The Discources....................................................................................................................................................1

Epictetus ...................................................................................................................................................1

BOOK ONE ............................................................................................................................................3

CHAPTER 1. Of the things which are in our Power, and not in our Power ............................................3

CHAPTER 2. How a Man on every occasion can maintain his Proper Character..................................4

CHAPTER 3. How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the father of all men to the rest

CHAPTER 4. Of progress or improvement .............................................................................................6

CHAPTER 5. Against the academics......................................................................................................8

CHAPTER 6. Of providence...................................................................................................................8

CHAPTER 7. Of the use of sophistical arguments, and hypothetical, and the like ...............................10

CHAPTER 8. That the faculties are not safe to the uninstructed..........................................................11

CHAPTER 9. How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences...12

CHAPTER 10. Against those who eagerly seek preferment at Rome ...................................................14

CHAPTER 11. Of natural affection .......................................................................................................14

CHAPTER 12. Of contentment.............................................................................................................16

CHAPTER 13. How everything may he done acceptably to the gods..................................................17

CHAPTER 14. That the deity oversees all things ..................................................................................18

CHAPTER 15. What philosophy promises...........................................................................................18

CHAPTER 16. Of providence...............................................................................................................19

CHAPTER 17. That the logical art is necessary ....................................................................................20

CHAPTER 18. That we ought not to he angry with the errors of others ...............................................21

CHAPTER 19. How we should behave to tyrants .................................................................................22

CHAPTER 20. About reason, how it contemplates itself ......................................................................23

CHAPTER 21. Against those who wish to be admired .........................................................................24

CHAPTER 22. On precognitions ...........................................................................................................24

CHAPTER 23. Against Epicurus ...........................................................................................................25

CHAPTER 24. How we should struggle with circumstances ................................................................25

CHAPTER 25. On the same..................................................................................................................26

CHAPTER 26. What is the law of life ...................................................................................................27

CHAPTER 27. In how many ways appearances exist, and what aids we should provide against them 8

CHAPTER 28. That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and the great things among men 9

CHAPTER 29. On constancy................................................................................................................31

CHAPTER 30. What we ought to have ready in difficult circumstances ..............................................34

BOOK TWO.........................................................................................................................................34

CHAPTER 1. That confidence is not inconsistent with caution ............................................................34

CHAPTER 2. Of Tranquillity ................................................................................................................36

CHAPTER 3. To those who recommend persons to philosophers ........................................................37

CHAPTER 4. Against a person who had once been detected in adultery.............................................37

CHAPTER 5. How magnanimity is consistent with care ......................................................................38

CHAPTER 6. Of indifference ................................................................................................................39

CHAPTER 7. How we ought to use divination.....................................................................................40

CHAPTER 8. What is the nature of the good ........................................................................................41

CHAPTER 9. That when we cannot fulfill that which the character of a man promises, we assume the character of a philosopher 2

CHAPTER 10. How we may discover the duties of life from names...................................................43

CHAPTER 11. What the beginning of philosophy is ............................................................................45

CHAPTER 12. Of disputation or discussion.........................................................................................46

CHAPTER 13. On anxiety .....................................................................................................................47

CHAPTER 14. To Naso .........................................................................................................................48

CHAPTER 15. To or against those who obstinately persist in what they have determined ..................49

CHAPTER 16. That we do not strive to use our opinions about good and evil....................................50

CHAPTER 17. How we must adapt preconceptions to particular cases...............................................52

CHAPTER 18. How we should struggle against appearances..............................................................54

CHAPTER 19. Against those who embrace, philosophical opinions only in words .............................56

CHAPTER 20. Against the Epicureans and Academics ........................................................................58

CHAPTER 21. Of inconsistency...........................................................................................................59

CHAPTER 22. On friendship................................................................................................................61

CHAPTER 23. On the power of speaking .............................................................................................63

CHAPTER 24. To a person who was one of those who was not valued by him ...................................65

CHAPTER 25. That logic is necessary ..................................................................................................67

CHAPTER 26. What is the property of error........................................................................................67

BOOK THREE.....................................................................................................................................67

CHAPTER 1. Of finery in dress............................................................................................................67

CHAPTER 2. In what a man ought to be exercised who has made proficiency; and that we neglect the chief things 0

CHAPTER 3. What is the matter on which a good man should he employed, and in what we ought chiefly to practice ourselves 1

CHAPTER 4. Against a person who showed his partisanship in an unseemly way in a theatre ...........72

CHAPTER 5. Against those who on account of sickness go away home.............................................73

CHAPTER 6. Miscellaneous.................................................................................................................73

CHAPTER 7. To the administrator of the free cities who was an Epicurean ........................................74

CHAPTER 8. How we must exercise ourselves against appearances ...................................................76

CHAPTER 9. To a certain rhetorician who was going up to Rome on a suit.......................................76

CHAPTER 10. In what manner we ought to bear sickness...................................................................77

CHAPTER 11. Certain miscellaneous matters......................................................................................78

CHAPTER 12. About exercise..............................................................................................................79

CHAPTER 13. What solitude is, and what kind of person a solitary man is........................................80

CHAPTER 14. Certain miscellaneous matters......................................................................................81

CHAPTER 15. That we ought to proceed with circumspection to everything ......................................81

CHAPTER 16. That we ought with caution to enter, into familiar intercourse with men .....................82

CHAPTER 17. On providence ...............................................................................................................83

CHAPTER 18. That we ought not to be disturbed by any news...........................................................83

CHAPTER 19. What is the condition of a common kind of man and of a philosopher ........................84

CHAPTER 20. That we can derive advantage from all external things................................................84

CHAPTER 21. Against those who readily come to the profession of sophists .....................................85

CHAPTER 22. About cynicism .............................................................................................................86

CHAPTER 23. To those who read and discuss for the sake of ostentation ...........................................92

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 4

CHAPTER 25. To those who fall off from their purpose ....................................................................100

CHAPTER 26. To those who fear want ...............................................................................................100

BOOK FOUR.....................................................................................................................................103

CHAPTER 1. About freedom ..............................................................................................................103

CHAPTER 2. On familiar intimacy .....................................................................................................112

CHAPTER 3. What things we should exchange for other things ........................................................112

CHAPTER 4. To those who are desirous of passing life in tranquility ...............................................113

CHAPTER 5. Against the quarrelsome and ferocious .........................................................................116

CHAPTER 6. Against those who lament over being pitied .................................................................118

CHAPTER 7. On freedom from fear...................................................................................................120

CHAPTER 8. Against those who hastily rush into the use of the philosophic dress..........................122

CHAPTER 9. To a person who had been changed to a character of shamelessness ...........................124

CHAPTER 10. What things we ought to despise, and what things we ought to value.......................125

CHAPTER 11. About Purity...............................................................................................................127

CHAPTER 12. On attention................................................................................................................129

CHAPTER 13. Against or to those who readily tell their own affairs................................................130

CHAPTER 3. How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the father of all men to the rest

CHAPTER 9. How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences

CHAPTER 27. In how many ways appearances exist, and what aids we should provide against them

CHAPTER 28. That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and the great things among

CHAPTER 9. That when we cannot fulfill that which the character of a man promises, we assume the

CHAPTER 15. To or against those who obstinately persist in what they have determined

CHAPTER 2. In what a man ought to be exercised who has made proficiency; and that we neglect the chief

CHAPTER 3. What is the matter on which a good man should he employed, and in what we ought chiefly to

CHAPTER 4. Against a person who showed his partisanship in an unseemly way in a theatre

CHAPTER 16. That we ought with caution to enter, into familiar intercourse with men

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power

Of all the faculties, you will find not one which is capable of contemplating itself; and, consequently, not

capable either of approving or disapproving. How far does the grammatic art possess the contemplating

power? As far as forming a judgement about what is written and spoken. And how far music? As far as

judging about melody. Does either of them then contemplate itself? By no means. But when you must write

something to your friend, grammar will tell you what words you must write; but whether you should write or

not, grammar will not tell you. And so it is with music as to musical sounds; but whether you should sing at

the present time and play on the lute, or do neither, music will not tell you. What faculty then will tell you?

That which contemplates both itself and all other things. And what is this faculty? The rational faculty; for

this is the only faculty that we have received which examines itself, what it is, and what power it has, and

what is the value of this gift, and examines all other faculties: for what else is there which tells us that golden

things are beautiful, for they do not say so themselves? Evidently it is the faculty which is capable of judging

of appearances. What else judges of music, grammar, and other faculties, proves their uses and points out the

As then it was fit to be so, that which is best of all and supreme over all is the only thing which the gods have

placed in our power, the right use of appearances; but all other things they have not placed in our power. Was

it because they did not choose? I indeed think that, if they had been able, they would have put these other

things also in our power, but they certainly could not. For as we exist on the earth, and are bound to such a

body and to such companions, how was it possible for us not to be hindered as to these things by externals?

But what says Zeus? "Epictetus, if it were possible, I would have made both your little body and your little

property free and not exposed to hindrance. But now be not ignorant of this: this body is not yours, but it is

clay finely tempered. And since I was not able to do for you what I have mentioned, I have given you a small

portion of us, this faculty of pursuing an object and avoiding it, and the faculty of desire and aversion, and, in

a word, the faculty of using the appearances of things; and if you will take care of this faculty and consider it

your only possession, you will never be hindered, never meet with impediments; you will not lament, you

"Well, do these seem to you small matters?" I hope not. "Be content with them then and pray to the gods."

But now when it is in our power to look after one thing, and to attach ourselves to it, we prefer to look after

many things, and to be bound to many things, to the body and to property, and to brother and to friend, and to

child and to slave. Since, then, we are bound to many things, we are depressed by them and dragged down.

For this reason, when the weather is not fit for sailing, we sit down and torment ourselves, and continually

look out to see what wind is blowing. "It is north." What is that to us? "When will the west wind blow?"

When it shall choose, my good man, or when it shall please AEolus; for God has not made you the manager

of the winds, but AEolus. What then? We must make the best use that we can of the things which are in our

power, and use the rest according to their nature. What is their nature then? As God may please.

