the very reason, why the laws of God and man, and the judgment of all wise men, make our own freedom and choice the standard, to measure our actions by. They look upon the intention, as a thing absolutely in our own power; and they pronounce of our vices and our virtues, according to this, and not according to the quality of our actions themselves. For these are not absolutely ours; but are specified and distinguished, become formally good or evil, by our own will, and our own choice. The action of killing is always the same, considered strictly in itself; but when this action is involuntary, it is excused and pardoned, because in such cases it is not properly ours, nor in our own power: nay, when done in a just cause, or in a legal way, it is not only excused, but applauded and highly commendable. So that the formal good, or evil, of our actions does not depend upon the actions themselves, but upon the intention, the choice, the freedom and power which we have in them, and which give them their moral qualities accordingly.

By all this it appears, that Epictetus took the right method, when he began his instructions with this consideration of things within our own power; and advised us to make it the general rule of our conduct; since all the excellency, and all the dishonesty of our actions, all the happiness and all the misery of our lives, depends upon it. But, when he says in general terms, that all things may be distinguished into two sorts, some that are, and some that are not in our own power; we must not so understand him, as if all things whatsoever were meant by it, but only such as are within us, or anyway concern us. For at that rate, there would be no proportion at all betwixt the two opposite parts, which ought to be observed, and is necessary to make a just division. And this proportion, I say, would be quite lost, if all things whatsoever, both those that are contained in the world, and those that are above, and out of the world, were set in opposition to the few in comparison, that are within our own power.

But now, in regard some people quarrel with this distinction, even when limited in the most cautious manner that can be, and will allow us to have nothing at all in our power: And among these, some assert, that all our actions, appetites, and passions, proceed from necessity, and not from choice; and others make us like stones put into motion, that act mechanically, by chance, and without any purpose or design at all; though what hath been said already, upon our natural power, and the place which our choice and free-will hath, and the necessity that so it must be, might suffice; yet perhaps it may not be amiss, to consider the objections of those men, who would rob us of this liberty and power, and to refute them particularly.

Now, if by this mechanical and forced sort of action, without purpose, and by pure chance, they intend to say, that we propose to ourselves no end at all in what we do, it is by no means true; or if it would hold in some cases, yet it is evident, there are very many instances, in which it will not. For all arts and sciences, nay, all natures and beings, have constantly some particular aim and end fixed to them; to which they direct their endeavors perpetually, and make every action in some degree subservient. And it may be said in general, That there is no one act, no one motion, of any living creature in the whole world, but is performed out of a prospect of some real, or at least some seeming good: even where the object is evil, this observation holds; since the avoiding that evil is for the attaining some good, and for the advantage we may find in escaping from it.

But if this acting by chance, and without any purpose, be so understood, that what we desire, may prove impossible to be compassed, or incapable of answering our end, or hurtful when we have attained it, (as we say sometimes, that a man took a medicine without any thought, or to no purpose, which did him no good, or perhaps, did him harm:) neither does this sense destroy our free-will. For we maintain, that those desires and aversions are in our power, which concern, not only things that may be attained, and turn to our benefit when they are so; but those too, which cannot, and which are prejudicial to us when we have them. And for this reason we affirm, that our errors and our vices, are as truly the effects of this liberty and choice, as our greatest virtues themselves are.

Those who pretend, that our opinions and desires, and generally speaking, all our choices and intentions, are necessary, and not at our own disposal, as proceeding from motives without us, and not beginning of our own accord within us, argue for their opinion several ways.

Some of them make the wants of human nature the ground of this necessity. For we all know, that a man in extremity of hunger, or thirst, or cold, desire meat, and drink, and warmth, whether he will or no; and a person upon a sick bed, cannot help desiring health and ease.

Some lay all upon the nature of the thing itself, which is the object of our opinion, or desire, or aversion; and contend, that this excites our passions, and affects our minds, by its own power and evidence, whether we are consenting to it, or not. Who is there, for instance, that hath attained to the least knowledge in arithmetic, and does not readily allow, and firmly believe, that twice two make four? And which way shall we call such an opinion as this, the effect of freedom and choice, and not rather of absolute constraint, because arising from the evidence of the thing assented to, and the impossibility of its being otherwise? So again, when a man hath entertained a notion of any goodness or excellence, when he apprehends a thing to be lovely, or profitable, or the direct contrary; does he not forthwith naturally desire the one sort, and decline the other? For the best philosophers are agreed, that the object of our desire, and the final cause, are the motives, which set all the rest on work: and if this be true, how shall we challenge that as our own act and deed, which is so absolutely the effect of constraint and necessity, imposed by the nature and quality of things without us, which stir our affections accordingly, without any disposal or consent of ours?

Others rather think, that the disposition of the person designing is the cause of all this necessity; this, say they, must needs be wrought upon, according as it stands inclined; Nor is it in ones own choice, whether he will desire those things or not, which his own nature, and temper, and custom, strongly determine him to. Thus the temperate person finds in himself a habitual desire of such actions, and such conversation, as are agreeable to the virtue of temperance; and the intemperate is no less fond of all occasions to exercise his extravagance. Thus the designs of them both are fixed, and it is not in their power to alter them. For some we see plainly, who are angry at themselves, condemn their own desires, and wish with all their souls that they could restrain and subdue them, yet find their habits and customs so violent and prevailing, that they are hurried on, and trust forward, like so many engines, and feel and lament the force which they cannot resist, when objects which are agreeable to their inclinations, (such as by custom are become familiar and natural to them) offer themselves. By the same reason, a skillful and judicious man will give a right judgment of things, and entertain true opinions of them; and the ignorant and unlearned, will have false and mistaken notions. For it cannot agree with the character of a wise man, to take up with an error; nor with that of an ignorant one, to find out the truth: But it stands to great reason, that the ignorant one should assent to a falsehood, and the skillful and learned should reject it. And yet, if these things were entirely at one own disposal, this would not be. For the ignorant man would never prefer falsehood before truth, if he could help it; and the wise man, if we should allow him to assent to truth, merely by virtue of his own free-will, might also be allowed to take up false opinions, if you do but suppose his will to incline him that way too. But this, they tell you, cannot be: for it is with the understanding, and the objects about which it is employed, as we find it with the senses of the body, and sensible objects; I mean, it is impossible to have things apprehended otherwise than they represent themselves, unless we suppose some weakness or defect in the organs which should apprehend and represent them to us.

These are the cavils commonly made use of against free-will; though indeed a great many men insist upon one more; and fancy, that there is a fatality in the motion and position of the heavens, which influencing, not only all other things, but even our very desire and inclinations too, determines us in the opinions we shall espouse, and the choices we shall make. And in confirmation of this argument, they produce the predictions of astrologers, who, upon calculating nativities, and finding what planet each person is born under, take upon them to pronounce very peremptorily, that such a one shall be a voluptuous person; a second, covetous; a third, a lover of learning and wisdom; and thus declare beforehand the inclinations and desires, which in the whole course of their lives, shall afterwards be discovered by their behavior and conversation. Now these men could never say true, nor describe such tempers and practices so exactly as they do, if there were not some constellation, some fatal overruling influence, which enforces these particular inclinations and appetites, and puts it past men’s power to change or conquer them. And in any such fatality there be; how absurd is it to pretend to a power of regulating and determining our own desires, and of fixing them upon what objects we please, when we are absolutely and irrevocably staked down to this or that particular object beforehand, and must desire and pursue it, whether we will or no? This, I think, is the sum of all the objections, commonly urged against that liberty we profess to assert, and the power of disposing our desire and our aversions, the resolutions we take, and the actions we do, as we see fit ourselves.

Now, in answer to the first of these, which made out wants the foundation of that pretended necessity and constraint; we may rely, that, if this were true, then want would always create desire. But this it does not do. For there are many things, and particularly, inanimate creatures, that are oftentimes in great want of some quality or other; heat, or cold, or drought, or moisture, and yet they never desire what they stand so much in need of. The reason is plain, because their nature is not capable of desire: For, in order to desire, it is necessary, both to have a sense of the thing desired, an to be moved by that sense: from whence it is plain, that want does not always infuse, or infer desire.

But the creatures, which are endued with a faculty of desiring, when they feel themselves in want, do then exert desire, in order to the relief of the wants they feel.

Thus (to illustrate the thing by a familiar Instance) itching disposes us to scratch; and upon a sense of the uneasiness it give us, the hands apply themselves to the relief we want; but yet this itching does not give us the hands we scratch with: nor is it true, that the necessities of human life have invented the arts and trades made use of for the support of it. For it is the mind of man, which invented them, saw the need there was of them, and took occasion from thence to seek out this relief. For all desire is a motion of the soul desiring, born and begun within, and exerted by the soul, when called out by any desirable object; but it is by no means infused into the soul from without. Now the irrational life of brute beasts, being wholly corporeal, and having, in truth, little or nothing, but what is matter and body belonging to it, is troubled with no difference or distraction of desires, hath no wants, except those relating to the body, to supply; and consequently, but one sort of desires to exert. And this constant uniformity in their case, makes us think them the effect, not of liberty, but necessity.

But now, the rational soul of man, being placed, as I said before, in a middle station, may be considered in a threefold capacity and disposition; one, that inclines it to the worst part, that is, the bodily and brutish; a second, that regards its own self; and a third, that better and more excellent part above it: so that here may be a threefold conversation, a threefold want, and a threefold desire. When it gives itself tamely up to the body, and consults the brutish appetites and wants of that part only; then, of necessity, it complies and concurs with all the bodily desires. And this is that sort of desire, which captivates the will, and hath brought the freedom of it to be a matter of so much controversy. But when it pursues the inclinations, and lives agreeably to the nature, either of its own self, or the excellent beings above it; then it exerts its faculties freely, and desires the good peculiar to these conditions, without difficulty or opposition. Now the power and liberty of the soul consists in this; that, whereas nature hath made her capable of desires of several qualities, some of a better and more excellent kind, and others of a worse and more vile; she can so far dispose of herself, as to fix upon either the one or the other of these sorts: which yet is done with this difference, that, by pursuing the worse her faculties are enfeebled and debased, and by following the better they are exalted and confirmed; for the choice of these is indeed truly and properly choice. And hence we see it often happens, that when the body finds itself low and empty, and requires meat, or some other sustenance, the mind steps in and countermands this desire, with another overruling one of fasting or abstemiousness; and this too taken up possibly upon some religious account, or in obedience to some law, or perhaps, merely in point of prudence, as thinking it better upon its own account, or more conducing to the health of the body. Now I think nobody can say, but the mind, in such a case, might, if it had so pleased, have complied with those first desires, as indeed we find the generality of people do upon these occasions; but you see, it exerted another opposite desire, and prosecuted that, as the greater good, and so more eligible of the two. So that Epictetus, looking upon the soul as endued with reason, might upon this account very justly say, that she had it in her power to qualify her desires, and to place them upon such or such objects, as she saw cause.

The next objection, which tells us, the object of desire necessarily excites the soul to a desire of it, must be acknowledged to have a great deal of truth in it; but yet not so much, as the persons who urge it imagine. For, the object does not move the soul to desire forcibly and mechanically, but by proposing itself, as something fit to be embraced; and thus calling forth those powers of the soul into action, which nature hath qualified to meet, and to receive it: just as the sensible object does not infuse the faculty of sensation into the person who receives its impressions, nor draws him by violence to itself; but only presents itself to the eye, in such proportions as are proper for uniting with that organ of sense, which was ordained by nature, and fitted for that union. And so the object of desire presents its convenience and fitness to the soul, and this invites such motions, as nature hath provided proper for this purpose. Thus it must needs be; because we see, that, when desirable objects offer themselves, some people are, and others are not, affected with them; whereas, if the object were endued with such efficacy and power, as perfectly to constrain the person desiring; and if the motion of the mind were necessarily impressed by it ; it must needs follow, that upon such occasions everyone must be affected with it, though perhaps not everyone in the same degree. And, in truth, such an operation upon the mind would not be desire, but a violent impulse, or forcible attraction; such as we see, when one body is thrust forward, or dragged along by one another. For desire is a kind of expansion in the mind, as moving forwards towards the thing desired, without any local motion in the person desiring; such as we may resemble to a man’s stretching out his hand to meet or embrace one, while the rest of his body is in no motion. So that desire is a motion, begun originally, and proceeding from within; as are also our opinions, and the other things mentioned here by Epictetus.

This motion, indeed, is sometimes what it ought to be, and is duly proportioned to the nature of the thing, which we desire or conceive of: and sometimes it is mistaken and very different from it, when we are inclined to something, which to us appears very desirable, but is really what should rather provoke our aversion. For it shows us a gaudy outside to invite our desire, and hath a great deal of hidden evil within, which all the while lies concealed, under some advantage, which the idea of this object flatters us with. Thus the thief is carried away with an idea of gain and riches, as a desirable thing; and this keeps him from considering, or having any dread at all of that horrible evil, which lies sheltered under this gain, defiles his soul, and taints it with unjustice, and then, as for any apprehensions of discovery, and imprisonment, and punishment, which are the only calamities so wicked a wretch fears; the excessive eagerness of his desires utterly overlooks and stifles all these; for he presently represents to himself, what a world of men do such things, and yet are never found out. Now, thus much is plainly in our power, to examine this object of our desire more nicely; and to inform ourselves well, whether it be a real good and worth our pursuing; or whether it only cheats us with a fair outside and counterfeit appearance of good; as, particularly, in the instance of gain just now mentioned. Nay, we may go something farther yet; for, we may correct and regulate our desires; may bring them to fix upon such objects only, as are truly desirable, and may teach them not to be imposed upon with false appearances.

We are told again, that our desires and our opinions are carried to their proper object with as invincible a necessity, as a stone or clod of earth is carried downwards; and consequently, that nature hath left us nothing in our own power: nor have we any more reason to conclude, that we are free to think, or to desire, after this or that manner, when we see our assent and appetite always moved by the credibility or the desirableness of their objects, than we have, to suppose that a stone can ascend, when we never see it do so.

Now to this it may be replied, that there is a twofold necessity, the one absolutely destructive of free-will, the other very consistent with it. That kind of necessity, which proceeds from any things without us, does indeed take away all liberty and choice; for no man can be said to act freely, when he is compelled by any other external cause, to do a thing, or to leave it undone. But then there is another sort of necessity from within ourselves, which keeps everything within its due bounds, and obliges each faculty and part to act agreeably to its own nature and original constitution. And this is so far from destroying free-will, that it rather preserves and supports it. For by this means it comes to pass, that a free-agent can be wrought upon by no other ways, but such as are consistent with the nature of a free-agent, which is from a principle of motion within itself. And this necessity is by no means a mechanical necessity, because it is not imposed by anything from without us; but is what the nature of such an agent admits and requires; what is necessary for its preservation, and for exerting the operations, proper to a creature endued with such a faculty as self-motion.

Besides, if the soul can bring itself to such habits and dispositions as are virtuous or vicious; can grow better by wisdom and sobriety, and worse by perverseness and a dissolute behavior; and can confirm itself in each of these courses, by the frequent repetition of acts suitable to them; then the soul is the true cause of all this. Though, in truth, it must not be admitted for a general rule neither, That the liberty and power of the will is to be judged of, by men being able to do things, contrary to one another. For the souls immediately united to the original good, prefer that constantly; and yet the freedom of their choice is still the same; for that preference is no more constrained and necessary, than if they took evil instead of it. But it is their excellence and perfection, that they continue steadfast in their own good, and never suffer themselves to be drawn off to the contrary. But as for our souls, which are more remotely descended from that great original, their desires are according to their tempers and dispositions; those of them that are well disposed, have good desires, and those that are ill, have evil ones: But still these souls of ours are capable of great alterations; They frequently recover themselves from vice to virtue, by reformation and better care; They decline too, and sink down from virtue to vice, by supineness and a foolish neglect; and both these changes are wrought in them by their own voluntary choice, and not by any force or necessity that compels them to it. So that there can be no manner of pretence for charging any part of our wickedness upon God. He created the soul after such a manner indeed, as to leave it capable of being corrupted; because its essence is not of the first and best sort of natures, but hath a mixture of the middle and the lowest; and this mixture was fit, that so all might remain in its perfection; and the first and best continue still such, without degenerating into barrenness, and imperfection, and matter. God therefore, who is infinitely good himself, made the soul in a capacity of being perverted; and it is an argument of his mercy, and the exceeding riches of his goodness, that he did so: for he hath set it above the reach of all external violence and necessity, and made it impossible for it to be corrupted without its own consent.

There is one argument more still behind; which pretends, that a fatal revolution of the heavens hath so strong and absolute a power upon us, as not only to influence our actions, but even to determine our choice, and all our inclinations, and leave us no liberty at all to dispose of ourselves, but only the empty name of such a liberty. Now to these we may answer, that if the rational soul be eternal, and immortal, (which I shall not go about to prove, that being foreign to this subject, but shall desire at present to take for granted, though it must be confessed, not in all points agreeable to the doctrine of the Stoics in this particular, but) if the soul, I say, be eternal and immortal, it cannot be allowed to receive its being from, or to have its dependence upon, matter and motion. Its instrument indeed, that is, the animal taken in the gross, by which I mean, the body animated by the soul, may owe its nature and its changes to such causes: for material causes produce material effects; and these may differ, according as those causes are differently disposed; with regard to things here below. And the instrument is formed so, as to be proper and serviceable to the soul, whose business it is to make use of it now; as the difference of tools teaches us to distinguish the several professions that use them, so as to say, these belong to the carpenter’s, those to the mason’s, and others to the smith’s trade; and not only to distinguish the trades themselves, but the skill and capacity of the artificers themselves; to judge of their designs and intentions, and the perfection of the work itself; for those who are masters of their trade, have better tools, and use them with greater dexterity, than others: In like manner, they who have attained to the knowledge of astrology, find out the nature and temper of the instrument (the body) from the different constitution of material causes, and from hence make their conjectures of the disposition of the soul; and this is the reason, why they often guess aright. For indeed, the generality of souls, when falling under ill management, and the conversation of naughty men, (a sort of degradation, inflicted upon them by way of punishment, for the loss of their primitive purity) addict themselves too much to the body, and are governed and subdued by it; so as to use it no longer as their instrument of action, but to look upon it as a part and piece of their own essence, and conform their desires to its brutish appetites and inclinations.

Besides, this position, and fatal revolution of the heavens, carries some sort of argument to the production of the souls united to bodies under it, yet not so, as to impose any absolute necessity upon their appetites and inclinations, but only to infer a resemblance of their temper. For, as in cities, there are some particular solemn seasons and places, which give us good grounds to distinguish the persons assembled in them: as the days and places of public worship commonly call those that are wise, and religious, and well-disposed, together; and those that are set apart for pomp and public sports, gather the rabble, and the idle, and the dissolute; so that the observing these solemnities gives us a clear knowledge of the people that attend upon them: by the same reason, the particular seasons and places, (the houses and conjunctions of the planets) may be able to give us some light, into the temper of the souls united to bodies under them, as carrying some affinity to the conjunctions, under which men are born. For, when God in his justice hath ordained such a particular position, and all the fatalities consequent to it; then those souls, which have deserved this vengeance, are brought under that position. For likeness, and affinity of tempers, hath a strange power of bringing all that agree in it together. This fatal revolution then, does by no means constrain or bind up the soul, nor take away its native freedom; but the soul only bears some resemblance to the temper of this revolution; and is framed agreeably to such a body, as itself hath deserved to be given it for its use. And This gives men an opportunity of learning its particular desires and Inclinations, by considering the constellations that people are born under.

Again, the souls choose their particular ways of living, according to their former dignity and disposition; but still, the behaving themselves well or ill in each of these ways, is left in their own power. Upon this account, we see many, who have chosen a way of trade, and business, and great temptation, yet continue very honest and good men in it; and many who profess philosophy, and the improvement of wisdom and virtue, are yet of very loose conversation, notwithstanding all the advantages of such an employment. For the different methods of life, as that of husbandry, or merchandise, or music, or the like, are chosen by the soul according to her former disposition; and men’s station in the world is assigned them, suitable to their dignity and deserts: But the management of themselves, in any of these callings, is the choice and work of the soul afterwards; and we do not so much blame or commend men for their callings themselves, as for their different behavior in them.

Farther yet: this fatal position or revolution does never (as some men too boldly affirm it does) cause anything of wickedness in us, so as to make it necessary, that men born under it should be knaves and cheats, adulterous, or addicted to beastly and unnatural lusts. For, though the casters of nativities sometimes say true, when they foretell these things; yet this only happens, according as we receive particular qualities or impressions; which is done, sometimes in a moderate, and sometimes in an immoderate degree. And it is not the influence of the stars, but the corruption of the mind, that makes men knavish, or lascivious, or unnatural and brutish. Those that receive these influences moderately, and do not assist them by their own depravity, are cautious and wary, correct the heat of youth, and use it virtuously; but those that receive them immoderately, that is, give way to them, and promote them, debase and prostitute themselves to all manner of wickedness. And what reflection upon nature can this be? For, even that, which is most beneficial to us, may turn to our prejudice by a perverse use of it. The sun gives us light; it both makes things visible, and enables us to see them; And yet, if a man will be so foolish, as to take too much of it, to gaze upon his rays when they shine in their full strength, he may lose his eyesight by his folly. But then, that folly, and not the brightness of the sun, is to be blamed; if that, which is the author of light to all the world, be the occasion of blindness and darkness to him. Now, when the astrologers have (as they think) formed to themselves certain marks and rules, whereby to know, who will receive these impressions in a due measure, and who in a vicious excess; then they pronounce some men wise, and others subtle and knavish accordingly. Those, after all, I very much doubt, whether the erecting of any schemes can furnish them with such marks of distinction, or no: some things indeed are so manifest, that all the world must allow them; as, that when the sun is in Cancer, our bodies feel excessive heat; but some again are exceedingly dark and doubtful, and such as none, but those who have made themselves masters of astrology, can make anything of.

Now, that those things which act constantly according to the design and directions of nature, preserve the original constitution given them at first by their great creator, and are endued with the greatest power and strength, that such things, I say, always act upon a good design, and properly speaking, are never the cause of any evil, seems to me very plain. For all evil is occasioned, not by the excess, but by the want of power; and if it were not so, power ought not to be reckoned among those things that are good. And yet it is as plain that even good things in excess oftentimes prove hurtful to us; but then, that hurt is not owing to the things, but to ourselves. And thus much may suffice, in answer to them who deny the freedom of the will, upon the pretence of any fatality from the motion or position of the heavens.

But indeed, to all who deny this liberty, upon any argument whatsoever, it may be replied in general, That those who go about to destroy it, do by no means consider or understand the nature of the soul, but overthrow its very original constitution, without seeming to be sensible of it. For they take away all principle of internal and self-motion, in which the essence of the soul chiefly consists. For it must be either moved of its own accord, and then it is excited by a cause within itself to its appetites and affections, and not thrust forward and dragged along, as bodies are; or else it is moved by an external force, and then it is purely mechanical.

Again, They who will not allow us to have our actions at our own disposal, do not attend to, nor are able to account for, the vital energy of the soul, and its assenting and dissenting, accepting or rejecting power. Now this is what experience and common sense teaches every man; that he hath a power of consenting and refusing, embracing and declining, agreeing to or denying; and it is to no purpose to argue against that, which we feel and find every moment. But now all these are internal motions, begun in the soul itself; and not violent impulses and attractions from things without us, such as inanimate creatures must be moved by. For this is the difference between animate and inanimate bodies, that the one sort are moved by an internal principle, and the other are not. Now, according to this distinction, that which puts the inanimate into motion, must have a principle of motion of its own, and cannot itself be moved mechanically. For if this also derived its motion from something else, the, (as was urged before) the body is not moved by this, but by that other cause, from whence the motion is at first imparted to this; and so the body, being moved no longer from within, but by some forcible Impression from without, as all other inanimate creatures are, must itself be concluded Inanimate.

Once more, by denying that we have power over our actions, and a liberty of willing or not willing, of considering, comparing, choosing, desiring, declining, and the like, All moral distinctions are lost and gone, and virtue and vice are utterly confounded. There is no longer any just ground left for praise or dispraise, applause or reproach, rewards or punishments. The laws of God and man instituted for those purposes, and enforced by these sanctions, are evacuated; and the very foundations of them all torn up, and quite overturned. And then, do but consider, how dismal the consequences must be. For when once we are come to this pass, all order and society must needs be lost; and nothing left us, but a life of rapine and violence, of misery and confusion; a life, not of civilized men, but of ravenous and wild beasts.

