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Title: A Selection from the Discourses of Epictetus with the Encheiridion

Author: Epictetus

Translator: George Long

Release date: January 1, 2004 [eBook #10661]
Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10661

Credits: Ted Garvin, David King, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECTION
FROM THE DISCOURSES OF EPICTETUS WITH THE
ENCHEIRIDION ***

A SELECTION FROM THE
DISCOURSES OF
EPICTETUS WITH THE
ENCHEIRIDION

TRANSLATED BY GEORGE LONG

CONTENTS.

EPICTETUS (BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE).
A SELECTION FROM THE DISCOURSES OF EPICTETUS.
THE ENCHEIRIDION, OR MANUAL.

EPICTETUS.

Very little is known of the life of Epictetus. It is said that he was a native
of Hierapolis in Phrygia, a town between the Maeander and a branch of the
Maeander named the Lycus. Hierapolis is mentioned in the epistle of Paul
to the people of Colossae (Coloss. iv., 13); from which it has been
concluded that there was a Christian church in Hierapolis in the time of the
apostle. The date of the birth of Epictetus is unknown. The only recorded
fact of his early life is that he was a slave in Rome, and his master was
Epaphroditus, a profligate freedman of the Emperor Nero. There is a story
that the master broke his slave’s leg by torturing him; but it is better to trust
to the evidence of Simplicius, the commentator on the Encheiridion, or
Manual, who says that Epictetus was weak in body and lame from an early
age. It is not said how he became a slave; but it has been asserted in modern
times that the parents sold the child. I have not, however, found any
authority for this statement.
It may be supposed that the young slave showed intelligence, for his
master sent or permitted him to attend the lectures of C. Musonius Rufus,
an eminent Stoic philosopher. It may seem strange that such a master should
have wished to have his slave made into a philosopher; but Garnier, the
author of a “Mémoire sur les Ouvrages d’Epictète,” explains this matter
very well in a communication to Schweighaeuser. Garnier says: “Epictetus,
born at Hierapolis of Phrygia of poor parents, was indebted apparently for
the advantages of a good education to the whim, which was common at the
end of the Republic and under the first emperors, among the great of Rome
to reckon among their numerous slaves grammarians, poets, rhetoricians,
and philosophers, in the same way as rich financiers in these later ages have
been led to form at a great cost rich and numerous libraries. This
supposition is the only one which can explain to us how a wretched child,
born as poor as Irus, had received a good education, and how a rigid Stoic
was the slave of Epaphroditus, one of the officers of the imperial guard. For

we cannot suspect that it was through predilection for the Stoic doctrine,
and for his own use, that the confidant and the minister of the debaucheries
of Nero would have desired to possess such a slave.”
Some writers assume that Epictetus was manumitted by his master, but I
can find no evidence for this statement. Epaphroditus accompanied Nero
when he fled from Rome before his enemies, and he aided the miserable
tyrant in killing himself. Domitian (Sueton., Domit. 14), afterwards put
Epaphroditus to death for this service to Nero. We may conclude that
Epictetus in some way obtained his freedom, and that he began to teach at
Rome; but after the expulsion of the philosophers from Rome by Domitian,
A.D. 89, he retired to Nicopolis in Epirus, a city built by Augustus to
commemorate the victory at Actium. Epictetus opened a school or lecture
room at Nicopolis, where he taught till he was an old man. The time of his
death is unknown. Epictetus was never married, as we learn from Lucian
(Demonax, c. 55, torn, ii., ed. Hemsterh., p. 393). When Epictetus was
finding fault with Demonax, and advising him to take a wife and beget
children, for this also, as Epictetus said, was a philosopher’s duty, to leave
in place of himself another in the universe, Demonax refuted the doctrine
by answering: Give me then, Epictetus, one of your own daughters.
Simplicius says (Comment., c. 46, p. 432, ed. Schweigh.) that Epictetus
lived alone a long time. At last he took a woman into his house as a nurse
for a child, which one of Epictetus’ friends was going to expose on account
of his poverty, but Epictetus took the child and brought it up.
Epictetus wrote nothing; and all that we have under his name was written
Photius (Biblioth., 58) mentions among Arrian’s works “Conversations
with Epictetus,” [Greek: Homiliai Epichtaeton], in twelve books. Upton
thinks that this work is only another name for the Discourses, and that
Photius has made the mistake of taking the Conversations to be a different
work from the Discourses. Yet Photius has enumerated eight books of the
Discourses and twelve books of the Conversations. Schweighaeuser
observes that Photius had not seen these works of Arrian on Epictetus, for
so he concludes from the brief notice of these works by Photius. The fact is
that Photius does not say that he had read these books, as he generally does
when he is speaking of the books which he enumerates in his Bibliotheca.
The conclusion is that we are not certain that there was a work of Arrian
entitled “The Conversations of Epictetus.”

Upton remarks in a note on iii., 23 (p. 184, Trans.), that “there are many
passages in these dissertations which are ambiguous or rather confused on
account of the small questions, and because the matter is not expanded by
oratorical copiousness, not to mention other causes.” The discourses of
Epictetus, it is supposed, were spoken extempore, and so one thing after
another would come into the thoughts of the speaker (Wolf).
Schweighaeuser also observes in a note (ii., 336 of his edition) that the
connection of the discourse is sometimes obscure through the omission of
some words which are necessary to indicate the connection of the thoughts.
The reader then will find that he cannot always understand Epictetus, if he
does not read him very carefully, and some passages more than once. He
must also think and reflect, or he will miss the meaning. I do not say that
the book is worth all this trouble. Every man must judge for himself. But I
should not have translated the book, if I had not thought it worth study; and
I think that all books of this kind require careful reading, if they are worth
reading at all.
G.L.

A SELECTION FROM THE DISCOURSES OF
EPICTETUS.

OF THE THINGS WHICH ARE IN OUR POWER AND NOT IN OUR
POWER.—Of all the faculties (except that which I shall soon mention), 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 judgment 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 should 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 the other faculties, proves their uses,
and points out the occasions for using them? Nothing else.
What then should a man have in readiness in such circumstances? What
else than this? What is mine, and what is not mine; and what is 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.
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.”

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.
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.

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 Cæsar (the emperor) 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 bestial and untamed; but the greater part of us become
foxes, and other worse animals. For what else is a slanderer and 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.

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 confers
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 towards virtue is progress
towards each of these things. For it is always true that to whatever point the
perfecting of anything leads us, progress is an approach towards 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? Is it 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 ([Greek: hormea]), 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 you 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 towards it in another. Where then is
progress? If any of you, withdrawing himself from externals, turns to his
own will ([Greek: proairesis]) to exercise it and to improve it by labor, 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 lie 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 ([Greek: ta proaegoumena]) 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 travelled in vain. But if he has strained his efforts to
the practice of reading books, and labors only at this, and has travelled for
this, I tell him to return home immediately, and not to neglect his affairs
there; for this for which he has travelled 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 ([Greek:
pathae]) 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 my 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?

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 (or strength).

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
colors, 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?
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 then 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 copulate, and to do all the other things which they
severally do. But for us, to whom he has given also the intellectual 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 (man), 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, and 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 at 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, clamor, 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?
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 making accusations, do you show me.

HOW FROM THE FACT THAT WE ARE AKIN TO GOD A MAN
MAY PROCEED TO THE CONSEQUENCES.—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 labor 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.

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.—Iliad, x., 278.