"Must I, then, alone have my head cut off?" What, would you have all men lose their heads that you may be

consoled? Will you not stretch out your neck as Lateranus did at Rome when Nero ordered him to be

beheaded? For when he had stretched out his neck, and received a feeble blow, which made him draw it in for

a moment, he stretched it out again. And a little before, when he was visited by Epaphroditus, Nero's

freedman, who asked him about the cause of offense which he had given, he said, "If I choose to tell

What then should a man have in readiness in such circumstances? What else than "What is mine, and what is

not mine; and permitted to me, and what is not permitted to me." I must die. Must I then die lamenting? I

must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from

going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment? "Tell me the secret which you possess." I will not, for

this is in my power. "But I will put you in chains." Man, what are you talking about? Me in chains? You may

fetter my leg, but my will not even Zeus himself can overpower. "I will throw you into prison." My poor

body, you mean. "I will cut your head off." When, then, have I told you that my head alone cannot be cut off?

These are the things which philosophers should meditate on, which they should write daily, in which they

Thrasea used to say, "I would rather be killed today than banished tomorrow." What, then, did Rufus say

to him? "If you choose death as the heavier misfortune, how great is the folly of your choice? But if, as the

lighter, who has given you the choice? Will you not study to be content with that which has been given to

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

This it is to have studied what a man ought to study; to have made desire, aversion, free from hindrance, and

free from all that a man would avoid. I must die. If now, I am ready to die. If, after a short time, I now dine

because it is the dinnerhour; after this I will then die. How? Like a man who gives up what belongs to

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

But the rational and the irrational appear such in a different way to different persons, just as the good and the

bad, the profitable and the unprofitable. For this reason, particularly, we need discipline, in order to learn how

to adapt the preconception of the rational and the irrational to the several things conformably to nature. But in

order to determine the rational and the irrational, we use not only the of external things, but we consider also

what is appropriate to each person. For to one man it is consistent with reason to hold a chamber pot for

another, and to look to this only, that if he does not hold it, he will receive stripes, and he will not receive his

food: but if he shall hold the pot, he will not suffer anything hard or disagreeable. But to another man not

only does the holding of a chamber pot appear intolerable for himself, but intolerable also for him to allow

another to do this office for him. If, then, you ask me whether you should hold the chamber pot or not, I shall

say to you that the receiving of food is worth more than the not receiving of it, and the being scourged is a

greater indignity than not being scourged; so that if you measure your interests by these things, go and hold

the chamber pot. "But this," you say, "would not be worthy of me." Well, then, it is you who must introduce

this consideration into the inquiry, not I; for it is you who know yourself, how much you are worth to

yourself, and at what price you sell yourself; for men sell themselves at various prices.

For this reason, when Florus was deliberating whether he should go down to Nero's spectacles and also

perform in them himself, Agrippinus said to him, "Go down": and when Florus asked Agrippinus, "Why do

not you go down?" Agrippinus replied, "Because I do not even deliberate about the matter." For he who has

once brought himself to deliberate about such matters, and to calculate the value of external things, comes

very near to those who have forgotten their own character. For why do you ask me the question, whether

death is preferable or life? I say "life." "Pain or pleasure?" I say "pleasure." But if I do not take a part in the

tragic acting, I shall have my head struck off. Go then and take a part, but I will not. "Why?" Because you

consider yourself to be only one thread of those which are in the tunic. Well then it was fitting for you to take

care how you should be like the rest of men, just as the thread has no design to be anything superior to the

other threads. But I wish to be purple, that small part which is bright, and makes all the rest appear graceful

and beautiful. Why then do you tell me to make myself like the many? and if I do, how shall I still be purple?

Priscus Helvidius also saw this, and acted conformably. For when Vespasian sent and commanded him not to

go into the senate, he replied, "It is in your power not to allow me to be a member of the senate, but so long

as I am, I must go in." "Well, go in then," says the emperor, "but say nothing." "Do not ask my opinion, and I

will be silent." "But I must ask your opinion." "And I must say what I think right." "But if you do, I shall put

you to death." "When then did I tell you that I am immortal? You will do your part, and I will do mine: it is

your part to kill; it is mine to die, but not in fear: yours to banish me; mine to depart without sorrow."

What good then did Priscus do, who was only a single person? And what good does the purple do for the

toga? Why, what else than this, that it is conspicuous in the toga as purple, and is displayed also as a fine

example to all other things? But in such circumstances another would have replied to Caesar who forbade

him to enter the senate, "I thank you for sparing me." But such a man Vespasian would not even have

forbidden to enter the senate, for he knew that he would either sit there like an earthen vessel, or, if he spoke,

In this way an athlete also acted who was in danger of dying unless his private parts were amputated. His

brother came to the athlete, who was a philosopher, and said, "Come, brother, what are you going to do?

Shall we amputate this member and return to the gymnasium?" But the athlete persisted in his resolution and

died. When some one asked Epictetus how he did this, as an athlete or a philosopher, "As a man," Epictetus

replied, "and a man who had been proclaimed among the athletes at the Olympic games and had contended in

them, a man who had been familiar with such a place, and not merely anointed in Baton's school. Another

would have allowed even his head to be cut off, if he could have lived without it. Such is that regard to

character which is so strong in those who have been accustomed to introduce it of themselves and conjoined

"Come, then, Epictetus, shave yourself." "If I am a philosopher," I answer, "I will not shave myself." "But I

Some person asked, "How then shall every man among us perceive what is suitable to his character?" How,

he replied, does the bull alone, when the lion has attacked, discover his own powers and put himself forward

in defense of the whole herd? It is plain that with the powers the perception of having them is immediately

conjoined; and, therefore, whoever of us has such powers will not be ignorant of them. Now a bull is not

made suddenly, nor a brave man; but we must discipline ourselves in the winter for the summer campaign,

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

If a man should be able to assent to this doctrine as he ought, that we are all sprung from God in an especial

manner, and that God is the father both of men and of gods, I suppose that he would never have any ignoble

or mean thoughts about himself. But if Caesar should adopt you, no one could endure your arrogance; and if

you know that you are the son of Zeus, will you not be elated? Yet we do not so; but since these two things

are mingled in the generation of man, body in common with the animals, and reason and intelligence in

common with the gods, many incline to this kinship, which is miserable and mortal; and some few to that

which is divine and happy. Since then it is of necessity that every man uses everything according to the

opinion which he has about it, those, the few, who think that they are formed for fidelity and modesty and a

sure use of appearances have no mean or ignoble thoughts about themselves; but with the many it is quite the

contrary. For they say, "What am I? A poor, miserable man, with my wretched bit of flesh." Wretched.

Indeed; but you possess something better than your "bit of flesh." Why then do you neglect that which is

Through this kinship with the flesh, some of us inclining to it become like wolves, faithless and treacherous

and mischievous: some become like lions, savage and untamed; but the greater part of us become foxes and

other worse animals. For what else is a slanderer and a malignant man than a fox, or some other more

wretched and meaner animal? See, then, and take care that you do not become some one of these miserable

He who is making progress, having learned from philosophers that desire means the desire of good things,

and aversion means aversion from bad things; having learned too that happiness and tranquillity are not

attainable by man otherwise than by not failing to obtain what he desires, and not falling into that which he

would avoid; such a man takes from himself desire altogether and defers it, but he employs his aversion only

on things which are dependent on his will. For if he attempts to avoid anything independent of his will, he

knows that sometimes he will fall in with something which he wishes to avoid, and he will be unhappy. Now

if virtue promises good fortune and tranquillity and happiness, certainly also the progress toward virtue is

progress toward each of these things. For it is always true that to whatever point the perfecting of anything

CHAPTER 3. How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the father of all men to the rest 6

How then do we admit that virtue is such as I have said, and yet seek progress in other things and make a

display of it? What is the product of virtue? Tranquillity. Who then makes improvement? It is he who has

read many books of Chrysippus? But does virtue consist in having understood Chrysippus? If this is so,

progress is clearly nothing else than knowing a great deal of Chrysippus. But now we admit that virtue

produces one thing. and we declare that approaching near to it is another thing, namely, progress or

improvement. "Such a person," says one, "is already able to read Chrysippus by himself." Indeed, sir, you are

making great progress. What kind of progress? But why do you mock the man? Why do you draw him away

from the perception of his own misfortunes? Will you not show him the effect of virtue that he may learn

where to look for improvement? Seek it there, wretch, where your work lies. And where is your work? In

desire and in aversion, that you may not be disappointed in your desire, and that you may not fall into that

which you would avoid; in your pursuit and avoiding, that you commit no error; in assent and suspension of

assent, that you be not deceived. The first things, and the most necessary, are those which I have named. But

if with trembling and lamentation you seek not to fall into that which you avoid, tell me how you are

Do you then show me your improvement in these things? If I were talking to an athlete, I should say, "Show

me your shoulders"; and then he might say, "Here are my halteres." You and your halteres look to that. I

should reply, "I wish to see the effect of the halteres." So, when you say: "Take the treatise on the active

powers, and see how I have studied it." I reply, "Slave, I am not inquiring about this, but how you exercise

pursuit and avoidance, desire and aversion, how your design and purpose and prepare yourself, whether

conformably to nature or not. If conformably, give me evidence of it, and I will say that you are making

progress: but if not conformably, be gone, and not only expound your books, but write such books yourself;

and what will you gain by it? Do you not know that the whole book costs only five denarii? Does then the

expounder seem to be worth more than five denarii? Never, then, look for the matter itself in one place, and

Where then is progress? If any of you, withdrawing himself from externals, turns to his own will to exercise it

and to improve it by labour, so as to make it conformable to nature, elevated, free, unrestrained, unimpeded,

faithful, modest; and if he has learned that he who desires or avoids the things which are not in his power can

neither be faithful nor free, but of necessity he must change with them and be tossed about with them as in a

tempest, and of necessity must subject himself to others who have the power to procure or prevent what he

desires or would avoid; finally, when he rises in the morning, if he observes and keeps these rules, bathes as a

man of fidelity, eats as a modest man; in like manner, if in every matter that occurs he works out his chief

principles as the runner does with reference to running, and the trainer of the voice with reference to the

voice this is the man who truly makes progress, and this is the man who has not traveled in vain. But if he

has strained his efforts to the practice of reading books, and labours only at this, and has traveled for this, I

tell him to return home immediately, and not to neglect his affairs there; for this for which he has traveled is

nothing. But the other thing is something, to study how a man can rid his life of lamentation and groaning,

and saying, "Woe to me," and "wretched that I am," and to rid it also of misfortune and disappointment and to

learn what death is, and exile, and prison, and poison, that he may be able to say when he is in fetters, "Dear