But I expect, that the adversaries of this opinion will appeal back again to our own experience, and urge afresh, what? Do we not often find ourselves forced by the tyranny of ill men, and the overbearing torment of our own passions, and the strong bent of natural sympathies and antipathies? Do not these compel us to do and suffer many things against our wills; and such as no man in his senses would choose, if it were in his power to avoid? To this my answer is still the same, that notwithstanding all this, our liberty is not destroyed, but the choice upon these occasions is still free, and our own. For here are two things proposed; and, though the side we take, be not eligible for its own sake, and when considered absolutely; yet it is so, with regard to the present straits we are in, and when compared with something which we avoid by this means; and for this reason it is, that we make choice of it. And it is utterly impossible that a man should be carried to do anything without the consent of his own mind; For he, that does a thing without his own choice, is like a man thrust down a precipice by some stronger hand, which he cannot resist; and this person is at that time under the circumstance of an inanimate creature; he does not act at all, but is purely passive in the case. So that, when we really do act, though with never so great unwillingness and reluctancy, yet still we choose to act, after such and such a manner.

This is further evident from men’s own practice. For we find several person take several ways, when yet the necessity that lies upon them is the same. Some choose to comply with what is imposed upon them, for fear of enduring some greater evil, if they refuse it; others again are peremptory in the refusing it, as looking upon such compliance to be a greater evil, than any punishment they can possibly undergo, upon account of their refusal. So that, even in those actions that seem most involuntary, there is still a place for liberty and choice. For we must distinguish between what is voluntary, and what is free. That only is voluntary, which would be chosen for its own sake ; but that is free, which we have power to choose, not only for its own sake, but for the sake of avoiding some greater mischief. And indeed, there are some cases, in which we find both something voluntary, and something involuntary meet. For which reason those are properly called mixed actions; that is, when what is eligible upon these occasions, is not simply and absolutely so, but carries something along with it, which we should never choose, if we could help it. And Homer very elegantly describes the perplexity of thought, this mixture of voluntariness and involuntariness, in the soul, when he say to this purpose,

Great strife in my divided breast I find, A will consenting, yet unwilling mind.

These things I thought fit rather to enlarge upon, because almost all the following book depends upon this distinction of the things in our own power: for, the design of it being wholly moral and instructive, he lays the true foundation here at first; and shows us, what we ought to place all our happiness and all our unhappiness in; and that, being at our own disposal, and endued with a principle of motion from within, we are to expect it all from our own actions. For things that move mechanically and necessarily, as they drive their being from, so they owe all the good and evil they are capable of to, something else; they depend upon the impressions made upon them from without, both for the thing itself, and for the degree of it. But those creatures, which act freely, and are themselves the cause of their own motions and operations, receive all their good and evil from these operations. Now these operations, properly speaking, with regard to knowledge and speculative matters, are their opinions and apprehensions of things; but with regard to desirable objects, and matters of practice, they are the appetites, and aversions, and the affections of the soul. When therefore we have just ideas, and our notions agree with the things themselves; and when we apply our desires and our aversions to such objects, and in such measures, as we ought to do; then we are properly happy, and attain to that perfection, which nature hath designed us for, and made peculiar to us: but when we fail in these matters, then we fail of that happiness and perfection too.

Now by our own actions, I mean such, as are wrought by ourselves only, and need nothing more to effect them, but our own choice. For as to actions that concern things without us, such as sciences and trades, and supplying the necessities of human life, and the making ourselves masters of knowledge, and the instructing others in it, or any other employments and professions of credit and reputation in the world; these are not entirely in our own power, but require many helps and external advantages, in order to the compassing of them. But the regulating of our opinions, and our own choices, is properly and entirely our own work, and stands in need of no foreign assistances. So that our good and evil depend on ourselves; for this we may be sure of, that no man is accountable for those things, that do not come within the compass of his own power.

But our bodies, possessions, reputations, preferments, and places of honor and authority, and in short, everything besides our own actions, are things out of our own power.

Comment.

The reason, why these are said to be out of our own power and disposal, is not, because the mind hath no part in them, or contributes nothing towards them; for it is plain, that both our bodies and our estates, are put into a better or a worse condition, in proportion to that provident care the soul takes of them, or the neglect she is guilty of with regard to them. The soul does also furnish occasions for the acquiring credit and fame, and by her diligence and wisdom it is, that we attain to posts of greatness and government. For indeed there could be no such thing as the exercise of authority, especially as the world goes now, without the choice and consent of the soul. But, because these things are not totally at her disposal, and she is not the sole and absolute mistress of them, but must be beholden to the favorable concurrence of several other things, to compass them; therefore they are said not be in our own power. Thus the body requires sound seminal principles, and a strong constitution, convenient diet, and moderate exercise, a wholesome dwelling, a good air, and sweet water, and strength, and ability to perform the functions of nature, will depend upon all these. And yet these are all of them things so far out of our own reach, that we can neither bestow them upon ourselves, nor keep off the contrary Inconveniences, when we would. When a more potent enemy rushes in and assaults us, we would be glad to lie undiscovered, but cannot make ourselves invisible. When we are sick, we desire a speedy recovery, and yet our wishes do not bring it to pass.

The case is the same with our wealth and possessions too; for these are owing to a world of fortunate accidents, that contribute to our getting them and to as many unfortunate accidents, that conspire to deprive us of them; accidents too mighty for us to struggle with, or to prevent.

Reputation and fame, are no more in our power, than riches: for, though by the management of ourselves, we give the occasions of esteem or disesteem; yet still the opinion is not ours, but theirs, that entertain it; and, when we have done all we can, we lie at their mercy, to think what they please of us. Hence it comes to pass, that some, who are profane and irreligious men at the bottom, gain the character of piety and virtue, and impose, not upon others only, but sometimes upon themselves too, with a false appearance of religion. And yet on the other hand, others who have no notions of a deity, but what are highly reverent and becoming, that never charge God with any of our frailties or imperfections, or behave themselves like men that think so of him, are mistaken by some people for infidels and atheists. And thus the reserved and temperate conversation, is despised and traduced by some, for mere senselessness and stupidity. So that the being well esteemed of is by no means in our own power, but depends upon the pleasure of those, that think well or ill of us.

Posts or authority and government cannot subsist, without inferiors to be governed, and subordinate offices to assist in governing them: and particularly in such states, as allow places to be bought and sold, and make preferment the price, not of merit, but money; there a man, that wants a purse, cannot rise, though he would never so fain. For whence we conclude, that all things of this nature are not in our own power, because they are not our works, nor such as follow upon our choice of them.

I only add one remark more here, which is, that of all the things said to be out of our power, the body is first mentioned; and that for this very good reason, because the wants of this expose us to all the rest. For money is at the bottom of all wars and contentions; and this we cannot be without; but must seek it , in order to the providing convenient food, and raiment, and supplying the necessities of the body.

The things in our own power, are in their own nature free, not capable of being countermanded or hindered; but those that are not in our power, are feeble, servile, liable to opposition, and not ours but anothers.

Comment.

After having distinguished between those things that are, and those that are not, in our own power; he proceeds, in the next place to describe the qualities proper to each of them. The former sort he tells us, are free, because it is not in the power of any other thing or person, either to compel us to them, or to keep us back form them. Nor is the management, and the enjoyment of them, at anybody’s disposal but our own; for this is the true notion of freedom, to govern oneself as one pleases, and to be under the command and direction of no other whatsoever. But the things out of our power, which are subject to be given or withheld, it is not we, but they are masters of them, in whose power it is to communicate them to us, or keep them from us; and therefore these are not free, but servile, and at the pleasure of others.

So again, those things are self-sufficient, and consequently firm and strong; but these that depend upon the assistance of another, are weak and indigent.

Again, those cannot be countermanded, (as being in a man’s own power;) for who can pretend to correct my opinions, and compel me to such or such particular notions? Who is able to put a restraint upon my desires or my aversions? But now the things that are not in our power, are so contrived, as to depend upon the inclinations of other people, and we may have them, or lose them, as they please: and accordingly these are subject to many hindrances and disappointments, so as either never to be at all, or to be destroyed again when they have been; never to be put into my hands, or to be snatched away from me, after that I am possessed of them.

Once more, it is evident, that the things in our power, are our own, because they are our actions; and this consideration gives us the greatest propriety in them that can be: but those that depend upon the pleasure of anybody else, are properly anothers. From whence we must infer, that every kind of good or evil, which respects the things in our power, is properly ours; as for instance, true or false apprehensions and opinions, regular or irregular desires, and the like: these are the things, that make a man happy or unhappy. But for the things out of our power, they are none of ours: those that relate to the body, belong not to the man, strictly speaking, but only to our shell, and our instrument of action. But if we talk of a little reputation, an empty and popular applause, alas! This is something much more remote, and consequently of little or no concern at all to us.

Remember then, that if you mistake those things for free, which nature hath made servile; and fancy that your own, which is indeed another’s; you shall be sure to meet with many hindrances and disappointments, much trouble, and great distractions, and be continually finding fault both with God and man. But if you take things right, as they really are, looking upon no more to be your own than indeed is so; and all that to be another’s, which really belongs to him; nobody shall ever be able to put any constraint upon you, nobody shall check or disappoint you; you shall accuse nobody, shall complain of nothing, shall never do anything unwillingly, shall receive harm from nobody, shall have no enemy; for no man will be able to do you any prejudice.

Comment.

He had told us before, what was, and what was not in our own power, and described the qualities peculiar to both sorts, and what relation they bear to us: that the things in our power are properly ours; that those out of our power, are another’s. And now he advises, that men would manage themselves, suitably to the nature of these things, and not be guilty of perverse and ridiculous absurdities, with regard to them. For this is the true foundation of all the happiness, or the wretchedness, of our lives. The succeeding well in our attempts, attaining to the good we aim at, and restraining all the mischief that could befall us, makes us happy. The being disappointed in our hopes, missing our ends and advantages, or the falling into mischiefs and inconveniences, are the things that make us miserable. But now, if your happiness consists in regular desires, and just aversions, and these desires and aversions are in our own power; we must seek our happiness here, that we may be sure to find it; and to find that happiness, which is properly ours, and peculiar to us. (And we shall be sure to find it; for how is it possible we should not, when the regulation of our desires and aversions, depends entirely upon ourselves?)

On the other hand, if we place our affections and desires upon things not in our power, and expect to find our happiness in such; this double misfortune must needs follow upon it: One way the disappointment is unavoidable, that, though we should prove successful, and obtain what we are so fond of, yet still these things are not what we take them for, nor can we meet with that, which is proper our happiness in them. But besides, it is agreeable to all the reason in the world, to believe, that generally we must needs be disappointed of the things themselves. For how should it be otherwise, when a man sets his heart upon that which is another’s, as if it were his own; and when he must depend upon other persons and accidents, whether he shall ever obtain it or no?

Now the natural consequences of such disappointments are, the being interrupted, and having all our measures broken, and a world of grief and remorse, when we find our pains have been employed to no purpose, and that we are engaged in wrongs courses. For, as pleasure and joy are the effects of good success, the accomplishing what we wish, and being delivered from what we dread; so, when we are overtaken by the mischiefs we feared, and defeated in our endeavors after that we desired, we presently fall into trouble and discontent, and complain of everyone that we think contributed to our misfortune, and spare neither men, nor sometimes providence, and God himself.

Besides, there is another mischief comes of this. For by being so tenderly affected for things that are not in our power, we lose sometimes those that are; and he that deprives us of what he could take away, robs us of what he hath no power to take from us; viz. Regular and moderate desire and aversions. But if we be disposed and affected as we ought, and make a true distinction between what is ours, and what is not; if we settle our affections, and bestow our care, not upon things which belong to another, but upon our own, our proper happiness, and what falls within the compass of our own power; that is, upon the entertaining such desires and aversions, as are agreeable to reason and nature; then we may rest secure, that we shall never be annoyed by any constraint or compulsion, any disappointment or hindrance; but shall have the sole government, and entire disposal, of such desires and aversion. And if so, then we shall have no occasion of grief or remorse: for that can happen but in two cases, either the missing of what we wished, or the falling into what we feared, and would fain have avoided. Now we can never be frustrated in our desires, nor ever be damaged by any inconvenience we fear, provided we will but make those things our care, which are in our own power. Consequently, we can never live in awe and dread of any man; for the reason, why we fear anybody, is because he may do us some prejudice, or some way obstruct our advantage. But no man alive hath it in his power to offer violence to our desires and aversions; and these are the things, in which the man who lives according to the dictates of right reason, places his happiness. At this rate, we can have no enemy neither, for he is accounted our enemy, that does us mischief; but nobody can do this to a man who is out of the power of all mankind to hurt him: By the same reason, such a person will accuse no man, complain of nothing, nor ever do anything against his will. So that the life of this man is untainted with perturbation and sensual pleasure, must needs be above all grief, and all fear, absolutely free, and exquisitely happy.

And here we may observe farther, how excellently well he proves the life of a wise and good man, to be not only the best and most for ones advantage, but the pleasantest and most for one’s satisfaction too. For, as Plato tells us, every creature does, by natural instinct, endeavor after pleasure, and run away from pain. Now some pleasures attend those things, that are truly good and advantageous to us; and others, those that are prejudicial and hurtful. And this makes it necessary to take good heed what choice we make, that so we may embrace and pursue, and accustom ourselves to, the enjoyment of such pleasures only, as may be beneficial to us. Temperance, (for example,) is really more delightful to a virtuous man, than extravagance and licentiousness are to the dissolute. This needs no other proof than that many debauchees leave their loose way of living, and turn sober, when they consider, and come to a better sense of things. But there are no instances to be produced, of any temperate persons, who proceed upon wise and reasonable considerations, that ever abandoned themselves to debauchery and Excess. Now if this way of living had not more than ordinary pleasure in it, men would never choose it with so much eagerness and satisfaction, And, that such a virtuous life as this, must needs be more easy and pleasant, Epictetus demonstrates, from its being free and uncontrolled, above checks and contradictions, above hindrances and disappointments, but depending and doing all upon the dictates of one’s own mind: and thus those happy men live, who place all their good and evil in their own actions, and the use of that liberty and power, which nature hath given them.

Since therefore the Advantages, you propose to yourself, are so valuable, remember, that you out not to content yourself with a cold and moderate pursuit of them; but that some things must be wholly laid aside, and others you must be content to suspend for awhile. But if you will needs be grasping at both, and expect to compass these, and at the same time attain unto honors and riches too; there will be great hazard of your losing the latter, by pursuing the former; Or if no so; yet you will be sure to find yourself frustrated in all that can make you free and happy, while you pursue the latter.

Comment.

Having directed us, what it is we are to expect happiness from, and how desirable the life of such persons must needs be, who depend not upon external enjoyments, and things out of their power for it, but place it in their own natural liberty, and what falls within the compass of that: that such a life is above all molestation and control, safe from the assaults of any ill accident, not only advantageous, but easy and delightful too, the good it desires never deceiving, the evil it declines never overtaking, but in one word, exquisitely happy, and divinely blest; he now proceeds to excite in his reader, a zeal worthy of such mighty expectations; and tells him, that he must not look upon this as a business by the by, while his main design and care is for something else; but that his pains and his affection must be so entirely devoted to this one thing, as not to admit of anything besides, into a partnership with it.

The external enjoyments of the world then must fit so loose about his heart, that, as many of them as are inconsistent with a virtuous conversation, and the rules of right reason, (such as excess and sensual pleasure, and sordid wealth, and power, and ambition,) must be absolutely discarded. It being impossible, that any man, who makes these his concern, should, at the same time preserve his own freedom, and innocence, and wisdom. But as for such others of them, as may be no obstructions to the soul’s good, provided they be managed with discretion; such as a decent dwelling, a competent equipage, the satisfactions of marriage, the care of continuing a good family, the exercise of just authority, and some degree of solicitude and pains for the providing all necessary supports: these, and all the rest of the like nature, he advises his scholars to supersede, for some convenient time at least. And that for very good reason; it being necessary, that they who would be truly and eminently good, should make the exercise of virtue their whole business and constant study, and suffer no other thing whatsoever to divert them from it.

Whoever proposes to himself, not merely to be popular, and impose upon the world with a dissembled virtue, but to answer the character of a sincere and truly good man, must take care of two things. First, he must attain to such a degree of wisdom, as may enable him to distinguish, between what will really make for his advantage, and what will turn to his prejudice: and then secondly, he must keep under his brutish appetites, that they may never revolt, nor rebel against reason; but may be so ready and observant to it, as to move, only at such times, and in such proportions, and toward such objects, as the reasonable soul shall limit and prescribe to them. For men are betrayed into vice two ways. Either for want of the understanding being sufficiently enlightened, when we do not discern what is good and proper to be done; or else, through the ungovernableness of the affections and sensual appetites; when, though the mind hath a notion, though but a weak and imperfect one, of what ought to be done, yet the passions mutiny and make head, usurp a power that belongs not to them, and overrule the calm judgment of sober reason. Thus the Tragedian introduces Medea, complaining of the impotence of her mind, when about to murder her children;

Remorse and sense of guilt draw back my soul,
But stronger passion does her powers control;
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun.

It is necessary then, in order to enjoy the world, so as to maintain one’s own virtue and innocence, that a man provide himself with a competent degree of knowledge and prudence, and reduce his appetites to moderation and obedience. And when he engages in business and conversation, that he be sure to do it cautiously and seasonable, and to put on this impenetrable armor. For this reason, Epictetus is urgent with his young beginners to suspend even those things, that are consistent with virtue, for awhile; till time and practice have confirmed their good habits, and qualified them to use the world with safety and discretion. For, as it is rashness and folly to go into the field unarmed; so it is, to engage with the world, till a man hath fortified himself with temper and prudence.

But he acquaints us farther; that, for those, who as yet are but raw and inexperienced in virtue, to employ themselves in business and worldly care, is not only inconvenient and hazardous, but ridiculous and vain, and to no manner of purpose. They, that place their desires and their aversions upon such things as are out of a man’s power, must needs fail of prudence and moderation, and cannot have inclinations and aversions grounded upon, and governed by, right reason, which are the only things that make men free, and easy, and happy. For they must of necessity live in subjection to their wild and brutish passions, which lord it over them, like so many cruel master, or enraged tyrants. They must also live perpetually in a slavish fear of all those men, in whose power it is, either to gratify their hopes, or to obstruct and defeat them; who can intercept the good they wish, or inflict the ills they fear; lest they should exert this power to their prejudice.

Besides all this, when our care and concern is laid out upon the seeming good things without us, it exposes us to disappointments in our true happiness, by taking off our care from those things that are more properly ours. For they, who divide their desires and endeavors between both, do neither make a just distinction between those things that are, and those that are not, really good; nor do they express a becoming concern, for that which is their own peculiar happiness; nor bestow the pains about it that it deserves: and till they do so, it is impossible they should attain to it. For the most part therefore, they fall short of those external advantages they propose to themselves, because they do not apply their minds to these entirely, but now and then are diverted by desires and endeavors after their true and proper happiness; and out of a secret shame and consciousness, that this requires their care, fall into such perplexities and distractions, as restrain and stop their career, and will not suffer them to do nor to endure, everything that is necessary for obtaining the false good they chiefly pursue.

Now, though such a divided life as this, must be acknowledged to be less vicious, than that which addicts itself wholly to the world, without any check or interruption at all; yet it cannot but be exceeding troublesome and uneasy; much more so indeed, than that of the worldling. For it is one continual labor in vain, ever striving to reconcile contradictions, full of perpetual inconsistencies and remorses, dislike of ones own actions, and eternal self-condemnation. So that it must needs be infinitely painful and detestable.

But it is worth our taking notice, that Epictetus, upon these occasions, does frequently in the following discourses, admonish and awaken us with a Remember. The reason of which is, that he addresses himself to the rational soul; which, though it be naturally and essentially endued with just ideas of things, and hath an inbred faculty of discerning and adhering to truth, yet finds but too often, that this eye of reason is darkened, hath dim and confused representations of things imposed upon it, by the material principle, to which it is united; and by this means is betrayed into ignorance and forgetfulness, the true cause of all its miscarriages and all its miseries. So that, considered in these circumstances, it stands in need of a continual monitor to rouse it into thought and remembrance.

But when he says, that a man who proposes to himself advantages so valuable, ought not to be content with a moderate prosecution of them; this expression is not to be understood, as we take it, when used to distinguish between moderation and excess, but is intended here of the defect, and signifies a supine neglect, and cold indifference. For where our happiness and our all is at stake, there, as Pindar expresses himself,

Distress and danger should our courage fire, Move generous thought, and brave resolves inspire.

When therefore any frightful and discouraging imagination assaults you, harden yourself, and meet it boldly, with this reflection, that it is only our apprehension of things, and not the real nature of the things themselves. Then bring it to the test, and examine it by such rules of morality as you are masters of; but especially by this most material distinction, of things that are, or are not, in our power. And if, upon enquiry, it be found one of the latter sort, remember, that it is what you are not at all concerned in, and slight it accordingly.

Comment.

He had told us, that the man, who proposes to himself the attainment of virtue and happiness, must be constant and indefatigable, and not suffer the world, or any of its temptations, to seduce or draw him off from the pursuit of it. But since, even they, who do make these things their study and care, are yet subject to frequent fancies and apprehensions: some that put them upon desiring some of those external advantages, and others that terrify them with calamities of that kind; he informs us here, how to manage such apprehensions, so as to receive no inconvenience from them. And these apprehensions he calls frightful and discouraging; because they are extravagant and unreasonable and embitter one’s life with a world of terrors and troubles, by the excess and irregularity of their motions.

In the following discourses, he advises more at large, not to be hurried away, and immediately transported with any imagination. Whether it tend to hope or fear; and here he says much the same thing in fewer words; that a man ought to harden and set himself against it, and disarm it of all its force, by this consideration, that it is but a fancy of our own, and no more. Now our fancies, we know, do sometimes give us the representations of things as they really are, as in things that are indeed pleasant and beneficial; and sometimes they delude us with wild inconsistencies, gaudy vanities, and empty dreams. But the strength of these representations depends upon the impressions, which they make in our minds. And this is exceedingly weakened, by making that single consideration habitual to us. That there is very often a wide difference, between the things themselves, and the representations of them to us: for, when once we are thus fixed, no violence they can use, will be able to jostle out our reason, or pervert our judgment; which he tells us, as soon as we have allayed the heat of the imagination, and made our minds quiet and calm, should be presently employed, in a nice examination of the idea represented to us.

Now there are several rules to try it by: some taken from the nature of these ideas themselves, and the things they represent; as, whether they be such objects as tend to the good of the mind, or whether they concern our bodies, or our fortunes only: whether they contribute to any real advantage, or whether pleasure is the only thing they can pretend to: whether what they propose be feasible, or not; there is likewise another method, which proceeds upon the judgment of wise and unwise men, and the concern they express for them; but especially, upon the judgment and determinations of Almighty God. For that, which God himself, and wise and good men have approved of, everyone that consults the safety and happiness of his soul, must needs be convinced, will challenge his greatest care and concern; as on the contrary, whatever they dislike and condemn, ought by all means to be detested and avoided. And no man yet ever arrived to that degree of folly, or was so far blinded by passion and lust, as to persuade himself, that injustice, and luxury, and excess, are things well-pleasing to God.

But though there are many rules which may be serviceable to us, in distinguishing between the several ideas and the things they represent; yet there is one peculiar to men, considered as men; and which is of general use upon all occasions. And this depends upon the distinction of things that are, and things that are not in our own power. For if the object that presents itself, as a thing inviting our desire, or provoking our aversion, be out of our own disposal; the ready course to be taken, is, to satisfy ourselves, and to dismiss it with this answer, that this is no part of our concern. For it is impossible for anything to be strictly good or evil to us, which is not within our own power; because the freedom of the will is the true specific difference of human nature. The very being of a creature thus qualified, necessarily infers this prerogative, that all its good, and all its evil, shall depend merely upon its own choice.

Remember, that the thing, which recommends any desire, is a promise and prospect of obtaining the object you are in pursuit of; as on the contrary, the thing, which your aversion aims at, and proposes to you, is the escaping the evil you fear. And in these cases, he, that is balked of his desires, is an unfortunate man; and he, that is overtaken by the mischief he declines, is a miserable man. But now, if you confine your aversions to those evils only, which are at the disposal of your own will; you can be never overtaken by any calamity you would decline; but if you extend them to such things, as sickness, or poverty, or death, you will of necessity be miserable.

Let your aversions then be taken off from all things out of your own power, and transferred to such things as are contrary to nature, within your own power. And as for desires, lay them for the present, wholly aside: for if you fix them upon things out of your power, you are sure to be unsuccessful; and if you would restrain them to fit and proper objects, such as come within it, know this is not come to your turn yet. Let your mind therefore go no farther than the mere tendencies and propensions, to moderate and use these gently, gradually, and cautiously.