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 (to follow them)? 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 be 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.
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 if you are with men, you call them
knaves and robbers; and you find fault with your own parents and children,
and brothers and neighbors. 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
(fates) 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.

HOW EVERYTHING MAY BE 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 acceptable 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 towards the earth, towards the pit, that it is towards these wretched
laws of dead men? but towards the laws of the gods you are not looking.

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 (or if it were not, as I say), 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. When 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.

THAT WE OUGHT NOT TO BE ANGRY WITH THE ERRORS
(FAULTS) OF OTHERS.—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. Consider this 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 consist 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 a 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, Every body 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.

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 towards 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? (By no means.) 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 carcase; 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.
What then? When absurd notions about things independent of our will, as
if they were good and (or) 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 Cæsar 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.
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 on 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 my 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 ail 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.

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 towards 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, O 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?

ON PRÆCOGNITIONS.—Præcognitions are common to all men, and
præcognition is not contradictory to præcognition. 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 præcognitions 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 præcognitions 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 præcognition 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 præcognitions 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 ([Greek: ousia])
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 towards society a proper
behavior? He can not. 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 towards Zeus? For if I sustain damage and am unlucky,
he takes no care of me. And what is he to me if he cannot help me? And
further, 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 setup
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 labor. 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 greyhead

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.”

HOW WE SHOULD STRUGGLE WITH CIRCUMSTANCES.—It is
circumstances (difficulties) 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
(reputation) 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 near, 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?

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 (integrity) 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
præcognitions ([Greek: prolaepseis]), produce these 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.
If I have set my admiration on the poor body, I have given myself up to
be a slave; if on my poor 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
be 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 (or ladder) 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 practise 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?

IN HOW MANY WAYS APPEARANCES EXIST, AND WHAT AIDS
WE SHOULD PROVIDE AGAINST THEM.—Appearances are 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 judgment (to hit
the mark) is the office of an educated man. But whatever it is that annoys
(troubles) us, to that we ought to apply a remedy. If the sophisms of Pyrrho
and of the Academics are what annoys (troubles), 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.” Hear 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
(deceitful) appearances we ought to have manifest præcognitions ([Greek:
prolaepseis]), 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 that unless piety and your interest be
in the same thing, piety cannot be maintained in any man. Do not these
things seem necessary (true)?

THAT WE OUGHT NOT TO BE 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 (persuade yourself), 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 (duty and not
duty), 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 counsel.”

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 (her opinion)? 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, so 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 (the opinion), 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 (opinion)? Yes, this origin and no other. The Iliad is nothing else
than appearance and the use of appearances. It appeared to Alexander to
carry off the wife of Menelaus. It appeared to Helene 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 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 (which I have mentioned).
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. Alexander, 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
stork’s nests. Now the ruin of Alexander 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.

ON CONSTANCY (OR FIRMNESS).—The being (nature) 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 (over-value) 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 will 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 possesses 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 anyone 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 Melitus 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 ([Greek: eisagogaen)] could I 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?
Will you not leave the small arguments ([Greek: logaria]) 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 intreat 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 (philosophical
inquiries) 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 Cæsar 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 ([Greek: tois idiotais]) and to say:
“This man recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself. I
excuse him.” For Socrates also excused the jailer 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
jailer that for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but he says it
to his friends who were able to hear (understand) it; and he treats the jailer
as a child.

THAT CONFIDENCE (COURAGE) IS NOT INCONSISTENT WITH
CAUTION.—The opinion of the philosophers perhaps seem 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 confidence 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 or 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 the 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 towards
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 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 (that is, according to nature) 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 (courage) 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
(the things which happen in life) 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 afterwards. 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 (please) you, the door is open; if it does, bear (with things). 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 be 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 prætor his own slave, has he
done nothing? He has done something. What? He has turned round his own
slave before the prætor. 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 (free) 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 trouble then when you are going off to any
trial (danger) 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 be cautious, courageous in
that which does not depend on your will, cautious in that which does
depend on it.

OF TRANQUILLITY (FREEDOM FROM PERTURBATION).—
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 (or the
approbation which you will receive).

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 this reason also it is ridiculous to say, Suggest something to me (tell
me what to do). 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 have practised writing,
you are also prepared to write (or to do) 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.

HOW MAGNANIMITY IS CONSISTENT WITH CARE.—Things
themselves (materials) 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 then 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 or 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 (or things about him), 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 thing 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.
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 (or society): 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 (independent), it will befit it both to step into the mud and tread on
thorns, and sometimes to be cut off for the good of the whole body;
otherwise it is no longer a foot. We should think in some such 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 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.

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 (about such things), 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 acquired from the
need (of such practice), 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 (in the order of
things) for me to be sick, I would even move towards 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 to be never 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.

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, or 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 (or marks) 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?
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.
Will you not then seek the nature of good in the rational animal? for if it
is not there, you will not choose to say that it exists in any other thing (plant
or animal). 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 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 (if he
acts thus) does not know his own God; he knows not with whom he sets out
(into the world). But can we endure when he says, “I wish I had you (God)
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 both of yourself
and of the artist, and if you had any understanding (power of perception)
you would try to do nothing unworthy of him who made you or of yourself,
and try not to appear in an unbecoming dress (attitude) to those who look
upon you. But now because Zeus has made you, for this reason do you care
not how you shall appear? And yet is the artist (in the one case) 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 for ever. 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 entrusted 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 entrusted an orphan to you, would you thus
neglect him? He has delivered yourself to your own care, and says: “I had
no one fitter to entrust 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 in what I have assented to. I still fear my own weakness. Let me get
confidence and then 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.—Iliad, i., 526.

Such will I show myself to you, faithful, modest, noble, free from
perturbation. What, and immortal, too, except 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 (strength) 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 ([Greek: hormaen]), a diligent
purpose, an assent which is not rash. These you shall see.

THAT WHEN WE CANNOT FULFIL THAT WHICH THE
CHARACTER OF A MAN PROMISES, WE ASSUME THE
CHARACTER OF A PHILOSOPHER.—It is no common (easy) thing to do
this only, to fulfil 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
also 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 (complex) proposition maintained? When it fulfils
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 fulfils what it promises. When are flutes, a lyre, a horse, a dog,
preserved? (When they severally keep their promise.) 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 discourse according to the
rules of art about good and evil things (in this fashion)? 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 bad 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 color, 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 act the part of a Jew,
when you are a Greek? Do you not see how (why) 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.

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 ([Greek: probaton]). Further, you are a citizen of the
world, and a part of it, not one of the subservient (serving), but one of the
principal (ruling) 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 (profess)? 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 co-operate towards 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, co-operating 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 a 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 (I suppose) 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 ([Greek:
chtastolaen]) 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 then? shall I not hurt him who has hurt me? In the first place
consider what hurt ([Greek: blabae]) is, and remember what you have heard
from the philosophers. For if the good consists in the will (purpose,
intention, [Greek: proaireeis]), 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 ourselves (mentally think of) 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 (you suppose) 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
(security to) 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.

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 (a quarter tone), 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, who ever 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 (things) 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 (geometrical

figures) 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 ([Greek:
topon]), and proceeding from these we have added to them self-conceit
([Greek: oiaesin]). 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 (assume that you do so). 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 towards adapting the preconceptions beyond your thinking
that you do? Does the madman do any other things than the things which
seem to him right? Is then this criterion sufficient for him also? It is not
sufficient. Come then to something which is superior to seeming ([Greek:
tou dochein]). 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 ([Greek: chanonos]), as we have
discovered a balance in the determination of weights, and a carpenter’s rule
(or square) in the case of straight and crooked things.—This is the
beginning of philosophy. Must we say that all things 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 nor 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 superior to what “seems”?

