textfiles/etext/NONFICTION/epictetus-discourses-568.txt

                                     101 AD

                                 THE DISCOURSES

                                  by Epictetus
DISCOURSES

                                    BOOK ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  Of the things which are in our Power, and not in our Power

  Of all the faculties, you will find not one which is capable of
contemplating itself; and, consequently, not capable either of
approving or disapproving. How far does the grammatic art possess
the contemplating power? As far as forming a judgement about what is
written and spoken. And how far music? As far as judging about melody.
Does either of them then contemplate itself? By no means. But when you
must write something to your friend, grammar will tell you what
words you must write; but whether you should write or not, grammar
will not tell you. And so it is with music as to musical sounds; but
whether you should sing at the present time and play on the lute, or
do neither, music will not tell you. What faculty then will tell
you? That which contemplates both itself and all other things. And
what is this faculty? The rational faculty; for this is the only
faculty that we have received which examines itself, what it is, and
what power it has, and what is the value of this gift, and examines
all other faculties: for what else is there which tells us that golden
things are beautiful, for they do not say so themselves? Evidently
it is the faculty which is capable of judging of appearances. What
else judges of music, grammar, and other faculties, proves their
uses and points out the occasions for using them? Nothing else.

  As then it was fit to be so, that which is best of all and supreme
over all is the only thing which the gods have placed in our power,
the right use of appearances; but all other things they have not
placed in our power. Was it because they did not choose? I indeed
think that, if they had been able, they would have put these other
things also in our power, but they certainly could not. For as we
exist on the earth, and are bound to such a body and to such
companions, how was it possible for us not to be hindered as to
these things by externals?

  But what says Zeus? "Epictetus, if it were possible, I would have
made both your little body and your little property free and not
exposed to hindrance. But now be not ignorant of this: this body is
not yours, but it is clay finely tempered. And since I was not able to
do for you what I have mentioned, I have given you a small portion
of us, this faculty of pursuing an object and avoiding it, and the
faculty of desire and aversion, and, in a word, the faculty of using
the appearances of things; and if you will take care of this faculty
and consider it your only possession, you will never be hindered,
never meet with impediments; you will not lament, you will not
blame, you will not flatter any person."

  "Well, do these seem to you small matters?" I hope not. "Be
content with them then and pray to the gods." But now when it is in
our power to look after one thing, and to attach ourselves to it, we
prefer to look after many things, and to be bound to many things, to
the body and to property, and to brother and to friend, and to child
and to slave. Since, then, we are bound to many things, we are
depressed by them and dragged down. For this reason, when the
weather is not fit for sailing, we sit down and torment ourselves, and
continually look out to see what wind is blowing. "It is north."
What is that to us? "When will the west wind blow?" When it shall
choose, my good man, or when it shall please AEolus; for God has not
made you the manager of the winds, but AEolus. What then? We must make
the best use that we can of the things which are in our power, and use
the rest according to their nature. What is their nature then? As
God may please.

  "Must I, then, alone have my head cut off?" What, would you have all
men lose their heads that you may be consoled? Will you not stretch
out your neck as Lateranus did at Rome when Nero ordered him to be
beheaded? For when he had stretched out his neck, and received a
feeble blow, which made him draw it in for a moment, he stretched it
out again. And a little before, when he was visited by Epaphroditus,
Nero's freedman, who asked him about the cause of offense which he had
given, he said, "If I choose to tell anything, I will tell your
master."

  What then should a man have in readiness in such circumstances? What
else than "What is mine, and what is not mine; and permitted to me,
and what is not permitted to me." I must die. Must I then die
lamenting? I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go
into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and
cheerfulness and contentment? "Tell me the secret which you
possess." I will not, for this is in my power. "But I will put you
in chains." Man, what are you talking about? Me in chains? You may
fetter my leg, but my will not even Zeus himself can overpower. "I
will throw you into prison." My poor body, you mean. "I will cut
your head off." When, then, have I told you that my head alone
cannot be cut off? These are the things which philosophers should
meditate on, which they should write daily, in which they should
exercise themselves.

  Thrasea used to say, "I would rather be killed to-day than
banished to-morrow." What, then, did Rufus say to him? "If you
choose death as the heavier misfortune, how great is the folly of your
choice? But if, as the lighter, who has given you the choice? Will you
not study to be content with that which has been given to you?"

  What, then, did Agrippinus say? He said, "I am not a hindrance to
myself." When it was reported to him that his trial was going on in
the Senate, he said, "I hope it may turn out well; but it is the fifth
hour of the day"- this was the time when he was used to exercise
himself and then take the cold bath- "let us go and take our
exercise." After he had taken his exercise, one comes and tells him,
"You have been condemned." "To banishment," he replies, "or to death?"
"To banishment." "What about my property?" "It is not taken from you."
"Let us go to Aricia then," he said, "and dine."

  This it is to have studied what a man ought to study; to have made
desire, aversion, free from hindrance, and free from all that a man
would avoid. I must die. If now, I am ready to die. If, after a
short time, I now dine because it is the dinner-hour; after this I
will then die. How? Like a man who gives up what belongs to another.

  CHAPTER 2

  How a Man on every occasion can maintain his Proper Character

  To the rational animal only is the irrational intolerable; but
that which is rational is tolerable. Blows are not naturally
intolerable. "How is that?" See how the Lacedaemonians endure whipping
when they have learned that whipping is consistent with reason. "To
hang yourself is not intolerable." When, then, you have the opinion
that it is rational, you go and hang yourself. In short, if we
observe, we shall find that the animal man is pained by nothing so
much as by that which is irrational; and, on the contrary, attracted
to nothing so much as to that which is rational.

  But the rational and the irrational appear such in a different way
to different persons, just as the good and the bad, the profitable and
the unprofitable. For this reason, particularly, we need discipline,
in order to learn how to adapt the preconception of the rational and
the irrational to the several things conformably to nature. But in
order to determine the rational and the irrational, we use not only
the of external things, but we consider also what is appropriate to
each person. For to one man it is consistent with reason to hold a
chamber pot for another, and to look to this only, that if he does not
hold it, he will receive stripes, and he will not receive his food:
but if he shall hold the pot, he will not suffer anything hard or
disagreeable. But to another man not only does the holding of a
chamber pot appear intolerable for himself, but intolerable also for
him to allow another to do this office for him. If, then, you ask me
whether you should hold the chamber pot or not, I shall say to you
that the receiving of food is worth more than the not receiving of it,
and the being scourged is a greater indignity than not being scourged;
so that if you measure your interests by these things, go and hold the
chamber pot. "But this," you say, "would not be worthy of me." Well,
then, it is you who must introduce this consideration into the
inquiry, not I; for it is you who know yourself, how much you are
worth to yourself, and at what price you sell yourself; for men sell
themselves at various prices.

  For this reason, when Florus was deliberating whether he should go
down to Nero's spectacles and also perform in them himself, Agrippinus
said to him, "Go down": and when Florus asked Agrippinus, "Why do
not you go down?" Agrippinus replied, "Because I do not even
deliberate about the matter." For he who has once brought himself to
deliberate about such matters, and to calculate the value of
external things, comes very near to those who have forgotten their own
character. For why do you ask me the question, whether death is
preferable or life? I say "life." "Pain or pleasure?" I say
"pleasure." But if I do not take a part in the tragic acting, I
shall have my head struck off. Go then and take a part, but I will
not. "Why?" Because you consider yourself to be only one thread of
those which are in the tunic. Well then it was fitting for you to take
care how you should be like the rest of men, just as the thread has no
design to be anything superior to the other threads. But I wish to
be purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest
appear graceful and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make
myself like the many? and if I do, how shall I still be purple?

  Priscus Helvidius also saw this, and acted conformably. For when
Vespasian sent and commanded him not to go into the senate, he
replied, "It is in your power not to allow me to be a member of the
senate, but so long as I am, I must go in." "Well, go in then," says
the emperor, "but say nothing." "Do not ask my opinion, and I will
be silent." "But I must ask your opinion." "And I must say what I
think right." "But if you do, I shall put you to death." "When then
did I tell you that I am immortal? You will do your part, and I will
do mine: it is your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in
fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart without sorrow."

  What good then did Priscus do, who was only a single person? And
what good does the purple do for the toga? Why, what else than this,
that it is conspicuous in the toga as purple, and is displayed also as
a fine example to all other things? But in such circumstances
another would have replied to Caesar who forbade him to enter the
senate, "I thank you for sparing me." But such a man Vespasian would
not even have forbidden to enter the senate, for he knew that he would
either sit there like an earthen vessel, or, if he spoke, he would say
what Caesar wished, and add even more.

  In this way an athlete also acted who was in danger of dying
unless his private parts were amputated. His brother came to the
athlete, who was a philosopher, and said, "Come, brother, what are you
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
why do you mock the man? Why do you draw him away from the
perception of his own misfortunes? Will you not show him the effect of
virtue that he may learn where to look for improvement? Seek it there,
wretch, where your work lies. And where is your work? In desire and in
aversion, that you may not be disappointed in your desire, and that
you may not fall into that which you would avoid; in your pursuit
and avoiding, that you commit no error; in assent and suspension of
assent, that you be not deceived. The first things, and the most
necessary, are those which I have named. But if with trembling and
lamentation you seek not to fall into that which you avoid, tell me
how you are improving.

  Do you then show me your improvement in these things? If I were
talking to an athlete, I should say, "Show me your shoulders"; and
then he might say, "Here are my halteres." You and your halteres
look to that. I should reply, "I wish to see the effect of the
halteres." So, when you say: "Take the treatise on the active
powers, and see how I have studied it." I reply, "Slave, I am not
inquiring about this, but how you exercise pursuit and avoidance,
desire and aversion, how your design and purpose and prepare yourself,
whether conformably to nature or not. If conformably, give me evidence
of it, and I will say that you are making progress: but if not
conformably, be gone, and not only expound your books, but write
such books yourself; and what will you gain by it? Do you not know
that the whole book costs only five denarii? Does then the expounder
seem to be worth more than five denarii? Never, then, look for the
matter itself in one place, and progress toward it in another."

  Where then is progress? If any of you, withdrawing himself from
externals, turns to his own will to exercise it and to improve it by
labour, so as to make it conformable to nature, elevated, free,
unrestrained, unimpeded, faithful, modest; and if he has learned
that he who desires or avoids the things which are not in his power
can neither be faithful nor free, but of necessity he must change with
them and be tossed about with them as in a tempest, and of necessity
must subject himself to others who have the power to procure or
prevent what he desires or would avoid; finally, when he rises in
the morning, if he observes and keeps these rules, bathes as a man
of fidelity, eats as a modest man; in like manner, if in every
matter that occurs he works out his chief principles as the runner
does with reference to running, and the trainer of the voice with
reference to the voice- this is the man who truly makes progress,
and this is the man who has not traveled in vain. But if he has
strained his efforts to the practice of reading books, and labours
only at this, and has traveled for this, I tell him to return home
immediately, and not to neglect his affairs there; for this for
which he has traveled is nothing. But the other thing is something, to
study how a man can rid his life of lamentation and groaning, and
saying, "Woe to me," and "wretched that I am," and to rid it also of
misfortune and disappointment and to learn what death is, and exile,
and prison, and poison, that he may be able to say when he is in
fetters, "Dear Crito, if it is the will of the gods that it be so, let
it be so"; and not to say, "Wretched am I, an old man; have I kept
my gray hairs for this?" Who is it that speaks thus? Do you think that
I shall name some man of no repute and of low condition? Does not
Priam say this? Does not OEdipus say this? Nay, all kings say it!
For what else is tragedy than the perturbations of men who value
externals exhibited in this kind of poetry? But if a man must learn by
fiction that no external things which are independent of the will
concern us, for this? part I should like this fiction, by the aid of
which I should live happily and undisturbed. But you must consider for
yourselves what you wish.

  What then does Chrysippus teach us? The reply is, "to know that
these things are not false, from which happiness comes and
tranquillity arises. Take my books, and you will learn how true and
conformable to nature are the things which make me free from
perturbations." O great good fortune! O the great benefactor who
points out the way! To Triptolemus all men have erected temples and
altars, because he gave us food by cultivation; but to him who
discovered truth and brought it to light and communicated it to all,
not the truth which shows us how to live, but how to live well, who of
you for this reason has built an altar, or a temple, or has
dedicated a statue, or who worships God for this? Because the gods
have given the vine, or wheat, we sacrifice to them: but because
they have produced in the human mind that fruit by which they designed
to show us the truth which relates to happiness, shall we not thank
God for this?

  CHAPTER 5

  Against the academics

  If a man, said Epictetus, opposes evident truths, it is not easy
to find arguments by which we shall make him change his opinion. But
this does not arise either from the man's strength or the teacher's
weakness; for when the man, though he has been confuted, is hardened
like a stone, how shall we then be able to deal with him by argument?

  Now there are two kinds of hardening, one of the understanding,
the other of the sense of shame, when a man is resolved not to
assent to what is manifest nor to desist from contradictions. Most
of us are afraid of mortification of the body, and would contrive
all means to avoid such a thing, but we care not about the soul's
mortification. And indeed with regard to the soul, if a man be in such
a state as not to apprehend anything, or understand at all, we think
that he is in a bad condition: but if the sense of shame and modesty
are deadened, this we call even power.

  Do you comprehend that you are awake? "I do not," the man replies,
"for I do not even comprehend when in my sleep I imagine that I am
awake." Does this appearance then not differ from the other? "Not at
all," he replies. Shall I still argue with this man? And what fire
or what iron shall I apply to him to make him feel that he is
deadened? He does perceive, but he pretends that he does not. He's
even worse than a dead man. He does not see the contradiction: he is
in a bad condition. Another does see it, but he is not moved, and
makes no improvement: he is even in a worse condition. His modesty
is extirpated, and his sense of shame; and the rational faculty has
not been cut off from him, but it is brutalized. Shall I name this
strength of mind? Certainly not, unless we also name it such in
catamites, through which they do and say in public whatever comes into
their head.

  CHAPTER 6

  Of providence

  From everything which is or happens in the world, it is easy to
praise Providence, if a man possesses these two qualities, the faculty
of seeing what belongs and happens to all persons and things, and a
grateful disposition. If he does not possess these two qualities,
one man will not see the use of things which are and which happen;
another will not be thankful for them, even if he does know them. If
God had made colours, but had not made the faculty of seeing them,
what would have been their use? None at all. On the other hand, if
He had made the faculty of vision, but had not made objects such as to
fall under the faculty, what in that case also would have been the use
of it? None at all. Well, suppose that He had made both, but had not
made light? In that case, also, they would have been of no use. Who is
it, then, who has fitted this to that and that to this? And who is
it that has fitted the knife to the case and the case to the knife? Is
it no one? And, indeed, from the very structure of things which have
attained their completion, we are accustomed to show that the work
is certainly the act of some artificer, and that it has not been
constructed without a purpose. Does then each of these things
demonstrate the workman, and do not visible things and the faculty
of seeing and light demonstrate Him? And the existence of male and
female, and the desire of each for conjunction, and the power of using
the parts which are constructed, do not even these declare the
workman? If they do not, let us consider the constitution of our
understanding according to which, when we meet with sensible
objects, we simply receive impressions from them, but we also select
something from them, and subtract something, and add, and compound
by means of them these things or those, and, in fact, pass from some
to other things which, in a manner, resemble them: is not even this
sufficient to move some men, and to induce them not to forget the
workman? If not so, let them explain to us what it is that makes
each several thing, or how it is possible that things so wonderful and
like the contrivances of art should exist by chance and from their own
proper motion?

  What, then, are these things done in us only. Many, indeed, in us
only, of which the rational animal had peculiar need; but you will
find many common to us with irrational animals. Do they them
understand what is done? By no means. For use is one thing, and
understanding is another: God had need of irrational animals to make
use of appearances, but of us to understand the use of appearances. It
is therefore enough for them to eat and to drink, and to sleep and
to copulate, and to do all the other things which they severally do.
But for us, to whom He has given also the faculty, these things are
not sufficient; for unless we act in a proper and orderly manner,
and conformably to the nature and constitution of each thing, we shall
never attain our true end. For where the constitutions of living
beings are different, there also the acts and the ends are
different. In those animals, then, whose constitution is adapted
only to use, use alone is enough: but in an animal which has also
the power of understanding the use, unless there be the due exercise
of the understanding, he will never attain his proper end. Well then
God constitutes every animal, one to be eaten, another to serve for
agriculture, another to supply cheese, and another for some like
use; for which purposes what need is there to understand appearances
and to be able to distinguish them? But God has introduced man to be a
spectator of God and of His works; and not only a spectator of them,
but an interpreter. For this reason it is shameful for man to begin
and to end where irrational animals do, but rather he ought to begin
where they begin, and to end where nature ends in us; and nature
ends in contemplation and understanding, in a way of life
conformable to nature. Take care then not to die without having been
spectators of these things.

  But you take a journey to Olympia to see the work of Phidias, and
all of you think it a misfortune to die without having seen such
things. But when there is no need to take a journey, and where a man
is, there he has the works (of God) before him, will you not desire to
see and understand them? Will you not perceive either what you are, or
what you were born for, or what this is for which you have received
the faculty of sight? But you may say, "There are some things
disagreeable and troublesome in life." And are there none in
Olympia? Are you not scorched? Are you not pressed by a crowd? Are you
not without comfortable means of bathing? Are you not wet when it
rains? Have you not abundance of noise, clamour, and other
disagreeable things? But I suppose that setting all these things off
against the magnificence of the spectacle, you bear and endure.
Well, then, and have you not received faculties by which you will be
able to bear all that happens? Have you not received greatness of
soul? Have you not received manliness? Have you not received
endurance? And why do I trouble myself about anything that can
happen if I possess greatness of soul? What shall distract my mind
or disturb me, or appear painful? Shall I not use the power for the
purposes for which I received it, and shall I grieve and lament over
what happens?

  "Yes, but my nose runs." For what purpose then, slave, have you
hands? Is it not that you may wipe your nose? "Is it, then, consistent
with reason that there should be running of noses in the world?"
Nay, how much better it is to wipe your nose than to find fault.
What do you think that Hercules would have been if there had not
been such a lion, and hydra, and stag, and boar, and certain unjust
and bestial men, whom Hercules used to drive away and clear out? And
what would he have been doing if there had been nothing of the kind?
Is it not plain that he would have wrapped himself up and have
slept? In the first place, then he would not have been a Hercules,
when he was dreaming away all his life in such luxury and case; and
even if he had been one what would have been the use of him? and
what the use of his arms, and of the strength of the other parts of
his body, and his endurance and noble spirit, if such circumstances
and occasions had not roused and exercised him? "Well, then, must a
man provide for himself such means of exercise, and to introduce a
lion from some place into his country, and a boar and a hydra?" This
would be folly and madness: but as they did exist, and were found,
they were useful for showing what Hercules was and for exercising him.
Come then do you also having observed these things look to the
faculties which you have, and when you have looked at them, say:
"Bring now, O Zeus, any difficulty that Thou pleasest, for I have
means given to me by Thee and powers for honoring myself through the
things which happen." You do not so; but you sit still, trembling
for fear that some things will happen, and weeping, and lamenting
and groaning for what does happen: and then you blame the gods. For
what is the consequence of such meanness of spirit but impiety? And
yet God has not only given us these faculties; by which we shall be
able to bear everything that happens without being depressed or broken
by it; but, like a good king and a true father, He has given us
these faculties free from hindrance, subject to no compulsion
unimpeded, and has put them entirely in our own power, without even
having reserved to Himself any power of hindering or impeding. You,
who have received these powers free and as your own, use them not: you
do not even see what you have received, and from whom; some of you
being blinded to the giver, and not even acknowledging your
benefactor, and others, through meanness of spirit, betaking
yourselves to fault finding and making charges against God. Yet I will
show to you that you have powers and means for greatness of soul and
manliness but what powers you have for finding fault and making
accusations, do you show me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Of the use of sophistical arguments, and hypothetical, and the like

  The handling of sophistical and hypothetical arguments, and of those
which derive their conclusions from questioning, and in a word the
handling of all such arguments, relates to the duties of life,
though the many do not know this truth. For in every matter we inquire
how the wise and good man shall discover the proper path and the
proper method of dealing with the matter. Let, then, people either say
that the grave man will not descend into the contest of question and
answer, or that, if he does descend into the contest, he will take
no care about not conducting himself rashly or carelessly in
questioning and answering. But if they do not allow either the one
or the other of these things, they must admit that some inquiry
ought to be made into those topics on which particularly questioning
and answering are employed. For what is the end proposed in reasoning?
To establish true propositions, to remove the false, to withhold
assent from those which are not plain. Is it enough then to have
learned only this? "It is enough," a man may reply. Is it, then,
also enough for a man, who would not make a mistake in the use of
coined money, to have heard this precept, that he should receive the
genuine drachmae and reject the spurious? "It is not enough." What,
then, ought to be added to this precept? What else than the faculty
which proves and distinguishes the genuine and the spurious
drachmae? Consequently also in reasoning what has been said is not
enough; but is it necessary that a man should acquire the faculty of
examining and distinguishing the true and the false, and that which is
not plain? "It is necessary." Besides this, what is proposed in
reasoning? "That you should accept what follows from that which you
have properly granted." Well, is it then enough in this case also to
know this? It is not enough; but a man must learn how one thing is a
consequence of other things, and when one thing follows from one
thing, and when it follows from several collectively. Consider, then
if it be not necessary that this power should also be acquired by
him who purposes to conduct himself skillfully in reasoning, the power
of demonstrating himself the several things which he has proposed, and
the power of understanding the demonstrations of others, including
of not being deceived by sophists, as if they were demonstrating.
Therefore there has arisen among us the practice and exercise of
conclusive arguments and figures, and it has been shown to be
necessary.

  But in fact in some cases we have properly granted the premisses
or assumptions, and there results from them something; and though it
is not true, yet none the less it does result. What then ought I to
do? Ought I to admit the falsehood? And how is that possible? Well,
should I say that I did not properly grant that which we agreed
upon? "But you are not allowed to do even this." Shall I then say that
the consequence does not arise through what has been conceded? "But
neither is it allowed." What then must be done in this case?
Consider if it is not this: as to have borrowed is not enough to
make a man still a debtor, but to this must be added the fact that
he continues to owe the money and that the debt is not paid, so it
is not enough to compel you to admit the inference that you have
granted the premisses, but you must abide by what you have granted.
Indeed, if the premisses continue to the end such as they were when
they were granted, it is absolutely necessary for us to abide by
what we have granted, and we must accept their consequences: but if
the premisses do not remain such as they were when they were
granted, it is absolutely necessary for us also to withdraw from
what we granted, and from accepting what does not follow from the
words in which our concessions were made. For the inference is now not
our inference, nor does it result with our assent, since we have
withdrawn from the premisses which we granted. We ought then both to
examine such kind of premisses, and such change and variation of them,
by which in the course of questioning or answering, or in making the
syllogistic conclusion, or in any other such way, the premisses
undergo variations, and give occasion to the foolish to be confounded,
if they do not see what conclusions are. For what reason ought we to
examine? In order that we may not in this matter be employed in an
improper manner nor in a confused way.

  And the same in hypotheses and hypothetical arguments; for it is
necessary sometimes to demand the granting of some hypothesis as a
kind of passage to the argument which follows. Must we then allow
every hypothesis that is proposed, or not allow every one? And if
not every one, which should we allow? And if a man has allowed an
hypothesis, must he in every case abide by allowing it? or must he
sometimes withdraw from it, but admit the consequences and not admit
contradictions? Yes; but suppose that a man says, "If you admit the
hypothesis of a possibility, I will draw you to an impossibility."
With such a person shall a man of sense refuse to enter into a
contest, and avoid discussion and conversation with him? But what
other man than the man of sense can use argumentation and is
skillful in questioning and answering, and incapable of being
cheated and deceived by false reasoning? And shall he enter into the
contest, and yet not take care whether he shall engage in argument not
rashly and not carelessly? And if he does not take care, how can he be
such a man as we conceive him to be? But without some such exercise
and preparation, can he maintain a continuous and consistent argument?
Let them show this; and all these speculations become superfluous, and
are absurd and inconsistent with our notion of a good and serious man.

  Why are we still indolent and negligent and sluggish, and why do
we seek pretences for not labouring and not being watchful in
cultivating our reason? "If then I shall make a mistake in these
matters may I not have killed my father?" Slave, where was there a
father in this matter that you could kill him? What, then, have you
done? The only fault that was possible here is the fault which you
have committed. This is the very remark which I made to Rufus when
he blamed me for not having discovered the one thing omitted in a
certain syllogism: "I suppose," I said, "that I have burnt the
Capitol." "Slave," he replied, "was the thing omitted here the
Capitol?" Or are these the only crimes, to burn the Capitol and to
kill your father? But for a man to use the appearances resented to him
rashly and foolishly and carelessly, not to understand argument, nor
demonstration, nor sophism, nor, in a word, to see in questioning
and answering what is consistent with that which we have granted or is
not consistent; is there no error in this?

  CHAPTER 8

  That the faculties are not safe to the uninstructed

  In as many ways as we can change things which are equivalent to
one another, in just so many ways we can change the forms of arguments
and enthymemes in argumentation. This is an instance: "If you have
borrowed and not repaid, you owe me the money: you have not borrowed
and you have not repaid; then you do not owe me the money." To do this
skillfully is suitable to no man more than to the philosopher; for
if the enthymeme is all imperfect syllogism. it is plain that he who
has been exercised in the perfect syllogism must be equally expert
in the imperfect also.

  "Why then do we not exercise ourselves and one another in this
manner?" Because, I reply, at present, though we are not exercised
in these things and not distracted from the study of morality, by me
at least, still we make no progress in virtue. What then must we
expect if we should add this occupation? and particularly as this
would not only be an occupation which would withdraw us from more
necessary things, but would also be a cause of self conceit and
arrogance, and no small cause. For great is the power of arguing and
the faculty of persuasion, and particularly if it should be much
exercised, and also receive additional ornament from language: and
so universally, every faculty acquired by the uninstructed and weak
brings with it the danger of these persons being elated and inflated
by it. For by what means could one persuade a young man who excels
in these matters that he ought not to become an appendage to them, but
to make them an appendage to himself? Does he not trample on all
such reasons, and strut before us elated and inflated, not enduring
that any man should reprove him and remind him of what he has
neglected and to what he has turned aside?

  "What, then, was not Plato a philosopher?" I reply, "And was not
Hippocrates a physician? but you see how Hippocrates speaks." Does
Hippocrates, then, speak thus in respect of being a physician? Why
do you mingle things which have been accidentally united in the same
men? And if Plato was handsome and strong, ought I also to set to work
and endeavor to become handsome or strong, as if this was necessary
for philosophy, because a certain philosopher was at the same time
handsome and a philosopher? Will you not choose to see and to
distinguish in respect to what men become philosophers, and what
things belong to belong to them in other respects? And if I were a
philosopher, ought you also to be made lame? What then? Do I take away
these faculties which you possess? By no means; for neither do I
take away the faculty of seeing. But if you ask me what is the good of
man, I cannot mention to you anything else than that it is a certain
disposition of the will with respect to appearances.

  CHAPTER 9

  How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the
consequences

  If the things are true which are said by the philosophers about
the kinship between God and man, what else remains for men to do
then what Socrates did? Never in reply to the question, to what
country you belong, say that you are an Athenian or a Corinthian,
but that you are a citizen of the world. For why do you say that you
are an Athenian, and why do you not say that you belong to the small
nook only into which your poor body was cast at birth? Is it not plain
that you call yourself an Athenian or Corinthian from the place
which has a greater authority and comprises not only that small nook
itself and all your family, but even the whole country from which
the stock of your progenitors is derived down to you? He then who
has observed with intelligence the administration of the world, and
has learned that the greatest and supreme and the most comprehensive
community is that which is composed of men and God, and that from
God have descended the seeds not only to my father and grandfather,
but to all beings which are generated on the earth and are produced,
and particularly to rational beings- for these only are by their
nature formed to have communion with God, being by means of reason
conjoined with Him- why should not such a man call himself a citizen
of the world, why not a son of God, and why should he be afraid of
anything which happens among men? Is kinship with Caesar or with any
other of the powerful in Rome sufficient to enable us to live in
safety, and above contempt and without any fear at all? and to have
God for your maker and father and guardian, shall not this release
us from sorrows and fears?

  But a man may say, "Whence shall I get bread to eat when I have
nothing?"

  And how do slaves, and runaways, on what do they rely when they
leave their masters? Do they rely on their lands or slaves, or their
vessels of silver? They rely on nothing but themselves, and food
does not fail them. And shall it be necessary for one among us who
is a philosopher to travel into foreign parts, and trust to and rely
on others, and not to take care of himself, and shall he be inferior
to irrational animals and more cowardly, each of which, being
self-sufficient, neither fails to get its proper food, nor to find a
suitable way of living, and one conformable to nature?

  I indeed think that the old man ought to be sitting here, not to
contrive how you may have no mean thoughts nor mean and ignoble talk
about yourselves, but to take care that there be not among us any
young men of such a mind that, when they have recognized their kinship
to God, and that we are fettered by these bonds, the body, I mean, and
its possessions, and whatever else on account of them is necessary
to us for the economy and commerce of life, they should intend to
throw off these things as if they were burdens painful and
intolerable, and to depart to their kinsmen. But this is the labour
that your teacher and instructor ought to be employed upon, if he
really were what he should be. You should come to him and say,
"Epictetus, we can no longer endure being bound to this poor body, and
feeding it and giving it drink, and rest, and cleaning it, and for the
sake of the body complying with the wishes of these and of those.
Are not these things indifferent and nothing to us, and is not death
no evil? And are we not in a manner kinsmen of God, and did we not
come from Him? Allow us to depart to the place from which we came;
allow us to be released at last from these bonds by which we are bound
and weighed down. Here there are robbers and thieves and courts of
justice, and those who are named tyrants, and think that they have
some power over us by means of the body and its possessions. Permit us
to show them that they have no power over any man." And I on my part
would say, "Friends, wait for God; when He shall give the signal and
release you from this service, then go to Him; but for the present
endure to dwell in this place where He has put you: short indeed is
this time of your dwelling here, and easy to bear for those who are so
disposed: for what tyrant or what thief, or what courts of justice,
are formidable to those who have thus considered as things of no value
the body and the possessions of the body? Wait then, do not depart
without a reason."

  Something like this ought to be said by the teacher to ingenuous
youths. But now what happens? The teacher is a lifeless body, and
you are lifeless bodies. When you have been well filled to-day, you
sit down and lament about the morrow, how you shall get something to
eat. Wretch, if you have it, you will have it; if you have it not, you
will depart from life. The door is open. Why do you grieve? where does
there remain any room for tears? and where is there occasion for
flattery? why shall one man envy another? why should a man admire
the rich or the powerful, even if they be both very strong and of
violent temper? for what will they do to us? We shall not care for
that which they can do; and what we do care for, that they cannot
do. How did Socrates behave with respect to these matters? Why, in
what other way than a man ought to do who was convinced that he was
a kinsman of the gods? "If you say to me now," said Socrates to his
judges, "'We will acquit you on the condition that you no longer
discourse in the way in which you have hitherto discoursed, nor
trouble either our young or our old men,' I shall answer, 'you make
yourselves ridiculous by thinking that, if one of our commanders has
appointed me to a certain post, it is my duty to keep and maintain it,
and to resolve to die a thousand times rather than desert it; but if
God has put us in any place and way of life, we ought to desert
it.'" Socrates speaks like a man who is really a kinsman of the
gods. But we think about ourselves as if we were only stomachs, and
intestines, and shameful parts; we fear, we desire; we flatter those
who are able to help us in these matters, and we fear them also.

  A man asked me to write to Rome about him, a man who, as most people
thought, had been unfortunate, for formerly he was a man of rank and
rich, but had been stripped of all, and was living here. I wrote on
his behalf in a submissive manner; but when he had read the letter, he
gave it back to me and said, "I wished for your help, not your pity:
no evil has happened to me."

  Thus also Musonius Rufus, in order to try me, used to say: "This and
this will befall you from your master"; and I replied that these
were things which happen in the ordinary course of human affairs.
"Why, then," said he, "should I ask him for anything when I can obtain
it from you?" For, in fact, what a man has from himself, it is
superfluous and foolish to receive from another? Shall I, then, who am
able to receive from myself greatness of soul and a generous spirit,
receive from you land and money or a magisterial office? I hope not: I
will not be so ignorant about my own possessions. But when a man is
cowardly and mean, what else must be done for him than to write
letters as you would about a corpse. "Please to grant us the body of a
certain person and a sextarius of poor blood." For such a person is,
in fact, a carcass and a sextarius of blood, and nothing more. But
if he were anything more, he would know that one man is not
miserable through the means of another.

  CHAPTER 10

  Against those who eagerly seek preferment at Rome

  If we applied ourselves as busily to our own work as the old men
at Rome do to those matters about which they are employed, perhaps
we also might accomplish something. I am acquainted with a man older
than myself who is now superintendent of corn at Rome, and remember
the time when he came here on his way back from exile, and what he
said as he related the events of his former life, and how he
declared that with respect to the future after his return he would
look after nothing else than passing the rest of his life in quiet and
tranquillity. "For how little of life," he said, remains for me." I
replied, "You will not do it, but as soon as you smell Rome, you
will forget all that you have said; and if admission is allowed even
into the imperial palace, you will gladly thrust yourself in and thank
God." "If you find me, Epictetus," he answered, "setting even one foot
within the palace, think what you please." Well, what then did he
do? Before he entered the city he was met by letters from Caesar,
and as soon as he received them he forgot all, and ever after has
added one piece of business to another. I wish that I were now by
his side to remind him of what he said when he was passing this way
and to tell him how much better a seer I am than he is.

  Well, then, do I say that man is an animal made for doing nothing?
Certainly not. But why are we not active? For example, as to myself,
as soon as day comes, in a few words I remind myself of what I must
read over to my pupils; then forthwith I say to myself, "But what is
it to me how a certain person shall read? the first thing for me is to
sleep." And indeed what resemblance is there between what other
persons do and what we do? If you observe what they do, you will
understand. And what else do they do all day long than make up
accounts, inquire among themselves, give and take advice about some
small quantity of grain, a bit of land, and such kind of profits? Is
it then the same thing to receive a petition and to read in it: "I
entreat you to permit me to export a small quantity of corn"; and
one to this effect: "I entreat you to learn from Chrysippus what is
the administration of the world, and what place in it the rational
animal holds; consider also who you are, and what is the nature of
your good and bad." Are these things like the other, do they require
equal care, and is it equally base to neglect these and those? Well,
then, are we the only persons who are lazy and love sleep? No; but
much rather you young men are. For we old men, when we see young men
amusing themselves, are eager to play with them; and if I saw you
active and zealous, much more should I be eager myself to join you
in your serious pursuits.

  CHAPTER 11

  Of natural affection

  When he was visited by one of the magistrates, Epictetus inquired of
him about several particulars, and asked if he had children and a
wife. The man replied that he had; and Epictetus inquired further, how
he felt under the circumstances. "Miserable," the man said. Then
Epictetus asked, "In what respect," for men do not marry and beget
children in order to be wretched, but rather to be happy. "But I," the
man replied, "am so wretched about my children that lately, when my
little daughter was sick and was supposed to be in danger, I could not
endure to stay with her, but I left home till a person sent me news
that she had recovered." Well then, said Epictetus, do you think
that you acted right? "I acted naturally," the man replied. But
convince me of this that you acted naturally, and I will convince
you that everything which takes place according to nature takes
place rightly. "This is the case," said the man, "with all or at least
most fathers." I do not deny that: but the matter about which we are
inquiring is whether such behavior is right; for in respect to this
matter we must say that tumours also come for the good of the body,
because they do come; and generally we must say that to do wrong is
natural, because nearly all or at least most of us do wrong. Do you
show me then how your behavior is natural. "I cannot," he said; "but
do you rather show me how it is not according to nature and is not
rightly done.

  Well, said Epictetus, if we were inquiring about white and black,
what criterion should we employ for distinguishing between them?
"The sight," he said. And if about hot and cold, and hard and soft,
what criterion? "The touch." Well then, since we are inquiring about
things which are according to nature, and those which are done rightly
or not rightly, what kind of criterion do you think that we should
employ? "I do not know," he said. And yet not to know the criterion of
colors and smells, and also of tastes, is perhaps no great harm; but
if a man do not know the criterion of good and bad, and of things
according to nature and contrary to nature, does this seem to you a
small harm? "The greatest harm." Come tell me, do all things which
seem to some persons to be good and becoming rightly appear such;
and at present as to Jews and Syrians and Egyptians and Romans, is
it possible that the opinions of all of them in respect to food are
right? "How is it possible?" he said. Well, I suppose it is absolutely
necessary that, if the opinions of the Egyptians are right, the
opinions of the rest must be wrong: if the opinions of the Jews are
right, those of the rest cannot be right. "Certainly." But where there
is ignorance, there also there is want of learning and training in
things which are necessary. He assented to this. You then, said
Epictetus, since you know this, for the future will employ yourself
seriously about nothing else, and will apply your mind to nothing else
than to learn the criterion of things which are according to nature,
and by using it also to determine each several thing. But in the
present matter I have so much as this to aid you toward what you wish.
Does affection to those of your family appear to you to be according
to nature and to be good? "Certainly." Well, is such affection natural
and good, and is a thing consistent with reason not good? "By no
means." Is then that which is consistent with reason in
contradiction with affection? "I think not." You are right, for if
it is otherwise, it is necessary that one of the contradictions
being according to nature, the other must be contrary to nature. Is it
not so? "It is," he said. Whatever, then, we shall discover to be at
the same time affectionate and also consistent with reason, this we
confidently declare to be right and good. "Agreed." Well then to leave
your sick child and to go away is not reasonable, and I suppose that
you will not say that it is; but it remains for us to inquire if it is
consistent with affection. "Yes, let us consider." Did you, then,
since you had an affectionate disposition to your child, do right when
you ran off and left her; and has the mother no affection for the
child? "Certainly, she has." Ought, then, the mother also to have left
her, or ought she not? "She ought not." And the nurse, does she love
her? "She does." Ought, then, she also to have left her? "By no
means." And the pedagogue, does he not love her? "He does love her."
Ought, then, he also to have deserted her? and so should the child
have been left alone and without help on account of the great
affection of you, the parents, and of those about her, or should she
have died in the hands of those who neither loved her nor cared for
her? "Certainly not." Now this is unfair and unreasonable, not to
allow those who have equal affection with yourself to do what you
think to be proper for yourself to do because you have affection. It
is absurd. Come then, if you were sick, would you wish your
relations to be so affectionate, and all the rest, children and
wife, as to leave you alone and deserted? "By no means." And would you
wish to be so loved by your own that through their excessive affection
you would always be left alone in sickness? or for this reason would
you rather pray, if it were possible, to be loved by your enemies
and deserted by them? But if this is so, it results that your behavior
was not at all an affectionate act.

  Well then, was it nothing which moved you and induced you to
desert your child? and how is that possible? But it might be something
of the kind which moved a man at Rome to wrap up his head while a
horse was running which he favoured; and when contrary to
expectation the horse won, he required sponges to recover from his
fainting fit. What then is the thing which moved? The exact discussion
of this does not belong to the present occasion perhaps; but it is
enough to be convinced of this, if what the philosophers say is
true, that we must not look for it anywhere without, but in all
cases it is one and the same thing which is the cause of our doing
or not doing something, of saying or not saying something, of being
elated or depressed, of avoiding anything or pursuing: the very
thing which is now the cause to me and to you, to you of coming to
me and sitting and hearing, and to me of saying what I do say. And
what is this? Is it any other than our will to do so? "No other."
But if we had willed otherwise, what else should we have been doing
than that which we willed to do? This, then, was the cause of
Achilles' lamentation, not the death of Patroclus; for another man
does not behave thus on the death of his companion; but it was because
he chose to do so. And to you this was the very cause of your then
running away, that you chose to do so; and on the other side, if you
should stay with her, the reason will be the same. And now you are
going to Rome because you choose; and if you should change your
mind, you will not go thither. And in a word, neither death nor
exile nor pain nor anything of the kind is the cause of our doing
anything or not doing; but our own opinions and our wills.

  Do I convince you of this or not? "You do convince me." Such,
then, as the causes are in each case, such also are the effects. When,
then, we are doing anything not rightly, from this day we shall impute
it to nothing else than to the will from which we have done it: and it
is that which we shall endeavour to take away and to extirpate more
than the tumours and abscesses out of the body. And in like manner
we shall give the same account of the cause of the things which we
do right; and we shall no longer allege as causes of any evil to us,
either slave or neighbour, or wife or children, being persuaded
that, if we do not think things to he what we do think them to be,
we do not the acts which follow from such opinions; and as to thinking
or not thinking, that is in our power and not in externals. "It is
so," he said. From this day then we shall inquire into and examine
nothing else, what its quality is, or its state, neither land nor
slaves nor horses nor dogs, nothing else than opinions. "I hope so."
You see, then, that you must become a Scholasticus, an animal whom all
ridicule, if you really intend to make an examination of your own
opinions: and that this is not the work of one hour or day, you know
yourself.

  CHAPTER 12

  Of contentment

  With respect to gods, there are some who say that a divine being
does not exist: others say that it exists, but is inactive and
careless, and takes no forethought about anything; a third class say
that such a being exists and exercises forethought, but only about
great things and heavenly things, and about nothing on the earth; a
fourth class say that a divine being exercises forethought both
about things on the earth and heavenly things, but in a general way
only, and not about things severally. There is a fifth class to whom
Ulysses and Socrates belong, who say: "I move not without thy
knowledge."

  Before all other things, then, it is necessary to inquire about each
of these opinions, whether it is affirmed truly or not truly. For if
there are no gods, how is it our proper end to follow them? And if
they exist, but take no care of anything, in this case also how will
it be right to follow them? But if indeed they do exist and look after
things, still if there is nothing communicated from them to men, nor
in fact to myself, how even so is it right? The wise and good man,
then, after considering all these things, submits his own mind to
him who administers the whole, as good citizens do to the law of the
state. He who is receiving instruction ought to come to the instructed
with this intention: How shall I follow the gods in all things, how
shall I be contented with the divine administration, and how can I
become free?" For he is free to whom everything happens according,
to his will, and whom no man can hinder. "What then, is freedom
madness?" Certainly not: for madness and freedom do not consist.
"But," you say, "I would have everything result just as I like, and in
whatever way I like." You are mad, you are beside yourself. Do you not
know that freedom is a noble and valuable thing? But for me
inconsiderately to wish for things to happen as I inconsiderately
like, this appears to be not only not noble, but even most base. For
how do we proceed in the matter of writing? Do I wish to write the
name of Dion as I choose? No, but I am taught to choose to write it as
it ought to be written. And how with respect to music? In the same
manner. And what universally in every art or science? Just the same.
If it were not so, it would be of no value to know anything, if
knowledge were adapted to every man's whim. Is it, then, in this
alone, in this which is the greatest and the chief thing, I mean
freedom, that I am permitted to will inconsiderately? By no means; but
to be instructed is this, to learn to wish that everything may
happen as it does. And how do things happen? As the disposer has
disposed them? And he has appointed summer and winter, and abundance
and scarcity, and virtue and vice, and all such opposites for the
harmony of the whole; and to each of us he has given a body, and parts
of the body, and possessions, and companions.

  Remembering, then, this disposition of things we ought to go to be
instructed, not that we may change the constitution of things- for
we have not the power to do it, nor is it better that we should have
the power-but in order that, as the things around us are what they are
and by nature exist, we may maintain our minds in harmony with them
things which happen. For can we escape from men? and how is it
possible? And if we associate with them, can we chance them? Who gives
us the power? What then remains, or what method is discovered of
holding commerce with them? Is there such a method by which they shall
do what seems fit to them, and we not the less shall be in a mood
which is conformable to nature? But you are unwilling to endure and
are discontented: and if you are alone, you call it solitude; and of
you are with men, you call them knaves and robbers; and you find fault
with your own parents and children, and brothers and neighbours. But
you ought when you are alone to call this condition by the name of
tranquillity and freedom, and to think yourself like to the gods;
and when you are with many, you ought not to call it crowd, nor
trouble, nor uneasiness, but festival and assembly, and so accept
all contentedly.

  What, then, is the punishment of those who do not accept? It is to
be what they are. Is any person dissatisfied with being alone, let him
be alone. Is a man dissatisfied with his parents? let him be a bad
son, and lament. Is he dissatisfied with his children? let him be a
bad father. "Cast him into prison." What prison? Where he is
already, for he is there against his will; and where a man is
against his will, there he is in prison. So Socrates was not in
prison, for he was there willingly. "Must my leg then be lamed?"
Wretch, do you then on account of one poor leg find fault with the
world? Will you not willingly surrender it for the whole? Will you not
withdraw from it? Will you not gladly part with it to him who gave it?
And will you be vexed and discontented with the things established
by Zeus, which he with the Moirae who were present and spinning the
thread of your generation, defined and put in order? Know you not
how small a part you are compared with the whole. I mean with
respect to the body, for as to intelligence you are not inferior to
the gods nor less; for the magnitude of intelligence is not measured
by length nor yet by height, but by thoughts.

  Will you not, then, choose to place your good in that in which you
are equal to the gods? "Wretch that I am to have such a father and
mother." What, then, was it permitted to you to come forth, and to
select, and to say: "Let such a man at this moment unite with such a
woman that I may be produced?" It was not permitted, but it was a
necessity for your parents to exist first, and then for you to be
begotten. Of what kind of parents? Of such as they were. Well then,
since they are such as they are, is there no remedy given to you?
Now if you did not know for what purpose you possess the faculty of
vision, you would be unfortunate and wretched if you closed your
eyes when colors were brought before them; but in that you possess
greatness of soul and nobility of spirit for every event that may
happen, and you know not that you possess them, are you not more
unfortunate and wretched? Things are brought close to you which are
proportionate to the power which you possess, but you turn away this
power most particularly at the very time when you ought to maintain it
open and discerning. Do you not rather thank the gods that they have
allowed you to be above these things which they have not placed in
your power; and have made you accountable only for those which are
in your power? As to your parents, the gods have left you free from
responsibility; and so with respect to your brothers, and your body,
and possessions, and death and life. For what, then, have they made
you responsible? For that which alone is in your power, the proper use
of appearances. Why then do you draw on yourself the things for
which you are not responsible? It is, indeed, a giving of trouble to
yourself.

  CHAPTER 13

  How everything may he done acceptably to the gods

  When some one asked, how may a man eat acceptably to the gods, he
answered: If he can eat justly and contentedly, and with equanimity,
and temperately and orderly, will it not be also acceptably to the
gods? But when you have asked for warm water and the slave has not
heard, or if he did hear has brought only tepid water, or he is not
even found to be in the house, then not to be vexed or to burst with
passion, is not this acceptable to the gods? "How then shall a man
endure such persons as this slave?" Slave yourself, will you not
bear with your own brother, who has Zeus for his progenitor, and is
like a son from the same seeds and of the same descent from above? But
if you have been put in any such higher place, will you immediately
make yourself a tyrant? Will you not remember who you are, and whom
you rule? that they are kinsmen, that they are brethren by nature,
that they are the offspring of Zeus? "But I have purchased them, and
they have not purchased me." Do you see in what direction you are
looking, that it is toward the earth, toward the pit, that it is
toward these wretched laws of dead men? but toward the laws of the
gods you are not looking.

  CHAPTER 14

  That the deity oversees all things

  When a person asked him how a man could be convinced that all his
actions are under the inspection of God, he answered, Do you not think
that all things are united in one? "I do," the person replied. Well,
do you not think that earthly things have a natural agreement and
union with heavenly things "I do." And how else so regularly as if
by God's command, when He bids the plants to flower, do they flower?
when He bids them to send forth shoots, do they shoot? when He bids
them to produce fruit, how else do they produce fruit? when He bids
the fruit to ripen, does it ripen? when again He bids them to cast
down the fruits, how else do they cast them down? and when to shed the
leaves, do they shed the leaves? and when He bids them to fold
themselves up and to remain quiet and rest, how else do they remain
quiet and rest? And how else at the growth and the wane of the moon,
and at the approach and recession of the sun, are so great an
alteration and change to the contrary seen in earthly things? But
are plants and our bodies so bound up and united with the whole, and
are not our souls much more? and our souls so bound up and in
contact with God as parts of Him and portions of Him; and does not God
perceive every motion of these parts as being His own motion connate
with Himself? Now are you able to think of the divine
administration, and about all things divine, and at the same time also
about human affairs, and to be moved by ten thousand things at the
same time in your senses and in your understanding, and to assent to
some, and to dissent from others, and again as to some things to
suspend your judgment; and do you retain in your soul so many
impressions from so many and various things, and being moved by
them, do you fall upon notions similar to those first impressed, and
do you retain numerous arts and the memories of ten thousand things;
and is not God able to oversee all things, and to be present with all,
and to receive from all a certain communication? And is the sun able
to illuminate so large a part of the All, and to leave so little not
illuminated, that part only which is occupied by the earth's shadow;
and He who made the sun itself and makes it go round, being a small
part of Himself compared with the whole, cannot He perceive all
things?

  "But I cannot," the man may reply, "comprehend all these things at
once." But who tells you that you have equal power with Zeus?
Nevertheless he has placed by every man a guardian, every man's Demon,
to whom he has committed the care of the man, a guardian who never
sleeps, is never deceived. For to what better and more careful
guardian could He have entrusted each of us? When, then, you have shut
the doors and made darkness within, remember never to say that you are
alone, for you are not; but God is within, and your Demon is within,
and what need have they of light to see what you are doing? To this
God you ought to swear an oath just as the soldiers do to Caesar.
But they who are hired for pay swear to regard the safety of Caesar
before all things; and you who have received so many and such great
favours, will you not swear, or when you have sworn, will you not
abide by your oath? And what shall you swear? Never to be disobedient,
never to make any charges, never to find fault with anything that he
has given, and never unwillingly to do or to suffer anything, that
is necessary. Is this oath like the soldier's oath? The soldiers swear
not to prefer any man to Caesar: in this oath men swear to honour
themselves before all.

  CHAPTER 15

  What philosophy promises

  When a man was consulting him how he should persuade his brother
to cease being angry with him, Epictetus replied: Philosophy does
not propose to secure for a man any external thing. If it did
philosophy would be allowing something which is not within its
province. For as the carpenter's material is wood, and that of the
statuary is copper, so the matter of the art of living is each man's
life. "What then is my brother's?" That again belongs to his own
art; but with respect to yours, it is one of the external things, like
a piece of land, like health, like reputation. But Philosophy promises
none of these. "In every circumstance I will maintain," she says, "the
governing part conformable to nature." Whose governing part? "His in
whom I am," she says.

  "How then shall my brother cease to be angry with me?" Bring him
to me and I will tell him. But I have nothing to say to you about
his anger.

  When the man, who was consulting him, said, "I seek to know this-
how, even if my brother is not reconciled to me, shall I maintain
myself in a state conformable to nature?" Nothing great, said
Epictetus, is produced suddenly, since not even the grape or the fig
is. If you say to me now that you want a fig, I will answer to you
that it requires time: let it flower first, then put forth fruit,
and then ripen. Is, then, the fruit of a fig-tree not perfected
suddenly and in one hour, and would you possess the fruit of a man's
mind in so short a time and so easily? Do not expect it, even if I
tell you.

  CHAPTER 16

  Of providence

  Do not wonder if for other animals than man all things are
provided for the body, not only food and drink, but beds also, and
they have no need of shoes nor bed materials, nor clothing; but we
require all these additional things. For, animals not being made for
themselves, but for service, it was not fit for them to he made so
as to need other things. For consider what it would be for us to
take care not only of ourselves, but also about cattle and asses,
how they should be clothed, and how shod, and how they should eat
and drink. Now as soldiers are ready for their commander, shod,
clothed and armed: but it would be a hard thing, for the chiliarch
to go round and shoe or clothe his thousand men; so also nature has
formed the animals which are made for service, all ready, prepared,
and requiring no further care. So one little boy with only a stick
drives the cattle.

  But now we, instead of being thankful that we need not take the same
care of animals as of ourselves, complain of God on our own account;
and yet, in the name of Zeus and the gods, any one thing of those
which exist would be enough to make a man perceive the providence of
God, at least a man who is modest and grateful. And speak not to me
now of the great thins, but only of this, that milk is produced from
grass, and cheese from milk, and wool from skins. Who made these
things or devised them? "No one," you say. Oh, amazing shamelessness
and stupidity!

  Well, let us omit the works of nature and contemplate her smaller
acts. Is there anything less useful than the hair on the chin? What
then, has not nature used this hair also in the most suitable manner
possible? Has she not by it distinguished the male and the female?
does not the nature of every man forthwith proclaim from a distance,
"I am a man; as such approach me, as such speak to me; look for
nothing else; see the signs"? Again, in the case of women, as she
has mingled something softer in the voice, so she has also deprived
them of hair (on the chin). You say: "Not so; the human animal ought
to have been left without marks of distinction, and each of us
should have been obliged to proclaim, 'I am a man.' But how is not the
sign beautiful and becoming, and venerable? how much more beautiful
than the cock's comb, how much more becoming than the lion's mane? For
this reason we ought to preserve the signs which God has given, we
ought not to throw them away, nor to confound, as much as we can,
the distinctions of the sexes.

  Are these the only works of providence in us? And what words are
sufficient to praise them and set them forth according to their worth?
For if we had understanding, ought we to do anything else both jointly
and severally than to sing hymns and bless the deity, and to tell of
his benefits? Ought we not when we are digging and ploughing and
eating to sing this hymn to God? "Great is God, who has given us
such implements with which we shall cultivate the earth: great is
God who has given us hands, the power of swallowing, a stomach,
imperceptible growth, and the power of breathing while we sleep." This
is what we ought to sing on every occasion, and to sing the greatest
and most divine hymn for giving us the faculty of comprehending
these things and using a proper way. Well then, since most of you have
become blind, ought there not to be some man to fill this office,
and on behalf of all to sing the hymn to God? For what else can I
do, a lame old man, than sing hymns to God? If then I was a
nightingale, I would do the part of a nightingale: if I were a swan, I
would do like a swan. But now I am a rational creature, and I ought to
praise God: this is my work; I do it, nor will I desert this post,
so long as I am allowed to keep it; and I exhort you to join in this
same song.

  CHAPTER 17

  That the logical art is necessary

  Since reason is the faculty which analyses and perfects the rest,
and it ought itself not to be unanalysed, by what should it be
analysed? for it is plain that this should be done either by itself or
by another thing. Either, then, this other thing also is reason, or
something else superior to reason; which is impossible. But if it is
reason, again who shall analyse that reason? For if that reason does
this for itself, our reason also can do it. But we shall require
something else, the thing, will go on to infinity and have no end.
Reason therefore is analysed by itself. "Yes: but it is more urgent to
cure (our opinions) and the like." Will you then hear about those
things? Hear. But if you should say, "I know not whether you are
arguing truly or falsely," and if I should express myself in any way
ambiguously, and you should say to me, " Distinguish," I will bear
with you no longer, and I shall say to "It is more urgent." This is
the reason, I suppose, why they place the logical art first, as in the
measuring of corn we place first the examination of the measure. But
if we do not determine first what is a modius, and what is a
balance, how shall we be able to measure or weigh anything?

  In this case, then, if we have not fully learned and accurately
examined the criterion of all other things, by which the other
things are learned, shall we be able to examine accurately and to
learn fully anything else? "Yes; but the modius is only wood, and a
thing which produces no fruit." But it is a thing which can measure
corn. "Logic also produces no fruit." As to this indeed we shall
see: but then even if a man should rant this, it is enough that
logic has the power of distinguishing and examining other things, and,
as we may say, of measuring and weighing them. Who says this? Is it
only Chrysippus, and Zeno, and Cleanthes? And does not Antisthenes say
so? And who is it that has written that the examination of names is
the beginning of education? And does not Socrates say so? And of
whom does Xenophon write, that he began with the examination of names,
what each name signified? Is this then the great and wondrous thing to
understand or interpret Chrysippus? Who says this? What then is the
wondrous thing? To understand the will of nature. Well then do you
apprehend it yourself by your own power? and what more have you need
of? For if it is true that all men err involuntarily, and you have
learned the truth, of necessity you must act right. "But in truth I do
not apprehend the will of nature." Who then tells us what it is?
They say that it is Chrysippus. I proceed, and I inquire what this
interpreter of nature says. I begin not to understand what he says;
I seek an interpreter of Chrysippus. "Well, consider how this is said,
just as if it were said in the Roman tongue." What then is this
superciliousness of the interpreter? There is no superciliousness
which can justly he charged even to Chrysippus, if he only
interprets the will of nature, but does not follow it himself; and
much more is this so with his interpreter. For we have no need of
Chrysippus for his own sake, but in order that we may understand
nature. Nor do we need a diviner on his own account, but because we
think that through him we shall know the future and understand the
signs given by the gods; nor do we need the viscera of animals for
their own sake, but because through them signs are given; nor do we
look with wonder on the crow or raven, but on God, who through them
gives signs?

  I go then to the interpreter of these things and the sacrificer, and
I say, "Inspect the viscera for me, and tell me what signs they give."
The man takes the viscera, opens them, and interprets them: "Man,"
he says, "you have a will free by nature from hindrance and
compulsion; this is written here in the viscera. I will show you
this first in the matter of assent. Can any man hinder you from
assenting to the truth? No man can. Can any man compel you to
receive what is false? No man can. You see that in this matter you
have the faculty of the will free from hindrance, free from
compulsion, unimpeded." Well, then, in the matter of desire and
pursuit of an object, is it otherwise? And what can overcome pursuit
except another pursuit? And what can overcome desire and aversion
except another desire and aversion? But, you object: "If you place
before me the fear of death, you do compel me." No, it is not what
is placed before you that compels, but your opinion that it is
better to do so-and-so than to die. In this matter, then, it is your
opinion that compelled you: that is, will compelled will. For if God
had made that part of Himself, which He took from Himself and gave
to us, of such a nature as to be hindered or compelled either by
Himself or by another, He would not then be God nor would He be taking
care of us as He ought. "This," says the diviner, "I find in the
victims: these are the things which are signified to you. If you
choose, you are free; if you choose, you will blame no one: you will
charge no one. All will be at the same time according to your mind and
the mind of God." For the sake of this divination I go to this diviner
and to the philosopher, not admiring him for this interpretation,
but admiring the things which he interprets.