Comment.

This now follows in a direct method, from what went before, and is, as it were, a demonstration of the truth of the last chapter: where we were told, that our apprehensions and ideas of things desirable must be regulated by that necessary distinction of what is, and what is not within our own power. The observation of this rule would be sure to make us successful and happy, and the neglect of it unfortunate and wretched. To this purpose, his first business is, to explain, what sort of persons we use to esteem lucky or unlucky; and he tells us, that the end our aversions propose to themselves, is, not to fall into the mischief we endeavor to decline; so that in this case, the missing our object is fortunate; as on the contrary, it is unfortunate, in cases of desire, when we do not get our object. And the misfortune opposite to good success is, when the thing we would avoid does happen to us; for here we get our object indeed, but then this getting is to our prejudice, and what we might much better have been without.

When he hath set these matters in a true light, then he proceeds thus. If you take care to make those things only, the objects of your aversions, which are contrary to nature, and within the compass of your own choice, as intemperance for example, and injustice, and the like; you can never be overtaken by anything you fear, because in these matters you may be sure to escape if you please; and consequently, you are sure never to be unfortunate. But if, instead of these you pitch upon sickness, or poverty, or any of those things that are out of your own disposal; you must needs fall into calamitous circumstances sometimes, because it cannot depend upon yourself, whether you shall be delivered from these or not. So again for desire, that man cannot secure himself against frequent disappointments, who fixes upon objects out of his own power. But if our desires and our aversions be confined to matters within our own power and choice; then it will not be possible for us to be balked in our hopes, or overtaken by our fears, but happiness and success will attend us continually.

The substance and connection of all which, in short, lies here. He that extends his desires and his aversions, to things out of the disposal of his own will, very frequently misses his aim, falls short in his hopes, and is overtaken by his fears; and he must needs do so, because these things depend not on himself, upon others. Now such a one is confessed to be an unsuccessful and unfortunate person, and therefore wretched and miserable.

But it is worth our notice, how Epictetus imitates Socrates’ way of arguing upon this occasion, and accommodates himself to his hearers, so as, by descending to their notions, to raise them up higher to something better and more perfect. For, that happiness consists in obtaining men’s wishes and desires, and in escaping the mischiefs and dangers they fear, is the general notion men have of it; and thus far men of all persuasions, and the most distant tempers and conversations, agree. But then herein they differ, that they do not employ their desires and aversions alike. For the wise and virtuous pursue such objects only, as are really profitable and good, and avoid only the truly mischievous and substantial evils; and this they do, by the free guidance of their reason, and the due government of their passions; for the brutish appetites in them are so subdued, so disciplined by acts of obedience to the judgment, that they do not so much as think anything pleasant but what reason hath approved, and found to be so. But the generality of mankind, partly for want of duly improving their judgments, and partly from their brutish affections being kept in perpetual commotion and disorder, distinguish the objects of their desire, by no other mark than pleasure; without examining, whether this pleasure be such as makes for their true advantage, or not: and these men often hit upon very impure and insincere pleasures; such as carry a mixture and allay of pain along with them. For, in truth, they are not really and properly pleasures, but only the empty shadows and false resemblances of pleasure. Yet still, as was said before, all mankind are agreed in the general, that prosperity and success consist in obtaining the good things we wish, and keeping off the evils we fear. So that even the sensual and most vicious men may convince themselves from this discourse, that the true way never to be disappointed in their desires, or overtaken by their fears, is, to agree, that those things which are within our power, are the only good and proper objects of desire; and that the evils in our own power are the only noxious and destructive, and proper objects of fear and hatred. So it is plain, that they, who fix upon things without their power, must needs fall short very frequently of their hopes, and lose what they desire, and endure what they fear: and this is what even vicious persons acknowledge to be a great misfortune.

Let then, says he, your aversions be taken off from all things out of your own power, and transferred to such things as are contrary to nature, within your power. For if you place them upon sickness, or poverty, or the like, you must unavoidably be unfortunate, because these are things not in your power to escape. For, though we can contribute considerably towards the avoiding of them, yet the thing is not wholly and absolutely in ourselves; but it will depend upon various other circumstances and accidents, whether our endeavors shall succeed, or not. But, if we would follow his advice, take off your fears from these things, and put them upon those within our own choice, which are prejudicial and against nature: if, for instance, we would make it our care to avoid erroneous opinions, and false apprehensions of things, and whatever else can be any obstruction to a good conversation, and such a life, as reason and nature have made suitable to our character; we should never be oppressed with any of the calamities we fear, because it is in our own power absolutely to avoid these things. For nothing more than our own aversions and resolutions is requisite to the doing this effectually.

All here is sufficiently plain, and needs no enlargement; but that which follows hath something of difficulty in it. For what can be his meaning in that advice, that all desire should for the present be wholly laid aside? There is a manifest reason, why we should discharge all those desires, that concern things without our power; because this evidently makes for our advantage, both in regard of the disappointments and perpetual uneasinesses, which this course delivers us from; and also in consideration of the things themselves, which, though we should suppose no such troubles and disappointments attending them, are yet not capable of bringing us any real advantage, nor that, which is the proper happiness of a man.

But what shall we say to his forbidding the desire, even of those good things, which come within the disposal of our own wills? The reason he gives is this, because you are not yet come to this. But if you were come to it, there would then be no farther occasion for desire; for this is no other than a motion of the mind desiring, by which it reaches forward to what it is not yet come to. And this seems to cut off all desire in general: for how is it possible to obtain any good, without first desiring it? Especially, if (as hath been formerly shown) the good and happiness of a man consist, not so much in actions, and the effecting what he would, as in the entertaining such desires and aversions, as are agreeable to nature and reason; what ground can there be for suspending all our desires, and utterly forbidding us for a while to entertain any at all? Or how can we imagine it possible, for a man to live void of all desire? I add, that this looks like a direct contradiction to what went before, when in the 4th chapter he gave this advice, since therefore the advantages you propose to yourself are so exceeding valuable, remember, that you ought not to content yourself with a cold and moderate pursuit of them. For by that pursuit he did not understand any bodily motion, but the eagerness of the soul, by which, in the act of desiring, she moves towards, and makes after the object. And again, how can we suppose any affections and propensions without desire? For the order of things infers a necessity, before there can be any such affections and propensions of the soul.

In answer to these objections, it may be replied, that Epictetus here addresses himself to young beginners in philosophy; for whom it cannot be safe to indulge any desires at all, till they be first competently informed, what are the objects which they ought to fix upon. And so that these affections and propensions of the soul are to be understood, only of those first motions to or from its objects, which, the Stoics contend, are always antecedent to desire and aversions.

Or if he directs his discourse to men already instructed; then we must not interpret the words as they seem to sound; nor may we suppose, that he intends to cut off all desire of the good things in our power, absolutely speaking; but only to restrain the vehemence and eagerness of that aversion and desire, which in a moderate degree he is content to allow. For you see, that he advises in the very same place, to make use of our propensions and affections of the soul gently, gradually, and cautiously. For we must necessarily move, towards the object of your desires, and from that which is our aversion; but our desires and aversions are antecedent to such motions to and from the object, and do produce them, as causes do their proper effects.

Again, when he advised before, that men would not content themselves with a cold and moderate pursuit of such valuable advantages, it was no part of his intention, to recommend an eager and violent desire; but rather, that we should be fixed and resolved in this prosecution, as to satisfy ourselves in doing what he adds himself immediately after, the abandoning some enjoyments for all together, and the suspending of others for some convenient time.

Now a vehement degree in any of these things, either the propensities of the mind, or the desires and aversions of it, is with great reason condemned; because of the ill consequences it is apt to have, when men shoot beyond the mark through an excess of desire, and attempt things above their strength. For this usually tends to the weakening of the soul, as much as overstraining injures the body. And this is an inconvenience, which many have found experimentally from the immoderate violence and heat of action, which men fond of exercise, and eager in it, are most unseasonably guilty of. For there are but very few persons of such a constitution, either in body or mind, as to be able, all on the sudden, to change from a bad state to a sound and good one. Diogenes indeed, and Crates, and Zeno, and such eminent lights as these, might be so happy; but for the generality of people, their alterations are gradual and slow; they fall by little and little, and they recover themselves so too; and this is such a condition, as nature hath appointed for us, with regard to the soul, as well as the body. For gentle methods are commonly more likely to hold, and a more safe way of proceeding. These keep the soul from spending its strength too fast, and put some checks upon its forwardness; which is the true way, both of preserving, and by degrees, though but slow ones, of confirming and increasing, the vigor of it. This is the true reason, why we are advised to put a restraint upon the affections of the soul, to move leisurely and gradually, and with much coolness and caution. That is, to slacken the reins by little and little; and not to let loose our desires and our aversions, nor give them their full range immediately. For the man, who from a dissolute and headstrong course of life, would bring himself to the contrary habits of sobriety and strict discipline, must not presently leap to the distant extreme, from luxury and excess, to abstemiousness and fasting; but he must advance by steps, and be satisfied at first, with abating somewhat of his former extravagance. For what the author of the Golden Verses hath observed, is very considerable upon these occasions.

The rash use force, and with soft pleasures fight;
The wise retreat, and save themselves by flight.

Thus it is in matters of learning and knowledge; young students must admit the idea’s of things warily, and not take every appearance of truth for an uncontestable axiom; that so, if upon a second view, there be occasion to alter their judgments, it may be done with greater readiness and ease, when their minds are not too strongly possessed with their first notions.

Once more, Epictetus advises his scholars to move leisurely and gradually to objects of both kinds; but now, if so much caution and coldness be necessary, why does he allow our aversions, any more than our desires? For he bids us take off our aversions from those prejudicial things that are not in our power, and bend them against those that are; and yet at the same time he prohibits all manner of desire, and, for some time, will not permit us to indulge that at all.

One probable account of this may be taken from the nature and condition of men, who are beginning to reform. The first step towards a good life is to throw off all the venom and corruption of a bad one; and till the breast has discharged itself of this, no nourishment can be had from any principles of virtue infused into it. What the great Hippocrates has most excellently observed concerning our bodies, is much more truly applicable to our souls: that so long as a man continues full of gross and noxious humors, the nourishment he receives, does not feed him, so much as his distemper. For the vicious principles, which had taken possession, corrupt all the good ones that are put to them. Sometimes they make us disrelish them, as unpleasant; sometime dread and avoid them, as hurtful and injurious to us; sometimes condemn them as evil, and reject them as impossible to be complied with. And all this while, the disease gathers more strength, and grows upon us, by bringing us to a contempt of better principles, after a pretence of having tried, and found them defective. Thus at last it becomes incurable, and will not so much as suffer us to admit of any arguments or actions, that might advance us in virtue, but produces in us a loathing of all those remedies, that contribute to our recovery. Just as in the jaundice, when the vitiated palate thinks honey bitter, a man nauseates it presently, and will never endure to taste honey after, in order to the removing that prejudice. Thus the aversions are allowed in young beginners, because the method of their cure requires it; and the first step towards a reformation, is, by growing into a dislike of vice, to put themselves into a condition of receiving virtuous principles and good instructions.

This discourse is also excellently well suited to such persons, in regard it shows them the right way to liberty, and security, and an easy mind, that so their lives may be pleasant and sweet to them, which indeed is the very thing all creatures aim at. Now, though an absolute freedom from passion, and a conversation in all points agreeable to the rules of decency, and nature, be the proper excellency, which we ought to desire and pursue; yet beginners must satisfy themselves with less; and think they do very well, when they can abate of their passions, and reduce them within some reasonable bounds, though they cannot gain an absolute mastery over them. They must expect to relapse sometimes, and are not so much to be condemned for falling, as encouraged and commended, when they rise again. Such as these therefore are not yet arrived to the perfection of those things which should be the object of their desires: and this I take to be the meaning of that expression, This is not come to your turn yet; i.e. the imperfect state you are in, hath not qualified you for such desires: for when we aim at something that exceeds our capacity, and find we cannot reach it, then troubles and disappointments, and a sinking of our spirits, and sometimes a desponding mind, follow upon it. Men violently bent upon things above their strength, slight such as are proportionable to it, and think them vile and despicable; because they judge of them by way of comparison with greater. And yet it is by small beginnings only, that we can ever arrive at great perfection’s; and before we can cope with things above us, we must practice upon less, and make ourselves masters of such as we are a match for.

Remember upon all occasions, to reflect with yourself, of what nature and condition those things are which minister delight, or are useful and beneficial to you, or which you have a natural tenderness for: and that these reflections may answer their end, make them familiar, by beginning at the slightest and most inconsiderable things, and so rising to the higher and more valuable. For instance; if you are fond of an earthen cup, consider it is but earthenware, and you cannot be much troubled or surprised, when ever it happens to be broke. And if you be fond of a child or a wife, consider, that they are human, that is of a frail and mortal nature; and thus your surprise and concern will be the less, when death takes either of them away from you.

Comment.

After the distinction between things within, and things out of our own power; and an advertisement how we ought to esteem each of them: that the former sort only must be looked upon as our own, the latter as foreign and in the disposal of others; he had told us, how we ought to be affected with regard to those that fall within our power: to make such of them as are contrary to reason and nature, the object of our aversion, and to suspend all manner of desire, for some convenient time; (which advice, in all probability, is grounded upon the arguments already mentioned.) But since it is impossible to live without having something of interest in and much dealing with those things that are not at the disposal of our own will; he now informs us how to converse with them, and tells us, that, though they be not at our own pleasure, yet they may not be able to create to us any manner of disquiet and confusion.

And here he takes notice of three sorts of these external things; first, such as can only pretend to please, without profiting us at all; these are such, as minister to our entertainment and delight. The second, such as are beneficial and convenient for use. And the third, such as we have a particular affection for, by reason of some natural relation they bear to us, and which we are tender of, without any regard to our own benefit and convenience. And this is a very just and true distinction. For pleasure, and profit, and natural affection, are the three things that engage our hearts; and it is always upon one or other of these accounts, that we are fond of this mortal state, and reconciled to all the hardships and miseries attending it.

Now the entertainments and diversions that men are delighted with, differ, according to their several tempers and inclinations: some find their pleasures in plays: others in sports and exercises, in races, or tilting or the like. Others in dancing, or tricks of legerdemain, in jugglers, or zany’s, or buffoons. Some again in curious sights; either the beauties of nature, as the colors of peacocks and other find birds, pleasant flowers, and gardens, and meadows, and groves: or in the perfection of art, as pictures, and statues, and buildings, or the exquisite workmanship of other professions. Some value those of the eye less, and find greater satisfaction in the entertainment of the ear, as the harmony of vocal and instrumental music; and, which is a pleasure more generous and improving, in eloquence or history, and sometimes in fables and romances. For that these contribute much to our delight, is plain, from that fondness, which all of us naturally have to stories, from our very childhood.

The second sort, which tend to our use and benefit, are likewise various. Some contribute to the improvement of the mind, as a skillful master, virtuous conversation, instructive books, and the like: some are serviceable to the body, as meats and clothes, and exercise: some regard only our fortune, as places of authority, lands and tenements, money and goods, and the like.

But the third sort we have a natural tenderness for, without any prospect of advantage from them; and these are recommended to our affection, by some common tie of nature and affinity between us. In this relation stand our wives and children, our kindred, our friends, and our countrymen.

Now the advice given, with respect to every one of these, is, that we would sit down, and seriously consider, what the nature and condition of each of them is; what hazards and uncertainties they are liable to; that they are subject to corruption and decay; that the enjoyment of them is short, and not to be depended upon; and that none of them are absolutely at our own pleasure and disposal. For such a reflection as this, which suggests to us continually, what their nature and circumstances are, is no other, than a meditating upon the loss of them. And such a meditation would render the thing easy and familiar to us; and when any accident of this kind befalls us, would prevent all that surprise and confusion, and extravagant concern, which the unthinking part of the world are oppressed with upon such occasions. And indeed the case here is the very same with several other instances, wherein we find, that the troubles and pains of body and mind both, though very grievous at first and in themselves, yet grow much more supportable by custom and use.

To this purpose, the next words give us very good counsel; to begin at first with little matters; nay, not only with little, but with the least and most inconsiderable; for according to the old Greek Proverb, The potter must try a cup, before he can make a jar. He that undertakes the biggest first, is presently worsted, proves unsuccessful, spends his strength to no purpose, and gives out in utter despair. But he that sets out leisurely, and begins with small and easy trials, grows stronger and bolder with his good success, and by gaining ground upon what was a match for him before, advances more surely, and conquers still greater and greater difficulties. Thus a man used to four meals a day, if he attempts all on the sudden to fast a whole day together, will find the change too violent for his body to bear, and never get through the trouble and pain of it. And this force upon nature is the reason, why such warm undertakings are generally of dangerous consequence, only just for a spurt, and away. But if such a one abates of his former indulgence by degrees; first takes himself down to three meals, and, when this proportion is grown habitual and easy, then allows himself but two: thus it will be very feasible; and afterwards he may, without any great trouble, come to content himself with one; and such a change will be infinitely more safe, and more likely to continue.

Apply this now to the instance before us: we should consider those things that are dear to us, upon the account of their usefulness and convenience; and from such among them as are of least consequence and value, acquaint ourselves with the condition of all the rest; as that their nature is corruptible, the enjoyment of them uncertain, and the loss of them what we have reason to expect every moment. As in an earthen pot, which can have nothing but its usefulness, to incline us to value it; we are to remember, it is of a brittle substance, and dashed to pieces with the least accident. And what can be a poorer and more contemptible instance than this, to begin with? Yet mean and trifling as it is, a man that lays a good foundation here, and rises by degrees to matters of greater concern, shall be able at last to encounter his affection for a child; and not only in mere speculation, and empty formal words to say it, but to make his whole behavior speak, and all the dispositions of his mind to carry the impression of this wise and seasonable reflection, that what he thus dotes upon, is but a man; if a man, consequently a brittle and frail creature, and such as he is in a continual possibility of losing. And if his mind be once thoroughly possessed with this consideration, and confirmed with an habitual recollection of it; whenever that child is snatched away from him, he is prepared for the stroke, and cannot be surprised and confounded with passion, as if some strange or new thing had happened to him.

And here it is very well worth a remark, what abundance of wisdom and artifice there is in this management of things. For by it we get a mastery, over those, that are not by nature within our power, and deal with them as though they were. The saving my child from death, is a thing not in my power; but a due consideration of his being liable to it, the rendering this consideration familiar and easy to me, and living in expectation of it, as a thing no less natural and likely than his life, the not being disturbed if he does die, and the behaving myself with such evenness of temper, as if he were not dead: these are in my power; and which is a great deal more, they do in effect bring the very accident of his death, which is of itself not so, within it too. For a man thus composed may say, My child is not dead to me; or, to speak more truly and properly, Though he be dead, yet I am still the same man, as if he were still alive.

I only observe farther, that the instances produced here by Epictetus, are fetched from the two latter sorts of things; such as are useful and beneficial to us, and such as nature, and affinity gives us a more than ordinary tenderness for: and these were prudently chosen, with an intent, I presume to intimate, that those things, which are for entertainment and diversion, and can only pretend to please without profiting us, are so very mean and despicable, as to deserve no consideration at all, for persons who have made any tolerable advances in the study of wisdom and virtue.

In every action you undertake, consider first with yourself, and weigh well the nature and circumstances of the thing: nay, though it be so slight a one, as going to bathe; represent to yourself before-hand, what accidents you may probably meet with. That in the bath there is often rude behavior, dashing of water, jostling for passage, scurrilous language, and stealing. And when you have done thus, you may with more security go about the thing. To which purpose you will do well to say thus to yourself; my design is to bathe, but so it is too, to preserve my mind and reason undisturbed, while I do so. For after such wise preparation as this, if anything intervenes to obstruct your washing, this reflection will presently rise upon it: well, but this was not the only thing I proposed; that which I chiefly intended, was to keep my mind and reason undisturbed; and this I am sure can never be done, if I suffer every accident to discompose me.

Comment.

After giving instructions concerning our behavior with regard to the things of the world, which use to engage our affections, either upon the account of the delight they give us, the convenience they are of, or the relation they bear to us; the next step in order, is to consider our actions. For these too have a great many circumstances, out of our power, and must therefore be undertaken with great prudence, and much preparation. The rule then that he lays down is this; that you take a just account of the nature of each action, and fairly compute the several accidents, which, though they do not necessarily, yet may possibly attend it; and to expect, that these are very likely to happen in your own case particularly. Now the fruit of this will be, either not to be surprised, if such difficulties do encounter you; or, if the thing be not of absolute necessity, to decline the hazard, by letting it alone. For the great Cato reckons this for one of the errors of his life, that he chose to take a voyage once by sea, to a place, whither he might have traveled by land. In such a case, though no misfortune should actually happen, yet if there be a likelihood of any such accident, and if it does frequently happen to others, it is an act of imprudence, to make choice of such a course, without being driven to it by necessity: and this answer, that many people do the same, and come off safe, will not bear us out, in choosing a more dangerous passage, when it is left to our own liberty to take a safer.

But now, where there is absolute occasion for our running some risk; as if we have necessary affairs to dispatch, which require a voyage to or from some island; or if we are obliged to stand by a father or a friend, in some hazardous or unlucky business; or if we are called upon to take up arms in defense of our country: then there is no thought of declining the matter wholly, and our method must be to undertake it upon due deliberation; and to lay together the several accidental obstructions wont to arise in such a case: that so by this timely recollection, we may render them easy and familiar, and not be disturbed, when any of them come upon us. A man thus prepared, hath this double advantage: if they do not happen, his joy is the greater, because having so fully possessed himself with an expectation that they would, this is almost a deliverance to him. And if they do, then he hath the advantage of being provided against them, and so can encounter them, without much danger or disorder.

Now against this counsel I expect it will be urged, first, that if everyone should take such pains, to represent all the crosses and disappointments, which may probably happen to them in every undertaking, the effect of this would be cowardice and idleness: for men would find themselves utterly discouraged from attempting anything at all. Besides, nothing can be more grievous to any man, than to have the image of his troubles and misfortunes constantly before his eyes; and especially, if the affair he be engaged in continues any time, to converse all that while with this ghastly apparition. Therefore, Demosthenes’ advice seems much more prudent and eligible; to be sure, that what you attempt, be good and virtuous; then to hope well, and, whatever the event be, to bear it generously and decently.

But by the objector’s good leave, if by hoping well, Demosthenes means a good confidence, grounded upon our undertaking things virtuous and commendable, and resting satisfied in this consideration, whatever the event be; he says the very same thing with Epictetus. Only indeed he gives us no direction, which way we shall attain to this generous temper of mind, which may enable us to entertain the dispensations of providence decently, though they should happen to be harsh and severe. But Epictetus declares himself of the opinion, that the method to qualify ourselves for so doing, is, to take a true prospect of the whole affair, and represent to ourselves, that it is fit for us to undertake, and that there may be several circumstances attending it, which though they may not be agreeable to us, are yet very tolerable, and such as we may reconcile ourselves to, upon these two accounts. First, because the action itself, which brings them upon us, is virtuous, and becoming; and then, because whenever they happen, they are no more than what were expected, and provided against before.

But, if by hoping well, Demosthenes intends a firm persuasion of safety and success; then I think it is very difficult, nay, I may venture to say, it is impossible to conceive, how a man thus persuaded, can ever bear disappointments and crosses with moderation and temper. For when a man falls from what he was in imagination, the shock is the same, as if he were so in reality. And neither the body, nor the mind, are of a constitution to bear sudden and violent alterations, without great disturbance. You see, the very weather, and seasons of the year, though they change gently and by degrees, yet put our humors into a great ferment, and generally occasion many distempers among us; and the more violent this change at anytime is, the greater in proportion the disorders that follow upon it, must needs be.

Nor is it true, that a just computation of all the difficulties and dangers wont to attend our actions, must needs condemn men to slavish fears, and an inactive life. For if our reason convinces us, that what we attempt, is good for the advantage of the soul, or (which is all one) of the man, (for that soul is the man,) the desire of that good must needs inspire us with courage and vigor, not withstanding all the discouraging dangers that attend it. And the consideration of this danger will be very much softened, by this most rational and virtuous persuasion, that we ought to persevere in such an undertaking, though at the expense of some hazard and inconvenience. For all danger and detriment, of either body or fortunes, is not properly an evil to us; nor shall we think it ours, if we be wise. But the benefit of choosing a virtuous action, and persisting in it, in despite of all dangers and discouragements, is our own good; for it is the good of our souls, which are truly and properly ourselves. And this advantage is considerable enough to be set against many troubles, and losses, and banishments, and disgraces: nay, it is sufficient, not only to be set against, but to overbalance them all; because the good of this does so very much exceed the evil that seems to be in them. For if a man thinks himself obliged to choose a greater good, when attended only with a lessor evil; how is it possible, that he should be discouraged and uneasy, under the expectation of some cross accidents, which sometimes follow upon virtuous actions, when the good of these actions is truly and properly his own, but the evil of those accidents, is only something remote, and not his? Especially too, when this is by no means a superficial and notional distinction, but such a real difference, as his whole practice and behavior shows him sensible of. This is the very reason, why men of virtue and wisdom have made it their glory, to choose good with the greatest dangers; why they have done it cheerfully, and sacrificed their very lives for it; and accounted their sufferings upon such an account, matter of the greatest joy to them. So did Menoecius particularly, and all those other heroes, famed in story, who have voluntarily devoted themselves, and died for the service and sake of their country.

