commentary on epictetus 29-31

7/30/2019 commentary on epictetus 29-31

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Commentary on Epictetus' Enchiridion

(Chapters 29-31)

by Simpliciu s (c. early sixth centu ry)

Chapter. XXIX.

If you resolve to make wisdom and vir tue the study and business of your life, you must be

sure to arm yourself beforehand, against all the inconveniences and discouragements, that

are likely to attend this resolution. Imagine, that you shall meet w ith many scoffs, and

much derision; and that people will upbraid you with turning philosopher all on the

sudden; and ask in scorn, What is the meaning of all this aff ected gravity , and these

disdainful looks? But be not you affected, or supercilious, only stick close to whatever you

are in y our judgment convinced is vir tuous and becoming; and consider th is as your proper

station, assigned you by God, w hich you must not quit upon any terms. And remember,

that if you persevere in goodness, those very men, w ho derided you at first, w ill

afterwards turn your admirers. But if you give way to their reproaches, and are

vanquished by them, you will then render yourself doubly , and most deservedly ,

ridiculous.

Comment.

The former advice extended to all mankind in general, and concerned them as men;

there he had very largely dissuaded them from engaging in the affairs of the world, and

all t he disqu iets and supersti tious fears abou t t hem; in consideration, th at th ese are

remote and foreign, out of our reach and disposal; and, that a man must look at home

for all t hat is properly good or evil; t his being the peculiar pr erogative of a rat ional and

free agent , th at all it s happiness and misery depends u pon it self alone. But now he takes

another method, and addresses him self par ti cular ly t o such, as have made some

advances in wisdom and goodness, and are affected wit h a real love and desire of it . And

here his first care is, to secure the approaches, and first efforts of such a desire, by

giving timely warnin g of the difficult ies it m ay probably encount er, lest th e surpri se of

any sudden and u nforeseen oppositi on shoul d distu rb t he mind, and break i ts

measures.

Now noth ing is more usual, than for men t o take it i ll, when any of their companions

leave a way of livin g, to which t hey have been long accustomed. And the method they

take for expressing such resent ments, is, sometimes by exposing and ri dicul ing them,

th at so the world may think their own cour ses, at least as good, as those they use wit h


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such rude insolence and contempt : and th is is comm only the treatment men who take

bett er cour ses meet with, fr om their old cronies and in timate acquaint ances. Sometimes

they do it , by reproaching them with arrogance and pri de, and valu ing themselves upon

their phil osophy, more th an they ought to do. And t his proceeds partl y from anger, and

partl y from envy, and a malicious desire to obstruct their farther pr ogress.

And indeed, this spiteful dealing does but too often meet with its desired success; for

many persons are overcome with these reproaches, and desert their post, and relapse

into their former follies, merely to deliver themselves from such teasing. Some of these

derisions are expressed in contemptuous looks and gestures, and they are properly

mockeries. Others do not content themselves with apish figures and i ll language, bu t

ru n men u pon precipices, draw both those that would fain be good, and all th at take

their part, and assist t hem in so necessary a reform ation, in to real di fficult ies, and great

dangers. And if this were done by strangers only, it would be something more tolerable;

bu t their own friends and relations have oftent imes the greatest h and in it . These do it

upon an i dle pretence, th at a ph ilosophical retir ement renders men useless, and lost to

the world; and others do it, partl y out of envy against a life, so infin itely more happy and

commendable than their own; and partly out of a resentment, that this will make them,

and their way of conversation despised, by those that have exchanged it for a better.

Nor mu st it be dissembled, th at t here is sometimes too ju st ground for th e latter of these

reasons; for we very often see men, whose good disposit ions and happy t emper inclin e

them t o wisdom and virt ue, (whil e they are not arr ived to any mastery or perfection in it ,

bu t only big with the hope of att ainin g to it in time) exalted with self-conceit , and ful l of

disdain, as if they only had all perfection, and other people none at all . When, in tr ut h,

th is might y opinion proceeds only from want of discretion and judgment, and is th e most

undeniable evidence against such m en, t hat they really have not t hat, wh ich t hey with

so mu ch confidence pretend t o. For th ere is not in th e whole world anything more

inconsistent with wisdom and virtue, than a haughty supercilious carriage, and that

swelli ng vanit y, which disdains and neglects th at excellent and most divine ru le of

and substance of all phi losophy,

the first principle, and the last and highest precept in i t.

