Onesimus: Memoirs of a Disciple of St. Paul

by Edwin Abbott Abbott

“You see then that I forbid you sorrow either for yourself or for others. No less do I forbid you hate. For why should you hate, or even be angry, with a wicked man, a thief, say, or an adulterer? ‘Because,’ reply you, ‘they take from me that which I most dearly value, my wealth or my reputation or the affection of my wife.’ In other words they take from you those objects which you love, and desire to excess, though they do not depend on you. But the remedy is to abstain from loving these things to excess. Always remember also when any one injures you, as it is called, that the cause of the injury is ignorance or erroneous opinion. For no one would commit a crime if he knew that he was thereby destroying his own soul. Through erroneous opinions Medea slew her children and Clytemnestra her husband. Why therefore hate a man merely because the poor wretch is terribly ignorant and is doing himself the greatest of all injuries, while he falsely supposes he is injuring you?

“Bear in mind further that everything has two faces, whereof one is endurable the other unendurable. For example, when your brother is injuring you, look not upon him as an injurer but rather as a brother. Even if you cannot do this for your brother’s sake, you must do it for your own. For in all things you must consider not your brother nor your brother’s interest first, but yourself and your own serenity of mind. ‘My brother’—perhaps you say—‘ought not to have treated me so shamefully.’ Very true; so much the worse for him. But that is his business, not yours, and you are not to injure yourself on his account. However he treats you, you must treat him rightly. For your treatment of him is in your power, and therefore is your concern; but how he treats you is not in your power, and therefore concerns you not. If therefore your enemy reviles you, try to think well of him for not having struck you. ‘But he has struck me.’ Then think well of him for not having wounded you. ‘But he has wounded me.’ Then think well of him for not having slain you. ‘But I am dying of the wound he gave me.’ Then think well of him for having opened unto you that door which the Master of the Feast has appointed as your exit from His banquet. Apply this rule to Pistus, and if he has poisoned Philemon’s mind against you, think well of him that he has not yet poisoned your body itself.

“But the former rule is the more important, that you are not to set a value on the things that are beyond your own control. Does Fortune take things away? Laugh at her then. When Philemon and his friends deprive you of your wonted freedom, and take away your books, your reputation, your prospect of marriage, you must consider yourself before a tribunal of boys who are mulcting you of knuckle-bones and nuts. ‘So Epictetus makes light of love and marriage and the bands of family affection.’ Not so; he recognizes them for the common people but not for Onesimus and Epictetus, nor for other philosophers in the present war of good against evil. For as the state of things now is, the philosopher should hear the trumpet sounding for all good men to make ready, like an army drawn up for battle in the face of an enemy; and he should be without all distraction, entirely attending to the service of God.

“Finally, whatever betide, be not a slave. ‘I must go to the ergastulum’ says Onesimus. And must you go groaning too? ‘I must be fettered like a slave.’ Must you lament like a slave too? ‘Marry Prepousa,’ says Philemon, ‘and become a Christian.’ ‘I will not.’ ‘Then I will slay you.’ ‘Did I ever assert that I could not be slain?’ That is the language that befits my Onesimus; not to look at the spectacle of life like a runaway slave in the theatre, who shivers whenever any one touches him on the shoulder or mentions his master’s name. Instead of swearing allegiance to Christus to conciliate Philemon, swear rather never to dishonor God who loves truth, nor to murmur at anything that betides; for all things betide according to His will. At all times endeavor to listen to His voice; for he accosts you and speaks to you thus: ‘Onesimus, when you were at your lectures in Athens, what did you call death and imprisonment and all other such external things?’ ‘I? Things indifferent.’ ‘And what do you call them now?’ ‘The same.’ ‘What is the aim and object of thy life?’ ‘To follow Thee.’ ‘Go on then, boldly.’”

§ 10. OF METRODORUS AND HIS ADVICE.

I read and re-read the letter of Epictetus; but it could no longer settle my doubts nor quiet my mind. What was true in it seemed to be stale and useless, namely, that each man was able to do whatsoever he wished, provided that he wished only for those things that he was able to do. And again, what might have been useful, if true, seemed not true, or at all events not certain, I mean that the Master of the Feast was good. For all that Epictetus had said came to this, that if we remained as a guest at the Feast, each one was bound to act as if the Master was good, or else to depart from the Feast. But why was a philosopher bound to suppose something that might be false, or else to slay himself? For, all the while, there might be no Master of the Feast at all, but only a talk about Masters, and in reality neither Master nor Feast, but only a kind of scramble for sweetmeats. Or else there might be not one Master, but many, some good and kind, others bad and unkind. Or what if the Master were Himself good but thwarted by His wicked servants so that the guests were starved and not fed? In that case might not the guests fairly complain? And to make believe that the Master was perfectly good and wise (and all for the purpose of attaining for oneself calmness and tranquillity of mind)—this seemed a kind of flattering of the Master and deceiving of oneself, that was scarcely worthy of a philosopher.