Crito, if it is the will of the gods that it be so, let it be so"; and not to say, "Wretched am I, an old man; have I

kept my gray hairs for this?" Who is it that speaks thus? Do you think that I shall name some man of no

repute and of low condition? Does not Priam say this? Does not OEdipus say this? Nay, all kings say it! For

what else is tragedy than the perturbations of men who value externals exhibited in this kind of poetry? But if

a man must learn by fiction that no external things which are independent of the will concern us, for this? part

I should like this fiction, by the aid of which I should live happily and undisturbed. But you must consider for

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

CHAPTER 3. How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the father of all men to the rest 7

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

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

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,

Do you comprehend that you are awake? "I do not," the man replies, "for I do not even comprehend when in

my sleep I imagine that I am awake." Does this appearance then not differ from the other? "Not at all," he

replies. Shall I still argue with this man? And what fire or what iron shall I apply to him to make him feel that

he is deadened? He does perceive, but he pretends that he does not. He's even worse than a dead man. He

does not see the contradiction: he is in a bad condition. Another does see it, but he is not moved, and makes

no improvement: he is even in a worse condition. His modesty is extirpated, and his sense of shame; and the

rational faculty has not been cut off from him, but it is brutalized. Shall I name this strength of mind?

Certainly not, unless we also name it such in catamites, through which they do and say in public whatever

From everything which is or happens in the world, it is easy to praise Providence, if a man possesses these

two qualities, the faculty of seeing what belongs and happens to all persons and things, and a grateful

disposition. If he does not possess these two qualities, one man will not see the use of things which are and

which happen; another will not be thankful for them, even if he does know them. If God had made colours,

but had not made the faculty of seeing them, what would have been their use? None at all. On the other hand,

if He had made the faculty of vision, but had not made objects such as to fall under the faculty, what in that

case also would have been the use of it? None at all. Well, suppose that He had made both, but had not made

light? In that case, also, they would have been of no use. Who is it, then, who has fitted this to that and that to

this? And who is it that has fitted the knife to the case and the case to the knife? Is it no one? And, indeed,

from the very structure of things which have attained their completion, we are accustomed to show that the

work is certainly the act of some artificer, and that it has not been constructed without a purpose. Does then

each of these things demonstrate the workman, and do not visible things and the faculty of seeing and light

demonstrate Him? And the existence of male and female, and the desire of each for conjunction, and the

power of using the parts which are constructed, do not even these declare the workman? If they do not, let us

consider the constitution of our understanding according to which, when we meet with sensible objects, we

simply receive impressions from them, but we also select something from them, and subtract something, and

add, and compound by means of them these things or those, and, in fact, pass from some to other things

which, in a manner, resemble them: is not even this sufficient to move some men, and to induce them not to

forget the workman? If not so, let them explain to us what it is that makes each several thing, or how it is

possible that things so wonderful and like the contrivances of art should exist by chance and from their own

What, then, are these things done in us only. Many, indeed, in us only, of which the rational animal had

peculiar need; but you will find many common to us with irrational animals. Do they them understand what is

done? By no means. For use is one thing, and understanding is another: God had need of irrational animals to

make use of appearances, but of us to understand the use of appearances. It is therefore enough for them to

eat and to drink, and to sleep and to copulate, and to do all the other things which they severally do. But for

us, to whom He has given also the faculty, these things are not sufficient; for unless we act in a proper and

orderly manner, and conformably to the nature and constitution of each thing, we shall never attain our true

end. For where the constitutions of living beings are different, there also the acts and the ends are different. In

those animals, then, whose constitution is adapted only to use, use alone is enough: but in an animal which

has also the power of understanding the use, unless there be the due exercise of the understanding, he will

never attain his proper end. Well then God constitutes every animal, one to be eaten, another to serve for

agriculture, another to supply cheese, and another for some like use; for which purposes what need is there to

understand appearances and to be able to distinguish them? But God has introduced man to be a spectator of

God and of His works; and not only a spectator of them, but an interpreter. For this reason it is shameful for

man to begin and to end where irrational animals do, but rather he ought to begin where they begin, and to

end where nature ends in us; and nature ends in contemplation and understanding, in a way of life

conformable to nature. Take care then not to die without having been spectators of these things.

But you take a journey to Olympia to see the work of Phidias, and all of you think it a misfortune to die

without having seen such things. But when there is no need to take a journey, and where a man is, there he

has the works (of God) before him, will you not desire to see and understand them? Will you not perceive

either what you are, or what you were born for, or what this is for which you have received the faculty of

sight? But you may say, "There are some things disagreeable and troublesome in life." And are there none in

Olympia? Are you not scorched? Are you not pressed by a crowd? Are you not without comfortable means of

bathing? Are you not wet when it rains? Have you not abundance of noise, clamour, and other disagreeable

things? But I suppose that setting all these things off against the magnificence of the spectacle, you bear and

endure. Well, then, and have you not received faculties by which you will be able to bear all that happens?

Have you not received greatness of soul? Have you not received manliness? Have you not received

endurance? And why do I trouble myself about anything that can happen if I possess greatness of soul? What

shall distract my mind or disturb me, or appear painful? Shall I not use the power for the purposes for which I

"Yes, but my nose runs." For what purpose then, slave, have you hands? Is it not that you may wipe your

nose? "Is it, then, consistent with reason that there should be running of noses in the world?" Nay, how much

better it is to wipe your nose than to find fault. What do you think that Hercules would have been if there had

not been such a lion, and hydra, and stag, and boar, and certain unjust and bestial men, whom Hercules used

to drive away and clear out? And what would he have been doing if there had been nothing of the kind? Is it

not plain that he would have wrapped himself up and have slept? In the first place, then he would not have

been a Hercules, when he was dreaming away all his life in such luxury and case; and even if he had been one

what would have been the use of him? and what the use of his arms, and of the strength of the other parts of

his body, and his endurance and noble spirit, if such circumstances and occasions had not roused and

exercised him? "Well, then, must a man provide for himself such means of exercise, and to introduce a lion

from some place into his country, and a boar and a hydra?" This would be folly and madness: but as they did

exist, and were found, they were useful for showing what Hercules was and for exercising him. Come then do

you also having observed these things look to the faculties which you have, and when you have looked at

them, say: "Bring now, O Zeus, any difficulty that Thou pleasest, for I have means given to me by Thee and

powers for honoring myself through the things which happen." You do not so; but you sit still, trembling for

fear that some things will happen, and weeping, and lamenting and groaning for what does happen: and then

you blame the gods. For what is the consequence of such meanness of spirit but impiety? And yet God has

not only given us these faculties; by which we shall be able to bear everything that happens without being

depressed or broken by it; but, like a good king and a true father, He has given us these faculties free from

hindrance, subject to no compulsion unimpeded, and has put them entirely in our own power, without even

having reserved to Himself any power of hindering or impeding. You, who have received these powers free

and as your own, use them not: you do not even see what you have received, and from whom; some of you

being blinded to the giver, and not even acknowledging your benefactor, and others, through meanness of

spirit, betaking yourselves to fault finding and making charges against God. Yet I will show to you that you

have powers and means for greatness of soul and manliness but what powers you have for finding fault and

The handling of sophistical and hypothetical arguments, and of those which derive their conclusions from

questioning, and in a word the handling of all such arguments, relates to the duties of life, though the many

do not know this truth. For in every matter we inquire how the wise and good man shall discover the proper

path and the proper method of dealing with the matter. Let, then, people either say that the grave man will not

descend into the contest of question and answer, or that, if he does descend into the contest, he will take no

care about not conducting himself rashly or carelessly in questioning and answering. But if they do not allow

either the one or the other of these things, they must admit that some inquiry ought to be made into those

topics on which particularly questioning and answering are employed. For what is the end proposed in

reasoning? To establish true propositions, to remove the false, to withhold assent from those which are not

plain. Is it enough then to have learned only this? "It is enough," a man may reply. Is it, then, also enough for

a man, who would not make a mistake in the use of coined money, to have heard this precept, that he should

receive the genuine drachmae and reject the spurious? "It is not enough." What, then, ought to be added to

this precept? What else than the faculty which proves and distinguishes the genuine and the spurious

drachmae? Consequently also in reasoning what has been said is not enough; but is it necessary that a man

should acquire the faculty of examining and distinguishing the true and the false, and that which is not plain?

"It is necessary." Besides this, what is proposed in reasoning? "That you should accept what follows from

that which you have properly granted." Well, is it then enough in this case also to know this? It is not enough;

but a man must learn how one thing is a consequence of other things, and when one thing follows from one

thing, and when it follows from several collectively. Consider, then if it be not necessary that this power

should also be acquired by him who purposes to conduct himself skillfully in reasoning, the power of

demonstrating himself the several things which he has proposed, and the power of understanding the

demonstrations of others, including of not being deceived by sophists, as if they were demonstrating.

Therefore there has arisen among us the practice and exercise of conclusive arguments and figures, and it has

But in fact in some cases we have properly granted the premisses or assumptions, and there results from them

something; and though it is not true, yet none the less it does result. What then ought I to do? Ought I to

admit the falsehood? And how is that possible? Well, should I say that I did not properly grant that which we

agreed upon? "But you are not allowed to do even this." Shall I then say that the consequence does not arise

through what has been conceded? "But neither is it allowed." What then must be done in this case? Consider

if it is not this: as to have borrowed is not enough to make a man still a debtor, but to this must be added the

fact that he continues to owe the money and that the debt is not paid, so it is not enough to compel you to

admit the inference that you have granted the premisses, but you must abide by what you have granted.