When m en behave themselves with so mu ch pri de and ostentation, the world think s the

character of philosophers suit s very i ll with them. For t his exaltation does not proceed

from any true gallantry or greatness of soul, but it is a vain tumor, which draws ill-


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humors to it from within, and swells to an unnatural bulk; an excrescence, which

causes deformi ty, and proceeds from some disease. Whereas t ru e greatness and strength

of mind, lik e th at of the body, resu lt s from a good dispositi on of the part s, is distr ibu ted

equally and regularly t hr ough the whole mass, and preserves a due temper, and m utu al

good assistance, between the part s within, and t hose without .

Against t his distemper he cau tions all t hat make phil osophy their study, as against a

th ing detested by all mank ind, and th at whi ch gives a just provocati on to malice, and

exposes a man to all the mischievous effects of it. But when all due care hath been taken

to get clear of th is folly; th en a man ought to harden himself against all scoffs and

reproaches, with the consideration of the digni ty of human n atu re, and wh at is decent

and agreeable to so excellent a being; and t hen t o persevere in th e choice of vir tu e, in

despite of all opposit ion t o the cont rary; and in a full persu asion, that these good

resolut ions and desires are the motions and im pulses of a divine power. For, in tr ut h,

philosophy is the noblest and most valuable blessing, that ever God bestowed upon

mankind.

The excellence of the thing is confessed by these very scoffers themselves; who, when

they reproach u s with pretending to an accomplishment above us, do at t he same time

express the high esteem they have for it; and by not allowing any man to profess himself

a phi losopher on a sudden, t hey expose indeed the arrogance and forwardness of th e

persons who presume to do so; but then withal they acknowledge this to be an

attain ment, wh ich r equir es much ti me, and great application. Now these very men, who

resent the vanit y of bold pr etenders wi th so mu ch in dignation, and express their h onor

of philosophy t hat way, wil l discern the beauty and majesty of it mu ch bett er, and

admir e it ten th ousand time more, when they behold i ts effects, in t he modest

conversation of one who constantly improves, and perseveres in being resolutely and

obstin ately vir tu ous, in despite of all the scoffs and discouragements, by wh ich t hey

attempted, in vain, to draw hi m off. But the man, t hat yields tamely to their reproaches,

and u pon th at account , desists from h is good pur poses, and compoun ds for his quiet by

retu rn ing to his former courses, renders h imself doubly r idicu lous. The jests and scorn ,

which passed upon such a one at fir st, were what he had really no concern in ; but the

reproach must retu rn all u pon the auth ors themselves, and n one of their aspersions

would st ick , so long as he proceeded in a generous neglect of them, and by degrees was

preparing to change their scorn in to admir ation and esteem. But the suffering oneself t o


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be vanqui shed by their mali ce, does not only ju stify th eir first insolence, by quit ting our

form er pretensions, and fallin g so low, after looking so high; (thus vain ly att empt ing to

reconcile philosophy with a mean and sordid temper;) but it also provokes contempt

upon another account; that of being subdued by such base and despicable enemies, and

letting a senseless fear, or a malicious jest, beat one off from that post of virtue, which

God and wisdom had assigned to him. Most ju stly t herefore does this poor spiri ted

wretch deserve a double portion of scorn; the scorn of wise and good men, after having

submit ted to that of fools and knaves; which could have done him n o harm at all, in case

he had persisted in his duty; but returns upon him with double force, and is rendered

most reasonable and due, by his own inconstancy and desertion.

Theses considerati ons are abun dantl y sufficient , to inspire any min d, not u tterly sunk

in to feebleness and effeminacy, wi th generous resolu ti ons to persevere in goodness, and

hold out against all manner of opposition. And in th is th ere is one very considerable

advantage, that even our passions commence good dispositions, and the natural

ambit ion every man hath after honor and fame, becomes upon t his occasion an assistan t

to virt ue: it adds strength and vigor t o reason, and is refined and exalted by it . For t hu s

we come to a true notion of honor; we covet it no longer for its own sake, nor are proud

of it, upon the account of the persons who pay the respect, and so place our happiness

upon something without u s: but we valu e it , as a mark and testimony of real virt ue and

desert . And therefore the honor, wh ich a man ought to be satisfied wit h, i s by no means

th at, which comes from the applause of the rabble, and an u nthin k in g part of the world,

who often mistake men and their characters; but that which is founded upon the

commendat ion of the wise and th e good. For t hese know how to discern between

persons, and their respective meri ts; and t he testimony of such is what may be

depended upon, wi thout any danger of being led into false judgments by it .

Chapter. XXX.

If you ever happen to accommodate yourself to the humors of the world, for the sake of

reputation and applause, take notice, that this is below a philosopher. And therefore

content yourself upon all occasions, w ith really being what y ou would be thought. But if

you w ill needs be thought so too, deserve your own good opinion, and that w ill be

sufficient.