This peace and tranquillity of Epictetus, the more I thought of it, the less I admired it. For, in spite of his denial, it seemed to loosen all love and friendship, as well as hate. How could I “preserve my serenity of mind” while I was reading the letter of Eucharis? Ought I to say to myself, “Whatever may betide Eucharis, I at all events shall be completely happy?” That seemed to me not possible; no, nor desirable. If Eucharis sorrowed, I felt that it would be sweeter for me too to sorrow than rejoice. Then again, as to hating, Epictetus would have me not hate Pistus for being bad, but speak well of him because he was not worse. Now this perchance might tend to tranquillity, but how could it be consistent with truth? For if a man steal from me one mina, am I to thank him for not stealing two? As well, when a man gives me one mina, abuse him for not giving me two! It is the duty of a philosopher neither to speak better of a man, nor to speak worse of a man than he deserves. Besides, Epictetus seemed to err in speaking of all wickedness and crime as merely caused by erroneous opinions, for to me such faults as slander, cruelty, and baseness, seemed altogether different, and fit to be differently regarded, from such a fault as an unskillful reckoner might commit in saying that six and seven make twelve. In all these matters Epictetus seemed to me (and indeed still seems) to go astray because he had wholly set his mind upon the attainment of an object which perchance the Master of the Feast does not intend His guests to attain in this world, I mean perfect and unchangeable serenity of mind.

Being in a great perturbation with all this conflict of thoughts, and inclining now more than ever to believe that there were no gods, I determined to disobey the command of Philemon and to resort to my friend Artemidorus that I might ask counsel of him. So I went to him on the morrow, when both Philemon and Pistus chanced to be absent from the city. But he had gone on some business of law to Laodicea. However I found in the courtyard of his house a certain friend of Artemidorus, known also to me, one Metrodorus, whom I believed (but did not for certain know) to hold the same opinions as Artemidorus. I saluted him gladly; and, because the sight of a friendly face was now rare for me, I took pleasure in conversing with him (although I had not been greatly inclined towards him in former days) walking up and down in the portico and discoursing about divers matters and in the end about matters of philosophy and religion. And to be brief, not having any other counsellor to go to, I imparted to this man (although I knew but little of him) some of my troubles and perplexities, asking what would philosophy advise me to do in my sore strait?

When I had made an end of speaking, Metrodorus ceased walking and stood still, near a broken slab of pavement in the portico, where some ants had built a nest and were passing busily to and from the crevice. So here Metrodorus coming to a stand, and looking down upon the ants and then up at me, said, “If there be gods indeed, as perchance there are, I will now show you what it is likely that they think of us mortals. Certain people say that the gods being infinitely wiser and nobler, as well as stronger, than we are, must needs have a care for us, and rule our actions aright. Now, my young friend, here stand we two upon this pavement, two human beings as much (I suppose) superior to these myriads of little busy insects at our feet, as the gods are superior to us. Well, my friend, do we have a care for these ants? Surely not. Do we sorrow for their sins and compassionate their errors? I think not. Do we rule their actions aright? Do we stir a finger to help them in the storing of their food or to avert the destruction of the whole republic of them? Nay, but we take not a single thought for all their doings and misdoings, their virtues and their vices (for doubtless these creatures have their virtues and their vices even as we have) except it may be to amuse ourselves withal, or to rid ourselves of them if they become inconvenient. But you say, men are so vastly superior to ants. Not more, I take it, than the gods (if any) are superior to men. But in men, you urge, there is so much more of diversity in character and in action. Who knows? Only stoop down and look at these diminutive beings more closely. Mark what a bustle they are in; all working, but not all doing the same work; some, look you, are the scavengers, carrying out the ordure, others the marketers carrying in vast fragments of bean-shell or hastening onwards along with pieces of barley-corn in their mouths; some also, as it seems to me, standing still and ruling or instructing the rest. And who knows also but, besides their architects and masons, they have their demagogues and counsellors, cooks also and musicians, yes and philosophers too after their manner, philosophising perhaps about us two at this very moment, and very prettily demonstrating the truth of the theories of the priest-ants, saying that ‘Man being a noble Being, infinitely powerful, and wise, and good, must needs take thought for us, poor mortal ants, and rule our actions aright, and in the end conform us to Himself’—whereas, my dear Onesimus, so far is this from being the case that on the contrary”—and here he stamped heavily upon the ant-hill—“I thus with one little movement of my foot, subvert the whole ant-universe, for no other cause but my own particular pleasure.

“O my dear Onesimus, is not belief in the gods by this time almost too antiquated? If there were some new fashion of it, I might recommend you to try it; but every fashion has been tried and has become stale. Your young friend Epictetus shows a preference for one god; but to the true philosophers his theories are like the rest, quite musty and past discussing. However, if you are resolved to deal in such wares, it is good to have a choice; and the choice is large. Perhaps you prefer a legion of gods and demons? Or, aiming at the golden mean, what say you to choosing a moderate few, an oligarchy of gods? Then there are in the market for you some gods that speak, and others that are mutes; some that are still active and vigorous, such as Isis, Serapis, and Sabazius; others that are past work and cashiered, such as old Ares, Enuo, and Hephæstus; or if you are curious about rank and precedence, you can have gods of different ranks, first class, second class, third class; some with bodies, some, if you prefer it, bodiless. Last of all in the market come the atheists, who will sell you a vacuum, if you will give them many years of your life for it. But is not the best course after all to keep your time and pains and money and avoid the market altogether: neither believing nor disbelieving, but never giving a thought to the matter?”