And how is it possible that the most necessary things among men should
have no sign (mark), and be incapable of being discovered? There is then
some rule. And why then do we not seek the rule and discover it, and
afterwards 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 (principles) 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 (for example). 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 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.

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 (the Stoics); 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 the 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.
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 skill he settles great disputes.
Hesiod, Theogony, v. 87.

ON ANXIETY (SOLICITUDE).—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
practised, 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. Is any man then afraid
about things which are not evils? 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 Cæsar; 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.
Iliad, xiii., 281.

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 (out of his power). 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 groans 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
practised 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 practised 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 skilfully? and is not discoursing skilfully 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 practised, and he is not? Yes, but that

person (to whom I am going to speak) 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
(judges), he who talked in his prison. Diogenes had practised 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 practised. 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.

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 labor 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 ([Greek: boulaesin]) 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 fail 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 neighbor,
of fellow-traveller, 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 ([Greek: techton]) 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.

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 (firm), 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 (true). I require tone (sinews) 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 (deficiency in right tone). 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 hellebore 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
(energy) 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 (energy) 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 (obstinate resolution), then the evil becomes past help
and cure.

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 (strive) 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
(offered) to you, have you studied to make the proper answer, that money is
not a good thing? Have you practised 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 practise 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 practise this discipline
which follows these words (things)? 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 still look for one who shall wipe your 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 (name) 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.
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 porticos, 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?

HOW WE MUST ADAPT PRECONCEPTIONS TO PARTICULAR
CASES.—What is the first business of him who philosophizes? To throw
away self-conceit ([Greek: oiaesis]). 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 honorable and dishonorable. But why do we go
to the philosophers? Because we wish to learn what we do not think that 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 from 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 ([Greek:
prolaepseis])? But it is not possible to adapt preconceptions to their
correspondent objects if we have not distinguished (analyzed) 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 preconceptions of health to particulars?

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 for 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.
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 (made callous),
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 (weals) 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.
How then shall this be done? Be willing at length to be approved by
yourself, be willing to appear beautiful to God, desire to be 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.
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, and then say the same again, be assured that you will at last be in
so wretched a condition and so weak that you will not even know
afterwards that you are doing wrong, but you will even begin to make
apologies (defences) for your wrong-doing, and then you will confirm the
saying of Hesiod to be true,
With constant ills the dilatory strives.

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 men readily confess that
they are timid, and they say: I am rather timid, I confess; but as to other
respects you will not find me to be 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 he is envious or a busybody. Most men will
confess that they are compassionate. What then is the reason?
The chief thing (the ruling 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 (confess) the things which are offences
against society. But in the case of most errors for this reason chiefly they
are induced to confess them, because they imagine 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 (or passion) as an
excuse for what is involuntary. But men do not imagine injustice to be at all
involuntary. There is also in jealousy, as they suppose, something
involuntary; and for this reason they confess to jealousy also.
Living then among such men, who are so confused, so ignorant of what
they say, and of the 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 (and to ask) 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 snivelling 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 neighbors, 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 towards 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 labor is necessary, and no one sends me anything, and the
baths at Nicopolis are dirty; everything is bad at home, and bad here.

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, how can he possess the power of loving? To love, then, is
only in the power of the wise.
For universally, be not deceived, every animal is attached to nothing so
much as to its own interests. 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 interests: 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 be my interest, to maintain the character of fidelity,
of modesty, of patience, of abstinence, of active co-operation, of observing
my relations (towards all). 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
(virtuous).
It was through this ignorance that the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians
quarrelled, and the Thebans with both; and the great king quarrelled 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 (as between dogs) 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 swear it and say 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, he 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.

ON THE POWER OF SPEAKING.—Every man will read a book with
more pleasure or even with more ease, 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 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 skilful 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
amidst 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 (faculty) 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 eye 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 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 ([Greek: orthae]). For it is this which uses the other (the power of
speaking), 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 fails, 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 we neglect it makes unhappiness, and
if we carefully look after it, makes happiness.
What then is usually done? Men generally act as a traveller 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 travelling to this inn, but you were passing through it. But this is a
pleasant inn. And how many other inns are pleasant? and how many
meadows are pleasant? yet only for passing through. But your purpose is
this, to 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 (delivery) 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 ([Greek: paudocheiou]) of the kind; and there
they stay and waste away as they were among sirens.
Man, your purpose (business) 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 (as one may say), 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.

TO (OR AGAINST) A PERSON WHO WAS ONE OF THOSE WHO
WERE NOT VALUED (ESTEEMED) BY HIM.—A certain person said to
him (Epictetus): 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 skilfully, and he who has not, will speak unskilfully?—I do think
so.—He then who by speaking receives benefit himself, and is able to
benefit others, will speak skilfully; 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
skilfully are benefited, and those who hear unskilfully 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 skilfully, 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 skilful man, do you see that to hear also with benefit is the
business of the skilful 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?
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 towards, nor intend (to act), 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?
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 riding 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.

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 my 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?

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 if 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 it 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, labor 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 ([Greek: aischron]), even though you
contrive all you can to appear beautiful.

IN WHAT A MAN OUGHT TO BE EXERCISED WHO HAS MADE
PROFICIENCY; AND THAT WE NEGLECT THE CHIEF THINGS.—
There are three things (topics, [Greek: topoi]) 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 towards an object 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 judgment, and generally it
concerns the assents ([Greek: sugchatatheseis]). Of these topics the chief
and the most urgent is that which relates to the affects ([Greek: ta pathae]
perturbations); for an affect is produced in no other way than by a failing to
obtain that which a man desires or 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 ([Greek: apathae]) like a statue, but I ought
to maintain the relations ([Greek: scheseis]) 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 (the
affects and duties), employ themselves on the third, using sophistical
arguments ([Greek: metapiptontas]), making conclusions from questioning,
employing hypotheses, lying. For a man must, 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 ([Greek:
ametaptosia])? 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 says, 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 have 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 ([Greek: proairesis]), 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
Archedamus also, you have every thing (that you can desire). Why you are
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 Archedamus; 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 Archedamus. 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 any thing 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.

WHAT IS THE MATTER ON WHICH A GOOD MAN SHOULD BE
EMPLOYED, AND IN WHAT WE OUGHT CHIEFLY TO PRACTISE
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
man who oils persons); 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 towards the desire for 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 (banker) is not allowed to reject
Cæsar’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 Cæsar’s coin. On
this principle depends every movement both of man and God.
Against (or with respect to) 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 a 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 practised 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 (the nervous power) on which they are
impressed; but if the spirit be restored to its settled state, those things also
are restored.

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 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.
It is not easy to exhort weak young men; for neither is it easy to hold
(soft) 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.

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 (or bad weather) with his son, and accompanied him that he might be
gratified in the flesh? When 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 ([Greek: ousia]) 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 (nature) 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 (nature) of the good.
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 towards 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 (that which precedes and leads the rest). The
duties then are also three: those which are directed towards the existence of
a thing; those which are directed towards 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 (leading things,
[Greek: ta proaegoumena]). What are these? Engaging in public business,
marrying, begetting children, venerating God, taking care of parents, and
generally, having desires, aversions ([Greek: echchlinein]), 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 (the impression) 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.