Indeed, if the premisses continue to the end such as they were when they were granted, it is absolutely

CHAPTER 7. Of the use of sophistical arguments, and hypothetical, and the like 10

necessary for us to abide by what we have granted, and we must accept their consequences: but if the

premisses do not remain such as they were when they were granted, it is absolutely necessary for us also to

withdraw from what we granted, and from accepting what does not follow from the words in which our

concessions were made. For the inference is now not our inference, nor does it result with our assent, since

we have withdrawn from the premisses which we granted. We ought then both to examine such kind of

premisses, and such change and variation of them, by which in the course of questioning or answering, or in

making the syllogistic conclusion, or in any other such way, the premisses undergo variations, and give

occasion to the foolish to be confounded, if they do not see what conclusions are. For what reason ought we

to examine? In order that we may not in this matter be employed in an improper manner nor in a confused

And the same in hypotheses and hypothetical arguments; for it is necessary sometimes to demand the

granting of some hypothesis as a kind of passage to the argument which follows. Must we then allow every

hypothesis that is proposed, or not allow every one? And if not every one, which should we allow? And if a

man has allowed an hypothesis, must he in every case abide by allowing it? or must he sometimes withdraw

from it, but admit the consequences and not admit contradictions? Yes; but suppose that a man says, "If you

admit the hypothesis of a possibility, I will draw you to an impossibility." With such a person shall a man of

sense refuse to enter into a contest, and avoid discussion and conversation with him? But what other man than

the man of sense can use argumentation and is skillful in questioning and answering, and incapable of being

cheated and deceived by false reasoning? And shall he enter into the contest, and yet not take care whether he

shall engage in argument not rashly and not carelessly? And if he does not take care, how can he be such a

man as we conceive him to be? But without some such exercise and preparation, can he maintain a

continuous and consistent argument? Let them show this; and all these speculations become superfluous, and

Why are we still indolent and negligent and sluggish, and why do we seek pretences for not labouring and not

being watchful in cultivating our reason? "If then I shall make a mistake in these matters may I not have

killed my father?" Slave, where was there a father in this matter that you could kill him? What, then, have

you done? The only fault that was possible here is the fault which you have committed. This is the very

remark which I made to Rufus when he blamed me for not having discovered the one thing omitted in a

certain syllogism: "I suppose," I said, "that I have burnt the Capitol." "Slave," he replied, "was the thing

omitted here the Capitol?" Or are these the only crimes, to burn the Capitol and to kill your father? But for a

man to use the appearances resented to him rashly and foolishly and carelessly, not to understand argument,

nor demonstration, nor sophism, nor, in a word, to see in questioning and answering what is consistent with

In as many ways as we can change things which are equivalent to one another, in just so many ways we can

change the forms of arguments and enthymemes in argumentation. This is an instance: "If you have borrowed

and not repaid, you owe me the money: you have not borrowed and you have not repaid; then you do not owe

me the money." To do this skillfully is suitable to no man more than to the philosopher; for if the enthymeme

is all imperfect syllogism. it is plain that he who has been exercised in the perfect syllogism must be equally

"Why then do we not exercise ourselves and one another in this manner?" Because, I reply, at present, though

we are not exercised in these things and not distracted from the study of morality, by me at least, still we

make no progress in virtue. What then must we expect if we should add this occupation? and particularly as

this would not only be an occupation which would withdraw us from more necessary things, but would also

be a cause of self conceit and arrogance, and no small cause. For great is the power of arguing and the faculty

of persuasion, and particularly if it should be much exercised, and also receive additional ornament from

language: and so universally, every faculty acquired by the uninstructed and weak brings with it the danger of

these persons being elated and inflated by it. For by what means could one persuade a young man who excels

in these matters that he ought not to become an appendage to them, but to make them an appendage to

himself? Does he not trample on all such reasons, and strut before us elated and inflated, not enduring that

any man should reprove him and remind him of what he has neglected and to what he has turned aside?

"What, then, was not Plato a philosopher?" I reply, "And was not Hippocrates a physician? but you see how

Hippocrates speaks." Does Hippocrates, then, speak thus in respect of being a physician? Why do you mingle

things which have been accidentally united in the same men? And if Plato was handsome and strong, ought I

also to set to work and endeavor to become handsome or strong, as if this was necessary for philosophy,

because a certain philosopher was at the same time handsome and a philosopher? Will you not choose to see

and to distinguish in respect to what men become philosophers, and what things belong to belong to them in

other respects? And if I were a philosopher, ought you also to be made lame? What then? Do I take away

these faculties which you possess? By no means; for neither do I take away the faculty of seeing. But if you

ask me what is the good of man, I cannot mention to you anything else than that it is a certain disposition of

If the things are true which are said by the philosophers about the kinship between God and man, what else

remains for men to do then what Socrates did? Never in reply to the question, to what country you belong,

say that you are an Athenian or a Corinthian, but that you are a citizen of the world. For why do you say that

you are an Athenian, and why do you not say that you belong to the small nook only into which your poor

body was cast at birth? Is it not plain that you call yourself an Athenian or Corinthian from the place which

has a greater authority and comprises not only that small nook itself and all your family, but even the whole

country from which the stock of your progenitors is derived down to you? He then who has observed with

intelligence the administration of the world, and has learned that the greatest and supreme and the most

comprehensive community is that which is composed of men and God, and that from God have descended

the seeds not only to my father and grandfather, but to all beings which are generated on the earth and are

produced, and particularly to rational beings for these only are by their nature formed to have communion

with God, being by means of reason conjoined with Him why should not such a man call himself a citizen

of the world, why not a son of God, and why should he be afraid of anything which happens among men? Is

kinship with Caesar or with any other of the powerful in Rome sufficient to enable us to live in safety, and

above contempt and without any fear at all? and to have God for your maker and father and guardian, shall

And how do slaves, and runaways, on what do they rely when they leave their masters? Do they rely on their

lands or slaves, or their vessels of silver? They rely on nothing but themselves, and food does not fail them.

And shall it be necessary for one among us who is a philosopher to travel into foreign parts, and trust to and

rely on others, and not to take care of himself, and shall he be inferior to irrational animals and more

cowardly, each of which, being selfsufficient, neither fails to get its proper food, nor to find a suitable way

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

CHAPTER 9. How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences12

economy and commerce of life, they should intend to throw off these things as if they were burdens painful

and intolerable, and to depart to their kinsmen. But this is the labour that your teacher and instructor ought to

be employed upon, if he really were what he should be. You should come to him and say, "Epictetus, we can

no longer endure being bound to this poor body, and feeding it and giving it drink, and rest, and cleaning it,

and for the sake of the body complying with the wishes of these and of those. Are not these things indifferent

and nothing to us, and is not death no evil? And are we not in a manner kinsmen of God, and did we not

come from Him? Allow us to depart to the place from which we came; allow us to be released at last from

these bonds by which we are bound and weighed down. Here there are robbers and thieves and courts of

justice, and those who are named tyrants, and think that they have some power over us by means of the body

and its possessions. Permit us to show them that they have no power over any man." And I on my part would

say, "Friends, wait for God; when He shall give the signal and release you from this service, then go to Him;

but for the present endure to dwell in this place where He has put you: short indeed is this time of your

dwelling here, and easy to bear for those who are so disposed: for what tyrant or what thief, or what courts of

justice, are formidable to those who have thus considered as things of no value the body and the possessions

Something like this ought to be said by the teacher to ingenuous youths. But now what happens? The teacher

is a lifeless body, and you are lifeless bodies. When you have been well filled today, you sit down and

lament about the morrow, how you shall get something to eat. Wretch, if you have it, you will have it; if you

have it not, you will depart from life. The door is open. Why do you grieve? where does there remain any

room for tears? and where is there occasion for flattery? why shall one man envy another? why should a man

admire the rich or the powerful, even if they be both very strong and of violent temper? for what will they do

to us? We shall not care for that which they can do; and what we do care for, that they cannot do. How did

Socrates behave with respect to these matters? Why, in what other way than a man ought to do who was

convinced that he was a kinsman of the gods? "If you say to me now," said Socrates to his judges, "'We will

acquit you on the condition that you no longer discourse in the way in which you have hitherto discoursed,

nor trouble either our young or our old men,' I shall answer, 'you make yourselves ridiculous by thinking that,

if one of our commanders has appointed me to a certain post, it is my duty to keep and maintain it, and to

resolve to die a thousand times rather than desert it; but if God has put us in any place and way of life, we

ought to desert it.'" Socrates speaks like a man who is really a kinsman of the gods. But we think about

ourselves as if we were only stomachs, and intestines, and shameful parts; we fear, we desire; we flatter those

A man asked me to write to Rome about him, a man who, as most people thought, had been unfortunate, for

formerly he was a man of rank and rich, but had been stripped of all, and was living here. I wrote on his

behalf in a submissive manner; but when he had read the letter, he gave it back to me and said, "I wished for

Thus also Musonius Rufus, in order to try me, used to say: "This and this will befall you from your master";

and I replied that these were things which happen in the ordinary course of human affairs. "Why, then," said

he, "should I ask him for anything when I can obtain it from you?" For, in fact, what a man has from himself,

it is superfluous and foolish to receive from another? Shall I, then, who am able to receive from myself

greatness of soul and a generous spirit, receive from you land and money or a magisterial office? I hope not: I

will not be so ignorant about my own possessions. But when a man is cowardly and mean, what else must be

done for him than to write letters as you would about a corpse. "Please to grant us the body of a certain

person and a sextarius of poor blood." For such a person is, in fact, a carcass and a sextarius of blood, and

nothing more. But if he were anything more, he would know that one man is not miserable through the means

CHAPTER 9. How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences13

If we applied ourselves as busily to our own work as the old men at Rome do to those matters about which

they are employed, perhaps we also might accomplish something. I am acquainted with a man older than

myself who is now superintendent of corn at Rome, and remember the time when he came here on his way

back from exile, and what he said as he related the events of his former life, and how he declared that with

respect to the future after his return he would look after nothing else than passing the rest of his life in quiet

and tranquillity. "For how little of life," he said, remains for me." I replied, "You will not do it, but as soon as

you smell Rome, you will forget all that you have said; and if admission is allowed even into the imperial

palace, you will gladly thrust yourself in and thank God." "If you find me, Epictetus," he answered, "setting

even one foot within the palace, think what you please." Well, what then did he do? Before he entered the

city he was met by letters from Caesar, and as soon as he received them he forgot all, and ever after has

added one piece of business to another. I wish that I were now by his side to remind him of what he said

when he was passing this way and to tell him how much better a seer I am than he is.

