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.