Now Epictetus couches his advice here, under one of the meanest and most insignificant instances that can be; partly to illustrate what he says, by an example taken from common conversation, and so to gain the assent of his hearers, to the truth of what he would infer from it; and partly too, as himself had told us before, to put his scholars upon exercising their virtue in lesser trials; that so from trivial matters, they may rise by degrees to others of greater difficulty and consequence. And the success of this method hath been already shown to depend upon reasons, which need not be repeated. But his design is also, that we should be careful to apply these things to affairs of the moment, in proportion as the hazards of them are more discouraging; and in those occasions, always to take our measures from the nature of the thing, whether it be agreeable to decency and our duty, and what those hardships are that usually accompany it. Then, after such prospect taken, to settle our minds in this resolution, that if the worst happens, we will bear it with temper and moderation. For this is the way to maintain the character of virtuous and rational men; this must let us into all the advantages of doing well, and defend us from all that perplexity into which unexpected events commonly betray men. For he that is troubled and discomposed, and fancies himself unhappy in what he suffers , it is plain, either had not sufficiently considered what he went about, before he engaged in it; or if he did foresee all this, then his disorder is the effect of effeminacy and cowardice, which makes him give out, and repent his undertaking. But both these failings are highly criminal, and contrary to the rules of nature, and right reason.

That which gives men disquiet, and makes their lives miserable, is not the nature of things as they really are, but the notions and opinions, which they form to themselves concerning them. Thus, even death, which we look upon as the most perplexing and dreadful, hath in truth, nothing of terror in it: for if it had, Socrates must needs have feared it, as much as we. But our opinion that it is evil, is the only thing that makes it so. Therefore, whenever we meet with obstructions and perplexities, or fall into troubles and disorders, let us be just, and not lay the blame where it is not due; but impute it all to our own selves, and our prejudicate Opinions.

Comment.

We were told before, what means would be proper and effectual, for preserving an even and composed temper of mind, in the midst of all those hardships which frequently attend our best actions: that this might be accomplished by the power of premeditation; by representing these inconveniences, are sure to happen; and when we had made the worst of it, convincing ourselves, that such actions were worth our undertaking, even with all those encumbrances. Now that rule proceeded upon the work of our own minds; but here is another, fetched from the nature of the things themselves, and the consideration of those difficulties and dangers which use to give us disturbance. And here he changes his method, and confirms what he says, not by some slight and trivial instances, as he did before, but by death the greatest and most confounding one to human nature, that can be. For if the argument holds good in this case, it must needs be a great deal stronger with regard to all the rest; since those, by our own confession, are less dismal and affrighting.

To this purpose then he tells us, that those things which we apprehend to be evil, and which for that reason discompose our spirits, because we think ourselves miserable under them, are really neither evil themselves, nor the true causes of any evil to us: quite contrary; that all our troubles and perplexities are entirely owing to the opinions, which we ourselves have entertained and cherished concerning them.

For proof of this determination, he produces that, which, of all the things that we apprehend as evil, is confessedly the greatest and most terrible; and shows, that even death, nay a violent and untimely death, is yet no evil. The argument he uses is short indeed, but very full and conclusive; the method and consequence whereof lies thus. Whatever is evil in its own nature, must needs appear so to all mankind; more especially to those, whose apprehensions are most improved, and most suitable to the real nature of things. Thus all things naturally hot or cold, or beautiful, or the like, appear such to all people in their right senses. But death does not appear evil to all people, nor are they universally agreed in this notion of it. (For Socrates did not think it so; he chose to undergo it, when it was in his power to have declined it; he endured it with all the calmness and composure imaginable; he spent that whole day in which he died, with his friends, demonstrating to them the existence and immortality of the soul, and the efficacy of a philosophical life, in order to virtue and reformation.) From all which premises, this conclusion evidently follows; that death is not in its own nature evil: and consequently, that our fears and troubles concerning it do not come from the thing itself, but from a disquieting persuasion of it being evil, with which we possess and disorder our own minds.

And such a persuasion there may very well be, though there be no ground for it in the nature of the thing. For honey is not bitter, and yet men in the jaundice, who have their palates vitiated, from a constant bitterness occasioned by the overflowing of the gall, are prejudiced against it, as if it were so. Now, as the only way to bring these persons it discern tastes are they really are, is to carry off that redundance of choler, which corrupts their palate: so in this case, we must remove the distemper of the mind, correct our notions of things, and make a right judgment of what is really good and evil to us, by just distinctions between things that are, and thing that are not, in our own power; what is properly ours, and what belongs not to us. For, according to this rule, if death be none of the things in our power, it cannot be evil; and though it should be granted such, with regard to the body; yet if it does not extend to the soul, nor do any harm to that, it cannot be evil to us.

Plato indeed, or Socrates as he is introduced by Plato, goes a great deal farther, and boldly affirms, that it is good, and much to be preferred before this life that we lead in the body; and this, not only to some persons, and in some circumstances, as men may be better or worse; but in general, and without exception to all. For thus Socrates expresses himself in his Phaedon: It may possibly surprise you, and seem a strange paradox, that this should be the only accident, which is good at all times, and without any reserve; but yet so it is. In all other cases, nothing happens to a man, which, as his circumstances may alter, he might not at another time better be without: but no time, no circumstance whatsoever, can render it more for a man’s advantage to live that to die. And Plato, in his book concerning laws, speaking in his own person, delivers himself to this purpose: If I may be allowed to speak my opinion freely, it is really my judgment, that the continuation of soul and body together, ought not upon any consideration, to be rather chosen, than the separation and dissolution of them.

Now Epictetus, ‘tis true, hath drawn his argument from that which is generally esteemed the most formidable evil that we are capable of suffering: but however, since most of us, when we lie under the present smart of any calamity, straightway imagine it worse than death (for what can be more usual, than for people in pain, and very often in no great extremity of it neither, to wish for death to deliver them from it, and when reduced to poverty, to tell us, they had much rather be dead than live in want?) upon this account, we may apply Epictetus’ argument to these instances also.

As to pain, what degree of it is there so violent, which men, nay even those of low and vulgar spirits, are not content to go through, to cure a dangerous disease? They do not only endure, but chose and pay for it: they thank their physicians for putting them to torture, and look upon cutting and burning, as acts of the greatest tenderness and friendship. Now, though this makes it pretty plain, that men, who are well pleased to purchase life so dear, must needs be of the opinion, that no pain is so terrible to human nature as death; yet the principal use I would make of this observation is, to show, that men can really suffer with great patience and resolution, can harden themselves against what they count very dreadful, and meet it with a composed countenance, when once they are persuaded, that enduring it will be for their advantage. What prodigious instances of patience were the Lacedaemonian youths, who endured scourgings so barbarous, as almost to expire under the rod, and all this, merely for a little ostentation and vain-glory? Now this, it is evident, they did not out of any compulsion, but freely and cheerfully; for they offered themselves to the trial, of their own accord. And the reason why they held out so obstinately, was, not that their sense of pain was less quick and tender than that of other people, (though more hardened too than people who indulge themselves in effeminacy and ease) but because they thought it their glory and their virtue, to suffer manfully and resolutely.

For the same reason, Epictetus would tell you, that poverty is no such formidable thing neither: because he can produce the example of Crates the Theban to the contrary; who, when he disposed of all he was worth to the public, and said,

Let others keep, or mourn lost, store,
Crates’ own hands make Crates poor,

That moment put an end to his slavery; and his freedom commenced, from the time he had disburdened himself of his wealth. Now the manifest consequence of all this is, that nothing of this kind is terrible and insupportable in its own nature, as we fondly imagine. So far from it, that there may be some cases, when such things are much more eligible, and better for us: I mean, when they are converted to higher and more excellent purposes for our own selves; by tending to the advantage and improvement of the reasonable soul.

The only expedient, to retain an even temper in the midst of these accidents, is, to possess our minds with just notions of them. And the regulating of these notions is in our own power: consequently, the preventing of those disorders, that proceed from the want of such a regulation, is in our own power too. And one great advantage to persons thus disposed will be, the learning how to manage those things that are not at our disposal, as though they were. For if it be not in my power to prevent defamation or disgrace, the loss of my goods or my estate, affronts and violent insults upon my person; yet thus much is in my power, to possess myself with right apprehensions of these things; to consider them, not only as not evil, but sometimes the instruments and occasion of great good. Now such an opinion as this, makes it almost the same thing to a man, as if they did not happen at all; or, which is all one, makes him think himself never the worse, but sometimes the better for them, when they do. And I take it for granted, that every wise man will allow it more for our (that is, for the soul’s) honor and advantage, to have behaved ourselves gallantly under afflictions, than never to have been afflicted at all: and the greater still in proportion, is the honor and advantage gained by them. For, as to bodies that are able to bear it, the most violent motions exercise them best, and make greatest improvements of health, and strength, and activity; so the mind too must be put upon sharp trials sometimes, to qualify it for suffering gallantly, when any accident gives us an occasion. And this may be accomplished these two way: by getting a right notion of them; and, by being well prepared against them. And this is to be done, partly, by accustoming the body to hardship, which indeed is of general use, and hath enabled even ignorant and ill men to slight blows, and other pains, which we commonly think intolerable; and partly by fixing the mind in a provident forecast, and distant expectation of them. And all these things we may certainly do, if we please.

Now, if neither death nor any of those things we dread most, have anything formidable in their own nature; it is plain, neither they, nor the persons that inflict them are the cause of our trouble, but we ourselves, and our own opinions, bring this upon ourselves. When therefore the mind feels itself perplexed with grief, or fear, or any passion the blame is our own; and nothing but our opinions, are accountable for such disorders.

None but ignorant and undisciplined people tax others with their misfortunes. The young proficient blames himself; but he who is a philosopher indeed, blames neither others nor himself.

Comment.

The connection of this with what went before, is so close, that if a conjunction were added, and we read thus, For none but ignorant and undisciplined people tax other with their misfortunes, it had given a very good reason, why we should never lay our troubles, or fears, or disorders, or any other calamity we fancy ourselves in, to anything, or anybody’s charge, but our own: since this way of proceeding, he says, comes from want of being taught better. And then to this character of the ignorant and undisciplined, he adds those of one who is a beginner only in philosophy, and one who hath attained to a mastery in it.

The perfect philosopher never thinks anything, that befalls him, evil; or charges anybody with being the occasion of his misfortunes; because he lives up to the dictates of nature and reason, and is never disappointed in his pursuits and desires, nor ever overtaken with his fears.

He that is but raw and unfinished, does indeed sometimes miss of his desires, and fall into the mischiefs he would flee from, because the brutish inclinations move too strongly in him at such times. And when this happens, the first elements he learned, which taught him to distinguish things in and out of our power, teach him too, that he himself, and none but he, is the true cause of all his disappointments, and all his disasters. And the occasion of them all was his mistaking the things without us, and placing a man’s proper good and evil in them.

But you will say, perhaps, since this young philosopher knows, that our own proper good and evil depends upon our own power and choice, (and the accusing himself implies that he knows thus much) how comes it to pass, that he takes wrong measures, and renders himself liable to this blame? Probably, because the knowledge of good and evil is the first step to be made toward virtue; this being the proper act of reason: but the brutish appetites do not always presently submit to reason, nor suffer themselves to be easily reduced and tempered by it; and especially, where it happens, as it does very often, that reason is negligent and sluggish, and the irrational part active, and perpetually in motion; by which means the passions gather strength, and usurp and absolute dominion. This was the case of her in the play:

Remorse and sense of guilt pull back my soul,
But stronger passion does her powers control;
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun.

So that for some time it is pretty tolerable, if reason can work upon the passions, and either draw them by force, or charm and win them over some softer way: for, when this is done, then the knowledge of the intelligent part is more clear and instructive, and proceeds without any distraction at all. No wonder therefore, if men but little trained in philosophy make some false steps while their passions are not yet totally subdued, and their reason does not operate in its full strength. And when they do so, they accuse themselves only, as having admitted that distinction of things in and out of our own power, though as yet they seem to have but an imperfect notion of it.

But they that are ignorant, and absolutely untaught, must needs commit a world of errors, both because of that violent agitation which their passions are continually in, and of the ignorance of their rational part, which hath not yet learned to distinguish real good and evil, from what is so in appearance only: nor does it take them off from brutality, not so much as in thought only. By brutality I mean such low and mean notions, as persuade us, that our body is properly ourselves, and our nature; or, which is yet worse, when we think our riches so, as the covetous do. Now while we continue thus ignorant, there are several accounts to be given for our doing amiss: we do it, because we think all our good and evil consist in things without us; and, not being at all sensible, what is properly the happiness or unhappiness of human nature, or whence it proceeds, we fall foul upon other people; and fancy, that they, who obstruct or deprive us of those external advantages we so eagerly pursue, or that bring upon us any of the calamities we would avoid, are the real causes of all our misery. Though in truth, neither those external advantages which we call good, nor those calamities we call evil, are what we take them for; but, as circumstances are sometimes ordered, may prove the direct contrary. For our folly in this case is just like that of silly boys, who cannot endure their masters, but think them their worst enemies, and the cause of a world of misery; but value and love those as their friends, indeed, that invite them to play and pleasure.

Thus Epictetus hath given a short but exact character of these three sorts of persons. The perfect philosophers are guilty of no miscarriages; for their understanding is sufficiently accomplished to direct them, and the irrational part readily submits to those directions. So that there is nothing but harmony and compliance, and consequently, they have nobody to lay any misery to the charge of; for indeed, they cannot labor under anything that is truly and properly misery. They cause none to themselves; for this would be a contradiction to the perfection of their wisdom and virtue: and nothing else causes them any, for they do not suppose any external causes capable of doing it.

The ignorant and untaught err in both theses respects. Neither their reason, nor their passions, are rightly dispose. They lay all their unhappiness to others, upon an erroneous imagination, that it proceeds from things without us. And indeed, it is easy and pleasant, and fit for ignorant wretches, to shuffle off their own faults from themselves, and throw them upon other people.

The young proficient, who hath attained to the first principles of wisdom, though he be guilty of some miscarriages, and falls now and then into evil, yet he understands wherein it consists, and from whence it is derived, and what it was that first gave birth to it; and therefore he lays it at the right door. And these marks are so distinguishing, that no man, who makes a wise use of them, can be in danger of confounding these three classes of men, the accomplished philosopher, the rude and untaught, and the young proficient.

This metaphor is so much the more warrantable and pertinent, for the resemblance, which education bears to the management of ourselves: for this is properly the training up of a child, under the care and correction of a master. Our sensual part is the child in us; and , like all other children, does not know its own good, and is violently bent upon pleasure and pastime. The master that has the care of it, is reason; this fashions our desires, prescribes them their bounds, reduces and restrains them, and directs them to that, which is best for them. So that the ignorant and untaught live the life of a child left to himself, run giddily on, are perpetually in fault, as being heady and heedless, and minding nothing, but the gratifying of their own inclinations; and so these men never think themselves to blame. The young proficients have their master at hand, correcting and instruction them; and the child in them is pretty towardly, and begins to submit to rules. So that if these men are at any time in the wrong, they are presently sensible who hath been to blame, and accuse nobody but the offender himself. But the perfect and accomplished philosophers are such, whose master keeps a constant eye upon them, and hath conquered the child’s stubborn and perverse spirit. So that now he is corrected and improved, and hath attained to the perfection he was intended for; that is, the being observant to the master, and absolutely at his direction. For the proper virtue of a child is this readiness to receive and to obey instructions.

Suffer not yourself to be exalted with any excellence not properly your own. If your horse should be transported with his beauty, and boast of it, this would be tolerable in him: but when you value yourself, and brag of his beauty, consider, that you are not proud of an excellence in yourself, but in your horse. You will say then, what is a man’s own? I answer, a right use of his ideas. And when you manage these as you ought, then you may be allowed to please yourself. For this is being exalted with some excellence that is properly yours.

Comment.

The foregoing chapters acquainted us, what method must be taken to deliver ourselves from grief, and fear and confusion, when any calamitous circumstances from without threaten our peace: this directs us, how to preserve an even and composed mind, when any external advantages would shake our moderation. Now these advantages he calls None of Ours, in agreement with what he said at the beginning of his book, that the things out of our power are feeble, and servile, and liable to opposition, and not ours, but another’s. And upon the being conscious to ourselves of any such seeming advantages, he forbids us to be exalted.

By this exaltation, I understand here, not any insolence, or haughtiness, or arrogance of humor, as the word is sometimes used in an ill sense; (for sure we are not allowed to be exalted in such a manner as this, upon the account of any advantage whatsoever, though never so real a good, though never so truly our own) but, as I apprehend, this exaltation signifies the being satisfied with ourselves; and imagining, that we are better or happier upon the account of some additional good, which now we have, but had not formerly. So that he says, we must not think ourselves ever the better, for that good which belongs not to us; nor imagine, that another’s excellence adds anything to ours. For every good belongs to his own proper subject, in which it subsists, and whose quality it is; and no other can pretend to any right in it. The goodness, for instance, of a horse, belongs to the horse himself, and not to us; for if he be bold, and fleet, and manageable, he hath indeed the proper excellencies of a horse; but which way does this make for our commendation? How is this the excellence of a man? Or what augmentation can the virtue or the happiness of his owner receive from it?

Yes, you’ll say, the excellence of any possessions, redounds to the possessor, and the goodness of the instruments, to the benefit of the artificers that use them. According to the common opinion of the world, it is acknowledged they do. But pray, is the excellency of an ax, suppose, able to make him a good carpenter, who was not one before? In this case therefore we would distinguish, between the excellencies peculiar to the tool, and those peculiar to the workman, with relation to the trade he professes. The proper excellence of an ax is to carry a good edge, and to be made neat and true; this renders it fit for service, and for the work to be cut out by it: for every instrument is commended by its work. But this contributes nothing to the perfection of the carpenter; for his excellence, and proper commendation, consists in observing proportions, and rules of art; and he is judged by this, and not by the work done by him; because that may happen to fail, from some defect, either in the stuff he wrought upon, or the tools he wrought with, or twenty other accidental obstructions.

Well, but what is properly our own excellence, upon the account of which we may be admitted to look upon ourselves? As better and happier than we were before? At the beginning of this book, the first thing he mentioned of this kind, was a just and true opinion; but here he calls it a right use and management of ideas; so that opinion in that place, and ideas in this, signify one and the same thing. For we judge of things by the different representations of them to our minds, and those judgements are sometimes true, and sometimes false. Now the right management of ideas is, when what appears to us, agrees exactly with the nature of things themselves; and when we proceed upon these appearances, so that the judgments we form upon them, carry nothing in them that is false and inconsistent; as it would be if we should affirm, that intemperance is good, and temperance evil.

But the most proper sense of this use of ideas, as nature and reason direct, I look upon to be a desire of those things that are good, and an aversion and detestation of those that are evil. When we have not only a bare speculative notion, what is good and what is evil; but desire and pursue that which we think to be good, and decline and abhor that which we think to be evil. And this may very well be called our own proper excellence; because the regulation of our desire and aversions, according to reason and nature, is always in our own power; though the exerting these, and making them effectual by outward acts, is not always so.

And yet it is highly probable, that Epictetus may intend something farther still, by this right use of ideas; which is, that our practice and behavior should express a constant conformity, to these true opinions, and regular desires: that we should not think it sufficient to declare it our sense, that temperance is a virtue, but should be actually temperate, and make all our actions speak the conceptions of our minds, and the regularity of our desires upon this occasion: not to satisfy ourselves with the empty commendations of justice, no nor with a few faint and feeble desires of this virtue; (for this is what follows of course, and whatever we apprehend as desirable too at the same time,) and yet allow ourselves in acts of injustice. This is the case of impotent and incontinent persons; they desire virtue, but that desire is overborne by a stronger, which inclines to pleasure. Their reason discerns what should be done, though not so clearly and powerfully as it might and ought, and for a while stands up in its vindication; and the virtuous desires and aversions, which are rightly disposed, but weak and confused, strike in, and take its part; but presently the brutish inclinations, like an impetuous torrent, bear down all before them, distract and divert the man from his cooler purposes, and drive him to what is most agreeable to his present heat. This is just the description I before of Medea, when the tragedian brings her in with these words, which I have so oft had occasion to repeat.

Remorse and sense of guilt pull back my soul,
But stronger passion does her powers control;
With rage transported, I push boldly on,
And see the precipice I cannot shun.

So then, it is by no means sufficient, that a man’s judgment is rightly informed, and that his desires be virtuously inclined in many instances, unless he be all of a piece; unless he takes care, the commendableness of his practice holds correspondence with the truth of his opinions. This is the right and best use of our ideas, and this we may think our own peculiar excellence; but no external advantage can ever be so. For, as the particular commendation of a carpenter, considered as a carpenter, is his working according to the rules of art and proportion: so the peculiar excellence of a philosopher, depends upon the ideas and affections of the mind being just and good; and the exerting this excellence is the calling these out into act, and demonstrating them to the world by a virtuous conversation.

As when a ship lies in port, and you go out for fresh water, you happen to meet with shellfish, or salads upon the coast; this is an accidental advantage, and beside your main purpose; but still you thoughts must be fixed upon the ship, and it should be your great care to attend the master’s call: that so, when he gives you the signal, you may quit all readily, and not be bound, and carried away by violence, as sheep must be served: so here in the affairs of the world, if it be your fortune, instead of fish or salad, to light upon a beloved wife or child, which give an agreeable relish to life, none of these matters must be suffered to detain you. But when the master gives you the signal, all must be left, and the best of your way made to the Ship. But if you are in years, be sure you never stir far from the ship, for fear you be out of the way, when the master calls.

Comment.

He hath by a short but ingenious discourse, endeavored to draw us off from the pursuit of those external advantages, upon which we are used to set so great a value, by showing us, that all these things are neither in our disposal, nor any such happiness as can be properly called ours. But now, lest this argument of his should be so far mistaken, or wrested beyond its true purpose, as to be thought to debar us of marriage, and other innocent enjoyments and satisfactions, and absolutely to forbid us the having any thing at all to do with the world and its advantages; he acquaints us in the next place, what things those are, which he allows the enjoyment of, and with what limitations we ought to enjoy them, viz. That we should leave ourselves and them at the disposal of God, and resign all this to His Providence, without reserve; and then, in such an humble dependence as this is, to use them moderately, and to value them as they deserve: That our concern is due in the greatest measure, to the necessities of life, and such as human nature cannot subsist without; which Epictetus here hath expressed, by a ship’s watering: meaning by this, food, and raiment, and dwelling, and such other things, as they, who look no farther than just needful supplies, satisfy themselves withal. These things therefore are allowed to be a part of our care, provided it be but in the second place, and with subordination to a higher good.

As for such things, as are not absolutely necessary, but only the conveniences of life, as a wife, children, estate, and the like, these he calls accidental advantages, and beside our main purpose; and therefore they are allowed the third place in our esteem. When a bountiful providence bestows these upon us, we are to receive and use them seasonably; but be sure to keep our mind ever fixed upon our chief and most desirable good. But as for pleasures, and riches, and honors, and preferments, and such other impertinencies, he will not so much as admit these into the number of his accidental advantages, but supposes them inconsistent with a strictly rational and virtuous conversation. For these are what, he told us before, must be wholly laid aside: but the enjoyments of marriage, and such other conveniences of human nature, he advised to have suspended for a time only, while men were young and inexperienced in the study of virtue, that so their first beginnings might meet with no interruption, but take good root, and fasten upon the mind. And for this reason, when men have made some progress, and are arrived to such a degree of perfection, as may qualify them to use these with safety; then he allows them to enjoy them, provided still it be in the quality of an additional advantage, and not a principal design.