  CHAPTER 18

  That we ought not to he angry with the errors of others

  If what philosophers say is true, that all men have one principle,
as in the case of assent the persuasion that a thing is so, and in the
case of dissent the persuasion that a thing is not so, and in the case
of a suspense of judgment the persuasion that a thing is uncertain, so
also in the case of a movement toward anything the persuasion that a
thing is for a man's advantage, and it is impossible to think that one
thing is advantageous and to desire another, and to judge one thing to
be proper and to move toward another, why then are we angry with the
many? "They are thieves and robbers," you may say. What do you mean by
thieves and robbers? "They are mistaken about good and evil." Ought we
then to be angry with them, or to pity them? But show them their
error, and you will see how they desist from their errors. If they
do not see their errors, they have nothing superior to their present
opinion.

  "Ought not then this robber and this adulterer to be destroyed?"
By no means say so, but speak rather in this way: "This man who has
been mistaken and deceived about the most important things, and
blinded, not in the faculty of vision which distinguishes white and
black, but in the faculty which distinguishes good and bad, should
we not destroy him?" If you speak thus, you will see how inhuman
this is which you say, and that it is just as if you would say, "Ought
we not to destroy this blind and deaf man?" But if the greatest harm
is the privation of the greatest things, and the greatest thing in
every man is the will or choice such as it ought to be, and a man is
deprived of this will, why are you also angry with him? Man, you ought
not to be affected contrary to nature by the bad things of another.
Pity him rather: drop this readiness to be offended and to hate, and
these words which the many utter: "These accursed and odious fellows."
How have you been made so wise at once? and how are you so peevish?
Why then are we angry? Is it because we value so much the things of
which these men rob us? Do not admire your clothes, and then you
will not be angry with the thief. Do not admire the beauty of your
wife, and you will not be angry with the adulterer. Learn that a thief
and an adulterer have no place in the things which are yours, but in
those which belong to others and which are not in your power. If you
dismiss these things and consider them as nothing, with whom are you
still angry? But so long as you value these things, be angry with
yourself rather than with the thief and the adulterer. Consider the
matter thus: you have fine clothes; your neighbor has not: you have
a window; you wish to air the clothes. The thief does not know wherein
man's good consists, but he thinks that it consists in having fine
clothes, the very thing which you also think. Must he not then come
and take them away? When you show a cake to greedy persons, and
swallow it all yourself, do you expect them not to snatch it from you?
Do not provoke them: do not have a window: do not air your clothes.
I also lately had an iron lamp placed by the side of my household
gods: hearing a noise at the door, I ran down, and found that the lamp
had been carried off. I reflected that he who had taken  the lamp
had done nothing strange. What then? To-morrow, I said, you will
find an earthen lamp: for a man only loses that which he has. "I
have lost my garment." The reason is that you had a garment. "I have
pain in my head." Have you any pain in your horns? Why then are you
troubled? for we only lose those things, we have only pains about
those things which we possess.

  "But the tyrant will chain." What? the leg. "He will take away."
What? the neck. What then will he not chain and not take away? the
will. This is why the ancients taught the maxim, "Know thyself."
Therefore we ought to exercise ourselves in small things and,
beginning with them, to proceed to the greater. "I have pain in the
head." Do not say, "Alas!" "I have pain in the ear." Do not say,
"Alas!" And I do not say that you are not allowed to groan, but do not
groan inwardly; and if your slave is slow in bringing a bandage, do
not cry out and torment yourself, and say, "Everybody hates me": for
who would not hate such a man? For the future, relying on these
opinions, walk about upright, free; not trusting to the size of your
body, as an athlete, for a man ought not to be invincible in the way
that an ass is.

  Who then is the invincible? It is he whom none of the things disturb
which are independent of the will. Then examining one circumstance
after another I observe, as in the case of an athlete; he has come off
victorious in the first contest: well then, as to the second? and what
if there should be great heat? and what, if it should be at Olympia?
And the same I say in this case: if you should throw money in his way,
he will despise it. Well, suppose you put a young girl in his way,
what then? and what, if it is in the dark? what if it should be a
little reputation, or abuse; and what, if it should be praise; and
what if it should be death? He is able to overcome all. What then if
it be in heat, and what if it is in the rain, and what if he be in a
melancholy mood, and what if he be asleep? He will still conquer. This
is my invincible athlete.

  CHAPTER 19

  How we should behave to tyrants

  If a man possesses any superiority, or thinks that he does, when
he does not, such a man, if he is uninstructed, will of necessity be
puffed up through it. For instance, the tyrant says, "I am master of
all." And what can you do for me? Can you give me desire which shall
have no hindrance? How can you? Have you the infallible power of
avoiding what you would avoid? Have you the power of moving toward
an object without error? And how do you possess this power? Come, when
you are in a ship, do you trust to yourself or to the helmsman? And
when you are in a chariot, to whom do you trust but to the driver? And
how is it in all other arts? Just the same. In what then lies your
power? "All men pay respect to me." Well, I also pay respect to my
platter, and I wash it and wipe it; and for the sake of my oil
flask, I drive a peg into the wall. Well then, are these things
superior to me? No, but they supply some of my wants, and for this
reason I take care of them. Well, do I not attend to my ass? Do I
not wash his feet? Do I not clean him? Do you not know that every
man has regard to himself, and to you just the same as he has regard
to his ass? For who has regard to you as a man? Show me. Who wishes to
become like you? Who imitates you, as he imitates Socrates? "But I can
cut off your head." You say right. I had forgotten that I must have
regard to you, as I would to a fever and the bile, and raise an
altar to you, as there is at Rome an altar to fever.

  What is it then that disturbs and terrifies the multitude? is it the
tyrant and his guards? I hope that it is not so. It is not possible
that what is by nature free can be disturbed by anything else, or
hindered by any other thing than by itself. But it is a man's own
opinions which disturb him: for when the tyrant says to a man, "I will
chain your leg," he who values his leg says, "Do not; have pity":
but he who values his own will says, "If it appears more
advantageous to you, chain it." "Do you not care?" I do not care. "I
will show you that I am master." You cannot do that. Zeus has set me
free: do you think that he intended to allow his own son to be
enslaved? But you are master of my carcass: take it. "So when you
approach me, you have no regard to me?" No, but I have regard to
myself; and if you wish me to say that I have regard to you also, I
tell you that I have the same regard to you that I have to my pipkin.

  This is not a perverse self-regard, for the animal is constituted so
as to do all things for itself. For even the sun does all things for
itself; nay, even Zeus himself. But when he chooses to be the Giver of
rain and the Giver of fruits, and the Father of gods and men, you
see that he cannot obtain these functions and these names, if he is
not useful to man; and, universally, he has made the nature of the
rational animal such that it cannot obtain any one of its own proper
interests, if it does not contribute something to the common interest.
In this manner and sense it is not unsociable for a man to do
everything, for the sake of himself. For what do you expect? that a
man should neglect himself and his own interest? And how in that
case can there be one and the same principle in all animals, the
principle of attachment to themselves?

  What then? when absurd notions about things independent of our will,
as if they were good and bad, lie at the bottom of our opinions, we
must of necessity pay regard to tyrants; for I wish that men would pay
regard to tyrants only, and not also to the bedchamber men. How is
it that the man becomes all at once wise, when Caesar has made him
superintendent of the close stool? How is it that we say
immediately, "Felicion spoke sensibly to me." I wish he were ejected
from the bedchamber, that he might again appear to you to be a fool.

  Epaphroditus had a shoemaker whom he sold because he was good for
nothing. This fellow by some good luck was bought by one of Caesar's
men, and became Caesar's shoemaker. You should have seen what
respect Epaphroditus paid to him: "How does the good Felicion do, I
pray?" Then if any of us asked, "What is master doing?" the answer "He
is consulting about something with Felicion." Had he not sold the
man as good for nothing? Who then made him wise all at once? This is
an instance of valuing something else than the things which depend
on the will.

  Has a man been exalted to the tribuneship? All who meet him offer
their congratulations; one kisses his eyes, another the neck, and
the slaves kiss his hands. He goes to his house, he finds torches
lighted. He ascends the Capitol: he offers a sacrifice of the
occasion. Now who ever sacrificed for having had good desires? for
having acted conformably to nature? For in fact we thank the gods
for those things in which we place our good.

  A person was talking to me to-day about the priesthood of
Augustus. I say to him: "Man, let the thing alone: you will spend much
for no purpose." But he replies, "Those who draw up agreements will
write any name." Do you then stand by those who read them, and say
to such persons, "It is I whose name is written there;" And if you can
now be present on all such occasions, what will you do when you are
dead? "My name will remain." Write it on a stone, and it will
remain. But come, what remembrance of you will there be beyond
Nicopolis? "But I shall wear a crown of gold." If you desire a crown
at all, take a crown of roses and put it on, for it will be more
elegant in appearance.

  CHAPTER 20

  About reason, how it contemplates itself

  Every art and faculty contemplates certain things especially. When
then it is itself of the same kind with the objects which it
contemplates, it must of necessity contemplate itself also: but when
it is of an unlike kind, it cannot contemplate itself. For instance,
the shoemaker's art is employed on skins, but itself is entirely
distinct from the material of skins: for this reason it does not
contemplate itself. Again, the grammarian's art is employed about
articulate speech; is then the art also articulate speech? By no
means. For this reason it is not able to contemplate itself. Now
reason, for what purpose has it been given by nature? For the right
use of appearances. What is it then itself? A system of certain
appearances. So by its nature it has the faculty of contemplating
itself so. Again, sound sense, for the contemplation of what things
does it belong to us? Good and evil, and things which are neither.
What is it then itself? Good. And want of sense, what is it? Evil.
Do you see then that good sense necessarily contemplates both itself
and the opposite? For this reason it is the chief and the first work
of a philosopher to examine appearances, and to distinguish them,
and to admit none without examination. You see even in the matter of
coin, in which our interest appears to be somewhat concerned, how we
have invented an art, and how many means the assayer uses to try the
value of coin, the sight, the touch, the smell, and lastly the
hearing. He throws the coin down, and observes the sound, and he is
not content with its sounding once, but through his great attention he
becomes a musician. In like manner, where we think that to be mistaken
and not to be mistaken make a great difference, there we apply great
attention to discovering the things which can deceive. But in the
matter of our miserable ruling faculty, yawning and sleeping, we
carelessly admit every appearance, for the harm is not noticed.

  When then you would know how careless you are with respect to good
and evil, and how active with respect to things which are indifferent,
observe how you feel with respect to being deprived of the sight of
eyes, and how with respect of being deceived, and you will discover
you are far from feeling as you ought to in relation to good and evil.
"But this is a matter which requires much preparation, and much
labor and study." Well then do you expect to acquire the greatest of
arts with small labor? And yet the chief doctrine of philosophers is
brief. If you would know, read Zeno's writings and you will see. For
how few words it requires to say man's end is to follow the god's, and
that the nature of good is a proper use of appearances. But if you say
"What is 'God,' what is 'appearance,' and what is 'particular' and
what is 'universal nature'? then indeed many words are necessary. If
then Epicures should come and say that the good must be in the body;
in this case also many words become necessary, and we must be taught
what is the leading principle in us, and the fundamental and the
substantial; and as it is not probable that the good of a snail is
in the shell, is it probable that the good of a man is in the body?
But you yourself, Epicurus, possess something better than this. What
is that in you which deliberates, what is that which examines
everything, what is that which forms a judgement about the body
itself, that it is the principle part? and why do you light your
lamp and labor for us, and write so many books? is it that we may
not be ignorant of the truth, who we are, and what we are with respect
to you? Thus the discussion requires many words.

  CHAPTER 21

  Against those who wish to be admired

  When a man holds his proper station in life, he does not gape
after things beyond it. Man, what do you wish to happen to you? "I
am satisfied if I desire and avoid conformably to nature, if I
employ movements toward and from an object as I am by nature formed to
do, and purpose and design and assent." Why then do you strut before
us as if you had swallowed a spit? "My wish has always been that those
who meet me should admire me, and those who follow me should
exclaim, 'Oh, the great philosopher.'" Who are they by whom you wish
to be admired? Are they not those of whom you are used to say that
they are mad? Well then do you wish to be admired by madmen?

  CHAPTER 22

  On precognitions

  Precognitions are common to all men, and precognition is not
contradictory to precognition. For who of us does not assume that Good
is useful and eligible, and in all circumstances that we ought to
follow and pursue it? And who of us does not assume that justice is
beautiful and becoming? When, then, does the contradiction arise? It
arises in the adaptation of the precognitions to the particular cases.
When one man says, "He has done well: he is a brave man," and
another says, "Not so; but he has acted foolishly"; then the
disputes arise among men. This is the dispute among the Jews and the
Syrians and the Egyptians and the Romans; not whether holiness
should be preferred to all things and in all cases should be
pursued, but whether it is holy to eat pig's flesh or not holy. You
will find this dispute also between Agamemnon and Achilles; for call
them forth. What do you say, Agamemnon ought not that to be done which
is proper and right? "Certainly." Well, what do you say, Achilles?
do you not admit that what is good ought to be done? "I do most
certainly." Adapt your precognitions then to the present matter.
Here the dispute begins. Agamemnon says, "I ought not to give up
Chryseis to her father." Achilles says, "You ought." It is certain
that one of the two makes a wrong adaptation of the precognition of
ought" or "duty." Further, Agamemnon says, "Then if I ought to restore
Chryseis, it is fit that I take his prize from some of you."
Achilles replies, "Would you then take her whom I love?" "Yes, her
whom you love." "Must I then be the only man who goes without a prize?
and must I be the only man who has no prize?" Thus the dispute begins.

  What then is education? Education is the learning how to adapt the
natural precognitions to the particular things conformably to
nature; and then to distinguish that of things some are in our
power, but others are not; in our power are will and all acts which
depend on the will; things not in our power are the body, the parts of
the body, possessions, parents, brothers, children, country, and,
generally, all with whom we live in society. In what, then, should
we place the good? To what kind of things shall we adapt it? "To the
things which are in our power?" Is not health then a good thing, and
soundness of limb, and life? and are not children and parents and
country? Who will tolerate you if you deny this?

  Let us then transfer the notion of good to these things. is it
possible, then, when a man sustains damage and does not obtain good
things, that he can be happy? "It is not possible." And can he
maintain toward society a proper behavior? He cannot. For I am
naturally formed to look after my own interest. If it is my interest
to have an estate in land, it is my interest also to take it from my
neighbor. If it is my interest to have a garment, it is my interest
also to steal it from the bath. This is the origin of wars, civil
commotions, tyrannies, conspiracies. And how shall I be still able
to maintain my duty toward Zeus? for if I sustain damage and am
unlucky, he takes no care of me; and what is he to me if he allows
me to be in the condition in which I am? I now begin to hate him. Why,
then, do we build temples, why set up statues to Zeus, as well as to
evil demons, such as to Fever; and how is Zeus the Saviour, and how
the Giver of rain, and the Giver of fruits? And in truth if we place
the nature of Good in any such things, all this follows.

  What should we do then? This is the inquiry of the true
philosopher who is in labour. "Now I do not see what the Good is nor
the Bad. Am I not mad? Yes." But suppose that I place the good
somewhere among the things which depend on the will: all will laugh at
me. There will come some grey-head wearing many gold rings on his
fingers and he will shake his head and say, "Hear, my child. It is
right that you should philosophize; but you ought to have some
brains also: all this that you are doing is silly. You learn the
syllogism from philosophers; but you know how to act better than
philosophers do." Man, why then do you blame me, if I know? What shall
I say to this slave? If I am silent, he will burst. I must speak in
this way: "Excuse me, as you would excuse lovers: I am not my own
master: I am mad."

  CHAPTER 23

  Against Epicurus

  Even Epicurus perceives that we are by nature social, but having
once placed our good in the husk he is no longer able to say
anything else. For on the other hand he strongly maintains this,
that we ought not to admire nor to accept anything which is detached
from the nature of good; and he is right in maintaining this. How then
are we [suspicious], if we have no natural affection to our
children? Why do you advise the wise man not to bring up children? Why
are you afraid that he may thus fall into trouble? For does he fall
into trouble on account of the mouse which is nurtured in the house?
What does he care if a little mouse in the house makes lamentation
to him? But Epicurus knows that if once a child is born, it is no
longer in our power not to love it nor care about it. For this reason,
Epicurus says that a man who has any sense also does not engage in
political matters; for he knows what a man must do who is engaged in
such things; for, indeed, if you intend to behave among men as you
do among a swarm of flies, what hinders you? But Epicurus, who knows
this, ventures to say that we should not bring up children. But a
sheep does not desert its own offspring, nor yet a wolf; and shall a
man desert his child? What do you mean? that we should be as silly
as sheep? but not even do they desert their offspring: or as savage as
wolves, but not even do wolves desert their young. Well, who would
follow your advice, if he saw his child weeping after falling on the
ground? For my part I think that, even if your mother and your
father had been told by an oracle that you would say what you have
said, they would not have cast you away.

  CHAPTER 24

  How we should struggle with circumstances

  It is circumstances which show what men are. Therefore when a
difficulty falls upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of
wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man. "For what purpose?"
you may say, Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it
is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion no man has had a more
profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use
of it as an athlete would deal with a young antagonist. We are now
sending a scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly scout, who, if he
only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in
terror and reports that the enemy is close at hand. So now if you
should come and tell us, "Fearful is the state of affairs at Rome,
terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is
poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is near"; we shall answer,
"Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that
we sent such a scout."

  Diogenes, who was sent as a scout before you, made a different
report to us. He says that death is no evil, for neither is it base:
he says that fame is the noise of madmen. And what has this spy said
about pain, about pleasure, and about poverty? He says that to be
naked is better than any purple robe, and to sleep on the bare
ground is the softest bed; and he gives as a proof of each thing
that he affirms his own courage, his tranquillity his freedom, and the
healthy appearance and compactness of his body. "There is no enemy
he says; "all is peace." How so, Diogenes? "See," he replies, "if I am
struck, if I have been wounded, if I have fled from any man." This
is what a scout ought to be. But you come to us and tell us one
thing after another. Will you not go back, and you will see clearer
when you have laid aside fear?

  What then shall I do? What do you do when you leave a ship? Do you
take away the helm or the oars? What then do you take away? You take
what is your own, your bottle and your wallet; and now if you think of
what is your own, you will never claim what belongs to others. The
emperor says, "Lay aside your laticlave." See, I put on the
angusticlave. "Lay aside this also." See, I have only my toga. "Lay
aside your toga." See, I am naked. "But you still raise my envy." Take
then all my poor body; when, at a man's command, I can throw away my
poor body, do I still fear him?

  "But a certain person will not leave to me the succession to his
estate." What then? had I forgotten that not one of these things was
mine. How then do we call them mine? just as we call the bed in the
inn. If, then, the innkeeper at his death leaves you the beds, all
well; but if he leaves them to another, he will have them, and you
will seek another bed. If then you shall not find one, you will
sleep on the ground: only sleep with a good will and snore, and
remember that tragedies have their place among the rich and kings
and tyrants, but no poor man fills a part in the tragedy, except as
one of the chorus. Kings indeed commence with prosperity: "ornament
the palaces with garlands," then about the third or fourth act they
call out, "O Cithaeron, why didst thou receive me?" Slave, where are
the crowns, where the diadem? The guards help thee not at all. When
then you approach any of these persons, remember this that you are
approaching a tragedian, not the actor but OEdipus himself. But you
say, "Such a man is happy; for he walks about with many," and I also
place myself with the many and walk about with many. In sum remember
this: the door is open; be not more timid than little children, but as
they say, when the thing does not please them, "I will play no loner,"
so do you, when things seem to you of such a kind, say I will no
longer play, and begone: but if you stay, do not complain.

  CHAPTER 25

  On the same

  If these things are true, and if we are not silly, and are not
acting hypocritically when we say that the good of man is in the will,
and the evil too, and that everything else does not concern us, why
are we still disturbed, why are we still afraid? The things about
which we have been busied are in no man's power: and the things
which are in the power of others, we care not for. What kind of
trouble have we still?

  "But give me directions." Why should I give you directions? has
not Zeus given you directions? Has he not given to you what is your
own free from hindrance and free from impediment, and what is not your
own subject to hindrance and impediment? What directions then, what
kind of orders did you bring when you came from him? Keep by every
means what is your own; do not desire what belongs to others. Fidelity
is your own, virtuous shame is your own; who then can take these
things from you? who else than yourself will hinder you from using
them? But how do you act? when you seek what is not your own, you lose
that which is your own. Having such promptings and commands from Zeus,
what kind do you still ask from me? Am I more powerful than he, am I
more worthy of confidence? But if you observe these, do you want any
others besides? "Well, but he has not given these orders" you will
say. Produce your precognitions, produce the proofs of philosophers,
produce what you have often heard, and produce what you have said
yourself, produce what you have read, produce what you have
meditated on (and you will then see that all these things are from
God). How long, then, is it fit to observe these precepts from God,
and not to break up the play? As long as the play is continued with
propriety. In the Saturnalia a king is chosen by lot, for it has
been the custom to play at this game. The king commands: "Do you
drink," "Do you mix the wine," "Do you sing," "Do you go," "Do you
come." I obey that the game may be broken up through me. But if he
says, "Think that you are in evil plight": I answer, "I do not think
so"; and who compel me to think so? Further, we agreed to play
Agamemnon and Achilles. He who is appointed to play Agamemnon says
to me, "Go to Achilles and tear from him Briseis." I go. He says,
"Come," and I come.

  For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical arguments, so ought
we to do in life. "Suppose it to be night." I suppose that it is
night. "Well then; is it day?" No, for I admitted the hypothesis
that it was night. "Suppose that you think that it is night?"
Suppose that I do. "But also think that it is night." That is not
consistent with the hypothesis. So in this case also: "Suppose that
you are unfortunate." Well, suppose so. "Are you then unhappy?" Yes.
"Well, then, are you troubled with an unfavourable demon?" Yes. "But
think also that you are in misery." This is not consistent with the
hypothesis; and Another forbids me to think so.

  How long then must we obey such orders? As long as it is profitable;
and this means as long as I maintain that which is becoming and
consistent. Further, some men are sour and of bad temper, and they
say, "I cannot sup with this man to be obliged to hear him telling
daily how he fought in Mysia: 'I told you, brother, how I ascended the
hill: then I began to be besieged again.'" But another says, "I prefer
to get my supper and to hear him talk as much as he likes." And do you
compare these estimates: only do nothing in a depressed mood, nor as
one afflicted, nor as thinking that you are in misery, for no man
compels you to that. Has it smoked in the chamber? If the smoke is
moderate, I will stay; if it is excessive, I go out: for you must
always remember this and hold it fast, that the door is open. Well,
but you say to me, "Do not live in Nicopolis." I will not live
there. "Nor in Athens." I will not live in Athens. "Nor in Rome." I
will not live in Rome. "Live in Gyarus." I will live in Gyarus, but it
seems like a great smoke to live in Gyarus; and I depart to the
place where no man will hinder me from living, for that dwelling-place
is open to all; and as to the last garment, that is the poor body,
no one has any power over me beyond this. This was the reason why
Demetrius said to Nero, "You threaten me with death, but nature
threatens you." If I set my admiration on the poor body, I have
given myself up to be a slave: if on my little possessions, I also
make myself a slave: for I immediately make it plain with what I may
be caught; as if the snake draws in his head, I tell you to strike
that part of him which he guards; and do you he assured that
whatever part you choose to guard, that part your master will
attack. Remembering this, whom will you still flatter or fear?

  "But I should like to sit where the Senators sit." Do you see that
you are putting yourself in straits, you are squeezing yourself.
"How then shall I see well in any other way in the amphitheatre?" Man,
do not be a spectator at all; and you will not be squeezed. Why do you
give yourself trouble? Or wait a little, and when the spectacle is
over, seat yourself in the place reserved for the Senators and sun
yourself. For remember this general truth, that it is we who squeeze
ourselves, who put ourselves in straits; that is, our opinions squeeze
us and put us in straits. For what is it to be reviled? Stand by a
stone and revile it; and what will you gain? If, then, a man listens
like a stone, what profit is there to the reviler? But if the
reviler has as a stepping-stone the weakness of him who is reviled,
then he accomplishes something. "Strip him." What do you mean by
"him"? Lay hold of his garment, strip it off. "I have insulted you."
Much good may it do you.

  This was the practice of Socrates: this was the reason why he always
had one face. But we choose to practice and study anything rather than
the means by which we shall be unimpeded and free. You say,
"Philosophers talk paradoxes." But are there no paradoxes in the other
arts? and what is more paradoxical than to puncture a man's eye in
order that he may see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the
surgical art, would he not ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder
then if in philosophy also many things which are true appear
paradoxical to the inexperienced?

  CHAPTER 26

  What is the law of life

  When a person was reading hypothetical arguments, Epictetus said:
This also is an hypothetical law that we must accept what follows from
the hypothesis. But much before this law is the law of life, that we
must act conformably to nature. For if in every matter and
circumstance we wish to observe what is natural, it is plain that in
everything we ought to make it our aim that is consequent shall not
escape us, and that we do not admit the contradictory. First, then,
philosophers exercise us in theory, which is easier; and then next
they lead us to the more difficult things; for in theory, there is
nothing which draws us away from following what is taught; but in
the matters of life, many are the things which distract us. He is
ridiculous, then, who says that he wishes to begin with the matters of
real life, for it is not easy to begin with the more difficult things;
and we ought to employ this fact as an argument to those parents who
are vexed at their children learning philosophy: "Am I doing wrong
then, my father, and do I not know what is suitable to me and
becoming? If indeed this can neither be learned nor taught, why do you
blame me? but if it can he taught, teach me; and if you cannot,
allow me to learn from those who say that they know how to teach.
For what do you think? do you suppose that I voluntarily fall into
evil and miss the good? I hope that it may not be so. What is then the
cause of my doing wrong? Ignorance. Do you not choose then that I
should get rid of my ignorance? Who was ever taught by anger the art
of a pilot or music? Do you think then that by means of your anger I
shall learn the art of life?" He only is allowed to speak in this
way who has shown such an intention. But if a man only intending to
make a display at a banquet and to show that he is acquainted with
hypothetical arguments reads them and attends the philosophers, what
other object has he than that some man of senatorian rank who sits
by him may admire? For there are the really great materials, and the
riches here appear to be trifles there. This is the reason why it is
difficult for a man to be master of the appearances, where the
things which disturb the judgement are great. I know a certain
person who complained, as he embraced the knees of Epaphroditus,
that he had only one hundred and fifty times ten thousand denarii
remaining. What then did Epaphroditus do? Did he laugh at him, as we
slaves of Epaphroditus did? No, but he cried out with amazement, "Poor
man, how did you keep silence, how did you endure it?"

  When Epictetus had reproved the person who was reading the
hypothetical arguments, and the teacher who had suggested the
reading was laughing at the reader, Epictetus said to the teacher:
"You are laughing at yourself; you did not prepare the young man nor
did you ascertain whether he was able to understand these matters; but
perhaps you are only employing him as a reader." Well then, said
Epictetus, if a man has not ability enough to understand a complex, do
we trust him in, giving praise, do we trust him in giving blame, do we
allow that he is able to form a judgement about good or bad? and if
such a man blames any one, does the man care for the blame? and if
he praises any one, is the man elated, when in such small matters as
an hypothetical syllogism he who praises cannot see what is consequent
on the hypothesis?

  This then is the beginning of philosophy, a man's perception of
the state of his ruling faculty; for when a man knows that it is weak,
then he will not employ it on things of the greatest difficulty. But
at present, if men cannot swallow even a morsel, they buy whole
volumes and attempt to devour them; and this is the reason why they
vomit them up or suffer indigestion: and then come gripings, defluxes,
and fevers. Such men ought to consider what their ability is. In
theory it is easy to convince an ignorant person; but in the affairs
of real life no one offers himself to be convinced, and we hate the
man who has convinced us. But Socrates advised us not to live a life
which is not subjected to examination.

  CHAPTER 27

  In how many ways appearances exist, and what aids we should
provide against them

  Appearances to us in four ways: for either things appear as they
are; or they are not, and do not even appear to be; or they are, and
do not appear to be; or they are not, and yet appear to be. Further,
in all these cases to form a right judgement is the office of an
educated man. But whatever it is that annoys us, to that we ought to
apply a remedy. If the sophisms of Pyrrho and of the Academics are
what annoys, we must apply the remedy to them. If it is the persuasion
of appearances, by which some things appear to be good, when they
are not good, let us seek a remedy for this. If it is habit which
annoys us, we must try to seek aid against habit. What aid then can we
find against habit, The contrary habit. You hear the ignorant say:
"That unfortunate person is dead: his father and mother are
overpowered with sorrow; he was cut off by an untimely death and in
a foreign land." Here the contrary way of speaking: tear yourself from
these expressions: oppose to one habit the contrary habit; to
sophistry oppose reason, and the exercise and discipline of reason;
against persuasive appearances we ought to have manifest
precognitions, cleared of all impurities and ready to hand.

  When death appears an evil, we ought to have this rule in readiness,
that it is fit to avoid evil things, and that death is a necessary
thing. For what shall I do, and where shall I escape it? Suppose
that I am not Sarpedon, the son of Zeus, nor able to speak in this
noble way: "I will go and I am resolved either to behave bravely
myself or to give to another the opportunity of doing so; if I
cannot succeed in doing anything myself, I will not grudge another the
doing of something noble." Suppose that it is above our power to act
thus; is it not in our power to reason thus? Tell me where I can
escape death: discover for me the country, show me the men to whom I
must go, whom death does not visit. Discover to me a charm against
death. If I have not one, what do you wish me to do? I cannot escape
from death. Shall I not escape from the fear of death, but shall I die
lamenting and trembling? For the origin of perturbation is this, to
wish for something, and that this should not happen. Therefore if I am
able to change externals according to my wish, I change them; but if I
cannot, I am ready to tear out the eyes of him who hinders me. For the
nature of man is not to endure to be deprived of the good, and not
to endure the falling into the evil. Then, at last, when I am
neither able to change circumstances nor to tear out the eyes of him
who hinders me, I sit down and groan, and abuse whom I can, Zeus and
the rest of the gods. For if they do not care for me, what are they to
me? "Yes, but you will be an impious man." In what respect then will
it be worse for me than it is now? To sum up, remember this that
unless piety and your interest be in the same thing, piety cannot be
maintained in any man. Do not these things seem necessary?

  Let the followers of Pyrrho and the Academics come and make their
objections. For I, as to my part, have no leisure for these
disputes, nor am I able to undertake the defense of common consent. If
I had a suit even about a bit of land, I would call in another to
defend my interests. With what evidence then am I satisfied? With that
which belongs to the matter in hand. How indeed perception is
effected, whether through the whole body or any part, perhaps I cannot
explain: for both opinions perplex me. But that you and I are not
the same, I know with perfect certainty. "How do you know it?" When
I intend to swallow anything, I never carry it to your b month, but to
my own. When I intend to take bread, I never lay hold of a broom,
but I always go to the bread as to a mark. And you yourselves who take
away the evidence of the senses, do you act otherwise? Who among
you, when he intended to enter a bath, ever went into a mill?

  What then? Ought we not with all our power to hold to this also, the
maintaining of general opinion, and fortifying ourselves against the
arguments which are directed against it? Who denies that we ought to
do this? Well, he should do it who is able, who has leisure for it;
but as to him who trembles and is perturbed and is inwardly broken
in heart, he must employ his time better on something else.

  CHAPTER 28

  That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and
the great things among men

  What is the cause of assenting to anything? The fact that it appears
to be true. It is not possible then to assent to that which appears
not to be true. Why? Because this is the nature of the
understanding, to incline to the true, to be dissatisfied with the
false, and in matters uncertain to withhold assent. What is the
proof of this? "Imagine, if you can, that it is now night." It is
not possible. "Take away your persuasion that it is day." It is not
possible. "Persuade yourself or take away your persuasion that the
stars are even in number." It is impossible. When, then, any man
assents to that which is false, be assured that he did not intend to
assent to it as false, for every soul is unwillingly deprived of the
truth, as Plato says; but the falsity seemed to him to be true.
Well, in acts what have we of the like kind as we have here truth or
falsehood? We have the fit and the not fit, the profitable and the
unprofitable, that which is suitable to a person and that which is
not, and whatever is like these. Can, then, a man think that a thing
is useful to him and not choose it? He cannot. How says Medea?

     "'Tis true I know what evil I shall do,

     But passion overpowers the better council.'"

She thought that to indulge her passion and take vengeance on her
husband was more profitable than to spare her children. "It was so;
but she was deceived." Show her plainly that she is deceived, and
she will not do it; but so long as you do not show it, what can she
follow except that which appears to herself? Nothing else. Why,
then, are you angry with the unhappy woman that she has been
bewildered about the most important things, and is become a viper
instead of a human creature? And why not, if it is possible, rather
pity, as we pity the blind and the lame, those who are blinded and
maimed in the faculties which are supreme?

  Whoever, then, clearly remembers this, that to man the measure of
every act is the appearance- whether the thing appears good or bad: if
good, he is free from blame; if bad, himself suffers the penalty,
for it is impossible that he who is deceived can be one person, and he
who suffers another person- whoever remembers this will not be angry
with any man, will not be vexed at any man, will not revile or blame
any man, nor hate nor quarrel with any man.

  "So then all these great and dreadful deeds have this origin, in the
appearance?" Yes, this origin and no other. The Iliad is nothing
else than appearance and the use of appearances. It appeared to
Paris to carry off the wife of Menelaus: it appeared to Helen to
follow him. If then it had appeared to Menelaus to feel that it was
a gain to be deprived of such a wife, what would have happened? Not
only a wi would the Iliad have been lost, but the Odyssey also. "On so
small a matter then did such great things depend?" But what do you
mean by such great things? Wars and civil commotions, and the
destruction of many men and cities. And what great matter is this? "Is
it nothing?" But what great matter is the death of many oxen, and many
sheep, and many nests of swallows or storks being burnt or
destroyed? "Are these things, then, like those?" Very like. Bodies
of men are destroyed, and the bodies of oxen and sheep; the
dwellings of men are burnt, and the nests of storks. What is there
in this great or dreadful? Or show me what is the difference between a
man's house and a stork's nest, as far as each is a dwelling; except
that man builds his little houses of beams and tiles and bricks, and
the stork builds them of sticks and mud. "Are a stork and a man, then,
like things?" What say you? In body they are very much alike.

  "Does a man then differ in no respect from a stork?" Don't suppose
that I say so; but there is no difference in these matters. "In
what, then, is the difference?" Seek and you will find that there is a
difference in another matter. See whether it is not in a man the
understanding of what he does, see if it is not in social community,
in fidelity, in modesty, in steadfastness, in intelligence. Where then
is the great good and evil in men? It is where the difference is. If
the difference is preserved and remains fenced round, and neither
modesty is destroyed, nor fidelity, nor intelligence, then the man
also is preserved; but if any of these things is destroyed and stormed
like a city, then the man too perishes; and in this consist the
great things. Paris, you say, sustained great damage, then, when the
Hellenes invaded and when they ravaged Troy, and when his brothers
perished. By no means; for no man is damaged by an action which is not
his own; but what happened at that time was only the destruction of
storks' nests: now the ruin of Paris was when he lost the character of
modesty, fidelity, regard to hospitality, and to decency. When was
Achilles ruined? Was it when Patroclus died? Not so. But it happened
when he began to be angry, when he wept for a girl, when he forgot
that he was at Troy not to get mistresses, but to fight. These
things are the ruin of men, this is being besieged, this is the
destruction of cities, when right opinions are destroyed, when they
are corrupted.

  "When, then, women are carried off, when children are made captives,
and when the men are killed, are these not evils?" How is it then that
you add to the facts these opinions? Explain this to me also. "I shall
not do that; but how is it that you say that these are not evils?" Let
us come to the rules: produce the precognitions: for it is because
this is neglected that we cannot sufficiently wonder at what men do.
When we intend to judge of weights, we do not judge by guess: where we
intend to judge of straight and crooked, we do not judge by guess.
In all cases where it is our interest to know what is true in any
matter, never will any man among us do anything by guess. But in
things which depend on the first and on the only cause of doing
right or wrong, of happiness or unhappiness, of being unfortunate or
fortunate, there only we are inconsiderate and rash. There is then
nothing like scales, nothing like a rule: but some appearance is
presented, and straightway I act according to it. Must I then
suppose that I am superior to Achilles or Agamemnon, so that they by
following appearances do and suffer so many evils: and shall not the
appearance be sufficient for me? And what tragedy has any other
beginning? The Atreus of Euripides, what is it? An appearance. The
OEdipus of Sophocles, what is it? An appearance. The Phoenix? An
appearance. The Hippolytus? An appearance. What kind of a man then
do you suppose him to be who pays no regard to this matter? And what
is the name of those who follow every appearance? "They are called
madmen." Do we then act at all differently?

  CHAPTER 29

  On constancy

  The being of the Good is a certain Will; the being of the Bad is a
certain kind of Will. What then are externals? Materials for the Will,
about which the will being conversant shall obtain its own good or
evil. How shall it obtain the good? If it does not admire the
materials; for the opinions about the materials, if the opinions are
right, make the will good: but perverse and distorted opinions make
the will bad. God has fixed this law, and says, "If you would have
anything good, receive it from yourself." You say, "No, but I have
it from another." Do not so: but receive it from yourself. Therefore
when the tyrant threatens and calls me, I say, "Whom do you threaten
If he says, "I will put you in chains," I say, "You threaten my
hands and my feet." If he says, "I will cut off your head," I reply,
"You threaten my head." If he says, "I will throw you into prison,"
I say, "You threaten the whole of this poor body." If he threatens
me with banishment, I say the same. "Does he, then, not threaten you
at all?" If I feel that all these things do not concern me, he does
not threaten me at all; but if I fear any of them, it is I whom he
threatens. Whom then do I fear? the master of what? The master of
things which are in my own power? There is no such master. Do I fear
the master of things which are not in my power? And what are these
things to me?

  "Do you philosophers then teach us to despise kings?" I hope not.
Who among us teaches to claim against them the power over things which
they possess? Take my poor body, take my property, take my reputation,
take those who are about me. If I advise any persons to claim these
things, they may truly accuse me. "Yes, but I intend to command your
opinions also." And who has given you this power? How can you
conquer the opinion of another man? "By applying terror to it," he
replies, "I will conquer it." Do you not know that opinion conquers
itself, and is not conquered by another? But nothing else can
conquer Will except the Will itself. For this reason, too, the law
of God is most powerful and most just, which is this: "Let the
stronger always be superior to the weaker." "Ten are stronger than
one." For what? For putting in chains, for killing, for dragging
whither they choose, for taking away what a man has. The ten therefore
conquer the one in this in which they are stronger. "In what then
are the ten weaker," If the one possess right opinions and the
others do not. "Well then, can the ten conquer in this matter?" How is
it possible? If we were placed in the scales, must not the heavier
draw down the scale in which it is?

  "How strange, then, that Socrates should have been so treated by the
Athenians." Slave, why do you say Socrates? Speak of the thing as it
is: how strange that the poor body of Socrates should have been
carried off and dragged to prison by stronger men, and that any one
should have given hemlock to the poor body of Socrates, and that it
should breathe out the life. Do these things seem strange. do they
seem unjust, do you on account of these things blame God? Had Socrates
then no equivalent for these things, Where, then, for him was the
nature of good? Whom shall we listen to, you or him? And what does
Socrates say? "Anytus and Meletus can kill me, but they cannot hurt
me": and further, he says, "If it so pleases God, so let it be."

  But show me that he who has the inferior principles overpowers him
who is superior in principles. You will never show this, nor come near
showing it; for this is the law of nature and of God that the superior
shall always overpower the inferior. In what? In that in which it is
superior. One body is stronger than another: many are stronger than
one: the thief is stronger than he who is not a thief. This is the
reason why I also lost my lamp, because in wakefulness the thief was
superior to me. But the man bought the lamp at this price: for a
lamp he became a thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast.
This seemed to him a good bargain. Be it so. But a man has seized me
by the cloak, and is drawing me to the public place: then others
bawl out, "Philosopher, what has been the use of your opinions? see
you are dragged to prison, you are going to be beheaded." And what
system of philosophy could f have made so that, if a stronger man
should have laid hold of my cloak, I should not be dragged off; that
if ten men should have laid hold of me and cast me into prison, I
should not be cast in? Have I learned nothing else then? I have
learned to see that everything which happens, if it be independent
of my will, is nothing to me. I may ask if you have not gained by
this. Why then do you seek advantage in anything else than in that
in which you have learned that advantage is?

  Then sitting in prison I say: "The man who cries out in this way
neither hears what words mean, nor understands what is said, nor
does he care at all to know what philosophers say or what they do. Let
him alone."

  But now he says to the prisoner, "Come out from your prison." If you
have no further need of me in prison, I come out: if you should have
need of me again, I will enter the prison. "How long will you act
thus?" So long as reason requires me to be with the body: but when
reason does not require this, take away the body, and fare you well.
Only we must not do it inconsiderately, nor weakly, nor for any slight
reason; for, on the other hand, God does not wish it to be done, and
he has need of such a world and such inhabitants in it. But if he
sounds the signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates, we must obey him
who gives the signal, as if he were a general.

  "Well, then, ought we to say such things to the many?" Why should
we? Is it not enough for a man to be persuaded himself? When
children come clapping their hands and crying out, "To-day is the good
Saturnalia," do we say, "The Saturnalia are not good?" By no means,
but we clap our hands also. Do you also then, when you are not able to
make a man change his mind, be assured that he is a child, and clap
your hands with him, and if you do not choose to do this, keep silent.

  A man must keep this in mind; and when he is called to any such
difficulty, he should know that the time is come for showing if he has
been instructed. For he who is come into a difficulty is like a
young man from a school who has practiced the resolution of
syllogisms; and if any person proposes to him an easy syllogism, he
says, "Rather propose to me a syllogism which is skillfully
complicated that I may exercise myself on it." Even athletes are
dissatisfied with slight young men, and say "He cannot lift me." "This
is a youth of noble disposition." But when the time of trial is
come, one of you must weep and say, "I wish that I had learned
more." A little more of what? If you did not learn these things in
order to show them in practice, why did you learn them? I think that
there is some one among you who are sitting here, who is suffering
like a woman in labour, and saying, "Oh, that such a difficulty does
not present itself to me as that which has come to this man; oh,
that I should be wasting my life in a corner, when I might be
crowned at Olympia. When will any one announce to me such a
contest?" Such ought to be the disposition of all of you. Even among
the gladiators of Caesar there are some who complain grievously that
they are not brought forward and matched, and they offer up prayers to
God and address themselves to their superintendents entreating that
they might fight. And will no one among you show himself such? I would
willingly take a voyage for this purpose and see what my athlete is
doing, how he is studying his subject. "I do not choose such a
subject," he says. Why, is it in your power to take what subject you
choose? There has been given to you such a body as you have, such
parents, such brethren, such a country, such a place in your
country: then you come to me and say, "Change my subject." Have you
not abilities which enable you to manage the subject which has been
given to you? "It is your business to propose; it is mine to
exercise myself well." However, you do not say so, but you say, "Do
not propose to me such a tropic, but such: do not urge against me such
an objection, but such." There will be a time, perhaps, when tragic
actors will suppose that they are masks and buskins and the long
cloak. I say, these things, man, are your material and subject.
Utter something that we may know whether you are a tragic actor or a
buffoon; for both of you have all the rest in common. If any one
then should take away the tragic actor's buskins and his mask, and
introduce him on the stage as a phantom, is the tragic actor lost,
or does he still remain? If he has voice, he still remains.

  An example of another kind. "Assume the governorship of a province."
I assume it, and when I have assumed it, I show how an instructed
man behaves. "Lay aside the laticlave and, clothing yourself in
rags, come forward in this character." What then have I not the
power of displaying a good voice? How, then, do you now appear? As a
witness summoned by God. "Come forward, you, and bear testimony for
me, for you are worthy to be brought forward as a witness by me: is
anything external to the will good or bad? do I hurt any man? have I
made every man's interest dependent on any man except himself?" What
testimony do you give for God? "I am in a wretched condition,
Master, and I am unfortunate; no man cares for me, no man gives me
anything; all blame me, all speak ill of me." Is this the evidence
that you are going to give, and disgrace his summons, who has
conferred so much honour on you, and thought you worthy of being
called to bear such testimony?

  But suppose that he who has the power has declared, "I judge you
to be impious and profane." What has happened to you? "I have been
judged to be impious and profane?" Nothing else? "Nothing else." But
if the same person had passed judgment on an hypothetical syllogism,
and had made a declaration, "the conclusion that, if it is day, it
is light, I declare to be false," what has happened to the
hypothetical syllogism? who is judged in this case? who has been
condemned? the hypothetical syllogism, or the man who has been
deceived by it? Does he, then, who has the power of making any
declaration about you know what is pious or impious? Has he studied
it, and has he learned it? Where? From whom? Then is it the fact
that a musician pays no regard to him who declares that the lowest
chord in the lyre is the highest; nor yet a geometrician, if he
declares that the lines from the centre of a circle to the
circumference are not equal; and shall he who is really instructed pay
any regard to the uninstructed man when he pronounces judgment on what
is pious and what is impious, on what is just and unjust? Oh, the
signal wrong done by the instructed. Did they learn this here?

  Will you not leave the small arguments about these matters to
others, to lazy fellows, that they may sit in a corner and receive
their sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them anything; and
will you not come forward and make use of what you have learned? For
it is not these small arguments that are wanted now: the writings of
the Stoics are full of them. What then is the thing which is wanted? A
man who shall apply them, one who by his acts shall bear testimony
to his words. Assume, I, entreat you, this character, that we may no
longer use in the schools the examples of the ancients but may have
some example of our own.

  To whom then does the contemplation of these matters belong? To
him who has leisure, for man is an animal that loves contemplation.
But it is shameful to contemplate these things as runaway slaves do;
we should sit, as in a theatre, free from distraction, and listen at
one time to the tragic actor, at another time to the lute-player;
and not do as slaves do. As soon as the slave has taken his station he
praises the actor and at the same time looks round: then if any one
calls out his master's name, the slave is immediately frightened and
disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus to contemplate the
works of nature. For what is a master? Man is not the master of man;
but death is, and life and pleasure and pain; for if he comes
without these things, bring Caesar to me and you will see how firm I
am. But when he shall come with these things, thundering and
lightning, and when I am afraid of them, what do I do then except to
recognize my master like the runaway slave? But so long as I have
any respite from these terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the
theatre, so do I: I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all this I do with
terror and uneasiness. But if I shall release myself from my
masters, that is from those things by means of which masters are
formidable, what further trouble have I, what master have I still?

  "What then, ought we to publish these things to all men?" No, but we
ought to accommodate ourselves to the ignorant and to say: "This man
recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself: I excuse him."
For Socrates also excused the gaoler, who had the charge of him in
prison and was weeping when Socrates was going to drink the poison,
and said, "How generously he laments over us." Does he then say to the
gaoler that for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but he
says it to his friends who were able to hear it; and he treats the
gaoler as a child.

  CHAPTER 30

  What we ought to have ready in difficult circumstances

  When you are going into any great personage, remember that Another
also from above sees what is going on, and that you ought to please
Him rather than the other. He, then, who sees from above asks you: "In
the schools what used you to say about exile and bonds and death and
disgrace?" I used to say that they are things indifferent. "What
then do you say of them now? Are they changed at all?" No. "Are you
changed then?" No. "Tell me then what things are indifferent?" The
things which are independent of the will. "Tell me, also, what follows
from this." The things which are independent of the will are nothing
to me. "Tell me also about the Good, what was your opinion?" A will
such as we ought to have and also such a use of appearances. "And
the end, what is it?" To follow Thee. "Do you say this now also?" I
say the same now also.

  Then go into the great personage boldly and remember these things;
and you will see what a youth is who has studied these things when
he is among men who have not studied them. I indeed imagine that you
will have such thoughts as these: "Why do we make so great and so many
preparations for nothing? Is this the thing which men name power? Is
this the antechamber? this the men of the bedchamber? this the armed
guards? Is it for this that I listened to so many discourses? All this
is nothing: but I have been preparing myself for something great."
DISCOURSES

                                    BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER 1

  That confidence is not inconsistent with caution

  The opinion of the philosophers, perhaps, seems to some to be a
paradox; but still let us examine as well as we can, if it is true
that it is possible to do everything both with caution and with
confidence. For caution seems to be in a manner contrary to
confidence, and contraries are in no way consistent. That which
seems to many to be a paradox in the matter under consideration in
my opinion is of this kind: if we asserted that we ought to employ
caution and in the same things, men might justly accuse us of bringing
together things which cannot be united. But now where is the
difficulty in what is said? for if these things are true, which have
been often said and often proved, that the nature of good is in the
use of appearances, and the nature of evil likewise, and that things
independent of our will do not admit either the nature of evil nor
of good, what paradox do the philosophers assert if they say that
where things are not dependent on the will, there you should employ
confidence, but where they are dependent on the will, there you should
employ caution? For if the bad consists in a bad exercise of the will,
caution ought only to be used where things are dependent on the
will. But if things independent of the will and not in our power are
nothing to us, with respect to these we must employ confidence; and
thus we shall both be cautious and confident, and indeed confident
because of our caution. For by employing caution toward things which
are really bad, it will result that we shall have confidence with
respect to things which are not so.

  We are then in the condition of deer; when they flee from the
huntsmen's feathers in fright, whither do they turn and in what do
they seek refuge as safe? They turn to the nets, and thus they
perish by confounding things which are objects of fear with things
that they ought not to fear. Thus we also act: in what cases do we
fear? In things which are independent of the will. In what cases, on
the contrary, do we behave with confidence, as if there were no
danger? In things dependent on the will. To be deceived then, or to
act rashly, or shamelessly or with base desire to seek something, does
not concern us at all, if we only hit the mark in things which are
independent of our will. But where there is death, or exile or pain or
infamy, there we attempt or examine to run away, there we are struck
with terror. Therefore, as we may expect it to happen with those who
err in the greatest matters, we convert natural confidence into
audacity, desperation, rashness, shamelessness; and we convert natural
caution and modesty into cowardice and meanness, which are full of
fear and confusion. For if a man should transfer caution to those
things in which the will may be exercised and the acts of the will, he
will immediately, by willing to be cautious, have also the power of
avoiding what he chooses: but if he transfer it to the things which
are not in his power and will, and attempt to avoid the things which
are in the power of others, he will of necessity fear, he will be
unstable, he will be disturbed. For death or pain is not formidable,
but the fear of pain or death. For this reason we commend the poet who
said

     Not death is evil, but a shameful death.

Confidence then ought to be employed against death, and caution
against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary, and employ
against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it we
employ carelessness, rashness and indifference. These things
Socrates properly used to call "tragic masks"; for as to children
masks appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we also are
affected in like manner by events for no other reason than children
are by masks. For what is a child? Ignorance. What is a child? Want of
knowledge. For when a child knows these things, he is in no way
inferior to us. What is death? A "tragic mask." Turn it and examine
it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the
spirit either now or later, as it was separated from it before. Why,
then, are you troubled, if it be separated now? for if it is not
separated now, it will be separated afterward. Why? That the period of
the universe may be completed, for it has need of the present, and
of the future, and of the past. What is pain? A mask. Turn it and
examine it. The poor flesh is moved roughly, then, on the contrary,
smoothly. If this does not satisfy you, the door is open: if it
does, bear. For the door ought to be open for all occasions; and so we
have no trouble.

  What then is the fruit of these opinions? It is that which ought
to he the most noble and the most becoming to those who are really
educated, release from perturbation, release from fear, freedom. For
in these matters we must not believe the many, who say that free
persons only ought to be educated, but we should rather believe the
philosophers, who say that the educated only are free. "How is
this?" In this manner. Is freedom anything else than the power of
living as we choose? "Nothing else." Tell me then, ye men, do you wish
to live in error? "We do not." No one then who lives in error is free.
Do you wish to live in fear? Do you wish to live in sorrow? Do you
wish to live in perturbation? "By no means." No one, then, who is in a
state of fear or sorrow or perturbation is free; but whoever is
delivered from sorrows and fears and perturbations, he is at the
same time also delivered from servitude. How then can we continue to
believe you, most dear legislators, when you say, "We only allow
free persons to be educated?" For philosophers say we allow none to be
free except the educated; that is, God does not allow it. "When then a
man has turned round before the praetor his own slave, has he done
nothing?" He has done something. "What?" He has turned round his own
slave before the praetor. "Has he done nothing, more?" Yes: he is also
bound to pay for him the tax called the twentieth. "Well then, is
not the man who has gone through this ceremony become free?" No more
than he is become free from perturbations. Have you who are able to
turn round others no master? is not money your master, or a girl or
a boy, or some tyrant, or some friend of the tyrant? why do you
tremble then when you are going off to any trial of this kind? It is
for this reason that I often say: Study and hold in readiness these
principles by which you may determine what those things are with
reference to which you ought to have confidence, and those things with
reference to which you ought to be cautious: courageous in that
which does not depend on your will; cautious in that which does depend
on it.

  "Well have I not read to you, and do you not know what I was doing?"
In what? "In my little dissertations." Show me how you are with
respect to desire and aversion; and show if you do not fail in getting
what you wish, me and if you do not fall into the things which you
would avoid: but as to these long and laboured sentences, you will
take them and blot them out.

  "What then did not Socrates write?" And who wrote so much? But
how? As he could not always have at hand one to argue against his
principles or to be argued against in turn, he used to argue with
and examine himself, and he was always treating at least some one
subject in a practical way. These are the things which a philosopher
writes. But little dissertations and that method, which I speak of, he
leaves to others, to the stupid, or to those happy men who being
free from perturbations have leisure, or to such as are too foolish to
reckon consequences.

  And will you now, when the opportunity invites, go and display those
things which you possess, and recite them, and make an idle show,
and say, "See how I make dialogues?" Do not so, my man: but rather
say: "See how I am not disappointed of that which I desire. See how
I do not fall into that which I would avoid. Set death before me,
and you will see. Set before me pain, prison, disgrace and
condemnation." This is the proper display of a young man who is come
out of the schools. But leave the rest to others, and let no one
ever hear you say a word about these things; and if any man commends
you for them, do not allow it; but think that you are nobody and
know nothing. Only show that you know this, how never to be
disappointed in your desire and how never to fall into that which
you would avoid. Let others labour at forensic causes, problems and
syllogisms: do you labour at thinking about death, chains, the rack,
exile; and do all this with confidence and reliance on him who has
called you to these sufferings, who has judged you worthy of the place
in which, being stationed, you will show what things the rational
governing power can do when it takes its stand against the forces
which are not within the power of our will. And thus this paradox will
no longer appear either impossible or a paradox, that a man ought to
be at the same time cautious and courageous: courageous toward the
things which do not depend on the will, and cautious in things which
are within the power of the will.

  CHAPTER 2

  Of Tranquillity

  Consider, you who are going into court, what you wish to maintain
and what you wish to succeed in. For if you wish to maintain a will
conformable to nature, you have every security, every facility, you
have no troubles. For if you wish to maintain what is in your own
power and is naturally free, and if you are content with these, what
else do you care for? For who is the master of such things? Who can
take them away? If you choose to be modest and faithful, who shall not
allow you to be so? If you choose not to be restrained or compelled,
who shall compel you to desire what you think that you ought not to
desire? who shall compel you to avoid what you do not think fit to
avoid? But what do you say? The judge will determine against you
something that appears formidable; but that you should also suffer
in trying to avoid it, how can he do that? When then the pursuit of
objects and the avoiding of them are in your power, what else do you
care for? Let this be your preface, this your narrative, this your
confirmation, this your victory, this your peroration, this your
applause.

  Therefore Socrates said to one who was reminding him to prepare
for his trial, "Do you not think then that I have been preparing for
it all my life?" By what kind of preparation? "I have maintained
that which was in my own power." How then? "I have never done anything
unjust either in my private or in my public life."

  But if you wish to maintain externals also, your poor body, your
little property and your little estimation, I advise you to make
from this moment all possible preparation, and then consider both
the nature of your judge and your adversary. If it is necessary to
embrace his knees, embrace his knees; if to weep, weep; if to groan,
groan. For when you have subjected to externals what is your own, then
be a slave and do not resist, and do not sometimes choose to be a
slave, and sometimes not choose, but with all your mind be one or
the other, either free or a slave, either instructed or
uninstructed, either a well-bred cock or a mean one, either endure
to be beaten until you die or yield at once; and let it not happen
to you to receive many stripes and then to yield. But if these
things are base, determine immediately: "Where is the nature of evil
and good? It is where truth is: where truth is and where nature is,
there is caution: where truth is, there is courage where nature is."

  For what do you think? do you think that, if Socrates had wished
to preserve externals, he would have come forward and said: "Anytus
and Meletus can certainly kill me, but to harm me they are not
able?" Was he so foolish as not to see that this way leads not to
the preservation of life and fortune, but to another end? What is
the reason then that he takes no account of his adversaries, and
even irritates them? Just in the same way my friend Heraclitus, who
had a little suit in Rhodes about a bit of land, and had proved to the
judges that his case was just, said, when he had come to the
peroration of his speech, "I will neither entreat you nor do I care
what wi judgment you will give, and it is you rather than I who are on
your trial." And thus he ended the business. What need was there of
this? Only do not entreat; but do not also say, "I. do not entreat";
unless there is a fit occasion to irritate purposely the judges, as
was the case with Socrates. And you, if you are preparing such a
peroration, why do you wait, why do you obey the order to submit to
trial? For if you wish to be crucified, wait and the cross will
come: but if you choose to submit and to plead your cause as well as
you can, you must do what is consistent with this object, provided you
maintain what is your own.

  For this reason also it is ridiculous to say, "Suggest something
to me." What should I suggest to you? "Well, form my mind so as to
accommodate itself to any event." Why that is just the same as if a
man who is ignorant of letters should say, "Tell me what to write when
any name is proposed to me." For if I should tell him to write Dion,
and then another should come and propose to him not the name of Dion
but that of Theon, what will be done? what will he write? But if you
behave practiced writing, you are also prepared to write anything that
is required. If you are not, what. can I now suggest? For if
circumstances require something else, what will you say or what will
you do? Remember, then, this general precept and you will need no
suggestion. But if you gape after externals, you must of necessity
ramble up and down in obedience to the will of your master. And who is
the master? He who has the power over the things which you seek to
gain or try to avoid.