Well, then, do I say that man is an animal made for doing nothing? Certainly not. But why are we not active?

For example, as to myself, as soon as day comes, in a few words I remind myself of what I must read over to

my pupils; then forthwith I say to myself, "But what is it to me how a certain person shall read? the first thing

for me is to sleep." And indeed what resemblance is there between what other persons do and what we do? If

you observe what they do, you will understand. And what else do they do all day long than make up accounts,

inquire among themselves, give and take advice about some small quantity of grain, a bit of land, and such

kind of profits? Is it then the same thing to receive a petition and to read in it: "I entreat you to permit me to

export a small quantity of corn"; and one to this effect: "I entreat you to learn from Chrysippus what is the

administration of the world, and what place in it the rational animal holds; consider also who you are, and

what is the nature of your good and bad." Are these things like the other, do they require equal care, and is it

equally base to neglect these and those? Well, then, are we the only persons who are lazy and love sleep? No;

but much rather you young men are. For we old men, when we see young men amusing themselves, are eager

to play with them; and if I saw you active and zealous, much more should I be eager myself to join you in

When he was visited by one of the magistrates, Epictetus inquired of him about several particulars, and asked

if he had children and a wife. The man replied that he had; and Epictetus inquired further, how he felt under

the circumstances. "Miserable," the man said. Then Epictetus asked, "In what respect," for men do not marry

and beget children in order to be wretched, but rather to be happy. "But I," the man replied, "am so wretched

about my children that lately, when my little daughter was sick and was supposed to be in danger, I could not

endure to stay with her, but I left home till a person sent me news that she had recovered." Well then, said

Epictetus, do you think that you acted right? "I acted naturally," the man replied. But convince me of this that

you acted naturally, and I will convince you that everything which takes place according to nature takes place

rightly. "This is the case," said the man, "with all or at least most fathers." I do not deny that: but the matter

about which we are inquiring is whether such behavior is right; for in respect to this matter we must say that

tumours also come for the good of the body, because they do come; and generally we must say that to do

wrong is natural, because nearly all or at least most of us do wrong. Do you show me then how your behavior

is natural. "I cannot," he said; "but do you rather show me how it is not according to nature and is not rightly

Well, said Epictetus, if we were inquiring about white and black, what criterion should we employ for

distinguishing between them? "The sight," he said. And if about hot and cold, and hard and soft, what

criterion? "The touch." Well then, since we are inquiring about things which are according to nature, and

those which are done rightly or not rightly, what kind of criterion do you think that we should employ? "I do

not know," he said. And yet not to know the criterion of colors and smells, and also of tastes, is perhaps no

great harm; but if a man do not know the criterion of good and bad, and of things according to nature and

contrary to nature, does this seem to you a small harm? "The greatest harm." Come tell me, do all things

which seem to some persons to be good and becoming rightly appear such; and at present as to Jews and

Syrians and Egyptians and Romans, is it possible that the opinions of all of them in respect to food are right?

"How is it possible?" he said. Well, I suppose it is absolutely necessary that, if the opinions of the Egyptians

are right, the opinions of the rest must be wrong: if the opinions of the Jews are right, those of the rest cannot

be right. "Certainly." But where there is ignorance, there also there is want of learning and training in things

which are necessary. He assented to this. You then, said Epictetus, since you know this, for the future will

employ yourself seriously about nothing else, and will apply your mind to nothing else than to learn the

criterion of things which are according to nature, and by using it also to determine each several thing. But in

the present matter I have so much as this to aid you toward what you wish. Does affection to those of your

family appear to you to be according to nature and to be good? "Certainly." Well, is such affection natural

and good, and is a thing consistent with reason not good? "By no means." Is then that which is consistent

with reason in contradiction with affection? "I think not." You are right, for if it is otherwise, it is necessary

that one of the contradictions being according to nature, the other must be contrary to nature. Is it not so? "It

is," he said. Whatever, then, we shall discover to be at the same time affectionate and also consistent with

reason, this we confidently declare to be right and good. "Agreed." Well then to leave your sick child and to

go away is not reasonable, and I suppose that you will not say that it is; but it remains for us to inquire if it is

consistent with affection. "Yes, let us consider." Did you, then, since you had an affectionate disposition to

your child, do right when you ran off and left her; and has the mother no affection for the child? "Certainly,

she has." Ought, then, the mother also to have left her, or ought she not? "She ought not." And the nurse, does

she love her? "She does." Ought, then, she also to have left her? "By no means." And the pedagogue, does he

not love her? "He does love her." Ought, then, he also to have deserted her? and so should the child have

been left alone and without help on account of the great affection of you, the parents, and of those about her,

or should she have died in the hands of those who neither loved her nor cared for her? "Certainly not." Now

this is unfair and unreasonable, not to allow those who have equal affection with yourself to do what you

think to be proper for yourself to do because you have affection. It is absurd. Come then, if you were sick,

would you wish your relations to be so affectionate, and all the rest, children and wife, as to leave you alone

and deserted? "By no means." And would you wish to be so loved by your own that through their excessive

affection you would always be left alone in sickness? or for this reason would you rather pray, if it were

possible, to be loved by your enemies and deserted by them? But if this is so, it results that your behavior was

Well then, was it nothing which moved you and induced you to desert your child? and how is that possible?

But it might be something of the kind which moved a man at Rome to wrap up his head while a horse was

running which he favoured; and when contrary to expectation the horse won, he required sponges to recover

from his fainting fit. What then is the thing which moved? The exact discussion of this does not belong to the

present occasion perhaps; but it is enough to be convinced of this, if what the philosophers say is true, that we

must not look for it anywhere without, but in all cases it is one and the same thing which is the cause of our

doing or not doing something, of saying or not saying something, of being elated or depressed, of avoiding

anything or pursuing: the very thing which is now the cause to me and to you, to you of coming to me and

sitting and hearing, and to me of saying what I do say. And what is this? Is it any other than our will to do so?

"No other." But if we had willed otherwise, what else should we have been doing than that which we willed

to do? This, then, was the cause of Achilles' lamentation, not the death of Patroclus; for another man does not

behave thus on the death of his companion; but it was because he chose to do so. And to you this was the

very cause of your then running away, that you chose to do so; and on the other side, if you should stay with

her, the reason will be the same. And now you are going to Rome because you choose; and if you should

change your mind, you will not go thither. And in a word, neither death nor exile nor pain nor anything of the

kind is the cause of our doing anything or not doing; but our own opinions and our wills.

Do I convince you of this or not? "You do convince me." Such, then, as the causes are in each case, such also

are the effects. When, then, we are doing anything not rightly, from this day we shall impute it to nothing else

than to the will from which we have done it: and it is that which we shall endeavour to take away and to

extirpate more than the tumours and abscesses out of the body. And in like manner we shall give the same

account of the cause of the things which we do right; and we shall no longer allege as causes of any evil to us,

either slave or neighbour, or wife or children, being persuaded that, if we do not think things to he what we

do think them to be, we do not the acts which follow from such opinions; and as to thinking or not thinking,

that is in our power and not in externals. "It is so," he said. From this day then we shall inquire into and

examine nothing else, what its quality is, or its state, neither land nor slaves nor horses nor dogs, nothing else

than opinions. "I hope so." You see, then, that you must become a Scholasticus, an animal whom all ridicule,

if you really intend to make an examination of your own opinions: and that this is not the work of one hour or

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

Before all other things, then, it is necessary to inquire about each of these opinions, whether it is affirmed

truly or not truly. For if there are no gods, how is it our proper end to follow them? And if they exist, but take

no care of anything, in this case also how will it be right to follow them? But if indeed they do exist and look

after things, still if there is nothing communicated from them to men, nor in fact to myself, how even so is it

right? The wise and good man, then, after considering all these things, submits his own mind to him who

administers the whole, as good citizens do to the law of the state. He who is receiving instruction ought to

come to the instructed with this intention: How shall I follow the gods in all things, how shall I be contented

with the divine administration, and how can I become free?" For he is free to whom everything happens

according, to his will, and whom no man can hinder. "What then, is freedom madness?" Certainly not: for

madness and freedom do not consist. "But," you say, "I would have everything result just as I like, and in

whatever way I like." You are mad, you are beside yourself. Do you not know that freedom is a noble and

valuable thing? But for me inconsiderately to wish for things to happen as I inconsiderately like, this appears

to be not only not noble, but even most base. For how do we proceed in the matter of writing? Do I wish to

write the name of Dion as I choose? No, but I am taught to choose to write it as it ought to be written. And

how with respect to music? In the same manner. And what universally in every art or science? Just the same.

If it were not so, it would be of no value to know anything, if knowledge were adapted to every man's whim.

Is it, then, in this alone, in this which is the greatest and the chief thing, I mean freedom, that I am permitted

to will inconsiderately? By no means; but to be instructed is this, to learn to wish that everything may happen

as it does. And how do things happen? As the disposer has disposed them? And he has appointed summer and

winter, and abundance and scarcity, and virtue and vice, and all such opposites for the harmony of the whole;

and to each of us he has given a body, and parts of the body, and possessions, and companions.

Remembering, then, this disposition of things we ought to go to be instructed, not that we may change the

constitution of things for we have not the power to do it, nor is it better that we should have the powerbut

in order that, as the things around us are what they are and by nature exist, we may maintain our minds in

harmony with them things which happen. For can we escape from men? and how is it possible? And if we

associate with them, can we chance them? Who gives us the power? What then remains, or what method is

discovered of holding commerce with them? Is there such a method by which they shall do what seems fit to

them, and we not the less shall be in a mood which is conformable to nature? But you are unwilling to endure

and are discontented: and if you are alone, you call it solitude; and of you are with men, you call them knaves

and robbers; and you find fault with your own parents and children, and brothers and neighbours. But you

ought when you are alone to call this condition by the name of tranquillity and freedom, and to think yourself

like to the gods; and when you are with many, you ought not to call it crowd, nor trouble, nor uneasiness, but

What, then, is the punishment of those who do not accept? It is to be what they are. Is any person dissatisfied

with being alone, let him be alone. Is a man dissatisfied with his parents? let him be a bad son, and lament. Is

he dissatisfied with his children? let him be a bad father. "Cast him into prison." What prison? Where he is

already, for he is there against his will; and where a man is against his will, there he is in prison. So Socrates

was not in prison, for he was there willingly. "Must my leg then be lamed?" Wretch, do you then on account

of one poor leg find fault with the world? Will you not willingly surrender it for the whole? Will you not

withdraw from it? Will you not gladly part with it to him who gave it? And will you be vexed and

discontented with the things established by Zeus, which he with the Moirae who were present and spinning

the thread of your generation, defined and put in order? Know you not how small a part you are compared

with the whole. I mean with respect to the body, for as to intelligence you are not inferior to the gods nor less;

for the magnitude of intelligence is not measured by length nor yet by height, but by thoughts.

