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. (What is this? my father gives me nothing. Is

there nothing else then? 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.

ABOUT CYNICISM.—When one of his pupils inquired of Epictetus, and he

was a person who appeared to be inclined to Cynicism, what kind of

person a Cynic ought to be, and what was the notion ([Greek:

prolaepsis]) 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.

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

([Greek: echchlisis]) only to the things which are within the power of

the will; you must not feel anger nor resentment or 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 be 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

pædagogue, 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 (you should say), 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 go, there is the sun, there is the moon, there are the

stars, dreams, omens, and the conversation ([Greek: omilia]) 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 be 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 splendor 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:

Iliad, x., 15.

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.”

Iliad, x., 91.

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 towards 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 danger. 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 (and say), Oh, you 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 ([Greek: echchlisis])? was

your movement (pursuits)? 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?

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 towards 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 things also something which is not hindered

and is free. Wretched men, work out this, take care of this, seek for

good here.

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 a 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 goes abroad, must we sit and weep; and on the contrary, when he

returns, must we dance and clap our hands like children?

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 Zeus

and shall be placing myself against him in the administration of the

universe; and the reward (the punishment) 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 there is no harm. But what harm can happen to you, where

you are not? From Hellas (Greece) 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 should be so. But you 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 every thing 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. Know you not that a good man does nothing for

the sake of appearance, but for the sake of doing right? What advantage

is it then to him to have done right? And what advantage is it to a man

who writes the name of Dion to write it as he ought? The advantage is

to have written it. Is there no reward then? Do you seek a reward for a

good man greater than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish

for nothing more, but it seems to you enough to be crowned at the

games. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good

and happy? For these purposes being introduced by the gods into this

city (the world), and it being now your duty to undertake the work of a

man, do you still want nurses also and a mamma, and do foolish women by

their weeping move you and make you effeminate? Will you thus never

cease to be a foolish child? know you not that he who does the acts of

a child, the older he is, the more ridiculous he is?

So in this matter also: if you kiss your own child, or your brother or

friend, never give full license to the appearance ([Greek:

phantasian]), 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 will 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.

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 be 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 (of things) 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 (or in a strange way), 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 (or thoughts) 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 Cæsar? 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.

TO THOSE WHO FALL OFF (DESIST) 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 (for good fortune and happiness), 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 (renouncing the combat), 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.

TO THOSE WHO FEAR WANT.—Are you not ashamed at being 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 afterwards 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 fail 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?

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 calls 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 ([Greek:

echchlisin]) 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 around and encircling it with a wall? And

what doorkeeper is placed with no door to watch? But you practise in

order to be able to prove—what? You practise 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 (the measure); 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?

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 ([Greek: hormai]) are not impeded, whose desires

attain their purpose, and who does not fall into that which he would

avoid ([Greek: echchliseis aperiptotoi]). 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.

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 (province) 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 (as consul), 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.

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 (sound)

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, and 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 towards 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 towards 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.

When you have made this preparation, and have practised 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.

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 (God)

introduce you here, did he not show you the light, did he not give you

fellow-workers, and perceptions and reason? and as whom did he

introduce you here? did he not introduce you as 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 heard

and seen? 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

are 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 unwillingly see absent from the great assembly ([Greek:

panaeguris]) 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 has 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.

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 have rather 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 and 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 (the universe, or all the world), 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 (these kings) 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.

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 if you be ten thousand times a consul; and if you make your way up

to the palace (Cæsar’s residence), you will no less be a slave; and you

will feel that perhaps philosophers utter words which are contrary to

common opinion (paradoxes), 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 ([Greek: phantasia]),

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 labored for those things, so

transfer your labor 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 (if you

do not succeed), try at least; the trial (attempt) is not disgraceful.

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 towards me,” remember that nothing is done without cost,

nor is it possible for a man if he does not do the same things 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.

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 a 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: he possesses a prætorship,

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 (seek)

anything else, neither body nor possession, nor magistracy, nor good

report, nor in fact anything. For he (God) does not allow me to claim

(seek) 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 fail in all things, you

will be hindered, you will be impeded. These are the laws which have

been sent from thence (from God); 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.

TO THOSE WHO ARE DESIROUS OF PASSING LIFE IN TRANQUILLITY.—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 travelling 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 labor. But if you refer reading to the proper

end, what else is this than a tranquil and happy life ([Greek:

eusoia])? 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

Cæsar or Cæsar’s friend, but a crow, a piper, a fever, and thirty

thousand other things? But a tranquil and happy life contains nothing

so sure as continuity and freedom from obstacle. Now I am called to do

something: I will go then with the purpose of observing the measures

(rules) 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.

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 (purpose) 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 (efforts, [Greek: hormae]), 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 (avoiding things), in order that we may neither

fail in our desires, nor fall into that which we try to avoid; if we

read what is said about duty (officium), in order that remembering the

relations (of things to one another) 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 (to the relations), 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 (we should say), To-day I

have employed my action as it is taught by the philosophers; I have not

employed my desire; I have used avoidance ([Greek: echchlisei]) 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.

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

towards 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 (reads and writes) 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 labor; and if he does it through love of

learning, I say that he is a lover of learning. But if he refers his

labor 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

(principles); 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 (or opportunely applied by you to the

acts 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 you

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?