  CHAPTER 3

  To those who recommend persons to philosophers

  Diogenes said well to one who asked from him letters of
recommendation, "That you are a man he said, "he will know as soon
as he sees you; and he will know whether you are good or bad, if he is
by experience skillful to distinguish the good and the bad; but if
he is without experience, he will never know, if I write to him ten
thousand times." For it is just the same as if a drachma asked to be
recommended to a person to be tested. If he is skillful in testing
silver, he will know what you are, for you will recommend yourself. We
ought then in life also to have some skill as in the case of silver
coin that a man may be able to say, like the judge of silver, "Bring
me any drachma and I will test it." But in the case of syllogisms I
would say, "Bring any man that you please, and I will distinguish
for you the man who knows how to resolve syllogisms and the man who
does not." Why? Because I know how to resolve syllogisms. I have the
power, which a man must have who is able to discover those who have
the power of resolving syllogisms. But in life how do I act? At one
time I call a thing good, and at another time bad. What is the reason?
The contrary to that which is in the case of syllogisms, ignorance and
inexperience.

  CHAPTER 4

  Against a person who had once been detected in adultery

  As Epictetus was saying that man is formed for fidelity, and that he
who subverts fidelity subverts the peculiar characteristic of men,
there entered one of those who are considered to be men of letters,
who had once been detected in adultery in the city. Then Epictetus
continued: But if we lay aside this fidelity for which we are formed
and make designs against our neighbor's wife, what are we are we
doing? What else but destroying and overthrowing? Whom? The man of
fidelity, the man of modesty, the man of sanctity. Is this all? And
are we not overthrowing neighbourhood, and friendship, and the
community; and in what place are we putting ourselves? How shall I
consider you, man? As a neighbour, as a friend? What kind of one? As a
citizen? Wherein shall I trust you? So if you were an utensil so
worthless that a man could not use you, you would be pitched out on
the dung heaps, and no man would pick you up. But if, being a man, you
are unable to fill any place which befits a man, what shall we do with
you? For suppose that you cannot hold the place of a friend, can you
hold the place of a slave? And who will trust you? Are you not then
content that you also should be pitched somewhere on a dung heap, as a
useless utensil, and a bit of dung? Then will you say, "No man,
cares for me, a man of letters"? They do not, because you are bad
and useless. It is just as if the wasps complained because no man
cares for them, but all fly from them, and if a man can, he strikes
them and knocks them down. You have such a sting that you throw into
trouble and pain any man that you wound with it. What would you have
us do with you? You have no place where you can be put.

  "What then, are not women common by nature?" So I say also; for a
little pig is common to all the invited guests, but when the
portions have been distributed, go, if you think it right, and
snatch up the portion of him who reclines next to you, or slyly
steal it, or place your hand down by it and lay hold of it, and if you
cannot tear away a bit of the meat, grease your fingers and lick them.
A fine companion over cups, and Socratic guest indeed! "Well, is not
the theatre common to the citizens?" When then they have taken their
seats, come, if you think proper, and eject one of them. In this way
women also are common by nature. When, then, the legislator, like
the master of a feast, has distributed them, will you not also look
for your own portion and not filch and handle what belongs to another.
"But I am a man of letters and understand Archedemus." Understand
Archedemus then, and be an adulterer, and faithless, and instead of
a man, be a wolf or an ape: for what is the difference?

  CHAPTER 5

  How magnanimity is consistent with care

  Things themselves are indifferent; but the use of them is not
indifferent. How then shall a man preserve firmness and
tranquillity, and at the same time be careful and neither rash nor
negligent? If he imitates those who play at dice. The counters are
indifferent; the dice are indifferent. How do I know what the cast
will be? But to use carefully and dexterously the cast of the dice,
this is my business. Thus in life also the chief business is this:
distinguish and separate things, and say, "Externals are not in my
power: will is in my power. Where shall I seek the good and the bad?
Within, in the things which are my own." But in what does not belong
to you call nothing either good or bad, or profit or damage or
anything of the kind.

  "What then? Should we use such things carelessly?" In no way: for
this on the other hand is bad for the faculty of the will, and
consequently against nature; but we should act carefully because the
use is not indifferent and we should also act with firmness and
freedom from perturbations because the material is indifferent. For
where the material is not indifferent, there no man can hinder me
nor compel me. Where I can be hindered and compelled the obtaining
of those things is not in my power, nor is it good or bad; but the use
is either bad or good, and the use is in my power. But it is difficult
to mingle and to bring together these two things, the carefulness of
him who is affected by the matter and the firmness of him who has no
regard for it; but it is not impossible; and if it is, happiness is
impossible. But we should act as we do in the case of a voyage. What
can I do? I can choose the master of the ship, the sailors, the day,
the opportunity. Then comes a storm. What more have I to care for? for
my part is done. The business belongs to another- the master. But
the ship is sinking- what then have I to do? I do the only things that
I can, not to be drowned full of fear, nor screaming, nor blaming God,
but knowing that what has been produced must also perish: for I am not
an immortal being, but a man, a part of the whole, as an hour is a
part of the day: I must be present like the hour, and past like the
hour. What difference, then, does it make to me how I pass away,
whether by being suffocated or by a fever, for I must pass through
some such means?

  This is just what you will see those doing who play at ball
skillfully. No one cares about the ball being good or bad, but about
throwing and catching it. In this therefore is the skill, this the
art, the quickness, the judgement, so that if I spread out my lap I
may not be able to catch it, and another, if I throw, may catch the
ball. But if with perturbation and fear we receive or throw the
ball, what kind of play is it then, and wherein shall a man be steady,
and how shall a man see the order in the game? But one will say,
"Throw"; or, "Do not throw"; and another will say, "You have thrown
once." This is quarreling, not play.

  Socrates, then, knew how to play at ball. How?" By using
pleasantry in the court where he was tried. "Tell me," he says,
"Anytus, how do you say that I do not believe in God. The Demons,
who are they, think you? Are they not sons of Gods, or compounded of
gods and men?" When Anytus admitted this, Socrates said, "Who then,
think you, can believe that there are mules, but not asses"; and
this he said as if he were playing at ball. And what was the ball in
that case? Life, chains, banishment, a draught of poison, separation
from wife and leaving children orphans. These were the things with
which he was playing; but still he did play and threw the ball
skillfully. So we should do: we must employ all the care of the
players, but show the same indifference about the ball. For we ought
by all means to apply our art to some external material, not as
valuing the material, but, whatever it may be, showing our art in
it. Thus too the weaver does not make wool, but exercises his art upon
such as he receives. Another gives you food and property and is able
to take them away and your poor body also. When then you have received
the material, work on it. If then you come out without having suffered
anything, all who meet you will congratulate you on your escape; but
he who knows how to look at such things, if he shall see that you have
behaved properly in the matter, will commend you and be pleased with
you; and if he shall find that you owe your escape to any want of
proper behavior, he will do the contrary. For where rejoicing is
reasonable, there also is congratulation reasonable.

  How then is it said that some external things are according to
nature and others contrary to nature? It is said as it might be said
if we were separated from union: for to the foot I shall say that it
is according to nature for it to be clean; but if you take it as a
foot and as a thing not detached, it will befit it both to step into
the mud and tread on thorns, and sometimes to be cut off for the
benefit of the whole body; otherwise it is no longer a foot. We should
think in some way about ourselves also. What are you? A man. If you
consider yourself as detached from other men, it is according to
nature to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy. But if you
consider yourself as a man and a part of a certain whole, it is for
the sake of that whole that at one time you should be sick, at another
time take a voyage and run into danger, and at another time be in
want, and, in some cases, die prematurely. Why then are you
troubled? Do you not know, that as a foot is no longer a foot if it is
detached from the body, so you are no longer a man if you are
separated from other men. For what is a man? A part of a state, of
that first which consists of Gods and of men; then of that which is
called next to it, which is a small image of the universal state.
"What then must I be brought to trial; must another have a fever,
another sail on the sea, another die, and another be condemned?"
Yes, for it is impossible in such a body, in such a universe of
things, among so many living together, that such things should not
happen, some to one and others to others. It is your duty then,
since you are come here, to say what you ought, to arrange these
things as it is fit. Then some one says, "I shall charge you with
doing me wrong." Much good may it do you: I have done my part; but
whether you also have done yours, you must look to that; for there
is some danger of this too, that it may escape your notice.

  CHAPTER 6

  Of indifference

  The hypothetical proposition is indifferent: the judgment about it
is not indifferent, but it is either knowledge or opinion or error.
Thus life is indifferent: the use is not indifferent. When any man
then tells you that these things also are indifferent, do not become
negligent; and when a man invites you to be careful, do not become
abject and struck with admiration of material things. And it is good
for you to know your own preparation and power, that in those
matters where you have not been prepared, you may keep quiet, and
not be vexed, if others have the advantage over you. For you, too,
in syllogisms will claim to have the advantage over them; and if
others should be vexed at this, you will console them by saying, "I
have learned them, and you have not." Thus also where there is need of
any practice, seek not that which is required from the need, but yield
in that matter to those who have had practice, and be yourself content
with firmness of mind.

  Go and salute a certain person. "How?" Not meanly. "But I have
been shut out, for I have not learned to make my way through the
window; and when I have found the door shut, I must either come back
or enter through the window." But still speak to him. "In what way?"
Not meanly. But suppose that you have not got what you wanted. Was
this your business, and not his? Why then do you claim that which
belongs to another? Always remember what is your own, and what belongs
to another; and you will not be disturbed. Chrysippus therefore said
well, "So long as future things are uncertain, I always cling to those
which are more adapted to the conservation of that which is
according to nature; for God himself has given me the faculty of
such choice." But if I knew that it was fated for me to be sick, I
would even move toward it; for the foot also, if it had
intelligence, would move to go into the mud. For why are ears of
corn produced? Is it not that they may become dry? And do they not
become dry that they may be reaped? for they are not separated from
communion with other things. If then they had perception, ought they
to wish never to be reaped? But this is a curse upon ears of corn,
never to be reaped. So we must know that in the case of men too it
is a curse not to die, just the same as not to be ripened and not to
be reaped. But since we must be reaped, and we also know that we are
reaped, we are vexed at it; for we neither know what we are nor have
we studied what belongs to man, as those who have studied horses
know what belongs to horses. But Chrysantas, when he was going to
strike the enemy, checked himself when he heard the trumpet sounding a
retreat: so it seemed better to him to obey the general's command than
to follow his own inclination. But not one of us chooses, even when
necessity summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and groaning we
suffer what we do suffer, and we call them "circumstances." What
kind of circumstances, man? If you give the name of circumstances to
the things which are around you, all things are circumstances; but
if you call hardships by this name, what hardship is there in the
dying of that which has been produced? But that which destroys is
either a sword, or a wheel, or the sea, or a tile, or a tyrant. Why do
you care about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal. But
if you will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is
shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in six months: but a fever is
often a year about it. All these things are only sound and the noise
of empty names.

  "I am in danger of my life from Caesar." And am not I in danger
who dwell in Nicopolis, where there are so many earthquakes: and
when you are crossing the Hadriatic, what hazard do you run? Is it not
the hazard of your life? "But I am in danger also as to opinion." Do
you mean your own? how? For who can compel you to have any opinion
which you do not choose? But is it as to another man's opinion? and
what kind of danger is yours, if others have false opinions? "But I am
in danger of being banished." What is it to be banished? To be
somewhere else than at Rome? "Yes: what then if I should be sent to
Gyara?" If that suits you, you will go there; but if it does not,
you can go to another place instead of Gyara, whither he also will go,
who sends you to Gyara, whether he choose or not. Why then do you go
up to Rome as if it were something great? It is not worth all this
preparation, that an ingenuous youth should say, "It was not worth
while to have heard so much and to have written so much and to have
sat so long by the side of an old man who is not worth much." Only
remember that division by which your own and not your own are
distinguished: never claim anything which belongs to others. A
tribunal and a prison are each a place, one high and the other low;
but the will can be maintained equal, if you choose to maintain it
equal in each. And we shall then be imitators of Socrates, when we are
able to write paeans in prison. But in our present disposition,
consider if we could endure in prison another person saying to us.
"Would you like me to read Paeans to you?" "Why do you trouble me?
do you not know the evils which hold me? Can I in such circumstances?"
What circumstances? "I am going to die." And will other men be
immortal?

  CHAPTER 7

  How we ought to use divination

  Through an unreasonable regard to divination many of us omit many
duties. For what more can the diviner see than death or danger or
disease, generally things of that kind? If then I must expose myself
to danger for a friend, and if it is my duty even to die for him, what
need have I then for divination? Have I not within me a diviner who
has told me the nature of good and of evil, and has explained to me
the signs of both? What need have I then to consult the viscera of
victims or the flight of birds, and why do I submit when he says,
"It is for your interest"? For does he know what is for my interest,
does he know what is good; and as he has learned the signs of the
viscera, has he also learned the signs of good and evil? For if he
knows the signs of these, he knows the signs both of the beautiful and
of the ugly, and of the just and of the unjust. Do you tell me, man,
what is the thing which is signified for me: is it life or death,
poverty or wealth? But whether these things are for my interest or
whether they are not, I do not intend to ask you. Why don't you give
your opinion on matters of grammar, and why do you give it here
about things on which we are all in error and disputing with one
another? The woman, therefore, who intended to send by a vessel a
month's provisions to Gratilla in her banishment, made a good answer
to him who said that Domitian would seize what she sent. "I would
rather," she replied, "that Domitian should seize all than that I
should not send it."

  What then leads us to frequent use of divination? Cowardice, the
dread of what will happen. This is the reason why we flatter the
diviners. "Pray, master, shall I succeed to the property of my
father?" "Let us see: let us sacrifice on the occasion." "Yes, master,
as fortune chooses." When he has said, "You shall succeed to the
inheritance," we thank him as if we received the inheritance from him.
The consequence is that they play upon us.

  What then should we do? We ought to come without desire or aversion,
as the wayfarer asks of the man whom he meets which of two roads leads
(to his journey's end), without any desire for that which leads to the
right rather than to the left, for he has no wish to go by any road
except the road which leads (to his end). In the same way ought we
to come to God also as a guide; as we use our eyes, not asking them to
show us rather such things as we wish, but receiving the appearances
of things such as the eyes present them to us. But now we trembling
take the augur by the hand, and, while we invoke God, we entreat the
augur, and say, "Master have mercy on me; suffer me to come safe out
of this difficulty." Wretch would you have, then, anything other
than what is best? Is there then anything better than what pleases
God? Why do you, so far as in your power, corrupt your judge and
lead astray your adviser?

  CHAPTER 8

  What is the nature of the good

  God is beneficial. But the Good also is beneficial. It is consistent
then that where the nature of God is, there also the nature of the
good should be. What then is the nature of God? Flesh? Certainly
not. An estate in land? By no means. Fame? No. Is it intelligence,
knowledge, right reason? Yes. Herein then simply seek the nature of
the good; for I suppose that you do not seek it in a plant. No. Do you
seek it in an irrational animal? No. If then you seek it in a rational
animal, why do you still seek it anywhere except in the superiority of
rational over irrational animals? Now plants have not even the power
of using appearances, and for this reason you do not apply the term
good to them. The good then requires the use of appearances. Does it
require this use only? For if you say that it requires this use
only, say that the good, and that happiness and unhappiness are in
irrational animals also. But you do not say this, and you do right;
for if they possess even in the highest degree the use of appearances,
yet they have not the faculty of understanding the use of appearances;
and there is good reason for this, for they exist for the purpose of
serving others, and they exercise no superiority. For the ass, I
suppose, does not exist for any superiority over others. No; but
because we had need of a back which is able to bear something; and
in truth we had need also of his being able to walk, and for this
reason he received also the faculty of making use of appearances,
for otherwise he would not have been able to walk. And here then
the matter stopped. For if he had also received the faculty of
comprehending the use of appearances, it is plain that consistently
with reason he would not then have been subjected to us, nor would
he have done us these services, but he would have been equal to us and
like to us.

  Will you not then seek the nature of good in the rational animal?
for if it is not there, you not choose to say that it exists in any
other thing. "What then? are not plants and animals also the works
of God?" They are; but they are not superior things, nor yet parts
of the Gods. But you are a superior thing; you are a portion separated
from the deity; you have in yourself a certain portion of him. Why
then are you ignorant of your own noble descent? Why do you not know
whence you came? will you not remember when you are eating, who you
are who eat and whom you feed? When you are in conjunction with a
woman, will you not remember who you are who do this thing? When you
are in social intercourse, when you are exercising yourself, when
you are engaged in discussion, know you not that you are nourishing
a god, that you are exercising a god? Wretch, you are carrying about a
god with you, and you know it not. Do you think that I mean some God
of silver or of gold, and external? You carry him within yourself, and
you perceive not that you are polluting him by impure thoughts and
dirty deeds. And if an image of God were present, you would not dare
to do any of the things which you are doing: but when God himself is
present within and sees all and hears all, you are not ashamed of
thinking such things and doing such things, ignorant as you are of
your own nature and subject to the anger of God. Then why do we fear
when we are sending a young man from the school into active life, lest
he should do anything improperly, eat improperly, have improper
intercourse with women; and lest the rags in which he is wrapped
should debase him, lest fine garments should make him proud? This
youth does not know his own God: he knows not with whom he sets out.
But can we endure when he says, "I wish I had you with me." Have you
not God with you? and do you seek for any other, when you have him? or
will God tell you anything else than this? If you were a statue of
Phidias, either Athena or Zeus you would think broth of yourself and
of the artist, and if you had any understanding you would try to do
nothing unworthy of him who made you or of yourself, and try not to
appear in an unbecoming dress to those who look on you. But now
because Zeus has made you, for this reason do you care not how you
shall appear? And yet is the artist like the artist in the other? or
the work in the one case like the other? And what work of an artist,
for instance, has in itself the faculties, which the artist shows in
making it? Is it not marble or bronze, or gold or ivory? and the
Athena of Phidias when she has once extended the hand and received
in it the figure of Victory stands in that attitude forever. But the
works of God have power of motion, they breathe, they have the faculty
of using the appearances of things, and the power of examining them.
Being the work of such an artist, do you dishonor him? And what
shall I say, not only that he made you, but also intrusted you to
yourself and made you a deposit to yourself? Will you not think of
this too, but do you also dishonor your guardianship? But if God had
intrusted an orphan to you, would you thus neglect him? He has
delivered yourself to your care, and says, "I had no one fitter to
intrust him to than yourself: keep him for me such as he is by nature,
modest, faithful, erect, unterrified, free from passion and
perturbation." And then you do not keep him such.

  But some will say, "Whence has this fellow got the arrogance which
he displays and these supercilious looks?" I have not yet so much
gravity as befits a philosopher; for I do not yet feel confidence in
what I have learned and what I have assented to: I still fear my own
weakness. Let me get confidence and the, you shall see a countenance
such as I ought to have and an attitude such as I ought to have:
then I will show to you the statue, when it is perfected, when it is
polished. What do you expect? a supercilious countenance? Does the
Zeus at Olympia lift up his brow? No, his look is fixed as becomes him
who is ready to say

     Irrevocable is my word and shall not fail.

Such will I show myself to you, faithful, modest, noble, free from
perturbation. "What, and immortal too, exempt from old age, and from
sickness?" No, but dying as becomes a god, sickening as becomes a god.
This power I possess; this I can do. But the rest I do not possess,
nor can I do. I will show the nerves of a philosopher. "What nerves
are these?" A desire never disappointed, an aversion which never falls
on that which it would avoid, a proper pursuit, a diligent purpose, an
assent which is not rash. These you shall see.

  CHAPTER 9

  That when we cannot fulfill that which the character of a man
promises, we assume the character of a philosopher

  It is no common thing to do this only, to fulfill the promise of a
man's nature. For what is a man? The answer is: "A rational and mortal
being." Then, by the rational faculty, from whom are we separated?
From wild beasts. And from what others? From sheep and like animals.
Take care then to do nothing like a wild beast; but if you do, you
have lost the character of a man; you have not fulfilled your promise.
See that you do nothing like a sheep; but if you do, in this case
the man is lost. What then do we do as sheep? When we act
gluttonously, when we act lewdly, when we act rashly, filthily,
inconsiderately, to what have we declined? To sheep. What have we
lost? The rational faculty. When we act contentiously and harmfully
and passionately, and violently, to what have we declined? To wild
beasts. Consequently some of us are great wild beasts, and others
little beasts, of a bad disposition and small, whence we may say, "Let
me be eaten by a lion." But in all these ways the promise of a man
acting as a man is destroyed. For when is a conjunctive proposition
maintained? When it fulfills what its nature promises; so that the
preservation of a complex proposition is when it is a conjunction of
truths. When is a disjunctive maintained? When it fulfills what it
promises. When are flutes, a lyre, a horse, a dog, preserved? What
is the wonder then if man also in like manner is preserved, and in
like manner is lost? Each man is improved and preserved by
corresponding acts, the carpenter by acts of carpentry, the grammarian
by acts of grammar. But if a man accustoms himself to write
ungrammatically, of necessity his art will be corrupted and destroyed.
Thus modest actions preserve the modest man, and immodest actions
destroy him: and actions of fidelity preserve the faithful man, and
the contrary actions destroy him. And on the other hand contrary
actions strengthen contrary characters: shamelessness strengthens
the shameless man, faithlessness the faithless man, abusive words
the abusive man, anger the man of an angry temper, and unequal
receiving and giving make the avaricious man more avaricious.

  For this reason philosophers admonish us not to be satisfied with
learning only, but also to add study, and then practice. For we have
long been accustomed to do contrary things, and we put in practice
opinions which are contrary to true opinions. If then we shall not
also put in practice right opinions, we shall be nothing more than the
expositors of the opinions of others. For now who among us is not able
to discuss according to the rules of art about good and evil things?
"That of things some are good, and some are bad, and some are
indifferent: the good then are virtues, and the things which
participate in virtues; and the are the contrary; and the
indifferent are wealth, health, reputation." Then, if in the midst
of our talk there should happen some greater noise than usual, or some
of those who are present should laugh at us, we are disturbed.
Philosopher, where are the things which you were talking about? Whence
did you produce and utter them? From the lips, and thence only. Why
then do you corrupt the aids provided by others? Why do you treat
the weightiest matters as if you were playing a game of dice? For it
is one thing to lay up bread and wine as in a storehouse, and
another thing to eat. That which has been eaten, is digested,
distributed, and is become sinews, flesh, bones, blood, healthy
colour, healthy breath. Whatever is stored up, when you choose you can
readily take and show it; but you have no other advantage from it
except so far as to appear to possess it. For what is the difference
between explaining these doctrines and those of men who have different
opinions? Sit down now and explain according to the rules of art the
opinions of Epicurus, and perhaps you will explain his opinions in a
more useful manner than Epicurus himself. Why then do you call
yourself a Stoic? Why do you deceive the many? Why do you deceive
the many? Why do you act the part of a Jew, when you are a Greek? Do
you not see how each is called a Jew, or a Syrian or an Egyptian?
and when we see a man inclining to two sides, we are accustomed to
say, "This man is not a Jew, but he acts as one." But when he has
assumed the affects of one who has been imbued with Jewish doctrine
and has adopted that sect, then he is in fact and he is named a Jew.
Thus we too being falsely imbued, are in name Jews, but in fact we are
something else. Our affects are inconsistent with our words; we are
far from practicing what we say, and that of which we are proud, as if
we knew it. Thus being, unable to fulfill even what the character of a
man promises, we even add to it the profession of a philosopher, which
is as heavy a burden, as if a man who is unable to bear ten pounds
should attempt to raise the stone which Ajax lifted.

  CHAPTER 10

  How we may discover the duties of life from names

  Consider who you are. In the first place, you are a man; and this is
one who has nothing superior to the faculty of the will, but all other
things subjected to it; and the faculty itself he possesses unenslaved
and free from subjection. Consider then from what things you have been
separated by reason. You have been separated from wild beasts: you
have been separated from domestic animals. Further, you are a
citizen of the world, and a part of it, not one of the subservient,
but one of the principal parts, for you are capable of comprehending
the divine administration and of considering the connection of things.
What then does the character of a citizen promise? To hold nothing
as profitable to himself; to deliberate about nothing as if he were
detached from the community, but to act as the hand or foot would
do, if they had reason and understood the constitution of nature,
for they would never put themselves in motion nor desire anything,
otherwise than with reference to the whole. Therefore the philosophers
say well, that if the good man had foreknowledge of what would happen,
he would cooperate toward his own sickness and death and mutilation,
since he knows that these things are assigned to him according to
the universal arrangement, and that the whole is superior to the
part and the state to the citizen. But now, because we do not know the
future, it is our duty to stick to the things which are in their
nature more suitable for our choice, for we were made among other
things for this.

  After this, remember that you are a son. What does this character
promise? To consider that everything which is the son's belongs to the
father, to obey him in all things, never to blame him to another,
nor to say or do anything which does him injury, to yield to him in
all things and give way, cooperating with him as far as you can. After
this know that you are a brother also, and that to this character it
is due to make concessions; to be easily persuaded, to speak good of
your brother, never to claim in opposition to him any of the things
which are independent of the will, but readily to give them up, that
you may have the larger share in what is dependent on the will. For
see what a thing it is, in place of a lettuce, if it should so happen,
or a seat, to gain for yourself goodness of disposition. How great
is the advantage.

  Next to this, if you are senator of any state, remember that you are
a senator: if a youth, that you are a youth: if an old man, that you
are an old man; for each of such names, if it comes to be examined,
marks out the proper duties. But if you go and blame your brother, I
say to you, "You have forgotten who you are and what is your name." In
the next place, if you were a smith and made a wrong use of the
hammer, you would have forgotten the smith; and if you have
forgotten the brother and instead of a brother have become an enemy,
would you appear not to have changed one thing for another in that
case? And if instead of a man, who is a tame animal and social, you
are become a mischievous wild beast, treacherous, and biting, have you
lost nothing? But, you must lose a bit of money that you may suffer
damage? And does the loss of nothing else do a man damage? If you
had lost the art of grammar or music, would you think the loss of it a
damage? and if you shall lose modesty, moderation and gentleness, do
you think the loss nothing? And yet the things first mentioned are
lost by some cause external and independent of the will, and the
second by our own fault; and as to the first neither to have them
nor to lose them is shameful; but as to the second, not to have them
and to lose them is shameful and matter of reproach and a
misfortune. What does the pathic lose? He loses the man. What does
he lose who makes the pathic what he is? Many other things; and he
also loses the man no less than the other. What does he lose who
commits adultery? He loses the modest, the temperate, the decent,
the citizen, the neighbour. What does he lose who is angry?
Something else. What does the coward lose? Something else. No man is
bad without suffering some loss and damage. If then you look for the
damage in the loss of money only, all these men receive no harm or
damage; it may be, they have even profit and gain, when they acquire a
bit of money by any of these deeds. But consider that if you refer
everything to a small coin, not even he who loses his nose is in
your opinion damaged. "Yes," you say, "for he is mutilated in his
body." Well; but does he who has lost his smell only lose nothing?
Is there, then, no energy of the soul which is an advantage to him who
possesses it, and a damage to him who has lost it? "Tell me what
sort you mean." Have we not a natural modesty? "We have." Does he
who loses this sustain no damage? is he deprived of nothing, does he
part with nothing of the things which belong to him? Have we not
naturally fidelity? natural affection, a natural disposition to help
others, a natural disposition to forbearance? The man then who
allows himself to be damaged in these matters, can he be free from
harm and uninjured? "What then? shall I not hurt him, who has hurt
me?" In the first place consider what hurt is, and remember what you
have heard from the philosophers. For if the good consists in the
will, and the evil also in the will, see if what you say is not
this: "What then, since that man has hurt himself by doing an unjust
act to me, shall I not hurt myself by doing some unjust act to him?"
Why do we not imagine to something of this kind? But where there is
any detriment to the body or to our possession, there is harm there;
and where the same thing happens to the faculty of the will, there
is no harm; for he who has been deceived or he who has done an
unjust act neither suffers in the head nor in the eye nor in the
hip, nor does he lose his estate; and we wish for nothing else than
these things. But whether we shall have the will modest and faithful
or shameless and faithless, we care not the least, except only in
the school so far as a few words are concerned. Therefore our
proficiency is limited to these few words; but beyond them it does not
exist even in the slightest degree.

  CHAPTER 11

  What the beginning of philosophy is

  The beginning of philosophy to him at least who enters on it in
the right way and by the door, is a consciousness of his own
weakness and inability about necessary things. For we come into the
world with no natural notion of a right-angled triangle, or of a
diesis, or of a half tone; but we learn each of these things by a
certain transmission according to art; and for this reason those who
do not know them, do not think that they know them. But as to good and
evil, and beautiful and ugly, and becoming and unbecoming, and
happiness and misfortune, and proper and improper, and what we ought
to do and what we ought not to do, whoever came into the world without
having an innate idea of them? Wherefore we all use these names, and
we endeavor to fit the preconceptions to the several cases thus: "He
has done well, he has not done well; he has done as he ought, not as
he ought; he has been unfortunate, he has been fortunate; he is
unjust, he is just": who does not use these names? who among us defers
the use of them till he has learned them, as he defers the use of
the words about lines or sounds? And the cause of this is that we come
into the world already taught as it were by nature some things on this
matter, and proceeding from these we have added to them
self-conceit. "For why," a man says, "do I not know the beautiful
and the ugly? Have I not the notion of it?" You have. "Do I not
adapt it to particulars?" You do. "Do I not then adapt it properly?"
In that lies the whole question; and conceit is added here. For,
beginning from these things which are admitted, men proceed to that
which is matter of dispute by means of unsuitable adaptation; for if
they possessed this power of adaptation in addition to those things,
what would hinder them from being perfect? But now since you think
that you properly adapt the preconceptions to the particulars, tell me
whence you derive this. Because I think so. But it does not seem so to
another, and he thinks that he also makes a proper adaptation; or does
he not think so? He does think so. Is it possible then that both of
you can properly apply the preconceptions to things about which you
have contrary opinions? It is not possible. Can you then show us
anything better toward adapting the preconceptions beyond your
thinking that you do? Does the madman do any other things than the
things as in which seem to him right? Is then this criterion for him
also? It is not sufficient. Come then to something which is superior
to seeming. What is this?

  Observe, this is the beginning of philosophy, a perception of the
disagreement of men with one another, and an inquiry into the cause of
the disagreement, and a condemnation and distrust of that which only
"seems," and a certain investigation of that which "seems" whether
it "seems" rightly, and a discovery of some rule, as we have
discovered a balance in the determination of weights, and a
carpenter's rule in the case of straight and crooked things. This is
the beginning of philosophy. "Must we say that all thins are right
which seem so to all?" And how is it possible that contradictions
can be right? "Not all then, but all which seem to us to be right."
How more to you than those which seem right to the Syrians? why more
than what seem right to the Egyptians? why more than what seems
right to me or to any other man? "Not at all more." What then
"seems" to every man is not sufficient for determining what "is";
for neither in the case of weights or measures are we satisfied with
the bare appearance, but in each case we have discovered a certain
rule. In this matter then is there no rule certain to what "seems?"
And how is it possible that the most necessary things among men should
have no sign, and be incapable of being discovered? There is then some
rule. And why then do we not seek the rule and discover it, and
afterward use it without varying from it, not even stretching out
the finger without it? For this, I think, is that which when it is
discovered cures of their madness those who use mere "seeming" as a
measure, and misuse it; so that for the future proceeding from certain
things known and made clear we may use in the case of particular
things the preconceptions which are distinctly fixed.

  What is the matter presented to us about which we are inquiring?
"Pleasure." Subject it to the rule, throw it into the balance. Ought
the good to be such a thing that it is fit that we have confidence
in it? "Yes." And in which we ought to confide? "It ought to be." Is
it fit to trust to anything which is insecure? "No." Is then
pleasure anything secure? "No." Take it then and throw it out of the
scale, and drive it far away from the place of good things. But if you
are not sharp-sighted, and one balance is not enough for you, bring
another. Is it fit to be elated over what is good? "Yes." Is it proper
then to be elated over present pleasure? See that you do not say
that it is proper; but if you do, I shall then not think you are
worthy even of the balance. Thus things are tested and weighed when
the rules are ready. And to philosophize is this, to examine and
confirm the rules; and then to use them when they are known is the act
of a wise and good man.

  CHAPTER 12

  Of disputation or discussion

  What things a man must learn in order to be able to apply the art of
disputation, has been accurately shown by our philosophers; but with
respect to the proper use of the things, we are entirely without
practice. Only give to any of us, whom you please, an illiterate man
to discuss with,, and he cannot discover how to deal with the man. But
when he has moved the man a little, if he answers beside the
purpose, he does not know how to treat him, but he then either
abuses or ridicules him, and says, "He is an illiterate man; it is not
possible to do anything with him." Now a guide, when he has found a
man out of the road leads him into the right way: he does not ridicule
or abuse him and then leave him. Do you also show this illiterate
man the truth, and you will see that he follows. But so long as you do
not show him the truth, do not ridicule him, but rather feel your
own incapacity.

  How then did Socrates act? He used to compel his adversary in
disputation to bear testimony to him, and he wanted no other
witness. Therefore he could say, "I care not for other witnesses,
but I am always satisfied with the evidence of my adversary, and I
do not ask the opinion of others, but only the opinion of him who is
disputing with me." For he used to make the conclusions drawn from
natural notions so plain that every man saw the contradiction and
withdrew from it: "Does the envious man rejoice?" "By no means, but he
is rather pained." Well, "Do you think that envy is pain over evils?
and what envy is there of evils?" Therefore he made his adversary
say that envy is pain over good things. "Well then, would any man envy
those who are nothing to him?" "By no means." Thus having completed
the notion and distinctly fixed it he would go away without saying
to his adversary, "Define to me envy"; and if the adversary had
defined envy, he did not say, "You have defined it badly, for the
terms of the definition do not correspond to the thing defined." These
are technical terms, and for this reason disagreeable and hardly
intelligible to illiterate men, which terms we cannot lay aside. But
that the illiterate man himself, who follows the appearances presented
to him, should be able to concede anything or reject it, we can
never by the use of these terms move him to do. Accordingly, being
conscious of our own inability, we do not attempt the thing; at
least such of us as have any caution do not. But the greater part
and the rash, when they enter into such disputations, confuse
themselves and confuse others; and finally abusing their adversaries
and abused by them, they walk away.

  Now this was the first and chief peculiarity of Socrates, never to
be irritated in argument, never to utter anything abusive, anything
insulting, but to bear with abusive persons and to put an end to the
quarrel. If you would know what great power he had in this way, read
the Symposium of Xenophon, and you will see how many quarrels he put
an end to. Hence with good reason in the poets also this power is most
highly praised,

     Quickly with the skill he settles great disputes.

  Well then; the matter is not now very safe, and particularly at
Rome; for he who attempts to do it, must not do it in a corner, you
may be sure, but must go to a man of consular rank, if it so happen,
or to a rich man, and ask him, "Can you tell me, Sir, to whose care
you have entrusted your horses?" "I can tell you." Here you
entrusted them to a person indifferently and to one who has no
experience of horses? "By no means." Well then; can you tell me to
whom you entrust your gold or silver things or your vestments? "I
don't entrust even these to anyone indifferently." Well; your own
body, have you already considered about entrusting the care of it to
any person? "Certainly." To a man of experience, I suppose, and one
acquainted with the aliptic, or with the healing art? "Without a
doubt." Are these the best things that you have, or do you also
possess something else which is better than all these? "What kind of
thing do you mean?" That I mean which makes use of these things, and
tests each of these things and deliberates. "Is it the soul that you
mean?" You think right, for it is the soul that I mean. "In truth I do
think the soul is a much better thing than all the others which I
possess." Can you then show us in what way you have taken care of
the soul? for it is not likely that you, who are so wise a man and
have a reputation in the city, inconsiderately and carelessly allow
the most valuable thing that you possess to be neglected and to
perish? "Certainly not." But have you taken care of the soul yourself;
and have you learned from another to do this, or have you discovered
the means yourself? Here comes the danger that in the first place he
may say, "What is this to you, my good man, who are you?" Next, if you
persist in troubling him, there is a danger that he may raise his
hands and give you blows. I was once myself also an admirer of this
mode of instruction until I fell into these dangers.

  CHAPTER 13

  On anxiety

  When I see a man anxious, I say, "What does this man want? If he did
not want something which is not in his power, how could he be
anxious?" For this reason a lute player when he is singing by
himself has no anxiety, but when he enters the theatre, he is
anxious even if he has a good voice and plays well on the lute; for he
not only wishes to sing well, but also to obtain applause: but this is
not in his power. Accordingly, where he has skill, there he has
confidence. Bring any single person who knows nothing of music, and
the musician does not care for him. But in the matter where a man
knows nothing and has not been practiced, there he is anxious. What
matter is this? He knows not what a crowd is or what the praise of a
crowd is. However he has learned to strike the lowest chord and the
highest; but what the praise of the many is, and what power it has
in life he neither knows nor has he thought about it. Hence he must of
necessity tremble and grow pale. I cannot then say that a man is not a
lute player when I see him afraid, but I can say something else, and
not one thing, but many. And first of all I call him a stranger and
say, "This man does not know in what part of the world he is, but
though he has been here so long, he is ignorant of the laws of the
State and the customs, and what is permitted and what is not; and he
has never employed any lawyer to tell him and to explain the laws."
But a man does not write a will, if he does not does not know how it
ought to be written, or he employs a person who does know; nor does he
rashly seal a bond or write a security. But he uses his desire without
a lawyer's advice, and aversion, and pursuit, and attempt and purpose.
"How do you mean without a lawyer?" He does not know that he wills
what is not allowed, and does not will that which is of necessity; and
he does not know either what is his own or what is or what is
another man's; but if he did know, he could never be impeded, he would
never be hindered, he would not be anxious. "How so?" Is any man
then afraid about things which are not evil? "No." Is he afraid
about things which are evils, but still so far within his power that
they may not happen? "Certainly he is not." If, then, the things which
are independent of the will are neither good nor bad, and all things
which do depend on the will are within our power, and no man can
either take them from us or give them to us, if we do not choose,
where is room left for anxiety? But we are anxious about our poor
body, our little property, about the will of Caesar; but not anxious
about things internal. Are we anxious about not forming a false
opinion? No, for this is in my power. About not exerting our movements
contrary to nature? No, not even about this. When then you see a man
pale, as the physician says, judging from the complexion, this man's
spleen is disordered, that man's liver; so also say, this man's desire
and aversion are disordered, he is not in the right way, he is in a
fever. For nothing else changes the color, or causes trembling or
chattering of the teeth, or causes a man to

     Sink in his knees and shift from foot to foot.

  For this reason when Zeno was going to meet Antigonus, he was not
anxious, for Antigonus had no power over any of the things which
Zeno admired; and Zeno did not care for those things over which
Antigonus had power. But Antigonus was anxious when he was going to
meet Zeno, for he wished to please Zeno; but this was a thing
external. But Zeno did not want to please Antigonus; for no man who is
skilled in any art wishes to please one who has no such skill.

  Should I try to please you? Why? I suppose, you know the measure
by which one man is estimated by another. Have you taken pains to
learn what is a good man and what is a bad man, and how a man
becomes one or the other? Why, then, are you not good yourself? "How,"
he replies, "am I not good?" Because no good man laments or roans or
weeps, no good man is pale and trembles, or says, "How will he receive
me, how will he listen to me?" Slave, just as it pleases him. Why do
you care about what belongs to others? Is it now his fault if he
receives badly what proceeds from you? "Certainly." And is it possible
that a fault should be one man's, and the evil in another? "No." Why
then are you anxious about that which belongs to others? "Your
question is reasonable; but I am anxious how I shall speak to him."
Cannot you then speak to him as you choose? "But I fear that I may
be disconcerted?" If you are going to write the name of Dion, are
you afraid that you would be disconcerted? "By no means." Why? is it
not because you have practiced writing the name? "Certainly." Well, if
you were going to read the name, would you not feel the same? and why?
Because every art has a certain strength and confidence in the
things which belong to it. Have you then not practiced speaking? and
what else did you learn in the school? Syllogisms and sophistical
propositions? For what purpose? was it not for the purpose of
discoursing skillfully? and is not discoursing skillfully the same
as discoursing seasonably and cautiously and with intelligence, and
also without making mistakes and without hindrance, and besides all
this with confidence? "Yes." When, then, you are mounted on a horse
and go into a plain, are you anxious at being matched against a man
who is on foot, and anxious in a matter in which you are practiced,
and he is not? "Yes, but that person has power to kill me." Speak
the truth then, unhappy man, and do not brag, nor claim to be a
philosopher, nor refuse to acknowledge your masters, but so long as
you present this handle in your body, follow every man who is stronger
than yourself. Socrates used to practice speaking, he who talked as he
did to the tyrants, to the dicasts, he who talked in his prison.
Diogenes had practiced speaking, he who spoke as he did to
Alexander, to the pirates, to the person who bought him. These men
were confident in the things which they practiced. But do you walk off
to your own affairs and never leave them: go and sit in a corner,
and weave syllogisms, and propose them to another. There is not in you
the man who can rule a state.

  CHAPTER 14

  To Naso

  When a certain Roman entered with his son and listened to one
reading, Epictetus said, "This is the method of instruction"; and he
stopped. When the Roman asked him to go on, Epictetus said: Every art,
when it is taught, causes labour to him who is unacquainted with it
and is unskilled in it, and indeed the things which proceed from the
arts immediately show their use in the purpose for which they were
made; and most of them contain something attractive and pleasing.
For indeed to be present and to observe how a shoemaker learns is
not a pleasant thing; but the shoe is useful and also not disagreeable
to look at. And the discipline of a smith when he is learning is
very disagreeable to one who chances to be present and is a stranger
to the art: but the work shows the use of the art. But you will see
this much more in music; for if you are present while a person is
learning, the discipline will appear most disagreeable; and yet the
results of music are pleasing and delightful to those who know nothing
of music. And here we conceive the work of a philosopher to be
something of this kind: he must adapt his wish to what is going on, so
that neither any of the things which are taking place shall take place
contrary to our wish, nor any of the things which do not take place
shall not take place when we wish that they should. From this the
result is to those who have so arranged the work of philosophy, not to
fall in the desire, nor to fall in with that which they would avoid;
without uneasiness, without fear, without perturbation to pass through
life themselves, together with their associates maintaining the
relations both natural and acquired, as the relation of son, of
father, of brother, of citizen, of man, of wife, of neighbour, of
fellow-traveler, of ruler, of ruled. The work of a philosopher we
conceive to be something like this. It remains next to inquire how
this must be accomplished.

  We see then that the carpenter when he has learned certain things
becomes a carpenter; the pilot by learning certain things becomes a
pilot. May it not, then, in philosophy also not be sufficient to
wish to be wise and good, and that there is also a necessity to
learn certain things? We inquire then what these things are. The
philosophers say that we ought first to learn that there is a God
and that he provides for all things; also that it is not possible to
conceal from him our acts, or even our intentions and thoughts. The
next thing, is to learn what is the nature of the Gods; for such as
they are discovered to be, he, who would please and obey them, must
try with all his power to be like them. If the divine is faithful, man
also must be faithful; if it is free, man also must be free; if
beneficent, man also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, man also must
be magnanimous; as being, then an imitator of God, he must do and
say everything consistently with this fact.

  "With what then must we begin?" If you will enter on the discussion,
I will tell you that you must first understand names. "So, then, you
say that I do not now understand names?" You do not understand them.
"How, then, do I use them?" Just as the illiterate use written
language, as cattle use appearances: for use is one thing,
understanding is another. But if you think that you understand them,
produce whatever word you please, and let us try whether we understand
it. But it is a disagreeable thing for a man to be confuted who is now
old and, it may be, has now served his three campaigns. I too know
this: for now you are come to me as if you were in want of nothing:
and what could you even imagine to be wanting to you? You are rich,
you have children, and a wife, perhaps and many slaves: Caesar knows
you, in Rome you have many friends, you render their dues to all,
you know how to requite him who does you a favour, and to repay in the
same kind him who does a wrong. What do you lack? If, then, I shall
show you that you lack the things most necessary and the chief
things for happiness, and that hitherto you have looked after
everything rather than what you ought, and, to crown all, that you
neither know what God is nor what man is, nor what is good nor what is
bad; and as to what I have said about your ignorance of other matters,
that may perhaps be endured, but if I say that you know nothing
about yourself, how is it possible that you should endure me and
bear the proof and stay here? It is not possible; but you
immediately go off in bad humour. And yet what harm have I done you?
unless the mirror also injures the ugly man because it shows him to
himself such as he is; unless the physician also is supposed to insult
the sick man, when he says to him, "Man, do you think that you ail
nothing? But you have a fever: go without food to-day; drink water."
And no one says, "What an insult!" But if you say to a man, "Your
desires are inflamed, your aversions are low, your intentions are
inconsistent, your pursuits are not comfortable to nature, your
opinions are rash and false," the man immediately goes away and
says, "he has insulted me."

  Our way of dealing is like that of a crowded assembly. Beasts are
brought to be sold and oxen; and the greater part of the men come to
buy and sell, and there are some few who come to look at the market
and to inquire how it is carried on, and why, and who fixes the
meeting and for what purpose. So it is here also in this assembly:
some like cattle trouble themselves about nothing except their fodder.
For to all of you who are busy about possessions and lands and
slaves and magisterial offices, these are nothing except fodder. But
there are a few who attend the assembly, men who love to look on and
consider what is the world, who governs it. Has it no governor? And
how is it possible that a city or a family cannot continue to exist,
not even the shortest time without an administrator and guardian,
and that so great and beautiful a system should be administered with
such order and yet without a purpose and by chance? There is then an
administrator. What kind of administrator and how does he govern?
And who are we, who were produced by him, and for what purpose? Have
we some connection with him and some relation toward him, or none?
This is the way in which these few are affected, and then they apply
themselves only to this one thing, to examine the meeting and then
to go away. What then? They are ridiculed by the many, as the
spectators at the fair are by the traders; and if the beasts had any
understanding, they would ridicule those who admired anything else
than fodder.

  CHAPTER 15

  To or against those who obstinately persist in what they have
determined

  When some persons have heard these words, that a man ought to be
constant, and that the will is naturally free and not subject to
compulsion, but that all other things are subject to hindrance, to
slavery, and are in the power of others, they suppose that they
ought without deviation to abide by everything which they have
determined. But in the first place that which has been determined
ought to be sound. I require tone in the body, but such as exists in a
healthy body, in an athletic body; but if it is plain to me that you
have the tone of a frenzied man and you boast of it, I shall say to
you, "Man, seek the physician": this is not tone, but atony. In a
different way something of the same kind is felt by those who listen
to these discourses in a wrong manner; which was the case with one
of my companions who for no reason resolved to starve himself to
death. I heard of it when it was the third day of his abstinence
from food and I went to inquire what had happened. "I have
resolved," he said. But still tell me what it was which induced you to
resolve; for if you have resolved rightly, we shall sit with you and
assist you to depart; but if you have made an unreasonable resolution,
change your mind. "We ought to keep to our determinations." What are
you doing, man? We ought to keep not to all our determinations, but to
those which are right; for if you are now persuaded that it is
right, do not change your mind, if you think fit, but persist and say,
"We ought to abide by our determinations." Will you not make the
beginning and lay the foundation in an inquiry whether the
determination is sound or not sound, and so then build on it
firmness and security? But if you lay a rotten and ruinous foundation,
will not your miserable little building fall down the sooner, the more
and the stronger are the materials which you shall lay on it?
Without any reason would you withdraw from us out of life a man who is
a friend, and a companion, a citizen of the same city, both the
great and the small city? Then, while you are committing murder and
destroying a man who has done no wrong, do you say that you ought to
abide by your determinations? And if it ever in any way came into your
head to kill me, ought you to abide by your determinations?

  Now this man was with difficulty persuaded to change his mind. But
it is impossible to convince some persons at present; so that I seem
now to know, what I did not know, before, the meaning of the common
saying, "That you can neither persuade nor break a fool." May it never
be my lot to have a wise fool for my friend: nothing is more
untractable. "I am determined," the man says. Madmen are also; but the
more firmly they form a judgment on things which do not exist, the
more ellebore they require. Will you not act like a sick man and
call in the physician? "I am sick, master, help me; consider what I
must do: it is my duty to obey you." So it is here also: "I know not
what I ought to do, but I am come to learn." Not so; but, "Speak to me
about other things: upon this I have determined." What other things?
for what is greater and more useful than for you to be persuaded
that it is not sufficient to have made your determination and not to
change it. This is the tone of madness, not of health. "I will die, if
you compel me to this." Why, man? What has happened? "I have
determined." I have had a lucky escape that you have not determined to
kill me. "I take no money." Why? "I have determined." Be assured
that with the very tone which you now use in refusing to take, there
is nothing to hinder you at some time from inclining without reason to
take money and then saying, "I have determined." As in a distempered
body, subject to defluxions, the humor inclines sometimes to these
parts and then to those, so too a sickly soul knows not which way to
incline: but if to this inclination and movement there is added a
tone, then the evil becomes past help and cure.

  CHAPTER 16

  That we do not strive to use our opinions about good and evil

  Where is the good? In the will. Where is the evil? In the will.
Where is neither of them? In those things which are independent of the
will. Well then? Does any one among us think of these lessons out of
the schools? Does any one meditate by himself to give an answer to
things as in the case of questions? Is it day? "Yes." Is it night?
"No." Well, is the number of stars even? "I cannot say." When money is
shown to you, have you studied to make the proper answer, that money
is not a good thing? Have you practiced yourself in these answers,
or only against sophisms? Why do you wonder then if in the cases which
you have studied, in those you have improved; but in those which you
have not studied, in those you remain the same? When the rhetorician
knows that he has written well, that he has committed to memory what
he has written, and brings an agreeable voice, why is he still
anxious? Because he is not satisfied with having studied. What then
does he want? To be praised by the audience? For the purpose, then, of
being able to practice declamation, he has been disciplined: but
with respect to praise and blame he has not been disciplined. For when
did he hear from any one what praise is, what blame is, what the
nature of each is, what kind of praise should be sought, or what
kind of blame should be shunned? And when did he practice this
discipline which follows these words? Why then do you still wonder if,
in the matters which a man has learned, there he surpasses others, and
in those in which he has not been disciplined, there he is the same
with the many. So the lute player knows how to play, sings well, and
has a fine dress, and yet he trembles when he enters on the stage; for
these matters he understands, but he does not know what a crowd is,
nor the shouts of a crowd, nor what ridicule is. Neither does he
know what anxiety is, whether it is our work or the work of another,
whether it is possible to stop it or not. For this reason, if he has
been praised, he leaves the theatre puffed up, but if he has been
ridiculed, the swollen bladder has been punctured and subsides.

  This is the case also with ourselves. What do we admire?
Externals. About what things are we busy? Externals. And have we any
doubt then why we fear or why we are anxious? What, then, happens when
we think the things which are coming on us to be evils? It is not in
our power not to be afraid, it is not in our power not to be
anxious. Then we say, "Lord God, how shall I not be anxious?" Fool,
have you not hands, did not God make them for you, Sit down now and
pray that your nose may not run. Wipe yourself rather and do not blame
him. Well then, has he given to you nothing in the present case? Has
he not given to you endurance? has he not given to you magnanimity?
has he not given to you manliness? When you have such hands, do you
look for one who shall wipe your you st nose? But we neither study
these things nor care for them. Give me a man who cares how he shall
do anything, not for the obtaining of a thing but who cares about
his own energy. What man, when he is walking about, cares for his
own energy? who, when he is deliberating, cares about his own
deliberation, and not about obtaining that about which he deliberates?
And if he succeeds, he is elated and says, "How well we have
deliberated; did I not tell you, brother, that it is impossible,
when we have thought about anything, that it should not turn out
thus?" But if the thing should turn out otherwise, the wretched man is
humbled; he knows not even what to say about what has taken place. Who
among us for the sake of this matter has consulted a seer? Who among
us as to his actions has not slept in indifference? Who? Give to me
one that I may see the man whom I have long been looking for, who is
truly noble and ingenuous, whether young or old; name him.

  Why then are we still surprised, if we are well practiced in
thinking about matters, but in our acts are low, without decency,
worthless, cowardly, impatient of labour, altogether bad? For we do
not care about things, nor do we study them. But if we had feared
not death or banishment, but fear itself, we should have studied not
to fall into those things which appear to us evils. Now in the
school we are irritable and wordy; and if any little question arises
about any of these things, we are able to examine them fully. But drag
us to practice, and you will find us miserably shipwrecked. Let some
disturbing appearance come on us, and you will know what we have
been studying and in what we have been exercising ourselves.
Consequently, through want of discipline, we are always adding
something to the appearance and representing things to be greater than
what they are. For instance as to myself, when I am on a voyage and
look down on the deep sea, or look round on it and see no land, I am
out of my mind and imagine that I must drink up all this water if I am
wrecked, and it does not occur to me that three pints are enough. What
then disturbs me? The sea? No, but my opinion. Again, when an
earthquake shall happen, I imagine that the city is going to fall on
me; is not one little stone enough to knock my brains out?

  What then are the things which are heavy on us and disturb us?
What else than opinions? What else than opinions lies heavy upon him
who goes away and leaves his companions and friends and places and
habits of life? Now little children, for instance, when they cry on
the nurse leaving them for a short time, forget their sorrow if they
receive a small cake. Do you choose then that we should compare you to
little children? No, by Zeus, for I do not wish to be pacified by a
small cake, but by right opinions. And what are these? Such as a man
ought to study all day, and not to be affected by anything that is not
his own, neither by companion nor place nor gymnasia, and not even
by his own body, but to remember the law and to have it before his
eyes. And what is the divine law? To keep a man's own, not to claim
that which belongs to others, but to use what is given, and when it is
not given, not to desire it; and when a thing is taken away, to give
it up readily and immediately, and to be thankful for the time that
a man has had the use of it, if you would not cry for your nurse and
mamma. For what matter does it make by what thing a man is subdued,
and on what he depends? In what respect are you better than he who
cries for a girl, if you grieve for a little gymnasium, and little
porticoes and young men and such places of amusement? Another comes
and laments that he shall no longer drink the water of Dirce. Is the
Marcian water worse than that of Dirce? "But I was used to the water
of Dirce?" And you in turn will be used to the other. Then if you
become attached to this also, cry for this too, and try to make a
verse like the verse of Euripides,

     The hot baths of Nero and the Marcian water.

See how tragedy is made when common things happen to silly men.

  "When then shall I see Athens again and the Acropolis?" Wretch,
are you not content with what you see daily? have you anything
better or greater to see than the sun, the moon, the stars, the
whole earth, the sea? But if indeed you comprehend him who administers
the Whole, and carry him about in yourself, do you still desire
small stones, and a beautiful rock? When, then, you are going to leave
the sun itself and the moon, what will you do? will you sit and weep
like children? Well, what have you been doing in the school? what
did you hear, what did you learn? why did you write yourself a
philosopher, when you might have written the truth; as, "I made
certain introductions, and I read Chrysippus, but I did not even
approach the door of a philosopher." For how should I possess anything
of the kind which Socrates possessed, who died as he did, who lived as
he did, or anything such as Diogenes possessed? Do you think that
any one of such men wept or grieved, because he was not going to see a
certain man, or a certain woman, nor to be in Athens or in Corinth,
but, if it should so happen, in Susa or in Ecbatana? For if a man
can quit the banquet when he chooses, and no longer amuse himself,
does he still stay and complain, and does he not stay, as at any
amusement, only so long as he is pleased? Such a man, I suppose, would
endure perpetual exile or to be condemned to death. Will you not be
weaned now, like children, and take more solid food, and not cry after
mammas and nurses, which are the lamentations of old women? "But if
I go away, I shall cause them sorrow." You cause them sorrow? By no
means; but that will cause them sorrow which also causes you sorrow,
opinion. What have you to do then? Take away your own opinion, and
if these women are wise, they will take away their own: if they do
not, they will lament through their own fault.

  My man, as the proverb says, make a desperate effort on behalf of
tranquillity of mind, freedom and magnanimity. Lift up your head at
last as released from slavery. Dare to look up to God and say, "Deal
with me for the future as thou wilt; I am of the same mind as thou
art; I am thine: I refuse nothing that pleases thee: lead me where
thou wilt: clothe me in any dress thou choosest: is it thy will that I
should hold the office of a magistrate, that I should be in the
condition of a private man, stay there or be an exile, be poor, be
rich? I will make thy defense to men in behalf of all these
conditions. I will show the nature of each thing what it is." You will
not do so; but sit in an ox's belly, and wait for your mamma till
she shall feed you. Who would Hercules have been, if he had sat at
home? He would have been Eurystheus and not Hercules. Well, and in his
travels through the world how many intimates and how many friends
had he? But nothing more dear to him than God. For this reason it
was believed that he was the son of God, and he was. In obedience to
God, then, he went about purging away injustice and lawlessness. But
you are not Hercules and you are not able to purge away the wickedness
of others; nor yet are you Theseus, able to pure away the evil
things of Attica. Clear away your own. From yourself, from your
thoughts cast away, instead of Procrustes and Sciron, sadness, fear,
desire, envy, malevolence, avarice, effeminacy, intemperance. But it
is not possible to eject these things otherwise than by looking to God
only, by fixing your affections on him only, by being consecrated to
his commands. But if you choose anything else, you will with sighs and
groans be compelled to follow what is stronger than yourself, always
seeking tranquillity and never able to find it; for you seek
tranquillity there where it is not, and you neglect to seek it where
it is.

