I know a man older than I am, and who is now superintendent of provisions at Rome. When he passed through this place on his return from exile, what an account did he give me of his former life! and how did he promise that for the future when he was got back, he would apply himself to nothing but how to spend the remainder of his days in repose and tranquillity. "For how few have I now remaining!"—You will not do it, said I. When you are once got within the smell of Rome, you will forget all this, and, if you can but once gain admittance to court, you will go in heartily rejoiced and thank God. "If you ever find me, Epictetus," said he, "putting one foot into the court, think of me whatever you please." Now, after all, how did he act? Before he entered the city he was met by a billet from Cæsar. On receiving it he forgot all his former resolutions, and has ever since been heaping up one encumbrance upon another. I should be glad now to have an opportunity of putting him in mind of his discourse upon the road, and of saying, How much more clever a prophet am I than you!

§ 2. What then do I say? that man is made for an inactive life? No, surely. "But why is not ours a life of activity?" For my own part, as soon as it is day, I recollect a little what things I am to read over again [with my pupils], and then say to myself quickly, What is it to me how such a one reads? My chief point is to get to sleep.

§ 3. But, indeed, what likeness is there between the actions of these [old fellows at Rome] and ours? If you consider what it is they do you will see. For about what are they employed the whole day but in calculating, contriving, consulting about provisions; about an estate or other emoluments like these? Is there any likeness, then, between reading such a petition from any one as—"I entreat you to give me a permission to export corn;" and—"I entreat you to learn from Chrysippus of what nature the administration of the world is, and what place a reasonable creature holds in it. Learn, too, what you yourself are, and wherein your good and evil consists." Are these things at all alike? Do they require an equal degree of application? And is it as shameful to neglect the one as the other?1

§ 4. Well, then, are we preceptors the only idle dreamers? No; but you young men are so first, in a greater degree. And so even we old folks, when we see young ones trifling, are tempted to grow fond of trifling with them. Much more, then, if I was to see you active and diligent, I should be excited to join with you in serious industry.

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Chapter XI

Of Natural Affection

§ 1. WHEN one of the great men came to visit him, Epictetus, having inquired into the particulars of his affairs, asked him whether he had a wife and children? The other replying that he had, Epictetus likewise inquired, In what manner do you live with them? Very miserably, says he. How so? for men do not marry and get children to be miserable; but rather to make themselves happy. But I am so very miserable about my children, that the other day, when my daughter was sick and appeared to be in danger, I could not bear even to be with her, but ran away, till it was told me that she was recovered. And pray do you think this was acting right? It was acting naturally, said he. Well: do but convince me that it was acting naturally, and I will convince you that everything natural is right. All or most of us fathers are affected in the same way. I do not deny the fact, but the question between us is whether it be right. For, by this way of reasoning, it must be said that tumours happen for the good of the body, because they do happen: and even that vices are natural, because all or the most part of us are guilty of them. Do you show me, then, how such a behaviour as yours appears to be natural.

I cannot undertake that. But do you rather show me how it appears to be neither natural nor right.

If we were disputing about black and white, what criterion must we call in to distinguish them?

The sight.

If about hot and cold, and hard and soft, what?

The touch.

Well then, when we are debating about natural and unnatural, and right and wrong, what criterion are we to take?

I cannot tell.

And yet, to be ignorant of a criterion of colours, or of smells, or tastes, might perhaps be no very great loss. But do you think that he suffers only a small loss who is ignorant of what is good and evil, and natural and unnatural, to man?

No. The very greatest.

Well, tell me: Are all things which are judged good and proper by some, rightly judged to be so? It is possible that the several opinions of Jews and Syrians and Egyptians and Romans concerning food should all be right?

How can it be possible?

I suppose, then, it is absolutely necessary, if the opinions of the Egyptians be right, the others must be wrong: if those of the Jews be good, all the rest must be bad.

How can it be otherwise?

And where ignorance is, there likewise is want of learning and instruction in necessary points.

It is granted.

Then, as you are sensible of this, you will for the future apply to nothing, and think of nothing else, but how to acquaint yourself with the criterion of what is agreeable to nature, and to use that in judging of each particular case.

§ 2. At present the assistance I have to give you towards what you desire is this: Doth affection seem to you to be a right and a natural thing?1

How should it be otherwise?

Well; and is affection natural and right, and reason not so?

By no means.

Is there any opposition, then, between reason and affection?

I think not.

If there was, of two opposites if one be natural, the other must necessarily be unnatural, must it not?

It must.

What we find, then, at once affectionate and reasonable, that we may safely pronounce to be right and good.

Agreed.

Well, then, you will not dispute but that to run away and leave a sick child is contrary to reason. It remains for us to consider whether it be consistent with affection.

Let us consider it.

Did you, then, from an affection to your child, do right in running away and leaving her? Hath her mother no affection for the child?

Yes; surely she hath.

Would it have been right, then, that her mother too should leave her, or would it not?

It would not.

And doth not her nurse love her?

She doth.

Then ought not she likewise to leave her?

By no means.

And doth not her preceptor love her?

He doth.

Then ought not he also to have run away, and left her; and so the child to have been left alone, and unassisted, from the great affection of her parents, and her friends; or to die in the hands of people who neither loved her nor took care of her?

Heaven forbid!

But is it not unreasonable and unjust, that what you think right in yourself, on the account of your affection, should not be allowed to others, who have the very same affection as you?

It is absurd.

Pray, if you were sick yourself, should you be willing to have your family, and even your wife and children, so very affectionate as to leave you helpless and alone?

By no means.

Or would you wish to be so loved by your friends, as from their excessive affection always to be left alone when you were sick? Or would you not rather wish, if it were possible, to have such a kind of affection from your enemies as to make them always keep from you? If so, it remains that your behaviour was by no means affectionate. Well then: was it merely nothing that induced you to desert your child?

How is that possible?

No; but it was some such motive as induced a person at Rome to hide his face while a horse was running to which he earnestly wished success; and when, beyond his expectation, it won the race, he was obliged to have recourse to sponges to recover his senses.

And what was this motive?

At present perhaps it cannot be accurately explained.