Now the allusion he hath made use of for this purpose, seems to be exceeding proper and pertinent; for the old moralists in their fables, have commonly chosen the sea, to represent the mortal state. The roughness of its waves, its frequent ebbs and floods, the tempestuous weather to which it lies exposed, and the suffocating all that sink into it, do abundantly justify the metaphor. By the ship may be meant, that which unites the soul to the body, and brings her into this mortal state, whether it be fate, or fortune, or whatever else you will please to call it. The master of this ship is God, who governs and disposes all things, and commands the souls into their respective bodies, according as His own Infinite Wisdom and tender care sees fit, and in proportion to their own deserts. The bringing this ship into port is the assigning to these souls their proper station, and country, and family; by virtue whereof, some are born in one climate and nation, and some in another: some are descended from great and noble families, and others meanly born; some of virtuous or healthful parents, and others of vicious and diseased ones. The going out for fresh water, is the care we take for supplying the necessities of nature, without which it is impossible that life should be supported: and indeed, what is there in this state of mortality of such general use? What that we can so little want, both for the making of our meat and drink, as water? What is intended by gathering salads, or shellfish by the by, himself hath very elegantly informed us, by instancing in a wife, and an estate; and acquainting us withal, that when providence is pleased to bestow them upon us, we are not to refuse them; but so neither are we to receive or value them, as either the principal and most desirable goods, or indeed such as are properly ours. For the first and chief good is that disposition of mind, which is ever obedient to the master of the ship, ever attentive to his call. Nor must we lay ourselves out upon these matters, as we were allowed to do upon water, or necessary things; but look upon them as additional comforts only, and such as help to make Life easy and convenient. Now if this master calls us to the ship, and gives order for our returning back to himself, and to that which is our true, our native country: make the best of your way, (says he) to the ship; leave every thing that relates to this mortal life, be ready to obey his first orders, and do not loiter, or hanker upon any thing behind, for fear, when nature cuts the cable, your inclinations still be left on shore. Go you must, that’s most certain; and therefore it is that he tells you, if you do not follow readily and cheerfully, and quit all of your own accord, you shall be tied neck and heels, like sheep, and thrown under the hatches; that is, you shall be forced, and torn away, and trust out of the world, like those foolish and sheepish wretches, who die with cowardice, and reluctancy, and unmanly lamentations of themselves and their friends.

But there is yet another caution observable here, which is, that the person, to whom the enjoyment of marriage, and such others as are the additional advantages of life, are allowed, must be sure to indulge himself in such enjoyment of them only, as is seasonable; that so, when he hath taken as much of these as is fit for him, he may remove without any delay, and readily comply with the master’s first call. But if a man be old, and draws near his end; he will do best to keep himself wholly disengaged, and entertain himself with nothing so much, as the constant thought and expectation of the ship’s sailing, and his quitting the shore; for fear, when the time of his return comes, and the master calls, he be retarded by his burden, and fastened down to land; and be forced, with a great deal of unbecoming concern, to leave a young wife, and pretty children behind. And surely an old man, upon all accounts, hath much greater reason to prepare for leaving the world, than to entertain himself with vain projects of settling in it.

Trouble not yourself 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.

Comment.

The last chapter instructed us, what external advantages those are, which we are allowed to partake of, and how we must govern ourselves with regard to them; that those, which are necessary for the support of human nature, must be used and valued accordingly; those, which are convenient as additional comforts, and only things by the bye; but that neither the one, nor the other, must be made our chief aim. Now, after the enjoyment of these things allowed under such limitations, he proceeds here to direct us, by what means we may use and enjoy them, without any prejudice or passion, so as to avoid disquiet, and live always free and easy. The great obstruction to this is a perpetual fretfulness of temper, and repining at whatever happens to us. And this can never be cured, but by one of these two ways: either, that providence should order all things agreeable to our humor; or that we should bring our own humor to be satisfied with whatever providence thinks fit to order. The former of these, that providence should appoint everything just as we should have it, is neither possible for us to bring about, nor would it at all times be for our advantage, if we could; for it often happens, that we are most eager and fond of those things, which are prejudicial to us. This comes to pass, either upon the account of our ignorance, because we do not see the nature and consequences of them; or the predominancy of our passions, which puts a bias upon the judgment, and inclines reason to comply with the sensual and brutish part. So that in effect, there is but one way left to be easy; and that is, to be of so equal, so resigned a disposition, as to sit down well content with whatever providence sees good to appoint.

Now this may possibly be censured by some, as an exceedingly hard, and indeed an impracticable precept; and that no man can be in good earnest, when he pretends to persuade people, that they ought to be well pleased, things should be as they are: for what man of common sense can be so, when he observes the public and general calamities of mankind? Is it possible, that such dire effects of providence, as earthquakes, and inundations, and fires, and famines, and pestilences, and murrains of cattle, and blasting of fruit; or that the wicked and barbarous insolencies men are guilty of to one another, the ravaging whole countries, burning and sacking of cities, the imprisonments and slaveries, the murders and robberies, the rapine, the violence, and unbounded lust, that have driven them past all sense of God and religion, and utterly destroyed morality, and virtue, and friendship, and mutual faith, and have so utterly ruined several arts and sciences, which it hath cost many ages to contrive and bring to maturity, that we have nothing left of some, but the empty names; and of others, which ought to be looked upon as the especial gifts, and immediate discoveries of heaven, for the benefit and support of mankind, (such as physick, and architecture, and the like,) we have no more than some faint shadows, and imperfect images remaining; how, I say, is it possible, that these, and many other calamities, and monstrous wickednesses, which the present age is perfectly overrun with, should be a matter of pleasure and contentment? And who is there, that can take satisfaction, shall I say, in seeing, or bearing a part in them? nay, who can so much as endure the very hearing them named, except he be first forsaken of all humanity, and all goodness?

Such doubts as these, which give sometimes great perplexity, not only to the weak and common man, but to the thinking and more accomplished persons, will receive satisfaction; if either Epictetus be allowed to have any authority in what he says, or the great Governor of all things be granted to order the world in wisdom and justice. For our piety, and our advantage, will be sure to terminate in the same object; as Epictetus himself will assure us more fully hereafter.

In answer therefore to the objection, I say, that if all these deplorable accidents, which the objector hath given so tragical an account of, be really evil, and such as they are generally esteemed to be, it is not possible, that any good man should, without forfeiting that character, be pleased to have them so; nor could the providence of Almighty God be acquitted from the imputation of being the cause of evil to us; nor could men ever prevail with themselves, to honor, or love, or pay adoration to such a Deity. For let men pretend what they will, no arguments in the world are able to produce these affections, for the author of misery and mischief. It is a principle rooted in every creature, as Epictetus will show you, to hate, and decline, and run away from all things that are prejudicial to it themselves, or the cause of other things being so to it. But whatever is for its benefit, and productive of its happiness, these things it naturally courts and admires.

Thus much is certain, upon supposition that these accidents are really evil. But now, if, notwithstanding our dreadful apprehensions of them, they be in truth no such matter, but rather good; as conducing very much to some mighty benefit, and directed to excellent purposes; and that, if any evil does indeed attend these dispensations, this is what the nature of the things is no way concerned in, but such as is wholly owing to the desires and strong impulses of our own minds: in this case, it will by no means follow, that he, who is well enough pleased all things should be just as they are, is either a vicious or a barbarous man; nor can we, with any color, charge the evil we find in the world upon these occasions, to Almighty God, but must acquit His Providence, and acknowledge it to be infinitely wise and good.

Now the things, in which all these seeming evils are, and from whence they spring, must be considered in this condition of mortality, as undergoing the vicissitudes of generation and corruption, either as bodies or souls. And of these souls again, some are irrational, of the same date and duration with the body; and having none, or but very little peculiar excellence of their own, their office and power extends no farther, than merely the animating those bodies to which they belong; and therefore all their motions depend upon, and proceed in conjunction with, their respective bodies. But other souls are rational: these have an inward principle of motion, and an essence and excellence distinct from their bodies; they move by their own choice, and are absolute in the disposing their own desires and inclinations. Now the bodies belonging to these, being in their own nature purely mechanical, and deriving their essence from external causes, are subject to the motions of heavenly bodies, which influence their generation and corruption, and the various alterations through which they pass.

But if we come nearer, and descend to the immediate and material causes; then they are moved and affected by a mutual operation upon one another. For this is agreeable to all the reason in the world, that temporary and corruptible things, should depend upon the eternal for their subsistence, and be obedient to their influences: mechanical beings, upon such, as are endued with a faculty of self-motion; and those that are contained within others, upon the ambients that contain them. This is the constant method and rule of nature, that these should follow the other superior to them, as having no principle of motion in themselves, no faculty of choosing, no power of determining the desires or affections of their nature; no merit or demerit from choice or actions, but are only good or evil, in respect and proportion to their causes. Just as the shadows of bodies do not choose their sides or shapes as they please; but are necessarily determined by their causes and their circumstances, and are never the better, or the worse, for those determinations.

Now as to bodies; whatever changes these undergo, this variety can be no ill to them, whether they be compound or simple bodies. First of all, because it is what the condition of their nature hath made them liable to. They are bound in laws irrevocable, which they may neither control nor resist; and consequently can receive no harm, by whatever they impose, as having no power to do otherwise. For ignorance would be no evil, nor the most brutish and extravagant conversation, nor would the rational soul be one whit the worse for either; had not nature endured her with a faculty of discerning and understanding the truth, and given her a power over the brutish appetites, by which she is enabled to subdue and overrule them.

Secondly, because the compound bodies, which consist of simple ingredients, or contrary qualities, such as are perpetually struggling with, and usurping upon one another, by diseases, and excess of humors, are sometimes strengthened by throwing off the corrupt parts; and sometimes by decay and death, are delivered from all that trouble and pain, and mutual strife of contrary qualities in them. And in this case, each of the simples is restored to its primitive mass, and recovers itself from that weakness, which was occasioned by this opposition of contrary humors. For, as each of the ingredients in composition made some impression upon its opposite, so it likewise continually received some from it, and suffered by it. But now, when the simples are changed, according to the changes of the contrary qualities, they return again to their own primitive being. Thus water evaporates into the air from whence it came, and air is turned into fire, from whence it originally was. And I cannot suppose any evil in things of this kind, though inundations, or fire, or any the most violent changes in nature, should be the effect of these inequalities, in the elements which compose the universe; or though pestilences and earthquakes should destroy and dash in pieces the bodies compounded of those elements.

But farther, if these things contribute to some good effect; if by the infinite revolutions of matter and motion, the corruption of one things produces the generation of another; how then can the corruption of any single part be evil, when at the same time it conduces to the benefit of the whole? This is a rule, which nature itself hath made evident to us, and every particular creature practices it, in slighting the advantage of its parts, in comparison of the good of the whole.

Thus, when any noxious humors are redundant in the body, nature throws them off from the heart, or bowels, or lungs, or brain, and all the parts that are principally concerned in the functions of life, into the hands, the feet, the skin, or any of the extreme parts; she raises blisters, and causes putrefactions, to remove the humors, and is content to corrupt some parts, for the preservation of the whole. This is sometimes, I say, the work of nature; and when it is not so, we endeavor to supply it by art. For when physicians and surgeons draw sores, and cup, and scarify, and sear, and cut off limbs, to save our lives; they only imitate nature, and do that by medicines, which she was not able to do without them. And no wise man blames these methods, nor thinks those pains evil, which he suffers upon such good accounts.

From hence it appears, that if bodies subsisted by themselves alone, and whatever they endured had no relation at all to the souls of men, none of the different changes they undergo, would be esteemed evil: so that, if there be any real cause for this complaint, it must be upon the account of the souls in those bodies.

Now some of these are irrational, perfectly of a piece with the bodies, and no more than the animating part of them. Their essence, their power and their operations subsist in, and depend entirely upon, and are in inseparable conjunction with, the body. But others are rational, of a nature superior to the body, and distinct from it, acting upon a free principle of motion and choice, a principle of their own, by which they dispose their own inclinations and desires, as they see fit themselves. (All which hath been abundantly proved already.)

Now irrational souls have not the least sign or footstep of free-agency, no manner of tendency or appetite from within, but are only the principle of life and activity to the body. Consequently their being was ordained by the same fate, and is subject to the same casualties with the body: they have no dignity, no merit or demerit of their own; but are more or less valuable, according to the dignity of their respective bodies; and are as irresistibly disposed to their motions, as shadows are to their substances.

It is true indeed, this is more peculiarly the condition of plants, which have only a vegetative soul, and want the sensitive one, and are not exercised with those motions, which accompany the desires, and vehement impulses of the soul. But beasts are in a higher form, and are endued with this also. And therefore the souls of brutes, being considered in a middle state, in a capacity superior to vegetables and yet inferior to such as nature hath made free agents, must in all reason have some resemblance, some footsteps at least, of appetites and affections arising from within; and such as shall be moved, sometimes in agreement to the nature of its particular species, and sometimes contrary to it. As when a lion hath that courage and fury agreeable to its kind; and this is sometimes more, and sometimes less, than it ought it be. And in this respect, the dignities and degrees of such souls are different; and their lives are so too, according to the disposition which fate and nature have given them; which is such, that they are still moved mechanically, and by external impressions. For it is necessary, that whatever is placed between two extremes, should in some measure partake of each of those extremes.

But now the rational soul, which is a free agent, and hath an absolute dominion over her own desires and propensions, derives its dignity from choice; she uses the body indeed, but hath all its appetites and passions at her devotion. This soul therefore, when she makes use of the body, only as an instrument of action, and maintains her own superiority over it, is obstructed in all those operations, in which the body bears a part, by the sufferings and diseases of the body, but it is not itself at all affected with those pains. From whence it was, that the great Socrates used to say, the anguish was in the leg, but not in the mind. But if the soul contract too intimate a familiarity with the body, and grow fond of it, as if it were no longer its instrument, but a part of itself, or rather its very self; then it communicates in all its afflictions, degenerates into brute, and esteems all the extravagancies of anger and desire its own; is enslaved to them, descends to little trickings, and is eternally contriving, how to compass external objects; and, being thus corrupted and diseased, in such manner as a soul is capable of being diseased, it stands in need of physick and strong remedies, to cure these distempers. For it is a rule in application, that one contrary is cured by another. Thus, when the desire is depraved by lusciousness and pleasure, and hath conformed itself to the body too much, by the love of sensual enjoyments, and riches, and honors, and preferments, and posts of authority, and the like; there is a necessity of meeting with crosses and disappointments, that so the subsequent pain in the very same instances, may correct and chastise the excess of pleasure we formerly took in them. And this is no where more requisite, than in pains and pleasures of the body. For this is nearest to the soul, and its torments are received with a quicker and more tender sense than any other. When therefore the soul hath revolted from her supreme commander, and forsakes her own reason, abandoning herself to the body and the world, and thinking their enjoyments and their happiness her own, and by this means grows vitiated and distempered; there seems no other way left, of putting her out of conceit with these things, and poising the bias that carried her to them, (that so she may despise them, and condemn herself, and return to God and right reason again, and expect all her happiness from an obedience to these) but by making her sensible, both of the evil of her former courses, and of the smart that follows them. This only can take off the propensity of that pleasure, which she hath felt in and by them: for, so long as she continues to find this, she continues fond of, and fastened down to these enjoyments. And no nail takes faster hold, or fixes things closer, than pleasure and the allurements it brings, do the soul, to the objects that occasion it. And this is the reason why our skillful and tender physician mingles bitter with our sweets, and makes what we are fondest of, to become nauseous and painful to us; he deals with us as nurses do with suckling children, and puts wormwood and mustard upon the breast, to wean our affections, and make us loath things which are no longer convenient for us.

In such cases then, the first choices of our minds are determined to the less of two evils; they prefer death before bodily pain and afflictions, and had rather be quite out of the body, then miserable in it; a wish, which no man would ever make if he were always easy and prosperous. And thus, by degrees, we are wrought up to a hatred and aversion of present pleasure, by a prospect and dread of a much greater, and more complicated misery that attends it: at first by a principle of fear: or a man, who loves any meat or drink prejudicial to his health, and hath found by experience, that it gives him gripings, or is offensive to his stomach, is content afterwards to forbear the gratifying his plate, provided that abstinence will but secure his ease, and prevent the much more lasting pains, which that short pleasure used to bring after it. This is the case of most of us: For alas! How very few are content to forego even those pleasures, which they are satisfied ought not to be indulged, so long as they find no trouble or inconvenience from them?

Now the truth is, this abstaining from pleasure for fear of some greater pain, is not so properly the subduing or destroying our passion, as the exchanging of one passion for another. For we are willing to make a saving bargain, and barter the pleasure of enjoyment away for the pleasure of ease and security: and thus one passion rises up in succession to another. But yet this is a very good method to begin with, while we retain our silly childish dispositions; that we may grow jealous and fearful of those things, to which our inclinations lead us most; and when this distaste is once given, then, by considering their nature, and observing, that, besides their being vicious, the very uneasiness and troubles that attend them, are more exquisite, and more various, than the pleasures they afford; and so returning to reason, and finding, that our happiness is really within our own selves, and expected in vain from the delights of the body, or the advantages of the world; and thus, by degrees growing conscious of some resemblance between us and God, and reverencing his image in our souls; we choose a wise and good life; now no longer out of fear, but from them more generous principles of a virtuous and well instructed mind. For even children, when they grow wiser, come at last to decline, and to do those things out of judgment and inclination, which at first nothing but fear and the rod could have driven them to.

And this is the design of our good God, and his tender care over us; that the soul should neither cling too fast to the body and its pleasures, and the enjoyments of the world; nor yet abstain from them, when driven only by a principle of fear; but from its own free generous choice, as considering, that all our good, and all our evil, consists in our own choice, and our own aversions. So that all the healing methods of his providence are directed to no other purpose than this: to restore the soul to reason and prudence, and to the preferring a virtuous life. Just as the most eminent physicians, when they proceed to such smarting severities, as cutting and burning, and the like, do it only with a design, to reduce the body to its natural and healthful temper, and to enable the parts which were before obstructed, to perform their proper functions again. Now punishment is the best cure for wickedness; and this is the peculiar use and benefit of those calamities, which we account evils. And, as we are commonly very angry at our physicians, when they torture and put us to pain; so do men likewise generally take it ill, to have these sharper remedies of providence applied to them. But they are only the childish and effeminate, the foolish and unthinking part of the world, that do so. For whoever will give himself the trouble of making a diligent observation of himself and others, upon occasion of the several accidents that befall him; and takes notice of the dispositions of his soul; by what springs they are moved, and how they are corrected and changed, he, I make no question, will readily acknowledge, that afflictions are generally the first occasion of men conquering their inclinations, and coming up to a due contempt of the body and the world, or (as our great author expresses himself) of all those things that are out of our own power.

But, as the physick applied to our bodies is of two sorts, the one restorative, the other preservative; the one, to purge off our diseases, and correct the noxious humors by drugs of contrary qualities; the other to continue and confirm health, by convenient diet, due regimen, and moderate exercise: and as some exercises require great labor and activity, and are fit only for hardy and robust bodies: so this excellent physician of our souls does not only administer to the sick and diseased, and recover them by suffering and misfortunes; but he exercises the sound and healthful, and by so doing, adds to their strength and vigor, and renders their virtue more conspicuous; a pattern to others, and a provocations to be good. And this is but necessary; for, the souls of men, even the good and virtuous, stand in need of exercise to confirm them, no less than healthful bodies do. And Hippocrates’ maxim will hold good upon this occasion too, that motion give strength, but sloth and inactivity wastes it. The reason is plain; for, those things which are so ordered, that they are continually as perfect as nature intended them, and are continually employed in such operations, as nature appointed for them, perform these operations with great readiness and dexterity. But those that are not thus continually, must imitate and supply the want of that perpetual motion by their own practice; that so they may not forget by disuse, and find themselves at a loss, when any urgent occasion calls for the exerting their powers: for whatever is sometimes in, and at other times out of motion, confesses its own weakness, of which this vicissitude is the effect; and that weakness must be worn off, and strength acquired by action. Now all exercise consists in the same acts frequently repeated; the very same, I say, with that principle act, for the sake of which we use this exercise. Thus in the Olympic sports, the exercise used to perfect them in wrestling, is wrestling very often; and that in order to the caestus and cuffing, is the inuring themselves to blows. Thus men learn the art of war by imitating action, and engaging one party with another, when they train together: and the more lusty and strong the persons are, who perform these exercises, the more effectually does this practice attain its end. So that if any man would get a mastery over pleasure, it is necessary, whenever any entertaining objects offer themselves, to learn and practice the contempt of them; and they that would conquer pain, must use themselves to endure it; and to master our fears, we must make danger familiar to us; and to slight torments, we must imitate the patience of the noble Lacedaemonian youths, who played prizes of scourging, and exercised themselves in everything that was painful, to qualify them for it: or do, as Salust in our times did, that laid a red-hot coal upon his thigh, and blew the fire, to try how long he was able to undergo the smart. For these trials, and the principal actions they are intended to perfect us in, do not differ in nature and kind, but in degree and duration only, as these are easier and lighter, and may be desisted from at pleasure.

Since therefore Almighty God, when He disposed of men’s souls in mortal bodies, and assigned them to the condition in which we live at present, endued them with faculties capable of managing every accident, (so as to receive no injury, either from the enticing pleasures, or from the terrors and disasters of the world) and of setting the mind above them all; the same infinite Wisdom keeps those faculties in exercise, that they should not grow sluggish, and consequently feeble, and slack for want of action; and puts the soul upon many sharp conflicts, that, when there is occasion for exerting her powers, she may not be found unexpert and defective. This is it which hath made so many illustrious heroes: this made Hercules, and Theseus, and Diogenes, and Socrates, to become persons of such eminent virtue and renown. Their characters would have been little, and their excellencies lost; nor would mankind ever have known, to what wonderful perfection an exalted virtue can carry them, if there had been no such things as wild beasts and monster, tyrants and wicked oppressors, mortification, and severe abstinence, to perpetuate the memory of these worthies, and provoke the proofs of their courage and resolution, and recommend their example to posterity.

Now, I think, no man that considers the matter well, will doubt, whether afflictions do not better those that have supported them as they ought, and add infinitely to their fortitude and patience. For since we see by the instances of gladiators and the like, that use reconciles men to the most formidable dangers, and makes them a perfect sport and diversion, insomuch that they enter the list cheerfully, and play their prizes for a very small consideration: how can we imagine, that exercise should fail in matters of less difficulty, and enable men to disdain those calamities, which none esteem insupportable, but they only, who have not hardened themselves by practice? For all which we may conclude, that, when we consider afflictions, either in the quality of remedies to cure our distempers, or as trials and exercises to confirm our health and strength, they cannot be evil with respect to the soul, which receives such mighty benefit both these ways, how harsh and unpalatable so ever the application may seem. For at this rate, we must run into another intolerable absurdity, and condemn all those medicines and exercises as evil, in respect of the body; to which, though they be grievous for the present, all our recovery and all the continuance of our health is owing.

Again, whatever is done in such proportion and manner, as nature and choice both require, cannot be evil; for a due regard to this is just; and whatever is just, is good: nay, even cutting and burning are not evil to our bodies; for these bodies, considered absolutely and by themselves, are insensible, and the resolution of a compound into its simples is not in nature evil to that compound. Since then we allow, that physick and exercise, burning and binding, and lopping off of limbs, and all the tortures that men use, when they turn their own executioners, are not evil, but good; since we think, the persons, who put us to these pains for our advantage, deserve to be thanked and rewarded for it, why do we find fault with Almighty God, when He proceeds in the same method? For alas, it is not anger, nor revenge, nor injustice, nor cruelty, nor any design of tormenting us, that puts Him upon these course; but He acts with all the skill and prudent care of a physician, with the faithfulness and tenderness of a friend, with the bowels of a Father, with the kindest intentions of our greater benefit; and, to say all in one word, with all that incomprehensible love and goodness, which is anyway agreeable to the nature and perfections of a god.

Now the remedies He administers upon such occasions, are divers. Some He humbles with diseases, or poverty, or disgrace; some with the more public calamities of famines, or earthquakes, or inundations, or shipwrecks, or wars; some He cures with such medicines, as come immediately from His own hand, and others by more remote and distant ones, making men and ministers of his justice, and instruments of punishing one another. But still, if physick and the methods of cure be not evil, but good; all these, and all other remedies must be allowed to be so too, notwithstanding any uneasiness, that we may feel in the operation.