  CHAPTER 17

  How we must adapt preconceptions to particular cases

  What is the first business of him who philosophizes? To throw away
self-conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn that
which he thinks that he knows. As to things then which ought to be
done and ought not to be done, and good and bad, and beautiful and
ugly, all of us talking of them at random go to the philosophers;
and on these matters we praise, we censure, we accuse, we blame, we
judge and determine about principles honourable and dishonourable. But
why do we go to the philosophers? Because we wish to learn what we
do not think we know. And what is this? Theorems. For we wish to learn
what philosophers say as being something elegant and acute; and some
wish to learn that they may get profit what they learn. It is
ridiculous then to think that a person wishes to learn one thing,
and will learn another; or further, that a man will make proficiency
in that which he does not learn. But the many are deceived by this
which deceived also the rhetorician Theopompus, when he blames even
Plato for wishing everything to be defined. For what does he say? "Did
none of us before you use the words 'good' or 'just,' or do we utter
the sounds in an unmeaning and empty way without understanding what
they severally signify?" Now who tells you, Theopompus, that we had
not natural notions of each of these things and preconceptions? But it
is not possible to adapt preconceptions to their correspondent objects
if we have not distinguished them, and inquired what object must be
subjected to each preconception. You may make the same charge
against physicians also. For who among us did not use the words
"healthy" and "unhealthy" before Hippocrates lived, or did we utter
these words as empty sounds? For we have also a certain
preconception of health, but we are not able to adapt it. For this
reason one says, "Abstain from food"; another says, "Give food";
another says, "Bleed"; and another says, "Use cupping." What is the
reason? is it any other than that a man cannot properly adapt the
preconception of health to particulars?

  So it is in this matter also, in the things which concern life.
Who among us does not speak of good and bad, of useful and not useful;
for who among us has not a preconception of each of these things? Is
it then a distinct and perfect preconception? Show this. How shall I
show this? Adapt the preconception properly to the particular
things. Plato, for instance, subjects definitions to the preconception
of the useful, but you to the preconception of the useless. Is it
possible then that both of you are right? How is it possible? Does not
one man adapt the preconception of good to the matter of wealth, and
another not to wealth, but to the matter of pleasure and to that of
health? For, generally, if all of us who use those words know
sufficiently each of them, and need no diligence in resolving, the
notions of the preconceptions, why do we differ, why do we quarrel,
why do we blame one another?

  And why do I now allege this contention with one another and speak
of it? If you yourself properly adapt your preconceptions, why are you
unhappy, why are you hindered? Let us omit at present the second topic
about the pursuits and the study of the duties which relate to them.
Let us omit also the third topic, which relates to the assents: I give
up to you these two topics. Let us insist upon the first, which
presents an almost obvious demonstration that we do not properly adapt
the preconceptions. Do you now desire that which is possible and
that which is possible to you? Why then are you hindered? why are
you unhappy? Do you not now try to avoid the unavoidable? Why then
do you fall in with anything which you would avoid? Why are you
unfortunate? Why, when you desire a thing, does it not happen, and,
when you do not desire it, does it happen? For this is the greatest
proof of unhappiness and misery: "I wish for something, and it does
not happen." And what is more wretched than I?

  It was because she could not endure this that Medea came to murder
her children: an act of a noble spirit in this view at least, for
she had a just opinion what it is for a thing not to succeed which a
person wishes. Then she says, "Thus I shall be avenged on him who
has wronged and insulted me; and what shall I gain if he is punished
thus? how then shall it be done? I shall kill my children, but I shall
punish myself also: and what do I care?" This is the aberration of
soul which possesses great energy. For she did not know wherein lies
the doing of that which we wish; that you cannot get this from
without, nor yet by the alteration and new adaptation of things. Do
not desire the man, and nothing which you desire will fall to
happen: do not obstinately desire that he shall live with you: do
not desire to remain in Corinth; and, in a word, desire nothing than
that which God wills. And who shall hinder you? who shall compel
you? No man shall compel you any more than he shall compel Zeus.

  When you have such a guide, and your wishes and desires are the same
as his, why do you fear disappointment? Give up your desire to
wealth and your aversion to poverty, and you will be disappointed in
the one, you will fall into the other. Well, give them up to health,
and you will be unfortunate: give them up to magistracies, honours,
country, friends, children, in a word to any of the things which are
not in man's power. But give them up to Zeus and to the rest of the
gods; surrender them to the gods, let the gods govern, let your desire
and aversion be ranged on the side of the gods, and wherein will you
be any longer unhappy? But if, lazy wretch, you envy, and complain,
and are jealous, and fear, and never cease for a single day
complaining both of yourself and of the gods, why do you still speak
of being educated? What kind of an education, man? Do you mean that
you have been employed about sophistical syllogisms? Will you not,
if it is possible, unlearn all these things and begin from the
beginning, and see at the same time that hitherto you have not even
touched the matter; and then, commencing from this foundation, will
you not build up all that comes after, so that nothing, may happen
which you do not choose, and nothing shall fail to happen which you do
choose?

  Give me one young man who has come to the school with this
intention, who is become a champion for this matter and says, "I
give up everything else, and it is enough for me if "t shall ever be
in my power to pass my life free from hindrance and free from trouble,
and to stretch out my neck to all things like a free man, and to
look up to heaven as a friend of God, and fear nothing that can
happen." Let any of you point out such a man that I may "Come, young
man, into the possession of that which is your own, it is your destiny
to adorn philosophy: yours are these possessions, yours these books,
yours these discourses." Then when he shall have laboured sufficiently
and exercised himself in this of the matter, let him come to me
again and say, "I desire to be free from passion and free from
perturbation; and I wish as a pious man and a philosopher and a
diligent person to know what is my duty to the gods, what to my
parents, what to my brothers, what to my country, what to
strangers." Come also to the second matter: this also is yours. "But I
have now sufficiently studied the second part also, and I would gladly
be secure and unshaken, and not only when I am awake, but also when
I am asleep, and when I am filled with wine, and when I am
melancholy." Man, you are a god, you have great designs.

  "No: but I wish to understand what Chrysippus says in his treatise
of the Pseudomenos." Will you not hang yourself, wretch, with such
your intention? And what good will it do you? You will read the
whole with sorrow, and you will speak to others trembling, Thus you
also do. "Do you wish me, brother, to read to you, and you to me?"
"You write excellently, my man; and you also excellently in the
style of Xenophon, and you in the style of Plato, and you in the style
of Antisthenes." Then, having told your dreams to one another, you
return to the same things: your desires are the same, your aversions
the same, your pursuits are the same, and your designs and purposes,
you wish for the same things and work for the same. In the next
place you do not even seek for one to give you advice, but you are
vexed if you hear such things. Then you say, "An ill-natured old
fellow: when I was going away, he did not weep nor did he say, 'Into
what danger you are going: if you come off safe, my child, I will burn
lights.' This is what a good-natured man would do." It will be a great
thing for you if you do return safe, and it will be worth while to
burn lights for such a person: for you ought to be immortal and exempt
from disease.

  Casting away then, as I say, this conceit of thinking that we know
something useful, we I I must come to philosophy as we apply to
geometry, and to music: but if we do not, we shall not even approach
to proficiency, though we read all the collections and commentaries of
Chrysippus and those of Antipater and Archedemus.

  CHAPTER 18

  How we should struggle against appearances

  Every habit and faculty is maintained and increased by the
corresponding actions: the habit of walking by walking, the habit of
running by running. If you would be a good reader, read; if a
writer, write. But when you shall not have read thirty days in
succession, but have done something else, you will know the
consequence. In the same way, if you shall have lain down ten days,
get up and attempt to make a long walk, and you will see how your legs
are weakened. Generally, then, if you would make anything a habit,
do it; if you would not make it a habit, do not do it, but accustom
yourself to do something else in place of it.

  So it is with respect to the affections of the soul: when you have
been angry, you must know that not only has this evil befallen you,
but that you have also increased the habit, and in a manner thrown
fuel upon fire. When you have been overcome in sexual intercourse with
a person, do not reckon this single defeat only, but reckon that you
have also nurtured, increased your incontinence. For it is
impossible for habits and faculties, some of them not to be
produced, when they did not exist before, and others not be
increased and strengthened by corresponding acts.

  In this manner certainly, as philosophers say, also diseases of
the mind grow up. For when you have once desired money, if reason be
applied to lead to a perception of the evil, the desire is stopped,
and the ruling faculty of our mind is restored to the original
authority. But if you apply no means of cure, it no longer returns
to the same state, but, being again excited by the corresponding
appearance, it is inflamed to desire quicker than before: and when
this takes place continually, it is henceforth hardened, and the
disease of the mind confirms the love of money. For he who has had a
fever, and has been relieved from it, is not in the same state that he
was before, unless he has been completely cured. Something of the kind
happens also in diseases of the soul. Certain traces and blisters
are left in it, and unless a man shall completely efface them, when he
is again lashed on the same places, the lash will produce not blisters
but sores. If then you wish not to be of an angry temper, do not
feed the habit; throw nothing on it which will increase it: at first
keep quiet, and count the days on which you have not been angry. I
used to be in passion every day; now every second day; then every
third, then every fourth. But if you have intermitted thirty days,
make a sacrifice to God. For the habit at first begins to be weakened,
and then is completely destroyed. "I have not been vexed to-day, nor
the day after, nor yet on any succeeding day during two or three
months; but I took care when some exciting things happened." Be
assured that you are in a good way. To-day when I saw a handsome
person, I did not say to myself, "I wish I could lie with her," and
"Happy is her husband"; for he who says this says, "Happy is her
adulterer also." Nor do I picture the rest to my mind; the woman
present, and stripping herself and lying down by my side. I stroke
my head and say, "Well done, Epictetus, you have solved a fine
little sophism, much finer than that which is called the master
sophism." And if even the woman is willing, and gives signs, and sends
messages, and if she also fondle me and come close to me, and I should
abstain and be victorious, that would be a sophism beyond that which
is named "The Liar," and "The Quiescent." Over such a victory as
this a man may justly be proud; not for proposing, the master sophism.

  How then shall this be done? Be willing at length to be approved
by yourself, be willing to appear beautiful to God, desire to he in
purity with your own pure self and with God. Then when any such
appearance visits you, Plato says, "Have recourse to expiations, go
a suppliant to the temples of the averting deities." It is even
sufficient if "you resort to the society of noble and just men," and
compare yourself with them, whether you find one who is living or
dead. Go to Socrates and see him lying down with Alcibiades, and
mocking his beauty: consider what a victory he at last found that he
had gained over himself; what an Olympian victory; in what number he
stood from Hercules; so that, by the Gods, one may justly salute
him, "Hail, wondrous man, you who have conquered not less these
sorry boxers and pancratiasts nor yet those who are like them, the
gladiators." By placing these objects on the other side you will
conquer the appearance: you will not be drawn away by it. But, in
the first place, be not hurried away by the rapidity of the
appearance, but say, "Appearances, wait for me a little: let me see
who you are, and what you are about: let me put you to the test."
And then do not allow the appearance to lead you on and draw lively
pictures of the things which will follow; for if you do, it will carry
you off wherever it pleases. But rather bring in to oppose it some
other beautiful and noble appearance and cast out this base
appearance. And if you are accustomed to be exercised in this way, you
will see what shoulders, what sinews, what strength you have. But
now it is only trifling words, and nothing more.

  This is the true athlete, the man who exercises himself against such
appearances. Stay, wretch, do not be carried away. Great is the
combat, divine is the work; it is for kingship, for freedom, for
happiness, for freedom from perturbation. Remember God: call on him as
a helper and protector, as men at sea call on the Dioscuri in a storm.
For what is a greater storm than that which comes from appearances
which are violent and drive away the reason? For the storm itself,
what else is it but an appearance? For take away the fear of death,
and suppose as many thunders and lightnings as you please, and you
will know what calm and serenity there is in the ruling faculty. But
if you have once been defeated and say that you will conquer
hereafter, then say the same again, be assured that you at last be
in so wretched a condition and so weak that you will not even know
afterward that you are doing wrong, but you will even begin to make
apologies for your wrongdoing, and then you will confirm the saying of
Hesiod to be true,

     With constant ills the dilatory strives.

  CHAPTER 19

  Against those who embrace, philosophical opinions only in words

  The argument called the "ruling argument" appears to have been
proposed from such principles as these: there is in fact a common
contradiction between one another in these three positions, each two
being in contradiction to the third. The propositions are, that
everything past must of necessity be true; that an impossibility
does not follow a possibility; and that thing is possible which
neither is nor t at a t will be true. Diodorus observing this
contradiction employed the probative force of the first two for the
demonstration of this proposition, "That nothing is possible which
is not true and never will be." Now another will hold these two: "That
something is possible, which is neither true nor ever will be": and
"That an impossibility does not follow a possibility," But he will not
allow that everything which is past is necessarily true, as the
followers of Cleanthes seem to think, and Antipater copiously defended
them. But others maintain the other two propositions, "That a thing is
possible which is neither true nor will he true": and "That everything
which is past is necessarily true"; but then they will maintain that
an impossibility can follow a possibility. But it is impossible to
maintain these three propositions, because of their common
contradiction.

  If then any man should ask me which of these propositions do I
maintain? I will answer him that I do not know; but I have received
this story, that Diodorus maintained one opinion, the followers of
Panthoides, I think, and Cleanthes maintained another opinion, and
those of Chrysippus a third. "What then is your opinion?" I was not
made for this purpose, to examine the appearances that occur to me and
to compare what others say and to form an opinion of my own on the
thing. Therefore I differ not at all from the grammarian. "Who was
Hector's father?" Priam. "Who were his brothers?" Alexander and
Deiphobus. "Who was their mother?" Hecuba. I have heard this story.
"From whom?" From Homer. And Hellanicus also, I think, writes about
the same things, and perhaps others like him. And what further have
I about the ruling argument? Nothing. But, if I am a vain man,
especially at a banquet, I surprise the guests by enumerating those
who have written on these matters. Both Chrysippus has written
wonderfully in his first book about "Possibilities," and Cleanthes has
written specially on the subject, and Archedemus. Antipater also has
written not only in his work about "Possibilities," but also
separately in his work on the ruling argument. Have you not read the
work? "I have not read it." Read. And what profit will a man have from
it? he will be more trifling and impertinent than he is now; for
what else have you rained by reading it? What opinion have you
formed on this subject? none; but you will tell us of Helen and Priam,
and the island of Calypso which never was and never will be. And in
this matter indeed it is of no great importance if you retain the
story, but have formed no opinion of your own. But in matters of
morality this happens to us much more than in these things of which we
are speaking.

  "Speak to me about good and evil." Listen:

     The wind from Ilium to Ciconian shores

     Brought me.

"Of things some are good, some are bad, and others are indifferent.
The good then are the virtues and the things which partake of the
virtues; the bad are the vices, and the things which partake of
them; and the indifferent are the things which lie between the virtues
and the vices, wealth, health, life, death, pleasure, pain." Whence do
you know this? "Hellanicus says it in his Egyptian history"; for
what difference does it make to say this, or to say that "Diogenes has
it in his Ethic," or Chrysippus or Cleanthes? Have you then examined
any of these things and formed an opinion of your own? Show how you
are used to behave in a storm on shipboard? Do you remember this
division, when the sail rattles and a man, who knows nothing of
times and seasons, stands by you when you are screaming and says,
"Tell me, I ask you by the Gods, what you were saying just now. Is
it a vice to suffer shipwreck: does it participate in vice?" Will
you not take up a stick and lay it on his head? What have we to do
with you, man? we are perishing and you come to mock us? But if Caesar
sent for you to answer a charge, do you remember the distinction?
If, when you are going in, pale and trembling, a person should come up
to you and say, "Why do you tremble, man? what is the matter about
which you are engaged? Does Caesar who sits within give virtue and
vice to those who go in to him?" You reply, "Why do you also mock me
and add to my present sorrows?" Still tell me, philosopher, tell me
why you tremble? Is it not death of which you run the risk, or a
prison, or pain of the body, or banishment, or disgrace? What else
is there? Is there any vice or anything which partakes of vice? What
then did you use to say of these things? "What have you to do with me,
man? my own evils are enough for me." And you say right. Your own
evils are enough for you, your baseness, your cowardice, your boasting
which you showed when you sat in the school. Why did you decorate
yourself with what belonged to others? Why did you call yourself a
Stoic?

  Observe yourselves thus in your actions, and you will find to what
sect you belong. You will find that most of you are Epicureans, a
few Peripatetics, and those feeble. For wherein will you show that you
really consider virtue equal to everything else or even superior?
But show me a Stoic, if you can. Where or how? But you can show me
an endless number who utter small arguments of the Stoics. For do
the same persons repeat the Epicurean opinions any worse? And the
Peripatetic, do they not handle them also with equal accuracy? who
then is a Stoic? As we call a statue Phidiac which is fashioned
according to the art of Phidias; so show me a man who is fashioned
according to the doctrines which he utters. Show me a man who is
sick and happy, in danger and happy, dying and happy, in exile and
happy, in disgrace and happy. Show him: I desire, by the gods, to
see a Stoic. You cannot show me one fashioned so; but show me at least
one who is forming, who has shown a tendency to be a Stoic. Do me this
favor: do not grudge an old man seeing a sight which I have not seen
yet. Do you think that you must show me the Zeus of Phidias or the
Athena, a work of ivory and gold? Let any of you show me a human
soul ready to think as God does, and not to blame either God or man,
ready not to be disappointed about anything, not to consider himself
damaged by anything, not to be angry, not to be envious, not to be
jealous; and why should I not say it direct? desirous from a man to
become a god, and in this poor mortal body thinking of his
fellowship with Zeus. Show me the man. But you cannot. Why then do you
delude yourselves and cheat others? and why do you put on a guise
which does not belong to you, and walk about being thieves and
pilferers of these names and things which do not belong to you?

  And now I am your teacher, and you are instructed in my school.
And I have this purpose, to make you free from restraint,
compulsion, hindrance, to make you free, prosperous, happy, looking to
God in everything small and great. And you are here to learn and
practice these things. Why, then, do you not finish the work, if you
also have such a purpose as you ought to have, and if I, in addition
to the purpose, also have such qualification as I ought to have?
What is that which is wanting? When I see an artificer and material by
him, I expect the work. Here, then, is the artificer, here the
material; what is it that we want? Is not the thing, one that can be
taught? It is. Is it not then in our power? The only thing of all that
is in our power. Neither wealth is in our power, nor health, nor
reputation, nor in a word anything else except the right use of
appearances. This is by nature free from restraint, this alone is free
from impediment. Why then do you not finish the work? Tell me the
reason. For it is either through my fault that you do not finish it,
or through your own fault, or through the nature of the thing. The
thing itself is possible, and the only thing in our power. It
remains then that the fault is either in me or in you, or, what is
nearer the truth, in both. Well then, are you willing that we begin at
last to bring such a purpose into this school, and to take no notice
of the past? Let us only make a beginning. Trust to me, and you will
see.

  CHAPTER 20

  Against the Epicureans and Academics

  The propositions which are true and evident are of necessity used
even by those who contradict them: and a man might perhaps consider it
to be the greatest proof of a thing being evident that it is found
to be necessary even for him who denies it to make use of it at the
same time. For instance, if a man should deny that there is anything
universally true, it is plain that he must make the contradictory
negation, that nothing is universally true. What, wretch, do you not
admit even this? For what else is this than to affirm that whatever is
universally affirmed is false? Again, if a man should come forward and
say: "Know that there is nothing that can be known, but all things are
incapable of sure evidence"; or if another say, "Believe me and you
will be the better for it, that a man ought not to believe
anything"; or again, if another should say, "Learn from me, man,
that it is not possible to learn anything; I tell you this and will
teach you, if you choose." Now in what respect do these differ from
those? Whom shall I name? Those who call themselves Academics? "Men,
agree that no man agrees: believe us that no man believes anybody."

  Thus Epicurus also, when he designs to destroy the natural
fellowship of mankind, at the same time makes use of that which he
destroys. For what does he say? "Be not deceived men, nor be led
astray, nor be mistaken: there is no natural fellowship among rational
animals; believe me. But those who say otherwise, deceive you and
seduce you by false reasons." What is this to you? Permit us to be
deceived. Will you fare worse, if all the rest of us are persuaded
that there is a natural fellowship among us, and that it ought by
all means to be preserved? Nay, it will be much better and safer for
you. Man, why do you trouble yourself about us? Why do you keep
awake for us? Why do you light your lamp? Why do you rise early? Why
do you write so many books, that no one of us may be deceived about
the gods and believe that they take care of men; or that no one may
suppose the nature of good to be other than pleasure? For if this is
so, lie down and sleep, and lead the life of a worm, of which you
judged yourself worthy: eat and drink, and enjoy women, and ease
yourself, and snore. And what is it to you, how the rest shall think
about these things, whether right or wrong? For what have we to do
with you? You take care of sheep because they supply us with wool, and
milk, and, last of all, with their flesh. Would it not be a
desirable thing if men could be lulled and enchanted by the Stoics,
and sleep and present themselves to you and to those like you to be
shorn and milked? For this you ought to say to your brother
Epicureans: but ought you not to conceal it from others, and
particularly before everything to persuade them that we are by
nature adapted for fellowship, that temperance is a good thing; in
order that all things may be secured for you? Or ought we to
maintain this fellowship with some and not with others? With whom,
then, ought we to maintain it? With such as on their part also
maintain it, or with such as violate this fellowship? And who
violate it more than you who establish such doctrines?

  What then was it that waked Epicurus from his sleepiness, and
compelled him to write what he did write? What else was it than that
which is the strongest thing in men, nature, which draws a man to
her own will though he be unwilling and complaining? "For since,"
she says, "you think that there is no community among mankind, write
this opinion and leave it for others, and break your sleep to do this,
and by your own practice condemn your own opinions." Shall we then say
that Orestes was agitated by the Erinyes and roused from his deep
sleep, and did not more savage Erinyes and Pains rouse Epicurus from
his sleep and not allow him to rest, but compelled him to make known
his own evils, as madness and wine did the Galli? So strong and
invincible is man's nature. For how can a vine be moved not in the
mariner of a vine, but in the manner of an olive tree? or on the other
hand how can an olive tree be moved not in the manner of an olive
tree, but in the manner of a vine? It is impossible: it cannot be
conceived. Neither then is it possible for a man completely to lose
the movements of a man; and even those who are deprived of their
genital members are not able to deprive themselves of man's desires.
Thus Epicurus also mutilated all the offices of a man, and of a father
of a family, and of a citizen and of a friend, but he did not mutilate
human desires, for he could not; not more than the lazy Academics
can cast away or blind their own senses, though they have tried with
all their might to do it. What a shame is this? when a man has
received from nature measures and rules for the knowing of truth,
and does not strive to add to these measures and rules and to
improve them, but, just the contrary, endeavors to take away and
destroy whatever enables us to discern the truth?

  What say you philosopher? piety and sanctity, what do you think that
they are? "If you like, I will demonstrate that they are good things."
Well, demonstrate it, that our citizens may be turned and honor the
deity and may no longer be negligent about things of the highest
value. "Have you then the demonstrations?" I have, and I am
thankful. "Since then you are well pleased with them, hear the
contrary: 'That there are no Gods, and, if there are, they take no
care of men, nor is there any fellowship between us and them; and that
this piety and sanctity which is talked of among most men is the lying
of boasters and sophists, or certainly of legislators for the
purpose of terrifying and checking wrong-doers.'" Well done,
philosopher, you have done something for our citizens, you have
brought back all the young men to contempt of things divine. "What
then, does not this satisfy you? Learn now, that justice is nothing,
that modesty is folly, that a father is nothing, a son nothing."
Well done, philosopher, persist, persuade the young men, that we may
have more with the same opinions as you who say the same as you.
From such you an principles as those have grown our well-constituted
states; by these was Sparta founded: Lycurgus fixed these opinions
in the Spartans by his laws and education, that neither is the servile
condition more base than honourable, nor the condition of free men
more honorable than base, and that those who died at Thermopylae
died from these opinions; and through what other opinions did the
Athenians leave their city? Then those who talk thus, marry and
beget children, and employ themselves in public affairs and make
themselves priests and interpreters. Of whom? of gods who do not
exist: and they consult the Pythian priestess that they may hear lies,
and they repeat the oracles to others. Monstrous impudence and
imposture.

  Man what are you doing? are you refuting yourself every day; and
will you not give up these frigid attempts? When you eat, where do you
carry your hand to? to your mouth or to your eye? when you wash
yourself, what do you go into? do you ever call a pot a dish, or a
ladle a spit? If I were a slave of any of these men, even if I must be
flayed by him dally, I would rack him. If he said, "Boy, throw some
olive-oil into the bath," I would take pickle sauce and pour it down
on his head. "What is this?" he would say. An appearance was presented
to me, I swear by your genius, which could not be distinguished from
oil and was exactly like it. "Here give me the barley drink," he says.
I would fill and carry him a dish of sharp sauce. "Did I not ask for
the barley drink?" Yes, master; this is the barley drink. "Take it and
smell; take it and taste." How do you know then if our senses
deceive us? If I had three or four fellow-slaves of the same
opinion, I should force him to hang himself through passion or to
change his mind. But now they mock us by using all the things which
nature gives, and in words destroying them.

  Grateful indeed are men and modest, who, if they do nothing else,
are daily eating bread and yet are shameless enough to say, we do
not know if there is a Demeter or her daughter Persephone or a
Pluto; not to mention that they are enjoying the night and the day,
the seasons of the year, and the stars, and the sea, and the land, and
the co-operation of mankind, and yet they are not moved in any
degree by these things to turn their attention to them; but they
only seek to belch out their little problem, and when they have
exercised their stomach to go off to the bath. But what they shall
say, and about what things or to what persons, and what their
hearers shall learn from this talk, they care not even in the least
degree, nor do they care if any generous youth after hearing such talk
should suffer any harm from it, nor after he has suffered harm
should lose all the seeds of his generous nature: nor if we should
give an adulterer help toward being shameless in his acts; nor if a
public peculator should lay hold of some cunning excuse from these
doctrines; nor if another who neglects his parents should be confirmed
in his audacity by this teaching. What then in your opinion is good or
bad? This or that? Why then should a man say any more in reply to such
persons as these, or give them any reason or listen to any reasons
from them, or try to convince them? By Zeus one might much sooner
expect to make certainties change their mind than those who are become
so deaf and blind to their own evils.

  CHAPTER 21

  Of inconsistency

  Some things men readily confess, and other things they do not. No
one then will confess that he is a fool or without understanding; but,
quite the contrary, you will hear all men saying, "I wish that I had
fortune equal to my understanding." But readily confess that they
are timid, and they say: "I am rather timid, I confess; but to other
respects you will not find me to foolish." A man will not readily
confess that he is intemperate; and that he is unjust he will not
confess at all. He will by no means confess that be is envious or a
busybody. Most men will confess that they are compassionate. What then
is the reason? The chief thing is inconsistency and confusion in the
things which relate to good and evil. But different men have different
reasons; and generally what they imagine to be base, they do not
confess at all. But they suppose timidity to be a characteristic of
a good disposition, and compassion also; but silliness to be the
absolute characteristic of a slave. And they do not at all admit the
things which are offenses against society. But in the case of most
errors, for this reason chiefly, they are induced to confess them,
because they that there is something involuntary in them as in
timidity and compassion; and if a man confess that he is in any
respect intemperate, he alleges love as an excuse for what is
involuntary. But men do not imagine injustice to be at all There is
also in jealousy, as they suppose, something involuntary; and for this
reason they confess to jealousy also.

  Living among such men, who are so confused so ignorant of what
they say, and of evils which they have or have not, and why they
have them, or how they shall be relieved of them, I think it is
worth the trouble for a man to watch constantly "Whether I also am one
of them, what imagination I have about myself, how I conduct myself,
whether I conduct myself as a prudent man, whether I conduct myself as
a temperate man, whether I ever say this, that I have been taught to
be prepared for everything that may happen. Have I the
consciousness, which a man who knows nothing ought to have, that I
know nothing? Do I go to my teacher as men go to oracles, prepared
to obey? or do I like a sniveling boy go to my school to learn history
and understand the books which I did not understand before, and, if it
should happen so, to explain them also to others?" Man, you have had a
fight in the house with a poor slave, you have turned the family
upside down, you have frightened the neighbours, and you come to me as
if you were a wise man, and you take your seat and judge how I have
explained some word, and how I have babbled whatever came into my
head. You come full of envy, and humbled, because you bring nothing
from home; and you sit during, the discussion thinking of nothing else
than how your father is disposed toward you and your brother. "What
are they saying about me there? now they think that I am improving,
and are saying, 'He will return with all knowledge.' I wish I could
learn everything before I return: but much labour is necessary, and no
one sends me anything, and the baths at Nicopolis are dirty;
everything is bad at home, and bad here."

  Then they say, "No one gains any profit from the school." Why, who
comes to the school, who comes for the purpose of being improved?
who comes to present his opinions to he purified? who comes to learn
what he is in want of? Why do you wonder then if you carry back from
the school the very things which you bring into it? For you come not
to lay aside or to correct them or to receive other principles in
place of them. By no means, nor anything like it. You rather look to
this, whether you possess already that for which you come. You wish to
prattle about theorems? What then? Do you not become greater triflers?
Do not your little theorems give you some opportunity of display?
You solve sophistical syllogisms. Do you not examine the assumptions
of the syllogism named "The Liar"? Do you not examine hypothetical
syllogisms? Why, then, are you still vexed if you receive the things
for which you come to the school? "Yes; but if my child die or my
brother, or if I must die or be racked, what good will these things do
me?" Well, did you come for this? for this do you sit by my side?
did you ever for this light your lamp or keep awake? or, when you went
out to the walking-place, did you ever propose any appearance that had
been presented to you instead of a syllogism, and did you and your
friends discuss it together? Where and when? Then you say, "Theorems
are useless." To whom? To such as make a bad use of them. For
eyesalves are not useless to those who use them as they ought and when
they ought. Fomentations are not useless. Dumb-bells are not
useless; but they are useless to some, useful to others. If you ask me
now if syllogisms are useful, I will tell you that they are useful,
and if you choose, I will prove it. "How then will they in any way
be useful to me?" Man, did you ask if they are useful to you, or did
you ask generally? Let him who is suffering from dysentery ask me if
vinegar is useful: I will say that it is useful. "Will it then be
useful to me?" I will say, "No." Seek first for the discharge to be
stopped and the ulcers to be closed. And do you, O men, first cure the
ulcers and stop the discharge; be tranquil in your mind, bring it free
from distraction into the school, and you will know what power
reason has.

  CHAPTER 22

  On friendship

  What a man applies himself to earnestly, that he naturally loves. Do
men then apply themselves earnestly to the things which are bad? By no
means. Well, do they apply themselves to things which in no way
concern themselves? Not to these either. It remains, then, that they
employ themselves earnestly only about things which are good; and if
they are earnestly employed about things, they love such things
also. Whoever, then, understands what is good, can also know how to
love; but he who cannot distinguish good from bad, and things which
are neither good nor bad from both, can he possess the power of
loving? To love, then, is only in the power of the wise.

  "How is this?" a man may say; am foolish, and yet love my child."
I am surprised indeed that you have begun by making the admission that
you are foolish. For what are you deficient in? Can you not make use
of your senses? do you not distinguish appearances? do you not use
food which is suitable for your body, and clothing and habitation? Why
then do you admit that you are foolish? It is in truth because you are
often disturbed by appearances and perplexed, and their power of
persuasion often conquers you; and sometimes you think these things to
be good, and then the same things to be bad, and lastly neither good
nor bad; and in short you grieve, fear, envy, are disturbed, you are
changed. This is the reason why you confess that you are foolish.
And are you not changeable in love? But wealth, and pleasure and, in a
word, things themselves, do you sometimes think them to he good and
sometimes bad? and do you not think the same men at one time to be
good, at another time bad? and have you not at one time a friendly
feeling toward them and at another time the feeling of an enemy? and
do you not at one time praise them and at another time blame them?
"Yes; I have these feelings also." Well then, do you think that he who
has been deceived about a man is his friend? "Certainly not." And he
who has selected a man as his friend and is of a changeable
disposition, has he good-will toward him? "He has not." And he who now
abuses a man, and afterward admires him? "This man also has no
good-will to the other." Well then, did you never see little dogs
caressing and playing with one another, so that you might say there is
nothing more friendly? but, that you may know what friendship is,
throw a bit of flesh among them, and you will learn. Throw between
yourself and your son a little estate, and you will know how soon he
will wish to bury you and how soon you wish your son to die. Then
you will change your tone and say, "What a son I have brought up! He
has long been wishing to bury me." Throw a smart girl between you; and
do you, the old man, love her, and the young one will love her too, If
a little fame intervene, or dangers, it will be just the same. You
will utter the words of the father of Admetus!

     Life gives you pleasure: and why not your father.

Do you think that Admetus did not love his own child when he was
little? that he was not in agony when the child had a fever? that he
did not often say, "I wish I had the fever instead of the child?" then
when the test (the thing) came and was near, see what words they
utter. Were not Eteocles and Polynices from the same mother and from
the same father? Were they not brought up together, had they not lived
together, drunk together, slept together, and often kissed one
another? So that, if any man, I think, had seen them, he would have
ridiculed the philosophers for the paradoxes which they utter about
friendship. But when a quarrel rose between them about the royal
power, as between dogs about a bit of meat, see what they say,

   Polynices: Where will you take your station before the towers?

   Eteocles: Why do you ask me this?

   Pol. I place myself opposite and try to kill you.

   Et. I also wish to do the same.

Such are the wishes that they utter.

  For universally, be not deceived, every animal is attached to
nothing so much as to its own interest. Whatever then appears to it an
impediment to this interest, whether this be a brother, or a father,
or a child, or beloved, or lover, it hates, spurns, curses: for its
nature is to love nothing so much as its own interest; this is father,
and brother and kinsman, and country, and God. When, then, the gods
appear to us to be an impediment to this, we abuse them and throw down
their statues and burn their temples, as Alexander ordered the temples
of AEsculapius to be burned when his dear friend died.

  For this reason if a man put in the same place his interest,
sanctity, goodness, and country, and parents, and friends, all these
are secured: but if he puts in one place his interest, in another
his friends, and his country and his kinsmen and justice itself, all
these give way being borne down by the weight of interest. For where
the "I" and the "Mine" are placed, to that place of necessity the
animal inclines: if in the flesh, there is the ruling power: if in the
will, it is there: and if it is in externals, it is there. If then I
am there where my will is, then only shall I be a friend such as I
ought to be, and son, and father; for this will he my interest, to
maintain the character of fidelity, of modesty, of patience, of
abstinence, of active cooperation, of observing my relations. But if I
put myself in one place, and honesty in another, then the doctrine
of Epicurus becomes strong, which asserts either that there is no
honesty or it is that which opinion holds to be honest.

  It was through this ignorance that the Athenians and the
Lacedaemonians quarreled, and the Thebans with both; and the great
king quarreled with Hellas, and the Macedonians with both; and the
Romans with the Getae. And still earlier the Trojan war happened for
these reasons. Alexander was the guest of Menelaus; and if any man had
seen their friendly disposition, he would not have believed any one
who said that they were not friends. But there was cast between them a
bit of meat, a handsome woman, and about her war arose. And now when
you see brothers to be friends appearing to have one mind, do not
conclude from this anything about their friendship, not even if they
say it and swear that it is impossible for them to be separated from
one another. For the ruling principle of a bad man cannot be
trusted, it is insecure, has no certain rule by which it is
directed, and is overpowered at different times by different
appearances. But examine, not what other men examine, if they are born
of the same parents  and brought up together, and under the same
pedagogue; but examine this only, wherein they place their interest,
whether in externals or in the will. If in externals, do not name them
friends, no more than name them trustworthy or constant, or brave or
free: do not name them even men, if you have any judgment. For that is
not a principle of human nature which makes them bite one another, and
abuse one another, and occupy deserted places or public places, as
if they were mountains, and in the courts of justice display the
acts of robbers; nor yet that which makes them intemperate and
adulterers and corrupters, nor that which makes them do whatever
else men do against one another through this one opinion only, that of
placing themselves and their interests in the things which are not
within the power of their will. But if you hear that in truth these
men think the good to be only there, where will is, and where there is
a right use of appearances, no longer trouble yourself whether they
are father or son, or brothers, or have associated a long time and are
companions, but when you have ascertained this only, confidently
declare that they are friends, as you declare that they are
faithful, that they are just. For where else is friendship than
where there is fidelity, and modesty, where there is a communion of
honest things and of nothing else?

  "But," you may say, "such a one treated me with regard so long;
and did he not love me?" How do you know, slave, if he did not
regard you in the same way as he wipes his shoes with a sponge, or
as he takes care of his beast? How do you know, when you have ceased
to be useful as a vessel, he will not throw you away like a broken
platter? "But this woman is my wife, and we have lived together so
long." And how long did Eriphyle live with Amphiaraus, and was the
mother of children and of many? But a necklace came between them. "And
what is a necklace?" It is the opinion about such things. That was the
bestial principle, that was the thing which broke asunder the
friendship between husband and wife, that which did not allow the
woman to be a wife nor the mother to be a mother. And let every man
among you who has seriously resolved either to be a friend himself
or to have another for his friend, cut out these opinions, hate
them, drive them from his soul. And thus, first of all, he will not
reproach himself, he will not be at variance with himself, will not
change his mind, he will not torture himself. In the next place, to
another also, who is like himself, he will be altogether and
completely a friend. But he will bear with the man who is unlike
himself, he will be kind to him, gentle, ready to pardon on account of
his ignorance, on account of his being mistaken in things of the
greatest importance; but he will be harsh to no man, being well
convinced of Plato's doctrine that every mind is deprived of truth
unwillingly. If you cannot do this, yet you can do in all other
respects as friends do, drink together, and lodge together, and sail
together, and you may be born of the same parents; for snakes also
are: but neither will they be friends nor you, so long as you retain
these bestial and cursed opinions.

  CHAPTER 23

  On the power of speaking

  Every man will read a book with more pleasure or even with more
case, if it is written in fairer characters. Therefore every man
will also listen more readily to what is spoken, if it is signified by
appropriate and becoming words. We must not say, then, that there is
no faculty of expression: for this affirmation is the characteristic
of an impious and also of a timid man. Of an impious man, because he
undervalues the gifts which come from God, just as if he would take
away the commodity of the power of vision, or of hearing, or of
seeing. Has, then, God given you eyes to no purpose? and to no purpose
has he infused into them a spirit so strong and of such skillful
contrivance as to reach a long way and to fashion the forms of
things which are seen? What messenger is so swift and vigilant? And to
no purpose has he made the interjacent atmosphere so efficacious and
elastic that the vision penetrates through the atmosphere which is
in a manner moved? And to no purpose has he made light, without the
presence of which there would be no use in any other thing?

  Man, be neither ungrateful for these gifts nor yet forget the things
which are superior to them. But indeed for the power of seeing and
hearing, and indeed for life itself, and for the things which
contribute to support it, for the fruits which are dry, and for wine
and oil give thanks to God: but remember that he has given you
something else better than all these, I mean the power of using
them, proving them and estimating the value of each. For what is
that which gives information about each of these powers, what each
of them is worth? Is it each faculty itself? Did you ever hear the
faculty of vision saying anything about itself? or the faculty of
hearing? or wheat, or barley, or a horse or a dog? No; but they are
appointed as ministers and slaves to serve the faculty which has the
power of making use of the appearances of things. And if you inquire
what is the value of each thing, of whom do you inquire? who answers
you? How then can any other faculty be more powerful than this,
which uses the rest as ministers and itself proves each and pronounces
about them? for which of them knows what itself is, and what is its
own value? which of them knows when it ought to employ itself and when
not? what faculty is it which opens and closes the eyes, and turns
them away from objects to which it ought not to apply them and does
apply them to other objects? Is it the faculty of vision? No; but it
is the faculty of the will. What is that faculty which closes and
opens the ears? what is that by which they are curious and
inquisitive, or, on the contrary, unmoved by what is said? is it the
faculty of hearing? It is no other than the faculty of the will.
Will this faculty then, seeing that it is amid all the other faculties
which are blind and dumb and unable to see anything else except the
very acts for which they are appointed in order to minister to this
and serve it, but this faculty alone sees sharp and sees what is the
value of each of the rest; will this faculty declare to us that
anything else is the best, or that itself is? And what else does the
do when it is opened than see? But whether we ought to look on the
wife of a certain person, and in what manner, who tells us? The
faculty of the will. And whether we ought to believe what is said or
not to believe it, and if we do believe, whether we ought to be
moved by it or not, who tells us? Is it not the faculty of the will?
But this faculty of speaking and of ornamenting words, if there is
indeed any such peculiar faculty, what else does it do, when there
happens to be discourse about a thing, than to ornament the words
and arrange them as hairdressers do the hair? But whether it is better
to speak or to be silent, and better to speak in this way or that way,
and whether this is becoming or not becoming and the season for each
and the and the use, what else tells us than the faculty of the
will? Would you have it then to come forward and condemn itself?

  "What then," it says, "if the fact is so, can that which ministers
be superior to that to which it ministers, can the horse be superior
to the rider, or the do, to the huntsman, or the instrument to the
musician, or the servants to the king?" What is that which makes use
of the rest? The will. What takes care of all? The will. What destroys
the whole man, at one time by hunger, at another time by hanging,
and at another time by a precipice? The will. Then is anything
stronger in men than this? and how is it possible that the things
which are subject to restraint are stronger than that which is not
What things are naturally formed to hinder the faculty of vision? Both
will and things which do not depend on the faculty of the will. It
is the same with the faculty of hearing, with the faculty of
speaking in like manner. But what has a natural power of hindering the
will? Nothing which is independent of the will; but only the will
itself, when it is perverted. Therefore this is alone vice or alone
virtue.

  Then being so great a faculty and set over all the rest, let it come
forward and tell us that the most excellent of all things is the
flesh. Not even if the flesh itself declared that it is the most
excellent, would any person bear that it should say this. But what
is it, Epicurus, which pronounces this, which wrote about "The End
of our Being," which wrote on "The Nature of Things," which wrote
about the Canon, which led you to wear a beard, which wrote when it
was dying that it was spending the last and a happy day? Was this
the flesh or the will? Then do you admit that you possess anything
superior to this? and are you not mad? are you in fact so blind and
deaf?

  What then? Does any man despise the other faculties I hope not. Does
any man say that there is no use or excellence in the speaking
faculty? I hope not. That would be foolish, impious, ungrateful toward
God. But a man renders to each thing its due value. For there is
some use even in an ass, but not so much as in an ox: there is also
use in a dog, but not so much as in a slave: there is also some use in
a slave, but not so much as in citizens: there is also some use in
citizens, but riot so much as in magistrates. Not, indeed, because
some things are superior, must we undervalue the use which other
things have. There is a certain value in the power of speaking, but it
is not so great as the power of the will. When, then, I speak thus,
let no man think that I ask you to neglect the power of speaking,
for neither do I ask you to neglect the eyes, nor the ears nor the
hands nor the feet nor clothing nor shoes. But if you ask me, "What,
then, is the most excellent of all things?" what must I say? I
cannot say the power of speaking, but the power of the will, when it
is right. For it is this which uses the other, and all the other
faculties both small and great. For when this faculty of the will is
set right, a man who is not good becomes good: but when it falls, a
man becomes bad. It is through this that we are unfortunate, that we
are fortunate, that we blame one another, are pleased with one
another. In a word, it is this which if neglect it makes
unhappiness, and if we carefully look after it makes happiness.

  But to take away the faculty of speaking, and to say that there is
no such faculty in reality, is the act not only of an ungrateful man
toward those who gave it, but also of a cowardly man: for such a
person seems to me to fear if there is any faculty of this kind,
that we shall not be able to despise it. Such also are those who say
that there is no difference between beauty and ugliness. Then it would
happen that a man would be affected in the same way if he saw
Thersites and if he saw Achilles; in the same way, if he saw Helen and
any other woman. But these are foolish and clownish notions, and the
notions of men who know not the nature of each thing, but are
afraid, if a man shall see the difference, that he shall immediately
be seized and carried off vanquished. But this is the great matter; to
leave to each thing the power which it has, and leaving to it this
power to see what is the worth of the power, and to learn what is
the most excellent of all things, and to pursue this always, to be
diligent about this, considering t all other things of secondary value
compared with this, but yet, as far as we can, not neglecting all
those other things. For we must take care of the eyes also, not as
if they were the most excellent thing, but we must take care of them
on account of the most excellent thing, because it will not be in
its true natural condition, if it does not rightly use the other
faculties, and prefer some things to others.

  What then is usually done? Men generally act as a traveler would
do on his way to his own country, when he enters a good inn, and being
pleased with it should remain there. Man, you have forgotten your
purpose: you were not traveling to this inn, but you were pass through
it. "But this is a pleasant inn." And how many other inns are
pleasant? and how many meadows are pleasant? yet only passing through.
But your purpose is this, return to your country, to relieve your
kinsmen of anxiety, to discharge the duties of a citizen, to marry, to
beget children, to fill the usual magistracies. For you are not come
to select more pleasant places, but to live in these where you were
born and of which you were made a citizen. Something of the kind takes
place in the matter which we are considering. Since, by the aid of
speech and such communication as you receive here, you must advance to
perfection, and purge your will, and correct the faculty which makes
use of the appearances of things; and since it is necessary also for
the teaching of theorems to be effected by a certain mode of
expression and with a certain variety and sharpness, some persons
captivated by these very things abide in them, one captivated by the
expression, another by syllogisms, another again by sophisms, and
still another by some other inn of the kind; and there they stay and
waste away as if they were among Sirens.

  Man, your purpose was to make yourself capable of using
conformably to nature the appearances presented to you, in your
desires not to be frustrated, in your aversion from things not to fall
into that which you would avoid, never to have no luck, nor ever to
have bad luck, to be free, not hindered, not compelled, conforming
yourself to the administration of Zeus, obeying it, well satisfied
with this, blaming no one, charging no one with fault, able from
your whole soul to utter these verses:

     "Lead me, O Zeus, and thou, too, Destiny."

Then having this purpose before you, if some little form of expression
pleases you, if some theorems please you, do you abide among them
and choose t dwell o well there, forgetting the things at home, and do
you say, "These things are fine"? Who says that they are not fine? but
only as being a way home, as inns are. For what hinders you from being
an unfortunate man, even if you speak like Demosthenes? and what
prevents you, if you can resolve syllogisms like Chrysippus, from
being wretched, from sorrowing, from envying, in a word, from being
disturbed, from being unhappy? Nothing. You see then that these were
inns, worth nothing; and that the purpose before you was something
else. When I speak thus to some persons, they think that I am
rejecting care about speaking, or care about theorems. I am not
rejecting this care, but I am rejecting the abiding about these things
incessantly and putting our hopes in them. If a man by this teaching
does harm to those who listen to him, reckon me too among those who do
this harm: for I am not able, when I see one thing which is most
excellent and supreme, to say that another is so, in order to please
you.

  CHAPTER 24

  To a person who was one of those who was not valued by him

  A certain person said to him: "Frequently I desired to hear you
and came to you, and you never gave me any answer: and now, if it is
possible, I entreat you to say something to me." Do you think, said
Epictetus, that as there is an art in anything else, so there is
also an art in speaking, and that he who has the art, will speak
skillfully, and he who has not, will speak unskillfully? "I do think
so." He, then, who by speaking receives benefit himself and is able to
benefit others, will speak skillfully: but he who is rather damaged by
speaking and does damage to others, will he be unskilled in this art
of speaking? And you may find that some are damaged and others
benefited by speaking. And are all who hear benefited by what they
hear? Or will you find that among them also some are benefited and
some damaged? "There are both among these also," he said. In this case
also, then, those who hear skillfully are benefited, and those who
hear unskillfully are damaged? He admitted this. Is there then a skill
in hearing also, as there is in speaking? "It seems so." If you
choose, consider the matter in this way also. The practice of music,
to whom does it belong? "To a musician." And the proper making of a
statue, to whom do you think that it belongs? "To a statuary." And the
looking at a statue skillfully, does this appear to you to require the
aid of no art? "This also requires the aid of art." Then if speaking
properly is the business of the skillful man, do you see that to
hear also with benefit is the business of the skillful man? Now as
to speaking and hearing perfectly, and usefully, let us for the
present, if you please, say no more, for both of us are a long way
from everything of the kind. But I think that every man will allow
this, that he who is going to hear philosophers requires some amount
of practice in hearing. Is it not so?

  Tell me then about what I should talk to you: about what matter
are you able to listen? "About good and evil." Good and evil in
what? In a horse? "No." Well, in an ox? "No." What then? In a man?
"Yes." Do know then what a man is, what the notion is that we have
of him, or have we our ears in any degree practiced about this matter?
But do you understand what nature is? or can you even in any degree
understand me when I say, "I shall use demonstration to you?" How?
Do you understand this very thing, what demonstration is, or how
anything is demonstrated, or by what means; or what things are like
demonstration, but are not demonstration? Do you know what is true
or what is false? What is consequent on a thing, what is repugnant
to a thing, or not consistent, or inconsistent? But must I excite
you to philosophy, and how? Shall I show to you the repugnance in
the opinions of most men, through which they differ about things
good and evil, and about things which are profitable and unprofitable,
when you know not this very thing, what repugnance is? Show me then
what I shall accomplish by discoursing with you; excite my inclination
to do this. As the grass which is suitable, when it is presented to
a sheep, moves its inclination to eat, but if you present to it a
stone or bread, it will not be moved to eat; so there are in us
certain natural inclinations also to speak, when the hearer shall
appear to be somebody, when he himself shall excite us: but when he
shall sit by us like a stone or like grass, how can he excite a
man's desire? Does the vine say to the husbandman, "Take care of
me?" No, but the vine by showing in itself that it will be
profitable to the husbandman, if he does take care of it, invites
him to exercise care. When children are attractive and lively, whom do
they not invite to play with them, and crawl with them, and lisp
with them? But who is eager to play with an ass or to bray with it?
for though it is small, it is still a little ass.

  "Why then do you say nothing to me?" I can only say this to you,
that he who knows not who he is, and for what purpose he exists, and
what is this world, and with whom he is associated, and what things
are the good and the bad, and the beautiful and the ugly, and who
neither understands discourse nor demonstration, nor what is true
nor what is false, and who is not able to distinguish them, will
neither desire according to nature, nor turn away, nor move upward,
nor intend, nor assent, nor dissent, nor suspend his judgment: to
say all in a few words, he will go about dumb and blind, thinking that
he is somebody, but being nobody. Is this so now for the first time?
Is it not the fact that, ever since the human race existed, all errors
and misfortunes have arisen through this ignorance? Why did
Agamemnon and Achilles quarrel with one another? Was it not through
not knowing what things are profitable and not profitable? Does not
the one say it is profitable to restore Chryseis to her father, and
does not the other say that it is not profitable? does not the one say
that he ought to take the prize of another, and does not the other say
that he ought not? Did they not for these reasons forget both who they
were and for what purpose they had come there? Oh, man, for what
purpose did you come? to gain mistresses or to fight? "To fight." With
whom? the Trojans or the Hellenes? "With the Trojans." Do you then
leave Hector alone and draw your sword against your own king? And do
you, most excellent Sir, neglect the duties of the king, you who are
the people's guardian and have such cares; and are you quarreling
about a little girl with the most warlike of your allies, whom you
ought by every means to take care of and protect? and do you become
worse than a well-behaved priest who treats you these fine
gladiators with all respect? Do you see what kind of things
ignorance of what is profitable does?

  "But I also am rich." Are you then richer than Agamemnon? "But I
am also handsome." Are you then more handsome than Achilles? "But I
have also beautiful hair." But had not Achilles more beautiful hair
and gold-colored? and he did not comb it elegantly nor dress it.
"But I am also strong." Can you then lift so great a stone as Hector
or Ajax? "But I am also of noble birth." Are you the son of a
goddess mother? are you the son of a father sprung from Zeus? What
good then do these things do to him, when he sits and weeps for a
girl? "But I am an orator." And was he not? Do you not see how he
handled the most skillful of the Hellenes in oratory, Odysseus and
Phoenix? how he stopped their mouths?

  This is all that I have to say to you; and I say even this not
willingly. "Why?" Because you have not roused me. For what must I look
to in order to be roused, as men who are expert in are roused by
generous horses? Must I look to your body? You treat it disgracefully.
To your dress? That is luxurious. To your behavior to your look?
That is the same as nothing. When you would listen to a philosopher,
do not say to him, "You tell me nothing"; but only show yourself
worthy of hearing or fit for hearing; and you will see how you will
move the speaker.

  CHAPTER 25

  That logic is necessary

  When one of those who were present said, "Persuade me that logic
is necessary," he replied: Do you wish me to prove this to you? The
answer was, "Yes." Then I must use a demonstrative form of speech.
This was granted. How then will you know if I am cheating you by
argument? The man was silent. Do you see, said Epictetus, that you
yourself are admitting that logic is necessary, if without it you
cannot know so much as this, whether logic is necessary or not
necessary

  CHAPTER 26

  What is the property of error

  Every error comprehends contradiction: for since he who errs does
not wish to err, but to he right, it is plain that he does not do what
he wishes. For what does the thief wish to do? That which is for his
own interest. If, then, the theft is not for his interest, he does not
do that which he wishes. But every rational: soul is by nature
offended at contradiction, and so long as it does not understand
this contradiction, it is not hindered from doing contradictory
things: but when it does understand the contradiction, it must of
necessity avoid the contradiction and avoid it as much as a man must
dissent from the false when he sees that a thing is false; but so long
as this falsehood does not appear to him, he assents to it as to
truth.

  He, then, is strong in argument and has the faculty of exhorting and
confuting, who is able to show to each man the contradiction through
which he errs and clearly to prove how he does not do that which he
wishes and does that which he does not wish. For if any one shall show
this, a man will himself withdraw from that which he does; but so long
as you do not show this, do not be surprised if a man persists in
his practice; for having the appearance of doing right, he does what
he does. For this reason Socrates, also trusting to this power, used
to say, "I am used to call no other witness of what I say, but I am
always satisfied with him with whom I am discussing, and I ask him
to give his opinion and call him as a witness, and through he is
only one, he is sufficient in the place of all." For Socrates knew
by what the rational soul is moved, just like a pair of scales, and
that it must incline, whether it chooses or not. Show the rational
governing faculty a contradiction, and it will withdraw from it; but
if you do not show it, rather blame yourself than him who is not
persuaded.
DISCOURSES

                                   BOOK THREE

  CHAPTER 1

  Of finery in dress

  A certain young man a rhetorician came to see Epictetus, with his
hair dressed more carefully than was usual and his attire in an
ornamental style; whereupon Epictetus said: Tell me you do not think
that some dogs are beautiful and some horses, and so of all other
animals. "I do think so," the youth replied. Are not then some men
also beautiful and others ugly? "Certainly." Do we, then, for the same
reason call each of them in the same kind beautiful, or each beautiful
for something peculiar? And you will judge of this matter thus.
Since we see a dog naturally formed for one thing, and a horse for
another, and for another still, as an example, a nightingale, we may
generally and not improperly declare each of them to be beautiful then
when it is most excellent according to its nature; but since the
nature of each is different, each of them seems to me to be
beautiful in a different way. Is it not so? He admitted that it was.
That then which makes a dog beautiful, makes a horse ugly; and that
which makes a horse beautiful, makes a dog ugly, if it is true that
their natures are different. "It seems to be so." For I think that
what makes a pancratiast beautiful, makes a wrestler to be not good,
and a runner to be most ridiculous; and he who is beautiful for the
Pentathlon, is very ugly for wrestling. "It is so," said he. What,
then, makes a man beautiful? Is that which in its kind makes both a
dog and a horse beautiful? "It is," he said. What then makes a dog
beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a dog. And what makes a
horse beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a horse. What
then makes a man beautiful? Is it not the possession of the excellence
of a man? And do you, then, if you wish to be beautiful, young man,
labour at this, the acquisition of human excellence. But what is this?
Observe whom you yourself praise, when you praise many persons without
partiality: do you praise the just or the unjust? "The just."
Whether do you praise the moderate or the immoderate? "The
moderate." And the temperate or the intemperate? "The temperate."
If, then, you make yourself such a person, you will know that you will
make yourself beautiful: but so long as you neglect these things,
you must be ugly, even though you contrive all you can to appear
beautiful.

  Further I do not know what to say to you: for if I say to you what I
think, I shall offend you, and you will perhaps leave the school and
not return to it: and if I do not say what I think, see how I shall be
acting, if you come to me to be improved, and I shall not improve
you at all, and if you come to me as to a philosopher, and I shall say
nothing to you as a philosopher. And how cruel it is to you to leave
you uncorrected. If at any time afterward you shall acquire sense, you
will with good reason blame me and say, "What did Epictetus observe in
me that, when he saw me in such a plight coming to him in such a
scandalous condition, he neglected me and never said a word? did he so
much despair of me? was I not young? was I not able to listen to
reason? and how many other young men at this age commit many like
errors? I hear that a certain Polemon from being a most dissolute
youth underwent such a great change. Well, suppose that he did not
think that I should be a Polemon; yet he might have set my hair right,
he might have stripped off my decorations, he might have stopped me
from plucking the hair out of my body; but when he saw me dressed
like- what shall I say?- he kept silent." I do not say like what;
but you will say, when you come to your senses and shall know what
it is and what persons use such a dress.

  If you bring this charge against me hereafter, what defense shall
I make? Why, shall I say that the man will not be persuaded by me? Was
Laius persuaded by Apollo? Did he and get drunk and show no care for
the oracle? Well then, for this reason did Apollo refuse to tell him
the truth? I indeed do not know, whether you will be persuaded by me
or not; but Apollo knew most certainly that Laius would not be
persuaded and yet he spoke. But why did he speak? I say in reply:
But why is he Apollo, and why does he deliver oracles, and why has
he fixed himself in this place as a prophet and source of truth and
for the inhabitants of the world to resort to him? and why are the
words "Know yourself" written in front of the temple, though no person
takes any notice of them?

  Did Socrates persuade all his hearers to take care of themselves?
Not the thousandth part. But, however, after he had been placed in
this position by the deity, as he himself says, he never left it.
But what does he say even to his judges? "If you acquit me on these
conditions that I no longer do that which I do now, I will not consent
and I will not desist; but I will go up both to young and to old, and,
to speak plainly, to every man whom I meet, and I will ask the
questions which I ask now; and most particularly will I do this to you
my fellow-citizens, because you are more nearly related to me." Are
you so curious, Socrates, and such a busybody? and how does it concern
you how we act? and what is it that you say? "Being of the same
community and of the same kin, you neglect yourself, and show yourself
a bad citizen to the state, and a bad kinsman to your kinsmen, and a
bad neighbor to your neighbors." "Who, then are you?" Here it is a
great thing to say, "I am he whose duty it is to take care of men; for
it is not every little heifer which dares to resist a lion; but if the
bull comes up and resists him, say to the bull, if you choose, 'And
who are you, and what business have you here?'" Man, in every kind
there is produced something which excels; in oxen, in dogs, in bees,
in horses. Do not then say to that which excels, "Who, then, are you?"
If you do, it will find a voice in some way and say, "I am such a
thing as the purple in a garment: do not expect me to be like the
others, or blame my nature that it has made me different from the rest
of men."