HOW WE MUST EXERCISE OURSELVES AGAINST
APPEARANCES ([Greek: phantasias]).—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’s 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. Cæsar 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 evils? 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 towards 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.

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 fail, I have no rule ([Greek: theoraema])
about this. But if you ask me how you will fare, I can tell you: if you have
right opinions ([Greek: dogmata]), 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 (knowing the fact) 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 practised 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 showing 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
(you say): 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 (as you do), 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 tins 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.

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 opinions 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 say: 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 if we give up philosophy, what shall we 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 practised athletics, that you have
eaten what you ought, that you have been exercised, that you have obeyed
the aliptes (the oiler and rubber). 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, bear it 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. But if you walk about
well, you have all that belongs to a man who walks. If you bear a 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 at 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 afterwards 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 (being proud; or
showing his importance)? 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 towards 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.

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. Every thing
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.
And what is that which is proposed to us as a thing to be worked out? To
live with desire and aversion (avoidance of certain things) 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. Towards this object
then exercise (practice) 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, without 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 (prevails), 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. 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.

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
(being alone), 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 towards things that happened 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.
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 (or deficiency in
knowledge), and we through knowledge are unhappy.
Every great power (faculty) is dangerous to beginners. You must then
bear such things as you are able, but conformably to nature: but not ...
Practise sometimes a way of living like a person out of health that you may
at some time live like a man in health.

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.
You must root out of men these two things, arrogance (pride) and
distrust. Arrogance then is the opinion that you want nothing (are deficient
in 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 practised this. And (to know) 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 ([Greek: echchlisis]) 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 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
be known which is superior and inferior? Is there not modesty ([Greek:
aidos]), 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.

THAT WE OUGHT TO PROCEED WITH CIRCUMSPECTION TO
EVERYTHING.[Footnote: Compare Encheiridion, 29.]—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 afterwards when some
consequences have shown themselves, you will basely desist (from that
which you have begun).—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 will behave like children who at one
time 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 (athlete), 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—and yet who can speak like him?—wish to
be philosophers themselves.
Man, consider first what the matter is (which you propose to do), 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 (what you are
doing daily), 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
humor? You must watch, labor, conquer certain desires, you must depart
from your kinsmen, be despised by your slaves, laughed at by those who
meet you, in everything you must be in an inferior condition, as to
magisterial office, in honors, 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
(officer) of Cæsar. These things are not consistent. You must be one man
either good or bad; you must either labor at your own ruling faculty or at
external things; you must either labor 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?

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 (up and down). In this way the vulgar have
the advantage over you; for every opinion ([Greek: dogma]) is strong and
invincible. Until then the good ([Greek: chompsai]) sentiments ([Greek:
hupolaepseis]) 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
common persons; if you are not, every day 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 you 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 ([Greek: chuston]), 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 (good) 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.

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.

THE ENCHEIRIDION, OR MANUAL.

I.
Of things some are in our power, and others are not. In our power are
opinion ([Greek: hupolaepsis]), movement towards a thing ([Greek:
hormae]), desire, aversion ([Greek: echchlisis]), turning from a thing; and in
a word, whatever are our acts. Not in our power are the body, property,
reputation, offices (magisterial power), and in a word, whatever are not our
own acts. And the things in our power are by nature free, not subject to
restraint or hindrance; but the things not in our power are weak, slavish,
subject to restraint, in the power of others. Remember then, that if you think
the things which are by nature slavish to be free, and the things which are in
the power of others to be your own, you will be hindered, you will lament,
you will be disturbed, you will blame both gods and men; but if you think
that only which is your own to be your own, and if you think that what is
another’s, as it really is, belongs to another, no man will ever compel you,
no man will hinder you, you will never blame any man, you will accuse no
man, you will do nothing involuntarily (against your will), no man will
harm you, you will have no enemy, for you will not suffer any harm.
If then you desire (aim at) such great things remember that you must not
(attempt to) lay hold of them with a small effort; but you must leave alone
some things entirely, and postpone others for the present. But if you wish
for these things also (such great things), and power (office) and wealth,
perhaps you will not gain even these very things (power and wealth)
because you aim also at those former things (such great things); certainly
you will fail in those things through which alone happiness and freedom are
secured. Straightway then practise saying to every harsh appearance: You
are an appearance, and in no manner what you appear to be. Then examine
it by the rules which you possess, and by this first and chiefly, whether it
relates to the things which are in our power or to things which are not in our

power; and if it relates to anything which is not in our power, be ready to
say that it does not concern you.

II.
Remember that desire contains in it the profession (hope) of obtaining
that which you desire; and the profession (hope) in aversion (turning from a
thing) is that you will not fall into that which you attempt to avoid; and he
who fails in his desire is unfortunate; and he who falls into that which he
would avoid is unhappy. If then you attempt to avoid only the things
contrary to nature which are within your power you will not be involved in
any of the things which you would avoid. But if you attempt to avoid
disease, or death, or poverty, you will be unhappy. Take away then aversion
from all things which are not in our power, and transfer it to the things
contrary to nature which are in our power. But destroy desire completely for
the present. For if you desire anything which is not in our power, you must
be unfortunate; but of the things in our power, and which it would be good
to desire, nothing yet is before you. But employ only the power of moving
towards an object and retiring from it; and these powers indeed only
slightly and with exceptions and with remission.

III.
In everything which pleases the soul, or supplies a want, or is loved,
remember to add this to the (description, notion): What is the nature of each
thing, beginning from the smallest? If you love an earthen vessel, say it is
an earthen vessel which you love; for when it has been broken you will not
be disturbed. If you are kissing your child or wife, say that it is a human
being whom you are kissing, for when the wife or child dies you will not be
disturbed.

IV.
When you are going to take in hand any act remind yourself what kind of
an act it is. If you are going to bathe, place before yourself what happens in

the bath; some splashing the water, others pushing against one another,
others abusing one another, and some stealing; and thus with more safety
you will undertake the matter, if you say to yourself, I now intend to bathe,
and to maintain my will in a manner conformable to nature. And so you will
do in every act; for thus if any hindrance to bathing shall happen let this
thought be ready. It was not this only that I intended, but I intended also to
maintain my will in a way conformable to nature; but I shall not maintain it
so if I am vexed at what happens.

V.
Men are disturbed not by the things which happen, but by the opinions
about the things; for example, death is nothing terrible, for if it were it
would have seemed so to Socrates; for the opinion about death that it is
terrible, is the terrible thing. When then we are impeded, or disturbed, or
grieved, let us never blame others, but ourselves—that is, our opinions. It is
the act of an ill-instructed man to blame others for his own bad condition; it
is the act of one who has begun to be instructed, to lay the blame on
himself; and of one whose instruction is completed, neither to blame
another, nor himself.

VI.
Be not elated at any advantage (excellence) which belongs to another. If a
horse when he is elated should say, I am beautiful, one might endure it. But
when you are elated, and say, I have a beautiful horse, you must know that
you are elated at having a good horse. What then is your own? The use of
appearances. Consequently when in the use of appearances you are
conformable to nature, then be elated, for then you will be elated at
something good which is your own.