If anyone shall scruple the calling of these things good, because they are not eligible purely for their own sakes, (as all things absolutely, and truly good must be) yet at least let him forbear stigmatizing them with the name of evils, and rather call them necessary expedients, for the attaining what is truly good. In order to which, and for the sake whereof , we choose these, because that other is not to be had without them. For there is no man so sottish and senseless, as to choose amputations and searings, or any such violent remedies, for their own sakes; but yet we do it from our desire of health, which these means must be assisting to us in. And indeed, the philosophers have with great propriety styled all those things necessary expedients, which are so ordered , as to be preliminary to our good, and such as we must make use of for it. These very things then, so far as they conduce to our good, and in that respect, are themselves good. Some, as they contribute to the health of the body, and others to that of the soul, though indeed they be so in a qualified sense only, and much inferior in dignity and value to those things that are absolutely good. And it is with regard to these more excellent things, that the generality of people look upon them, and so think them comparatively evil; which yet surely is a censure too severe to be justified, if they do not only contribute, but are necessary to our happiness.

If then the objector’s arguments are sufficiently refuted; in that all things that happen are so ordained of God, as that nature and choice have both their due, and as is most beneficial to mankind; every wise man certainly will think himself obliged, to be well content things should be just as they are, (unless you will suppose him to envy the giving everything its due, and the recovering such as are distempered, and need sharp remedies,) he will most sincerely love, and honor, and adore this excellent physician, and look upon him, as the world’s great and only benefactor.

Now, that calamitous circumstances are a sort of remedies, and that the administration of proper physick, where the case requires it, is good both to the body and soul, nobody I presume will take upon him to dispute. But what course shall we take to persuade men, that this very distemper itself of soul or body, this miserable condition that renders such painful applications necessary, is good and not evil, and that the author of it is not the cause of evil to us?

To this purpose, I shall briefly recollect what was observed before, that diseases are not evil to the body itself, as being by nature made subject to them, and tending to a dissolution of the compound, resolving each of its parts, and restoring the simple elements to their proper masses; the releasing them from a strange place where they were kept in bondage, and putting an end to the perpetual combat of opposite qualities among them. Neither can the disease of the body be evil to the soul, for it hath been already shown to be its physick, and its cure: and thus experience often shows it to be. But granting, that sickness and corruption were injurious to one particular body, yet it still appears to be for the advantage of the soul that owns that body, and to the constitution of the universe in general; of the elements of which it is formed, and the infinite revolutions of matter and motion, which are therefore infinite, because the destroying of one thing becomes the production of another. Well therefore may the wise governor of all things not value a creature, which was by nature corruptible, and disregard a particular inconsiderable corruption, confined to a single instance; when the whole creation is benefited, and the better ends are served, and the eternal revolutions of things are continued and kept up by this means.

But perhaps you will say, though all this should be admitted with regard to the body, yet how shall we account for the diseases of the soul? The frail and distempered state she is in, can neither be for the good of her self that languishes under it, nor does it contribute any advantage to the creation in common. So that the author and ordainer of this state must needs be the cause of evil to her; and he that is content she should be thus depraved, and sees and suffers her sicknesses, must needs be an ill natured being; and therefore, as to this particular, the difficulty remains still the same.

Now in answer to this scruple, I beg leave to refresh your memory, with what was discoursed before, concerning the cause of evil and vice to the soul; while we were explaining Epictetus’ distinction between what is, and what is not in our own power; viz. That the good and happiness of the soul consists in prudent and regular desires and aversions; and that the evil and misery of it proceeds from such as are vicious and exorbitant. Now I hope the desires and aversions have been sufficiently proved to be in our own disposal; and if so, then we ourselves are the cause of our own vices and virtues. This is the true ground of all that commendation, which is thought due to good men, that their happiness and excellence is the effect of their own free choice; for which reason the Greeks call virtue by a name, which bears some affinity to that, which imports choosing. And for the same reason, wicked men are condemned and reproached, because they are such through their own sloth and baseness of soul, when it is in their own power to be otherwise. But now, if these matters proceeded from any external causes, this virtue or vice would be no longer choice, but blind chance, or fatal necessity. And consequently our evil and misery can, with no color of reason and justice, be charged upon Almighty God.

May we not indeed drive this argument a great deal farther, and urge, that even vice, which is properly the disease of the soul, is not positively and in all respects evil; but is itself, in some degree, necessary to the very being of virtue among men? For, as our bodies, if nature had not made them capable of sickness and infirmities, could not properly be said at any time to enjoy a state of health; because in truth, this would not be health, but a simple and fixed disposition, above the power of frailties and diseases, such as the celestial beings enjoy: so the virtues proper to human souls, such as temperance, and justice, and prudence, and all the rest of that glorious catalogue, would be no such thing, unless the soul were of such a nature, as is liable to be depraved. For at this rate she would be graced, not with the virtues of a man, but with the perfections of an angel, or a god; whose peculiar excellence it is, that they can never be seduced, or deviate into vice; but it is a quality rooted in the very nature of men, and human virtues, that they may degenerate, and be corrupted.

And in this, the exceeding goodness of God is very remarkable; that He hath ordained the dissolution of the body, which as I said, does as necessarily follow upon matter and motion, as the shadow attends upon its substance. This dissolution he hath made even a good thing, both with regard to the bodies so diseased and dissolved, (as they are restored back again to their primitive elements, and so the simples out of which they are compounded, are renewed,) and with regard to the souls that own and use them, as they are cured and made better by this means; and also to the universe in common, by reason of that infinite succession of changes and motions, which these dissolutions, as I showed before, keep continually on foot. But as for vice, the evil of the soul, and indeed the only thing, which, when well considered, proves to be evil, of this He utterly acquits Himself, and hath no part in it at all. First, because He only permits to it an additional and accidental being, and that not in the quality of evil neither, but as being itself a necessary expedient for the promoting of good. And secondly, because, even after all these limitations, it depends wholly upon the choice and determination of the soul, and can have no being at all, without our own consent and actual concurrence. For which reason it is, that all the laws, both of God and man, suffer such actions as are done involuntarily, to go unpunished.

And indeed, all evil whatsoever, is in some sense an involuntary misfortune to the soul. For the soul never chooses evil, considered as evil, but under the disguise and pretence of some good; as sometimes riches, sometimes sensual enjoyments, or honors, or preferments, and greatness. Now in such cases, the mischiefs attending these, are either wholly overlooked, or else they are lessened and stifled, by that prevalency of passion which bribes and sways the soul: so that there cannot possibly be any such thing in nature, as an absolute evil, when considered in all the circumstances of it. And that, which never had any being, may sooner be, than even this accidental being in the soul, can be entirely evil, and chosen as such.

Some perhaps may imagine, that God is the cause of evil, as having given the soul this freedom to virtue or vice, to the ill management whereof, that evil is owing. Now indeed, if the soul’s being endued with a faculty of acting freely and absolutely evil, then he who gave this faculty, must be confessed the cause of evil: but if such a power be good, a greater and more valuable good, than all the advantages of the world besides, why then should He, who hath given us the good, be, for so doing, charged with the evil? Since therefore that which is most agreeable to our nature and reason, is also most eligible and desirable, what account can be given, why anyone that is a man, and understands at all wherein the peculiar excellence of a man consists, should rather wish to be a plant, or any other irrational creature, than that which God hath made him? Though at the same time we must allow, that even plants, and other irrational beings, are good in their kind and capacity; that is, in a lower degree, and a qualified sense, and in proportion to the uses they are designed to serve.

Now, if it be in our own power to be good and happy, and we have the sole disposal of this matter, so that nothing can possibly bring our desires or our aversions, under any compulsion to act as we would not have them, or under any restraint not to act as we would have them; such a free nature, and absolute power as this, is (in my opinion) a glorious privilege, a most magnificent and royal prerogative; and the person in whom it is lodged, is thereby made a great, a happy, an arbitrary prince. But if such a soul contributes to its own deviations, and can choose whether it will so deviate or not; where can any miscarriage of that kind be laid, with any tolerable justice, but to the charge of the soul itself; which is the true origin and cause, both of its own good, and of all the deflections from it, since in and by it such deflections first began? For the Great Creator, who hath thus made it, so as to be the cause of its own ruin, did not absolutely ruin it, but only made it capable of being ruined; and yet at the same time too, utterly incapable of it, without its own consent. If therefore this volition, or consent, be an internal motion of her own, she is the sole cause of her own sin and misery.

These arguments I have insisted on the more largely; not only, because they are proper for the explaining what Epictetus hath delivered upon this occasion, but also in regard they give us a great light into what he tells us afterwards, concerning the nature of evil. For we might have made very short work of the case now before us, and needed only have given this answer to all the objections, that when Epictetus advises men to be well pleased, that things should be just as they are, he does not intend it of vice, or that which is evil to the soul; (for he could never have said, that men who are pleased with their own, or other people’s vices, are easy and happy,) but that we must restrain it to those accidents, that affect our bodies, or our fortunes. For these are things which a wise and good man will be sure to make advantage of, however they are ordered; and the more cross and difficult they are, the more still will he profit by them. And these are the things he means, which foolish and ignorant men wish may be conformable to their own wishes and desires; and not the desires and aversions themselves, in which all our good and evil consists. For they are in our own power; just what we please to make them; consequently it were most absurd and foolish, to wish they were as we would have them. But he advises, that we would forbear wishing thus of things out of our power; because this is what we cannot compass by any strength of our own, nor would it always prove for our advantage to do it, if we could: for we often are passionately desirous of what is pleasant, though at the same time it be prejudicial to us; and we as often decline what is harsh and unpalatable, though providence intend it for physick, and design our mighty benefit in the application.

Sickness is a hindrance to the body, but it does not enfeeble the mind, nor can it obstruct her freedom, unless she please herself: and lameness is a confinement to the foot, but it can put no restraint upon the will, nor make that one jot the less active. The same consideration is applicable in proportion to every accident of human life. For you will find, that though these may prove obstructions to something else, yet they cannot or need not, ever be so to you.

Comment.

He had told us immediately before, that the way to live easy and happy, was for a man, not to wish that things might be just as he would have them, but to be well pleased, that they should be just as they are: and now he proves the argument, intended to be deduced from thence; which is, that all outward misfortunes are to be entertained with temper and moderation; and not only so, but he removes (as I conceive) an objection, that might be raised against it.

The argument itself seems to me to be thus: if those calamities, which happen in our fortunes, or from any external causes, were properly ours; yet even upon this supposition, we ought to suffer them with great patience and resignation, though they were much more disastrous, than really they are; when it is remembered, that even these are for our advantage. But if they be not indeed ours, if each of them terminates in something else, and cannot extend to us; then it would be the last degree of folly, to be disturbed at the misfortunes, which are none of our own. Sickness, he says, is a hindrance to the body; and he says very well, that it is a hindrance only, not an evil. For we have seen already, that neither the diseases nor the dissolution of the body is evil; but all that it does, is only to put a stop to its operations, as lameness likewise does, which was Epictetus’ own infirmity; so that he does not speak thus now in a formal speculative way, but from his own practice and experience. Thus lameness is an obstruction to the parts affected, as poverty is to a man’s expenses and way of living; but neither the one, nor the other is so to the will, and the mind, unless they voluntarily submit to be obstructed by it. I confess, if the body, or the foot, or our estates, were our very essence and nature, then these hindrances would be truly and properly ours; but since we subsist in none of them, and the rational soul only is ourselves; since our bodies are no more than instruments by which we act, and our possessions only conveniences for ministering to our necessary occasions; and since all our good and evil depends upon the choice of our own mind, and consequently cannot be restrained or obstructed by them, it is evident, that we ourselves are not hindered by these things neither: for no outward accident whatever can put any confinement upon us, but only upon something else, something, which we are not. And therefore we must not suffer ourselves to be disordered at the misfortunes, as if they were our own; because by this means, we shall fall into an evil, that is properly ours, upon the account of something that is not so: for discontent, and a disturbance of the mind, are truly our own evils. This I take to be the force and connection of this argument.

But besides this, he removes at the same time an objection, drawn as the rhetoricians use to term it, Ab Utili, from the point of advantage and convenience. For it may be said upon this occasion, that sickness and poverty cannot possibly be for our benefit; for how is it possible, that a diseased man should perform all the functions of nature as he ought? or how can we deny, that a man, when reduced to extreme poverty, is under an absolute constraint, to bend all his care and pains to the relief of his wants, and furnishing himself with necessary supports? This objection now he takes off, by showing, that sickness, and poverty, and all hardships and inconveniences of that kind, put the will under no confinement at all; and, that in this free principle it is, that the very being of men consists, and all their good and evil depends entirely upon it. For how is the sick man tied up from choosing and desiring such things, as are virtuous and reasonable, and hating and declining the contrary? Or what violence can extreme poverty put upon a man which shall be able to compel him to act contrary to the principles of honest and honor? Were not Diogenes, and Crates, and Zeno in these circumstances? And did they ever show themselves more truly philosophers? Did they every give more illustrious proofs of virtue and greatness of soul, of contentment and satisfaction, and even of abundance in the slenderest fortune, than when they chose to forego their plenty, and thought it wisdom to exchange that for want, and to have no possessions of their own at all? And indeed, who is there so blind and brutish, but would be pleased and proud to sustain such a man in his necessities, and think his liberality a greater obligation and honor to himself, than to the receiver?

But what need we go so far for examples of this kind, when even Epictetus himself, who makes this declaration, was so eminent an instance of it? As to his fortune and condition, he was a slave; infirm in his body, lame from a child, and one who was so much exercised with poverty, and made it so much his choice, that his little cottage at Rome was not thought worth a lock or bolt. For alas! there was no temptation within, nothing but a coarse coverlet, and a hard mattress, upon which he lay. And yet this is the very man, that tells us, lameness may obstruct the feet, but the mind it cannot, except we please to let it. Thus you see, he did not make it his business, as a great many do, to say fine things, and entertain his readers with sublime and airy speculations; but he made the experiment himself, and speaks from his own knowledge and practice. For they manifest a truly great soul in himself, and will make the deeper impression upon all others, whose minds are well disposed.

Upon every fresh accident, turn your eyes inward; and examine how you are qualified to encounter it. If you see any very beautiful person, you will find continence to oppose against the temptation. If labor and difficulty come in your way, you will find a remedy in hardiness and resolution. If you lie under the obloquy of an ill tongue, patience and meekness are the proper fences against it. And thus, if you do but prepare and use yourself by degrees, no accident whatever will be able to surprise or subdue you.

Comment.

After having advanced some strange sublime notions, and required men to do that, which the generality of the world will be sure to think romantic and impossible; as for example, to slight the diseases of the body, as no evil of ours; and to be well pleased, let our circumstances be what they will, that things should go just as they do; never to suffer ones self either to be caught with the bait of sensual or worldly pleasure, or to be dejected with any outward calamities: it is but reasonable, that he should apply himself in the next place, to show, that these are perfections not above the powers of human nature, and that he enjoins us nothing, but what we are capable of discharging.

To this purpose he proves, that the Great Creator to whom the soul of man owes it being, was pleased to give it such a frame and temper, that it should not be constantly determined to sublime and heavenly things, nor always dwell above, as the blessed spirits, the angels, and those other of a divine and still more excellent nature do; but hath ordered the matter so, that this should sometimes be degraded to a state of matter, and motion, and mortality, be joined to the body, and converse with frail and corruptible things. But, though he hath subjected the soul to these hazards and trials, yet he hath endued her with particular faculties and powers, suitable to each occasion; by means whereof, she may engage with all the accidents, that can assault her, and come off without loss; nay, and vanquish, and keep them under too.

Against such, as tempt us with an appearance of pleasure, he proposes continence; (and this he rather chose to mention, than those higher degrees of absolute chastity and temperance; in consideration, that the persons now addressed to, are but imperfect and young proficients in virtue.) Now these objects stir the passions up to rebellion, and beget a combat between reason and them. But by discipline, and a strict hand over oneself, they are subdued and reduced to obedience again. And this is a true description of that which we properly call a continent life; as on the contrary, that man is properly said to be incontinent, whose reason is impotent; and, though it may struggle for a while, yet yields at last to the stronger insults of passion. But now in persons, who have attained to the perfection of wisdom and virtue, the passions and appetites (which as I hinted before, are the child to be trained up in every one of our minds) are in absolute subjection to reason, without any dispute or mutiny at all; so that they are moved and directed, entirely towards such objects, and at such times, and in such measures as this sees fit to prescribe for them. And this is truly temperance, which the Greeks call sôphrosunê; as being that, which secures the reason, and preserves the government and prerogative of the intelligent part in us. For when this is brought under, and distracted by passion, the mind is torn in pieces, and destroyed. But while it maintains its own superiority over the affections, it continues vigorous and sound.

So again, to persons that are masters in philosophy, fortitude is always a present security against all difficulty and pain. It keeps the very outguards of the soul, and suffers nothing of this kind to get the least footing there; but perseveres without any perplexity or disturbance, and looks upon all the hardships that come in its way, as so many trials to exercise it. But the proficients, who are less expert, must be content with hardiness and resolution; such as may maintain its post, and make a gallant resistance, and prevent the sinkings of the soul, by enabling it to continue the fight, and ward against the blows, when trouble and pains assault it.

For a constant and vigorous opposition, and hardening oneself against difficulties, will conquer all our effeminacy and passion, and make reason and virtue triumphant: and, by such conquests frequently gained, and prudently managed, our passions will be used to the yoke, submit to discipline, and obey without reluctancy. And, when a man hath brought himself to this pass, there will be no farther trouble to exercise his patience. He is now above it all; for he neither desires anything, capable of giving him disappointment, nor does he make anything his aversion, which can overtake him whether he wills or not. And consequently, he can have no trouble and pain, which always must proceed from one of these causes.

Against scandal, and an ill tongue, he tells us we shall find our best defense in meekness. For in truth, scandal, in its own nature, hath nothing that can afflict us; and all that uses to do so, is not what is said, but the judgments and reflections we pass upon it; which we evermore aggravate to ourselves, according as we are blown up with vanity, or transported with anger. For all that scandal can do without this, is only to make us condemn the defamer. And for the proceeding regularly in this condemnation, without heat or prejudice, we shall do well to consider, wherein the defamer is really to blame; and that it is upon one of these two accounts; that he slanders and asperses us, either falsely, or out of malice. Now the scandal itself may very well be born with, because it is not capable of doing us any real injury; and so, in truth, may the party, who raises or spreads it too, when we consider, that the injury is done, not to us, but to himself; for so it is, in reality, when his own mind is the sufferer, by doing an ill and base thing. Nay, if this be too little, we may consider farther, that scandal is always capable of being made an advantage to us. It is manifestly so; when false; and when it is true, we gain this by it, that it discovers our own faults and failings; and either shows us something we did not know before, or which, though we did know, yet we were apt to indulge, upon a presumption, that nobody knew it but ourselves. And this very consideration is of great importance, to restrain young proficients in virtue. For such, though they are not come up to that noble principle of practicing virtue for its own sake, will yet give check to many exorbitant passions, and abstain from gross evils, out of shame, and tenderness to their own reputation. And indeed, this must be said in behalf of ambition, and a desire of praise; that, though it be a passion itself, yet it is of excellent use, for the moderating and correcting all the rest. For this reason it hath been called, by a pertinent allusion, the shirt of the passions; because it fits closest to the soul; and, when the mind hath by the help of this put off all other passions, it divest itself of this last of all, that so it may come to virtue naked, and stripped of all its former prejudices and encumbrances

For this reason (says Epictetus) we must not suffer ourselves to be surprised, or over-born by any accident, which would engage our minds, and draw them off to any external advantages or calamities; so as that we should be discomposed with any false ideas of its being good or evil. Nor must we give too great a scope to our desires and our aversions, or let them be too hasty in their motions, but call up the powers within us to our assistance; and, when we have found, which are the succors proper for each circumstance, then rally them together, and enter the lists with resolution, and ward off every accident accordingly.

Never use yourself to say upon any occasion, that you have lost anything, but restored it. If your wife or your child die, you have returned them to the owner. If your estate be taken from you, this too is paid back to the giver. But you’ll say, he was a knave that defrauded me of it. Alas! What’s that to the purpose? Or how does it concern you, by what means, or what hand, he that gave it resumes it to himself? Trouble not yourself therefore about these matters; but while he permits the enjoyment, use it as a thing that is not your own, but another’s; and let your concern and affection for it, be just such, as travelers have for an inn upon the road.

Comment.

He had instructed us before, in the nature of external accidents and advantages: which of them we might prosecute, and how far, and by what methods we are allowed to do it: how we should entertain both our prosperous and pleasant, and our adverse and less grateful fortunes; and what improvement is to be made of each of them; and here he comes to speak of the loss of any advantages we have, and directs us, not only how to enjoy, but how to part with them too. Now every man, who loses what he esteems his own, must needs apprehend himself injured, and naturally flies out, not only into excess of grief for his loss, but into reproachful language against those that deprived him of it. But he, who restores upon demand, what he knew and considered was none of his own, must be the most senseless fool in the word, to be troubled at its being taken away from him, or to fall foul upon the proprietor that requires it. This then is our case directly. The world, and its enjoyments, are not ours; and for that reason, not within the command and disposal of our own wills: nothing indeed is properly so, but our desires and aversions, and the inclinations of our own minds; and all our virtue and vice, all our happiness and misery, do depend upon these. So that we should always keep our minds strongly possessed with this consideration, and be affected accordingly to everything without us, as that in which we have no propriety at all. And the way to keep our minds thus possessed, and thus affected, is, not only to say so, and content ourselves with verbal distinctions; but to show it in our practice, and behave ourselves, like men, who are convinced they have no title to them.

Suppose then, upon the death of a child, that a man gives himself over to tears and groans, deplores his misfortune, and complains of his loss; is it not evident, that this man, while his son lived, looked upon him as strictly, and by right, his own? If it were not so, with what pretence does he call this being taken away, a loss, or resent it so deeply? The man that does thus, ‘tis plain, would go farther too, if he could; and revenge the injury he fancies he hath received, upon the person who took him away, if it were in his power. But the man who considers this child, as one in whom he had not any absolute propriety, and that death hath only paid him back to the person that lent him, will neither afflict himself upon the occasion, nor accuse the owner that demanded him again.

And here the artifice of Epictetus is very observable. For he instructs us, not only to adapt our words to our thoughts, and correct our expressions by more just apprehensions of things; but contrives, that even our expressions may rectify our notions. For to this purpose, he says, it is necessary, that we speak of the enjoyments of the world in such terms, as may not flatter us with any imaginations of property in them, but such as may wean our affections, and make them fit loose about us; that so, from calling and thinking them another’s, and not our own, we may bring ourselves to use them as such.

And, since nothing adds more to our tenderness for anything, than the care and concern we are in about it; he advises us to moderate these, and to bestow only so much upon them, as we think worth our while to lay out upon that which is another man’s. Some regard indeed must be had to them; nor may we so neglect them, as to give ourselves up to supineness and sloth; but yet we must not so fix our hearts or our endeavors upon them, as if they were our own, and that which is never to be taken away from us, and therefore all the concern allowed us in this case, is only that of travelers in an inn; who consider, that they are not at home, and that their stay is likely to be very short; and are solicitous for nothing farther, than only to get the best conveniences the place will afford, and be satisfied with what they can get, for the little time they do stay.

For this reason he hath added very conveniently, while he permits us the enjoyment, to put us continually in remembrance, that all our enjoyments are upon sufferance, the effect of a permissive providence, what we cannot give ourselves, but derive from the bounty of another, and that no other, than the very person who takes them away from us.

Now, because some people are apt to aggravate their misfortunes, by tragical accounts of the circumstances that attend them, and the manner of their being deprived of their comforts: as, if I must lose my estate, yet what need was there of losing it by so much treachery, or injustice, or ingratitude? Or if my child or my wife had died of a natural or lingering death, a fever, or a consumption, I could have supported it; but to be snatched away all on the sudden, to die a violent, an untimely, or a scandalous death, or to be racked with tortures and strong convulsions; this is a dismal and intolerable affliction. All these complaints favor of discontent, and at the bottom are a finding fault, not with the manner but the thing itself. For, as we could not prescribe to our great benefactor, the methods, or the instruments, by which he bestowed them upon us; so neither must we find fault with those, by which he recalls them; and it is but fit, that he who gave as he pleased, should take away as he pleases too.

We may take notice farther, that Epictetus chooses to instance in the tenderest points, the death of a wife or a child; because these sit closest to our hearts; and any other losses, if compared to these, are no more than every vulgar virtue can sustain and slight. But still, as he told us before, and will do again in the following discourses, we shall do well to begin with lessor trials, and by rendering those familiar and easy, to harden ourselves by degrees against the sharper and greater. The same rule therefore holds much stronger, and is more practicable, when anyone that hath taken my purse, or spirited away my servant, or defrauded me of my house, or my estate; to say, (and we may say it with as great truth in these cases too) I have not lost these things, but restored them to the owner, and lender of them to me.