Comment.


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convinced of his du ty, he

ought constantly to persevere in i t; t o look upon th is, as the parti cular post, and

character, wh ich pr ovidence hath appoin ted him to fill; t hat, however men may run

down goodness for a whi le, yet the resolu te and brave break t hr ough all th at; and in

time, gain t he admi rati on of their enemies and deriders; but the tame and the fickle, who

sink under th e reproaches of ill men, draw down a ju st scorn , and a double shame upon

themselves. Now to all th is he adds, th at, for a man to forsake his pr inciples, and

consu lt , not so mu ch his own judgment, as the hum or of the world, th ereby to render

himself acceptable to others; is a weakness, of which a phi losopher mu st n ot be gu ilt y: it

being a fixed ru le to all such, that their only care ought to be, to r ecommend themselves

to their own consciences, and to Almighty God.

Therefore, says he, content your self wi th being a ph ilosopher; wh ich is bu t another name

for a good man. Bu t i f th e being so alone seems t oo li tt le; and you desire, that your light

should shi ne, and t hat your vir tu e should be known and observed, (as indeed it is the

nature of goodness, to discover its beauties and shed its luster; and a man can with

bett er confidence take satisfaction in his own vir tu es, when they are conspicuous and

acknowledged;) then, says he, do not fix your eye upon the world, nor be solicitous to

please the mul ti tu de; for these are but very i ncompetent j udges of such m atters; bu t

rather strive to approve yourself to your own breast, and let the sense and

consciousness of your own virtue satisfy you. For a man who hath attained to some good

measure of philosophy, (and such a one, you must observe Epictetus applies himself to

at present ) will be sure, both to act consistent ly wit h h is pri nciples, whi le he mak es it h is

business to approve himself to his own conscience; and he will also secure a more

discern ing and impart ial judge of his actions, when they are to be tr ied by his own

reason, t han if he appealed to the judgment of the world.

And here it m ay be proper to take notice, how different th is advice is from somethin g

which was said before; all whi ch, in tr u th , depends u pon the difference of the persons

concerned in it. There he addressed his discourse to a young beginner; one but just

entering upon t he stu dy of philosophy; and t o him the coun sel t hought fi t t o be given,

was Do not affect to be thought wise: because persons in his circumstances, are

strangely fond of fame and applause, transported beyond measure with noise and empty

breath, and n ot only too credulously vain upon th e false ju dgments of others, bu t

unquali fied, as yet, t o pass any t ru e ju dgment upon themselves. But at pr esent he hath


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a good proficient t o deal wi th , one bett er disposed t o act upon pri nciple, and t o follow the

dictates of his own reason: and therefore to such a one his advice is, That he would

content himself wit h being what he should be; but if he will needs be thought so too, he

is now in a condi tion to make a just estim ate of him self, and therefore may be satisfied

with his own approbation.

This seems t o be the tru e importance of the chapter: t hough possibly there may be

another very convenient sense of it too. For this great man, very probably, designed it as

a necessary caut ion also. (As indeed he generall y takes care to prevent any

misconstru ctions, to wh ich his expressions may be liable.) Now by saying in the former

chapter, That t hose who expose vir tu e at first , wil l afterwards admi re the resolu te and

constant in it; but the men who yielded to those reproaches deserve to be doubly

scorned; he might be thought to propound the opini on and esteem of th e world, as the

principal motive to goodness; and therefore here he retracts that, and takes off all such

suspicions, by calli ng away the soul from the pursuit of fame and r eput ation abroad, as

that which is apt to corrupt her principles, and make a man more industrious to please

others than him self. And in opposition t o this, he would h ave a man gain hi s own

approbation; for t he judgment of a wise man makes of himself, is l ess subject to

parti ality, and pr ejudice, and vani ty, and of greater u se in the encouragement i t gives to

virt ue, than t hat of the world can possibly be. For the being approved and commended

by wise and good judges, is the most satisfactory and convincing evidence, that a man is

tr u ly vir tu ous. Now the person, to whom Epictetu s speaks in th is place, is supposed to

be such a ju dge; and upon th is presumpt ion I imagine it is, that he says in t he close of

the chapter, Do bu t deserve your own good opin ion, and th at i s enough in all conscience.

Chapter. XXXI.