VII.
As on a voyage when the vessel has reached a port, if you go out to get
water it is an amusement by the way to pick up a shellfish or some bulb, but

your thoughts ought to be directed to the ship, and you ought to be
constantly watching if the captain should call, and then you must throw
away all those things, that you may not be bound and pitched into the ship
like sheep. So in life also, if there be given to you instead of a little bulb and
a shell a wife and child, there will be nothing to prevent (you from taking
them). But if the captain should call, run to the ship and leave all those
things without regard to them. But if you are old, do not even go far from
the ship, lest when you are called you make default.

VIII.
Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish; but
wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil
flow of life.

IX.
Disease is an impediment to the body, but not to the will, unless the will
itself chooses. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will.
And add this reflection on the occasion of everything that happens; for you
will find it an impediment to something else, but not to yourself.

X.
On the occasion of every accident (event) that befalls you, remember to
turn to yourself and inquire what power you have for turning it to use. If
you see a fair man or a fair woman, you will find that the power to resist is
temperance (continence). If labor (pain) be presented to you, you will find
that it is endurance. If it be abusive words, you will find it to be patience.
And if you have been thus formed to the (proper) habit, the appearances
will not carry you along with them.

XI.

Never say about anything, I have lost it, but say I have restored it. Is your
child dead? It has been restored. Is your wife dead? She has been restored.
Has your estate been taken from you? Has not then this also been restored?
But he who has taken it from me is a bad man. But what is it to you, by
whose hands the giver demanded it back? So long as he may allow you,
take care of it as a thing which belongs to another, as travellers do with their
inn.

XII.
If you intend to improve, throw away such thoughts as these: if I neglect
my affairs, I shall not have the means of living: unless I chastise my slave,
he will be bad. For it is better to die of hunger and so to be released from
grief and fear than to live in abundance with perturbation; and it is better for
your slave to be bad than for you to be unhappy. Begin then from little
things. Is the oil spilled? Is a little wine stolen? Say on the occasion, at such
price is sold freedom from perturbation; at such price is sold tranquillity,
but nothing is got for nothing. And when you call your slave, consider that
it is possible that he does not hear; and if he does hear, that he will do
nothing which you wish. But matters are not so well with him, but
altogether well with you, that it should be in his power for you to be not
disturbed.

XIII.
If you would improve, submit to be considered without sense and foolish
with respect to externals. Wish to be considered to know nothing; and if you
shall seem to some to be a person of importance, distrust yourself. For you
should know that it is not easy both to keep your will in a condition
conformable to nature and (to secure) external things: but if a man is careful
about the one, it is an absolute necessity that he will neglect the other.

XIV.

If you would have your children and your wife and your friends to live
for ever, you are silly; for you would have the things which are not in your
power to be in your power, and the things which belong to others to be
yours. So if you would have your slave to be free from faults, you are a
fool; for you would have badness not to be badness, but something else. But
if you wish not to fail in your desires, you are able to do that. Practise then
this which you are able to do. He is the master of every man who has the
power over the things which another person wishes or does not wish, the
power to confer them on him or to take them away. Whoever then wishes to
be free let him neither wish for anything nor avoid anything which depends
on others: if he does not observe this rule, he must be a slave.

XV.
Remember that in life you ought to behave as at a banquet. Suppose that
something is carried round and is opposite to you. Stretch out your hand
and take a portion with decency. Suppose that it passes by you. Do not
detain it. Suppose that it is not yet come to you. Do not send your desire
forward to it, but wait till it is opposite to you. Do so with respect to
children, so with respect to a wife, so with respect to magisterial offices, so
with respect to wealth, and you will be some time a worthy partner of the
banquets of the gods. But if you take none of the things which are set before
you, and even despise them, then you will be not only a fellow banqueter
with the gods, but also a partner with them in power. For by acting thus
Diogenes and Heracleitus and those like them were deservedly divine, and
were so called.

XVI.
When you see a person weeping in sorrow either when a child goes
abroad or when he is dead, or when the man has lost his property, take care
that the appearance do not hurry you away with it, as if he were suffering in
external things. But straightway make a distinction in your own mind, and
be in readiness to say, it is not that which has happened that afflicts this
man, for it does not afflict another, but it is the opinion about this thing
which afflicts the man. So far as words then do not be unwilling to show

him sympathy, and even if it happens so, to lament with him. But take care
that you do not lament internally also.

XVII.
Remember that thou art an actor in a play, of such a kind as the teacher
(author) may choose; if short, of a short one; if long, of a long one: if he
wishes you to act the part of a poor man, see that you act the part naturally;
if the part of a lame man, of a magistrate, of a private person, (do the same).
For this is your duty, to act well the part that is given to you; but to select
the part, belongs to another.

XVIII.
When a raven has croaked inauspiciously, let not the appearance hurry
you away with it; but straightway make a distinction in your mind and say,
None of these things is signified to me, but either to my poor body, or to my
small property, or to my reputation, or to my children, or to my wife: but to
me all significations are auspicious if I choose. For whatever of these things
results, it is in my power to derive benefit from it.

XIX.
You can be invincible, if you enter into no contest in which it is not in
your power to conquer. Take care then when you observe a man honored
before others or possessed of great power or highly esteemed for any
reason, not to suppose him happy, and be not carried away by the
appearance. For if the nature of the good is in our power, neither envy nor
jealousy will have a place in us. But you yourself will not wish to be a
general or senator ([Greek: prutanis]) or consul, but a free man: and there is
only one way to this, to despise (care not for) the things which are not in
our power.

XX.

Remember that it is not he who reviles you or strikes you, who insults
you, but it is your opinion about these things as being insulting. When then
a man irritates you, you must know that it is your own opinion which has
irritated you. Therefore especially try not to be carried away by the
appearance. For if you once gain time and delay, you will more easily
master yourself.

XXI.
Let death and exile and every other thing which appears dreadful be daily
before your eyes; but most of all death: and you will never think of
anything mean nor will you desire anything extravagantly.

XXII.
If you desire philosophy, prepare yourself from the beginning to be
ridiculed, to expect that many will sneer at you, and say, He has all at once
returned to us as a philosopher; and whence does he get this supercilious
look for us? Do you not show a supercilious look; but hold on to the things
which seem to you best as one appointed by God to this station. And
remember that if you abide in the same principles, these men who first
ridiculed will afterwards admire you; but if you shall have been
overpowered by them, you will bring on yourself double ridicule.

XXIII.
If it should ever happen to you to be turned to externals in order to please
some person, you must know that you have lost your purpose in life. Be
satisfied then in everything with being a philosopher; and if you wish to
seem also to any person to be a philosopher, appear so to yourself, and you
will be able to do this.

XXIV.

Let not these thoughts afflict you, I shall live unhonored and be nobody
nowhere. For if want of honor ([Greek: atimia]) is an evil, you cannot be in
evil through the means (fault) of another any more than you can be involved
in anything base. Is it then your business to obtain the rank of a magistrate,
or to be received at a banquet? By no means. How then can this be want of
honor (dishonor)? And how will you be nobody nowhere, when you ought
to be somebody in those things only which are in your power, in which
indeed it is permitted to you to be a man of the greatest worth? But your
friends will be without assistance! What do you mean by being without
assistance? They will not receive money from you, nor will you make them
Roman citizens. Who then told you that these are among the things which
are in our power, and not in the power of others? And who can give to
another what he has not himself? Acquire money then, your friends say, that
we also may have something. If I can acquire money and also keep myself
modest and faithful and magnanimous, point out the way, and I will acquire
it. But if you ask me to lose the things which are good and my own, in order
that you may gain the things which are not good, see how unfair and silly
you are. Besides, which would you rather have, money or a faithful and
modest friend? For this end then rather help me to be such a man, and do
not ask me to do this by which I shall lose that character. But my country,
you say, as far as it depends on me, will be without my help. I ask again,
what help do you mean? It will not have porticos or baths through you. And
what does this mean? For it is not furnished with shoes by means of a
smith, nor with arms by means of a shoemaker. But it is enough if every
man fully discharges the work that is his own: and if you provided it with
another citizen faithful and modest, would you not be useful to it? Yes.
Then you also cannot be useless to it. What place then, you say, shall I hold
in the city? Whatever you can, if you maintain at the same time your
fidelity and modesty. But if when you wish to be useful to the state, you
shall lose these qualities, what profit could you be to it, if you were made
shameless and faithless?