If you are indeed desirous to improve in wisdom and virtue, you must never allow yourself in such mean thoughts as these; I must follow the business of my calling close, or else I and my family shall starve: I must take pains with this boy of mine, and chastise him, or he will be ruined. These are the misgivings of an anxious mind, and unworthy a philosopher, whose first care should be the ease and quiet of his own breast. For a man had better perish for hunger, and preserve his mind from immoderate fear and concern; then live in the greatest plenty, and continual perplexity with it. And it were a less evil for you, that your servant or your child were vicious, than that yourself should be perpetually unhappy with an anxious care to prevent it.

Use yourself therefore to little trials first: if a cruise of oil be broken, or a pint of your wine stolen, reflect immediately, that this is the purchase of constancy and a composed mind; and since nothing can be had free-cost, he that gets these so cheap, hath a good bargain. So again, when you call your servant, consider, that it is too great an advantage, which you give him over yourself, if you put it in his power, whether your mind shall be easy or not.

Comment.

Upon the advice last given, that the things of this world are what we ought not to think we have any propriety in, or should be any farther solicitous about them, than travelers are, to accommodate themselves in an inn; it might very probably be objected; that this contempt of the world will expose us to vast inconveniences. For at this rate, says one, if I neglect the looking after my estate, I shall reduce myself to want and beggary; and if for the avoiding this anxiety, which you so strictly forbid, I omit the chiding and correcting my servant, I shall be accessory to his utter ruin. In answer to both these, he insists upon that eminent distinction in the beginning of his book, by which he hath proved, that all our good and evil, truly so called, depends entirely upon the use of our natural liberty, and such things as are within the compass of our own choice; and that no condition either of our bodies, or our fortunes, can make men truly happy or miserable.

But at present he addresses himself principally, to such as are in a state of proficiency, and have not yet attained to such a mastery in wisdom, as should qualify them to attend to the cultivating their own minds, and the management of their worldly concerns both at once, in so prudent a manner, that these cares should not be prejudicial to one another, or unsafe for the person himself. For this is the peculiar perfection of accomplished philosophers, that they ride secure, and fear no storms from those brutish appetites, which they have absolutely subdued: nor is there any danger, if they do look abroad into the world sometimes, and give themselves a little loose, that their affections should be seduced and perverted by anything they meet with there, or the peace and tranquility of their souls at all disturbed upon that account. These men stand firm, and collected within themselves; and, whatever confusion they meet in the world, they manage and compose it all, by the fixed standing order of their own minds. But where the passions run high, and are still upon the ferment; there it is dangerous to engage a man’s self in business at all, or to be the least taken off from the best and severest studies. For there is a wonderful affinity between the world and the brutish inclinations; and these, not being yet duly tempered, nor reduced to the obedience of reason, drag down the mind, and utterly immerse it in cares and pleasures; which, like a ship without a rudder or pilot, will drive a wild and fatal course, till at last she strand herself, and all be lost.

But in the meanwhile, what course shall this young proficient take? For necessaries he must have; and ‘tis to no purpose to give him rules of living, if you put it out of his power to live at all. To this difficulty Epictetus, if he had pleased, might have replied, that a great part of the prejudice a man’s fortunes would receive from neglecting and despising the world, might be made amends for, by the strict temperance, and abstemious life of a true philosopher; the easy contentment and confined desires, which are an essential part of his character. But, if this remedy be not granted a sufficient cure for the disease; yet at least it may fairly be presumed, that there are people enough, who would preserve such a man from perishing. Such a one, I say, whose wants and wishes will be so easily supplied, and who must needs attract love and esteem, when he neglects and scorns the world, for the exercise of virtue, and the improvement of his own mind. This reply, I say, Epictetus might have made; and the reason of the thing would have born him out in it. But he passes such comforts over, as too effeminate and indulgent; such as were likely to enervate our virtue, and sully its brightness; and therefore, as if it were blemish and a disparagement, for a wise and good man to stand in any need at all of anything without, he runs the comparison up to the highest and boldest extreme; and pronounces peremptorily, that a man had better die for want, and preserve his mind from immoderate fear and concern, and by that means attain to the peculiar perfection of his nature; than live in continual perplexity, though he had the greatest plenty with it, which can never give him that perfection. For what does all this world signify to a vicious and a disordered mind, one that in truth receives more hurt than good, from the enjoyments of it? Just as sumptuous entertainments, and rich sauces gratify a sick man, who either cannot relish, or must not taste them; or if he does, is sure to nourish, not himself, but his disease.

So again, it would be a less evil, he says, for you, that your servant or your child were vicious, than that you yourself should be perpetually unhappy, with an anxious care to prevent it. If indeed matters could be so ordered, as to preserve him and yourself both, and attend to what is necessary for each of you, without distraction, this would be much more eligible. But this can never be, for two reasons. First, because a man, void of wisdom and virtue himself, will never be able to make another virtuous and wise; and then, because by this inordinate concern, you do him no manner of good, but yourself in the meanwhile, an infinite deal of hurt. So that in such a case the best course we can take, is to let the incorrigible wretch alone in his wickedness, and not discompose ourselves, but take care at least to save one.

But when he had proposed the highest pitch of resolution, and advised rather to choose poverty and death with wisdom and virtue, than plenty and solicitude without them; and, if a man be driven to that hard necessity, rather to overlook the vice and ruin of one under his care, than to lose his own happiness, and undo himself, by trying to preserve another; to show, that men must be wound up to this pitch by degrees, and that he had a just regard to the abilities of his scholar, he advises them here to begin with less and gentler trials, and such as the condition of young beginners are capable of. For exercise and practice, in matters of less moment and difficulty, is a safe and a successful method; but when such things are looked upon with disdain, and below one’s notice, and a man scorns the instances here, of his oil being spilled, or his wine stolen, and attempts great hardships at first, he will fall under this double inconvenience; neither to be a match for what he encounters, as having not made his way up to it gradually; nor to receive the benefit and advantage he might have done, from those others; and which, had he not slighted them, would have qualified him for the combat he hath lost, for want of them. For let us imagine, that a man, without any preparation, or previous practice in matters of less consequence, would needs, all upon the spurt, take upon him to rival Crates, and divest himself of all his possessions at once; how is it possible, that this person should not immediately repent, and condemn himself, and wish ten thousand times, that the thing were undone, and he in his former circumstances again? For though Crates himself, or Diogenes, or Zeno, or some other eminent philosopher, may perhaps have made a sudden turn, and brought themselves to extreme strictness, and virtue, and voluntary poverty, without such leisurely advances; yet still this is a thing that very rarely happens; and that which is extraordinary, is no rule for us to follow; especially too, when we consider, that these were themselves very extraordinary persons, and consequently no proper measure for the common rate of men, to govern themselves by.

After he had directed us, how to make great losses and misfortunes in our estates easy and familiar to us, by first despising those that are small and inconsiderable, for the improvement and confirmation of your virtue; he instructs us, which way to get above all the discomposure and passion, that the negligence, or the sauciness of our servants, may be apt to cast us into. For he tells us, we ought beforehand to represent to ourselves, that it is very possible your servant may not give his attendance when called upon; or that if he answer to your call, he may not observe your commands: and that we should settle our minds, not to give him so great an advantage over us, as the putting us into disorder, would be. And this settling our minds is very considerable, in that the inconvenience is in a great measure defeated, by being foreseen. For it is the suddenness of an accident, that is most apt to confound young proficients; this breaks their measures, puts them out of their bias, and beats them from their posts. But premeditation keeps the mind firm and cool, it preserves our thoughts, and gives us the power and leisure to recollect; and, by use and custom, prepares and arms the mind against all those things, which our fears and imaginations represent most difficult and insupportable.

Now what a mighty advantage this preparation is, and how much better we entertain any accident, when we are not surprised, every man’s own consideration and experience will inform him. Nor is this the case of misfortunes only, but even of pleasures and good fortune too, when they come upon us unexpected. Afflictions immediately overturn our thoughts, and cramp up the faculties of reason, and put both body and soul out of temper; and pleasures and good fortune, when sudden and surprising, scatter and dissolve them, and enervate both body and mind. From hence it comes to pass, that these causes, though so very distant in themselves, are yet attended with the same effects; and the same symptoms plainly prove the disease to be the same. For an excess, either of joy or grief, shock the constitution equally; and throws us into swoonings, and sweats, and the loss of sense, sometimes even to death itself.

But these things are so evident, that they need no enlargement; and therefore I rather choose to observe the method Epictetus hath taken upon this occasion, and the improvements we may make of it. When any loss or disappointment in our affairs hath happened to us, he advises, that we would compose ourselves with this reflection; that constancy and a composed mind, are treasures which must be bought, and this it seems is the price we must pay for them. But when our servants provoke us, either by being out of the way, and not ready to receive our commands; or by being insolent, and not obeying them; the remedy in this case, is to prepare our minds, and consider before hand, that these were things very likely to happen.

This is the method he prescribes, but the improvement we should make of it, is to join both these directions together, and apply them to either of the cases indifferently. For indeed, we are no less obliged to receive any losses whatsoever with all that premeditation, and shall find them infinitely lessened to us by expectation, and a possessing our minds early with the thought, that these things may very probably happen to us. And on the other hand, when we are incensed by the negligence or the disobedience of servants, or any other provocation of that kind, it will turn to very good account to recollect, that constancy, and a composed mind, are treasures, which will not come for nothing; and this is the price, we are to purchase them at.

Now the reasons, why Epictetus himself did thus apply both indifferently, seems to be, that the instances produced by him, of oil spilt, and a little paltry wine stolen, are too mean and trivial, to need the solemnity of any such preparation; and that in matters so small, a short recollection is sufficient, after the thing hath happened. And not only so, but because in things of less consideration, the prospect of the gain, and comparing the price with the purchases, is abundantly enough to prevail upon the soul. For what occasion can there be of grudging or discontent, when, for such a trifle as a little oil or wine lost, a man has it in his power to receive a thing so valuable, as constancy and a composed mind, by way of exchange? Nay, and not only to procure this for once and no more, but to gain the standing disposition and habit of it, which may be ready at hand, and serviceable upon every occasion, provided he drives a wise bargain, and manages his market with any skill and dexterity. Who would not be proud and pleased to make that exchange, which Homer tells us Diomede did, when he bartered brass for gold? And who, that hath the sense and reason of a man, would not gladly forego any advantages of fortune, if he can obtain the greatest and most desirable advantages of the mind, in return for them? Especially too, when the matter may very frequently be so ordered, as not properly to forego them neither; but, by a prudent forethought and preparation, to think that a thing of no concern to him, and so not be sensible of any loss at all.

If you would indeed improve in wisdom, you must be content to be thought foolish and stupid, for neglecting the things of the world.

Comment.

The reason, why many of us lay out so much of our thoughts and our pains upon the world, is not always a desire to be supplied with what is necessary and convenient for our circumstances, but to avoid the censure of being thought singular, and insensible, and speculative drones. Now in opposition to this principle, and all the discouragements such apprehensions give us, he advises every scholar of his, who would be wise in good earnest, not to let so poor a pretence prevail upon him, to abandon himself to the cares of the world, and neglect the true and inward advantages of his own mind. For what a monstrous absurdity is it, for a man to be really mad, for fear of being thought so; and to commit the most desperate act of folly, lest he should be called fool, by those who are no better than fools themselves? And in truth, there is nothing contributes to a virtuous life, and such a behavior as is every way suitable to the character of a man, considered as a rational creature, more, than to resolve not to be a slave to the opinions of the world; not to make what idle and silly people approve, any measure of our actions, or rule to walk by; but to use oneself to despise both their commendations and their censures, and to keep our eyes steady upon the dictates of right reason, and the judgments of those few good and wise persons who live in conformity to it; and let these guide and govern us in the management of all our affairs. For reason is the proper standard, to which all our actions should be agreeable, and all the men, whose opinions are worth our regarding, will be sure to approve whatever is so.

Do not affect to be thought exceedingly wise; and if other people think you something more than ordinary, let this make you so much the more distrustful and jealous of yourself. For be assured, it is no easy matter to prosecute your designs upon virtue, and other external advantages, at one and the same time. But he that sets his heart upon either of these, will of course find his concern for the other abate and grow cold.

Comment.

Epictetus hath taken a great deal of pains, to confine the soul of his young philosopher within a narrow compass, that all his care may be employed at home, upon the improvement of himself; especially, when he first enters into this reformed course of life. And since the desire of riches, and the cares of the world, are but a part of those temptations which engage the affections, and misplace them abroad; for a superstitious value for reputation, and popular applause, is every whit as dangerous a bait; (and so much the more so indeed, in regard they who are accomplished persons, and have some real excellencies to recommend them to the world, are the more apt to be ensnared by them,) he advises to root out this vain-glorious appetite by all means.

Do not affect to be thought wise, says he; not that he condemns the most zealous desires or endeavors after knowledge, but only to suppress the vanity of desiring to appear knowing. For this swells the mind, and puffs it up with flashy imaginations, and inclines it to the world. It represents the opinions of others, as the rule of acting, rather than duty, and the dictates of a man’s own conscience; and makes him live no longer to himself, but to his masters, the people; and, which is worst of all, it makes a man satisfied with the empty shadows, and outward appearances of things, and negligent of the substance. For the vain-glorious are not half so much concerned to be really virtuous or wise, as they are, to impose upon themselves and the world, in seeming so. For this reason he expresses himself very prudently here, and says not, Do not be thought wise, but Do not affect to be thought so: for in truth, the esteem other people have of us, is a thing by no means in our own power; nor can we make them think as we would have them; but the courting that esteem, and being fond of such a character, is entirely our own act and deed.

Since therefore, since the world will sometimes have a great opinion of our abilities, whether we seek it or not; in such a case, says he, let their commendations make you but so much the more distrustful and jealous of yourself. For this will be a most excellent preservative against the giving yourself up to be governed by other people’s judgments, and taking up with the fame or false images of goodness, instead of the thing itself. Besides, that the suspecting and thinking more meanly of oneself, when the world extols one most, is a duty particularly seasonable for young philosophers. For they that are masters in it, sit secure above the breath of fame, pass just and impartial judgments upon their own actions; and, as they do not think the better, so neither need they think at all the worse, of themselves, for what the world say of them.

Now reputation and applause, we know very well, is not the attendant of knowledge only, but of temperance and moderation too, of justice and fortitude, of prudence, and indeed of every virtue whatsoever. Every accomplishment, that qualifies us for business, and makes us useful to our country and to one another, of every character, of any extraordinary eminence in the world. All these he hath comprehended here in this short expression of being thought something more than ordinary; which extends to every kind of opinion, for our advantage, let the ground of it be what it will.

At last, he shuts up all with a conclusion, applicable not only to this chapter, but to those that went before, concerning the care that is due to our own minds, and intimates, that a learner in philosophy will find it no easy matter, to prosecute his designs upon wisdom and virtue with success, and at the same time to grasp at riches, or fame, or any other worldly advantages. And the reason is, because the keeping our minds tight in the prosecution of virtue consists, in a extraordinary vigilance and concern for ourselves, and the regulating our own wills; and in making all without us, all that are called the goods of fortune, little or no part of our concern. But now an eager pursuit of fame, or any other external advantage, utterly overturns this whole frame of mind; for it engages our affections upon foreign and distant things, and makes us cold and careless for ourselves. Therefore it can be no easy matter, to reconcile these wide extremes, and manage both at once. But still you may observe, with what caution the author delivers himself; he declares it difficult, but he dares not pronounce it impossible; because some exalted minds exert themselves to the wonder of mankind, and consequently must be admitted for exceptions from the general rules of nature. But as for the rest, who are of the same mould and tempering with their neighbors, to them the rule in the close holds good, that he who proposes to follow one of these, in good earnest and to purpose, must wholly lay aside all concern for the other.

If you desire that your wife, and children, and friends may never die, this is a senseless wish; for you would have what is not your own, to be in your own power; and would dispose of that which is another’s. So again, if you desire that your boy may live without any faults, this is foolish too: for it is to wish, that vice and corruption may change their nature, and be no longer what they cannot but be. But if you will needs be wishing, and would wish so as not to be disappointed, this may be done, and therefore the best way is to practice upon that, which is in your own power.

Comment.

The first care of a man should be, to consider what things are worth his pains; and those that deserve to be thought so, ‘tis plain, must have the following qualifications. They must be possible, for none but fools lay themselves out upon what can never be compassed: and they must be decent and proper for the person that takes pains for them; something that suits his character and conveniences, and such as he may call his own when he hath them. For nothing can be more impertinent, than to concern oneself in other people’s matters, and neglect our own; or to be extremely solicitous for obtaining that, which another will always retain the propriety to. A third consideration should be, of what value the prize we propose to ourselves will be; of what constancy and continuance; and whether we can be secure of keeping it, when we have got it. For no prudent man will give himself trouble about trifles, and things that will turn to no account; or such as are likely very soon to decay, or forsake him.

And, therefore in pursuance of his design, to call off his young philosophers affections from the world, and to drive on his former distinction of things that are, and things that are not in our own power, he proves, that all external advantages whatsoever, are really not ours, but another’s. And he had shown at the beginning, that whatever is another’s, cannot be any of the things in our own power, nor consequently a proper object of our choice.

When a man then is desirous, that his wife, and children, and friends, may never be taken away from him, this man is solicitous for a thing in which his choice hath nothing to do; a thing that it is not possible for him to bestow upon himself; for when things are not entirely at our own disposal, nor submitted to the determination of our own wills, it is not for us to make ourselves masters of them; but we must depend upon the good pleasure of those persons for them, in whose possession and disposal they are.

Besides, there are not any of those advantages we are so fond of, but they are really mean, and of no value at all, frail and perishing, and the enjoyment of them short and uncertain. Who then would give himself trouble, for so low, so poor a recompense? Or who would engage his affections upon what so many casualties may, and daily do conspire against, and what they must at length destroy, and rob him of? So vain is it to fix ones happiness, or ones desires, in the lives of our tenderest friends (for instance,) or to delude oneself with vain hopes, and fond wishes of their living always; when at the same time they are mortal, and must submit to the same fatal necessity, with everything else that is so; which is, to depart without delay or mercy, whenever death summons them away.

So again, if a man wish, that his servant may be virtuous, nay, even more honest and a better man than himself, (as many of us are apt to do sometimes, when provoked by the knavery of servants,) this man, (says Epictetus) is a fool, and wishes an idle and impossible thing. For since all knavery proceeds from vicious principles, and the corruption of the mind; how can it possibly be, that a man, who takes no care to govern or reform his brutish appetite, but submits and lives according to it, should act any otherwise than viciously? So vain is it for men to expect success in these matters, when they place their affections and concern upon things either impossible to be had, or at the disposal of some other person, or poor and perishing, and as hazardous and unsure in the enjoyment, as they were difficult in the acquisition. Must not men needs fail of their hopes, where so many accidents concur to disappoint them? And if they lead a life of disappointment, must they not of necessity lead a life of sorrow and perpetual torment too? Against all these miseries there is but one remedy, and that is an effectual one indeed: ‘tis to make ourselves, and what nature hath put within our own power, the sole object of our care and concern. Now nature hath given us an absolute power, of confining our desires to such things, as she hath made necessary and expedient for us. And therefore we shall do well, not to be too lavish, or squander them away upon vain and unprofitable matters, but to lay them out upon those others: for these can never fail our expectations, and will be sure to turn to good account, when we have attained them.

That person is properly my lord and master, who hath it in his power to gratify my wishes, or to inflict my fears; to give what I desire to have, or to take from me what I am loath to part with. The only way then to preserve one’s liberty, is to restrain one’s own passions, and to have neither desire nor aversion for anything in the power of others: for he that does not so, is sure to be a slave as long as he lives.

Comment.

Here again we meet with another severe reflection upon the world, and a just censure upon those, who abandon themselves to the love and the cares of it. For by this means we do not only betray our minds to misery and trouble, when our desires are frustrated, and the misfortunes we fear, overtake us; but, which is more, we sink into a state of slavery, and submit, not to one, but to many masters, to a thousand imperious and merciless masters. For whoever it be, says he, that hath it in his own power, to gratify our desires, or to bring our fears upon us, to give what we would fain have, or to take away what we are loath to part with, that person is most truly our lord and master. So that, at this rate, every passion, and every accident, tyrannizes over the worldly man, without resistance or control.

With what humble submission do we cringe to those that have the riches, or preferments, or honors we desire, in their disposal! How servile are all our applications, and how obsequious all our behavior, that we may incline their favor, and prevail for the advantages we propose to ourselves from it? And again, when any of these enjoyments lie at their mercy, with what terrors and misgiving fears do we approach them? What mean acts do we make use of, to keep their countenance and good graces? And how pitifully do we flatter and fawn upon them, to secure the continuance of that, which they may deprive us of whenever they please? So poor and precarious are all the goods of fortune, so absolutely another’s, and so little our own. For that, which another can bestow, or call back again, is properly his; and nothing is really ours, but what falls entirely within the compass of our own power and choice.

If then liberty be, as certainly it is, a most desirable thing; and if we would assert our own freedom, and break our chains; the course we must take, is, to contract our fears and desires, to contain them within their proper sphere, and not suffer them to rove abroad, or fix them upon anything within the power of any but ourselves. For if we do so, our slavery is sure, and the instances of it infinite. Our desires are our masters, when we would obtain them, and our possessions, when we dread the loss of them: our aversions are so, when we fear dangers, and our misfortunes, when we fall into them.

To this we may add another observation too; that every man in these circumstances is subject to two masters; one at home, and another abroad: for the brutal appetite within, which moves our reason, (that is, ourselves, whose very essence consists in this) and carries it away captive, submits both reason and itself to another master, which is the outward object of our passions: so that we are not only slaves, but the meanest and most abject of them all, even the slaves of slaves.

Besides, other servants have some intervals of freedom and leisure at least; they are not always confined to their master’s presence; they are upon the level with other men at some times; night and sleep sets them free; and they obtain leave and ease now and then, under the hardest government. But our attendance is without any intermission; we can neither fly from our masters, nor will they ever remit or dispense with our service; sleeping and waking we still drudge on, and are ever laboring to satisfy the insolent, unjust, and extravagant commands of our cruel tyrants. No moment of rest is allowed us, after once we have submitted to them; but they are perpetually teasing, and harassing us, and employing us either with wicked actions or words; or when there is an opportunity for neither of these, then distracting us with idle thoughts and fantastic imaginations.

Nay, which is yet worst of all, and the most deplorable aggravation of our misery in other cases, the better sort of servants have a soul above their condition, and owe their bondage to the necessity of their affairs, and the rigor of a penurious fortune: but ours is not our fate, but our choice; we hug and are fond of our chains, are perpetually contriving to bind our slavery faster upon us, exceedingly industrious to make ourselves miserable, and ingenious in finding out new methods of ruin; that is, ever seeking out some fresh object of desire or fear; and, in order to it, complying with such commands, as are never obeyed, but to our infinite damage, if not our utter undoing.

Let it be your constant care, to behave yourself in all the affairs of human life, with the same decency that you would at a public entertainment If anything be offered you, receive it with modesty; if it passes by you, and be sent to another; do not withhold it from him, or keep what was not intended you. If the dish be not yet come down so low; show not yourself eager, nor snatch at it greedily, but wait patiently, till it comes to your turn. Manage yourself with the same good manners and reservedness, in case of a wife, or children, or honors, or riches, or power, or preferment. This will render you worthy to be entertained by the gods. But if you can conquer appetite so far, as even to refuse and disdain the delicious meats that are set before you: this will not only qualify you to feast with the gods, but exalt you to the same dignity and perfection with them too. Such were Diogenes, and Heraclitus, and those other renowned hero’s, who by this generous scorn were justly esteemed, and in reality were, divine persons.

Comment.

After so many arguments used to check the mighty propensities of human nature, and restrain his scholars from too eager a pursuit of the goods of fortune; lest his discourse should prove less persuasive, for being thought too severe; he tells us, that it is not his intention to debar men from all communication with the world; and therefore he instructs us, what advantages they are allowed to partake of, and how they ought to demean themselves with regard to them. He had before indulged us the use of not only the necessaries, but the conveniences of human life; provided that we accepted of these, as additional enjoyments, and did not mistake them for our main concern, but kept our minds and eyes constantly intent upon the ship, and (as he expressed it there) were ready to come on board, and sail at the master’s call. And now he tells us, that whatever of this kind is presented to us, we may receive it, whether it be a wife, or children, or riches, or advancement; but then we must take it modestly and decently, and not suffer our appetites to grow impatient, and snatch or reach at it rudely, before it is offered. So again, if they were once ours and are taken away (for thus I understand that expression of passing by, and being sent to somebody else) we must by no means detain them, he says; that is, we should part with them patiently, neither struggling to keep them, nor repining at the loss. If they be not yet come to us; it will ill become us to desire them before our turn, to feed our wishes and imaginations with them, and be so taken up with these, as to forget both virtue and ourselves.