Never perplex yourself w ith anxious thoughts like these: I shall lead a wretched obscure

life, without any name or notice taken of me. For if you suppose (as this complaint

evidently does) that obscurity and disrespect is an evil; consider that i t is no more in the

power of any but yourself to bring any evil upon you, than it is to bring any baseness or

dishonesty upon you. But besides, pray consider, w as it any par t of y our proper business,

to be chosen in to a place of command, or to be admitted to, or caressed at, publ ic

entertainments? You must al low it w as not. Where is the disrespect then? And what just

reflection can i t be upon you, if you are not? Besides, why should you say, you shall be

despised, and have no name or notice taken of you, when your business lies w holly in


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matters at the disposal of your own w ill, and for which consequently you have it in your

own power, to make yourself as valuable as you please? But your fr iends w ill be never the

better for you. What do you call being never the better? You will not furn ish them w ith

money, nor have interest enough to give them the privileges of citizens of Rome. And why

should you trouble yourself for this? Who told you, that this w as ever incumbent upon you;

or one of those things in your own power, which you ought to look upon as a duty? Or how

can it be expected, you should bestow that upon another, which you are not possessed of

yourself? But you friends w ill answ er, Pray get it then, that you may impart to us. Yes, I

will, with all my heart, provided you can direct me, how I may attain these things, and at

the same time preserve my integrity, my modesty, and true greatness of soul, inviolate.

But if you desire me to part w ith my own real good, that I may procure you some

imaginary good only ; this is the greatest in justice, and the greatest folly imaginable. And

which of these do you esteem the more valuable: money, or a true, virtuous, and modest

friend? Therefore it would better become you to assist my virtue, than to expect such things

from me, as cannot be had, but at the expense of that. But it will be objected again, that

your country receives no advan tages from you. What advantages do you mean? You w ill

not build public porticoes or baths, nor exchanges? And what if you do not? Does your

country expect to be furnished w ith arms f rom a shoemaker, or shoes from a smith?

Surely, if everyone does it service in his own w ay, this is al l that can in reason be

required. And shall you then be thought to have done it no service if you make an honest

and good patriot? Surely not. You are very far from being an useless member of the

you but have in the commonw ealth? Why truly, even just such a one, as is consistent w ith

your integrity and modesty. But if once you part w ith these, upon a pretence of promoting

the public good; know that y ou are less capable of serving your country when you are

grown knavish and impudent.

Comment.

When men apply themselves to the study and practice of virtue, and are convinced, that

noth ing so well deserves th eir care, as the impr ovement of their minds; many difficu lt ies

offer themselves, to shake these resolutions. And, as men differ in their circumstances,

so these objections present themselves differently, both to disquiet their own thoughts,

and to evacuate the good advice of others. To young beginners, wh ose minds have not

yet purged off the dross of the world, such mean and sordid reflections as these are apt


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to step in: If I neglect my business and estate, I and my family shall starve; and except I

take the trouble of punishing my servant, my indulgence will be his ruin. But to them,

who have made any considerable progress, those objections appear despicable and low;

they are above such tr iflin g considerati ons, and whi le they are doing their du ty, can

tr ust pr ovidence for a provision. But then at the same tim e, they are concerned for the

discharge of all those good offices, which may be expected from them; and think, that

both the intrinsic goodness of the thing, and the honor attending it, will abundantly

just ify such a con cern. For their desi res are generou s an d noble; t hey aim at nothing

else but tr ue honor; t hey decline infamy and obscur it y, and p ropose to themselves the

advantage of their friends, and the service of their country: and from these topics, they

start some objections, which Epictetu s here undertakes to examine, and t o refu te

particularly.

First of all, he applies him self t o that general one of obscur it y or disgrace; th at i f a man

retires from t he gainful employment s and business of the world, or qui ts h is practice at

the bar,

Where eloquence acquires a just and last ing fame,

(as Homer observes;) it must be his hard fate to be buried alive, without any respect

paid, or notice taken of him.

Now this objection Epictetus takes off most effectually, by the following syllogisms:

Disgrace is an evil, and evil as well as good is something within our own power. But

whatever is so, no other bu t ourselves, can b ri ng upon us. Therefore when any m an is

really in di sgrace, th is is in , and by, and from himself, whether others disrespect hi m, or

whether t hey do not. So then the disgrace from oth ers, is wh at we have no ju st cause to

fear, nor indeed ought it to pass for disgrace in our opinion, if disgrace be allowed to be

evil; for then it must by consequence be our own act and deed.