XXV.
Has any man been preferred before you at a banquet, or in being saluted,
or in being invited to a consultation? If these things are good, you ought to

rejoice that he has obtained them; but if bad, be not grieved because you
have not obtained them. And remember that you cannot, if you do not the
same things in order to obtain what is not in our own power, be considered
worthy of the same (equal) things. For how can a man obtain an equal share
with another when he does not visit a man’s doors as that other man does;
when he does not attend him when he goes abroad, as the other man does;
when he does not praise (flatter) him as another does? You will be unjust
then and insatiable, if you do not part with the price, in return for which
those things are sold, and if you wish to obtain them for nothing. Well, what
is the price of lettuces? An obolus perhaps. If then a man gives up the
obolus, and receives the lettuces, and if you do not give up the obolus and
do not obtain the lettuces, do not suppose that you receive less than he who
has got the lettuces; for as he has the lettuces, so you have the obolus which
you did not give. In the same way then in the other matter also you have not
been invited to a man’s feast, for you did not give to the host the price at
which the supper is sold; but he sells it for praise (flattery), he sells it for
personal attention. Give then the price, if it is for your interest, for which it
is sold. But if you wish both not to give the price and to obtain the things,
you are insatiable and silly. Have you nothing then in place of the supper?
You have indeed, you have the not flattering of him, whom you did not
choose to flatter; you have the not enduring of the man when he enters the
room.

XXVI.
We may learn the wish (will) of nature from the things in which we do
not differ from one another: for instance, when your neighbor’s slave has
broken his cup, or anything else, we are ready to say forthwith, that it is one
of the things which happen. You must know then that when your cup also is
broken, you ought to think as you did when your neighbor’s cup was
broken. Transfer this reflection to greater things also. Is another man’s child
or wife dead? There is no one who would not say, This is an event incident
to man. But when a man’s own child or wife is dead, forthwith he calls out,
Woe to me, how wretched I am! But we ought to remember how we feel
when we hear that it has happened to others.

XXVII.
As a mark is not set up for the purpose of missing the aim, so neither
does the nature of evil exist in the world.

XXVIII.
If any person was intending to put your body in the power of any man
whom you fell in with on the way, you would be vexed; but that you put
your understanding in the power of any man whom you meet, so that if he
should revile you, it is disturbed and troubled, are you not ashamed at this?

XXIX.
In every act observe the things which come first, and those which follow
it; and so proceed to the act. If you do not, at first you will approach it with
alacrity, without having thought of the things which will follow; but
afterwards, when certain base (ugly) things have shown themselves, you
will be ashamed. A man wishes to conquer at the Olympic games. I also
wish indeed, for it is a fine thing. But observe both the things which come
first, and the things which follow; and then begin the act. You must do
everything according to rule, eat according to strict orders, abstain from
delicacies, exercise yourself as you are bid at appointed times, in heat, in
cold, you must not drink cold water, nor wine as you choose; in a word, you
must deliver yourself up to the exercise master as you do to the physician,
and then proceed to the contest. And sometimes you will strain the hand,
put the ankle out of joint, swallow much dust, sometimes be flogged, and
after all this be defeated. When you have considered all this, if you still
choose, go to the contest: if you do not you will behave like children, who
at one time play at wrestlers, another time as flute players, again as
gladiators, then as trumpeters, then as tragic actors. So you also will be at
one time an athlete, at another a gladiator, then a rhetorician, then a
philosopher, but with your whole soul you will be nothing at all; but like an
ape you imitate everything that you see, and one thing after another pleases
you. For you have not undertaken anything with consideration, nor have

you surveyed it well; but carelessly and with cold desire. Thus some who
have seen a philosopher and having heard one speak, as Euphrates speaks—
and who can speak as he does?—they wish to be philosophers themselves
also. My man, first of all consider what kind of thing it is; and then examine
your own nature, if you are able to sustain the character. Do you wish to be
a pentathlete or a wrestler? Look at your arms, your thighs, examine your
loins. For different men are formed by nature for different things. Do you
think that if you do these things, you can eat in the same manner, drink in
the same manner, and in the same manner loathe certain things? You must
pass sleepless nights, endure toil, go away from your kinsmen, be despised
by a slave, in everything have the inferior part, in honor, in office, in the
courts of justice, in every little matter. Consider these things, if you would
exchange for them, freedom from passions, liberty, tranquillity. If not, take
care that, like little children, you be not now a philosopher, then a servant of
the publicani, then a rhetorician, then a procurator (manager) for Cæsar.
These things are not consistent. You must be one man, either good or bad.
You must either cultivate your own ruling faculty, or external things. You
must either exercise your skill on internal things or on external things; that
is you must either maintain the position of a philosopher or that of a
common person.

XXX.
Duties are universally measured by relations ([Greek: tais schsesi]). Is a
man a father? The precept is to take care of him, to yield to him in all
things, to submit when he is reproachful, when he inflicts blows. But
suppose that he is a bad father. Were you then by nature made akin to a
good father? No; but to a father. Does a brother wrong you? Maintain then
your own position towards him, and do not examine what he is doing, but
what you must do that your will shall be conformable to nature. For another
will not damage you, unless you choose: but you will be damaged then
when you shall think that you are damaged. In this way then you will
discover your duty from the relation of a neighbor, from that of a citizen,
from that of a general, if you are accustomed to contemplate the relations.

XXXI.
As to piety towards the gods you must know that this is the chief thing, to
have right opinions about them, to think that they exist, and that they
administer the All well and justly; and you must fix yourself in this
principle (duty), to obey them, and to yield to them in everything which
happens, and voluntarily to follow it as being accomplished by the wisest
intelligence. For if you do so, you will never either blame the gods, nor will
you accuse them of neglecting you. And it is not possible for this to be done
in any other way than by withdrawing from the things which are not in our
power, and by placing the good and the evil only in those things which are
in our power. For if you think that any of the things which are not in our
power is good or bad, it is absolutely necessary that, when you do not
obtain what you wish, and when you fall into those things which you do not
wish, you will find fault and hate those who are the cause of them; for every
animal is formed by nature to this, to fly from and to turn from the things
which appear harmful and the things which are the cause of the harm, but to
follow and admire the things which are useful and the causes of the useful.
It is impossible then for a person who thinks that he is harmed to be
delighted with that which he thinks to be the cause of the harm, as it is also
impossible to be pleased with the harm itself. For this reason also a father is
reviled by his son, when he gives no part to his son of the things which are
considered to be good; and it was this which made Polynices and Eteocles
enemies, the opinion that royal power was a good. It is for this reason that
the cultivator of the earth reviles the gods, for this reason the sailor does,
and the merchant, and for this reason those who lose their wives and their
children. For where the useful (your interest) is, there also piety is.
Consequently he who takes care to desire as he ought and to avoid ([Greek:
echchlinein]) as he ought, at the same time also cares after piety. But to
make libations and to sacrifice and to offer first-fruits according to the
custom of our fathers, purely and not meanly nor carelessly nor scantily nor
above our ability, is a thing which belongs to all to do.