  What then? am I such a man? Certainly not. And are you such a man as
can listen to the truth? I wish you were. But however since in a
manner I have been condemned to wear a white beard and a cloak, and
you come to me as to a philosopher, I will not treat you in a cruel
way nor yet as if I despaired of you, but I will say: Young man,
whom do you wish to make beautiful? In the first place, know who you
are and then adorn yourself appropriately. You are a human being;
and this is a mortal animal which has the power of using appearances
rationally. But what is meant by "rationally?" Conformably to nature
and completely. What, then, do you possess which is peculiar? Is it
the animal part? No. Is it the condition of mortality? No. Is it the
power of using appearances? No. You possess the rational faculty as
a peculiar thing: adorn and beautify this; but leave your hair to
him who made it as he chose. Come, what other appellations have you?
Are you man or woman? "Man." Adorn yourself then as man, not as woman.
Woman is naturally smooth and delicate; and if she has much hair (on
her body), she is a monster and is exhibited at Rome among monsters.
And in a man it is monstrous not to have hair; and if he has no
hair, he is a monster; but if he cuts off his hairs and plucks them
out, what shall we do with him? where shall we exhibit him? and
under what name shall we show him? "I will exhibit to you a man who
chooses to be a woman rather than a man." What a terrible sight! There
is no man who will not wonder at such a notice. Indeed I think that
the men who pluck out their hairs do what they do without knowing what
they do. Man what fault have you to find with your nature? That it
made you a man? What then? was it fit that nature should make all
human creatures women? and what advantage in that case would you
have had in being adorned? for whom would you have adorned yourself,
if all human creatures were women? But you are not pleased with the
matter: set to work then upon the whole business. Take away- what is
its name?- that which is the cause of the hairs: make yourself a woman
in all respects, that we may not be mistaken: do not make one half
man, and the other half woman. Whom do you wish to please? The women?,
Please them as a man. "Well; but they like smooth men." Will you not
hang yourself? and if women took delight in catamites, would you
become one? Is this your business? were you born for this purpose,
that dissolute women should delight in you? Shall we make such a one
as you a citizen of Corinth and perchance a prefect of the city, or
chief of the youth, or general or superintendent of the games? Well,
and when you have taken a wife, do you intend to have your hairs
plucked out? To please whom and for what purpose? And when you have
begotten children, will you introduce them also into the state with
the habit of plucking their hairs? A beautiful citizen, and senator
and rhetorician. We ought to pray that such young men be born among us
and brought up.

  Do not so, I entreat you by the Gods, young man: but when you have
once heard these words, go away and say to yourself, "Epictetus has
not said this to me; for how could he? but some propitious good
through him: for it would never have come into his thoughts to say
this, since he is not accustomed to talk thus with any person. Come
then let us obey God, that we may not be subject to his anger." You
say, "No." But, if a crow by his croaking signifies anything to you,
it is not the crow which signifies, but God through the crow; and if
he signifies anything through a human voice, will he not cause the man
to say this to you, that you may know the power of the divinity,
that he signifies to some in this way, and to others in that way,
and concerning the greatest things and the chief he signifies
through the noblest messenger? What else is it which the poet says:

    For we ourselves have warned him, and have sent

    Hermes the careful watcher, Argus' slayer,

    The husband not to kill nor wed the wife.

Was Hermes going to descend from heaven to say this to him? And now
the Gods say this to you and send the messenger, the slayer of
Argus, to warn you not to pervert that which is well arranged, nor
to busy yourself about it, but to allow a man to be a man, and a woman
to be a woman, a beautiful man to be as a beautiful man, and an ugly
man as an ugly man, for you are not flesh and hair, but you are
will; and if your will beautiful, then you will be beautiful. But up
the present time I dare not tell you that you are ugly, for I think
that you are readier to hear anything than this. But see what Socrates
says to the most beautiful and blooming of men Alcibiades: "Try, then,
to be beautiful." What does he say to him? "Dress your hair and
pluck the hairs from your legs." Nothing of that kind. But "Adorn your
will, take away bad opinions." "How with the body?" Leave it as it
is by nature. Another has looked after these things: intrust them to
him. "What then, must a man be uncleaned?" Certainly not; but what you
are and are made by nature, cleanse this. A man should be cleanly as a
man, a woman as a woman, a child as a child. You say no: but let us
also pluck out the lion's mane, that he may not be uncleaned, and
the cock's comb for he also ought to he cleaned. Granted, but as a
cock, and the lion as a lion, and the hunting dog as a hunting dog.

  CHAPTER 2

  In what a man ought to be exercised who has made proficiency; and
that we neglect the chief things

  There are three things in which a man ought to exercise himself
who would be wise and good. The first concerns the desires and the
aversions, that a man may not fail to get what he desires, and that he
may not fall into that which he does not desire. The second concerns
the movements (toward) and the movements from an object, and generally
in doing what a man ought to do, that he may act according to order,
to reason, and not carelessly. The third thing concerns freedom from
deception and rashness in judgement, and generally it concerns the
assents. Of these topics the chief and the most urgent is that which
relates to the affects; for an affect is produced in no other way than
by a failing to obtain that which a man desires or a falling into that
which a man would wish to avoid. This is that which brings in
perturbations, disorders, bad fortune, misfortunes, sorrows,
lamentations and envy; that which makes men envious and jealous; and
by these causes we are unable even to listen to the precepts of
reason. The second topic concerns the duties of a man; for I ought not
to be free from affects like a statue, but I ought to maintain the
relations natural and acquired, as a pious man, as a son, as a father,
as a citizen.

  The third topic is that which immediately concerns those who are
making proficiency, that which concerns the security of the other two,
so that not even in sleep any appearance unexamined may surprise us,
nor in intoxication, nor in melancholy. "This," it may be said, "is
above our power." But the present philosophers neglecting the first
topic and the second, employ themselves on the third, using
sophistical arguments, making conclusions from questioning,
employing hypotheses, lying. "For a man must," as it is said, "when
employed on these matters, take care that he is not deceived." Who
must? The wise and good man. This then is all that is wanting to
you. Have you successfully worked out the rest? Are you free from
deception in the matter of money? If you see a beautiful girl, do
you resist the appearance? If your neighbor obtains an estate by will,
are you not vexed? Now is there nothing else wanting to you except
unchangeable firmness of mind? Wretch, you hear these very things with
fear and anxiety that some person may despise you, and with
inquiries about what any person may say about you. And if a man come
and tell you that in a certain conversation in which the question was,
"Who is the best philosopher," a man who was present said that a
certain person was the chief philosopher, your little soul which was
only a finger's length stretches out to two cubits. But if another who
is present "You are mistaken; it is not worth while to listen to a
certain person, for what does he know? he has only the first
principles, and no more?" then you are confounded, you grow pale,
you cry out immediately, "I will show him who I am, that I am a
great philosopher." It is seen by these very things: why do you wish
to show it by others? Do you not know that Diogenes pointed out one of
the sophists in this way by stretching out his middle finger? And then
when the man was wild with rage, "This," he said, "is the certain
person: I pointed him out to you." For a man is not shown by the
finger, as a stone or a piece of wood: but when any person shows the
man s principles, then he shows him as a man.

  Let us look at your principles also. For is it not plain that you
value not at all your own will, but you look externally to things
which are independent of your will? For instance, what will a
certain person say? and what will people think of you? will you be
considered a man of learning; have you read Chrysippus or Antipater?
for if you have read Archedemus also, you have everything. Why are you
still uneasy lest you should not show us who you are? Would you let me
tell you what manner of man you have shown us that you are? You have
exhibited yourself to us as a mean fellow, querulous, passionate,
cowardly, finding fault with everything, blaming everybody, never
quiet, vain: this is what you have exhibited to us. Go away now and
read Archedemus; then, if a mouse should leap down and make a noise,
you are a dead man. For such a death awaits you as it did- what was
the man's name?- Crinis; and he too was proud, because he understood
Archedemus.

  Wretch, will you not dismiss these things that do not concern you at
all? These things are suitable to those who are able to learn them
without perturbation, to those who can say: "I am not subject to
anger, to grief, to envy: I am not hindered, I am not restrained. What
remains for me? I have leisure, I am tranquil: let us see how we
must deal with sophistical arguments; let us see how when a man has
accepted an hypothesis he shall not be led away to anything absurd."
To them such things belong. To those who are happy it is appropriate
to light a fire, to dine; if they choose, both to sing and to dance.
But when the vessel is sinking, you come to me and hoist the sails.

  CHAPTER 3

  What is the matter on which a good man should he employed, and in
what we ought chiefly to practice ourselves

  The material for the wise and good man is his own ruling faculty:
and the body is the material for the physician and the aliptes; the
land is the matter for the husbandman. The business of the wise and
good man is to use appearances conformably to nature: and as it is the
nature of every soul to assent to the truth, to dissent from the
false, and to remain in suspense as to that which is uncertain; so
it is its nature to be moved toward the desire of the good, and to
aversion from the evil; and with respect to that which is neither good
nor bad it feels indifferent. For as the money-changer is not
allowed to reject Caesar's coin, nor the seller of herbs, but if you
show the coin, whether he chooses or not, he must give up what is sold
for the coin; so it is also in the matter of the soul. When the good
appears, it immediately attracts to itself; the evil repels from
itself. But the soul will never reject the manifest appearance of
the good, any more than persons will reject Caesar's coin. On this
principle depends every movement both of man and God.

  For this reason the good is preferred to every intimate
relationship. There is no intimate relationship between me and my
father, but there is between me and the good. "Are you so
hard-hearted?" Yes, for such is my nature; and this is the coin
which God has given me. For this reason, if the good is something
different from the beautiful and the just, both father is gone, and
brother and country, and everything. But shall I overlook my own good,
in order that you may have it, and shall I give it up to you? Why?
"I am your father." But you are not my good. "I am your brother."
But you are not my good. But if we place the good in a right
determination of the will, the very observance of the relations of
life is good, and accordingly he who gives up any external things
obtains that which is good. Your father takes away your property.
But he does not injure you. Your brother will have the greater part of
the estate in land. Let him have as much as he chooses. Will he then
have a greater share of modesty, of fidelity, of brotherly
affection? For who will eject you from this possession? Not even Zeus,
for neither has he chosen to do so; but he has made this in my own
power, and he has given it to me just as he possessed it himself, free
from hindrance, compulsion, and impediment. When then the coin which
another uses is a different coin, if a man presents this coin, he
receives that which is sold for it. Suppose that there comes into
the province a thievish proconsul, what coin does he use? Silver coin.
Show it to him, and carry off what you please. Suppose one comes who
is an adulterer: what coin does he use? Little girls. "Take," a man
says, "the coin, and sell me the small thing." "Give," says the
seller, "and buy." Another is eager to possess boys. Give him the
coin, and receive what you wish. Another is fond of hunting: give
him a fine nag or a dog. Though he groans and laments, he will sell
for it that which you want. For another compels him from within, he
who has fixed this coin.

  Against this kind of thing chiefly a man should exercise himself. As
soon as you go out in the morning, examine every man whom you see,
every man whom you hear; answer as to a question, "What have you
seen?" A handsome man or woman? Apply the rule: Is this independent of
the will, or dependent? Independent. Take it away. What have you seen?
A man lamenting over the death of a child. Apply the rule. Death is
a thing independent of the will. Take it away. Has the proconsul met
you? Apply the rule. What kind of thing is a proconsul's office?
Independent of the will, or dependent on it? Independent. Take this
away also: it does not stand examination: cast it away: it is
nothing to you.

  If we practiced this and exercised ourselves in it daily from
morning to night, something indeed would be done. But now we are
forthwith caught half-asleep by every appearance, and it is only, if
ever, that in the school we are roused a little. Then when we go
out, if we see a man lamenting, we say, "He is undone." If we see a
consul, we say, "He is happy." If we see an exiled man, we say, "He is
miserable." If we see a poor man, we say, "He is wretched: he has
nothing to eat."

  We ought then to eradicate these bad opinions, and to this end we
should direct all our efforts. For what is weeping and lamenting?
Opinion. What is bad fortune? Opinion. What is civil sedition, what is
divided opinion, what is blame, what is accusation, what is impiety,
what is trifling? All these things are opinions, and nothing more, and
opinions about things independent of the will, as if they were good
and bad. Let a man transfer these opinions to things dependent on
the will, and I engage for him that he will be firm and constant,
whatever may be the state of things around him. Such as is a dish of
water, such is the soul. Such as is the ray of light which falls on
the water, such are the appearances. When the water is moved, the
ray also seems to be moved, yet it is not moved. And when, then, a man
is seized with giddiness, it is not the arts and the virtues which are
confounded, but the spirit on which they are impressed; but if the
spirit be restored to its settled state, those things also are
restored.

  CHAPTER 4

  Against a person who showed his partisanship in an unseemly way in a
theatre

  The governor of Epirus having shown his favor to an actor in an
unseemly way and being publicly blamed on this account, and
afterward having reported to Epictetus that he was blamed and that
he was vexed at those who blamed him, Epictetus said: What harm have
they been doing? These men also were acting, as partisans, as you were
doing. The governor replied, "Does, then, any person show his
partisanship in this way?" When they see you, said Epictetus, who
are their governor, a friend of Caesar and his deputy, showing
partisanship in this way, was it not to be expected that they also
should show their partisanship in the same way? for if it is not right
to show partisanship in this way, do not do so yourself; and if it
is right, why are you angry if they followed your example? For whom
have the many to imitate except you, who are their superiors, to whose
example should they look when they go to the theatre except yours?
"See how the deputy of Caesar looks on: he has cried out, and I too,
then, will cry out. He springs up from his seat, and I will spring up.
His slaves sit in various parts of the theatre and call out. I have no
slaves, but I will myself cry out as much as I can and as loud as
all of them together." You ought then to know when you enter the
theatre that you enter as a rule and example to the rest how they
ought to look at the acting. Why then did they blame you? Because
every man hates that which is a hindrance to him. They wished one
person to be crowned; you wished another. They were a hindrance to
you, and you were a hindrance to them. You were found to be the
stronger; and they did what they could; they blamed that which
hindered them. What, then, would you have? That you should do what you
please, and they should not even say what they please? And what is the
wonder? Do not the husbandmen abuse Zeus when they are hindered by
him? do not the sailors abuse him? do they ever cease abusing
Caesar? What then does not Zeus know? is not what is said reported
to Caesar? What, then, does he do? he knows that, if he punished all
who abuse him, he would have nobody to rule over. What then? when
you enter the theatre, you ought to say not, "Let Sophron be crowned",
but you ought to say this, "Come let me maintain my will in this
matter so that it shall be conformable to nature: no man is dearer
to me than myself. It would be ridiculous, then, for me to be hurt
(injured) in order that another who is an actor may be crowned." Whom
then do I wish to gain the prize? Why the actor who does gain the
prize; and so he will always gain the prize whom I wish to gain it.
"But I wish Sophron to be crowned." Celebrate as many games as you
choose in your own house, Nemean, Pythian, Isthmian, Olympian, and
proclaim him victor. But in public do not claim more than your due,
nor attempt to appropriate to yourself what belongs to all. If you
do not consent to this, bear being abused: for when you do the same as
the many, you put yourself on the same level with them.

  CHAPTER 5

  Against those who on account of sickness go away home

  "I am sick here," said one of the pupils, "and I wish to return
home." At home, I suppose, you free from sickness. Do you not consider
whether you are doing, anything here which may be useful to the
exercise of your will, that it may be corrected? For if you are
doing nothing toward this end, it was to no purpose that you came.
Go away. Look after your affairs at home. For if your ruling power
cannot be maintained in a state conformable to nature, it is
possible that your land can, that you will he able to increase your
money, you will take care of your father in his old age, frequent
the public place, hold magisterial office: being bad you will do badly
anything else that you have to do. But if you understand yourself, and
know that you are casting away certain bad opinions and adopting
others in their place, and if you have changed your state of life from
things which are not within your will to things which are within
your will, and if you ever say, "Alas!" you are not saying what you
say on account of your father, or your brother, but on account of
yourself, do you still allege your sickness? Do you not know that both
disease and death must surprise us while we are doing something? the
husbandman while he is tilling the ground, the sailor while he is on
his voyage? what would you be doing when death surprises you, for
you must be surprised when you are doing something? If you can be
doing anything better than this when you are surprised, do it. For I
wish to be surprised by disease or death when I am looking after
nothing else than my that may be free from perturbation, own will that
I may be free from hindrance, free from compulsion, and in a state
of liberty. I wish to be found practicing these things that I may be
able to say to God, "Have I in any respect transgressed thy
commands? have I in any respect wrongly used the powers which Thou
gavest me? have I misused my perceptions or my preconceptions? have
I ever blamed Thee? have I ever found fault with Thy administration? I
have been sick, because it was Thy will, and so have others, but I was
content to be sick. I have been poor because it was Thy will, but I
was content also. I have not filled a magisterial office, because it
was not Thy pleasure that I should: I have never desired it. Hast Thou
ever seen me for this reason discontented? have I not always
approached Thee with a cheerful countenance, ready to do Thy
commands and to obey Thy signals? Is it now Thy will that I should
depart from the assemblage of men? I depart. I give Thee all thanks
that Thou hast allowed me to join in this Thy assemblage of men and to
see Thy works, and to comprehend this Thy administration." May death
surprise me while I am thinking of these things, while I am thus
writing and reading.

  "But my mother will not hold my head when I am sick." Go to your
mother then; for you are a fit person to have your head held when
you are sick. "But at home I used to lie down on a delicious bed."
Go away to your bed: indeed you are fit to lie on such a bed even when
you are in health: do not, then, lose what you can do there.

  But what does Socrates say? "As one man," he says, "is pleased
with improving his land, another with improving his horse, so I am
daily pleased in observing that I am growing better." "Better in what?
in using nice little words?" Man, do not say that. "In little
matters of speculation?" What are you saying? "And indeed I do not see
what else there is on which philosophers employ their time." Does it
seem nothing to you to have never found fault with any person, neither
with God nor man? to have blamed nobody? to carry the same face always
in going out and coming in? This is what Socrates knew, and yet he
never said that he knew anything or taught anything. But if any man
asked for nice little words or little speculations, he would carry him
to Protagoras or to Hippias; and if any man came to ask for pot-herbs,
he would carry him to the gardener. Who then among you has this
purpose? for if indeed you had it, you would both be content in
sickness, and in hunger, and in death. If any among you has been in
love with a charming girl, he knows that I say what is true.

  CHAPTER 6

  Miscellaneous

  When some person asked him how it happened that since reason has
been more cultivated by the men of the present age, the progress
made in former times was greater. In what respect, he answered, has it
been more cultivated now, and in what respect was the progress greater
then? For in that in which it has now been more cultivated, in that
also the progress will now be found. At present it has been cultivated
for the purpose of resolving syllogisms, and progress is made. But
in former times it was cultivated for the purpose of maintaining the
governing faculty in a condition conformable to nature, and progress
was made. Do not, then, mix things which are different and do not
expect, when you are laboring at one thing, to make progress in
another. But see if any man among us when he is intent see I upon
this, the keeping himself in a state conformable to nature and
living so always, does not make progress. For you will not find such a
man.

  The good man is invincible, for he does not enter the contest
where he is not stronger. If you want to have his land and all that is
on it, take the land; take his slaves, take his magisterial office,
take his poor body. But you will not make his desire fail in that
which it seeks, nor his aversion fall into that which he would
avoid. The only contest into which he enters is that about things
which are within the power of his will; how then will he not be
invincible?

  Some person having asked him what is Common sense, Epictetus
replied: As that may be called a certain Common hearing which only
distinguishes vocal sounds, and that which distinguishes musical
sounds is not Common, but artificial; so there are certain things
which men, who are not altogether perverted, see by the common notions
which all possess. Such a constitution of the mind is named Common
sense.

  It is not easy to exhort weak young men; for neither is it easy to
hold cheese with a hook. But those who have a good natural
disposition, even if you try to turn them aside, cling still more to
reason. Wherefore Rufus generally attempted to discourage, and he used
this method as a test of those who had a good natural disposition
and those who had not. "For," it was his habit to say, "as a stone, if
you cast it upward, will be brought down to the earth by its own
nature, so the man whose mind is naturally good, the more you repel
him, the more he turns toward that to which he is naturally inclined."

  CHAPTER 7

  To the administrator of the free cities who was an Epicurean

  When the administrator came to visit him, and the man was an
Epicurean, Epictetus said: It is proper for us who are not
philosophers to inquire of you who are philosophers, as those who come
to a strange city inquire of the citizens and those who are acquainted
with it, what is the best thing in the world, in order that we also,
after inquiry, may go in quest of that which is best and look at it,
as strangers do with the things in cities. For that there are three
things which relate to man, soul, body, and things external,
scarcely any man denies. It remains for you philosophers to answer
what is the best. What shall we say to men? Is the flesh the best? and
was it for this that Maximus sailed as far as Cassiope in winter
with his son, and accompanied him that he might be gratified in the
flesh? Then the man said that it was not, and added, "Far be that from
him." Is it not fit then, Epictetus said, to be actively employed
about the best? "It is certainly of all things the most fit." What,
then, do we possess which is better than the flesh? "The soul," he
replied. And the good things of the best, are they better, or the good
things of the worse? "The good things of the best." And are the good
things of the best within the power of the will or not within the
power of the will? "They are within the power of the will." Is,
then, the pleasure of the soul a thing within the power of the will?
"It is," he replied. And on what shall this pleasure depend? On
itself? But that cannot be conceived: for there must first exist a
certain substance or nature of good, by obtaining which we shall
have pleasure in the soul. He assented to this also. On what, then,
shall we depend for this pleasure of the soul? for if it shall
depend on things of the soul, the substance of the good is discovered;
for good cannot be one thing, and that at which we are rationally
delighted another thing; nor if that which precedes is not good, can
that which comes after be good, for in order that the thing which
comes after may be good, that which precedes must be good. But you
would not affirm this, if you are in your right mind, for you would
then say what is inconsistent both with Epicurus and the rest of
your doctrines. It remains, then, that the pleasure of the soul is
in the pleasure from things of the body: and again that those bodily
things must be the things which precede and the substance of the good.

  For this reason Maximus acted foolishly if he made the voyage for
any other reason than for the sake of the flesh, that is, for the sake
of the best. And also a man acts foolishly if he abstains from that
which belongs to others, when he is a judge and able to take it.
But, if you please, let us consider this only, how this thing may be
done secretly, and safely, and so that no man will know it. For not
even does Epicurus himself declare stealing to be bad, but he admits
that detection is; and because it is impossible to have security
against detection, for this reason he says, "Do not steal." But I
say to you that if stealing is done cleverly and cautiously, we
shall not be detected: further also we have powerful friends in Rome
both men and women, and the Hellenes are weak, and no man will venture
to go up to Rome for the purpose. Why do you refrain from your own
good? This is senseless, foolish. But even if you tell me that you
do refrain, I will not believe you. For as it is impossible to
assent to that which appears false, and to turn away from that which
is true, so it is impossible to abstain from that which appears
good. But wealth is a good thing, and certainly most efficient in
producing pleasure. Why will you not acquire wealth? And why should we
not corrupt our neighbor's wife, if we can do it without detection?
and if the husband foolishly prates about the matter, why not pitch
him out of the house? If you would be a philosopher such as you
ought to be, if a perfect philosopher, if consistent with your own
doctrines. If you would not, you will not differ at all from us who
are called Stoics; for we also say one thing, but we do another: we
talk of the things which are beautiful, but we do what is base. But
you will be perverse in the contrary way, teaching what is bad,
practicing what is good.

  In the name of God, are you thinking of a city of Epicureans? "I
do not marry." "Nor I, for a man ought not to marry; nor ought we to
beget children, nor engage in public matters." What then will
happen? whence will the citizens come? who will bring them up? who
will be governor of the youth, who preside wi over gymnastic
exercises? and in what also will the teacher instruct them? will he
teach them what the Lacedaemonians were taught, or what the
Athenians were taught? Come take a young man, bring him up according
to your doctrines. The doctrines are bad, subversive of a state,
pernicious to families, and not becoming to women. Dismiss them,
man. You live in a chief city: it is your duty to be a magistrate,
to judge justly, to abstain from that which belongs to others; no
woman ought to seem beautiful to you except your own wife, and no
youth, no vessel of silver, no vessel of gold. Seek for doctrines
which are consistent with what I say, and, by making them your
guide, you will with pleasure abstain from things which have such
persuasive power to lead us and overpower us. But if to the persuasive
power of these things, we also devise such a philosophy as this
which helps to push us on toward them and strengthens us to this
end, what will be the consequence? In a piece of toreutic art which is
the best part? the silver or the workmanship? The substance of the
hand is the flesh; but the work of the hand is the principal part. The
duties then are also three; those which are directed toward the
existence of a thing; those which are directed toward its existence in
a particular kind; and third, the chief or leading things
themselves. So also in man we ought not to value the material, the
poor flesh, but the principal. What are these? Engaging in public
business, marrying, begetting children, venerating God, taking care of
parents, and, generally, having desires, aversions, pursuits of things
and avoidances, in the way in which we ought to do these things, and
according to our nature. And how are we constituted by nature? Free,
noble, modest: for what other animal blushes? what other is capable of
receiving the appearance of shame? and we are so constituted by nature
as to subject pleasure to these things, as a minister, a servant, in
order that it may call forth our activity, in order that it may keep
us constant in acts which are conformable to nature.

  "But I am rich and I want nothing." Why, then, do you pretend to
be a philosopher? Your golden and your silver vessels are enough for
you. What need have you of principles? "But I am also a judge of the
Greeks." Do you know how to judge? Who taught you to know? "Caesar
wrote to me a codicil." Let him write and give you a commission to
judge of music; and what will be the use of it to you? Still how did
you become a judge? whose hand did you kiss? the hand of Symphorus
or Numenius? Before whose bedchamber have you slept? To whom have
you sent gifts? Then do you not see that to be a judge is just of
the same value as Numenius is? "But I can throw into prison any man
whom I please." So you can do with a stone. "But I can beat with
sticks whom I please." So you may an ass. This is not a governing of
men. Govern us as rational animals: show us what is profitable to
us, and we will follow it: show us what is unprofitable, and we will
turn away from it. Make us imitators of yourself, as Socrates made men
imitators of himself. For he was like a governor of men, who made them
subject to him their desires, their aversion, their movements toward
an object and their turning away from it. "Do this: do not do this: if
you do not obey, I will throw you into prison." This is not
governing men like rational animals. But I: As Zeus has ordained, so
act: if you do not act so, you will feel the penalty, you will be
punished. What will be the punishment? Nothing else than not having
done your duty: you will lose the character of fidelity, modesty,
propriety. Do not look for greater penalties than these.

  CHAPTER 8

  How we must exercise ourselves against appearances

  As we exercise ourselves against sophistical questions, so we
ought to exercise ourselves daily against appearances; for these
appearances also propose questions to us. "A certain person son is
dead." Answer: the thing is not within the power of the will: it is
not an evil. "A father has disinherited a certain son. What do you
think of it?" It is a thing beyond the power of the will, not an evil.
"Caesar has condemned a person." It is a thing beyond the power of the
will, not an evil. "The man is afflicted at this." Affliction is a
thing which depends on the will: it is an evil. He has borne the
condemnation bravely." That is a thing within the power of the will:
it is a good. If we train ourselves in this manner, we shall make
progress; for we shall never assent to anything of which there is
not an appearance capable of being comprehended. Your son is dead.
What has happened? Your son is dead. Nothing more? Nothing. Your
ship is lost. What has happened? Your ship is lost. A man has been led
to prison. What has happened? He has been led to prison. But that
herein he has fared badly, every man adds from his own opinion. "But
Zeus," you say, "does not do right in these matters." Why? because
he has made you capable of endurance? because he has made you
magnanimous? because he has taken from that which befalls you the
power of being evil? because it is in your power to be happy while you
are suffering what you suffer; because he has opened the door to
you, when things do not please you? Man, go out and do not complain.

  Hear how the Romans feel toward philosophers, if you would like to
know. Italicus, who was the most in repute of the philosophers, once
when I was present being, vexed with his own friends and as if he
was suffering something intolerable said, "I cannot bear it, you are
killing me: you will make me such as that man is"; pointing to me.

  CHAPTER 9

  To a certain rhetorician who was going up to Rome on a suit

  When a certain person came to him, who was going up to Rome on
account of a suit which had regard to his rank, Epictetus inquired the
reason of his going to Rome, and the man then asked what he thought
about the matter. Epictetus replied: If you ask me what you will do in
Rome, whether you will succeed or fall, I have no rule about this. But
if you ask me how you will fare, I can tell you: if you have right
opinions, you will fare well; if they are false, you will fare ill.
For to every man the cause of his acting is opinion. For what is the
reason why you desired to be elected governor of the Cnossians? Your
opinion. What is the reason that you are now going up to Rome? Your
opinion. And going in winter, and with danger and expense. "I must
go." What tells you this? Your opinion. Then if opinions are the
causes of all actions, and a man has bad opinions, such as the cause
may be, such also is the effect. Have we then all sound opinions, both
you and your adversary? And how do you differ? But have you sounder
opinions than your adversary? Why? You think so. And so does he
think that his opinions are better; and so do madmen. This is a bad
criterion. But show to me that you have made some inquiry into your
opinions and have taken some pains about them. And as now you are
sailing to Rome in order to become governor of the Cnossians, and
you are not content to stay at home with the honors which you had, but
you desire something greater and more conspicuous, so when did you
ever make a voyage for the purpose of examining your own opinions, and
casting them out, if you have any that are bad? Whom have you
approached for this purpose? What time have you fixed for it? What
age? Go over the times of your life by yourself, if you are ashamed of
me. When you were a boy, did you examine your own opinions? and did
you not then, as you do all things now, do as you did do? and when you
were become a youth and attended the rhetoricians, and yourself
practiced rhetoric, what did you imagine that you were deficient in?
And when you were a young man and engaged in public matters, and
pleaded causes yourself, and were gaining reputation, who then
seemed your equal? And when would you have submitted to any man
examining and show that your opinions are bad? What, then, do you wish
me to say to you? "Help me in this matter." I have no theorem (rule)
for this. Nor have you, if you came to me for this purpose, come to me
as a philosopher, but as to a seller of vegetables or a shoemaker.
"For what purpose then have philosophers theorems?" For this
purpose, that whatever may happen, our ruling faculty may be and
continue to be conformable to nature. Does this seem to you a small
thing? "No; but the greatest." What then? does it need only a short
time? and is it possible to seize it as you pass by? If you can, seize
it.

  Then you will say, "I met with Epictetus as I should meet with a
stone or a statue": for you saw me, and nothing more. But he meets
with a man as a man, who learns his opinions, and in his turn shows
his own. Learn my opinions: show me yours; and then say that you
have visited me. Let us examine one another: if I have any bad
opinion, take it away; if you have any, show it. This is the meaning
of meeting with a philosopher. "Not so, but this is only a passing
visit, and while we are hiring the vessel, we can also see
Epictetus. Let us see what he says." Then you go away and say:
"Epictetus was nothing: he used solecisms and spoke in a barbarous
way." For of what else do you come as judges? "Well, but a man may say
to me, "If I attend to such matters, I shall have no land, as you have
none; I shall have no silver cups as you have none, nor fine beasts as
you have none." In answer to this it is perhaps sufficient to say: I
have no need of such things: but if you possess many things you have
need of others: whether you choose or not, you are poorer than I am.
"What then have I need of?" Of that which you have not: of firmness,
of a mind which is conformable to nature, of being free from
perturbation. Whether I have a patron or not, what is that to me?
but it is something to you. I am richer than you: I am not anxious
what Caesar will think of me: for this reason, I flatter no man.
This is what I possess instead of vessels of silver and gold. You have
utensils of gold; but your discourse, your opinions, your assents,
your movements, your desires are of earthen ware. But when I have
these things conformable to nature, why should I not employ my studies
also upon reason? for I have leisure: my mind is not distracted.
What shall I do, since I have no distraction? What more suitable to
a man have I than this? When you have nothing to do, you are
disturbed, you go to the theatre or you wander about without a
purpose. Why should not the philosopher labour to improve his
reason? You employ yourself about crystal vessels: I employ myself
about the syllogism named "The Living": you about myrrhine vessels;
I employ myself about the syllogism named "The Denying." To you
everything appears small that you possess: to me all that I have
appears great. Your desire is insatiable: mine is satisfied. To
(children) who put their hand into a narrow necked earthen vessel
and bring out figs and nuts, this happens; if they fill the hand, they
cannot take it out, and then they cry. Drop a few of them and you will
draw things out. And do you part with your desires: do not desire many
things and you will have what you want.

  CHAPTER 10

  In what manner we ought to bear sickness

  When the need of each opinion comes, we ought to have it in
readiness: on the occasion of breakfast, such as relate to
breakfast; in the bath, those that concern the bath; in bed, those
that concern bed.

     Let sleep not come upon thy languid eyes

     Before each daily action thou hast scann'd;

     What's done amiss, what done, what left undone;

     From first to last examine all, and then

     Blame what is wrong in what is right rejoice.

  And we ought to retain these verses in such way that we may use
them, not that we may utter them aloud, as when we exclaim "Paean
Apollo." Again in fever we should have ready such opinions as
concern a fever; and we ought not, as soon as the fever begins, to
lose and forget all. (A man who has a fever) may "If I philosophize
any longer, may I be hanged: wherever I go, I must take care of the
poor body, that a fever may not come." But what is philosophizing?
Is it not a preparation against events which may happen? Do you not
understand that you are saying something of this kind? "If I shall
still prepare myself to bear with patience what happens, may I be
hanged." But this is just as if a man after receiving blows should
give up the Pancratium. In the Pancratium it is in our power to desist
and not to receive blows. But in the other matter, we give up
philosophy, what shall we gain I gain? What then should a man say on
the occasion of each painful thing? "It was for this that I
exercised myself, for this I disciplined myself." God says to you,
"Give me a proof that you have duly practiced athletics, that you have
eaten what you ought, that you have been exercised, that you have
obeyed the aliptes." Then do you show yourself weak when the time
for action comes? Now is the time for the fever. Let it be borne well.
Now is the time for thirst, well; now is the time for hunger, bear
it well. Is it not in your power? who shall hinder you? The
physician will hinder you from drinking; but he cannot prevent you
from bearing thirst well: and he will hinder you from eating; but he
cannot prevent you from bearing hunger well.

  "But I cannot attend to my philosophical studies." And for what
purpose do you follow them? Slave, is it not that you may be happy,
that you may be constant, is it not that you may be in a state
conformable to nature and live so? What hinders you when you have a
fever from having your ruling faculty conformable to nature? Here is
the proof of the thing, here is the test of the philosopher. For
this also is a part of life, like walking, like sailing, like
journeying by land, so also is fever. Do you read when you are
walking? No. Nor do you when you have a fever. if you walk about well,
you have all that belongs to a man who walks. If you bear fever
well, you have all that belongs to a man in a fever. What is it to
bear a fever well? Not to blame God or man; not to be afflicted it
that which happens, to expect death well and nobly, to do what must be
done: when the physician comes in, not to be frightened at what he
says; nor if he says, "You are doing well," to be overjoyed. For
what good has he told you? and when you were in health, what good
was that to you? And even if he says, "You are in a bad way," do not
despond. For what is it to be ill? is it that you are near the
severance of the soul and the body? what harm is there in this? If you
are not near now, will you not afterward be near? Is the world going
to be turned upside down when you are dead? Why then do you flatter
the physician? Why do you say, "If you please, master, I shall be
well"? Why do you give him an opportunity of raising his eyebrows?
Do you not value a physician, as you do a shoemaker when he is
measuring your foot, or a carpenter when he is building your house,
and so treat the physician as to the body which is not yours, but by
nature dead? He who has a fever has an opportunity of doing this: if
he does these things, he has what belongs to him. For it is not the
business of a philosopher to look after these externals, neither his
wine nor his oil nor his poor body, but his own ruling power. But as
to externals how must he act? so far as not to be careless about them.
Where then is there reason for fear? where is there, then, still
reason for anger, and of fear about what belongs to others, about
things which are of no value? For we ought to have these two
principles in readiness: that except the will nothing is good nor bad;
and that we ought not to lead events, but to follow them. "My
brother ought not to have behaved thus to me." No; but he will see
to that: and, however he may behave, I will conduct myself toward
him as I ought. For this is my own business: that belongs to
another; no man can prevent this, the other thing can be hindered.

  CHAPTER 11

  Certain miscellaneous matters

  There are certain penalties fixed as by law for those who disobey
the divine administration. Whoever thinks any other thing to be good
except those things which depend on the will, let him envy, let him
desire, let him flatter, let him be perturbed: whoever considers
anything else to be evil, let him grieve, let him lament, let him
weep, let him be unhappy. And yet, though so severely punished, we
cannot desist.

  Remember what the poet says about the stranger:

     Stranger, I must not, e'en if a worse man come.

This, then, may be applied even to a father: "I must not, even if a
worse man than you should come, treat a father unworthily-, for all
are from paternal Zeus." And of a brother, "For all are from the
Zeus who presides over kindred." And so in the other relations of life
we shall find Zeus to be an inspector.

  CHAPTER 12

  About exercise

  We ought not to make our exercises consist in means contrary to
nature and adapted to cause admiration, for, if we do so, we, who call
ourselves philosophers, shall not differ at all from jugglers. For
it is difficult even to walk on a rope; and not only difficult, but it
is also dangerous. Ought we for this reason to practice walking on a
rope, or setting up a palm tree, or embracing statues? By no means.
Everything, which is difficult and dangerous is not suitable for
practice; but that is suitable which conduces to the working out of
that which is proposed to us as a thing to be worked out. To live with
desire and aversion, free from restraint. And what is this? Neither to
be disappointed in that which you desire, nor to fall into anything
which you would avoid. Toward this object, then, exercise ought to
tend. For, since it is not possible to have your desire not
disappointed and your aversion free from falling into that which you
would avoid, great and constant practice you must know that if you
allow your desire and aversion to turn to things which are not
within the power of the will, you will neither have your desire
capable of attaining your object, nor your aversion free from the
power of avoiding that which you would avoid. And since strong habit
leads, and we are accustomed to employ desire and aversion only to
things which are not within the power of our will, we ought to
oppose to this habit a contrary habit, and where there is great
slipperiness in the appearances, there to oppose the habit of
exercise.

  I am rather inclined to pleasure: I will incline to the contrary
side above measure for the sake of exercise. I am averse to pain: I
will rub and exercise against this the appearances which are presented
to me for the purpose of withdrawing my aversion from every such
thing. For who is a practitioner in exercise? He who practices not
using his desire, and applies his aversion only to things which are
within the power of his will, and practices most in the things which
are difficult to conquer. For this reason one man must practice
himself more against one thing and another against another thing.
What, then, is it to the purpose to set up a palm tree, or to carry
about a tent of skins, or a mortar and a pestle? Practice, man, if you
are irritable, to endure if you are abused, not to be vexed if you are
treated with dishonour. Then you will make so much progress that, even
if a man strikes you, you will say to yourself, "Imagine that you have
embraced a statue": then also exercise yourself to use wine properly
so as not to drink much, for in this also there are men who
foolishly practice themselves; but first of all you should abstain
from it, and abstain from a young girl and dainty cakes. Then at last,
if occasion presents itself, for the purpose of trying yourself at a
proper time, you will descend into the arena to know if appearances
overpower you as they did formerly. But at first fly far from that
which is stronger than yourself: the contest is unequal between a
charming young girl and a beginner in philosophy. "The earthen
pitcher," as the saying is, "and the rock do not agree."

  After the desire and the aversion comes the second topic of the
movements toward action and the withdrawals from it; that you may be
obedient to reason, that you do nothing out of season or place, or
contrary to any propriety of the kind. The third topic concerns the
assents, which is related to the things which are persuasive and
attractive. For as Socrates said, "we ought not to live a life without
examination," so we ought not to accept an appearance without
examination, but we should say, "Wait, let me see what you are and
whence you come"; like the watch at night, "Show me the pass." "Have
you the signal from nature which the appearance that may be accepted
ought to have?" And finally whatever means are applied to the body
by those who exercise it, if they tend in any way toward desire and
it, aversion, they also may be fit means of exercise; but if they
are for display, they are the indications of one who has turned
himself toward something external, and who is hunting for something
else, and who looks for spectators who will say, "Oh the great man."
For this reason, Apollonius said well, "When you intend to exercise
yourself for your own advantage, and you are thirsty from heat, take
in a mouthful of cold water, and spit it out, and tell nobody."

  CHAPTER 13

  What solitude is, and what kind of person a solitary man is

  Solitude is a certain condition of a helpless man. For because a man
is alone, he is not for that reason also solitary; just as though a
man is among numbers, he is not therefore not solitary. When then we
have lost either a brother, or a son, or a friend on whom we were
accustomed to repose, we say that we are left solitary, though we
are often in Rome, though such a crowd meet us, though so many live in
the same place, and sometimes we have a great number of slaves. For
the man who is solitary, as it is conceived, is considered to be a
helpless person and exposed to those who wish to harm him. For this
reason when we travel, then especially do we say that we are lonely
when we fall among robbers, for it is not the sight of a human
creature which removes us from solitude, but the sight of one who is
faithful and modest and helpful to us. For if being alone is enough to
make solitude, you may say that even Zeus is solitary in the
conflagration and bewails himself saying, "Unhappy that I am who
have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor Apollo, nor brother, nor son, nor
descendant nor kinsman." This is what some say that he does when he is
alone at the conflagration. For they do not understand how a man
passes his life when he is alone, because they set out from a
certain natural principle, from the natural desire of community and
mutual love and from the pleasure of conversation among men. But
none the less a man ought to be prepared in a manner for this also, to
be able to be sufficient for himself and to be his own companion.
For as Zeus dwells with himself, and is tranquil by himself, and
thinks of his own administration and of its nature, and is employed in
thoughts suitable to himself; so ought we also to be able to talk with
ourselves, not to feel the want of others also, not to be unprovided
with the means of passing our time; to observe the divine
administration and the relation of ourselves to everything else; to
consider how we formerly were affected toward things that happen and
how at present; what are still the things which give us pain; how
these also can be cured and how removed; if any things require
improvement, to improve them according to reason.

  For you see that Caesar appears to furnish us with great peace, that
there are no longer enemies nor battles nor great associations of
robbers nor of pirates, but we can travel at every hour and sail
from east to west. But can Caesar give us security from fever also,
can he from shipwreck, from fire, from earthquake or from lightning?
well, I will say, can he give us security against love? He cannot.
From sorrow? He cannot. From envy? He cannot. In a word then he cannot
protect us from any of these things. But the doctrine of
philosophers promises to give us security even against these things.
And what does it say? "Men, if you will attend to me, wherever you
are, whatever you are doing, you will not feel sorrow, nor anger,
nor compulsion, nor hindrance, but you will pass your time without
perturbations and free from everything." When a man has this peace,
not proclaimed by Caesar (for how should he be able to proclaim
it?), but by God through reason, is he not content when he is alone?
when he sees and reflects, "Now no evil can happen to me; for me there
is no robber, no earthquake, everything is full of peace, full of
tranquillity: every way, every city, every meeting, neighbor,
companion is harmless. One person whose business it is, supplies me
with food; another with raiment; another with perceptions, and
preconceptions. And if he does not supply what is necessary, He
gives the signal for retreat, opens the door, and says to you, 'Go.'
Go whither? To nothing terrible, but to the place from which you came,
to your friends and kinsmen, to the elements: what there was in you of
fire goes to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water to
water: no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Cocytus, nor Pyriphlegethon, but all
is full of Gods and Demons." When a man has such things to think on,
and sees the sun, the moon and stars, and enjoys earth and sea, he
is not solitary nor even helpless. "Well then, if some man should come
upon me when I am alone and murder me?" Fool, not murder you, but your
poor body.

  What kind of solitude then remains? what want? why do we make
ourselves worse than children? and what do children do when they are
left alone? They take up shells and ashes, and they build something,
then pull it down, and build something else, and so they never want
the means of passing the time. Shall I, then, if you sail away, sit
down and weep, because I have been left alone and solitary? Shall I
then have no shells, no ashes? But children do what they do through
want of thought, and we through knowledge are unhappy.

  Every great power is dangerous to beginners. You must then bear such
things as you are able, but conformably to nature: but not... Practice
sometimes a way of living like a man in health. Abstain from food,
drink water, abstain sometimes altogether from desire, in order that
you may some time desire consistently with reason; and if consistently
with reason, when you have anything good in you, you will desire well.
"Not so; but we wish to live like wise men immediately and to be
useful to men." Useful how? what are you doing? have you been useful
to yourself? "But, I suppose, you wish to exhort them." You exhort
them! You wish to be useful to them. Show to them in your own
example what kind of men philosophy makes, and don't trifle. When
you are eating, do good to those who eat with you; when you are
drinking, to those who are drinking with you; by yielding to all,
giving way, bearing with them, thus do them good, and do not spit on
them your phlegm.

  CHAPTER 14

  Certain miscellaneous matters

  As bad tragic actors cannot sing alone, but in company with many: so
some persons cannot walk about alone. Man, if you are anything, both
walk alone and talk to yourself, and do not hide yourself in the
chorus. Examine a little at last, look around, stir yourself up,
that you may know who you are.

  When a man drinks water, or does anything for the sake of
practice, whenever there is an opportunity he tells it to all: "I
drink water." Is it for this that you drink water, for the purpose
of drinking water? Man, if it is good for you to drink, drink; but
if not, you are acting ridiculously. But if it is good for you and you
do drink, say nothing about it to those who are displeased with
water-drinkers. What then, do you wish to please these very men?

  Of things that are done some are done with a final purpose, some
according to occasion, others with a certain reference to
circumstances, others for the purpose of complying with others. and
some according to a fixed scheme of life.

  You must root out of men these two things, arrogance and distrust.
Arrogance, then, is the opinion that you want nothing: but distrust is
the opinion that you cannot be happy when so many circumstances
surround you. Arrogance is removed by confutation; and Socrates was
the first who practiced this. And, that the thing is not impossible,
inquire and seek. This search will do you no harm; and in a manner
this is philosophizing, to seek how it is possible to employ desire
and aversion without impediment.

  "I am superior to you, for my father is a man of consular rank."
Another says, "I have been a tribune, but you have not." If we were
horses, would you say, "My father was swifter?" "I have much barley
and fodder, or elegant neck ornaments." If, then, while you were
saying this, I said, "Be it so: let us run then." Well, is there
nothing in a man such as running in a horse, by which it will he known
which is superior and inferior? Is there not modesty, fidelity,
justice? Show yourself superior in these, that you may be superior
as a man. If you tell me that you can kick violently, I also will
say to you that you are proud of that which is the act of an ass.

  CHAPTER 15

  That we ought to proceed with circumspection to everything

  In every act consider what precedes and what follows, and then
proceed to the act. If you do not consider, you will at first begin
with spirit, since you have not thought at all of the things which
follow; but afterward, when some consequences have shown themselves,
you will basely desist. "I wish to conquer at the Olympic games." "And
I too, by the gods: for it is a fine thing." But consider here what
precedes and what follows; and then, if it is for your good, undertake
the thing. You must act according to rules, follow strict diet,
abstain from delicacies, exercise yourself by compulsion at fixed
times, in heat, in cold; drink no cold water, nor wine, when there
is opportunity of drinking it. In a word you must surrender yourself
to the trainer as you do to a physician. Next in the contest, you must
be covered with sand, sometimes dislocate a hand, sprain an ankle,
swallow a quantity of dust, be scourged with the whip; and after
undergoing all this, you must sometimes be conquered. After
reckoning all these things, if you have still an inclination, go to
the athletic practice. If you do not reckon them, observe you behave
like children who at one time you wi play as wrestlers, then as
gladiators, then blow a trumpet, then act a tragedy, when they have
seen and admired such things. So you also do: you are at one time a
wrestler, then a gladiator, then a philosopher, then a rhetorician;
but with your whole soul you are nothing: like the ape, you imitate
all that you see; and always one thing after another pleases you,
but that which becomes familiar displeases you. For you have never
undertaken anything after consideration, nor after having explored the
whole matter and put it to a strict examination; but you have
undertaken it at hazard and with a cold desire. Thus some persons
having seen a philosopher and having heard one speak like Euphrates-
yet who can speak like him?- wish to be philosophers themselves.

  Man, consider first what the matter is, then your own nature also,
what it is able to bear. If you are a wrestler, look at your
shoulders, your thighs, your loins: for different men are naturally
formed for different things. Do you think that, if you do, you can
be a philosopher? Do you think that you can eat as you do now, drink
as you do now, and in the same way be angry and out of humour? You
must watch, labour, conquer certain desires, you must depart from your
kinsmen, be despised by your slave, laughed at by those who meet
you, in everything you must be in an inferior condition, as to
magisterial office, in honours, in courts of justice. When you have
considered all these things completely, then, if you think proper,
approach to philosophy, if you would gain in exchange for these things
freedom from perturbations, liberty, tranquillity. If you have not
considered these things, do not approach philosophy: do not act like
children, at one time a philosopher, then a tax collector, then a
rhetorician, then a procurator of Caesar These things are not
consistent. You must be one man either good or bad: you must either
labour at your own ruling faculty or at external things: you must
either labour at things within or at external things: that is, you
must either occupy the place of a philosopher or that of one of the
vulgar.

  A person said to Rufus when Galba was murdered, "Is the world now
governed by Providence?" But Rufus replied, "Did I ever incidentally
form an argument from Galba that the world is governed by Providence?"

  CHAPTER 16

  That we ought with caution to enter, into familiar intercourse
with men

  If a man has frequent intercourse with others, either for talk, or
drinking together, or generally for social purposes, he must either
become like them, or change them to his own fashion. For if a man
places a piece of quenched charcoal close to a piece that is
burning, either the quenched charcoal will quench the other, or the
burning charcoal will light that which is quenched. Since, then, the
danger is so great, we must cautiously enter into such intimacies with
those of the common sort, and remember that it is impossible that a
man can keep company with one who is covered with soot without being
partaker of the soot himself. For what will you do if a man speaks
about gladiators, about horses, about athletes, or, what is worse,
about men? "Such a person is bad," "Such a person is good": "This
was well done," "This was done badly." Further, if he scoff, or
ridicule, or show an ill-natured disposition? Is any man among us
prepared like a lute-player when he takes a lute, so that as soon as
he has touched the strings, he discovers which are discordant, and
tunes the instrument? such a power as Socrates had who in all his
social intercourse could lead his companions to his own purpose? How
should you have this power? It is therefore a necessary consequence
that you are carried about by the common kind of people.

  Why, then, are they more powerful than you? Because they utter these
useless words from their real opinions: but you utter your elegant
words only from your lips; for this reason they are without strength
and dead, and it is nauseous to listen to your exhortations and your
miserable virtue, which is talked of everywhere. In this way the
vulgar have the advantage over you: for every opinion is strong and
invincible. Until, then, the good sentiments are fixed in you, and you
shall have acquired a certain power for your security, I advise you to
be careful in your association with like wax in the sun there will
be melted away whatever you inscribe on your minds in the school.
Withdraw, then, yourselves far from the sun so long as you have
these waxen sentiments. For this reason also philosophers advise men
to leave their native country, because ancient habits distract them
and do not allow a beginning to be made of a different habit; nor
can we tolerate those who meet us and say: "See such a one is now a
philosopher, who was once so-and-so." Thus also physicians send
those who have lingering diseases to a different country and a
different air; and they do right, Do you also introduce other habits
than those which you have: fix your opinions and exercise yourselves
in them. But you do not so: you go hence to a spectacle, to a show
of gladiators, to a place of exercise, to a circus; then you come back
hither, and again from this place you go to those places, and still
the same persons. And there is no pleasing habit, nor attention, nor
care about self and observation of this kind, "How shall I use the
appearances presented to me? according to nature, or contrary to
nature? how do I answer to them? as I ought, or as I ought not? Do I
say to those things which are independent of the will, that they do
not concern me?" For if you are not yet in this state, fly from your
former habits, fly from the common sort, if you intend ever to begin
to be something.

  CHAPTER 17

  On providence

  When you make any charge against Providence, consider, and you
will learn that the thing has happened according to reason. "Yes,
but the unjust man has the advantage." In what? "In money." Yes, for
he is superior to you in this, that he flatters, is free from shame,
and is watchful. What is the wonder? But see if he has the advantage
over you in being faithful, in being modest: for you will not find
it to be so; but wherein you are superior, there you will find that
you have the advantage. And I once said to a man who was vexed because
Philostorgus was fortunate: "Would you choose to lie with Sura?"
"May it never happen," he replied, "that this day should come?" "Why
then are you vexed, if he receives something in return for that
which he sells; or how can you consider him happy who acquires those
things by such means as you abominate; or what wrong does
Providence, if he gives the better things to the better men? Is it not
better to be modest than to be rich?" He admitted this. Why are you
vexed then, man, when you possess the better thing? Remember, then,
always, and have in readiness, the truth that this is a law of nature,
that the superior has an advantage over the inferior in that in
which he is superior; and you will never be vexed.

  "But my wife treats me badly." Well, if any man asks you what this
is, say, "My wife treats me badly." "Is there, then, nothing more?"
Nothing. "My father gives me nothing." But to say that this is an evil
is something which must be added to it externally, and falsely
added. For this reason we must not get rid of poverty, but of the
opinion about poverty, and then we shall be happy.

  CHAPTER 18

  That we ought not to be disturbed by any news

  When anything shall be reported to you which is of a nature to
disturb, have this principle in readiness, that the news is about
nothing which is within the power of your will. Can any man report
to you that you have formed a bad opinion, or had a bad desire? By
no means. But perhaps he will report that some person is dead. What
then is that to you? He may report that some person speaks ill of you.
What then is that to you? Or that your father is planning something or
other. Against whom? Against your will? How can he? But is it
against your poor body, against your little property? You are quite
safe: it is not against you. But the judge declares that you have
committed an act of impiety. And did not the judges make the same
declaration against Socrates ? Does it concern you that the judge
has made this declaration? No. Why then do you trouble yourself any
longer about it? Your father has a certain duty, and if he shall not
fulfill it, he loses the character of a father, of a man of natural
affection, of gentleness. Do not wish him to lose anything else on
this account. For never does a man do wrong, in one thing, and
suffer in another. On the other side it is your duty to make your
defense firmly, modestly, without anger: but if you do not, you also
lose the character of a son, of a man of modest behavior, of
generous character. Well then, is the judge free from danger? No;
but he also is in equal danger. Why then are you still afraid of his
decision? What have you to do with that which is another man's evil?
It is your own evil to make a bad defense: be on your guard against
this only. But to be condemned or not to be condemned, as that is
the act of another person, so it is the evil of another person. "A
certain person threatens you." Me? No. "He blames you." Let him see
how he manages his own affairs. "He is going to condemn you unjustly."
He is a wretched man.

  CHAPTER 19

  What is the condition of a common kind of man and of a philosopher

  The first difference between a common person and a philosopher is
this: the common person says, "Woe to me for my little child, for my
brother, for my father." The philosopher, if he shall ever be
compelled to say, "Woe to me," stops and says, "but for myself." For
nothing which is independent of the will can hinder or damage the
will, and the will can only hinder or damage itself. If, then, we
ourselves incline in this direction, so as, when we are unlucky, to
blame ourselves and to remember that nothing else is the cause of
perturbation or loss of tranquillity except our own opinion, I swear
to you by all the gods that we have made progress. But in the
present state of affairs we have gone another way from the
beginning. For example, while we were still children, the nurse, if we
ever stumbled through want of care, did not chide us, but would beat
the stone. But what did the stone do? Ought the stone to have moved on
account of your child's folly? Again, if we find nothing to eat on
coming out of the bath, the pedagogue never checks our appetite, but
he flogs the cook. Man, did we make you the pedagogue of the cook
and not of the child? Correct the child, improve him. In this way even
when we are grown up we are like children. For he who is unmusical
is a child in music; he who is without letters is a child in learning:
he who is untaught, is a child in life.

  CHAPTER 20

  That we can derive advantage from all external things

  In the case of appearances, which are objects of the vision,
nearly all have allowed the good and the evil to be in ourselves,
and not in externals. No one gives the name of good to the fact that
it is day, nor bad to the fact that it is night, nor the name of the
greatest evil to the opinion that three are four. But what do men say?
They say that knowledge is good, and that error is bad; so that even
in respect to falsehood itself there is a good result, the knowledge
that it is falsehood. So it ought to be in life also. "Is health a
good thing, and is sickness a bad thing" No, man. "But what is it?" To
be healthy, and healthy in a right way, is good: to be healthy in a
bad way is bad; so that it is possible to gain advantage even from
sickness, I declare. For is it not possible to gain advantage even
from death, and is it not possible to gain advantage from
mutilation? Do you think that Menoeceus gained little by death? "Could
a man who says so, gain so much as Menoeceus gained?" Come, man, did
he not maintain the character of being a lover of his country, a man
of great mind, faithful, generous? And if he had continued to live,
would he not have lost all these things? would he not have gained
the opposite? would he not have gained the name of coward, ignoble,
a hater of his country, a man who feared death? Well, do you think
that he gained little by dying? "I suppose not." But did the father of
Admetus gain much by prolonging his life so ignobly and miserably? Did
he not die afterward? Cease, I adjure you by the gods, to admire
things. Cease to make yourselves slaves, first of things, then on
account of things slaves of those who are able to give them or take
them away.