This is the sum of the argument. And now if you please, let us examine the several

propositions whereof it consists. First of all, disgrace or obscurity, (says he) is an evil:

now if honor be (as all men sure will allow it to be) a good; disgrace, and anything th at is

dishonorable, mu st needs be evil : for i f it were good, it would cease to be dishonorable,

and be valued and esteemed. But , besides the consent of all mank ind in th is notion of

honor; this very t hing proves it t o be good, that it is what we account most properly to

belong to the best persons and th ings. For honor i s attr ibu ted to God, to blessed spir its,

and t o the most excellent of the sons of men, as their str ict and ju st du e, as the best


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acknowledgement we can pay, for their merit and goodness. So that dishonor must

needs be an evil u pon t hi s accoun t also; for , where one cont rary belongs to one ext reme,

the other cont rary will belong to the distant extr eme; and th is is t he case of honor and

dishonor, with regard to good and evil.

The next th ing to be proved would be, that thi s is a th ing wholly in our own power; bu t

th is, I presume, is done already. For there hath been so much said i n t he former part of

this treatise, to show, that all the good and evil, properly so called, possible to fall upon

rati onal and fr ee agent s, mu st needs depend upon the liberty of their own choice: and,

that nothing which does not fa

speaking, be called good or evil; t hat it is to be hoped, there is no need of repeati ng th ose

arguments any m ore. Bu t n ow, if disgrace, and want of honor, be our own act; what

depends upon none, and comes from none but ourselves, when we lie under it; a man

may absolu tely despise and neglect the world, wit hout incu rr ing any real dishonor u pon

th at accoun t. You wil l say indeed, this exclu des him from places of digni ty and respect;

that it hin ders him from makin g a figur e and interest in his own coun try; that he sits at

home, and eats in pri vate. But th en I mu st ask you again , whether the office of a Lord

Mayor, or a Member of Parliament, whether the city feasts, or the caresses of the world,

are things in our own disposal, and such as any man can give himself when he pleases:

you m ust grant me they are not. Now from t hence I in fer, t hat no man is really u nhappy

for t he want of them; and consequent ly th at obscur it y, and want of public honor, of

which these are alleged as the discouraging inconveniences, is no evil or unhappiness

neither.

Now, as to the meaning of what follows, there seems to be some difficulty in that short

sentence, It is no more in the power of any bu t your self, to brin g any evil upon you, t han

it is to br ing vileness or dishonesty u pon you. For th is, not being in the power of any

other person to bring any evil upon a man, seems to be urged from a proof more evident

th an it it self; and t he insinuation here is, that, as the decency of an act ion is more easily

discerned, than the real and in tr insic goodness; (for it is by i ts comelin ess and beauty,

that virtue recommends itself, and invites us to its embraces, and engages our affection,)

so also the vileness and dishonestly i s more visible than the immorality and evil. Now

vileness or tu rpi tu de is properly applied to an u ndu e use of pleasur es and sensual

delights; and this abuse can be the effect of no other thing but choice, because the

indu lging those pleasures is pu rely ou r own act. It is therefore no more in the power of


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any other person, t o brin g evil u pon a man, t han to br ing vileness or dishonest upon

him; and evil i t i s plain he cannot; for a man has no more power to engage us in vice,

than he has, to engage us in base and unbecoming practices, and evil, both of crime and

misery, i s as mu ch in hi s own free disposal, as tu rpi tu de and dishonesty: so that, i f a

man cannot be brought i nt o this latt er by another, and if he can no more be brought

into evil, than into that; it follows, that he cannot be brought into evil at all by another.

But possibly the place may be clearer, and a more full and expedient sense found out, if

we transpose that negative part icle, th at so the sentence may run t hu s: It i s impossible

for any person to be made miserable by any other; n ay, much m ore so, than to be made

vile and base by him; and t hu s the strength and stress of the whole argument, wi ll l ie

upon th at note of comparison. And thi s conjectu re, as well as the whole in terpretation

groun ded u pon it , seems to carr y a great deal of tru th , if we att end t o the notions, upon

which the masters of reason and oratory proceed in these matters; for they define honest

and tu rpi tu de, by that wh ich is praise or blame-worthy, and so make decency and

vileness to depend u pon the ju dgment of the world. But of th ings profit able or hu rt ful ,

and good and evil, t hey give us a very different accoun t; for th ese, they tell us, have a

distinguishing character foun ded in natu re, and are not so precarious, as to depend on

the opinions or determinations of men. Now according to this notion, wh ich allows so

mu ch to th e commendations of men, and makes dishonest to consist in the

condemnation and dislik e of the world, he says, a man mu st admit , that it is at least as

impossible for anoth er t o brin g evil u pon him as it is to br ing dishonesty. And if, (as was

proved before,) this cannot be done, much less can that; and so the conclusion is still

the same, viz. That it is u tt erly im possible to be done at all.