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 (quarrels), 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 and to cavil with him. For he remembered well that no man

has in his power another man’s ruling principle. He wished therefore

for 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 nevertheless 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 (a prætor) 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 be 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 (quarrelling) to a man

who has this opinion (which he ought to have)? Is he surprised at any

thing 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 that

what actually befalls him? And does he not reckon as pure gain whatever

they (the bad) 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 learned this and is not convinced of it, why

shall he not follow that which seems to be for his own interest? Your

neighbor 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 (to do) 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

storehouse, see with what 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 has 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 ([Greek: hupeithuna]), 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 (stamps)

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 affections.

Produce these qualities. I accept them: I consider this man a citizen,

I accept him as a neighbor, a companion in my voyages. Only see that he

has not Nero’s stamp. Is he passionate, is he full of resentment, is he

fault-finding? If the whim seizes him, does he break the heads of those

who come in his way? (If so), why then did you say that he is a man? Is

everything judged (determined) by the bare form? If that is so, say

that the form in wax is an 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 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 you 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 (and

say): 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 honor (rank, character) so free from assault (as a man’s

opinions)? All (other) things everywhere are perishable, easily taken

by assault, and if any man in any way is attached to them, he must be

disturbed, except 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 labor 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 opinions

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

(externals) 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 ([Greek:

proairesis], the purpose, the intention) 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 (ungrateful?) son.

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

(requiring) pity, or are you not in that condition? I think that 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 honorable 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

([Greek: anarchonti)] and enjoys no honor 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 pretence 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 honored 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 yet 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 (abject), and to

be free? Have you not heard then that there is only one way which leads

to this end, to give up (dismiss) 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?

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 (child) 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 any man neither 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 (quarrel) about the play, but do not trouble

themselves about the shells, so he too has set no value on the

materials (things), 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?

What hinders a man, who has clearly separated (comprehended) 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 be

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 (of the body) 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 things; 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. (I

say) 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 (sport) 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 go in, but am always content with that 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

(pursuits) as he has, I have the same desires; in a word, I have the

same will ([Greek: sunthelo]). There is no shutting out for me, but for

those who would force their way 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 honored

by Cæsar, I say what does he happen to get? A province (the government

of 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 (Cæsar’s chamber)? 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. Prætorships, 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

Cæsar 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 (Cæsar’s) 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.

TO A PERSON WHO HAD BEEN CHANGED TO A CHARACTER OF SHAMELESSNESS.—When

you see another man in the possession of power (magistracy), set

against this the fact that you have not the want (desire) 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.

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 external. 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 (uneasy) 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 (love) him, because he throws away the things about which

others are in a flutter (others desire) 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 fail to

obtain nor to attempt to avoid that into which you will fall, desire

nothing which belongs to (which is in the power of) 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 fail 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 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 will relieve the earth of the bad. Suppose then that I

lose my life in this way. You will die a good man, doing a noble act.

For since he 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 diarrhoea. 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, laboring at freedom from the affects

(laboring at tranquillity of mind); rendering to the relations of life

their due. If I succeed so far, also (I would be found) touching on

(advancing to) the third topic (or head) safety in forming judgments

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 (of

the world) and following it I have not neglected; I have not dishonored

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 (established) relations (of things)?

That thou hast given me life, I thank thee for what thou hast given. 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?

ABOUT PURITY (CLEANLINESS).—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 (habit) of

purity. But since it is impossible that man’s nature ([Greek: ousia])

can be altogether pure, being mixed (composed) of such materials,

reason is applied, as far as it is possible, and reason endeavors to

make human nature love purity.

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 towards an object or movement from it, desire, aversion,

preparation, design (purpose), assent. What then is it which in these

acts makes the soul filthy and impure? Nothing else than her own bad

judgments ([Greek: chrimata]). 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.

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 (dress) 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

towards 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

(appearance) of beauty and a desire of (attempt at) 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 (what it is), and to say:

Young man, you seek beauty, and you do well; you must know then that it

(is produced) grows in that part of you where you have the rational

faculty; seek it there where you have the movements towards and

movements from things, where you have the desires towards and 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

labor 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 moustache 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 say, 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.

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

this thought be present to you, that in consequence of the fault

committed today 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? Today 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 (anything in life) worse by using attention, and

better by not attending at all? And what else of the 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 are 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.

First then we ought to have these (rules) 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

(or is in the power of 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

endeavor to direct our duties towards the character (nature) of our

several relations (in life) 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 ([Greek: schopsai]), 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 (if you do all this)?

It is not possible; but this 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, Tomorrow I will begin to attend, you must be told

that you are saying this, Today I will be shameless, disregardful of

time and place, mean; it will be in the power of others to give me

pain; today I will be passionate and envious. See how many evil things

you are permitting yourself to do. If it is good to use attention

tomorrow, how much better is it to do so today? if tomorrow it is in

your interest to attend, much more is it today, that you may be able to

do so tomorrow also, and may not defer it again to the third day.

AGAINST OR TO THOSE WHO READILY TELL THEIR OWN AFFAIRS.—When a man has

seemed to us to have talked with simplicity (candor) 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 neighbor, 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 Cæsar; 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 also generally. Now as this man

has confidently intrusted his affairs to me, shall I also do so to any

man whom I meet? (No), 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 neighbor

for you in your 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 intrusting 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 (or) useful, and that nothing

external is. Would you have me intrust mine to you, a man who has

dishonored his own faculty of will, and who wishes to gain some small

bit of money or some office or promotion in the court (emperor’s

palace), even if you should be going to murder your own children, like

Medea? Where (in what) is this equality (fairness)? 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 own 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.