When they are given to us, we must not receive them even then voraciously, and with too much seeming transport; but decently and gently, that so we may keep ourselves above them, and use them prudently, without suffering our affections to be overpowered by, and wholly immersed in them.

Now the condition of men in the world is here represented, by people met together at a common entertainment; where Almighty God makes the invitation and the feast; and every one of the guests partakes of the provision, according as his own appetite stands affected. Some behave themselves with a prudent reserve, like well-bred persons; as the dictates of reason and nature direct them, and in a manner acceptable to the Master of the Feast, so as to seem guests worthy of the gods. Others again, are insolent and unruly, greedy and gluttonous, injure themselves, and displease the Great Lord that receives them.

But the especial excellency is yet behind. For if you are a person of so exalted a virtue, as not only to wait with patience, and accept with modesty, but even to decline and slight these worldly advantages, which the generality of mankind dote upon so infinitely, and can deny yourself what the Master of the Feast offers to you; this is the utmost perfection mortality is capable of: the world is no longer worthy of such a person; he hath transcended human nature itself, and is not only fit to be a guest of the gods, but to be admitted into a share of that dignity, and those divine excellencies, which he hath wrought himself up to so near a resemblance of.

This was the case of Crates and Diogenes, the latter of which expressed so just a contempt of the world, that when Alexander the Great saw him basking in the warm sun, and asked, what he should do for him; he desired no more, than only that he would stand out of the sunshine. Which answer gave so true an idea of the gallantry of his soul, that this mighty conqueror thought that philosopher a braver and greater man, than himself in all his triumphs; and said, that he could wish, if that were possible, to be Diogenes; but if not, then his second wish should be to continue Alexander.

Thus then the good providence, which constitutes this moral state, and mingles men’s circumstances in it, as it sees most suitable and convenient, advances those persons to the table of the gods, who manage the encumbrances of the body and the world, according to the directions given us, and temper all their actions with prudence and moderation. But when men do not only manage, but transcend, the world and its enjoyments; when they get quite above these things, and exercise an absolute mastery over them; then the same providence calls up those souls, which so well imitate the divine excellencies, into a sort of partnership and government; and makes them (as it were) its assistants in the disposing of things here below. For, what can we think less of them, while they sit enthroned on high, and look down, and order all things, with such undisturbed security, and so imperial a sway, as if they themselves were no longer a part of this universe, but, like those beings above, were distinct and separate from it, and governed their own world?

For this reason Epictetus says, Heraclitus and Diogenes, who had a generous disdain for these things, were justly esteemed, and in reality were divine persons. And indeed, they are truly so, who live up to the utmost perfection of their nature, and divest themselves of all concerns for the body and the world. They are spiritualized already, and have no more to do with any impressions of flesh and sense. This is the utmost perfection of a human mind; and whatever is absolutely perfect, is divine; because it is of God, who is the source and sum of all perfections.

When you see a neighbor in tears, and hear him lament the absence of his son, the hazards of his voyage into some remote part of the world, or the loss of his estate; keep upon your guard, for fear some false ideas rising upon these occasions, surprise you into a mistake, as if this man were really miserable, upon the account of those outward accidents. But be sure to distinguish wisely, and tell yourself immediately, that the thing, which really afflicts this person, is not really the accident itself, (for other people, under his circumstances, are not equally afflicted with it) but merely opinion, which he hath formed to himself concerning this accident. Notwithstanding all which, you may be allowed, as far as expressions and outward behavior go, to comply with him; and if occasion requires, to bear a part in his sighs, and tears too. But then you must be sure to take care, that his compliance does not infect your mind, nor betray you to an inward and real sorrow, upon any such account.

Comment.

As this consideration, that the desirable things of this world are not, and cannot be our happiness, though we should suppose a man never so prosperous, should restrain our eagerness, and check our too forward desires after them, so that other reflection, that no external misfortune can make us truly miserable, should be an argument no less prevailing, to buoy up our spirits, and make us entertain them with courage and resolution.

To this purpose, our author urges the following instance, of a man in great grief and lamentation for some calamity; the death or the distance of a darling child, the loss of an estate, and being reduced to extreme poverty, or the like. And the caution he gives upon such occasions, is, that the spectators would not suffer themselves to be born down by the torrent of this man’s tears, and carried into an erroneous opinion of his being made miserable by any of these disasters: for, they are to recollect themselves, and consider, that no man’s happiness or unhappiness does, or ever can, depend upon his successes in the world, or any of the good or bad events from without.

But if this be so, how comes it then to pass, that this person is so infinitely afflicted, as if some real ill had happened to him? The accident, it is plain, cannot be evil in its own nature. Were it so, all persons that lie under the same misfortune, would feel the same impressions, and be carried to an equal excess of grief. For this is a rule in nature, that natural qualities have always the same operation; and what feels hot to one, will feel so to everyone that touches it. At this rate then, everyone who buries a son, must mourn and lament; and yet Anaxagoras, when news was brought him of the death of his, made answer, with all the bravery and unconcernedness in the world, Well, I knew my child could be no more than mortal. But what then is the true cause of all this melancholy? Nothing else, but man’s own notions of this accident: this is the root of all the disease; and our opinions are properly our own. So that we will grant the ground of this excessive grief to be not only a seeming, but a real evil; but then the mistake of the person still remains; for it is not in any accident from without, but rises entirely from within himself, and is owing to nothing else but his own wrong apprehensions. And this is both a real evil, and properly ones own too, because opinions are some of the things within our own power, and the truth and falsehood of these depends purely upon the will, and falls within the compass of our own choice.

You will ask perhaps, in the next place, what behavior is proper in such a case? Is no compassion due to this afflicted mistaken man? And must I only, with a sullen magisterial pride, condemn his error, and chide or scorn his folly? By no means. This deportment is unsuitable to the character of a good man. You are allowed therefore to pity and comply with him, to condescend in some measure to his frailties, to speak kind and tender things, and if you see occasion, to drop a few tears for company. Nor is all this to be put on merely for ostentation, or to show good nature: for dissimulation and trickery is what no circumstance can render excusable to a good man. But your trouble may be real; and indeed, there is but too just a pretence for it, when you see such an instance of human infirmity, as a man who thinks the misfortunes of the world worth so immoderate a concern.

But still you must set bounds to your pity and condescension, for grief is catching; and therefore be sure to take care, that it does not fasten upon your mind, and so you fall into the same disease of a real concern for the accident itself. If once you sink so low, you are for the future incapable of doing the sorrowful any service. He that would be serviceable to another’s cure, and quiet the anguish of his passions, must make some advances indeed, and some compliances; but he must be sure to keep out of the reach of infection too. A man who stands still upon the bank, and will not so much as step into the water, can never draw his friend out when he is drowning; and a man that jumps in, and lets the same stream carry him away too, can as little do it. He that appears insensible, and void of all tender impressions, will never be able to compose another’s passion, and bring him to reason; but he that suffers the same passion to overcome his own reason too, will be so far from serving his friend, that he himself must be beholden to the assistance of some third friend.

Remember, that the world is a theatre, and that your part in this play of life is determined by the poet. Upon him it must depend, whether you shall act a long or a short one: whether you character shall be high or low: if therefore he assigns you that of a beggar, take care to humor it well; if a cripple, or a prince, or a private obscure man, or whatever it be, make the best of it: for consider, that the playing of the part assigned you commendably, depends upon yourself. This is your business; but the giving out of the parts, and choosing the actors, is not yours, but another person’s.

Comment.

In one of the chapters a little before, this present life, and the distribution and enjoyment of the comforts and advantages of it, was compared to a public entertainment, and the maker and master of that entertainment was said to be Almighty God, who left us at liberty, either to accept, or to refuse, the dishes set before us. For this reason it was, that such pains were taken to correct and form our appetites aright; and to instruct us, how we ought to govern ourselves, and our choice, with regard to all external events, past, present, and future. For, at feasts every guest feeds on what is set before him, according as his own palate stands, and his own judgment directs him.

But here we meet with another kind of representation; life is resembled to a play, in which every man breathing bears a part, but the composer, and dispenser of these parts is God. For in this respect the present similitude differs from the former, that in it we are not left to our own disposal, whether we will accept what is assigned us or not. Providence hath appointed our character, and we cannot change or decline it. There are infinite instances of this kind, which seem to carry a plain fatality in them. For though, when riches are offered us, it is in our powers to reject them, and embrace a voluntary poverty; yet when poverty or sickness is laid out for us, it is not then in our power to decline these. So again, we may choose whether we will be masters and governors, or not; but we cannot choose whether we will be servants or subjects, or not.

All then that is left to our own liberty here, is the management of what falls to our share; and the blame or the commendation, the happiness or the misery, of a man in such cases, does not consist properly, in desiring or not desiring, accepting or refusing, (for this last does not fall within our sphere) but in such a management, as is still left at our own liberty; that is, in behaving ourselves decently or otherwise, suitably or unsuitably to our condition. For, though we cannot avoid poverty or sickness when we would, yet we can make a virtue of necessity; and, if we please, can carry ourselves handsomely under them. And all the fate in the world cannot tie us up so far, but that the husbanding and making the best of those things, which we cannot help, shall be still as much in our own breasts, as of those, which we choose and procure for our own selves.

Thus it is in the practice of the stage. The choice of the players, is the poet’s work; it is he that gives out the parts, according to the particular humors of the actors; he takes notice of their qualifications and abilities, and then suits the persons to the characters they are capable of. One he appoints to personate a prince, another a servant, another a madman, (for everyone is not fit to play Orestes.) Thus far his care goes, and he is answerable no farther: for the persons, to whom these parts are assigned, must account for the doing them justice and action.

For this reason it is, that men do not judge of the entertainment of a playhouse, by the greatness or quality of the character, but by the just proportion, and the natural representation, and the gracefulness of the action itself. How often do we see a beggar, or a servant, or a madman, clapped, and at the same time, a rich man, or a general, or a king hissed? The reason of which is, that one hath hit the humor of his part, and maintained the character he was to appear in, and the other do not so. The beggar behaved himself as a beggar should do, and the king sunk beneath the grandeur of his post; and this behavior was the proper business of the actors themselves, though the choosing, whether they should personate a king, or a beggar, was not.

Just thus we find in this vast theatre of the world. How many emperors, and wealthy, and strong lusty men, have spoiled their parts, while the poor, the lame, the slave, the despised Epictetus, performed his, with the approbation of his great master, and to the wonder of all the spectators? For though his part had less of pomp and show than theirs, yet he studied the character thoroughly, and kept it up to the very last, and answered the design and directions of the poet, who destined him to it. This was his proper business, and therefore this commendation is due to him for it. For, as no man’s happiness or misery can consist in anything, but what falls within his own choice; so neither will any wise man allow, that either praise or commendation, honor or infamy, belongs properly to anything else. And consequently, it is not the part, but the manner of acting it, that every man distinguishes himself by.

When the ravens croak or any other ominous thing happens, let not any superstitious fancies disturb or affright you: but have immediate recourse to this distinction, for the quieting your fears, that nothing of this kind can bode ill to you: to your body, or your estate, or your reputation, or you wife, or your children, ‘tis possible it may: but as for yourself, ‘tis in your own power to make everything auspicious to you; because whatever disaster happens in any of the fore-mentioned respects, you may, if you please, reap some very considerable advantage from it.

Comment.

This chapter seems to me to be misplaced, and would be more methodical, if set before the former, and immediately after that which begins with if you see a neighbor in tears, &c. For, having told us there, that a man ought not to be too sensibly affected with the excessive passion of those, who think themselves unhappy, for the loss of any of the comforts of this world; nor sympathize so far, as to imagine, that such a one is really miserable upon any of these accounts; (since a man’s happiness or his wretchedness does not consist in any outward prosperous or adverse events, but purely in the use of his own free will, and the practice or neglect of what God and nature have made entirely the object of his own choice and power) here he adds, that if any inauspicious bird, or other omen seems to foretell mischief and ill-luck, this ought not to terrify or discompose us. But, though we should suppose them to carry any ill portent to our bodies or our fortunes, yet we must distinguish between these and ourselves; and should consider, that our own happiness and misery depends upon our own disposal, and can come from nothing but ourselves.

Do but resolve then not to make yourself unhappy, and all the most direful significations of misfortune, and all the misfortunes consequent to those significations, shall never be able to do it. Your body, ‘tis true may be sick, or die; your reputation may be blasted, your estate destroyed or wasted, your wife or children taken from you; but still all this does not reach yourself; that is your reasoning mind. This can never be miserable, nay, it must and will be happy, in spite of all these ill-bodings, except if you consent to your own wretchedness: for all your good and evil depends wholly upon yourself.

Nay, which is more, and the greatest security imaginable, these very misfortunes shall conspire to render you yet more happy. For out of this bitter you may gather sweetness, and convert what is generally mistaken for misery, to your own mighty benefit. And the greater those calamities are, the more considerable will the advantage be, provided you manage them prudently, and behave yourself decently under them. Now it is plain from hence, that these are not evils, properly speaking, for whatever is so, must always do hurt, and can never change its nature so far, as to contribute to any good effect. Since then these may be so ordered, as to become subservient to your good; and since no ill can come to you, but what yourself must be instrumental in, and accessory to; you must of necessity grant, that all omens, and all the evils threatened by them, are not, and cannot be evils to you yourself, unless you please to make them so; and that all they can pretend to, is to affect something that belongs, or bears some distant relation, to you.

It is in your power always to come off conqueror, provided you will never engage in any combats, but such, whose successes will be determined by our own choice.

Comment.

He had said just before, that no ominous predictions bonded any ill to men, except they brought the evil upon themselves, because it is in the power of everyone not to be miserable. And this chapter I take to be a farther prosecution of that argument, and added by way of proof and confirmation to the former.

Fir it is in our own power, never to enter the lists with any external accidents; that is, we may so restrain our desires and aversions, as not to concern ourselves with them. If we stake our happiness upon the success of such an encounter, we must needs retire with loss; because such desires will meet with frequent disappointments, and such aversions cannot always deliver us from the dangers we fear. Let all our combats therefore be confined to ourselves, and to such things, as nature hath put in the power of our own wills; for when you strive with your own desires, and aversions, and opinions, the prize is in your own hands, and you may rest secure of danger or disappointment. This he had shown at large formerly, and this is in effect the same thing, as to say, that a man shall never be vanquished, but always come off triumphantly.

And if this be true, then it is no less evidently so, that it is in a man’s own power never to be miserable: for he that is miserable, is a subdued man; and, if it depends upon one’s own choice, whether any evil shall happen to him, then it must needs be in his own breast too, whether any omens or predictions shall portend ill to him. So that Epictetus had reason, when he pronounced so peremptorily, that no inauspicious events are signified to any man, unless himself conspires to make them so: that is, unless he engages in such disputes, as he is not qualified for, and where the victory is doubtful at least, if not sure to go against him. And this is done by everyone, who overlooks his own mind, and places his happiness and unhappiness, in the events of fortune, and the affairs of the world.

Take heed, when you see any person advanced to an eminent station of honor or power, or any other kind of prosperity, that you be not presently surprised with a false idea of his condition, and rashly pronounce him happy. For, if all the happiness and tranquillity of our minds depend upon things within our own power, there can be no room for envy or emulation. And you yourself, when you consider, do not desire to be a general, or a senator, or a consul, but to be free and easy. Now the only way to be so, is to despise the world, and everything that is out of your own power

Comment.

The only method of insuring a conquest upon all encounters, the last chapter told us, is never to engage with what is out of our own power. But because we are exceedingly apt to be drawn into such conflicts; and by nothing more indeed, than by the examples of other persons, who seem prosperous, and happy, and by the envy and emulation that usually follows upon such occasions; therefore he shows us here very briefly, that nobody, who makes the real happiness of a man his serious study and sincere endeavor, is capable of envy or emulation; and that it is utterly inconsistent with his principles, to be guilty of either.

For if the proper happiness of a man depends upon the use of his free-will, and upon those things that are subjected to it; and if the persons who are promoted to power and honor, and courted with popular applause and admiration, have not in all this any of those advantages, which nature hath put in our own power; it is manifest, that these seemingly happy men are not in reality such; nor have they, by this advancement, attained to any degree of that, which is the peculiar and true happiness of human nature. What occasion then can all these flattering appearances give for envy or emulation? For envy is properly the repining at another’s happiness; and emulation, is an impatient desire of raising ourselves up to an equality with others, who exceed us in something, which we take for happiness.

Now the original cause of these passions is rooted in our nature and constitution; which determines us to thirst after honor and esteem, and is uneasy, when we come behind any of our equals. Hence it is, that men of mean souls, and vulgar attainments, and such as despair of advancing themselves by the strength of their own worth, endeavor to undermine, and detract from, others of better desert, that so they may rise upon their ruins. And to such ungenerous tempers no consideration is so afflicting, as the good successes of their neighbors: and in this vile disposition the very essence of envy consists. For envy steals in upon the prosperous, or those that are esteemed so; but especially, if those persons are upon the same level with ourselves, either in respect of their birth, or fortune, or profession, or other accomplishments. For persons either very much above, or very much below ourselves, are not the object of our envy. Because these are not a match for us, but the one sort excites our admiration, and the other provokes our contempt.

But where nature hath given a greater strength of parts, and a more active and generous disposition, there men feel a gallant warmth of soul, which exerts itself vigorously, and struggles to come up to the perfection of others, by virtue of ones own merit, without any invidious arts of lessening theirs: nay, not only to come up with them, but to outstrip them in the race, and bear away the prize. From the difference then of these two tempers, and the practices consequent to them, we may plainly perceive, that envy is a vicious passion, and no qualification can render it otherwise. But emulation is sometimes commendable, and nearly related to the love of goodness, when virtue is the thing we strive to excel in; but it degenerates into vice, and is little better than envy, when the advantages of fortune, and the world, are the prize we contend for.

Since therefore good is the proper object of envy and emulation; and since preference in honor, or power, or reputation, is only mistaken for such by the vulgar, but can really be no such thing; because none of these fall within our own choice; it is plain, that in men, who examine matters nicely, there can be no such passion, as envy and emulation, excited upon any of these accounts. Consequently, these are resentments, most unbecoming a man, who makes wisdom and virtue his study, because they plainly argue, that while he accounts such persons worthy of his envy or emulation, he does likewise expect to find his happiness, in those advantages which they enjoy. Now this contradicts the very first principles of philosophy, and is inconsistent with the character he pretends to. For the thing that ought to be first in his desires, is liberty; the breaking those chains his passions have bound him in, and getting loose from all the encumbrances of the world. And the only way to deliver himself from this bondage, is to slight and disdain the world and to assert his native freedom, from all those external accidents, those rivals in his affections, which subdued and enslaved his mind. For these only have the power to vanquish and captivate him, by disappointing his hopes and expectations, and oppressing him with the calamities he fears. Upon these it is, that our brutish inclinations let themselves loose; and from hence comes all that remorseless tyranny, which they usurp, and so arbitrarily exercise, over us. The contempt of the world therefore is the most effectual method of reducing all into order again, for by a brave and just scorn of those outward objects, we weaken the desires that lead to them; and when once those succours are intercepted and cut off, these cannot stand alone; but fall in of course, and submit themselves to reason.

Remember, when any man reviles or strikes you, it is not the tongue, that gives you the opprobrious language, or the hand that deals the blow, that injures or affronts you; but it is your own resentment of it, as an injury or affront, that makes it such to you. When therefore you are provoked, this is owing entirely to your own apprehensions of the thing. And especially guard yourself well against the first impressions; for if you can but so far subdue your passion, as to gain time for cooler thoughts, you will easily attain to a good government of yourself afterwards.

But be sure to keep death, persecution, and banishment, and all those calamities, which mankind are most afraid of, constantly before your eyes, and let them be very familiar to your mind. But above all, let death be ever present there: for you will find this a most excellent remedy against base and mean thoughts, and a powerful restraint to all immoderate desires.

Comment.

After having again exposed the vanity of all those imaginary happinesses, which men depend upon the world for; and having shown us, that a gallant and generous disdain of these, is the only possible course of setting our souls at liberty, and living easy; he proceeds in the next place, to take off all those formidable objections, which men are apt, either to raise merely for discourse sake, or used to feel the discouraging effects of in themselves, while they are yet but raw and untrained in the discipline of wisdom and virtue. And in this he observes his former method, of having recourse to the first principles of morality.

The sum of what the objectors have to say, is this: That such a contempt and neglect of the world, how great and gay so ever they may look at first, are yet really attended with many inconveniences; for they render men despicable and cheap, keep them impotent and low, and lay them open to all the insolences and injuries imaginable, while they are neither in a capacity to repel the wrongs that are done them by force nor can descend so low, as to prevent them by flattery, and servile applications. When people see this, there is no indignity, that they have not ill natures enough to offer; no liberty, that they will not give themselves; nor tongue, nor hand will know any restraint. And thus we see daily, that when men have got the ascendant, there is nothing they stick at; they wound such unresisting philosophical persons in their reputation, with slanders and reproaches; offer violence and indignities to their persons; treat them with all manner of contumely and scorn; oppress them in their estates; drive them from their dwellings; clap them into prisons; make them fly their country; and, as if all this were too little, sometimes take away their very lives too. Now, who would choose to be thus trampled upon, and not only choose, but make a virtue of it too? A virtue, that provokes the most barbarous injustice and all manner of affronts, and leaves a man naked and defenseless to them all?

To all this Epictetus replies in short, that there is nothing grievous or terrible in all this dismal representation. For if there were, all the world would agree in esteeming it so. But in truth, the only thing that carries terror in it, is the opinion we entertain of these injures being such. So that the affront is not from the action of the person that offers but from the opinion of the person that resents it; and consequently, we expose and injure ourselves; for these opinions are our own act and deed.

Now, that reproach and slanders are no such mighty affliction, nor what ought to move our indignation, and disquiet our minds, will very easily be made apparent. For, they must be either true or false. If the former, why so very loth, and so very much displeased, to hear the truth? Our shame in this case comes too late; and we should have done much better, in hating to commit the fact, than in hating to be told of it afterwards. But if what is said of us be false, it is the reporter, and not we, that are the worse for it.

What course then is to be taken in this case? He tells you, the remedy is, not to let this affront make too sudden and sensible impressions upon you, nor provoke you to lamentations and complaints, as if you thought yourself unhappy upon this account; but to give yourself leisure to recollect, and consider the true nature of the thing calmly and coolly. For if you once can gain time, and defend yourself against the surprise of the thing, you will live easy and quiet, and your mind will be in a condition to weigh and apply the principles of philosophy, and to distinguish, whether this accident be anything within your own power or not. And, when you find it to be somewhat that your will cannot command, the result of this will presently be, to conclude, that neither your happiness or unhappiness can depend upon it; and that, be it as bad as it is possible to suppose, yet you have it in your power to convert it to an excellent use; and, by a true elevation of soul, which expresses a decent contempt of the world, and all its malice, to reap great advantages from such cross accidents as these.

Now the best expedient for evenness of temper is custom. And therefore, upon any such provoking occasion, there is no preservative against false notions and immoderate resentments, like silence, and refusing to give one’s passion vent; and though it may boil and foam within, yet still to stifle the fire, till we fell its heat abate; and not let loose the dog, till he have done snarling. This practice is recommended to us particularly by the example of Socrates, who was taken notice of, for never speaking a word, when anything angered him.

What Epictetus says upon this subject, and that which follows in the next chapter, have, in my opinion, so close a coherence, that they ought to be connected by that particle But, which seems to me by no means redundant, but a very significant conjunction is this place. Thus then the author carries on his argument; But as for death and exile, and all those calamities which mankind are usually afraid of, be sure to keep these constantly before your eyes; and so on.

For, having proved, concerning all external events in general, even the most dismal and dreadful of them all, that there is not anything formidable or injurious in the nature of the things themselves; but that this is entirely owing to men’s own notions and resentments of them; he prescribes caution, and leisure, and cooler consideration, as the best remedy against such impressions, and particularly against our being enraged at, or dejected under, any vexation or cross accidents. But he directs to another sort of application, against death, and exile, and such misfortunes, as are of the first and most formidable kind; which is, to bear them continually in mind, and live in expectation of them every moment, as things that may come at any time, and some of which most certainly will come, at one time or other. For when once reason hath convinced us, that these things are not really such, as make a man one whit the better, or the worse; and when customary meditation hath reconciled us to them, taken off all their terror, and rendered the thoughts of them easy and familiar to the soul, we presently look upon the most dreadful of them all, as things frequent and common; and by this means we feel both our spirits supported against the terrors, and our affections much moderated, and weaned from the pleasures of the world.