  "Can advantage then be derived from these things." From all; and
from him who abuses you. Wherein does the man who exercises before the
combat profit the athlete? Very greatly. This man becomes my exerciser
before the combat: he exercises me in endurance, in keeping my temper,
in mildness. You say no: but he, who lays hold of my neck and
disciplines my loins and shoulders, does me good; and the exercise
master does right when he says: "Raise him up with both hands, and the
heavier he is, so much the more is my advantage." But if a man
exercises me in keeping my, temper, does he not do good? This is not
knowing how to gain an advantage from men. "Is my neighbour bad?"
Bad to himself, but good to me: he exercises my good disposition, my
moderation. "Is my father bad?" Bad to himself, but to me good. This
is the rod of Hermes: "Touch with it what you please," as the saying
is. "and it will be of gold." I say not so: but bring what you please,
and I will make it good. Bring disease, bring death, bring poverty,
bring abuse, bring trial on capital charges: all these things
through the rod of Hermes shall be made profitable. "What will you
do with death?" Why, what else than that it shall do you honour, or
that it shall show you by act through it, what a man is who follows
the will of nature? "What will you do with disease?" I will show its
nature, I will be conspicuous in, it, I will be firm, I will be happy,
I will not flatter the physician, I will not wish to die. What else do
you seek? Whatever you shall give me, I will make it happy, fortunate,
honoured, a thing which a man shall seek.

  You say No: but take care that you do not fall sick: it is a bad
thing." This is the same as if you should say, "Take care that you
never receive the impression that three are four: that is bad." Man,
how is it bad? If I think about it as I ought, how shall it, then,
do me any damage? and shall it not even do me good? If, then, I
think about poverty as I ought to do, about disease, about not
having office, is not that enough for me? will it not be an advantage?
How, then, ought I any longer to look to seek evil and good in
externals? What happens these doctrines are maintained here, but no
man carries them away home; but immediately every one is at war with
his slave, with his neighbours, with those who have sneered at him,
with those who have ridiculed him. Good luck to Lesbius, who daily
proves that I know nothing.

  CHAPTER 21

  Against those who readily come to the profession of sophists

  They who have taken up bare theorems immediately wish to vomit
them forth, as persons whose stomach is diseased do with food. First
digest the thing, then do not vomit it up thus: f you do not digest
it, the thing become truly an emetic, a crude food and unfit to eat.
But after digestion show us some chance in your ruling faculty, as
athletes show in their shoulders by what they have been exercised
and what they have eaten; as those who have taken up certain arts show
by what they have learned. The carpenter does not come and say,
"Hear me talk about the carpenter's art"; but having undertaken to
build a house, he makes it, and proves that he knows the art. You also
ought to do something of the kind; eat like a man, drink like a man,
dress, marry, beget children, do the office of a citizen, endure
abuse, bear unreasonable brother, bear with your father, bear with
your son, neighbour, compassion. Show us these things that we may
see that you have in truth learned something from the philosophers.
You say, "No, but come and hear me read commentaries." Go away, and
seek somebody to vomit them on. "And indeed I will expound to you
the writings of Chrysippus as no other man can: I will explain his
text most clearly: I will add also, if I can, the vehemence of
Antipater and Archedemus."

  Is it, then, for this that young men shall leave their country and
their parents, that they may come to this place, and hear you
explain words? Ought they not to return with a capacity to endure,
to be active in association with others, free from passions, free from
perturbation, with such a provision for the journey of life with which
they shall be able to bear well the things that happen and derive
honour from them? And how can you give them any of these things
which you do not possess? Have you done from the beginning anything
else than employ yourself about the resolution of Syllogisms, of
sophistical arguments, and in those which work by questions? "But such
a man has a school; why should not I also have a school?" These things
are not done, man, in a careless way, nor just as it may happen; but
there must be a (fit) age and life and God as a guide. You say,
"No." But no man sails from a port without having sacrificed to the
Gods and invoked their help; nor do men sow without having called on
Demeter; and shall a man who has undertaken so great a work
undertake it safely without the Gods? and shall they who undertake
this work come to it with success? What else are you doing, man,
than divulging the mysteries? You say, "There is a temple at
Eleusis, and one here also. There is an Hierophant at Eleusis, and I
also will make an Hierophant: there is a herald, and I will
establish a herald; there is a torch-bearer at Eleusis, and I also
will establish a torch-bearer; there are torches at Eleusis, and I
will have torches here. The words are the same: how do the things done
here differ from those done there?" Most impious man, is there no
difference? these things are done both in due place and in due time;
and when accompanied with sacrifice and prayers, when a man is first
purified, and when he is disposed in his mind to the thought that he
is going to approach sacred rites and ancient rites. In this way the
mysteries are useful, in this way we come to the notion that all these
things were established by the ancients for the instruction and
correction of life. But you publish and divulge them out of time,
out of place, without sacrifices, without purity; you have not the
garments which the hierophant ought to have, nor the hair, nor the
head-dress, nor the voice, nor the age; nor have you purified yourself
as he has: but you have committed to memory the words only, and you
say: "Sacred are the words by themselves."

  You ought to approach these matters in another way; the thing is
great, it is mystical, not a common thing, nor is it given to every
man. But not even wisdom perhaps is enough to enable a man to take
care of youths: a man must have also a certain readiness and fitness
for this purpose, and a certain quality of body, and above all
things he must have God to advise him to occupy this office, as God
advised Socrates to occupy the place of one who confutes error,
Diogenes the office of royalty and reproof, and the office of teaching
precepts. But you open a doctor's shop, though you have nothing except
physic: but where and how they should be applied, you know not nor
have you taken any trouble about it. "See," that man says, "I too have
salves for the eyes." Have you also the power of using them? Do you
know both when and how they will do good, and to whom they will do
good? Why then do you act at hazard in things of the greatest
importance? why are you careless? why do you undertake a thing that is
in no way fit for you? Leave it to those who are able to do it, and to
do it well. Do not yourself bring disgrace on philosophy through
your own acts, and be not one of those who load it with a bad
reputation. But if theorems please you, sit still and turn them over
by yourself; but never say that you are a philosopher, nor allow
another to say it; but say: "He is mistaken, for neither are my
desires different from what they were before, nor is my activity
directed to other objects, nor do I assent to other things, nor in the
use of appearances have I altered at all from my former condition."
This you must think and say about yourself, if you would think as
you ought: if not, act at hazard, and do what you are doing; for it
becomes you.

  CHAPTER 22

  About cynicism

  When one of his pupils inquired of Epictetus, and he was a person
who appeared to be inclined to Cynism, what kind of person a Cynic
ought to be and what was the notion of the thing, We will inquire,
said Epictetus, at leisure: but I have so much to say to you that he
who without God attempts so great a matter, is hateful to God, and has
no other purpose than to act indecently in public. For in any
well-managed house no man comes forward, and says to himself, "I ought
to be manager of the house." If he does so, the master turns round
and, seeing him insolently giving orders, drags him forth and flogs
him. So it is also in this great city; for here also there is a master
of the house who orders everything. "You are the sun; you can by going
round make the year and seasons, and make the fruits grow and
nourish them, and stir the winds and make them remit, and warm the
bodies of men properly: go, travel round, and so administer things
from the greatest to the least." "You are a calf; when a lion shall
appear, do your proper business: if you do not, you will suffer." "You
are a bull: advance and fight, for this is your business, and
becomes you, and you can do it." "You can lead the army against
Illium; be Agamemnon." "You can fight in single combat against Hector:
be Achilles." But if Thersites came forward and claimed the command,
he would either not have obtained it; or, if he did obtain it, he
would have disgraced himself before many witnesses.

  Do you also think about the matter carefully: it is not what it
seems to you. "I wear a cloak now and I shall wear it then: I sleep
hard now, and I shall sleep hard then: I will take in addition a
little bag now and a staff, and I will go about and begin to beg and
to abuse those whom I meet; and if I see any man plucking the hair out
of his body, I will rebuke him, or if he has dressed his hair, or if
he walks about in purple." If you imagine the thing to be such as
this, keep far away from it: do not approach it: it is not at all
for you. But if you imagine it to be what it is, and do not think
yourself to be unfit for it, consider what a great thing you
undertake.

  In the first place in the things which relate to yourself, you
must not be in any respect like what you do now: you must not blame
God or man: you must take away desire altogether, you must transfer
avoidance only to the things which are within the power of the will:
you must not feel anger nor resentment nor envy nor pity; a girl
must not appear handsome to you, nor must you love a little
reputation, nor be pleased with a boy or a cake. For you ought to know
that the rest of men throw walls around them and houses and darkness
when they do any such things, and they have many means of concealment.
A man shuts the door, he sets somebody before the chamber: if a person
comes, say that he is out, he is not at leisure. But the Cynic instead
of all these things must use modesty as his protection: if he does
not, he will he indecent in his nakedness and under the open sky. This
is his house, his door: this is the slave before his bedchamber:
this is his darkness. For he ought not to wish to hide anything that
he does: and if he does, he is gone, he has lost the character of a
Cynic, of a man who lives under the open sky, of a free man: he has
begun to fear some external thing, he has begun to have need of
concealment, nor can he get concealment when he chooses. For where
shall he hide himself and how? And if by chance this public instructor
shall be detected, this pedagogue, what kind of things will he be
compelled to suffer? when then a man fears these things, is it
possible for him to be bold with his whole soul to superintend men? It
cannot be: it is impossible.

  In the first place, then, you must make your ruling faculty pure,
and this mode of life also. "Now, to me the matter to work on is my
understanding, as wood is to the carpenter, as hides to the shoemaker;
and my business is the right use of appearances. But the body is
nothing to me: the parts of it are nothing to me. Death? Let it come
when it chooses, either death of the whole or of a part. Fly, you say.
And whither; can any man eject me out of the world? He cannot. But
wherever I ever I go, there is the sun, there is the moon, there are
the stars, dreams, omens, and the conversation with Gods."

  Then, if he is thus prepared, the true Cynic cannot be satisfied
with this; but he must know that he is sent a messenger from Zeus to
men about good and bad things, to show them that they have wandered
and are seeking the substance of good and evil where it is not, but
where it is, they never think; and that he is a spy, as Diogenes was
carried off to Philip after the battle of Chaeroneia as a spy. For, in
fact, a Cynic is a spy of the things which are good for men and
which are evil, and it is his duty to examine carefully and to come
and report truly, and not to be struck with terror so as to point
out as enemies those who are not enemies, nor in any other way to be
perturbed by appearances nor confounded.

  It is his duty, then, to he able with a loud voice, if the
occasion should arise, and appearing on the tragic stage to say like
Socrates: "Men, whither are you hurrying, what are you doing,
wretches? like blind people you are wandering up and down: you are
going by another road, and have left the true road: you seek for
prosperity and happiness where they are not, and if another shows
you where they are, you do not believe him." Why do you seek it
without? In the body? It is not there. If you doubt, look at Myro,
look at Ophellius. In possessions? It is not there. But if you do
not believe me, look at Croesus: look at those who are now rich,
with what lamentations their life is filled. In power? It is not
there. If it is, those must be happy who have been twice and thrice
consuls; but they are not. Whom shall we believe in these matters? you
who from without see their affairs and are dazzled by an appearance,
or the men themselves? What do they say? Hear them when they groan,
when they grieve, when on account of these very consulships and
glory and splendour they think that they are more wretched and in
greater danger. Is it in royal power? It is not: if it were, Nero
would have been happy, and Sardanapalus. But neither was Agamemnon
happy, though he was a better man than Sardanapalus and Nero; but
while others are snoring what is he doing?

     "Much from his head he tore his rooted hair."

And what does he say himself?

     "I am perplexed," he says, "and

     Disturb'd I am," and "my heart out of my bosom

     Is leaping."

Wretch, which of your affairs goes badly? Your possessions? No. Your
body? No. But you are rich in gold and copper. What then is the matter
with you? That part of you, whatever it is, has been neglected by
you and is corrupted, the part with which we desire, with which we
avoid, with which we move toward and move from things. How
neglected? He knows not the nature of good for which he is made by
nature and the nature of evil; and what is his own, and what belongs
to another; and when anything that belongs to others goes badly, he
says, "Woe to me, for the Hellenes are in dancer." Wretched is his
ruling faculty, and alone neglected and uncared for. "The Hellenes are
going to die destroyed by the Trojans." And if the Trojans do not kill
them, will they not die? "Yes; but not all at once." What
difference, then, does it make? For if death is an evil, whether men
die altogether, or if they die singly, it is equally an evil. Is
anything else then going to happen than the separation of the soul and
the body? Nothing. And if the Hellenes perish, is the door closed, and
is it not in your power to die? "It is." Why then do you lament "Oh,
you who are a king and have the sceptre of Zeus?" An unhappy king does
not exist more than an unhappy god. What then art thou? In truth a
shepherd: for you weep as shepherds do, when a wolf has carried off
one of their sheep: and these who are governed by you are sheep. And
why did you come hither? Was your desire in any danger? was your
aversion? was your movement? was your avoidance of things? He replies,
"No; but the wife of my brother was carried off." Was it not then a
great gain to be deprived of an adulterous wife? "Shall we be
despised, then, by the Trojans?" What kind of people are the
Trojans, wise or foolish? If they are wise, why do you fight with
them? If they are fools, why do you care about them.

  In what, then, is the good, since it is not in these things? Tell
us, you who are lord, messenger and spy. Where you do not think that
it is, nor choose to seek it: for if you chose to seek it, you would
have found it to he in yourselves; nor would you be wandering out of
the way, nor seeking what belongs to others as if it were your own.
Turn your thoughts into yourselves: observe the preconceptions which
you have. What kind of a thing do you imagine the good to be? "That
which flows easily, that which is happy, that which is not impeded."
Come, and do you not naturally imagine it to be great, do you not
imagine it to be valuable? do you not imagine it to be free from harm?
In what material then ought you to seek for that which flows easily,
for that which is not impeded? in that which serves or in that which
is free? "In that which is free." Do you possess the body, then,
free or is it in servile condition? "We do not know." Do you not
know that it is the slave of fever, of gout, ophthalmia, dysentery, of
a tyrant, of fire, of iron, of everything which is stronger? Yes, it
is a slave." How, then, is it possible that anything which belongs
to the body can be free from hindrance? and how is a thing great or
valuable which is naturally dead, or earth, or mud? Well then, do
you possess nothing which is free? "Perhaps nothing." And who is
able to compel you to assent to that which appears false? "No man."
And who can compel you not to assent to that which appears true? "No
man." By this, then, you see that there is something in you
naturally free. But to desire or to be averse from, or to move
toward an object or to move from it, or to prepare yourself, or to
propose to do anything, which of you can do this, unless he has
received an impression of the appearance of that which is profitable
or a duty? "No man." You have, then, in these thongs also something
which is not hindered and is free. Wretched men, work out this, take
care of this, seek for good here.

  "And how is it possible that a man who has nothing, who is naked,
houseless, without a hearth, squalid, without a slave, without a city,
can pass a life that flows easily?" See, God has sent you a man to
show you that it is possible. "Look at me, who am without a city,
without a house, without possessions, without a slave; I sleep on
the ground; I have no wife, no children; no praetorium, but only the
earth and heavens, and one poor cloak. And what do I want? Am I not
without sorrow? am I not without fear? Am I not free? When did any
of you see me failing in the object of my desire? or ever falling into
that which I would avoid? did I ever blame God or man? did I ever
accuse any man? did any of you ever see me with sorrowful countenance?
And how do I meet with those whom you are afraid of and admire? Do not
I treat them like slaves? Who, when he sees me, does not think that he
sees his king and master?"

  This is the language of the Cynics, this their character, this is
their purpose. You say "No": but their characteristic is the little
wallet, and staff, and great jaws: the devouring of all that you
give them, or storing it up, or the abusing unseasonably all whom they
meet, or displaying their shoulder as a fine thing. Do you see how
you are going, to undertake so great a business? First take a
mirror: look at your shoulders; observe your loins, your thighs. You
are going, my man, to be enrolled as a combatant in the Olympic games,
no frigid and miserable contest. In the Olympic games a man is not
permitted to be conquered only and to take his departure; but first he
must be disgraced in the sight of all the world, not in the sight of
Athenians only, or of Lacedaemonians or of Nicopolitans; next he
must be whipped also if he has entered into the contests rashly: and
before being whipped, he must suffer thirst and heat, and swallow much
dust.

  Reflect more carefully, know thyself, consult the divinity,
without God attempt nothing; for if he shall advise you, be assured
that he intends you to become great or to receive many blows. For this
very amusing quality is conjoined to a Cynic: he must be flogged
like an ass, and when he is flogged, he must love those who flog
him, as if he were the father of all, and the brother of all. You
say "No"; but if a man flogs you, stand in the public place and call
out, "Caesar, what do I suffer in this state of peace under thy
protection? Let us bring the offender before the proconsul." But
what is Caesar to a Cynic, or what is a proconsul, or what is any
other except him who sent the Cynic down hither, and whom he serves,
namely Zeus? Does he call upon any other than Zeus? Is he not
convinced that, whatever he suffers, it is Zeus who is exercising him?
Hercules when he was exercised by Eurystheus did not think that he was
wretched, but without hesitation he attempted to execute all that he
had in hand. And is he who is trained to the contest and exercised
by Zeus going to call out and to be vexed, he who is worthy to bear
the sceptre of Diogenes? Hear what Diogenes says to the passers-by
when he is in a fever, "Miserable wretches, will you not stay? but are
you going so long a journey to Olympia to see the destruction or the
fight of athletes; and will you not choose to see the combat between a
fever and a man?" Would such a man accuse God who sent him down as
if God were treating him unworthily, a man who gloried in his
circumstances, and claimed to be an example to those who were
passing by? For what shall he accuse him of? because he maintains a
decency of behavior, because he displays his virtue more
conspicuously? Well, and what does he say of poverty, about death,
about pain? How did he compare his own happiness with that of the
Great King? or rather he thought that there was no comparison
between them. For where there are perturbations, and griefs, and
fears, and desires not satisfied, and aversions of things which you
cannot avoid, and envies and jealousies, how is there a road to
happiness there? But where there are corrupt principles, there these
things must of necessity be.

  When the young man asked, if when a Cynic is sick, and a friend asks
him to come to his house and be taken care of in his sickness, shall
the Cynic accept the invitation, he replied: And where shall you find,
I ask, a Cynic's friend? For the man who invites ought to be such
another as the that he may be worthy of being reckoned the Cynic's
friend. He ought to be a partner in the Cynic's sceptre and his
royalty, and a worthy minister, if he intends to be considered
worthy of a Cynic's friendship, as Diogenes was a friend of
Antisthenes, as Crates was a friend of Diogenes. Do you think that, if
a man comes to a Cynic and salutes him, he is the Cynic's friend,
and that the Cynic will think him worthy of receiving a Cynic into his
house? So that, if you please, reflect on this also: rather look round
for some convenient dunghill on which you shall bear your fever and
which will shelter you from the north wind that you may not be
chilled. But you seem to me to wish to go into some man's house and to
be well fed there for a time. Why then do you think of attempting so
great a thing?

  "But," said the young man, "shall marriage and the procreation of
children as a chief duty be undertaken by the Cynic?" If you grant
me a community of wise men, Epictetus replies, perhaps no man will
readily apply himself to the Cynic practice. For on whose account
should he undertake this manner of life? However if we suppose that he
does, nothing will prevent him from marrying and begetting children;
for his wife will be another like himself, and his father-in-law
another like himself, and his children will be brought up like
himself. But in the present state of things which is like that of an
army placed in battle order, is it not fit that the Cynic should
without any distraction be employed only on the administration of God,
able to go about among men, not tied down to the common duties of
mankind, nor entangled in the ordinary relations of life, which if
he neglects, he will not maintain the character of an honourable and
good man? and if he observes them he will lose the character of the
messenger, and spy and herald of God. For consider that it is his duty
to do something toward his father-in-law, something to the other
kinsfolk of his wife, something to his wife also. He is also
excluded by being a Cynic from looking after the sickness of his own
family, and from providing for their support. And, to say nothing of
the rest, he must have a vessel for heating water for the child that
he may wash it in the bath; wool for his wife when she is delivered of
a child, oil, a bed, a cup: so the furniture of the house is
increased. I say nothing of his other occupations and of his
distraction. Where, then, now is that king, he who devotes himself
to the public interests,

     The people's guardian and so full of cares.

whose duty it is to look after others, the married and those who
have children; to see who uses his wife well, who uses her badly;
who quarrels; what family is well administered, what is not; going
about as a physician does and feels pulses? He says to one, "You
have a fever," to another, "You have a headache, or the gout": he says
to one, "Abstain from food"; to another he says, "Eat"; or "Do not use
the bath"; to another, "You require the knife, or the cautery." How
can he have time for this who is tied to the duties of common life? is
it not his duty to supply clothing to his children, and to send them
to the schoolmaster with writing tablets, and styles. Besides, must he
not supply them with beds? for they cannot be genuine Cynics as soon
as they are born. If he does not do this, it would be better to expose
the children as soon as they are born than to kill them in this way.
Consider what we are bringing the Cynic down to, how we are taking his
royalty from him. "Yes, but Crates took a wife." You are speaking of a
circumstance which arose from love and of a woman who was another
Crates. But we are inquiring about ordinary marriages and those
which are free from distractions, and making this inquiry we do not
find the affair of marriage in this state of the world a thing which
is especially suited to the Cynic.

  "How, then, shall a man maintain the existence of society?" In the
name of God, are those men greater benefactors to society who
introduce into the world to occupy their own places two or three
grunting children, or those who superintend as far as they can all
mankind, and see what they do, how they live, what they attend to,
what they neglect contrary to their duty? Did they who left little
children to the Thebans do them more good than Epaminondas who died
childless? And did Priamus, who begat fifty worthless sons, or
Danaus or AEolus contribute more to the community than Homer? then
shall the duty of a general or the business of a writer exclude a
man from marriage or the begetting of children, and such a man shall
not be judged to have accepted the condition of childlessness for
nothing; and shall not the royalty of a Cynic be considered an
equivalent for the want of children? Do we not perceive his grandeur
and do we not justly contemplate the character of Diogenes; and do we,
instead of this, turn our eyes to the present Cynics, who are dogs
that wait at tables and in no respect imitate the Cynics of old except
perchance in breaking wind, but in nothing else? For such matters
would not have moved us at all nor should we have wondered if a
Cynic should not marry or beget children. Man, the Cynic is the father
of all men; the men are his sons, the women are his daughters: he so
carefully visits all, so well does he care for all. Do you think
that it is from idle impertinence that he rebukes those whom he meets?
He does it as a father, as a brother, and as the minister of the
father of all, the minister of Zeus.

  If you please, ask me also if a Cynic shall engage in the
administration of the state. Fool, do you seek a greater form of
administration than that in which he is engaged? Do you ask if he
shall appear among the Athenians and say something about the
revenues and the supplies, he who must talk with all men, alike with
Athenians, alike with Corinthians, alike with Romans, not about
supplies, nor yet about revenues, nor about peace or war, but about
happiness and unhappiness, about good fortune and bad fortune, about
slavery and freedom? When a man has undertaken the administration of
such a state, do you ask me if he shall engage in the administration
of a state? ask me also if he shall govern: again I will say to you:
Fool, what greater government shall he exercise than that which he
exercises now?

  It is necessary also for such a man to have a certain habit of body:
for if he appears to be consumptive, thin and pale, his testimony
has not then the same weight. For he must not only by showing the
qualities of the soul prove to the vulgar that it is in his power
independent of the things which they admire to be a good man, but he
must also show by his body that his simple and frugal way of living in
the open air does not injure even the body. "See," he says, "I am a
proof of this, and my own body also is." So Diogenes used to do, for
he used to go about fresh-looking, and he attracted the notice of
the many by his personal appearance. But if a Cynic is an object of
compassion, he seems to a beggar: all persons turn away from him,
all are offended with him; for neither ought he to appear dirty so
that he shall not also in this respect drive away men; but his very
roughness ought to be clean and attractive.

  There ought also to belong to the Cynic much natural grace and
sharpness; and if this is not so, he is a stupid fellow, and nothing
else; and he must have these qualities that he may be able readily and
fitly to be a match for all circumstances that may happen. So Diogenes
replied to one who said, "Are you the Diogenes who does not believe
that there are gods?" "And, how," replied Diogenes, "can this be
when I think that you are odious to the gods?" On another occasion
in reply to Alexander, who stood by him when he was sleeping, and
quoted Homer's line,

     A man a councilor should not sleep all night,

he answered, when he was half-asleep,

     The people's guardian and so full of cares.

  But before all the Cynic's ruling faculty must be purer than the
sun; and, if it is not, he must be a cunning knave and a fellow of
no principle, since while he himself is entangled in some vice he will
reprove others. For see how the matter stands: to these kings and
tyrants their guards and arms give the power of reproving some
persons, and of being able even to punish those who do wrong though
they are themselves bad; but to a Cynic instead of arms and guards
it is conscience which gives this power. When he knows that be has
watched and labored for mankind, and has slept pure, and sleep has
left him still purer, and that he thought whatever he has thought as a
friend of the gods, as a minister, as a participator of the power of
Zeus, and that on all occasions he is ready to say

     Lead me, O Zeus, and thou O Destiny;

and also, "If so it pleases the gods, so let it be"; why should he not
have confidence to speak freely to his own brothers, to his
children, in a word to his kinsmen? For this reason he is neither
overcurious nor a busybody when he is in this state of mind: for he is
not a meddler with the affairs of others when he is superintending
human affairs, but he is looking after his own affairs. If that is not
so, you may also say that the general is a busybody, when he
inspects his soldiers, and examines them, and watches them, and
punishes the disorderly. But if, while you have a cake under your arm,
you rebuke others, I will say to you: "Will you not rather go away
into a corner and eat that which you have stolen"; what have you to do
with the affairs of others? For who are you? are you the bull of the
herd, or the queen of the bees? Show me the tokens of your
supremacy, such as they have from nature. But if you are a drone
claiming the sovereignty over the bees, do you not suppose that your
fellow citizens will put you down as the bees do the drones?

  The Cynic also ought to have such power of endurance as to seem
insensible to the common sort and a stone: no man reviles him, no
man strikes him, no man insults him, but he gives his body that any
man who chooses may do with it what he likes. For he bears in mind
that the inferior must be overpowered by the superior in that in which
it is inferior; and the body is inferior to the many, the weaker to
the stronger. He never then descends into such a contest in which he
can be overpowered; but he immediately withdraws from things which
belong to others, he claims not the things which are servile. where
there is will and the use of appearances, there you will see how
many eyes he has so that you may say, "Argus was blind compared with
him." Is his assent ever hasty, his movement rash, does his desire
ever fall in its object, does that which he would avoid befall him, is
his purpose unaccomplished, does he ever find fault, is he ever
humiliated, is he ever envious? To these he directs all his
attention and energy; but as to everything else he snores supine.
All is peace; there is no robber who takes away his will, no tyrant.
But what say you as to his body? I say there is. And as to
magistracies and honours? What does he care for them? When then any
person would frighten him through them, he says to him, "Begone,
look for children: masks are formidable to them; but I know that
they are made of shell, and they have nothing inside."

  About such a matter as this you are deliberating. Therefore, if
you please, I urge you in God's name, defer the matter, and first
consider your preparation for it. For see what Hector says to
Andromache, "Retire rather," he says, "into the house and weave:

     War is the work of men

     Of all indeed, but specially 'tis mine.

So he was conscious of his own qualification, and knew her weakness.

  CHAPTER 23

  To those who read and discuss for the sake of ostentation

  First say to yourself, who you wish to be: then do accordingly
what you are doing; for in nearly all other things we see this to be
so. Those who follow athletic exercises first determine what they wish
to be, then do accordingly what follows. If a man is a runner in the
long course, there is a certain kind of diet, of walking, rubbing
and exercise: if a man is a runner in the stadium, all these things
are different; if he is a Pentathlete, they are still more
different. So you will find it also in the arts. If you are a
carpenter, you will have such and such things: if a worker in metal,
such things. For everything that we do, if we refer it to no end, we
shall do it to no purpose; and if we refer it to the wrong end, we
shall miss the mark. Further, there is a general end or purpose, and a
particular purpose. First of all, we must act as a man. What is
comprehended in this? We must not be like a sheep, though gentle,
nor mischievous, like a wild beast. But the particular cud has
reference to each person's mode of life and his will. The
lute-player acts as a lute-player, the carpenter as a carpenter, the
philosopher as a philosopher, the rhetorician as a rhetorician. When
then you say, "Come and hear me read to you": take care first of all
that you are not doing this without a purpose; then, if you have
discovered that you are doing this with reference to a purpose,
consider if it is the right purpose. Do you wish to do good or to be
praised? Immediately you hear him saying, "To me what is the value
of praise from the many?" and he says well, for it is of no value to a
musician, so far as he is a musician, nor to a geometrician. Do you
then wish to be useful? in what? tell us that we may run to your
audience-room. Now can a man do anything useful to others, who has not
received something useful himself? No, for neither can a man do
anything useful in the carpenter's art, unless he is a carpenter;
nor in the shoemaker's art, unless he is a shoemaker.

  Do you wish to know then if you have received any advantage? Produce
your opinions, philosopher. What is the thing which desire promises?
Not to fall in the object. What does aversion promise? Not to fall
into that which you would avoid. Well; do we fulfill their promise?
Tell me the truth; but if you lie, I will tell you. Lately when your
hearers came together rather coldly, and did not give you applause,
you went away humbled. Lately again when you had been praised, you
went about and said to all, "What did you think of me?" "Wonderful,
master, I swear by all that is dear to me." "But how did I treat of
that particular matter?" "Which?" "The passage in which I described
Pan and the nymphs?" "Excellently." Then do you tell me that in desire
and in aversion you are acting according to nature? Begone; try to
persuade somebody else. Did you not praise a certain person contrary
to your opinion? and did you not flatter a certain person who was
the son of a senator? Would you wish your own children to be such
persons? "I hope not." Why then did you praise and flatter him? "He is
an ingenuous youth and listens well to discourses." How is this? "He
admires me." You have stated your proof. Then what do you think? do
not these very people secretly despise you? When, then, a man who is
conscious that he has neither done any good nor ever thinks of it,
finds a philosopher who says, "You have a great natural talent, and
you have a candid and good disposition," what else do you think that
he says except this, "This man has some need of me?" Or tell me what
act that indicates a, great mind has he shown? Observe; he has been in
your company a long time; he has listened to your discourses, he has
heard you reading; has he become more modest? has he been turned to
reflect on himself? has he perceived in what a bad state he is? has he
cast away self-conceit? does he look for a person to teach him? "He
does." A man who will teach him to live? No, fool, but how to talk;
for it is for this that he admires you also. Listen and hear what he
says: "This man writes with perfect art, much better than Dion."
This is altogether another thing. Does he say, "This man is modest,
faithful, free from perturbations?" and even if he did say it, I
should say to him, "Since this man is faithful, tell me what this
faithful man is." And if he could not tell me, I should add this,
"First understand what you say, then speak."

  You, then, who are in a wretched plight and gaping after applause
and counting your auditors, do you intend to be useful to others?
"To-day many more attended my discourse." "Yes, many; we suppose
five hundred." "That is nothing; suppose that there were a
thousand." "Dion never had so many hearers." "How could he?" "And they
understand what is said beautifully." "What is fine, master, can
move even a stone." See, these are the words of a philosopher. This is
the disposition of a man who will do good to others; here is a man who
has listened to discourses, who has read what is written about
Socrates as Socratic, not as the compositions of Lysias and Isocrates.
"I have often wondered by what arguments." Not so, but "by what
argument": this is more exact than that. What, have you read the words
at all in a different way from that in which you read little odes? For
if you read them as you ought, you would not have been attending to
such matters, but you would rather have been looking to these words:
"Anytus and Meletus are able to kill me, but they cannot harm me": and
"I am always of such a disposition as to pay regard to nothing of my
own except to the reason which on inquiry seems to me the best." Hence
who ever heard Socrates say, "I know something and I teach"; but he
used to send different people to different teachers. Therefore they
used to come to him and ask to be introduced to philosophy by him; and
he would take them and recommend them. Not so; but as he accompanied
them he would say, "Hear me to-day discoursing in the house of
Quadratus." Why should I hear you? Do you wish to show me that you put
words together cleverly? You put them together, man; and what good
will it do you? "But only praise me." What do you mean by praising?
"Say to me, "Admirable, wonderful." Well, I say so. But if that is
praise whatever it is which philosophers mean by the name of good,
what have I to praise in you? If it is good to speak well, teach me,
and will praise you. "What then? ought a man to listen to such
things without pleasure?" I hope not. For my part I do not listen even
to a lute-player without pleasure. Must I then for this reason stand
and play the lute? Hear what Socrates says, "Nor would it be seemly
for a man of my age, like a young man composing addresses, to appear
before you." "Like a young man," he says. For in truth this small
art is an elegant thing, to select words, and to put them together,
and to come forward and gracefully to read them or to speak, and while
he is reading to say, "There are not many who can do these things, I
swear by all that you value."

  Does a philosopher invite people to hear him? As the sun himself
draws men to him, or as food does, does not the philosopher also
draw to him those who will receive benefit? What physician invites a
man to be treated by him? Indeed I now hear that even the physicians
in Rome do invite patients, but when I lived there, the physicians
were invited. "I invite you to come and hear that things are in a
bad way for you, and that you are taking care of everything except
that of which you ought to take care, and that you are ignorant of the
good and the bad and are unfortunate and unhappy." A fine kind of
invitation: and yet if the words of the philosopher do not produce
this effect on you, he is dead, and so is the speaker. Rufus was
used to say: "If you have leisure to praise me, I am speaking to no
purpose." Accordingly he used to speak in such a way that every one of
us who were sitting there supposed that some one had accused him
before Rufus: he so touched on what was doing, he so placed before the
eyes every man's faults.

  The philosopher's school, ye men, is a surgery: you ought not to
go out of it with pleasure, but with pain. For you are not in sound
health when you enter: one has dislocated his shoulder, another has an
abscess, a third a fistula, and a fourth a headache. Then do I sit and
utter to you little thoughts and exclamations that you may praise me
and go away, one with his shoulder in the same condition in which he
entered, another with his head still aching, and a third with his
fistula or his abscess just as they were? Is it for this then that
young men shall quit home, and leave their parents and their friends
and kinsmen and property, that they may say to you, "Wonderful!"
when you are uttering your exclamations. Did Socrates do this, or
Zeno, or Cleanthes?

  What then? is there not the hortatory style? Who denies it? as there
is the style of refutation, and the didactic style. Who, then, ever
reckoned a fourth style with these, the style of display? What is
the hortatory style? To be able to show both to one person and to many
the struggle in which they are engaged, and that they think more about
anything than about what they really wish. For they wish the things
which lead to happiness, but they look for them in the wrong place. In
order that this may be done, a thousand seats must be placed and men
must be invited to listen, and you must ascend the pulpit in a fine
robe or cloak and describe the death of Achilles. Cease, I entreat you
by the gods, to spoil good words and good acts as much as you can.
Nothing can have more power in exhortation than when the speaker shows
to the hearers that he has need of them. But tell me who when he hears
you reading or discoursing is anxious about himself or turns to
reflect on himself? or when he has gone out says, "The philosopher hit
me well: I must no longer do these things." But does he not, even if
you have a great reputation, say to some person, "He spoke finely
about Xerxes"; and another says, "No, but about the battle of
Thermopylae"? Is this listening to a philosopher?

  CHAPTER 24

  That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which
are not in our power

  Let not that which in another is contrary to nature be an evil to
you: for you are not formed by nature to be depressed with others
nor to be unhappy with others, but to be happy with them. If a man
is unhappy, remember that his unhappiness is his own fault: for God
has made all men to be happy, to be free from perturbations. For
this purpose he has given means to them, some things to each person as
his own, and other things not as his own: some things subject to
hindrance and compulsion and deprivation; and these things are not a
man's own: but the things which are not subject to hindrances are
his own; and the nature of good and evil, as it was fit to be done
by him who takes care of us and protects us like a father, he has made
our own. "But," you say, "I have parted from a certain person, and he
is grieved." Why did he consider as his own that which belongs to
another? why, when he looked on you and was rejoiced, did he not
also reckon that you are mortal, that it is natural for you to part
from him for a foreign country? Therefore he suffers the
consequences of his own folly. But why do you or for what purpose
bewail yourself? Is it that you also have not thought of these things?
but like poor women who are good for nothing, you have enjoyed all
things in which you took pleasure, as if you would always enjoy
them, both places and men and conversation; and now you sit and weep
because you do not see the same persons and do not live in the same
places. Indeed you deserve this, to be more wretched than crows and
ravens who have the power of flying where they please and changing
their nests for others, and crossing the seas without lamenting or
regretting their former condition. "Yes, but this happens to them
because they are irrational creatures." Was reason, then, given to
us by the gods for the purpose of unhappiness and misery, that we
may pass our lives in wretchedness and lamentation? Must all persons
be immortal and must no man go abroad, and must we ourselves not go
abroad, but remain rooted like plants; and, if any of our familiar
friends go abroad, must we sit and weep; and, on the contrary, when he
returns, must we dance and clap our hands like children?

  Shall we not now wean ourselves and remember what we have heard from
the philosophers? if we did not listen to them as if they were
jugglers: they tell us that this world is one city, and the
substance out of which it has been formed is one, and that there
must be a certain period, and that some things must give way to
others, that some must be dissolved, and others come in their place;
some to remain in the same place, and others to be moved; and that all
things are full of friendship, first of the gods, and then of men
who by nature are made to be of one family; and some must be with
one another, and others must be separated, rejoicing in those who
are with them, and not grieving for those who are removed from them;
and man in addition to being by nature of a noble temper and having
a contempt of all things which are not in the power of his will,
also possesses this property, not to be rooted nor to be naturally
fixed to the earth, but to go at different times to different
places, sometimes from the urgency of certain occasions, and at others
merely for the sake of seeing. So it was with Ulysses, who saw

     Of many men the states, and learned their ways.

And still earlier it was the fortune of Hercules to visit all the
inhabited world

     Seeing men's lawless deeds and their good rules of law:

casting out and clearing away their lawlessness and introducing in
their place good rules of law. And yet how many friends do you think
that he had in Thebes, how many in Argos, how many in Athens? and
how many do you think that he gained by going about? And he married
also, when it seemed to him a proper occasion, and begot children, and
left them without lamenting or regretting or leaving them as
orphans; for he knew that no man is an orphan; but it is the father
who takes care of all men always and continuously. For it was not as
mere report that he had heard that Zeus is the father of for he
thought that Zeus was his own father, and he called him so, and to him
he looked when he was doing what he did. Therefore he was enabled to
live happily in all places. And it is never possible for happiness and
desire of what is not present to come together. that which is happy
must have all that desires, must resemble a person who is filled
with food, and must have neither thirst nor hunger. "But Ulysses
felt a desire for his wife and wept as he sat on a rock." Do you
attend to Homer and his stories in everything? Or if Ulysses really
wept, what was he else than an unhappy man? and what good man is
unhappy? In truth, the whole is badly administered, if Zeus does not
take care of his own citizens that they may be happy like himself. But
these things are not lawful nor right to think of: and if Ulysses
did weep and lament, he was not a good man. For who is good if he
knows not who he is? and who knows what he is, if he forgets that
things which have been made are perishable, and that it is not
possible for one human being to be with another always? To desire,
then, things which are impossible is to have a slavish character and
is foolish: it is the part of a stranger, of a man who fights
against God in the only way that he can, by his opinions.

  "But my mother laments when she does not see me." Why has she not
learned these principles? and I do not say this, that we should not
take care that she may not lament, but I say that we ought not to
desire in every way what is not our own. And the sorrow of another
is another's sorrow: but my sorrow is my own. I, then, will stop my
own sorrow by every means, for it is in my power: and the sorrow of
another I will endeavor to stop as far as I can; but I will not
attempt to do it by every means; for if I do, I shall be fighting
against God, I shall be opposing and shall be placing myself against
him in the administration of the universe; and the reward of this
fighting against God and of this disobedience not only will the
children of my children pay, but I also shall myself, both by day
and by night, startled by dreams, perturbed, trembling at every
piece of news, and having my tranquillity depending on the letters
of others. Some person has arrived from Rome. "I only hope that
there is no harm." But what harm can happen to you, where you are not?
From Hellas some one is come: "I hope that there is no harm." In
this way every place may be the cause of misfortune to you. Is it
not enough for you to be unfortunate there where you are, and must you
be so even beyond sea, and by the report of letters? Is this the way
in which your affairs are in a state of security? "Well, then, suppose
that my friends have died in the places which are far from me." What
else have they suffered than that which is the condition of mortals?
Or how are you desirous at the same time to live to old age, and at
the same time not to see the death of any person whom you love? Know
you not that in the course of a long time many and various kinds of
things must happen; that a fever shall overpower one, a robber
another, and a third a tyrant? Such is the condition of things
around us, such are those who live with us in the world: cold and
heat, and unsuitable ways of living, and journeys by land, and voyages
by sea, and winds, and various circumstances which surround us,
destroy one man, and banish another, and throw one upon an embassy and
another into an army. Sit down, then, in a flutter at all these
things, lamenting, unhappy, unfortunate, dependent on another, and
dependent not on one or two, but on ten thousands upon ten thousands.

  Did you hear this when you were with the philosophers? did you learn
this? do you not know that human life is a warfare? that one man
must keep watch, another must go out as a spy, and a third must fight?
and it is not possible that all should be in one place, nor is it
better that it be so. But you, neglecting neglecting to do the
commands of the general, complain when anything more hard than usual
is imposed on you, and you do not observe what you make the army
become as far as it is in your power; that if all imitate you, no
man will dig a trench, no man will put a rampart round, nor keep
watch, nor expose himself to danger, but will appear to be useless for
the purposes of an army. Again, in a vessel if you go as a sailor,
keep to one place and stick to it. And if you are ordered to climb the
mast, refuse; if to run to the head of the ship, refuse; and what
master, of a ship will endure you? and will he not pitch you overboard
as a useless thing, an impediment only and bad example to the other
sailors? And so it is here also: every man's life is a kind of
warfare, and it is long and diversified. You must observe the duty
of a soldier and do everything at the nod of the general; if it is
possible, divining what his wishes are: for there is no resemblance
between that general and this, neither in strength nor in
superiority of character. You are placed in a great office of
command and not in any mean place; but you are always a senator. Do
you not know that such a man must give little time to the affairs of
his household, but be often away from home, either as a governor or
one who is governed, or discharging some office, or serving in war
or acting as a judge? Then do you tell me that you wish, as a plant,
to be fixed to the same places and to be rooted? "Yes, for it is
pleasant." Who says that it is not? but a soup is pleasant, and a
handsome woman is pleasant. What else do those say who make pleasure
their end? Do you not see of what men yon have uttered the language?
that it is the language of Epicureans and catamites? Next while you
are doing what they do and holding their opinions, do you speak to
us the words of Zeno and of Socrates? Will you not throw away as far
as you can the things belonging to others with which you decorate
yourself, though they do not fit you at all? For what else do they
desire than to sleep without hindrance and free from compulsion, and
when they have risen to yawn at their leisure, and to wash the face,
then write and read what they choose, and then talk about some
trifling matter being praised by their friends whatever they may
say, then to go forth for a walk, and having walked about a little
to bathe, and then eat and sleep, such sleep as is the fashion of such
men? why need we say how? for one can easily conjecture. Come, do
you also tell your own way of passing the time which you desire, you
who are an admirer of truth and of Socrates and Diogenes. What do
you wish to do in Athens? the same, or something else? Why then do you
call yourself a Stoic? Well, but they who falsely call themselves
Roman citizens, are severely punished; and should those, who falsely
claim so great and reverend a thing and name, get off unpunished? or
is this not possible, but the law divine and strong and inevitable
is this, which exacts the severest punishments from those who commit
the greatest crimes? For what does this law say? "Let him who pretends
to things which do not belong to him be a boaster, a vainglorious man:
let him who disobeys the divine administration be base, and a slave;
let him suffer grief, let him be envious, let him pity; and in a
word let him be unhappy and lament."

  "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, 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
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, 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?

  In Athens did you see no one by going to his house? "I visited any
man that I pleased." Here also be ready to see, and you will see
whom you please: only let it be without meanness, neither with
desire nor with aversion, and your affairs will be well managed. But
this result does not depend on going nor on standing at the doors, but
it depends on what is within, on your opinions. When you have
learned not to value things which are external, and not dependent on
the will, and to consider that not one of them is your own, but that
these things only are your own, to exercise the judgment well, to form
opinions, to move toward an object, to desire, to turn from a thing,
where is there any longer room for flattery, where for meanness? why
do you still long for the quiet there, and for the places to which you
are accustomed? Wait a little and you will again find these places
familiar: then, if you are of so ignoble a nature, again if you
leave these also, weep and lament.

  "How then shall I become of an affectionate temper?" By being of a
noble disposition, and happy. For it is not reasonable to be
means-spirited nor to lament yourself, nor to depend on another, nor
even to blame God or man. I entreat you, become an affectionate person
in this way, by observing these rules. But if through this
affection, as you name it, you are going to be a slave and wretched,
there is no profit in being affectionate. And what prevents you from
loving another as a person subject to mortality, as one who may go
away from you. Did not Socrates love his own children? He did; but
it was as a free man, as one who remembered that he must first be a
friend to the gods. For this reason he violated nothing which was
becoming to a good man, neither in making his defense nor by fixing
a penalty on himself, nor even in the former part of his life when
he was a senator or when be was a soldier. But we are fully supplied
with every pretext for being of ignoble temper, some for the sake of a
child, some for a mother, and others for brethren's sake. But it is
not fit for us to be unhappy on account of any person, but to be happy
on account of all, but chiefly on account of God who has made us for
this end. Well, did Diogenes love nobody, who was so kind and so
much a lover of all that for mankind in general he willingly undertook
so much labour and bodily sufferings? He did love mankind, but how? As
became a minister of God, at the same time caring for men, and being
also subject to God. For this reason all the earth was his country,
and no particular place; and when he was taken prisoner he did not
regret Athens nor his associates and friends there, but even he became
familiar with the pirates and tried to improve them; and being sold
afterward he lived in Corinth as before at Athens; and he would have
behaved the same, if he had gone to the country of the Perrhaebi. Thus
is freedom acquired. For this reason he used to say, "Ever since
Antisthenes made me free, I have not been a slave." How did
Antisthenes make him free? Hear what he says: "Antisthenes taught me
what is my own, and what is not my own; possessions are not my own,
nor kinsmen, domestics, friends, nor reputation, nor places
familiar, nor mode of life; all these belong to others." What then
is your own? "The use of appearances. This be showed to me, that I
possess it free from hindrance, and from compulsion, no person can put
an obstacle in my way, no person can force me to use appearances
otherwise than I wish." Who then has any power over me? Philip or
Alexander, or Perdiccas or the Great King? How have they this power?
For if a man is going to be overpowered by a man, he must long
before be overpowered by things. If, then, pleasure is not able to
subdue a man, nor pain, nor fame, nor wealth, but he is able, when
he chooses, to spit out all his poor body in a man's face and depart
from life, whose slave can he still be? But if he dwelt with
pleasure in Athens, and was overpowered by this manner of life, his
affairs would have been at every man's command; the stronger would
have had the power of grieving him. How do you think that Diogenes
would have flattered the pirates that they might sell him to some
Athenian, that some time he might see that beautiful Piraeus, and
the Long Walls and the Acropolis? In what condition would you see
them? As a captive, a slave and mean: and what would be the use of
it for you? "Not so: but I should see them as a free man." Show me,
how you would be free. Observe, some person has caught you, who
leads you away from your accustomed place of abode and says, "You
are my slave, for it is in my power to hinder you from living as you
please, it is in my power to treat you gently, and to humble you: when
I choose, on the contrary you are cheerful and go elated to Athens."
What do you say to him who treats you as a slave? What means have
you of finding one who will rescue you from slavery? Or cannot you
even look him in the face, but without saying more do you entreat to
be set free? Man, you ought to go gladly to prison, hastening, going
before those who lead you there. Then, I ask you, are you unwilling to
live in Rome and desire to live in Hellas? And when you must die, will
you then also fill us with your lamentations, because you will not see
Athens nor walk about in the Lyceion? Have you gone abroad for this?
was it for this reason you have sought to find some person from whom
you might receive benefit? What benefit? That you may solve syllogisms
more readily, or handle hypothetical arguments? and for this reason
did you leave brother, country, friends, your family, that you might
return when you had learned these things? So you did not go abroad
to obtain constancy of mind, nor freedom from perturbation, nor in
order that, being secure from harm, you may never complain of any
person, accuse no person, and no man may wrong you, and thus you may
maintain your relative position without impediment? This is a fine
traffic that you have gone abroad for in syllogisms and sophistical
arguments and hypothetical: if you like, take your place in the
agora and proclaim them for sale like dealers in physic. Will you
not deny even all that you have learned that you may not bring a bad
name on your theorems as useless? What harm has philosophy done you?
Wherein has Chrysippus injured you that you should prove by your
acts that his labours are useless? Were the evils that you had there
not enough, those which were the cause of your pain and lamentation,
even if you had not gone abroad? Have you added more to the list?
And if you again have other acquaintances and friends, you will have
more causes for lamentation; and the same also if you take an
affection for another country. Why, then, do you live to surround
yourself with other sorrows upon sorrows through which you are
unhappy? Then, I ask you, do you call this affection? What
affection, man! If it is a good thing, it is the cause of no evil:
if it is bad, I have nothing to do with it. I am formed by nature
for my own good: I am not formed for my own evil.

  What then is the discipline for this purpose? First of all the
highest and the principal, and that which stands as it were at the
entrance, is this; when you are delighted with anything, be
delighted as with a thing which is not one of those which cannot be
taken away, but as with something of such a kind, as an earthen pot
is, or a glass cup, that, when it has been broken, you may remember
what it was and may not be troubled. So in this matter also: if you
kiss your own child, or your brother or friend, never give full
license to the appearance, and allow not your pleasure to go as far as
it chooses; but check it, and curb it as those who stand behind men in
their triumphs and remind them that they are mortal. Do you also
remind yourself in like manner, that he whom you love is mortal, and
that what you love is nothing of your own: it has been given to you
for the present, not that it should not be taken from you, nor has
it been given to you for all time, but as a fig is given to you or a
bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year. But if you wish
for these things in winter, you are a fool. So if you wish for your
son or friend when it is not allowed to you, you must know that you
are wishing for a fig in winter. For such as winter is to a fig,
such is every event which happens from the universe to the things
which are taken away according to its nature. And further, at the
times when you are delighted with a thing, place before yourself the
contrary appearances. What harm is it while you are kissing your child
to say with a lisping voice, "To-morrow you will die"; and to a friend
also, "To-morrow you will go away or I shall, and never shall we see
one another again"? "But these are words of bad omen." And some
incantations also are of bad omen; but because they are useful, I
don't care for this; only let them be useful. "But do you call
things to be of bad omen except those which are significant of some
evil?" Cowardice is a word of bad omen, and meanness of spirit, and
sorrow, and grief and shamelessness. These words are of bad omen:
and yet we ought not to hesitate to utter them in order to protect
ourselves against the things. Do you tell me that a name which is
significant of any natural thing is of evil omen? say that even for
the ears of corn to be reaped is of bad omen, for it signifies the
destruction of the ears, but not of the world. Say that the falling of
the leaves also is of bad omen, and for the dried fig to take the
place of the green fig, and for raisins to be made from the grapes.
For all these things are changes from a former state into other
states; not a destruction, but a certain fixed economy and
administration. Such is going away from home and a small change:
such is death, a greater change, not from the state which now is to
that which is not, but to that which is not now. "Shall I then no
longer exist?" You will not exist, but you be something else, of which
the world now has need: for you also came into existence not when
you chose, but when the world had need of you.

  Wherefore the wise and good man, remembering who he is and whence he
came, and by whom he was produced, is attentive only to this, how he
may fill his place with due regularity and obediently to God. "Dost
Thou still wish me to exist? I will continue to exist as free, as
noble in nature, as Thou hast wished me to exist: for Thou hast made
me free from hindrance in that which is my own. But hast Thou no
further need of me? I thank Thee; and so far I have remained for Thy
sake, and for the sake of no other person, and now in obedience to
Thee I depart." "How dost thou depart?" Again, I say, as Thou hast
pleased, as free, as Thy servant, as one who has known Thy commands
and Thy prohibitions. And so long as I shall stay in Thy service, whom
dost Thou will me to be? A prince or a private man, a senator or a
common person, a soldier or a general, a teacher or a master of a
family? whatever place and position Thou mayest assign to me, as
Socrates says, "I will die ten thousand times rather than desert
them." And where dost Thou will me to be? in Rome or Athens, or Thebes
or Gyara. Only remember me there where I am. If Thou sendest me to a
place where there are no means for men living according to nature, I
shall not depart in disobedience to Thee, but as if Thou wast giving
me the signal to retreat: I do not leave Thee, let this be to from
my intention, but perceive that Thou hast no need of me. If means of
living according to nature be allowed me, I will seek no other place
than that in which I am, or other men than those among whom I am.

  Let these thoughts be ready to hand by night and by day: these you
should write, these you should read: about these you should talk to
yourself, and to others. Ask a man, "Can you help me at all for this
purpose?" and further, go to another and to another. Then if
anything that is said he contrary to your wish, this reflection
first will immediately relieve you, that it is not unexpected. For
it is a great thing in all cases to say, "I knew that I begot a son
who is mortal." For so you also will say, "I knew that I am mortal,
I knew that I may leave my home, I knew that I may be ejected from it,
I knew that I may be led to prison." Then if you turn round, and
look to yourself, and seek the place from which comes that which has
happened, you will forthwith recollect that it comes from the place of
things which are out of the power of the will, and of things which are
not my own. "What then is it to me?" Then, you will ask, and this is
the chief thing: "And who is it that sent it?" The leader, or the
general, the state, the law of the state. Give it me then, for I
must always obey the law in everything. Then, when the appearance
pains you, for it is not in your power to prevent this, contend
against it by the aid of reason, conquer it: do not allow it to gain
strength nor to lead you to the consequences by raising images such as
it pleases and as it pleases. If you be in Gyara, do not imagine the
mode of living at Rome, and how many pleasures there were for him
who lived there and how many there would be for him who returned to
Rome: but fix your mind on this matter, how a man who lives in Gyara
ought to live in Gyara like a man of courage. And if you be in Rome,
do not imagine what the life in Athens is, but think only of the
life in Rome.

  Then in the place of all other delights substitute this, that of
being conscious that you are obeying God, that, not in word but in
deed, you are performing the acts of a wise and good man. For what a
thing it is for a man to be able to say to himself, "Now, whatever the
rest may say in solemn manner in the schools and may be judged to be
saying in a way contrary to common opinion, this I am doing; and
they are sitting and are discoursing of my virtues and inquiring about
me and praising me; and of this Zeus has willed that I shall receive
from myself a demonstration, and shall myself know if He has a soldier
such as He ought to have, a citizen such as He ought to have, and if
He has chosen to produce me to the rest of mankind as a witness of the
things which are independent of the will: 'See that you fear without
reason, that you foolishly desire what you do desire: seek not the
good in things external; seek it in yourselves: if you do not, you
will not find it.' For this purpose He leads me at one time hither, at
another time sends me thither, shows me to men as poor, without
authority, and sick; sends me to Gyara, leads me into prison, not
because He hates me, far from him be such a meaning, for who hates the
best of his servants? nor yet because He cares not for me, for He does
not neglect any even of the smallest things;' but He does this for the
purpose of exercising me and making use of me as a witness to
others. Being appointed to such a service, do I still care about the
place in which I am, or with whom I am, or what men say about me?
and do I not entirely direct my thoughts to God and to His
instructions and commands?"

  Having these things always in hand, and exercising them by yourself,
and keeping them in readiness, you will never be in want of one to
comfort you and strengthen you. For it is not shameful to be without
something to eat, but not to have reason sufficient for keeping away
fear and sorrow. But if once you have gained exemption from sorrow and
fear, will there any longer be a tyrant for you, or a tyrant's
guard, or attendants on Caesar? Or shall any appointment to offices at
court cause you pain, or shall those who sacrifice in the Capitol,
on the occasion of being named to certain functions, cause pain to you
who have received so great authority from Zeus? Only do not make a
proud display of it, nor boast of it; but show it by your acts; and if
no man perceives it, be satisfied that you are yourself in a healthy
state and happy.

  CHAPTER 25

  To those who fall off from their purpose

  Consider as to the things which you proposed to yourself at first,
which you have secured and which you have not; and how you are pleased
when you recall to memory the one and are pained about the other;
and if it is possible, recover the things wherein you failed. For we
must not shrink when we are engaged in the greatest combat, but we
must even take blows. For the combat before us is not in wrestling and
the Pancration, in which both the successful and the unsuccessful
may have the greatest merit, or may have little, and in truth may be
very fortunate or very unfortunate; but the combat is for good fortune
and happiness themselves. Well then, even if we have renounced the
contest in this matter, no man hinders us from renewing the combat
again, and we are not compelled to wait for another four years that
the games at Olympia may come again; but as soon as you have recovered
and restored yourself, and employ the same zeal, you may renew the
combat again; and if again you renounce it, you may again renew it;
and if you once gain the victory, you are like him who has never
renounced the combat. Only do not, through a habit of doing the same
thing, begin to do it with pleasure, and then like a bad athlete go
about after being conquered in all the circuit of the games like
quails who have run away.

  "The sight of a beautiful young girl overpowers me. Well, have I not
been overpowered before? An inclination arises in me to find fault
with a person; for have I not found fault with him before?" You
speak to us as if you had come off free from harm, just as if a man
should say to his physician who forbids him to bathe, "Have I not
bathed before?" If, then, the physician can say to him, "Well, and
what, then, happened to you after the bath? Had you not a fever, had
you not a headache?" And when you found fault with a person lately,
did you not do the act of a malignant person, of a trifling babbler;
did you not cherish this habit in you by adding to it the
corresponding acts? And when you were overpowered by the young girl,
did you come off unharmed? Why, then, do you talk of what you did
before? You ought, I think, remembering what you did, as slaves
remember the blows which they have received, to abstain from the
same faults. But the one case is not like the other; for in the case
of slaves the pain causes the remembrance: but in the case of your
faults, what is the pain, what is the punishment; for when have you
been accustomed to fly from evil acts? Sufferings, then, of the trying
character are useful to us, whether we choose or not.

  CHAPTER 26

  To those who fear want

  Are you not ashamed at more cowardly and more mean than fugitive
slaves? How do they when they run away leave their masters? on what
estates do they depend, and what domestics do they rely on? Do they
not, after stealing a little which is enough for the first days,
then afterward move on through land or through sea, contriving one
method after another for maintaining their lives? And what fugitive
slave ever died of hunger? But you are afraid lest necessary things
should fall you, and are sleepless by night. Wretch, are you so blind,
and don't you see the road to which the want of necessaries leads?
"Well, where does it lead?" To the same place to which a fever
leads, or a stone that falls on you, to death. Have you not often said
this yourself to your companions? have you not read much of this kind,
and written much? and how often have you boasted that you were easy as
to death?