Will you not, then, choose to place your good in that in which you are equal to the gods? "Wretch that I am to

have such a father and mother." What, then, was it permitted to you to come forth, and to select, and to say:

"Let such a man at this moment unite with such a woman that I may be produced?" It was not permitted, but

it was a necessity for your parents to exist first, and then for you to be begotten. Of what kind of parents? Of

such as they were. Well then, since they are such as they are, is there no remedy given to you? Now if you

did not know for what purpose you possess the faculty of vision, you would be unfortunate and wretched if

you closed your eyes when colors were brought before them; but in that you possess greatness of soul and

nobility of spirit for every event that may happen, and you know not that you possess them, are you not more

unfortunate and wretched? Things are brought close to you which are proportionate to the power which you

possess, but you turn away this power most particularly at the very time when you ought to maintain it open

and discerning. Do you not rather thank the gods that they have allowed you to be above these things which

they have not placed in your power; and have made you accountable only for those which are in your power?

As to your parents, the gods have left you free from responsibility; and so with respect to your brothers, and

your body, and possessions, and death and life. For what, then, have they made you responsible? For that

which alone is in your power, the proper use of appearances. Why then do you draw on yourself the things

for which you are not responsible? It is, indeed, a giving of trouble to yourself.

When some one asked, how may a man eat acceptably to the gods, he answered: If he can eat justly and

contentedly, and with equanimity, and temperately and orderly, will it not be also acceptably to the gods? But

when you have asked for warm water and the slave has not heard, or if he did hear has brought only tepid

water, or he is not even found to be in the house, then not to be vexed or to burst with passion, is not this

acceptable to the gods? "How then shall a man endure such persons as this slave?" Slave yourself, will you

not bear with your own brother, who has Zeus for his progenitor, and is like a son from the same seeds and of

the same descent from above? But if you have been put in any such higher place, will you immediately make

yourself a tyrant? Will you not remember who you are, and whom you rule? that they are kinsmen, that they

are brethren by nature, that they are the offspring of Zeus? "But I have purchased them, and they have not

purchased me." Do you see in what direction you are looking, that it is toward the earth, toward the pit, that it

is toward these wretched laws of dead men? but toward the laws of the gods you are not looking.

When a person asked him how a man could be convinced that all his actions are under the inspection of God,

he answered, Do you not think that all things are united in one? "I do," the person replied. Well, do you not

think that earthly things have a natural agreement and union with heavenly things "I do." And how else so

regularly as if by God's command, when He bids the plants to flower, do they flower? when He bids them to

send forth shoots, do they shoot? when He bids them to produce fruit, how else do they produce fruit? when

He bids the fruit to ripen, does it ripen? when again He bids them to cast down the fruits, how else do they

cast them down? and when to shed the leaves, do they shed the leaves? and when He bids them to fold

themselves up and to remain quiet and rest, how else do they remain quiet and rest? And how else at the

growth and the wane of the moon, and at the approach and recession of the sun, are so great an alteration and

change to the contrary seen in earthly things? But are plants and our bodies so bound up and united with the

whole, and are not our souls much more? and our souls so bound up and in contact with God as parts of Him

and portions of Him; and does not God perceive every motion of these parts as being His own motion connate

with Himself? Now are you able to think of the divine administration, and about all things divine, and at the

same time also about human affairs, and to be moved by ten thousand things at the same time in your senses

and in your understanding, and to assent to some, and to dissent from others, and again as to some things to

suspend your judgment; and do you retain in your soul so many impressions from so many and various

things, and being moved by them, do you fall upon notions similar to those first impressed, and do you retain

numerous arts and the memories of ten thousand things; and is not God able to oversee all things, and to be

present with all, and to receive from all a certain communication? And is the sun able to illuminate so large a

part of the All, and to leave so little not illuminated, that part only which is occupied by the earth's shadow;

and He who made the sun itself and makes it go round, being a small part of Himself compared with the

"But I cannot," the man may reply, "comprehend all these things at once." But who tells you that you have

equal power with Zeus? Nevertheless he has placed by every man a guardian, every man's Demon, to whom

he has committed the care of the man, a guardian who never sleeps, is never deceived. For to what better and

more careful guardian could He have entrusted each of us? When, then, you have shut the doors and made

darkness within, remember never to say that you are alone, for you are not; but God is within, and your

Demon is within, and what need have they of light to see what you are doing? To this God you ought to

swear an oath just as the soldiers do to Caesar. But they who are hired for pay swear to regard the safety of

Caesar before all things; and you who have received so many and such great favours, will you not swear, or

when you have sworn, will you not abide by your oath? And what shall you swear? Never to be disobedient,

never to make any charges, never to find fault with anything that he has given, and never unwillingly to do or

to suffer anything, that is necessary. Is this oath like the soldier's oath? The soldiers swear not to prefer any

When a man was consulting him how he should persuade his brother to cease being angry with him, Epictetus

replied: Philosophy does not propose to secure for a man any external thing. If it did philosophy would be

allowing something which is not within its province. For as the carpenter's material is wood, and that of the

statuary is copper, so the matter of the art of living is each man's life. "What then is my brother's?" That again

belongs to his own art; but with respect to yours, it is one of the external things, like a piece of land, like

health, like reputation. But Philosophy promises none of these. "In every circumstance I will maintain," she

says, "the governing part conformable to nature." Whose governing part? "His in whom I am," she says.

"How then shall my brother cease to be angry with me?" Bring him to me and I will tell him. But I have

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 figtree 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

Do not wonder if for other animals than man all things are provided for the body, not only food and drink, but

beds also, and they have no need of shoes nor bed materials, nor clothing; but we require all these additional

things. For, animals not being made for themselves, but for service, it was not fit for them to he made so as to

need other things. For consider what it would be for us to take care not only of ourselves, but also about cattle

and asses, how they should be clothed, and how shod, and how they should eat and drink. Now as soldiers are

ready for their commander, shod, clothed and armed: but it would be a hard thing, for the chiliarch to go

round and shoe or clothe his thousand men; so also nature has formed the animals which are made for

service, all ready, prepared, and requiring no further care. So one little boy with only a stick drives the cattle.

But now we, instead of being thankful that we need not take the same care of animals as of ourselves,

complain of God on our own account; and yet, in the name of Zeus and the gods, any one thing of those

which exist would be enough to make a man perceive the providence of God, at least a man who is modest

and grateful. And speak not to me now of the great thins, but only of this, that milk is produced from grass,

and cheese from milk, and wool from skins. Who made these things or devised them? "No one," you say. Oh,

Well, let us omit the works of nature and contemplate her smaller acts. Is there anything less useful than the

hair on the chin? What then, has not nature used this hair also in the most suitable manner possible? Has she

not by it distinguished the male and the female? does not the nature of every man forthwith proclaim from a

distance, "I am a man; as such approach me, as such speak to me; look for nothing else; see the signs"?

Again, in the case of women, as she has mingled something softer in the voice, so she has also deprived them

of hair (on the chin). You say: "Not so; the human animal ought to have been left without marks of

distinction, and each of us should have been obliged to proclaim, 'I am a man.' But how is not the sign

beautiful and becoming, and venerable? how much more beautiful than the cock's comb, how much more

becoming than the lion's mane? For this reason we ought to preserve the signs which God has given, we

ought not to throw them away, nor to confound, as much as we can, the distinctions of the sexes.

Are these the only works of providence in us? And what words are sufficient to praise them and set them

forth according to their worth? For if we had understanding, ought we to do anything else both jointly and

severally than to sing hymns and bless the deity, and to tell of his benefits? Ought we not when we are

digging and ploughing and eating to sing this hymn to God? "Great is God, who has given us such

implements with which we shall cultivate the earth: great is God who has given us hands, the power of

swallowing, a stomach, imperceptible growth, and the power of breathing while we sleep." This is what we

ought to sing on every occasion, and to sing the greatest and most divine hymn for giving us the faculty of

comprehending these things and using a proper way. Well then, since most of you have become blind, ought

there not to be some man to fill this office, and on behalf of all to sing the hymn to God? For what else can I

do, a lame old man, than sing hymns to God? If then I was a nightingale, I would do the part of a nightingale:

if I were a swan, I would do like a swan. But now I am a rational creature, and I ought to praise God: this is

my work; I do it, nor will I desert this post, so long as I am allowed to keep it; and I exhort you to join in this

Since reason is the faculty which analyses and perfects the rest, and it ought itself not to be unanalysed, by

what should it be analysed? for it is plain that this should be done either by itself or by another thing. Either,

then, this other thing also is reason, or something else superior to reason; which is impossible. But if it is

reason, again who shall analyse that reason? For if that reason does this for itself, our reason also can do it.

But we shall require something else, the thing, will go on to infinity and have no end. Reason therefore is

analysed by itself. "Yes: but it is more urgent to cure (our opinions) and the like." Will you then hear about

those things? Hear. But if you should say, "I know not whether you are arguing truly or falsely," and if I

should express myself in any way ambiguously, and you should say to me, " Distinguish," I will bear with

you no longer, and I shall say to "It is more urgent." This is the reason, I suppose, why they place the logical

art first, as in the measuring of corn we place first the examination of the measure. But if we do not determine

first what is a modius, and what is a balance, how shall we be able to measure or weigh anything?