Bu t t hen again, wh at occasion, (says he) is th ere for th at complaint of living without any

name or notice taken of you? Is there no way of becoming eminent, but by appearing in

some office of aut horit y, and being advanced to the admin istr ation of public bu siness?

Alas! poor man, you have forgott en, i t seems, that th is is not t he field, wh ere hu man

good and evil, t he proper and pecul iar happiness or misery of our natu re, is to be

contended for. The desires and aversions of your mind, the actions of your life, and in a

word, the management of your freedom, and wh at i s left to i ts disposal, t hese are the

lists which you must enter, for that pr ize: and th is is a combat, in wh ich i f you behave

yourself gallant ly, and act, as uncorr upt natu re and r ight r eason woul d direct, you may

render yourself h ighly valuable and conspicuous. Why t hen do you complain of obscur ity


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and contempt, when you h ave the post of honor within yourself, and may become as

signal and eminent in it , as you please? Why i ndeed? But , because you have not yet

unlearned the folly, of placing your happiness in foreign and external advantages, such

as it is a necessary qual ifi cation of everyone, who wou ld be a ph ilosopher i n good

earnest, to neglect and despise.

Well, but allowing, (say the objector) that I may signalize myself never so much; yet still

th is is but a private satisfaction; i t gives me no credit or in fluence in the world, and m y

friends are never the better for my merit. This now is a pretence, calculated for one, who

hath made some competent proficiency in wisdom and vir tu e, it argues the man t o have

got above all sordid seekings of his own interest, and to value the world and its

advantages no longer for the sake of hi mself, bu t in ki ndness to his fr iends. The

assisting of them he looks upon, as a good and gallant action; and therefore allows

himself in the pursu it of wealth , and power, and in terest, to prevent hi s being a useless

and u npr ofitable part of the creation, and to render t he good he hath, as diffusive as

may be.

This objection t oo, Epictetus removes by two arguments: the fir st pr oceeds upon the

distinction of things within our own power; the other urges, that a man who retains his

virt ue and fidelity, and all the good quali ties, that create and preserve a tr ue friendship,

is more serviceable and beneficial to hi s friends, than if he should enr ich or promote

th em, when t he power of doing so was pur chased, at th e expense of those good quali ties.

From the distinct ion of th ings in our power, he argues that r iches, and h onors, and

preferments, are none of those, which natu re hath left wi th in the disposal of our own

wills: if therefore it happens at any time, that a wise and good man be possessed of these

advantages, let h im impart to others liberally; nay, let h im esteem t he opportu ni ty of

doing good, a greater kindness to himself, than to the person who receives it from him.

Bu t i f it be not his fortu ne to be placed in such circumstances; this is no reflection u pon

his virt ue, or any disparagement t o his k indness and good intent ions. He is not one whi t

the worse man in himself, nor the less a friend to others. For (as Epictetus says) what

madness is it to expect that a man should give that to us, which he is not possessed of

himself?

Bu t p ray get these th ings, say your friends, that we may partake of th em with you . Yes,

wit h all my heart, i f I can get t hem, and not lose my self. Do but order m atters so, that I

may still retain my fidelit y and my in nocence, and not br ing any aspersion u pon the


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characters I pretend to, viz. Those of a friend and a philosopher; and when you have

th us smoothed the way, give your directions, and I wi ll not fail to follow them. Now by

th is answer our author seems plain ly to allow a li bert y, both of endeavoring to improve

an estate, and to embrace public offices and honors; provided those riches and honors

may be acquir ed and enjoyed, wit hout being engaged in anyth ing inconsistent with

virt ue, or u nbecoming our character. Bu t i f th is be an impossible condit ion, as it too

often proves; if the corr uption of the world be such, that a man, wh o makes it his

business to acquire these advantages, does at the same time bring himself under a

mani fest hazard, if n ot a fatal necessit y, of part ing with somethin g that i s a greater and

more substant ial good; a good m ore properly hi s, in exchange for them: t hen, wh at do

th ose friends who import une a man to make them do so too; what do they, I say, but

desire, that h e would part wit h a happiness that is real and h is own: (that is the good of

his rational soul,) to procure them a happiness which is but imaginary, and cannot be

truly called their own, though they had it? For the advantages they are so eager for, have

no relation t o the rational mind, i n wh ich t he very essence and natu re of a man consists,

(and consequent ly all the happiness he is capable of, considered as a man, must n eeds

depend upon that,) but they are the object of meaner appetites.