  "Yes: but my wife and children also suffer hunger." Well then,
does their hunger lead to any other place? Is there not the same
descent to some place for them also? Is not there the same state below
for them? Do you not choose, then, to look to that place full of
boldness against every want and deficiency, to that place to which
both the richest and those who have held the highest offices, and
kings themselves and tyrants must descend? or to which you will
descend hungry, if it should so happen, but they burst by
indigestion and drunkenness. What beggar did you hardly ever see who
was not an old man, and even of extreme old age? But chilled with cold
day and night, and lying on the ground, and eating only what is
absolutely necessary they approach near to the impossibility of dying.
Cannot you write? Cannot you teach children? Cannot you be a
watchman at another person's door? "But it is shameful to come to such
necessity." Learn, then, first what are the things which are shameful,
and then tell us that you are a philosopher: but at present do not,
even if any other man call you so, allow it.

  Is that shameful to you which is not your own act, that of which you
are not the cause, that which has come to you by accident, as a
headache, as a fever? If your parents were poor, and left their
property to others, and if while they live, they do not help you at
all, is this shameful to you? Is this what you learned with the
philosophers? Did you never hear that the thing which is shameful
ought to be blamed, and that which is blamable is worthy of blame?
Whom do you blame for an act which is not his own, which he did not do
himself? Did you, then, make your father such as he is, or is it in
your power to improve him? Is this power given to you? Well then,
ought you to wish the things which are not given to you, or to be
ashamed if you do not obtain them? And have you also been accustomed
while you were studying philosophy to look to others and to hope for
nothing from yourself? Lament then and groan and eat with fear that
you may not have food to-morrow. Tremble about your poor slaves lest
they steal, lest they run away, lest they die. So live, and continue
to live, you who in name only have approached philosophy and have
disgraced its theorems as far as you can by showing them to be useless
and unprofitable to those who take them up; you who have never
sought constancy, freedom from perturbation, and from passions: you
who have not sought any person for the sake of this object, but many
for the sake of syllogisms; you who have never thoroughly examined any
of these appearances by yourself, "Am I able to bear, or am I not able
to bear? What remains for me to do?" But as if all your affairs were
well and secure, you have been resting on the third topic, that of
things being unchanged, in order that you may possess unchanged- what?
cowardice, mean spirit, the admiration of the rich, desire without
attaining any end, and avoidance which fails in the attempt? About
security in these things you have been anxious.

  Ought you not to have gained something in addition from reason
and, then, to have protected this with security? And whom did you ever
see building a battlement all round and not encircling it with a wall?
And what doorkeeper is placed with no door to watch? But you
practice in order to be able to prove- what? You practice that you may
not be tossed as on the sea through sophisms, and tossed about from
what? Show me first what you hold, what you measure, or what you
weigh; and show me the scales or the medimnus; or how long will you go
on measuring the dust? Ought you not to demonstrate those things which
make men happy, which make things go on for them in the way as they
wish, and why we ought to blame no man, accuse no man, and acquiesce
in the administration of the universe? Show me these. "See, I show
them: I will resolve syllogisms for you." This is the measure,
slave; but it is not the thing measured. Therefore you are now
paying the penalty for what you neglected, philosophy: you tremble,
you lie awake, you advise with all persons; and if your
deliberations are not likely to please all, you think that you have
deliberated ill. Then you fear hunger, as you suppose: but it is not
hunger that you fear, but you are afraid that you will not have a
cook, that you will not have another to purchase provisions for the
table, a third to take off your shoes, a fourth to dress you, others
to rub you, and to follow you, in order that in the bath, when you
have taken off your clothes and stretched yourself out like those
who are crucified you may be rubied on this side and on that, and then
the aliptes may say, "Change his position, present the side, take hold
of his head, show the shoulder"; and then when you have left the
bath and gone home, you may call out, "Does no one bring something
to eat?" And then, "Take away the tables, sponge them": you are afraid
of this, that you may not be able to lead the life of a sick man.
But learn the life of those who are in health, how slaves live, how
labourers, how those live who are genuine philosophers; how Socrates
lived, who had a wife and children; how Diogenes lived, and how
Cleanthes, who attended to the school and drew water. If you choose to
have these things, you will have them everywhere, and you will live in
full confidence. Confiding in what? In that alone in which a man can
confide, in that which is secure, in that which is not subject to
hindrance, in that which cannot be taken away, that is, in your own
will. And why have you made yourself so useless and good for nothing
that no man will choose to receive you into his house, no man to
take care of you? but if a utensil entire and useful were cast abroad,
every man who found it would take it up and think it a gain; but no
man will take you up, and every man will consider you a loss. So
cannot you discharge the office of a dog, or of a cock? Why then do
you choose to live any longer, when you are what you are?

  Does any good man fear that he shall fall to have food? To the blind
it does not fall, to the lame it does not: shall it fall to a good
man? And to a good soldier there does not fail to one who gives him
pay, nor to a labourer, nor to a shoemaker: and to the good man
shall there be wanting such a person? Does God thus neglect the things
that He has established, His ministers, His witnesses, whom alone He
employs as examples to the uninstructed, both that He exists, and
administers well the whole, and does not neglect human affairs, and
that to a good man there is no evil either when he is living or when
he is dead? What, then, when He does not supply him with food? What
else does He do than like a good general He has given me the signal to
retreat? I obey, I follow, assenting to the words of the Commander,
praising, His acts: for I came when it pleased Him, and I will also go
away when it pleases Him; and while I lived, it was my duty to
praise God both by myself, and to each person severally and to many.
He does not supply me with many things, nor with abundance, He does
not will me to live luxuriously; for neither did He supply Hercules
who was his own son; but another was king of Argos and Mycenae, and
Hercules obeyed orders, and laboured, and was exercised. And
Eurystheus was what he was, neither kin, of Argos nor of Mycenae,
for he was not even king of himself; but Hercules was ruler and leader
of the whole earth and sea, who purged away lawlessness, and
introduced justice and holiness; and he did these things both naked
and alone. And when Ulysses was cast out shipwrecked, did want
humiliate him, did it break his spirit? but how did he go off to the
virgins to ask for necessaries, to beg which is considered most
shameful?

     As a lion bred in the mountains trusting in his strength.

  Relying on what? Not on reputation nor on wealth nor on the power of
a magistrate, but on his own strength, that is, on his opinions
about the things which are in our power and those which, are not.
For these are the only things which make men free, which make them
escape from hindrance, which raise the head of those who are
depressed, which make them look with steady eyes on the rich and on
tyrants. And this was the gift given to the philosopher. But you
will not come forth bold, but trembling about your trifling garments
and silver vessels. Unhappy man, have you thus wasted your time till
now?

  "What, then, if I shall be sick?" You will be sick in such a way
as you ought to be. "Who will take care of me?" God; your friends.
"I shall lie down on a hard bed." But you will lie down like a man. "I
shall not have a convenient chamber." You will be sick in an
inconvenient chamber. "Who will provide for me the necessary food?"
Those who provide for others also. You will be sick like Manes. "And
what, also, will be the end of the sickness? Any other than death?" Do
you then consider that this the chief of all evils to man and the
chief mark of mean spirit and of cowardice is not death, but rather
the fear of death? Against this fear then I advise you to exercise
yourself: to this let all your reasoning tend, your exercises, and
reading; and you will know that thus only are men made free.
DISCOURSES

                                   BOOK FOUR

  CHAPTER 1

  About freedom

  He is free who lives as he wishes to live; who is neither subject to
compulsion nor to hindrance, nor to force; whose movements to action
are not impeded, whose desires attain their purpose, and who does
not fall into that which he would avoid. Who, then, chooses to live in
error? No man. Who chooses to live deceived, liable to mistake,
unjust, unrestrained, discontented, mean? No man. Not one then of
the bad lives as he wishes; nor is he, then, free. And who chooses
to live in sorrow, fear, envy, pity, desiring and failing in his
desires, attempting to avoid something and falling into it? Not one.
Do we then find any of the bad free from sorrow, free from fear, who
does not fall into that which he would avoid, and does not obtain that
which he wishes? Not one; nor then do we find any bad man free.

  If, then, a man who has been twice consul should hear this, if you
add, "But you are a wise man; this is nothing to you": he will
pardon you. But if you tell him the truth, and say, "You differ not at
all from those who have been thrice sold as to being yourself not a
slave," what else ought you to expect than blows? For he says,
"What, I a slave, I whose father was free, whose mother was free, I
whom no man can purchase: I am also of senatorial rank, and a friend
of Caesar, and I have been a consul, and I own many slaves." In the
first place, most excellent senatorial man, perhaps your father also
was a slave in the same kind of servitude, and your mother, and your
grandfather and all your ancestors in an ascending series. But even if
they were as free as it is possible, what is this to you? What if they
were of a noble nature, and you of a mean nature; if they were
fearless, and you a coward; if they had the power of self-restraint,
and you are not able to exercise it.

  "And what," you may say, "has this to do with being a slave?" Does
it seem to you to be nothing to do a thing unwillingly, with
compulsion, with groans, has this nothing to do with being a slave?
"It is something," you say: "but who is able to compel me, except
the lord of all, Caesar?" Then even you yourself have admitted that
you have one master. But that he is the common master of all, as you
say, let not this console you at all: but know that you are a slave in
a great family. So also the people of Nicopolis are used to exclaim,
"By the fortune of Caesar, are free."

  However, if you please, let us not speak of Caesar at present. But
tell me this: did you never love any person, a young girl, or slave,
or free? What then is this with respect to being a slave or free? Were
you never commanded by the person beloved to do something which you
did not wish to do? have you never flattered your little slave? have
you never kissed her feet? And yet if any man compelled you to kiss
Caesar's feet, you would think it an insult and excessive tyranny.
What else, then, is slavery? Did you never go out by night to some
place whither you did not wish to go, did you not expend what you
did not wish to expend, did you not utter words with sighs and groans,
did you not submit to abuse and to be excluded? But if you are ashamed
to confess your own acts, see what Thrasonides says and does, who
having seen so much military service as perhaps not even you have,
first of all went out by night, when Geta does not venture out, but if
he were compelled by his master, would have cried out much and would
have gone out lamenting his bitter slavery. Next, what does
Thrasonides say? "A worthless girl has enslaved me, me whom no
enemy, ever did." Unhappy man, who are the slave even of a girl, and a
worthless girl. Why then do you still call yourself free? and why do
you talk of your service in the army? Then he calls for a sword and is
angry with him who out of kindness refuses it; and he sends presents
to her who hates him, and entreats and weeps, and on the other hand,
having had a little success, he is elated. But even then how? was he
free enough neither to desire nor to fear?

  Now consider in the case of animals, how we employ the notion of
liberty. Men keep tame lions shut up, and feed them, and some take
them about; and who will say that this lion is free? Is it not the
fact that the more he lives at his ease, so much the more he is in a
slavish condition? and who if he had perception and reason would
wish to be one of these lions? Well, these birds when they are
caught and are kept shut up, how much do they suffer in their attempts
to escape? and some of them die of hunger rather than submit to such a
kind of life. And as many of them as live, hardly live and with
suffering pine away; and if they ever find any opening, they make
their escape. So much do they desire their natural liberty, and to
be independent and free from hindrance. And what harm is there to
you in this? "What do you say? I am formed by nature to fly where I
choose, to live in the open air, to sing when I choose: you deprive me
of all this, and say, 'What harm is it to you?' For this reason we
shall say that those animals only are free which cannot endure
capture, but, as soon as they are caught, escape from captivity by
death. So Diogenes says that there is one way to freedom, and that
is to die content: and he writes to the Persian king, "You cannot
enslave the Athenian state any more than you can enslave fishes." "How
is that? cannot I catch them?" "If you catch them," says Diogenes,
"they will immediately leave you, as fishes do; for if you catch a
fish, it dies; and if these men that are caught shall die, of what use
to you is the preparation for war?" These are the words of a free
man who had carefully examined the thing and, as was natural, had
discovered it. But if you look for it in a different place from
where it is, what wonder if you never find it?

  The slave wishes to be set free immediately. Why? Do you think
that he wishes to pay money to the collectors of twentieths? No; but
because he imagines that hitherto through not having obtained this, he
is hindered and unfortunate. "If I shall be set free, immediately it
is all happiness, I care for no man, I speak to all as an equal and,
like to them, I go where I choose, I come from any place I choose, and
go where I choose." Then he is set free; and forthwith having no place
where he can eat, he looks for some man to flatter, some one with whom
he shall sup: then he either works with his body and endures the
most dreadful things; and if he can obtain a manger, he falls into a
slavery much worse than his former slavery; or even if he is become
rich, being a man without any knowledge of what is good, he loves some
little girl, and in his happiness laments and desires to be a slave
again. He says, "what evil did I suffer in my state of slavery?
Another clothed me, another supplied me with shoes, another fed me,
another looked after me in sickness; and I did only a few services for
him. But now a wretched man, what things I suffer, being a slave of
many instead of to one. But however," he says, "if I shall acquire
rings, then I shall live most prosperously and happily." First, in
order to acquire these rings, he submits to that which he is worthy
of; then, when he has acquired them, it is again all the same. Then he
says, "if I shall be engaged in military service, I am free from all
evils." He obtains military service. He suffers as much as a flogged
slave, and nevertheless he asks for a second service and a third.
After this, when he has put the finishing stroke to his career and
is become a senator, then he becomes a slave by entering into the
assembly, then he serves the finer and most splendid slavery- not to
be a fool, but to learn what Socrates taught, what is the nature of
each thing that exists, and that a man should not rashly adapt
preconceptions to the several things which are. For this is the
cause to men of all their evils, the not being able to adapt the
general preconceptions to the several things. But we have different
opinions. One man thinks that he is sick: not so however, but the fact
is that he does not adapt his preconceptions right. Another thinks
that he is poor; another that he has a severe father or mother; and
another, again, that Caesar is not favourable to him. But all this
is one and only one thing, the not knowing how to adapt the
preconceptions. For who has not a preconception of that which is
bad, that it is hurtful, that it ought to be avoided, that it ought in
every way to be guarded against? One preconception is not repugnant to
another, only where it comes to the matter of adaptation. What then is
this evil, which is both hurtful, and a thing to be avoided? He
answers, "Not to be Caesar's friend." He is gone far from the mark, he
has missed the adaptation, he is embarrassed, he seeks the things
which are not at all pertinent to the matter; for when he has
succeeded in being Caesar's friend, nevertheless he has failed in
finding what he sought. For what is that which every man seeks? To
live secure, to be happy, to do everything as he wishes, not to be
hindered, nor compelled. When then he is become the friend of
Caesar, is he free from hindrance? free from compulsion, is he
tranquil, is he happy? Of whom shall we inquire? What more trustworthy
witness have we than this very man who is, become Caesar's friend?
Come forward and tell us when did you sleep more quietly, now or
before you became Caesar's friend? Immediately you hear the answer,
"Stop, I entreat you, and do not mock me: you know not what miseries I
suffer, and sleep does not come to me; but one comes and says, 'Caesar
is already awake, he is now going forth': then come troubles and
cares." Well, when did you sup with more pleasure, now or before? Hear
what he says about this also. He says that if he is not invited, he is
pained: and if he is invited, he sups like a slave with his master,
all the while being anxious that he does not say or do anything
foolish. And what do you suppose that he is afraid of; lest he
should be lashed like a slave? How can he expect anything so good? No,
but as befits so great a man, Caesar's friend, he is afraid that he
may lose his head. And when did you bathe more free from trouble,
and take your gymnastic exercise more quietly? In fine, which kind
of life did you prefer? your present or your former life? I can
swear that no man is so stupid or so ignorant of truth as not to
bewail his own misfortunes the nearer he is in friendship to Caesar.

  Since, then, neither those who are called kings live as they choose,
nor the friends of kings, who finally are those who are free? Seek,
and you will find; for you have aids from nature for the discovery
of truth. But if you are not able yourself by going along these ways
only to discover that which follows, listen to those who have made the
inquiry. What do they say? Does freedom seem to you a good thing? "The
greatest good." Is it possible, then, that he who obtains the greatest
good can be unhappy or fare badly? "No." Whomsoever, then, you shall
see unhappy, unfortunate, lamenting, confidently declare that they are
not free. "I do declare it." We have now, then, got away from buying
and selling and from such arrangements about matters of property;
for if you have rightly assented to these matters, if the Great King
is unhappy, he cannot be free, nor can a little king, nor a man of
consular rank, nor one who has been twice consul. "Be it so."

  Further, then, answer me this question also: Does freedom seem to
you to be something great and noble and valuable? "How should it not
seem so?" Is it possible, then, when a man obtains anything, so
great and valuable and noble to be mean? "It is not possible." When,
then, you see any man subject to another, or flattering him contrary
to his own opinion, confidently affirm that this man also is not free;
and not only if he do this for a bit of supper, but also if he does it
for a government or a consulship: and call these men "little slaves"
who for the sake of little matters do these things, and those who do
so for the sake of great things call "great slaves," as they deserve
to be. "This is admitted also." Do you think that freedom is a thing
independent and self-governing? "Certainly." Whomsoever, then, it is
in the power of another to hinder and compel, declare that he is not
free. And do not look, I entreat you, after his grandfathers and
great-grandfathers, or inquire about his being bought or sold; but
if you hear him saying from his heart and with feeling, "Master," even
if the twelve fasces precede him, call him a slave. And if you hear
him say, "Wretch that I am, how much I suffer," call him a slave.
If, finally, you see him lamenting, complaining, unhappy, call him a
slave though he wears a praetexta. If, then, he is doing nothing of
this kind, do not yet say that he is free, but learn his opinions,
whether they are subject to compulsion, or may produce hindrance, or
to bad fortune; and if you find him such, call him a slave who has a
holiday in the Saturnalia: say that his master is from home: he will
return soon, and you will know what he suffers. "Who will return?"
Whoever has in himself the power over anything which is desired by the
man, either to give it to him or to take it away? "Thus, then, have we
many masters?" We have: for we have circumstances as masters prior
to our present masters; and these circumstances are many. Therefore it
must of necessity be that those who have the power over any of these
circumstances must be our masters. For no man fears Caesar himself,
but he fears death, banishment, deprivation of his property, prison,
and disgrace. Nor does any man love Caesar, unless Caesar is a
person of great merit, but he loves wealth, the office of tribune,
praetor or consul. When we love, and hate, and fear these things, it
must be that those who have the power over them must be our masters.
Therefore we adore them even as gods; for we think that what possesses
the power of conferring the greatest advantage on us is divine. Then
we wrongly assume that a certain person has the power of conferring
the greatest advantages; therefore he is something divine. For if we
wrongly assume that a certain person has the power of conferring the
greatest advantages, it is a necessary consequence that the conclusion
from these premises must be false.

  What, then, is that which makes a man free from hindrance and
makes him his own master? For wealth does not do it, nor consulship,
nor provincial government, nor royal power; but something else must be
discovered. What then is that which, when we write, makes us free from
hindrance and unimpeded? "The knowledge of the art of writing."
What, then, is it in playing the lute? "The science of playing the
lute." Therefore in life also it is the science of life. You have,
then, heard in a general way: but examine the thing also in the
several parts. Is it possible that he who desires any of the things
which depend on others can be free from hindrance? "No." Is it
possible for him to be unimpeded? "No." Therefore he cannot be free.
Consider then: whether we have nothing which is in our own power only,
or whether we have all things, or whether some things are in our own
power, and others in the power of others. "What do you mean?" When you
wish the body to be entire, is it in your power or not? "It is not
in my power." When you wish it to be healthy? "Neither is this in my
power." When you wish it to be handsome? "Nor is this." Life or death?
"Neither is this in my power." Your body, then, is another's,
subject to every man who is stronger than yourself? "It is." But
your estate, is it in your power to have it when you please, and as
long as you please, and such as you please? "No." And your slaves?
"No." And your clothes? "No." And your house? "No." And your horses?
"Not one of these things." And if you wish by all means your
children to live, or your wife, or your brother, or your friends, is
it in your power? "This also is not in my power."

  Whether, then, have you nothing which is in your own power, which
depends on yourself only and cannot be taken from you, or have you
anything of the kind? "I know not." Look at the thing, then, thus,
examine it. Is any man able to make you assent to that which is false?
"No man." In the matter of assent, then, you are free from hindrance
and obstruction. "Granted." Well; and can a man force you to desire to
move toward that to which you do not choose? "He can, for when he
threatens me with death or bonds, he compels me to desire to move
toward it." If, then, you despise death and bonds, do you still pay
any regard to him? "No." Is, then, the despising of death an act of
your own, or is it not yours? "It is my act." It is your own act,
then, also to desire to move toward a thing: or is it not so? "It is
my own act." But to desire to move away from a thing, whose act is
that? This also is your act. "What, then, if I have attempted to walk,
suppose another should hinder me." What part of you does he hinder?
does he hinder the faculty of assent? "No: but my poor body." Yes,
as he would do with a stone. "Granted; but I no longer walk." And
who told you that walking is your act free from hindrance? for I
said that this only was free from hindrance, to desire to move: but
where there is need of body and its co-operation, you have heard
long ago that nothing is your own. "Granted also." And who can
compel you to desire what you do not wish? "No man." And to propose,
or intend, or in short to make use of the appearances which present
themselves, can any man compel you? "He cannot do this: but he will
hinder me when I desire from obtaining what I desire." If you desire
anything which is your own, and one of the things which cannot be
hindered, how will he hinder you? "He cannot in any way." Who, then,
tells you that he who desires the things that belong to another is
free from hindrance?

  "Must I, then, not desire health?" By no means, nor anything else
that belongs to another: for what is not in your power to acquire or
to keep when you please, this belongs to another. Keep, then, far from
it not only your hands but, more than that, even your desires. If
you do not, you have surrendered yourself as a slave; you have
subjected your neck, if you admire anything not your own, to
everything that is dependent on the power of others and perishable, to
which you have conceived a liking. "Is not my hand my own?" It is a
part of your own body; but it is by nature earth, subject to
hindrance, compulsion, and the slave of everything which is
stronger. And why do I say your hand? You ought to possess your
whole body as a poor ass loaded, as long as it is possible, as long as
you are allowed. But if there be a press, and a soldier should lay
hold of it, let it go, do not resist, nor murmur; if you do, you
will receive blows, and nevertheless you will also lose the ass. But
when you ought to feel thus with respect to the body, consider what
remains to be done about all the rest, which is provided for the
sake of the body. When the body is an ass, all the other things are
bits belonging to the ass, pack-saddles, shoes, barley, fodder. Let
these also go: get rid of them quicker and more readily than of the
ass.

  When you have made this preparation, and have practiced this
discipline, to distinguish that which belongs to another from that
which is your own, the things which are subject to hindrance from
those which are not, to consider the things free from hindrance to
concern yourself, and those which are not free not to concern
yourself, to keep your desire steadily fixed to the things which do
concern yourself, and turned from the things which do not concern
yourself; do you still fear any man? "No one." For about what will you
be afraid? about the things which are your own, in which consists
the nature of good and evil? and who has power over these things?
who can take them away? who can impede them? No man can, no more
than he can impede God. But will you be afraid about your body and
your possessions, about things which are not yours, about things which
in no way concern you? and what else have you been studying from the
beginning than to distinguish between your own and not your own, the
things which are in your power and not in your power, the things
subject to hindrance and not subject? and why have you come to the
philosophers? was it that you may nevertheless be unfortunate and
unhappy? You will then in this way, as I have supposed you to have
done, be without fear and disturbance. And what is grief to you? for
fear comes from what you expect, but grief from that which is present.
But what further will you desire? For of the things which are within
the power of the will, as being good and present, you have a proper
and regulated desire: but of the things which are not in the power
of the will you do not desire any one, and so you do not allow any
place to that which is irrational, and impatient, and above measure
hasty.

  When, then, you are thus affected toward things, what man can any
longer be formidable to you? For what has a man which is formidable to
another, either when you see him or speak to him or, finally, are
conversant with him? Not more than one horse has with respect to
another, or one dog to another, or one bee to another bee. Things,
indeed, are formidable to every man; and when any man is able to
confer these things on another or to take them away, then he too
becomes formidable. How then is an acropolis demolished? Not by the
sword, not by fire, but by opinion. For if we abolish the acropolis
which is in the city, can we abolish also that of fever, and that of
beautiful women? Can we, in a word, abolish the acropolis which is
in us and cast out the tyrants within us, whom we have dally over
us, sometimes the same tyrants, at other times different tyrants?
But with this we must begin, and with this we must demolish the
acropolis and eject the tyrants, by giving up the body, the parts of
it, the faculties of it, the possessions, the reputation,
magisterial offices, honours, children, brothers, friends, by
considering all these things as belonging to others. And if tyrants
have been ejected from us, why do I still shut in the acropolis by a
wall of circumvallation, at least on my account; for if it still
stands, what does it do to me? why do I still eject guards? For
where do I perceive them? against others they have their fasces, and
their spears, and their swords. But I have never been hindered in my
will, nor compelled when I did not will. And how is this possible? I
have placed my movements toward action in obedience to God. Is it
His will that I shall have fever? It is my will also. Is it His will
that I should move toward anything? It is my will also. Is it His will
that I should obtain anything? It is my wish also. Does He not will? I
do not wish. Is it His will that I be put to the rack? It is my will
then to die; it is my will then to be put to the rack. Who, then, is
still able to hinder me contrary to my own judgement, or to compel me?
No more than he can hinder or compel Zeus.

  Thus the more cautious of travelers also act. A traveler has heard
that the road is infested by robbers; he does not venture to enter
on it alone, but he waits for the companionship on the road either
of an ambassador, or of a quaestor, or of a proconsul, and when he has
attached himself to such persons he goes along the road safely. So
in the world the wise man acts. There are many companies of robbers,
tyrants, storms, difficulties, losses of that which is dearest. "Where
is there any place of refuge? how shall he pass along without being
attacked by robbers? what company shall he wait for that he may pass
along in safety? to whom shall he attach himself? To what person
generally? to the rich man, to the man of consular rank? and what is
the use of that to me? Such a man is stripped himself, groans and
laments. But what if the fellow-companion himself turns against me and
becomes my robber, what shall I do? I will be 'a friend of Caesar':
when I am Caesar's companion no man will wrong me. In the first place,
that I may become illustrious, what things must I endure and suffer?
how often and by how many must I he robbed? Then, if I become Caesar's
friend, he also is mortal. And if Caesar from any circumstance becomes
my enemy, where is it best for me to retire? Into a desert? Well, does
fever not come there? What shall be done then? Is it not possible to
find a safe fellow traveler, a faithful one, strong, secure against
all surprises?" Thus he considers and perceives that if he attaches
himself to God, he will make his journey in safety.

  "How do you understand 'attaching yourself to God'?" In this
sense, that whatever God wills, a man also shall will; and what God
does not will, a man shall not will. How, then, shall this he done? In
what other way than by examining the movements of God and his
administration What has He given to me as my own and in my own
power? what has He reserved to Himself? He has given to me the
things which are in the power of the will: He has put them in my power
free from impediment and hindrance. How was He able to make the
earthly body free from hindrance? And accordingly He has subjected
to the revolution of the whole, possessions, household things,
house, children, wife. Why, then, do I fight against God? why do I
will what does not depend on the will? why do I will to have
absolutely what is not granted to ma? But how ought I to will to
have things? In the way in which they are given and as long as they
are given. But He who has given takes away. Why then do I resist? I do
not say that I shall be fool if I use force to one who is stronger,
but I shall first be unjust. For whence had I things when I came
into the world? My father gave them to me. And who gave them to him?
and who made the sun? and who made the fruits of the earth? and who
the seasons? and who made the connection of men with one another and
their fellowship?

  Then after receiving everything from another and even yourself,
are you angry and do you blame the Giver if he takes anything from
you? Who are you, and for what purpose did you come into the world?
Did not He introduce you here, did He not show you the light, did he
not give you fellow-workers, and perception, and reason? and as whom
did He introduce you here? did He not introduce you as a subject to
death, and as one to live on the earth with a little flesh, and to
observe His administration, and to join with Him in the spectacle
and the festival for a short time? Will you not, then, as long as
you have been permitted, after seeing the spectacle and the solemnity,
when he leads you out, go with adoration of Him and thanks for what
you have seen, and heard? "No; but I would, still enjoy the feast."
The initiated, too, would wish to be longer in the initiation: and
perhaps also those, at Olympia to see other athletes; but the
solemnity is ended: go away like a grateful and modest man; make
room for others: others also must be born, as you were, and being born
they must have a place, and houses and necessary things. And if the
first do not retire, what remains? Why ire you insatiable? Why are you
not content? why do you contract the world? "Yes, but I would have
my little children with me and my wife." What, are they yours? do they
not belong to the Giver, and to Him who made you? then will you not
give up what belongs to others? will you not give way to Him who is
superior? "Why, then, did He introduce me into the world on these
conditions," And if the conditions do not suit you depart. He has no
need of a spectator who is not satisfied. He wants those who join in
the festival, those who take part in the chorus, that they may
rather applaud, admire, and celebrate with hymns the solemnity. But
those who can bear no trouble, and the cowardly He will not
willingly see absent from the great assembly; for they did not when
they were present behave as they ought to do at a festival nor fill up
their place properly, but they lamented, found fault with the deity,
fortune, their companions; not seeing both what they had. and their
own powers, which they received for contrary purposes, the powers of
magnanimity, of a generous mind, manly spirit, and what we are now
inquiring about, freedom. "For what purpose, then, have I received
these things? To use them. "How long;" So long as He who his lent them
chooses. "What if they are necessary to me?" Do not attach yourself to
them and they will not be necessary: do not say to yourself that
they are necessary, and then they are not necessary.

  This study you ought to practice from morning to evening, beginning,
with the smallest things and those most liable to damage, with an
earthen pot, with a cup. Then proceed in this way to a tunic to a
little dog, to a horse, to a small estate in land: then to yourself,
to your body, to the parts of your body, to your brothers. Look all
round and throw these things from you. Purge your opinions so that
nothing cleave to you of the things which are not your own, that
nothing grow to you, that nothing give you pain when it is torn from
you; and say, while you are daily exercising yourself as you do there,
not that you are philosophizing, for this is an arrogant expression,
but that you are presenting an asserter of freedom: for this is really
freedom. To this freedom Diogenes was called by Antisthenes, and he
said that he could no longer be enslaved by any man. For this reason
when he was taken prisoner, how did he behave to the pirates? Did he
call any of them master? and I do not speak of the name, for I am
not afraid of the word, but of the state of mind by which the word
is produced. How did he reprove them for feeding badly their captives?
How was he sold? Did he seek a master? no; but a slave, And, when he
was sold, how did he behave to his master? Immediately he disputed
with him and said to his master that he ought not to be dressed as
he was, nor shaved in such a manner; and about the children he told
them how he ought to bring them up. And what was strange in this?
for if his master had bought an exercise master, would he have
employed him in the exercises of the palaestra as a servant or as a
master? and so if he had bought a physician or an architect. And so,
in every matter, it is absolutely necessary that he who has skill must
be the superior of him who has not. Whoever, then, generally possesses
the science of life, what else must he be than master? For who is
master of a ship? "The man who governs the helm." Why? Because he
who will not obey him suffers for it. "But a master can give me
stripes." Can he do it, then, without suffering for it?' "So I also
used to think." But because he can not do it without suffering for it,
for this reason it is not in his power: and no man can do what is
unjust without suffering for it. "And what is the penalty for him
who puts his own slave in chains, what do you think that is?" The fact
of putting the slave in chains: and you also will admit this, if you
choose to maintain the truth, that man is not a wild beast, but a tame
animal. For when is a a vine doing badly? When it is in a condition
contrary to its nature. When is a cock? Just the same. Therefore a man
also is so. What then is a man's nature? To bite, to kick, and to
throw into prison and to behead? No; but to do good, to co-operate
with others, to wish them well. At that time, then, he is in a bad
condition, whether you choose to admit it or not, when he is acting
foolishly.

  "Socrates, then, did not fare badly?" No; but his judges aid his
accusers did. "Nor did Helvidius at Rome fare badly?" No; but his
murderer did. "How do you mean?" The same as you do when you say
that a cock has not fared badly when he has gained the victory and
been severely wounded; but that the cock has fared badly when he has
been defeated and is unhurt: nor do you call a dog fortunate who
neither pursues game nor labors, but when you see him sweating, when
you see him in pain and panting violently after running. What
paradox do we utter if we say that the evil in everything's that which
is contrary to the nature of the thing? Is that a paradox? for do
you not say this in the case of all other things? Why then in the case
of man only do you think differently, But because we say that the
nature of man is tame and social and faithful, you will not say that
this is a paradox? "It is not." What then is it a paradox to say
that a man is not hurt when he is whipped, or put in chains, or
beheaded? does he not, if he suffers nobly, come off even with
increased advantage and profit? But is he not hurt, who suffers in a
most pitiful and disgraceful way, who in place of a man becomes a
wolf, or viper or wasp?

  Well then let us recapitulate the things which have been agreed
on. The man who is not under restraint is free, to whom things are
exactly in that state in which he wishes them to be; but he who can be
restrained or compelled or hindered, or thrown into any
circumstances against his will, is a slave. But who is free from
restraint? He who desires nothing that belongs to others. And what are
the things which belong to others? Those which are not in our power
either to have or not to have, or to have of a certain kind or in a
certain manner. Therefore the body belongs to another, the parts of
the body belong to another, possession belongs to another. If, then,
you are attached to any of these things as your own, you will pay
the penalty which it is proper for him to pay who desires what belongs
to another. This road leads to freedom, that is the only way of
escaping from slavery, to be able to say at last with all your soul

     Lead me, O Zeus, and thou O destiny,

     The way that I am bid by you to go.

But what do you say, philosopher? The tyrant summons you to say
something which does not become you. Do you say it or do you not?
Answer me. "Let me consider." Will you consider now? But when you were
in the school, what was it which you used to consider? Did you not
study what are the things that are good and what are bad, and what
things are neither one nor the other? "I did." What then was our
opinion? "That just and honourable acts were good; and that unjust and
disgraceful acts were bad." Is life a good thing? "No." Is death a bad
thing? "No." Is prison? "No." But what did we think about mean and
faithless words and betrayal of a friend and flattery of a tyrant?
"That they are bad." Well then, you are not considering, nor have
you considered nor deliberated. For what is the matter for
consideration: is it whether it is becoming for me, when I have it
in my power, to secure for myself the greatest of good things, and not
to secure for myself the greatest evils? A fine inquiry indeed, and
necessary, and one that demands much deliberation. Man, why do you
mock us? Such an inquiry is never made. If you really imagined that
base things were bad and honourable things were good, and that all
other things were neither good nor bad, you would not even have
approached this inquiry, nor have come near it; but immediately you
would have been able to distinguish them by the understanding as you
would do by the vision. For when do you inquire if black things are
white, if heavy things are light, and do not comprehend the manifest
evidence of the senses? How, then, do you now say that you are
considering whether things which are neither good nor bad ought to
be avoided more than things which are bad? But you do not possess
these opinions; and neither do these things seem to you to he
neither good nor bad, but you think that they are the greatest
evils; nor do you think those other things to be evils, but matters
which do not concern us at all. For thus from the beginning you have
accustomed yourself. "Where am I? In the schools: and are any
listening to me? I am discoursing among philosophers. But I have
gone out of the school. Away with this talk of scholars and fools."
Thus a friend is overpowered by the testimony of a philosopher: thus a
philosopher becomes a parasite; thus he lets himself for hire for
money: thus in the senate a man does not say what he thinks; in
private he proclaims his opinions. You are a cold and miserable little
opinion, suspended from idle words as from a hair. But keep yourself
strong and fit for the uses of life and initiated by being exercised
in action. How do you hear? I do not say that your child is dead-
for how could you bear that?- but that your oil is spilled, your
wine drunk up. Do you act in such a way that one standing by you while
you are making a great noise, may say this only, "Philosopher, you say
something different in the school. Why do you deceive us? Why, when
you are only a worm, do you say that you are a man?" I should like
to be present when one of the philosophers is lying with a woman, that
I might see how he is exerting himself, and what words he is uttering,
and whether he remembers his title of philosopher, and the words which
he hears or says or reads.

  "And what is this to liberty?" Nothing else than this, whether you
who are rich choose or not. "And who is your evidence for this?" who
else than yourselves? who have a powerful master, and who live in
obedience to his nod and motion, and who faint if he only looks at you
with a scowling countenance; you who court old women and old men,
and say, "I cannot do this: it is not in my power." Why is it not in
your power? Did you not lately contend with me and say that you are
free "But Aprulla has hindered me." Tell the truth, then, slave, and
do not run away from your masters, nor deny, nor venture to produce
any one to assert your freedom, when you have so many evidences of
your slavery. And indeed when a man is compelled by love to do
something contrary to his opinion, and at the same time sees the
better but has not the strength to follow it, one might consider him
still more worthy of excuse as being held by a certain violent and, in
a manner, a divine power. But who could endure you who are in love
with old women and old men, and wipe the old women's noses, and wash
them and give them presents, and also wait on them like a slave when
they are sick, and at the same time wish them dead, and question the
physicians whether they are sick unto death? And again, when in
order to obtain these great and much admired magistracies and honours,
you kiss the hands of these slaves of others, and so you are not the
slave even of free men. Then you walk about before me in stately
fashion, praetor or a consul. Do I not know how you became a
praetor, by what means you got your consulship, who gave it to you?
I would not even choose to live, if I must live by help of Felicion
and endure his arrogance and servile insolence: for I know what a
slave is, who is fortunate, as he thinks, and puffed up by pride.

  "You then," a man may say, "are you free?" I wish, by the Gods,
and pray to be free; but I am not yet able to face my masters, I still
value my poor body, I value greatly the preservation of it entire,
though I do not possess it entire. But I can point out to you a free
man, that you may no longer seek an example. Diogenes was free. How
was he free?- not because he was born of free parents, but because
he was himself free, because he had cast off all the handles of
slavery, and it was not possible for any man to approach him, nor
had any man the means of laying hold of him to enslave him. He had
everything easily loosed, everything only hanging to him. If you
laid hold of his property, he would rather have let it go and be yours
than he would have followed you for it: if you had laid hold of his
leg, he would have let go his leg; if of all his body, all his poor
body; his intimates, friends, country, just the same. For he knew from
whence he had them, and from whom, and on what conditions. His true
parents indeed, the Gods, and his real country he would never have
deserted, nor would he have yielded to any man in obedience to them or
to their orders, nor would any man have died for his country more
readily. For he was not used to inquire when he should be considered
to have done anything on behalf of the whole of things, but he
remembered that everything which is done comes from thence and is done
on behalf of that country and is commanded by him who administers
it. Therefore see what Diogenes himself says and writes: "For this
reason," he says, "Diogenes, it is in your power to speak both with
the King of the Persians and with Archidamus the king of the
Lacedaemonians, as you please." Was it because he was born of free
parents? I suppose all the Athenians and all the Lacedaemonians,
because they were born of slaves, could not talk with them as they
wished, but feared and paid court to them. Why then does he say that
it is in his power? "Because I do not consider the poor body to be
my own, because I want nothing, because law is everything to me, and
nothing else is." These were the things which permitted him to be
free.

  And that you may not think that I show you the example of a man
who is a solitary person, who has neither wife nor children, nor
country, nor friends nor kinsmen, by whom he could be bent and drawn
in various directions, take Socrates and observe that he had a wife
and children, but he did not consider them as his own; that he had a
country, so long as it was fit to have one, and in such a manner as
was fit; friends and kinsmen also, but he held all in subjection to
law and to the obedience due to it. For this reason he was the first
to go out as a soldier, when it was necessary; and in war he exposed
himself to danger most unsparingly, and when he was sent by the
tyrants to seize Leon, he did not even deliberate about the matter,
because he thought that it was a base action, and he knew that he must
die, if it so happened. And what difference did that make to him?
for he intended to preserve something else, not his poor flesh, but
his fidelity, his honourable character. These are things which could
not be assailed nor brought into subjection. Then, when he was obliged
to speak in defense of his life, did he behave like a man who had
children, who had a wife? No, but he behaved like a man who has
neither. And what did he do when he was to drink the poison, and
when he had the power of escaping from prison, and when Crito said
to him, "Escape for the sake of your children," what did Socrates say?
Did he consider the power of escape as an unexpected gain? By no
means: he considered what was fit and proper; but the rest he did
not even look at or take into the reckoning. For he did not choose, he
said, to save his poor body, but to save that which is increased and
saved by doing what is just, and is impaired and destroyed by doing
what is unjust. Socrates will not save his life by a base act; he
who would not put the Athenians to the vote when they clamoured that
he should do so, he who refused to obey the tyrants, he who discoursed
in such a manner about virtue and right behavior. It is not possible
to save such a man's life by base acts, but he is saved by dying,
not by running away. For the good actor also preserves his character
by stopping when he ought to stop, better than when he goes on
acting beyond the proper time. What then shall the children of
Socrates do? "If," said Socrates, "I had gone off to Thessaly, would
you have taken care of them; and if I depart to the world below,
will there be no man to take care of them?" See how he gives to
death a gentle name and mocks it. But if you and I had been in his
place, we should have immediately answered as philosophers that
those who act unjustly must be repaid in the same way, and we should
have added, "I shall be useful to many, if my life is saved, and if
I die, I shall be useful to no man." For, if it had been necessary, we
should have made our escape by slipping through a small hole. And
how in that case should we have been useful to any man? for where
would they have been then staying? or if we were useful to men while
we were alive, should we not have been much more useful to them by
dying when we ought to die, and as we ought? And now, Socrates being
dead, no less useful to men, and even more useful, is the
remembrance of that which he did or said when he was alive.

  Think of these things, these opinions, these words: look to these
examples, if you would be free, if you desire the thing according to
its worth. And what is the wonder if you buy so great a thing at the
price of things so many and so great? For the sake of this which is
called "liberty," some hang themselves, others throw themselves down
precipices, and sometimes even whole cities have perished: and will
you not for the sake of the true and unassailable and secure liberty
give back to God when He demands them the things which He has given?
Will you not, as Plato says, study not to die only, but also to endure
torture, and exile, and scourging, and, in a word, to give up all
which is not your own? If you will not, you will be a slave among
slaves, even you be ten thousand times a consul; and if you make
your way up to the Palace, you will no less be a slave; and you will
feel, that perhaps philosophers utter words which are contrary to
common opinion, as Cleanthes also said, but not words contrary to
reason. For you will know by experience that the words are true, and
that there is no profit from the things which are valued and eagerly
sought to those who have obtained them; and to those who have not
yet obtained them there is an imagination that when these things are
come, all that is good will come with them; then, when they are
come, the feverish feeling is the same, the tossing to and fro is
the same, the satiety, the desire of things which are not present; for
freedom is acquired not by the full possession of the things which are
desired, but by removing the desire. And that you may know that this
is true, as you have laboured for those things, so transfer your
labour to these; be vigilant for the purpose of acquiring an opinion
which will make you free; pay court to a philosopher instead of to a
rich old man: be seen about a philosopher's doors: you will not
disgrace yourself by being seen; you will not go away empty nor
without profit, if you go to the philosopher as you ought, and if not,
try at least: the trial is not disgraceful.

  CHAPTER 2

  On familiar intimacy

  To This matter before all you must attend: that you be never so
closely connected with any of your former intimates or friends as to
come down to the same acts as he does. If you do not observe this
rule, you will ruin yourself. But if the thought arises in your
mind. "I shall seem disobliging to him, and he will not have the
same feeling toward me," remember that nothing is done without cost,
nor is it possible for a man if he does not do the same to be the same
man that he was. Choose, then, which of the two you will have, to be
equally loved by those by whom you were formerly loved, being the same
with your former self; or, being superior, not to obtain from your
friends the same that you did before. For if this is better, turn away
to it, and let not other considerations draw you in a different
direction. For no man is able to make progress, when he is wavering
between opposite things, but if you have preferred this to all things,
if you choose to attend to this only, to work out this only, give up
everything else. But if you will not do this, your wavering will
produce both these results: you will neither improve as you ought, nor
will you obtain what you formerly obtained. For before, by plainly
desiring the things which were worth nothing, you pleased your
associates. But you cannot excel in both kinds, and it is necessary
that so far as you share in the one, you must fall short in the other.
You cannot, when you do not drink with those with whom you used to
drink, he agreeable to them as you were before. Choose, then,
whether you will be a hard drinker and pleasant to your former
associates or a sober man and disagreeable to them. You cannot, when
you do not sing with those with whom you used to sing, be equally
loved by them. Choose, then, in this matter also which of the two
you will have. For if it is better to be modest and orderly than for a
man to say, "He is a jolly fellow," give up the rest, renounce it,
turn away from it, have nothing to do with such men. But if this
behavior shall not please you, turn altogether to the opposite: become
a catamite, an adulterer, and act accordingly, and you will get what
you wish. And jump up in the theatre and bawl out in praise of the
dancer. But characters so different cannot be mingled: you cannot
act both Thersites and Agamemnon. If you intend to be Thersites, you
must be humpbacked and bald: if Agamemnon, you must be tall and
handsome, and love those who are placed in obedience to you.

  CHAPTER 3

  What things we should exchange for other things

  Keep this thought in readiness, when you lose anything external,
what you acquire in place of it; and if it be worth more, never say,
"I have had a loss"; neither if you have got a horse in place of an
ass, or an ox in place of a sheep, nor a good action in place of a bit
of money, nor in place of idle talk such tranquillity as befits a man,
nor in place of lewd talk if you have acquired modesty. If you
remember this, you will always maintain your character such as it
ought to be. But if you do not, consider that the times of opportunity
are perishing, and that whatever pains you take about yourself, you
are going to waste them all and overturn them. And it needs only a few
things for the loss and overturning of all, namely a small deviation
from reason. For the steerer of a ship to upset it, he has no need
of the same means as he has need of for saving it: but if he turns
it a little to the wind, it is lost; and if he does not do this
purposely, but has been neglecting his duty a little, the ship is
lost. Something of the kind happens in this case also: if you only
fall to nodding a little, all that you have up to this time
collected is gone. Attend therefore to the appearances of things,
and watch over them; for that which you have to preserve is no small
matter, but it is modesty and fidelity and constancy, freedom from the
affects, a state of mind undisturbed, freedom from fear, tranquillity,
in a word, "liberty." For what will you sell these things? See what is
the value of the things which you will obtain in exchange for these.
"But shall I not obtain any such thing for it?" See, and if you do
in return get that, see what you receive in place of it. "I possess
decency, he possesses a tribuneship: be possesses a praetorship, I
possess modesty. But I do not make acclamations where it is not
becoming: I will not stand up where I ought not; for I am free, and
a friend of God, and so I obey Him willingly. But I must not claim
anything else, neither body nor possession, nor magistracy, nor good
report, nor in fact anything. For He does not allow me to claim
them: for if He had chosen, He would have made them good for me; but
He has not done so, and for this reason I cannot transgress his
commands." Preserve that which is your own good in everything; and
as to every other thing, as it is permitted, and so far as to behave
consistently with reason in respect to them, content with this only.
If you do not, you will be unfortunate, you will fall in all things,
you will be hindered, you will be impeded. These are the laws which
have been sent from thence; these are the orders. Of these laws a
man ought to be an expositor, to these he ought to submit, not to
those of Masurius and Cassius.

  CHAPTER 4

  To those who are desirous of passing life in tranquility

  Remember that not only the desire of power and of riches makes us
mean and subject to others, but even the desire of tranquillity, and
of leisure. and of traveling abroad, and of learning. For, to speak
plainly, whatever the external thing may be, the value which we set
upon it places us in subjection to others. What, then, is the
difference between desiring, to be a senator or not desiring to be
one; what is the difference between desiring power or being content
with a private station; what is the difference between saying, "I am
unhappy, I have nothing, to do, but I am bound to my books as a
corpse"; or saying, "I am unhappy, I have no leisure for reading"? For
as salutations and power are things external and independent of the
will, so is a book. For what purpose do you choose to read? Tell me.
For if you only direct your purpose to being amused or learning
something, you are a silly fellow and incapable of enduring labour.
But if you refer reading to the proper end, what else is this than a
tranquil and happy life? But if reading does not secure for you a
happy and tranquil life, what is the use of it? But it does secure
this," the man replies, "and for this reason I am vexed that I am
deprived of it." And what is this tranquil and happy life, which any
man can impede; I do not say Caesar or Caesar's friend, but a crow,
a piper, a fever, and thirty thousand other things? But a tranquil and
happy life contains nothing so sure is continuity and freedom from
obstacle. Now I am called to do something: I will go, then, with the
purpose of observing the measures which I must keep, of acting with
modesty, steadiness, without desire and aversion to things external;
and then that I may attend to men, what they say, how they are
moved; and this not with any bad disposition, or that I may have
something to blame or to ridicule; but I turn to myself, and ask if
I also commit the same faults. "How then shall I cease to commit
them?" Formerly I also acted wrong, but now I do not: thanks to God.

  Come, when you have done these things and have attended to them,
have you done a worse act than when you have read a thousand verses or
written as many? For when you eat, are you grieved because you are not
reading? are you not satisfied with eating according to what you
have learned by reading, and so with bathing and with exercise? Why,
then, do you not act consistently in all things, both when you
approach Caesar and when you approach any person? If you maintain
yourself free from perturbation, free from alarm, and steady; if you
look rather at the things which are done and happen than are looked at
yourself; if you do not envy those who are preferred before you; if
surrounding circumstances do not strike you with fear or admiration,
what do you want? Books? How or for what purpose? for is not this a
preparation for life? and is not life itself made up of certain
other things than this? This is just as if an athlete should weep when
he enters the stadium, because he is not being exercised outside of
it. It was for this purpose that you used to practice exercise; for
this purpose were used the halteres, the dust, the young men as
antagonists; and do you seek for those things now when it is the
time of action? This is just as if in the topic of assent when
appearances present themselves, some of which can he comprehended, and
some cannot be comprehended, we should not choose to distinguish
them but should choose to read what has been written about
comprehension.

  What then is the reason of this? The reason is that we have never
read for this purpose, we have never written for this purpose, so that
we may in our actions use in a way conformable to nature the
appearances presented to us; but we terminate in this, in learning
what is said, and in being able to expound it to another, in resolving
a syllogism, and in handling the hypothetical syllogism. For this
reason where our study is, there alone is the impediment. Would you
have by all means the things which are not in your power? Be prevented
then, be hindered, fail in your purpose. But if we read what is
written about action, not that we may see what is said about action,
but that we may act well: if we read what is said about desire and
aversion, in order that we may neither fall in our desires, nor fall
into that which we try to avoid: if we read what is said about duty,
in order that, remembering the relations, we may do nothing
irrationally nor contrary to these relations; we should not be vexed
in being hindered as to our readings, but we should be satisfied
with doing, the acts which are conformable, and we should be reckoning
not what so far we have been accustomed to reckon; "To-day I have read
so many verses, I have written so many"; but, "To-day I have
employed my action as it is taught by the philosophers; I have not
employed any desire; I have used avoidance only with respect to things
which are within the power of my will; I have not been afraid of
such a person, I have not been prevailed upon by the entreaties of
another; I have exercised my patience, my abstinence my co-operation
with others"; and so we should thank God for what we ought to thank
Him.

  But now we do not know that we also in another way are like the
many. Another man is afraid that he shall not have power: you are
afraid that you will. Do not do so, my man; but as you ridicule him
who is afraid that he, shall not have power, so ridicule yourself
also. For it makes no difference whether you are thirsty like a man
who has a fever, or have a dread of water like a man who is mad. Or
how will you still be able to say as Socrates did, "If so it pleases
God, so let it be"? Do you think that Socrates, if he had been eager
to pass his leisure in the Lyceum or in the Academy and to discourse
dally with the young men, would have readily served in military
expeditions so often as he did; and would he not have lamented and
groaned, "Wretch that I am; I must now be miserable here, when I might
be sunning myself in the Lyceum"? Why, was this your business, to
sun yourself? And is it not your business to be happy, to be free from
hindrance, free from impediment? And could he still have been
Socrates, if he had lamented in this way: how would he still have been
able to write Paeans in his prison?

  In short, remember this, that what you shall prize which is beyond
your will, so far you have destroyed your will. But these things are
out of the power of the will, not only power, but also a private
condition: not only occupation, but also leisure. "Now, then, must I
live in this tumult?" Why do you say "tumult"? "I mean among many
men." Well what is the hardship? Suppose that you are at Olympia:
imagine it to be a panegyris, where one is calling out one thing,
another is doing another thing, and a third is pushing another person:
in the baths there is a crowd: and who of us is not pleased with
this assembly and leaves it unwillingly, Be not difficult to please
nor fastidious about what happens. "Vinegar is disagreeable, for it is
sharp; honey is disagreeable, for it disturbs my habit of body. I do
not like vegetables." So also, "I do not like leisure; it is a desert:
I do not like a crowd; it is confusion." But if circumstances make
it necessary for you to live alone or with a few, call it quiet and
use the thing as you ought: talk with yourself, exercise the
appearances, work up your preconceptions. If you fall into a crowd,
call it a celebration of games, a panegyris, a festival: try to
enjoy the festival with other men. For what is a more pleasant sight
to him who loves mankind than a number of men? We see with pleasure
herds of horses or oxen: we are delighted when we see many ships:
who is pained when he sees many men? "But they deafen me with their
cries." Then your hearing is impeded. What, then, is this to you?
Is, then, the power of making use of appearances hindered? And who
prevents you from using, according to nature, inclination to a thing
and aversion from it; and movement toward a thing and movement from
it? What tumult is able to do this?

  Do you only bear in mind the general rules: "What is mine, what is
not mine; what is given to me; what does God will that I should do
now? what does He not will?" A little before he willed you to be at
leisure, to talk with yourself, to write about these things, to
read, to hear, to prepare yourself. You had sufficient time for
this. Now He says to you: "Come now to the contest; show us what you
have learned, how you have practiced the athletic art. How long will
you be exercised alone? Now is the opportunity for you to learn
whether you are an athlete worthy of victory, or one of those who go
about the world and are defeated." Why, then, are; you vexed? No
contest is without confusion. There be many who exercise themselves
for the contests, many who call out to those who exercise
themselves, many masters, many spectators. "But my wish is to live
quietly." Lament, then, and groan as you deserve to do. For what other
is a greater punishment than this to the untaught man and to him who
disobeys the divine commands: to be grieved, to lament, to envy, in
a word, to be disappointed and to he unhappy? Would you not release
yourself from these things? "And how shall I release myself?" Have you
not often heard that you ought to remove entirely desire, apply
aversion to those things only which are within your power, that you
ought to give up everything, body, property, fame, books, tumult,
power, private station? for whatever way you turn, you are a slave,
you are subjected, you are hindered, you are compelled, you are
entirely in the power of others. But keep the words of Cleanthes in
readiness,

     Lead me, O Zeus, and thou necessity.

  Is it your will that I should go to Rome? I will go to Rome. To
Gyara? I will go to Gyara. I will go to Athens? I will go to Athens.
To prison? I will go to prison. If you should once say, "When shall
a man go to Athens?" you are undone. It is a necessary consequence
that this desire, if it is not accomplished, must make you unhappy;
and if it is accomplished, it must make you vain, since you are elated
at things at which you ought not to be elated; and on the other
hand, if you are impeded, it must make you wretched because you fall
into that which you would not fall into. Give up then all these
things. "Athens is a good place." But happiness is much better; and to
be free from passions, free from disturbance, for your affairs not
to depend on any man. "There is tumult at Rome and visits of
salutation." But happiness is an equivalent for all troublesome
things. If, then, the time comes for these things, why do you not take
away the wish to avoid them? what necessity is there to carry to avoid
a burden like an ass, and to be beaten with a stick? But if you do not
so, consider that you must always be a slave to him who has it in
his power to effect your release, and also to impede you, and you must
serve him as an evil genius.

  There is only one way to happiness, and let this rule be ready
both in the morning and during the day and by night; the rule is not
to look toward things which are out of the power of our will, to think
that nothing is our own, to give up all things to the Divinity, to
Fortune; to make them the superintendents of these things, whom Zeus
also has made so; for a man to observe that only which is his own,
that which cannot be hindered; and when we read, to refer our
reading to this only, and our writing and our listening. For this
reason, I cannot call the man industrious, if I hear this only, that
he reads and writes; and even if a man adds that he reads all night, I
cannot say so, if he knows not to what he should refer his reading.
For neither do you say that a man is industrious if he keeps awake for
a girl; nor do I. But if he does it for reputation, I say that he is a
lover of reputation. And if he does it for money, I say that he is a
lover of money, not a lover of labour; and if he does it through
love of learning, I say that he is a lover of learning. But if he
refers his labour to his own ruling power, that he may keep it in a
state conformable to nature and pass his life in that state, then only
do I say that he is industrious. For never commend a man on account of
these things which are common to all, but on account of his
opinions; for these are the things which belong to each man, which
make his actions bad or good. Remembering these rules, rejoice in that
which is present, and be content with the things which come in season.
If you see anything which you have learned and inquired about
occurring, to you in your course of life, be delighted at it. If you
have laid aside or have lessened bad disposition and a habit of
reviling; if you have done so with rash temper, obscene words,
hastiness, sluggishness; if you are not moved by what you formerly
were, and not in the same way as you once were, you can celebrate a
festival daily, to-day because you have behaved well in one act, and
to-morrow because you have behaved well in another. How much greater
is this a reason for making sacrifices than a consulship or the
government of a province? These things come to you from yourself and
from the gods. Remember this, Who gives these things and to whom,
and for what purpose. If you cherish yourself in these thoughts, do
you still think that it makes any difference where yon shall be happy,
where you shall please God? Are not the gods equally distant from
all places? Do they not see from all places alike that which is
going on?