In this case, then, if we have not fully learned and accurately examined the criterion of all other things, by

which the other things are learned, shall we be able to examine accurately and to learn fully anything else?

"Yes; but the modius is only wood, and a thing which produces no fruit." But it is a thing which can measure

corn. "Logic also produces no fruit." As to this indeed we shall see: but then even if a man should rant this, it

is enough that logic has the power of distinguishing and examining other things, and, as we may say, of

measuring and weighing them. Who says this? Is it only Chrysippus, and Zeno, and Cleanthes? And does not

Antisthenes say so? And who is it that has written that the examination of names is the beginning of

education? And does not Socrates say so? And of whom does Xenophon write, that he began with the

examination of names, what each name signified? Is this then the great and wondrous thing to understand or

interpret Chrysippus? Who says this? What then is the wondrous thing? To understand the will of nature.

Well then do you apprehend it yourself by your own power? and what more have you need of? For if it is true

that all men err involuntarily, and you have learned the truth, of necessity you must act right. "But in truth I

do not apprehend the will of nature." Who then tells us what it is? They say that it is Chrysippus. I proceed,

and I inquire what this interpreter of nature says. I begin not to understand what he says; I seek an interpreter

of Chrysippus. "Well, consider how this is said, just as if it were said in the Roman tongue." What then is this

superciliousness of the interpreter? There is no superciliousness which can justly he charged even to

Chrysippus, if he only interprets the will of nature, but does not follow it himself; and much more is this so

with his interpreter. For we have no need of Chrysippus for his own sake, but in order that we may

understand nature. Nor do we need a diviner on his own account, but because we think that through him we

shall know the future and understand the signs given by the gods; nor do we need the viscera of animals for

their own sake, but because through them signs are given; nor do we look with wonder on the crow or raven,

I go then to the interpreter of these things and the sacrificer, and I say, "Inspect the viscera for me, and tell me

what signs they give." The man takes the viscera, opens them, and interprets them: "Man," he says, "you have

a will free by nature from hindrance and compulsion; this is written here in the viscera. I will show you this

first in the matter of assent. Can any man hinder you from assenting to the truth? No man can. Can any man

compel you to receive what is false? No man can. You see that in this matter you have the faculty of the will

free from hindrance, free from compulsion, unimpeded." Well, then, in the matter of desire and pursuit of an

object, is it otherwise? And what can overcome pursuit except another pursuit? And what can overcome

desire and aversion except another desire and aversion? But, you object: "If you place before me the fear of

death, you do compel me." No, it is not what is placed before you that compels, but your opinion that it is

better to do soandso than to die. In this matter, then, it is your opinion that compelled you: that is, will

compelled will. For if God had made that part of Himself, which He took from Himself and gave to us, of

such a nature as to be hindered or compelled either by Himself or by another, He would not then be God nor

would He be taking care of us as He ought. "This," says the diviner, "I find in the victims: these are the things

which are signified to you. If you choose, you are free; if you choose, you will blame no one: you will charge

no one. All will be at the same time according to your mind and the mind of God." For the sake of this

divination I go to this diviner and to the philosopher, not admiring him for this interpretation, but admiring

If what philosophers say is true, that all men have one principle, as in the case of assent the persuasion that a

thing is so, and in the case of dissent the persuasion that a thing is not so, and in the case of a suspense of

judgment the persuasion that a thing is uncertain, so also in the case of a movement toward anything the

persuasion that a thing is for a man's advantage, and it is impossible to think that one thing is advantageous

and to desire another, and to judge one thing to be proper and to move toward another, why then are we angry

with the many? "They are thieves and robbers," you may say. What do you mean by thieves and robbers?

"They are mistaken about good and evil." Ought we then to be angry with them, or to pity them? But show

them their error, and you will see how they desist from their errors. If they do not see their errors, they have

"Ought not then this robber and this adulterer to be destroyed?" By no means say so, but speak rather in this

way: "This man who has been mistaken and deceived about the most important things, and blinded, not in the

faculty of vision which distinguishes white and black, but in the faculty which distinguishes good and bad,

should we not destroy him?" If you speak thus, you will see how inhuman this is which you say, and that it is

just as if you would say, "Ought we not to destroy this blind and deaf man?" But if the greatest harm is the

privation of the greatest things, and the greatest thing in every man is the will or choice such as it ought to be,

and a man is deprived of this will, why are you also angry with him? Man, you ought not to be affected

contrary to nature by the bad things of another. Pity him rather: drop this readiness to be offended and to hate,

and these words which the many utter: "These accursed and odious fellows." How have you been made so

wise at once? and how are you so peevish? Why then are we angry? Is it because we value so much the things

of which these men rob us? Do not admire your clothes, and then you will not be angry with the thief. Do not

admire the beauty of your wife, and you will not be angry with the adulterer. Learn that a thief and an

adulterer have no place in the things which are yours, but in those which belong to others and which are not

in your power. If you dismiss these things and consider them as nothing, with whom are you still angry? But

so long as you value these things, be angry with yourself rather than with the thief and the adulterer. Consider

the matter thus: you have fine clothes; your neighbor has not: you have a window; you wish to air the clothes.

The thief does not know wherein man's good consists, but he thinks that it consists in having fine clothes, the

very thing which you also think. Must he not then come and take them away? When you show a cake to

greedy persons, and swallow it all yourself, do you expect them not to snatch it from you? Do not provoke

them: do not have a window: do not air your clothes. I also lately had an iron lamp placed by the side of my

household gods: hearing a noise at the door, I ran down, and found that the lamp had been carried off. I

reflected that he who had taken the lamp had done nothing strange. What then? Tomorrow, I said, you will

find an earthen lamp: for a man only loses that which he has. "I have lost my garment." The reason is that you

had a garment. "I have pain in my head." Have you any pain in your horns? Why then are you troubled? for

we only lose those things, we have only pains about those things which we possess.

"But the tyrant will chain." What? the leg. "He will take away." What? the neck. What then will he not chain

and not take away? the will. This is why the ancients taught the maxim, "Know thyself." Therefore we ought

to exercise ourselves in small things and, beginning with them, to proceed to the greater. "I have pain in the

head." Do not say, "Alas!" "I have pain in the ear." Do not say, "Alas!" And I do not say that you are not

allowed to groan, but do not groan inwardly; and if your slave is slow in bringing a bandage, do not cry out

and torment yourself, and say, "Everybody hates me": for who would not hate such a man? For the future,

relying on these opinions, walk about upright, free; not trusting to the size of your body, as an athlete, for a

Who then is the invincible? It is he whom none of the things disturb which are independent of the will. Then

examining one circumstance after another I observe, as in the case of an athlete; he has come off victorious in

the first contest: well then, as to the second? and what if there should be great heat? and what, if it should be

at Olympia? And the same I say in this case: if you should throw money in his way, he will despise it. Well,

suppose you put a young girl in his way, what then? and what, if it is in the dark? what if it should be a little

reputation, or abuse; and what, if it should be praise; and what if it should be death? He is able to overcome

all. What then if it be in heat, and what if it is in the rain, and what if he be in a melancholy mood, and what if

If a man possesses any superiority, or thinks that he does, when he does not, such a man, if he is uninstructed,

will of necessity be puffed up through it. For instance, the tyrant says, "I am master of all." And what can you

do for me? Can you give me desire which shall have no hindrance? How can you? Have you the infallible

power of avoiding what you would avoid? Have you the power of moving toward an object without error?

And how do you possess this power? Come, when you are in a ship, do you trust to yourself or to the

helmsman? And when you are in a chariot, to whom do you trust but to the driver? And how is it in all other

arts? Just the same. In what then lies your power? "All men pay respect to me." Well, I also pay respect to my

platter, and I wash it and wipe it; and for the sake of my oil flask, I drive a peg into the wall. Well then, are

these things superior to me? No, but they supply some of my wants, and for this reason I take care of them.

Well, do I not attend to my ass? Do I not wash his feet? Do I not clean him? Do you not know that every man

has regard to himself, and to you just the same as he has regard to his ass? For who has regard to you as a

man? Show me. Who wishes to become like you? Who imitates you, as he imitates Socrates? "But I can cut

off your head." You say right. I had forgotten that I must have regard to you, as I would to a fever and the

What is it then that disturbs and terrifies the multitude? is it the tyrant and his guards? I hope that it is not so.

It is not possible that what is by nature free can be disturbed by anything else, or hindered by any other thing

than by itself. But it is a man's own opinions which disturb him: for when the tyrant says to a man, "I will

chain your leg," he who values his leg says, "Do not; have pity": but he who values his own will says, "If it

appears more advantageous to you, chain it." "Do you not care?" I do not care. "I will show you that I am

master." You cannot do that. Zeus has set me free: do you think that he intended to allow his own son to be

enslaved? But you are master of my carcass: take it. "So when you approach me, you have no regard to me?"

No, but I have regard to myself; and if you wish me to say that I have regard to you also, I tell you that I have

This is not a perverse selfregard, for the animal is constituted so as to do all things for itself. For even the

sun does all things for itself; nay, even Zeus himself. But when he chooses to be the Giver of rain and the

Giver of fruits, and the Father of gods and men, you see that he cannot obtain these functions and these

names, if he is not useful to man; and, universally, he has made the nature of the rational animal such that it

cannot obtain any one of its own proper interests, if it does not contribute something to the common interest.

In this manner and sense it is not unsociable for a man to do everything, for the sake of himself. For what do

you expect? that a man should neglect himself and his own interest? And how in that case can there be one

and the same principle in all animals, the principle of attachment to themselves?

What then? when absurd notions about things independent of our will, as if they were good and bad, lie at the

bottom of our opinions, we must of necessity pay regard to tyrants; for I wish that men would pay regard to

tyrants only, and not also to the bedchamber men. How is it that the man becomes all at once wise, when

Caesar has made him superintendent of the close stool? How is it that we say immediately, "Felicion spoke

sensibly to me." I wish he were ejected from the bedchamber, that he might again appear to you to be a fool.