This therefore is the most unequal dealing, and the greatest folly imaginable: they deal

unequally, because they transgress the laws of true friendship: (for the Pythagoreans,

you know, made friendship to consist i n equali ty.) and n othin g can be more un fair, than

for me to engage a fri end in some great hazard, and expose him to cert ain and extr eme

misery, and all this, only to satisfy some unreasonable desire of my own. The folly of it is

double; for who bu t fools, wou ld be so barbarous, as to impose such an u nr easonable

trial of his kindness, upon an intimate acquaintance, and particular friend? And who

bu t such, could be so blind, as not t o discern the mighty di fference, between the loss

their friend would sustain , by grati fying their r equests, and the gain t hemselves should

reap, in case he did so? He sacrifices his all: forfeit s his greatest, h is own pecul iar

happiness, to pur chase that for th em, wh ich is not, cannot be their proper h appiness;

and is so far from being a great good, that it very often proves to be none at all in the

event , bu t a great and sore evil.

But besides all this, there may still a another very good reason be given, why he should

call su ch men fooli sh and senseless; and that is, their esteeming money to be of greater

and more valuable considerati on to them, than t he modesty and fidelity of a friend. And


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to this pu rpose, he proceeds to show, th at a person thus qualified, is so far from being

unserviceable to h is fr iends, t hat he is really mu ch m ore useful and beneficial, than even

they, who feed them wit h t he dross they so much admire.

For if among servants, those who are honest and respectful, recommend themselves

more to the esteem of their m asters, t han oth ers who are of qui cker parts, and more

dexterous in the business of their tr ade; sure the reason holds mu ch str onger, wh y a

faith ful and vir tu ous friend should h ave the preference, infini tely before what t he world

calls a gainful one: and t hat preference they wil l h ave, in the opini on of all wise men. For

we feel the benefit of these upon every occasion; they give us the sweets of good

conversation, and t he assistance of seasonable advice; they are a perpetu al guard u pon

whatever we esteem most dear, and a sur e relief in dangers and distresses; they are

physicians in our diseases, and (as if li fe were too short a space for so mu ch goodness to

exercise itself i n) we find our account in such friends, even after death: and, upon all

occasions there is a perpetual good correspondence, a mutu al agreement between t he

giver and the receiver of favors; no discord in the whole course of their lives, but

constant consent and perfect harmony of souls. Those therefore, that are friends indeed,

will cont ribut e their ut most endeavors, towards th e preserving the vir tu e and fidelity of

their friends; nay, they will find themselves obliged to i t, in tenderness to their i nt erest;

and cannot be gui lt y of so great an absur dit y, as to desire anyth ing for t heir own sakes,

which m ust tu rn at last so infinit ely to their prejudice, by robbing their friend of his

honesty, and rendering him incapable of doing th em any fur ther service.

own power, and properly belongs to him to do, would serve to refute what follows. For,

who ever t old you, t hat i t was a duty incumbent u pon you , or a th ing in your own power

and choice, to procur e port icoes and pu bic bu ildings, for t he benefit of your coun tr y? To

this may be replied again, as it was in the case of your friends; who can be expected to

bestow that u pon others, which he never had h imself? And if t o thi s it be rejoined, get

them your self, th at you may have it in your own power t o give to your coun tr y; what was

said before, will serve every jot as well, upon this occasion too. But these considerations

he hath left i n general, for us t o apply, as we see requisit e; and hath suppli ed us with

another clear and full answer, m uch m ore pert inent, and particu lar t o the matter in

hand.


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What need this trouble you (says he)? Is it your concern, to provide cloisters and

exchanges for your count ry? The Smi th does not th ink i t h is busin ess to supply hi s

count ry wit h shoes, but wi th arms; and the Shoemaker does not th ink himself obliged to

fur nish out arms, but leather and shoes. And sure every commonwealth is served in best

order, and to most advantage, when everyone attends strictly to the proper business of

his calli ng, and does not int ermeddle with the concerns of other people; but takes care to

do his own par t, and int err upts nobody else in the discharge of his.

Well , but what is my part then, says the philosopher, and wherein wil l i t be expected,

th at I should contr ibu te to the public good? The seeming force of th is question he

says he, if you h ave been th e means of mak ing a good man, h ave not you been beneficial

to your country? Is not this a piece of service, of much greater consequence, than the

profit s every m ean art ificer bri ngs to the publ ic? This wou ld be the advantage, and thi s

the th anks and h onor due to you, for m akin g yourself an honest man and a good

subject: but if your wisdom and vir tu e have a kin dly in fluence upon others t oo; if your

instru ctions and your example from them in to the same good pr inciples, you are then a

public blessing, and m ore beneficial stil l, in proportion to the nu mbers you have an

influence upon.