XXXII.

When you have recourse to divination, remember that you do not know
how it will turn out, but that you are come to inquire from the diviner. But
of what kind it is, you know when you come, if indeed you are a
philosopher. For if it is any of the things which are not in our power, it is
absolutely necessary that it must be neither good nor bad. Do not then bring
to the diviner desire or aversion ([Greek: echchlinein]): if you do, you will
approach him with fear. But having determined in your mind that
everything which shall turn out (result) is indifferent, and does not concern
you, and whatever it may be, for it will be in your power to use it well, and
no man will hinder this, come then with confidence to the gods as your
advisers. And then when any advice shall have been given, remember
whom you have taken as advisers, and whom you will have neglected, if
you do not obey them. And go to divination, as Socrates said that you
ought, about those matters in which all the inquiry has reference to the
result, and in which means are not given either by reason nor by any other
art for knowing the thing which is the subject of the inquiry. Wherefore
when we ought to share a friend’s danger, or that of our country, you must
not consult the diviner whether you ought to share it. For even if the diviner
shall tell you that the signs of the victims are unlucky, it is plain that this is
a token of death, or mutilation of part of the body, or of exile. But reason
prevails, that even with these risks, we should share the dangers of our
friend, and of our country. Therefore attend to the greater diviner, the
Pythian god, who ejected from the temple him who did not assist his friend,
when he was being murdered.

XXXIII.
Immediately prescribe some character and some form to yourself, which
you shall observe both when you are alone and when you meet with men.
And let silence be the general rule, or let only what is necessary be said,
and in few words. And rarely, and when the occasion calls, we shall say
something; but about none of the common subjects, not about gladiators,
nor horse-races, nor about athletes, nor about eating or drinking, which are
the usual subjects; and especially not about men, as blaming them or
praising them, or comparing them. If then you are able, bring over by your
conversation, the conversation of your associates, to that which is proper;

but if you should happen to be confined to the company of strangers, be
silent.
Let not your laughter be much, nor on many occasions, nor excessive.
Refuse altogether to take an oath, if it is possible; if it is not, refuse as far
as you are able.
Avoid banquets which are given by strangers and by ignorant persons.
But if ever there is occasion to join in them, let your attention be carefully
fixed, that you slip not into the manners of the vulgar (the uninstructed). For
you must know, that if your companion be impure, he also who keeps
company with him must become impure, though he should happen to be
pure.
Take (apply) the things which relate to the body as far as the bare use, as
food, drink, clothing, house, and slaves; but exclude everything which is for
show or luxury.
As to pleasure with women, abstain as far as you can before marriage;
but if you do indulge in it, do it in the way which is conformable to custom.
Do not however be disagreeable to those who indulge in these pleasures, or
reprove them; and do not often boast that you do not indulge in them
yourself.
If a man has reported to you, that a certain person speaks ill of you, do
not make any defence (answer) to what has been told you; but reply, The
man did not know the rest of my faults, for he would not have mentioned
these only.
It is not necessary to go to the theatres often: but if there is ever a proper
occasion for going, do not show yourself as being a partisan of any man
except yourself, that is, desire only that to be done which is done, and for
him only to gain the prize who gains the prize; for in this way you will meet
with no hindrance. But abstain entirely from shouts and laughter at any
(thing or person), or violent emotions. And when you are come away, do
not talk much about what has passed on the stage, except about that which
may lead to your own improvement. For it is plain, if you do talk much, that
you admired the spectacle (more than you ought).
Do not go to the hearing of certain persons’ recitations, nor visit them
readily. But if you do attend, observe gravity and sedateness, and also avoid
making yourself disagreeable.

When you are going to meet with any person, and particularly one of
those who are considered to be in a superior condition, place before
yourself what Socrates or Zeno would have done in such circumstances,
and you will have no difficulty in making a proper use of the occasion.
When you are going to any of those who are in great power, place before
yourself that you will not find the man at home, that you will be excluded,
that the door will not be opened to you, that the man will not care about
you. And if with all this it is your duty to visit him, bear what happens, and
never say to yourself that it was not worth the trouble. For this is silly, and
marks the character of a man who is offended by externals.
In company take care not to speak much and excessively about your own
acts or dangers; for as it is pleasant to you to make mention of your own
dangers, it is not so pleasant to others to hear what has happened to you.
Take care also not to provoke laughter; for this is a slippery way towards
vulgar habits, and is also adapted to diminish the respect of your neighbors.
It is a dangerous habit also to approach obscene talk. When then, anything
of this kind happens, if there is a good opportunity, rebuke the man who has
proceeded to this talk; but if there is not an opportunity, by your silence at
least, and blushing and expression of dissatisfaction by your countenance,
show plainly that you are displeased at such talk.

XXXIV.
If you have received the impression ([Greek: phantasion]) of any
pleasure, guard yourself against being carried away by it; but let the thing
wait for you, and allow yourself a certain delay on your own part. Then
think of both times, of the time when you will enjoy the pleasure, and of the
time after the enjoyment of the pleasure, when you will repent and will
reproach yourself. And set against these things how you will rejoice, if you
have abstained from the pleasure, and how you will commend yourself. But
if it seem to you seasonable to undertake (do) the thing, take care that the
charm of it, and the pleasure, and the attraction of it shall not conquer you;
but set on the other side the consideration, how much better it is to be
conscious that you have gained this victory.

XXXV.
When you have decided that a thing ought to be done, and are doing it,
never avoid being seen doing it, though the many shall form an unfavorable
opinion about it. For if it is not right to do it, avoid doing the thing; but if it
is right, why are you afraid of those who shall find fault wrongly?

XXXVI.
As the proposition, it is either day, or it is night, is of great importance
for the disjunctive argument, but for the conjunctive, is of no value, so in a
symposium (entertainment) to select the larger share is of great value for the
body, but for the maintenance of the social feeling is worth nothing. When,
then, you are eating with another, remember, to look not only to the value
for the body of the things set before you, but also to the value of the
behavior towards the host which ought to be observed.

XXXVII.
If you have assumed a character above your strength, you have both
acted in this manner in an unbecoming way, and you have neglected that
which you might have fulfilled.

XXXVIII.
In walking about, as you take care not to step on a nail, or to sprain your
foot, so take care not to damage your own ruling faculty; and if we observe
this rule in every act, we shall undertake this act with more security.

XXXIX.
The measure of possession (property) is to every man the body, as the
foot is of the shoe. If then you stand on this rule (the demands of the body),
you will maintain the measure; but if you pass beyond it, you must then of

necessity be hurried as it were down a precipice. As also in the matter of the
shoe, if you go beyond the (necessities of the) foot, the shoe is gilded, then
of a purple color, then embroidered; for there is no limit to that which has
once passed the true measure.

XL.
Women forthwith from the age of fourteen are called by the men
mistresses ([Greek: churiai], dominæ). Therefore, since they see that there
is nothing else that they can obtain, but only the power of lying with men,
they begin to decorate themselves, and to place all their hopes in this. It is
worth our while then to take care that they may know that they are valued
(by men) for nothing else than appearing (being) decent and modest and
discreet.