  CHAPTER 5

  Against the quarrelsome and ferocious

  The wise and good man neither himself fights with any person, nor
does he allow another, so far as he can prevent it. And an example
of this as well as of all other things is proposed to us in the life
of Socrates, who not only himself on all occasions avoided fights, but
would not allow even others to quarrel. See in Xenophon's Symposium
how many quarrels he settled; how further he endured Thrasymachus
and Polus and Callicles; how he tolerated his wife, and how he
tolerated his son who attempted to confute him aid to cavil with
him. For he remembered well that no man has in his power another man's
ruling principle. He wished, therefore nothing else than that which
was his own. And what is this? Not that this or that man may act
according to nature; for that is a thing which belongs to another; but
that while others are doing their own acts, as they choose, he may
never the less be in a condition conformable to nature and live in it,
only doing what is his own to the end that others also may be in a
state conformable to nature. For this is the object always set
before him by the wise and good man. Is it to be commander of an army?
No: but if it is permitted him, his object is in this matter to
maintain his own ruling principle. Is it to marry? No; but if marriage
is allowed to him, in this matter his object is to maintain himself in
a condition conformable to nature. But if he would have his son not to
do wrong, or his wife, he would have what belongs to another not to
belong to another; and to he instructed is this: to learn what
things are a man's own and what belongs to another.

  How, then, is there left any place for fighting, to a man who has
this opinion? Is he surprised at anything which happens, and does it
appear new to him? Does he not expect that which comes from the bad to
be worse and more grievous than what actually befalls him? And does he
not reckon as pure gain whatever they may do which falls short of
extreme wickedness? "Such a person has reviled you." Great thanks to
him for not having, struck you. "But he has struck me also." Great
thanks that he did not wound you "But he wounded me also." Great
thanks that he did not kill you. For when did he learn or in what
school that man is a tame animal, that men love one another, that an
act of injustice is a great harm to him who does it. Since then he has
not to him who does it. Since then he has not learned this and is
not convinced of it, why shall he not follow that which seems to be
for his own "Your neighbour has thrown stones." Have you then done
anything wrong? "But the things in the house have been broken." Are
you then a utensil? No; but a free power of will. What, then, is given
to you in answer to this? If you are like a wolf, you must bite in
return, and throw more stones. But if you consider what is proper
for a man, examine your store-house, see with at faculties you came
into the world. Have you the disposition of a wild beast, Have you the
disposition of revenge for an injury? When is a horse wretched? When
he is deprived of his natural faculties; not when he cannot crow
like a cock, but when he cannot run. When is a dog wretched? Not
when he cannot fly, but when he cannot track his game. Is, then, a man
also unhappy in this way, not because he cannot strangle lions or
embrace statues, for he did not come into the world in the
possession of certain powers from nature for this purpose, but because
he has lost his probity and his fidelity? People ought to meet and
lament such a man for the misfortunes into which he has fallen; not
indeed to lament because a man his been born or has died, but
because it has happened to him in his lifetime to have lost the things
which are his own, not that which he received from his father, not his
land and house, and his inn, and his slaves; for not one of these
things is a man's own, but all belong to others, are servile and
subject to account, at different times given to different persons by
those who have them in their power: but I mean the things which belong
to him as a man, the marks in his mind with which he came into the
world, such as we seek also on coins, and if we find them, we
approve of the coins, and if we do not find the marks, we reject them.
What is the stamp on this Sestertius? "The stamp of Trajan." Present
it. "It is the stamp of Nero." Throw it away: it cannot be accepted,
it is counterfeit. So also in this case. What is the stamp of his
opinions? "It is gentleness, a sociable disposition, a tolerant
temper, a disposition to mutual affection." Produce these qualities. I
accept them: I consider this man a citizen, I accept him as a
neighbour, a companion in my voyages. Only see that he has not
Nero's stamp. Is he passionate, is he full of resentment, is he
faultfinding? If the whim seizes him, does he break the heads of those
who come in his way? Why, then did you say that he is a man? Is
everything judged by the bare form? If that is so, say that the form
in wax is all apple and has the smell and the taste of an apple. But
the external figure is not enough: neither then is the nose enough and
the eyes to make the man, but he must have the opinions of a man. Here
is a man who does not listen to reason, who does not know when he is
refuted: he is an ass: in another man the sense of shame is become
dead: he is good for nothing, he is anything rather than a man. This
man seeks whom he may meet and kick or bite, so that he is not even
a sheep or an ass, but a kind of wild beast.

  "What then would you have me to be despised?" By whom? by those
who know you? and how and how shall those who know you despise a man
who is gentle and modest? Perhaps you mean by those who do not know
you? What is that to you? For no other artisan cares for the opinion
of those who know not his art. "But they will be more hostile to me
for this reason." Why do you say "me"? Can any man injure your will,
or prevent you from using in a natural way the appearances which are
presented to you, "In no way can he." Why, then, are still disturbed
and why do you choose to show yourself afraid? And why do you not come
forth and proclaim that you are at peace with all men whatever they
may do, and laugh at those chiefly who think that they can harm you?
"These slaves," you can say, "know not either who I am nor where
lies my good or my evil, because they have no access to the things
which are mine."

  In this way, also, those who occupy a strong city mock the
besiegers; "What trouble these men are now taking for nothing: our
wall is secure, we have food for a very long time, and all other
resources." These are the things which make a city strong and
impregnable: but nothing else than his opinions makes a man's soul
impregnable. For what wall is so strong, or what body is so hard, or
what possession is so safe, or what honour so free from assault? All
things everywhere are perishable, easily taken by assault, and, if any
man in any way is attached to them, he must be disturbed, expect
what is bad, he must fear, lament, find his desires disappointed,
and fall into things which he would avoid. Then do we not choose to
make secure the only means of safety which are offered to us, and do
we not choose to withdraw ourselves from that which is perishable
and servile and to labour at the things, which are imperishable and by
nature free; and do we not remember that no man either hurts another
or does good to another, but that a man's opinion about each thing
is that which hurts him, is that which overturns him; this is
fighting, this is civil discord, this is war? That which made Eteocles
and Polynices enemies was nothing else than this opinion which they
had about royal power, their opinion about exile, that the one is
the extreme of evils, the other the greatest good. Now this is the
nature of every man to seek the good, to avoid the bad; to consider
him who deprives us of the one and involves us in the other an enemy
and treacherous, even if he be a brother, or a son or a father. For
nothing is more akin to us than the good: therefore if these things
are good and evil, neither is a father a friend to sons, nor a brother
to a brother, but all the world is everywhere full of enemies,
treacherous men, and sycophants. But if the will, being what it
ought to be, is the only good; and if the will, being such as it ought
not to be, is the only evil, where is there any strife, where is there
reviling? about what? about the things which do not concern us? and
strife with whom? with the ignorant, the unhappy, with those who are
deceived about the chief things?

  Remembering this Socrates managed his own house and endured a very
ill-tempered wife and a foolish son. For in what did she show her
bad temper? In pouring water on his head as much as she liked, and
in trampling on the cake. And what is this to me, if I think that
these things are nothing to me? But this is my business; and neither
tyrant shall check my will nor a master; nor shall the many check me
who am only one, nor shall the stronger check me who am the weaker;
for this power of being free from check is given by God to every
man. For these opinions make love in a house, concord in a state,
among nations peace, and gratitude to God; they make a man in all
things cheerful in externals as about things which belong to others,
as about things which are of no value. We indeed are able to write and
to read these things, and to praise them when they are read, but we do
not even come near to being convinced of them. Therefore what is
said of the Lacedaemonians, "Lions at home, but in Ephesus foxes,"
will fit in our case also, "Lions in the school, but out of it foxes."

  CHAPTER 6

  Against those who lament over being pitied

  "I am grieved," a man says, "at being pitied." Whether, then, is the
fact of your being pitied a thing which concerns you or those who pity
you? Well, is it in your power to stop this pity? "It is in my
power, if I show them that I do not require pity." And whether,
then, are you in the condition of not deserving pity, or are you not
in that condition? "I think I am not: but these persons do not pity me
for the things for which, if they ought to pity me, it would be
proper, I mean, for my faults; but they pity me for my poverty, for
not possessing honourable offices, for diseases and deaths and other
such things." Whether, then, are you prepared to convince the many
that not one of these things is an evil, but that it is possible for a
man who is poor and has no office and enjoys no honour to be happy; or
to show yourself to them as rich and in power? For the second of these
things belong, to a man who is boastful, silly and good for nothing.
And consider by what means the pretense must be supported. It will
be necessary for you to hire slaves and to possess a few silver
vessels, and to exhibit them in public, if it is possible, though they
are often the same, and to attempt to conceal the fact that they are
the same, and to have splendid garments, and all other things for
display, and to show that you are a man honoured by the great, and
to try to sup at their houses, or to be supposed to sup there, and
as to your person to employ some mean arts, that you may appear to
be more handsome and nobler than you are. These things you must
contrive, if you choose to go by the second path in order not to be
pitied. But the first way is both impracticable and long, to attempt
the very thing which Zeus has not been able to do, to convince all men
what things are good and bad. Is this power given to you? This only is
given to you, to convince yourself; and you have not convinced
yourself. Then I ask you, do you attempt to persuade other men? and
who has lived so long with you as you with yourself? and who has so
much power of convincing you as you have of convincing yourself; and
who is better disposed and nearer to you than you are to yourself?
How, then, have you not convinced yourself in order to learn? At
present are not things upside down? Is this what you have been earnest
about doing, to learn to be free from grief and free from disturbance,
and not to be humbled, and to be free? Have you not heard, then,
that there is only one way which leads to this end, to give up the
things which do not depend on the will, to withdraw from them, and
to admit that they belong to others? For another man, then, to have an
opinion about you, of what kind is it? "It is a thing independent of
the will." Then is it nothing to you? "It is nothing." When, then, you
are still vexed at this and disturbed, do you think that you are
convinced about good and evil?

  Will you not, then, letting others alone, be to yourself both
scholar and teacher? "The rest of mankind will look after this,
whether it is to their interest to be and to pass their lives in a
state contrary to nature: but to me no man is nearer than myself.
What, then, is the meaning of this, that I have listened to the
words of the philosophers and I assent to them, but in fact I am no
way made easier? Am I so stupid? And yet, in all other things such
as I have chosen, I have not been found very stupid; but I learned
letters quickly, and to wrestle, and geometry, and to resolve
syllogisms. Has not, then, reason convinced me? and indeed no other
things have I from the beginning so approved and chosen: and now I
read about these things, hear about them, write about them; I have
so far discovered no reason stronger than this. In what, then, am I
deficient? Have the contrary opinions not been eradicated from me?
Have the notions themselves not been exercised nor used to be
applied to action, but as armour are laid aside and rusted and
cannot fit me? And yet neither in the exercises of the palaestra,
nor in writing or reading am I satisfied with learning, but I turn
up and down the syllogisms which are proposed, and I make others,
and sophistical syllogisms also. But the necessary theorems, by
proceeding from which a man can become free from grief, fear,
passions, hindrance, and a free man, these I do not exercise myself in
nor do I practice in these the proper practice. Then I care about what
others will say of me, whether I shall appear to them worth notice,
whether I shall appear happy."

  Wretched man, will you not see what you. are saying about
yourself? What do you appear to yourself to be? in your opinions, in
your desires, in your aversions from things, in your movements, in
your preparation, in your designs, and in other acts suitable to a
man? But do you trouble yourself about this, whether others pity
you? "Yes, but I am pitied not as I ought to be." Are you then
pained at this? and is he who is pained, an object of pity? "Yes."
How, then, are you pitied not as you ought to be? For by the very
act that you feel about being pitied, you make yourself deserving of
pity. What then says Antisthenes? Have you not heard? "It is a royal
thing, O Cyrus, to do right and to be ill-spoken of." My head is
sound, and all think that I have the headache. What do I care for
that? I am free from fever, and people sympathize with me as if I
had a fever: "Poor man, for so long a time you have not ceased to have
fever." I also say with a sorrowful countenance: "In truth it is now a
long time that I have been ill." "What will happen then?" "As God
may please": and at the same time I secretly laugh at those who are
pitying me. What, then, hinders the same being done in this case also?
I am poor, but I have a right opinion about poverty. Why, then, do I
care if they pity me for my poverty? I am not in power; but others
are: and I have the opinion which I ought to have about having and not
having power. Let them look to it who pity me; but I am neither hungry
nor thirsty nor do I suffer cold; but because they are hungry or
thirsty they think that I too am. What, then, shall I do for them?
Shall I go about and proclaim and say: "Be not mistaken, men, I am
very well, I do not trouble myself about poverty, nor want of power,
nor in a word about anything else than right opinions. These I have
free from restraint, I care for nothing at all." What foolish talk
is this? How do I possess right opinions when I am not content with
being what I am, but am uneasy about what I am supposed to be?

  "But," you say, "others will get more and be preferred to me." What,
then, is more reasonable than for those who have laboured about
anything to have more in that thing in which they have laboured?
They have laboured for power, you have laboured about opinions; and
they have laboured for wealth, you for the proper use of
appearances. See if they have more than you in this about which you
have laboured, and which they neglect; if they assent better than
you with respect to the natural rules of things; if they are less
disappointed than you in their desires; if they fall less into
things which they would avoid than you do; if in their intentions,
if in the things which they propose to themselves, if in their
purposes, if in their motions toward an object they take a better aim;
if they better observe a proper behavior, as men, as sons, as parents,
and so on as to the other names by which we express the relations of
life. But if they exercise power, and you do not, will you not
choose to tell yourself the truth, that you do nothing for the sake of
this, and they do all? But it is most unreasonable that he who looks
after anything should obtain less than he who does not look after it.

  "Not so: but since I care about right opinions, it more reasonable
for me to have power." Yes in the matter about which you do care, in
opinions. But in a matter in which they have cared more than you, give
way to them. The case is just the same as if, because you have right
opinions, you thought that in using the bow you should hit the mark
better than an archer, and in working in metal you should succeed
better than a smith. Give up, then, your earnestness about opinions
and employ yourself about the things which you wish to acquire; and
then lament, if you do not succeed; for you deserve to lament. But now
you say that you are occupied with other things, that you are
looking after other things; but the many say this truly, that one
act has no community with another. He who has risen in the morning
seeks whom he shall salute, to whom he shall say something
agreeable, to whom he shall send a present, how he shall please the
dancing man, how by bad behavior to one he may please another. When he
prays, he prays about these things; when he sacrifices, he
sacrifices for these things: the saying of Pythagoras

     Let sleep not come upon thy languid eyes

he transfers to these things. "Where have I failed in the matters
pertaining to flattery?" "What have I done?" Anything like a free man,
anything like a noble-minded man? And if he finds anything of the
kind, he blames and accuses himself: "Why did you say this? Was it not
in your power to lie? Even the philosophers say that nothing hinders
us from telling a lie." But do you, if indeed you have cared about
nothing else except the proper use of appearances, as soon as you have
risen in the morning reflect, "What do I want in order to be free from
passion, and free from perturbation? What am I? Am I a poor body, a
piece of property, a thing of which something is said? I am none of
these. But what am I? I am a rational animal. What then is required of
me?" Reflect on your acts. "Where have I omitted the things which
conduce to happiness? What have I done which is either unfriendly or
unsocial? what have I not done as to these things which I ought to
have done?"

  So great, then, being, the difference in desires, actions, wishes,
would you still have the same share with others in those things
about which you have not laboured, and they have laboured? Then are
you surprised if they pity you, and are you vexed? But they are not
vexed if you pity them. Why? Because they are convinced that they have
that which is good, and you are not convinced. For this reason you are
not satisfied with your own, but you desire that which they have:
but they are satisfied with their own, and do not desire what you
have: since, if you were really convinced that with respect to what is
good, it is you who are the possessor of it and that they have
missed it, you would not even have thought of what they say about you.

  CHAPTER 7

  On freedom from fear

  What makes the tyrant formidable? "The guards," you say, "and
their swords, and the men of the bedchamber and those who exclude them
who would enter." Why, then, if you bring a boy to the tyrant when
he is with his guards, is he not afraid; or is it because the child
does not understand these things? If, then, any man does understand
what guards are and that they have swords, and comes to the tyrant for
this very purpose because he wishes to die on account of some
circumstance and seeks to die easily by the hand of another, is he
afraid of the guards? "No, for he wishes for the thing which makes the
guards formidable." If, then, neither any man wishing to die nor to
live by all means, but only as it may be permitted, approaches the
tyrant, what hinders him from approaching the tyrant without fear?
"Nothing." If, then, a man has the same opinion about his property
as the man whom I have instanced has about his body; and also about
his children and his wife, and in a word is so affected by some
madness or despair that he cares not whether he possesses them or not,
but like children who are playing, with shells care about the play,
but do not trouble themselves about the shells, so he too has set no
value on the materials, but values the pleasure that he has with
them and the occupation, what tyrant is then formidable to him or what
guards or what swords?

  Then through madness is it possible for a man to be so disposed
toward these things, and the Galilaens through habit, and is it
possible that no man can learn from reason and from demonstration that
God has made all the things in the universe and the universe itself
completely free from hindrance and perfect, and the parts of it for
the use of the whole? All other animals indeed are incapable of
comprehending the administration of it; but the rational animal,
man, has faculties for the consideration of all these and for
understanding that it is a part, and what kind of a part it is, and
that it is right for the parts to be subordinate to the whole. And
besides this being naturally noble, magnanimous and free, man sees
that of the things which surround him some are free from hindrance and
in his power, and the other things are subject to hindrance and in the
power of others; that the things which are free from hindrance are
in the power of the will; and those which are subject to hinderance
are the things which are not in the power of the will. And, for this
reason, if he thinks that his good and his interest be in these things
only which are free from hindrance and in his own power, he will be
free, prosperous, happy, free from harm, magnanimous pious, thankful
to God for all things; in no matter finding fault with any of the
things which have not been put in his power, nor blaming any of
them. But if he thinks that his good and his interest are in externals
and in things which are not in the power of his will, he must of
necessity be hindered, be impeded, be a slave to those who have the
power over things which he admires and fears; and he must of necessity
be impious because he thinks that he is harmed by God, and he must
be unjust because he always claims more than belongs to him; and he
must of necessity be abject and mean.

  What hinders a man, who has clearly separated these things, from
living with a light heart and bearing easily the reins, quietly
expecting everything which can happen, and enduring that which has
already happened? "Would you have me to bear poverty?" Come and you
will know what poverty is when it has found one who can act well the
part of a poor man. "Would you have me to possess power?" Let me
have power, and also the trouble of it. "Well, banishment?" Wherever I
shall go, there it will be well with me; for here also where I am,
it was not because of the place that it was well with me, but
because of my opinions which I shall carry off with me: for neither
can any man deprive me of them; but my opinions alone are mine and
they cannot he taken from me, and I am satisfied while I have them,
wherever I may be and whatever I am doing. "But now it is time to
die." Why do you say "to die"? Make no tragedy show of the thing,
but speak of it as it is: it is now time for the matter to be resolved
into the things out of which it was composed. And what is the
formidable thing here? what is going to perish of the things which are
in the universe? what new thing or wondrous is going to happen? Is
it for this reason that a tyrant is formidable? Is it for this
reason that the guards appear to have swords which are large and
sharp? Say this to others; but I have considered about all these
thins; no man has power over me. I have been made free; I know His
commands, no man can now lead me as a slave. I have a proper person to
assert my freedom; I have proper judges. Are you not the master of
my body? What, then, is that to me? Are you not the master of my
property? What, then, is that to me? Are you not the master of my
exile or of my chains? Well, from all these things and all the poor
body itself I depart at your bidding, when you please. Make trial of
your power, and you will know how far it reaches.

  Whom then can I still fear? Those who are over the bedchamber?
Lest they should do, what? Shut me out? If they find that I wish to
enter, let them shut me out. "Why, then, do you go to the doors?"
Because I think it befits me, while the play lasts, to join in it.
"How, then, are you not shut out?" Because, unless some one allows
me to go in, I do not choose to ,o in, but am always content with that
I which happens; for I think that what God chooses is better than what
I choose. I will attach myself as a minister and follower to Him; I
have the same movements as He has, I have the same desires; in a word,
I have the same will. There is no shutting out for me, but for those
who would force their in. Why, then, do not I force my way in? Because
I know that nothing good is distributed within to those who enter. But
when I hear any man called fortunate because he is honoured by Caesar,
I say, "What does he happen to get?" A province. Does he also obtain
an opinion such as he ought? The office of a Prefect. Does he also
obtain the power of using his office well? Why do I still strive to
enter? A man scatters dried figs and nuts: the children seize them and
fight with one another; men do not, for they think them to be a
small matter. But if a man should throw about shells, even the
children do not seize them. Provinces are distributed: let children
look to that. Money is distributed: let children look to that.
Praetorships, consulships are distributed: let children scramble for
them, let them be shut out, beaten, kiss the hands of the giver, of
the slaves: but to me these are only dried figs and nuts. What then?
If you fail to get them, while Caesar is scattering them about, do not
be troubled: if a dried fig come into your lap, take it and eat it;
for so far you may value even a fig. But if I shall stoop down and
turn another over, or be turned over by another, and shall flatter
those who have got into chamber, neither is a dried fig worth the
trouble, nor anything else of the things which are not good, which the
philosophers have persuaded me not to think good.

  Show me the swords of the guards. "See how big they are, and how
sharp." What, then, do these big and sharp swords do? "They kill." And
what does a fever do? "Nothing else." And what else a tile? "Nothing
else." Would you then have me to wonder at these things and worship
them, and go about as the slave of all of them? I hope that this
will not happen: but when I have once learned that everything which
has come into existence must also go out of it, that the universe
may not stand still nor be impeded, I no longer consider it any
difference whether a fever shall do it, or a tile, or a soldier. But
if a man must make a comparison between these things, I know that
the soldier will do it with less trouble, and quicker. When, then, I
neither fear anything which a tyrant can do to me, nor desire anything
which he can give, why do I still look on with wonder? Why am I
still confounded? Why do I fear the guards? Why am I pleased if he
speaks to me in a friendly way, and receives me, and why do I tell
others how he spoke to me? Is he a Socrates, is he a Diogenes that his
praise should be a proof of what I am? Have I been eager to imitate
his morals? But I keep up the play and go to him, and serve him so
long as he does not bid me to do anything foolish or unreasonable. But
if he says to me, "Go and bring Leon of Salamis," I say to him,
"Seek another, for I am no longer playing." "Lead him away." I follow;
that is part of the play. "But your head will be taken off." Does
the tyrant's head always remain where it is, and the heads of you
who obey him? "But you will be cast out unburied." If the corpse is I,
I shall be cast out; but if I am different from the corpse, speak more
properly according as the fact is, and do not think of frightening me.
These things are formidable to children and fools. But if any man
has once entered a philosopher's school and knows not what he is, he
deserves to be full of fear and to flatter those whom afterward he
used to flatter; if he has not yet learned that he is not flesh nor
bones nor sinews, but he is that which makes use of these parts of the
body and governs them and follows the appearances of things.

  "Yes, but this talk makes us despise the laws." And what kind of
talk makes men more obedient to the laws who employ such talk? And the
things which are in the power of a fool are not law. And yet see how
this talk makes us disposed as we ought to be even to these men; since
it teaches us to claim in opposition to them none of the things in
which they are able to surpass us. This talk teaches us, as to the
body, to give it up, as to property, to give that up also, as to
children, parents, brothers, to retire from these, to give up all;
It only makes an exception of the opinions, which even Zeus has willed
to be the select property of every man. What transgression of the laws
is there here, what folly? Where you are superior and stronger,
there I give way to you: on the other hand, where I am superior, do
you yield to me; for I have studied this, and you have not. It is your
study to live in houses with floors formed of various stones, how your
slaves and dependents shall serve you, how you shall wear fine
clothing, have many hunting men, lute players, and tragic actors. Do I
claim any of these? have you made any study of opinions and of your
own rational faculty? Do you know of what parts it is composed, how
they are brought together, how they are connected, what powers it has,
and of what kind? Why then are you vexed, if another, who has made
it his study, has the advantage over you in these things? "But these
things are the greatest." And who hinders you from being employed
about these things and looking after them? And who has a better
stock of books, of leisure, of persons to aid you? Only turn your mind
at last to these things, attend, if it be only a short time, to your
own ruling faculty: consider what this is that you possess, and whence
it came, this which uses all others, and tries them, and selects and
rejects. But so long as you employ yourself about externals you will
possess them as no man else does; but you will have this such as you
choose to have it, sordid and neglected.

  CHAPTER 8

  Against those who hastily rush into the use of the philosophic
dress

  Never praise nor blame a man because of the things which are common,
and do not ascribe to him any skill or want of skill; and thus you
will be free from rashness and from malevolence. "This man bathes very
quickly." Does he then do wrong? Certainly not. But what does he do?
He bathes very quickly. Are all things then done well? By no means:
but the acts which proceed from right opinions are done well; and
those which proceed from bad opinions are done ill. But do you,
until you know the opinion from which a man does each thing, neither
praise nor blame the act. But the opinion is not easily discovered
from the external things. "This man is a carpenter." Why? "Because
he uses an ax." What, then, is this to the matter? "This man is a
musician because he sings." And what does that signify? "This man is a
philosopher. Because he wears a cloak and long hair." And what does
a juggler wear? For this reason if a man sees any philosopher acting
indecently, immediately he says, "See what the philosopher is
doing"; but he ought because of the man's indecent behavior rather
to say that he is not a philosopher. For if this is the preconceived
notion of a philosopher and what he professes, to wear a cloak and
long hair, men would say well; but if what he professes is this
rather, to keep himself free from faults, why do we not rather,
because he does not make good his professions, take from him the
name of philosopher? For so we do in the case of all other arts.
When a man sees another handling an ax badly, he does not say, "What
is the use of the carpenter's art? See how badly carpenters do their
work"; but he says just the contrary, "This man is not a carpenter,
for he uses an ax badly." In the same way if a man hears another
singing badly, he does not say, "See how musicians sing"; but
rather, "This man is not a musician." But it is in the matter of
philosophy only that people do this. When they see a man acting
contrary to the profession of a philosopher, they do not take away his
title, but they assume him to be a philosopher, and from his acts
deriving the fact that he is behaving indecently they conclude that
there is no use in philosophy.

  What, then, is the reason of this? Because we attach value to the
notion of a carpenter, and to that of a musician, and to the notion of
other artisans in like manner, but not to that of a philosopher, and
we judge from externals only that it is a thing confused and ill
defined. And what other kind of art has a name from the dress and
the hair; and has not theorems and a material and an end? What,
then, is the material of the philosopher? Is it a cloak? No, but
reason. What is his end? is it to wear a cloak? No, but to possess the
reason in a right state. Of what kind are his theorems? Are they those
about the way in which the beard becomes great or the hair long? No,
but rather what Zeno says, to know the elements of reason, what kind
of a thing each of them is, and how they are fitted to one another,
and what things are consequent upon them. Will you not, then, see
first if he does what he professes when he acts in an unbecoming
manner, and then blame his study? But now when you yourself are acting
in a sober way, you say in consequence of what he seems to you to be
doing wrong, "Look at the philosopher," as if it were proper to call
by the name of philosopher one who does these things; and further,
"This is the conduct of a philosopher." But you do not say, "Look at
the carpenter," when you know that a carpenter is an adulterer or
you see him to be a glutton; nor do you say, "See the musician."
Thus to a certain degree even you perceive the profession of a
philosopher, but you fall away from the notion, and you are confused
through want of care.

  But even the philosophers themselves as they are called pursue the
thing by beginning with things which are common to them and others: as
soon as they have assumed a cloak and grown a beard, they say, "I am a
philosopher." But no man will say, "I am a musician," if he has bought
a plectrum and a lute: nor will he say, "I am a smith," if he has
put on a cap and apron. But the dress is fitted to the art; and they
take their name from the art, and not from the dress. For this
reason Euphrates used to say well, "A long time I strove to be a
philosopher without people knowing it; and this," he said, "was useful
to me: for first I knew that when I did anything well, I did not do it
for the sake of the spectators, but for the sake of myself: I ate well
for the sake of myself; I had my countenance well composed and my
walk: all for myself and for God. Then, as I struggled alone, so I
alone also was in danger: in no respect through me, if I did
anything base or unbecoming, was philosophy endangered; nor did I
injure the many by doing anything wrong as a philosopher. For this
reason those who did not know my purpose used to wonder how it was
that, while I conversed and lived altogether with all philosophers,
I was not a philosopher myself. And what was the harm for me to be
known to be a philosopher by my acts and not by outward marks?" See
how I eat, how I drink, how I sleep, how I bear and forbear, how I
co-operate, how I employ desire, how I employ aversion, how I maintain
the relations, those which are natural or those which are acquired,
how free from confusion, how free from hindrance. Judge of me from
this, if you can. But if you are so deaf and blind that you cannot
conceive even Hephaestus to be a good smith, unless you see the cap on
his head, what is the harm in not being recognized by so foolish a
judge?

  So Socrates was not known to be a philosopher by most persons; and
they used to come to him and ask to be introduced to philosophers. Was
he vexed then as we are, and did he say, "And do you not think that
I am a philosopher?" No, but he would take them and introduce them,
being satisfied with one thing, with being a philosopher; and being
pleased also with not being thought to be a philosopher, he was not
annoyed: for he thought of his own occupation. What is the work of
an honourable and good man? To have many pupils? By no means. They
will look to this matter who are earnest about it. But was it his
business to examine carefully difficult theorems? Others will look
after these matters also. In what, then, was he, and who was he and
whom did he wish to be? He was in that wherein there was hurt and
advantage. "If any man can damage me," he says, "I am doing nothing:
if I am waiting for another man to do me good, I am nothing. If I
anguish for anything, and it does not happen, I am unfortunate." To
such a contest he invited every man, and I do not think that he
would have declined the contest with any one. What do you suppose? was
it by proclaiming and saying, "I am such a man?" Far from it, but by
being such a man. For further, this is the character of a fool and a
boaster to say, "I am free from passions and disturbance: do not be
ignorant, my friends, that while you are uneasy and disturbed about
things of no value, I alone am free from all perturbation." So is it
not enough for you to feel no pain, unless you make this proclamation:
"Come together all who are suffering gout, pains in the head, fever,
ye who are lame, blind, and observe that I am sound from every
ailment." This is empty and disagreeable to hear, unless like
Aesculapius you are able to show immediately by what kind of treatment
they also shall be immediately free from disease, and unless you
show your own health as an example.

  For such is the Cynic who is honoured with the sceptre and the
diadem of Zeus, and says, "That you may see, O men, that you seek
happiness and tranquillity not where it is, but where it is not,
behold I am sent to you by God as an example. I who have neither
property nor house, nor wife nor children, nor even a bed, nor coat
nor household utensil; and see how healthy I am: try me, and if you
see that I am free from perturbations, hear the remedies and how I
have been cured." This is both philanthropic and noble. But see
whose work it is, the work of Zeus, or of him whom He may judge worthy
of this service, that he may never exhibit anything to the many, by
which he shall make of no effect his own testimony, whereby he gives
testimony to virtue, and bears evidence against external things:

     His beauteous face pales his cheeks

     He wipes a tear.

And not this only, but he neither desires nor seeks anything, nor
man nor place nor amusement, as children seek the vintage or holidays;
always fortified by modesty as others are fortified by walls and doors
and doorkeepers.

  But now, being only moved to philosophy, as those who have a bad
stomach are moved to some kinds of food which they soon loathe,
straightway toward the sceptre and to the royal power. They let the
hair grow, they assume the cloak, they show the shoulder bare, they
quarrel with those whom they meet; and if they see a man in a thick
winter coat, they quarrel with him. Man, first exercise yourself in
winter weather: see your movements that they are not those of a man
with a bad stomach or those of a longing woman. First strive that it
be not known what you are: be a philosopher to yourself a short
time. Fruit grows thus: the seed must be buried for some time, hid,
grow slowly in order that it may come to perfection. But if it
produces the ear before the jointed stem, it is imperfect, a produce
of the garden of Adonis. Such a poor plant are you also: you have
blossomed too soon; the cold weather will scorch you up. See what
the husbandmen say about seeds when there is warm weather too early.
They are afraid lest the seeds should be too luxuriant, and then a
single frost should lay hold of them and show that they are too
forward. Do you also consider, my man: you have shot out too soon, you
have hurried toward a little fame before the proper season: you
think that you are something, a fool among fools: you will be caught
by the frost, and rather you have been frost-bitten in the root below,
but your upper parts still blossom a little, and for this reason you
think that you are still alive and flourishing. Allow us to ripen in
the natural way: why do you bare us? why do you force us? we are not
yet able to bear the air. Let the root grow, then acquire the first
joint, then the second, and then the third: in this way, then, the
fruit will naturally force itself out, even if I do not choose. For
who that is pregnant and I filled with such great principles does
not also perceive his own powers and move toward the corresponding
acts? A bull is not ignorant of his own nature and his powers, when
a wild beast shows itself, nor does he wait for one to urge him on;
nor a dog when he sees a wild animal. But if I have the powers of a
good man, shall I wait for you to prepare me for my own acts? At
present I have them not, believe me. Why then do you wish me to be
withered up before the time, as you have been withered up?

  CHAPTER 9

  To a person who had been changed to a character of shamelessness

  When you see another man in the possession of power, set against
this the fact that you have not the want of power; when you see
another rich, see what you possess in place of riches: for if you
possess nothing in place of them, you are miserable; but if you have
not the want of riches, know that you possess more than this man
possesses and what is worth much more. Another man possesses a
handsome woman: you have the satisfaction of not desiring a handsome
wife. Do these things appear to you to he small? And how much would
these persons give, these very men who are rich and in possession of
power, and live with handsome women, to be able to despise riches
and power and these very women whom they love and enjoy? Do you not
know, then, what is the thirst of a man who has a fever? He
possesses that which is in no degree like the thirst of a man who is
in health: for the man who is in health ceases to be thirsty after
he has drunk; but the sick man, being pleased for a short time, has
a nausea; he converts the drink into bile, vomits, is griped, and more
thirsty. It is such a thing to have desire of riches and to possess
riches, desire of power and to possess power, desire of a beautiful
woman and to sleep with her: to this is added jealousy, fear of
being deprived of the thing which you love, indecent words, indecent
thoughts, unseemly acts.

  "And what do I lose?" you will say. My man, you were modest, and you
are so no longer. Have you lost nothing? In place of Chrysippus and
Zeno you read Aristides and Evenus; have you lost nothing? In place of
Socrates and Diogenes, you admire him who is able to corrupt and
seduce most women. You wish to appear handsome and try to make
yourself so, though you are not. You like to display splendid
clothes that you may attract women; and if you find any fine oil,
yon imagine that you are happy. But formerly you did not think of
any such thing, but only where there should be decent talk, a worthy
man, and a generous conception. Therefore you slept like a man, walked
forth like a man, wore a manly dress, and used to talk in a way
becoming a good man; then do you say to me, "I have lost nothing?"
So do men lose nothing more than coin? Is not modesty lost? Is not
decent behavior lost? is it that he who has lost these things has
sustained no loss? Perhaps you think that not one of these things is a
loss. But there was a time when you reckoned this the only loss and
damage, and you were anxious that no man should disturb you from these
words and actions.

  Observe, you are disturbed from these good words and actions by
nobody but by yourself. Fight with yourself, restore yourself to
decency, to modesty, to liberty. If any man ever told you this about
me, that a person forces me to be an adulterer, to wear such a dress
as yours, to perfume myself with oils, would you not have gone and
with your own hand have killed the man who thus calumniated me? Now
will you not help yourself? and how much easier is this help? There is
no need to kill any man, nor to put him in chains, nor to treat him
with contumely, nor to enter the Forum, but it is only necessary for
you to speak to yourself who will be the most easily persuaded, with
whom no man has more power of persuasion than yourself. First of
all, condemn what you are doing, and then, when you have condemned it,
do not despair of yourself, and be not in the condition of those men
of mean spirit, who, when they have once given in, surrender
themselves completely and are carried away as if by a torrent. But see
what the trainers of boys do. Has the boy fallen? "Rise," they say,
"wrestle again till you are made strong." Do you also do something
of the same kind: for be well assured that nothing is more tractable
than the human soul. You must exercise the will, and the thing is
done, it is set right: as on the other hand, only fall a-nodding,
and the thing is lost: for from within comes ruin and from within
comes help. "Then what good do I gain?" And what greater good do you
seek than this? From a shameless man you will become a modest man,
from a disorderly you will become an orderly man, from a faithless you
will become a faithful man, from a man of unbridled habits a sober
man. If you seek anything more than this, go on doing what you are
doing: not even a God can now help you.

  CHAPTER 10

  What things we ought to despise, and what things we ought to value

  The difficulties of all men are about external things, their
helplessness is about externals. "What shall I do, how will it be, how
will it turn out, will this happen, will that?" All these are the
words of those who are turning themselves to things which are not
within the power of the will. For who says, "How shall I not assent to
that which is false? how shall I not turn away from the truth?" If a
man be of such a good disposition as to be anxious about these things,
I will remind him of this: "Why are you anxious? The thing is in
your own power: be assured: do not be precipitate in assenting
before you apply the natural rule." On the other side, if a man is
anxious about desire, lest it fail in its purpose and miss its end,
and with respect to the avoidance of things, lest he should fall
into that which he would avoid, I will first kiss him, because he
throws away the things about which others are in a flutter, and
their fears, and employs his thoughts about his own affairs and his
own condition. Then I shall say to him: "If you do not choose to
desire that which you will fall to obtain nor to attempt to avoid that
into which you will fall, desire nothing which belongs to others,
nor try to avoid any of the things which are not in your power. If you
do not observe this rule, you must of necessity fall in your desires
and fall into that which you would avoid. What is the difficulty here?
where is there room for the words, 'How will it be?' and 'How will
it turn out?' and, 'Will this happen or that?'

  Now is not that which will happen independent of the will? "Yes."
And the nature of good and of evil, is it not in the things which
are within the power of the will? "Yes." Is it in your power, then, to
treat according to nature everything which happens? Can any person
hinder you? "No man." No longer then say to me, "How will it be?"
For however it may be, you will dispose of it well, and the result
to you will be a fortunate one. What would Hercules have been if he
had said, "How shall a great lion not appear to me, or a great boar,
or savage men?" And what do you care for that? If a great boar appear,
you will fight a greater fight: if bad men appear, you relieve the
earth of the bad. "Suppose, then, that I may lose my life in this
way." You will die a good man, doing a noble act. For since we must
certainly die, of necessity a man must be found doing something,
either following the employment of a husbandman, or digging, or
trading, or serving in a consulship or suffering from indigestion or
from diarrhea. What then do you wish to be doing, when you are found
by death? I for my part would wish to be found doing something which
belongs to a man, beneficent, suitable to the general interest, noble.
But if I cannot be found doing things so great, I would be found doing
at least that which I cannot be hindered from doing, that which is
permitted me to do, correcting, myself, cultivating the faculty
which makes use of appearances, labouring at freedom from the affects,
rendering to the relations of life their due; if I succeed so far,
also touching on the third topic, safety in the forming judgements
about things. If death surprises me when I am busy about these things,
it is enough for me if I can stretch out my hands to God and say:

  "The means which I have received from Thee for seeing Thy
administration and following it, I have not neglected: I have not
dishonoured Thee by my acts: see how I have used my perceptions, see
how I have used my preconceptions: have I ever blamed Thee? have I
been discontented with anything that happens, or wished it to be
otherwise? have I wished to transgress the relations? That Thou hast
given me life, I thank Thee for what Thou has given me: so long as I
have used the things which are Thine, I am content; take them back and
place them wherever Thou mayest choose; for Thine were all things,
Thou gavest them to me." Is it not enough to depart in this state of
mind, and what life is better and more becoming than that of a man who
is in this state of mind? and what end is more happy?

  But that this may be done, a man must receive no small things, nor
are the things small which he must lose. You cannot both wish to be
a consul and to have these things, and to be eager to have lands and
these things also; and to be solicitous about slaves and about
yourself. But if you wish for anything which belongs to another,
that which is your own is lost. This is the nature of the thing:
nothing is given or had for nothing. And where is the wonder? If you
wish to be a consul, you must keep awake, run about, kiss hands, waste
yourself with exhaustion at other men's doors, say and do many
things unworthy of a free man, send gifts to many, daily presents to
some. And what is the thing that is got? Twelve bundles of rods, to
sit three or four times on the tribunal, to exhibit the games in the
Circus and to give suppers in small baskets. Or, if you do not agree
about this, let some one show me what there is besides these things.
In order, then, to secure freedom from passions, tranquillity, to
sleep well when you do sleep, to be really awake when you are awake,
to fear nothing, to be anxious about nothing, will you spend nothing
and give no labour? But if anything belonging to you be lost while you
are thus busied, or be wasted badly, or another obtains what you ought
to have obtained, will you immediately be vexed at what has
happened? Will you not take into the account on the other side what
you receive and for what, how much for how much? Do you expect to have
for nothing things so great? And how can you? One work has no
community with another. You cannot have both external things after
bestowing care on them and your own ruling faculty: but if you would
have those, give up this. If you do not, you will have neither this
nor that, while you are drawn in different ways to both. The oil
will be spilled, the household vessels will perish: but I shall be
free from passions. There will be a fire when I am not present, and
the books will be destroyed: but I shall treat appearances according
to nature. "Well; but I shall have nothing to eat." If I am so
unlucky, death is a harbour; and death is the harbour for all; this is
the place of refuge; and for this reason not one of the things in life
is difficult: as soon as you choose, you are out of the house, and are
smoked no more. Why, then, are you anxious, why do you lose your sleep,
why do you not straightway, after considering wherein your good is and
your evil, say, "Both of them are in my power? Neither can any man
deprive me of the good, nor involve me in the bad against my will. Why
do I not throw myself down and snore? for all that I have is safe. As
to the things which belong to others, he will look to them who gets
them, as they may be given by Him who has the power. Who am I who wish
to have them in this way or in that? is a power ofselecting them given
to me? has any person made me the dispenser of them? Those things are
enough for me over which I have power: I ought to manage them as well
as I can: and all the rest, as the Master of them may choose."

  When a man has these things before his eyes, does he keep awake
and turn hither and thither? What would he have, or what does he
regret, Patroclus or Antilochus or Menelaus? For when did he suppose
that any of his friends was immortal, and when had he not before his
eyes that on the morrow or the day after he or his friend must die?
"Yes," he says, "but I thought that he would survive me and bring up
my son." You were a fool for that reason, and you were thinking of
what was uncertain. Why, then, do you not blame yourself, and sit
crying like girls? "But he used to set my food before me." Because
he was alive, you fool, but now he cannot: but Automedon will set it
before you, and if Automedon also dies, you will find another. But
if the pot, in which your meat was cooked, should be broken, must
you die of hunger, because you have not the pot which you are
accustomed to? Do you not send and buy a new pot? He says:

     "No greater ill could fall on me."

Why is this your ill? Do you, then, instead of removing it, blame your
mother for not foretelling it to you that you might continue
grieving from that time? What do you think? do you not suppose that
Homer wrote this that we may learn that those of noblest birth, the
strongest and the richest, the most handsome, when they have not the
opinions which they ought to have, are not prevented from being most
wretched and unfortunate?

  CHAPTER 11

  About Purity

  Some persons raise a question whether the social feeling is
contained in the nature of man; and yet I think that these same
persons would have no doubt that love of purity is certainly contained
in it, and that, if man is distinguished from other animals by
anything, he is distinguished by this. When, then, we see any other
animal cleaning itself, we are accustomed to speak of the act with
surprise, and to add that the animal is acting like a man: and, on the
other hand, if a man blames an animal for being dirty, straightway
as if we were making an excuse for it, we say that of course the
animal is not a human creature. So we suppose that there is
something superior in man, and that we first receive it from the Gods.
For since the Gods by their nature are pure and free from
corruption, so far as men approach them by reason, so far do they
cling to purity and to a love of purity. But since it is impossible
that man's nature can be altogether pure being mixed of such
materials, reason is applied, as far as it is possible, and reason
endeavours to make human nature love

  The first, then, and highest purity is that which is in the soul;
and we say the same of impurity. Now you could not discover the
impurity of the soul as you could discover that of the body: but as to
the soul, what else could you find in it than that which makes it
filthy in respect to the acts which are her own? Now the acts of the
soul are movement toward an object or movement from it, desire,
aversion, preparation, design, assent. What, then, is it which in
these acts makes the soul filthy and impure? Nothing else than her own
bad judgements. Consequently, the impurity of the soul is the soul's
bad opinions; and the purification of the soul is the planting in it
of proper opinions; and the soul is pure which has proper opinions,
for the soul alone in her own acts is free from perturbation and
pollution.

  Now we ought to work at something like this in the body also, as far
as we can. It was impossible for the defluxions of the nose not to run
when man has such a mixture in his body. For this reason, nature has
made hands and the nostrils themselves as channels for carrying off
the humours. If, then, a man sucks up the defluxions, I say that he is
not doing the act of a man. It was impossible for a man's feet not
to be made muddy and not be soiled at all when he passes through dirty
places. For this reason, nature has made water and hands. It was
impossible that some impurity should not remain in the teeth from
eating: for this reason, she says, wash the teeth. Why? In order
that you may be a man and not a wild beast or a hog. It was impossible
that from the sweat and the pressing of the clothes there should not
remain some impurity about the body which requires to be cleaned away.
For this reason water, oil, hands, towels, scrapers, nitre,
sometimes all other kinds of means are necessary for cleaning the
body. You do not act so: but the smith will take off the rust from the
iron, and be will have tools prepared for this purpose, and you
yourself wash the platter when you are going to eat, if you are not
completely impure and dirty: but will you not wash the body nor make
it clean? "Why?" he replies. I will tell you again; in the first
place, that you may do the acts of a man; then, that you may not be
disagreeable to those with whom you associate. You do something of
this kind even in this matter, and you do not perceive it: you think
that you deserve to stink. Let it be so: deserve to stink. Do you
think that also those who sit by you, those who recline at table
with you, that those who kiss you deserve the same? Either go into a
desert, where you deserve to go, or live by yourself, and smell
yourself. For it is just that you alone should enjoy your own
impurity. But when you are in a city, to behave so inconsiderately and
foolishly, to what character do you think that it belongs? If nature
had entrusted to you a horse, would you have overlooked and
neglected him? And now think that you have been intrusted with your
own body as with a horse; wash it, wipe it, take care that no man
turns away from it, that no one gets out of the way for it. But who
does not get out of the way of a dirty man, of a stinking man, of a
man whose skin is foul, more than he does out of the way of a man
who is daubed with muck? That smell is from without, it is put upon
him; but the other smell is from want of care, from within, and in a
manner from a body in putrefaction.

  "But Socrates washed himself seldom." Yes, but his body was clean
and fair: and it was so agreeable and sweet that tile most beautiful
and the most noble loved him, and desired to sit by him rather than by
the side of those who had the handsomest forms. It was in his power
neither to use the bath nor to wash himself, if he chose; and yet
the rare use of water had an effect. If you do not choose to wash with
warm water, wash with cold. But Aristophanes says:

     Those who are pale, unshod, 'tis those I mean.

For Aristophanes says of Socrates that he also walked the air and
stole clothes from the palaestra. But all who have written about
Socrates bear exactly the contrary evidence in his favour; they say
that he was pleasant not only to hear, but also to see. On the other
hand they write the same about Diogenes. For we ought not even by
the appearance of the body to deter the multitude from philosophy; but
as in other things, a philosopher should show himself cheerful and
tranquil, so also he should in the things that relate to the body:
"See, ye men, that I have nothing, that I want nothing: see how I am
without a house, and without a city, and an exile, if it happens to be
so, and without a hearth I live more free from trouble and more
happily than all of noble birth and than the rich. But look at my poor
body also and observe that it is not injured by my hard way of
living." But if a man says this to me, who has the appearance and face
of a condemned man, what God shall persuade me to approach philosophy,
if it makes men such persons? Far from it; I would not choose to do
so, even if I were going to become a wise man. I indeed would rather
that a young man, who is making his first movements toward philosophy,
should come to me with his hair carefully trimmed than with it dirty
and rough, for there is seen in him a certain notion of beauty and a
desire of that which is becoming; and where he supposes it to be,
there also he strives that it shall be. It is only necessary to show
him, and to say: "Young man, you seek beauty, and you do well: you
must know then that it grows in that part of you where you have the
rational faculty: seek it there where you have the movements toward
and the movements from things, where you have the desire toward, ind
the aversion from things: for this is what you have in yourself of a
superior kind; but the poor body is naturally only earth: why do you
labour about it to no purpose? if you shall learn nothing else, you
will learn from time that the body is nothing." But if a man comes
to me daubed with filth, dirty, with a mustache down to his knees,
what can I say to him, by what kind of resemblance can I lead him
on? For about what has he busied himself which resembles beauty,
that I may be able to change him and "Beauty is not in this, but in
that?" Would you have me to tell him, that beauty consists not in
being daubed with muck, but that it lies in the rational part? Has
he any desire of beauty? has he any form of it in his mind? Go and
talk to a hog, and tell him not to roll in the mud.

  For this reason the words of Xenocrates touched Polemon also;
since he was a lover of beauty, for he entered, having in him
certain incitements to love of beauty, but he looked for it in the
wrong place. For nature has not made even the animals dirty which live
with man. Does a horse ever wallow in the mud or a well-bred dog?
But the hog, and the dirty geese, and worms and spiders do, which
are banished furthest from human intercourse. Do you, then, being a
man, choose to be not as one of the animals which live with man, but
rather a worm, or a spider? Will you not wash yourself somewhere
some time in such manner as you choose? Will you not wash off the dirt
from your body? Will you not come clean that those with whom you
keep company may have pleasure in being with you? But do you go with
us even into the temples in such a state, where it is not permitted to
spit or blow the nose, being a heap of spittle and of snot?

  When then? does any man require you to ornament yourself? Far from
it; except to ornament that which we really are by nature, the
rational faculty, the opinions, the actions; but as to the body only
so far as purity, only so far as not to give offense. But if you are
told that you ought not to wear garments dyed with purple, go and daub
your cloak with muck or tear it. "But how shall I have a neat
cloak?" Man, you have water; wash it. Here is a youth worthy of
being loved, here is an old man worthy of loving and being loved in
return, a fit person for a man to intrust to him a son's
instruction, to whom daughters and young men shall come, if
opportunity shall so happen, that the teacher shall deliver his
lessons to them on a dunghill. Let this not be so: every deviation
comes from something which is in man's nature; but this is near
being something not in man's nature.

  CHAPTER 12

  On attention

  When you have remitted your attention for a short time, do not
imagine this, that you will recover it when you choose; but let but
let this thought be present to you, that in consequence of the fault
committed to-day your affairs must be in a worse condition for all
that follows. For first, and what causes most trouble, a habit of
not attending is formed in you; then a habit of deferring your
attention. And continually from time to time you drive away, by
deferring it, the happiness of life, proper behavior, the being and
living conformably to nature. If, then, the procrastination of
attention is profitable, the complete omission of attention is more
profitable; but if it is not profitable, why do you not maintain
your attention constant? "To-day I choose to play." Well then, ought
you not to play with attention? "I choose to sing." What, then,
hinders you from doing so with attention? Is there any part of life
excepted, to which attention does not extend? For will you do it worse
by using attention, and better by not attending at all? And what
else of things in life is done better by those who do not use
attention? Does he who works in wood work better by not attending to
it? Does the captain of a ship manage it better by not attending?
and is any of the smaller acts done better by inattention? Do you
not see that, when you have let your mind loose, it is no longer in
your power to recall it, either to propriety, or to modesty, or to
moderation: but you do everything that comes into your mind in
obedience to your inclinations?

  To what things then ought I to attend? First to those general
(principles) and to have them in readiness, and without them not to
sleep, not to rise, not to drink, not to eat, not to converse with
men; that no man is master of another man's will, but that in the will
alone is the good and the bad. No man, then, has the power either to
procure for me any good or to involve me in any evil, but I alone
myself over myself have power in these things. When, then, these
things are secured to me, why need I be disturbed about external
things? What tyrant is formidable, what disease, what poverty, what
offense? "Well, I have not pleased a certain person." Is he then my
work, my judgement? "No." Why then should I trouble myself about
him? "But he is supposed to be some one." He will look to that
himself; and those who think so will also. But I have One Whom I ought
to please, to Whom I ought to subject myself, Whom I ought to obey,
God and those who are next to Him. He has placed me with myself, and
has put my will in obedience to myself alone, and has given me rules
for the right use of it; and when I follow these rules in
syllogisms, I do not care for any man who says anything else: in
sophistical argument, I care for no man. Why then in greater matters
do those annoy me who blame me? What is the cause of this
perturbation? Nothing else than because in this matter I am not
disciplined. For all knowledge despises ignorance and the ignorant;
and not only the sciences, but even the arts. Produce any shoemaker
that you please, and he ridicules the many in respect to his own work.
Produce any carpenter.

  First, then, we ought to have these in readiness, and to do
nothing without them, and we ought to keep the soul directed to this
mark, to pursue nothing external, and nothing which belongs to others,
but to do as He has appointed Who has the power; we ought to pursue
altogether the things which are in the power of the will, and all
other things as it is permitted. Next to this we ought to remember who
we are, and what is our name, and to endeavour to direct our duties
toward the character of our several relations in this manner: what
is the season for singing, what is the season for play, and in whose
presence; what will be the consequence of the act; whether our
associates will despise us, whether we shall despise them; when to
jeer, and whom to ridicule; and on what occasion to comply and with
whom; and finally, in complying how to maintain our own character. But
wherever you have deviated from any of these rules, there is damage
immediately, not from anything external, but from the action itself.

  What then? is it possible to be free from faults? It is not
possible; but tills is possible, to direct your efforts incessantly to
being faultless. For we must be content if by never remitting this
attention we shall escape at least a few errors. But now when you have
said, "To-morrow I will begin to attend," you must be told that you
are saying this, "To-day I will be shameless, disregardful of time and
place, mean; it will be in the power of others to give me pain; to-day
I will be passionate and envious." See how many evil things you are
permitting yourself to do. If it is good to use attention to-morrow,
how much better is it to do so to-day? if to-morrow it is in your
interest to attend, much more is it to-day, that you may be able to do
so to-morrow also, and may not defer it again to the third day.

  CHAPTER 13

  Against or to those who readily tell their own affairs

  When a man has seemed to us to have talked with simplicity about his
own affairs, how is it that at last we are ourselves also induced to
discover to him our own secrets and we think this to be candid
behavior? In the first place, because it seems unfair for a man to
have listened to the affairs of his neighbour, and not to
communicate to him also in turn our own affairs: next, because we
think that we shall not present to them the appearance of candid men
when we are silent about our own affairs. Indeed men are often
accustomed to say, "I have told you all my affairs, will you tell me
nothing of your own? where is this done?" Besides, we have also this
opinion that we can safely trust him who has already told us his own
affairs; for the notion rises in our mind that this man could never
divulge our affairs because he would be cautious that we also should
not divulge his. In this way also the incautious are caught by the
soldiers at Rome. A soldier sits by you in a common dress and begins
to speak ill of Caesar; then you, as if you had received a pledge of
his fidelity by his having begun the abuse, utter yourself also what
you think, and then you are carried off in chains.

  Something of this kind happens to us generally. Now as this man
has confidently intrusted his affairs to me, shall I also do so to any
man whom I meet? For when I have heard, I keep silence, if I am of
such a disposition; but he goes forth and tells all men what he has
heard. Then if I hear what has been done, if I be a man like him, I
resolve to be revenged, I divulge what he has told me; I both
disturb others and am disturbed myself. But if I remember that one man
does not injure another, and that every man's acts injure and profit
him, I secure this, that I do not anything like him, but still I
suffer what I do suffer through my own silly talk.

  "True: but it is unfair when you have heard the secrets of your
neighbour for you in turn to communicate nothing to him." Did I ask
you for your secrets, my man? did you communicate your affairs on
certain terms, that you should in return hear mine also? If you are
a babbler and think that all who meet you are friends, do you wish
me also to be like you? But why, if you did well in entrusting your
affairs to me, and it is not well for me to intrust mine to you, do
you wish me to be so rash? It is just the same as if I had a cask
which is water-tight, and you one with a hole in it, and you should
come and deposit with me your wine that I might put it into my cask,
and then should complain that I also did not intrust my wine to you,
for you have a cask with a hole in it. How then is there any
equality here? You intrusted your affairs to a man who is faithful and
modest, to a man who thinks that his own actions alone are injurious
and useful, and that nothing external is. Would you have me intrust
mine to you, a man who has dishonoured his own faculty of will, and
who wishes to gain some small bit of money or some office or promotion
in the court, even if you should be going to murder your own children,
like Medea? Where is this equality? But show yourself to me to be
faithful, modest, and steady: show me that you have friendly opinions;
show that your cask has no hole in it; and you will see how I shall
not wait for you to trust me with your affairs, but I myself shall
come to you and ask you to hear mine. For who does not choose to
make use of a good vessel? Who does not value a benevolent and
faithful adviser? who will not willingly receive a man who is ready to
bear a share, as we may say, of the difficulty of his circumstances,
and by this very act to ease the burden, by taking a part of it.

  "True: but I trust you; you do not trust me." In the first place,
not even do you trust me, but you are a babbler, and for this reason
you cannot hold anything; for indeed, if it is true that you trust me,
trust your affairs to me only; but now, whenever you see a man at
leisure, you seat yourself by him and say: "Brother, I have no
friend more benevolent than you nor dearer; I request you to listen to
my affairs." And you do this even to those who are not known to you at
all. But if you really trust me, it is plain that you trust me because
I am faithful and modest, not because I have told my affairs to you.
Allow me, then, to have the same opinion about you. Show me that, if
one man tells his affairs to another, he who tells them is faithful
and modest. For if this were so, I would go about and tell my
affairs to every man, if that would make me faithful and modest. But
the thing is not so, and it requires no common opinions. If, then, you
see a man who is busy about things not dependent on his will and
subjecting his will to them, you must know that this man has ten
thousand persons to compel and hinder him. He has no need of pitch
or the wheel to compel him to declare what he knows: but a little
girl's nod, if it should so happen, will move him, the blandishment of
one who belongs to Caesar's court, desire of a magistracy or of an
inheritance, and things without end of that sort. You must remember,
then, among general principles that secret discourses require fidelity
and corresponding opinions. But where can we now find these easily? Or
if you cannot answer that question, let some one point out to me a man
who can say: "I care only about the things which are my own, the
things which are not subject to hindrance, the things which are by
nature free." This I hold to be the nature of the good: but let all
other things be as they are allowed; I do not concern myself.

                                  -THE END-
.