And now you desire to know, what rank or office shall be assigned you, and would fain

be, lik e the general in the arm y, or th e magistrate of the cit y, or th e arti ficer in the shop,

who know their respective trusts, and have some station or bu siness, mi lit ary or civil,

which th ey can pr operly call t heir own. To this the author replies in general terms, you

may have any that wil l fall to your share, only with th is provision, th at it be consistent

with vir tu e and honesty: bu t i f you m ake shipwreck of these, while you pr etend to

ventur e for m onum ent s and stately bu ildings; it is great odds, bu t you lose your

magnificence, at t he same time that your modesty and fidelit y is cast away. And, I pr ay,

whether of th e two is the greater grace to a comm onwealth? A cit y well stored wi th tr ue

and good men, or adorned wit h sumptu ous halls and splendid palaces?

But, to come nearer to the question, what place or esteem is due to a philosopher, or

what regard should the state have to him? Surely men should be esteemed, according to

the dignit y and value of their work . And, by this ru le, the phi losopher m ay claim

precedence, as a form er and maker of men; one who frames and moulds t hem into

virt uous persons, and u seful honest subjects. The matter h e hath to work upon, is,


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himself and others; and t he pains he is at abou t t hem, is, to refine and pu ri fy their

natu re, and exalt t hem to a li fe of reason and vir tu e. He is indeed, and ought to be

respected, as a common father and master, a corrector of errors, and counselor and

assistant in goodness; he is liberal of his care, mak es every oth

improvement h is endeavor and concern , and hath a hand i n all the good that is done. He

adds to the enjoyments of the prosperous, by congratu latin g and r ejoicing with them;

and l ightens the burden of th e wretched, by ministeri ng seasonable comforts; and

himself bearing a part in their afflict ions. In one word, he will do all t hose th ings, that

are possible, or can be expected, to be done, by one who th inks no part of the world

exempt from h is care, bu t feels in himself a constant desire, and kind i ntent ion, to

promote the good of all manki nd.

Now, if this general employment does not satisfy, but you would needs have this

wondrous m an fastened down to some one parti cular profession; i n a wi se and well-

constituted government, this person would be chosen their head, because his eminence

and u sefu lness mu st needs give him t he preference before others. And in deed, h is

qualifications, if we consider them particularly, seem to deserve no less. His prudence,

so much superior t o the common sheep, capacitates him for a shepherd to t he flock. Hi s

learn ing and wisdom entit le him to th e degree of a senator or pr ivy-counselor. And if he

had applied himself at all t o that sort of discipline, none can be fitt er t o command an

army, because he mu st needs excel both i n true cour age and regular conduct. Thus

Socrates gained imm ortal renown, by h is bravery at t he battle of Deliu m; and cast, as we

are told, so universal an awe into his enemies, that they all stood amazed at his courage;

and he made good hi s retreat single, through a whole body of them, wi thout t heir dari ng

to fall upon him. So lik ewise Xenophon br ought off that great body of Greeks, and had

his praises celebrated in t he Olympi c Games, for so noble an achievement .

This, I say, would be the case, this the respect paid to a philosopher, in a wise and well-

consti tu ted government. Bu t we must take notice, that wicked and li cent ious states do

quit e the contr ary: they are most inauspicious places to dwell in , and have destru ctive

effects upon t he minds of men; they stifle and quench t hat l ight, wh ich heaven h ath

given us; cast a blemish upon the best employments, discourage the most useful

sciences, disregard the persons, and obstruct the good influence of them, who teach us

by their doctr ines, and lead us by their examples. And, where so much wicked indu stry

is u sed t o damp the luster of vir tu e, th at place must be confessed very improper, either


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for men to lay the first foundati ons of wisdom and a good life in, or to impr ove and

confir m themselves in , after such good beginn ings. But then we must observe withal,

that, if in the midst of such perverse conversation, someone be found of a happier

complexion t han the rest; one, whose soul a parti cular good genius h ath made proof

against all corr uption; the grea

virt ue is exercised wit h, t he more perfect and il lu stri ous it will appear, and shed abroad

its rays with greater advantage, in the midst of so much dark ness. So tru e it is, that all

the tr averses of fort un e, and th is vast variety of accident s in h um an li fe, cont ribu te

exceedingly t o the increase of virtue; and t hat both prosperi ty and adversit y work

togeth er for the good of those men, who have th e wisdom to choose th ings wit h

judgment , and to manage them wi th dexteri ty.

Documents

commentary on epictetus 29-31