XLI.
It is a mark of a mean capacity to spend much time on the things which
concern the body, such as much exercise, much eating, much drinking,
much easing of the body, much copulation. But these things should be done
as subordinate things; and let all your care be directed to the mind.

XLII.
When any person treats you ill or speaks ill of you, remember that he
does this or says this because he thinks that it is his duty. It is not possible
then for him to follow that which seems right to you, but that which seems
right to himself. Accordingly if he is wrong in his opinion, he is the person
who is hurt, for he is the person who has been deceived; for if a man shall
suppose the true conjunction to be false, it is not the conjunction which is
hindered, but the man who has been deceived about it. If you proceed then
from these opinions, you will be mild in temper to him who reviles you; for
say on each occasion, It seemed so to him.

XLIII.
Everything has two handles, the one by which it may be borne, the other
by which it may not. If your brother acts unjustly, do not lay hold of the act
by that handle wherein he acts unjustly, for this is the handle which cannot
be borne; but lay hold of the other, that he is your brother, that he was
nurtured with you, and you will lay hold of the thing by that handle by
which it can be borne.

XLIV.
These reasonings do not cohere: I am richer than you, therefore I am
better than you; I am more eloquent than you, therefore I am better than
you. On the contrary, these rather cohere: I am richer than you, therefore my
possessions are greater than yours; I am more eloquent than you, therefore
my speech is superior to yours. But you are neither possession nor speech.

XLV.
Does a man bathe quickly (early)? do not say that he bathes badly, but
that he bathes quickly. Does a man drink much wine? do not say that he
does this badly, but say that he drinks much. For before you shall have
determined the opinion how do you know whether he is acting wrong? Thus
it will not happen to you to comprehend some appearances which are
capable of being comprehended, but to assent to others.

XLVI.
On no occasion call yourself a philosopher, and do not speak much
among the uninstructed about theorems (philosophical rules, precepts); but
do that which follows from them. For example, at a banquet do not say how
a man ought to eat, but eat as you ought to eat. For remember that in this
way Socrates also altogether avoided ostentation. Persons used to come to
him and ask to be recommended by him to philosophers, and he used to
take them to philosophers, so easily did he submit to being overlooked.

Accordingly, if any conversation should arise among uninstructed persons
about any theorem, generally be silent; for there is great danger that you
will immediately vomit up what you have not digested. And when a man
shall say to you that you know nothing, and you are not vexed, then be sure
that you have begun the work (of philosophy). For even sheep do not vomit
up their grass and show to the shepherds how much they have eaten; but
when they have internally digested the pasture, they produce externally
wool and milk. Do you also show not your theorems to the uninstructed, but
show the acts which come from their digestion.

XLVII.
When at a small cost you are supplied with everything for the body, do
not be proud of this; nor, if you drink water, say on every occasion, I drink
water. But consider first how much more frugal the poor are than we, and
how much more enduring of labor. And if you ever wish to exercise
yourself in labor and endurance, do it for yourself, and not for others. Do
not embrace statues; but if you are ever very thirsty, take a draught of cold
water and spit it out, and tell no man.

XLVIII.
The condition and characteristic of an uninstructed person is this: he
never expects from himself profit (advantage) nor harm, but from externals.
The condition and characteristic of a philosopher is this: he expects all
advantage and all harm from himself. The signs (marks) of one who is
making progress are these: he censures no man, he praises no man, he
blames no man, he accuses no man, he says nothing about himself as if he
were somebody or knew something; when he is impeded at all or hindered,
he blames himself; if a man praises him he ridicules the praiser to himself;
if a man censures him he makes no defence; he goes about like weak
persons, being careful not to move any of the things which are placed,
before they are firmly fixed; he removes all desire from himself, and he
transfers aversion ([Greek: echchlisin]) to those things only of the things
within our power which are contrary to nature; he employs a moderate
movement towards everything; whether he is considered foolish or ignorant

he cares not; and in a word he watches himself as if he were an enemy and
lying in ambush.

XLIX.
When a man is proud because he can understand and explain the writings
of Chrysippus, say to yourself, If Chrysippus had not written obscurely, this
man would have had nothing to be proud of. But what is it that I wish? To
understand nature and to follow it. I inquire therefore who is the interpreter?
and when I have heard that it is Chrysippus, I come to him (the interpreter).
But I do not understand what is written, and therefore I seek the interpreter.
And so far there is yet nothing to be proud of. But when I shall have found
the interpreter, the thing that remains is to use the precepts (the lessons).
This itself is the only thing to be proud of. But if I shall admire the
exposition, what else have I been made unless a grammarian instead of a
philosopher? except in one thing, that I am explaining Chrysippus instead
of Homer. When, then, any man says to me, Read Chrysippus to me, I
rather blush, when I cannot show my acts like to and consistent with his
words.

L.
Whatever things (rules) are proposed to you (for the conduct of life)
abide by them, as if they were laws, as if you would be guilty of impiety if
you transgressed any of them. And whatever any man shall say about you,
do not attend to it; for this is no affair of yours. How long will you then still
defer thinking yourself worthy of the best things, and in no matter
transgressing the distinctive reason? Have you accepted the theorems
(rules), which it was your duty to agree to, and have you agreed to them?
what teacher then do you still expect that you defer to him the correction of
yourself? You are no longer a youth, but already a full-grown man. If, then,
you are negligent and slothful, and are continually making procrastination
after procrastination, and proposal (intention) after proposal, and fixing day
after day, after which you will attend to yourself, you will not know that
you are not making improvement, but you will continue ignorant
(uninstructed) both while you live and till you die. Immediately then think it

right to live as a full-grown man, and one who is making proficiency, and
let everything which appears to you to be the best be to you a law which
must not be transgressed. And if anything laborious or pleasant or glorious
or inglorious be presented to you, remember that now is the contest, now
are the Olympic games, and they cannot be deferred; and that it depends on
one defeat and one giving way that progress is either lost or maintained.
Socrates in this way became perfect, in all things improving himself,
attending to nothing except to reason. But you, though you are not yet a
Socrates, ought to live as one who wishes to be a Socrates.

LI.
The first and most necessary place (part, [Greek: topos]) in philosophy is
the use of theorems (precepts, [Greek: theoraemata]), for instance, that we
must not lie; the second part is that of demonstrations, for instance, How is
it proved that we ought not to lie? The third is that which is confirmatory of
these two, and explanatory, for example, How is this a demonstration? For
what is demonstration, what is consequence, what is contradiction, what is
truth, what is falsehood? The third part (topic) is necessary on account of
the second, and the second on account of the first; but the most necessary
and that on which we ought to rest is the first. But we do the contrary. For
we spend our time on the third topic, and all our earnestness is about it; but
we entirely neglect the first. Therefore we lie; but the demonstration that we
ought not to lie we have ready to hand.

LII.
In every thing (circumstance) we should hold these maxims ready to
hand:
Lead me, O Zeus, and thou O Destiny,
The way that I am bid by you to go:
To follow I am ready. If I choose not,
I make myself a wretch, and still must follow.

But whoso nobly yields unto necessity,
We hold him wise, and skill’d in things divine.

And the third also: O Crito, if so it pleases the gods, so let it be; Anytus
and Melitus are able indeed to kill me, but they cannot harm me.

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