Discourses 3.24 ¶5 — Epictetus

Epictetus, Discourses 3.24 ¶5

“Well then; do you wish me to pay court to a certain person? to go to his doors?”—If reason requires this to be done for the sake of country, for the sake of kinsmen, for the sake of mankind, why should you not go? You are not ashamed to go to the doors of a shoemaker, when you are in want of shoes, nor to the door of a gardener, when you want lettuces; and are you ashamed to go to the doors of the rich when you want anything?—“Yes, for I have no awe of a shoemaker.”—Don’t feel any awe of the rich.—“Nor will I flatter the gardener.”—And do not flatter the rich.—“How then shall I get what I want?”—Do I say to you, go as if you were certain to get what you want? And do not I only tell you, that you may do what is becoming to yourself? “Why then should I still go?” That you may have gone, that you may have discharged the duty of a citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And further remember that you have gone to the shoemaker, to the seller of vegetables, who have no power in anything great or noble, though he may sell dear. You go to buy lettuces: they cost an obolus (penny), but not a talent. So it is here also. The matter is worth going for to the rich man’s door—Well, I will go—It is worth talking about—Let it be so; I will talk with him—But you must also kiss his hand and flatter him with praise—Away with that, it is a talent’s worth: it is not profitable to me, nor to the state nor to my friends, to have done that which spoils a good citizen and a friend.—“But you will seem not to have been eager about the matter, if you do not succeed.” Have you again forgotten why you went? Know you not that a good man does nothing for the sake of appearance, but for the sake of doing right?—“What advantage is it then to him to have done right?”—And what advantage is it to a man who writes the name of Dion to write it as he ought?—The advantage is to have written it.—“Is there no reward then?”—Do you seek a reward for a good man greater than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the games. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and happy? For these purposes being introduced by the gods into this city (the world), and it being now your duty to undertake the work of a man, do you still want nurses also and a mamma, and do foolish women by their weeping move you and make you effeminate? Will you thus never cease to be a foolish child? Know you not that he who does the acts of a child, the older he is, the more ridiculous he is?