going to do? Shall we amputate this member and return to the
gymnasium?" But the athlete persisted in his resolution and died. When
some one asked Epictetus how he did this, as an athlete or a
philosopher, "As a man," Epictetus replied, "and a man who had been
proclaimed among the athletes at the Olympic games and had contended
in them, a man who had been familiar with such a place, and not merely
anointed in Baton's school. Another would have allowed even his head
to be cut off, if he could have lived without it. Such is that
regard to character which is so strong in those who have been
accustomed to introduce it of themselves and conjoined with other
things into their deliberations."

  "Come, then, Epictetus, shave yourself." "If I am a philosopher,"
I answer, "I will not shave myself." "But I will take off your
head?" If that will do you any good, take it off.

  Some person asked, "How then shall every man among us perceive
what is suitable to his character?" How, he replied, does the bull
alone, when the lion has attacked, discover his own powers and put
himself forward in defense of the whole herd? It is plain that with
the powers the perception of having them is immediately conjoined;
and, therefore, whoever of us has such powers will not be ignorant
of them. Now a bull is not made suddenly, nor a brave man; but we must
discipline ourselves in the winter for the summer campaign, and not
rashly run upon that which does not concern us.

  Only consider at what price you sell your own will; if for no
other reason, at least for this, that you sell it not for a small sum.
But that which is great and superior perhaps belongs to Socrates and
such as are like him. "Why then, if we are naturally such, are not a
very great number of us like him?" Is it true then that all horses
become swift, that all dogs are skilled in tracking footprints? "What,
then, since I am naturally dull, shall I, for this reason, take no
pains?" I hope not. Epictetus is not superior to Socrates; but if he
is not inferior, this is enough for me; for I shall never be a Milo,
and yet I do not neglect my body; nor shall I be a Croesus, and yet
I do not neglect my property; nor, in a word, do we neglect looking
after anything because we despair of reaching the highest degree.

  CHAPTER 3

  How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the
father of all men to the rest

  If a man should be able to assent to this doctrine as he ought, that
we are all sprung from God in an especial manner, and that God is
the father both of men and of gods, I suppose that he would never have
any ignoble or mean thoughts about himself. But if Caesar should adopt
you, no one could endure your arrogance; and if you know that you
are the son of Zeus, will you not be elated? Yet we do not so; but
since these two things are mingled in the generation of man, body in
common with the animals, and reason and intelligence in common with
the gods, many incline to this kinship, which is miserable and mortal;
and some few to that which is divine and happy. Since then it is of
necessity that every man uses everything according to the opinion
which he has about it, those, the few, who think that they are
formed for fidelity and modesty and a sure use of appearances have
no mean or ignoble thoughts about themselves; but with the many it
is quite the contrary. For they say, "What am I? A poor, miserable
man, with my wretched bit of flesh." Wretched. Indeed; but you possess
something better than your "bit of flesh." Why then do you neglect
that which is better, and why do you attach yourself to this?

  Through this kinship with the flesh, some of us inclining to it
become like wolves, faithless and treacherous and mischievous: some
become like lions, savage and untamed; but the greater part of us
become foxes and other worse animals. For what else is a slanderer and
a malignant man than a fox, or some other more wretched and meaner
animal? See, then, and take care that you do not become some one of
these miserable things.

  CHAPTER 4

  Of progress or improvement

  He who is making progress, having learned from philosophers that
desire means the desire of good things, and aversion means aversion
from bad things; having learned too that happiness and tranquillity
are not attainable by man otherwise than by not failing to obtain what
he desires, and not falling into that which he would avoid; such a man
takes from himself desire altogether and defers it, but he employs his
aversion only on things which are dependent on his will. For if he
attempts to avoid anything independent of his will, he knows that
sometimes he will fall in with something which he wishes to avoid, and
he will be unhappy. Now if virtue promises good fortune and
tranquillity and happiness, certainly also the progress toward
virtue is progress toward each of these things. For it is always
true that to whatever point the perfecting of anything leads us,
progress is an approach toward this point.

  How then do we admit that virtue is such as I have said, and yet
seek progress in other things and make a display of it? What is the
product of virtue? Tranquillity. Who then makes improvement? It is
he who has read many books of Chrysippus? But does virtue consist in
having understood Chrysippus? If this is so, progress is clearly
nothing else than knowing a great deal of Chrysippus. But now we admit
that virtue produces one thing. and we declare that approaching near
to it is another thing, namely, progress or improvement. "Such a
person," says one, "is already able to read Chrysippus by himself."
Indeed, sir, you are making great progress. What kind of progress? But