Epaphroditus had a shoemaker whom he sold because he was good for nothing. This fellow by some good

luck was bought by one of Caesar's men, and became Caesar's shoemaker. You should have seen what

respect Epaphroditus paid to him: "How does the good Felicion do, I pray?" Then if any of us asked, "What is

master doing?" the answer "He is consulting about something with Felicion." Had he not sold the man as

good for nothing? Who then made him wise all at once? This is an instance of valuing something else than

Has a man been exalted to the tribuneship? All who meet him offer their congratulations; one kisses his eyes,

another the neck, and the slaves kiss his hands. He goes to his house, he finds torches lighted. He ascends the

Capitol: he offers a sacrifice of the occasion. Now who ever sacrificed for having had good desires? for

having acted conformably to nature? For in fact we thank the gods for those things in which we place our

A person was talking to me today about the priesthood of Augustus. I say to him: "Man, let the thing alone:

you will spend much for no purpose." But he replies, "Those who draw up agreements will write any name."

Do you then stand by those who read them, and say to such persons, "It is I whose name is written there;"

And if you can now be present on all such occasions, what will you do when you are dead? "My name will

remain." Write it on a stone, and it will remain. But come, what remembrance of you will there be beyond

Nicopolis? "But I shall wear a crown of gold." If you desire a crown at all, take a crown of roses and put it

Every art and faculty contemplates certain things especially. When then it is itself of the same kind with the

objects which it contemplates, it must of necessity contemplate itself also: but when it is of an unlike kind, it

cannot contemplate itself. For instance, the shoemaker's art is employed on skins, but itself is entirely distinct

from the material of skins: for this reason it does not contemplate itself. Again, the grammarian's art is

employed about articulate speech; is then the art also articulate speech? By no means. For this reason it is not

able to contemplate itself. Now reason, for what purpose has it been given by nature? For the right use of

appearances. What is it then itself? A system of certain appearances. So by its nature it has the faculty of

contemplating itself so. Again, sound sense, for the contemplation of what things does it belong to us? Good

and evil, and things which are neither. What is it then itself? Good. And want of sense, what is it? Evil. Do

you see then that good sense necessarily contemplates both itself and the opposite? For this reason it is the

chief and the first work of a philosopher to examine appearances, and to distinguish them, and to admit none

without examination. You see even in the matter of coin, in which our interest appears to be somewhat

concerned, how we have invented an art, and how many means the assayer uses to try the value of coin, the

sight, the touch, the smell, and lastly the hearing. He throws the coin down, and observes the sound, and he is

not content with its sounding once, but through his great attention he becomes a musician. In like manner,

where we think that to be mistaken and not to be mistaken make a great difference, there we apply great

attention to discovering the things which can deceive. But in the matter of our miserable ruling faculty,

yawning and sleeping, we carelessly admit every appearance, for the harm is not noticed.

When then you would know how careless you are with respect to good and evil, and how active with respect

to things which are indifferent, observe how you feel with respect to being deprived of the sight of eyes, and

how with respect of being deceived, and you will discover you are far from feeling as you ought to in relation

to good and evil. "But this is a matter which requires much preparation, and much labor and study." Well

then do you expect to acquire the greatest of arts with small labor? And yet the chief doctrine of philosophers

is brief. If you would know, read Zeno's writings and you will see. For how few words it requires to say

man's end is to follow the god's, and that the nature of good is a proper use of appearances. But if you say

"What is 'God,' what is 'appearance,' and what is 'particular' and what is 'universal nature'? then indeed many

words are necessary. If then Epicures should come and say that the good must be in the body; in this case also

many words become necessary, and we must be taught what is the leading principle in us, and the

fundamental and the substantial; and as it is not probable that the good of a snail is in the shell, is it probable

that the good of a man is in the body? But you yourself, Epicurus, possess something better than this. What is

that in you which deliberates, what is that which examines everything, what is that which forms a judgement

about the body itself, that it is the principle part? and why do you light your lamp and labor for us, and write

so many books? is it that we may not be ignorant of the truth, who we are, and what we are with respect to

When a man holds his proper station in life, he does not gape after things beyond it. Man, what do you wish

to happen to you? "I am satisfied if I desire and avoid conformably to nature, if I employ movements toward

and from an object as I am by nature formed to do, and purpose and design and assent." Why then do you

strut before us as if you had swallowed a spit? "My wish has always been that those who meet me should

admire me, and those who follow me should exclaim, 'Oh, the great philosopher.'" Who are they by whom

you wish to be admired? Are they not those of whom you are used to say that they are mad? Well then do you

Precognitions are common to all men, and precognition is not contradictory to precognition. For who of us

does not assume that Good is useful and eligible, and in all circumstances that we ought to follow and pursue

it? And who of us does not assume that justice is beautiful and becoming? When, then, does the contradiction

arise? It arises in the adaptation of the precognitions to the particular cases. When one man says, "He has

done well: he is a brave man," and another says, "Not so; but he has acted foolishly"; then the disputes arise

among men. This is the dispute among the Jews and the Syrians and the Egyptians and the Romans; not

whether holiness should be preferred to all things and in all cases should be pursued, but whether it is holy to

eat pig's flesh or not holy. You will find this dispute also between Agamemnon and Achilles; for call them

forth. What do you say, Agamemnon ought not that to be done which is proper and right? "Certainly." Well,

what do you say, Achilles? do you not admit that what is good ought to be done? "I do most certainly." Adapt

your precognitions then to the present matter. Here the dispute begins. Agamemnon says, "I ought not to give

up Chryseis to her father." Achilles says, "You ought." It is certain that one of the two makes a wrong

adaptation of the precognition of ought" or "duty." Further, Agamemnon says, "Then if I ought to restore

Chryseis, it is fit that I take his prize from some of you." Achilles replies, "Would you then take her whom I

love?" "Yes, her whom you love." "Must I then be the only man who goes without a prize? and must I be the

What then is education? Education is the learning how to adapt the natural precognitions to the particular

things conformably to nature; and then to distinguish that of things some are in our power, but others are not;

in our power are will and all acts which depend on the will; things not in our power are the body, the parts of

the body, possessions, parents, brothers, children, country, and, generally, all with whom we live in society.

In what, then, should we place the good? To what kind of things shall we adapt it? "To the things which are

in our power?" Is not health then a good thing, and soundness of limb, and life? and are not children and

Let us then transfer the notion of good to these things. is it possible, then, when a man sustains damage and

does not obtain good things, that he can be happy? "It is not possible." And can he maintain toward society a

proper behavior? He cannot. For I am naturally formed to look after my own interest. If it is my interest to

have an estate in land, it is my interest also to take it from my neighbor. If it is my interest to have a garment,

it is my interest also to steal it from the bath. This is the origin of wars, civil commotions, tyrannies,

conspiracies. And how shall I be still able to maintain my duty toward Zeus? for if I sustain damage and am

unlucky, he takes no care of me; and what is he to me if he allows me to be in the condition in which I am? I

now begin to hate him. Why, then, do we build temples, why set up statues to Zeus, as well as to evil demons,

such as to Fever; and how is Zeus the Saviour, and how the Giver of rain, and the Giver of fruits? And in

What should we do then? This is the inquiry of the true philosopher who is in labour. "Now I do not see what

the Good is nor the Bad. Am I not mad? Yes." But suppose that I place the good somewhere among the

things which depend on the will: all will laugh at me. There will come some 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:

Even Epicurus perceives that we are by nature social, but having once placed our good in the husk he is no

longer able to say anything else. For on the other hand he strongly maintains this, that we ought not to admire

nor to accept anything which is detached from the nature of good; and he is right in maintaining this. How

then are we [suspicious], if we have no natural affection to our children? Why do you advise the wise man

not to bring up children? Why are you afraid that he may thus fall into trouble? For does he fall into trouble

on account of the mouse which is nurtured in the house? What does he care if a little mouse in the house

makes lamentation to him? But Epicurus knows that if once a child is born, it is no longer in our power not to

love it nor care about it. For this reason, Epicurus says that a man who has any sense also does not engage in

political matters; for he knows what a man must do who is engaged in such things; for, indeed, if you intend

to behave among men as you do among a swarm of flies, what hinders you? But Epicurus, who knows this,

ventures to say that we should not bring up children. But a sheep does not desert its own offspring, nor yet a

wolf; and shall a man desert his child? What do you mean? that we should be as silly as sheep? but not even

do they desert their offspring: or as savage as wolves, but not even do wolves desert their young. Well, who

would follow your advice, if he saw his child weeping after falling on the ground? For my part I think that,

even if your mother and your father had been told by an oracle that you would say what you have said, they

It is circumstances which show what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember that

God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man. "For what purpose?" you may say,

Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion

no man has had a more profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use of it as an athlete

would deal with a young antagonist. We are now sending a scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly

scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in terror and reports

that the enemy is close at hand. So now if you should come and tell us, "Fearful is the state of affairs at

Rome, terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is

near"; we shall answer, "Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that we sent such

Diogenes, who was sent as a scout before you, made a different report to us. He says that death is no evil, for

neither is it base: he says that fame is the noise of madmen. And what has this spy said about pain, about

pleasure, and about poverty? He says that to be naked is better than any purple robe, and to sleep on the bare

ground is the softest bed; and he gives as a proof of each thing that he affirms his own courage, his

tranquillity his freedom, and the healthy appearance and compactness of his body. "There is no enemy he

says; "all is peace." How so, Diogenes? "See," he replies, "if I am struck, if I have been wounded, if I have

fled from any man." This is what a scout ought to be. But you come to us and tell us one thing after another.

What then shall I do? What do you do when you leave a ship? Do you take away the helm or the oars? What

then do you take away? You take what is your own, your bottle and your wallet; and now if you think of what

is your own, you will never claim what belongs to others. The emperor says, "Lay aside your laticlave." See,

I put on the angusticlave. "Lay aside this also." See, I have only my toga. "Lay aside your toga." See, I am

naked. "But you still raise my envy." Take then all my poor body; when, at a man's command, I can throw

"But a certain person will not leave to me the succession to his estate." What then? had I forgotten that not

one of these things was mine. How then do we call them mine? just as we call the bed in the inn. If, then, the

innkeeper at his death leaves you the beds, all well; but if he leaves them to another, he will have them, and

you will seek another bed. If then you shall not find one, you will sleep on the ground: only sleep with a good

will and snore, and remember that tragedies have their place among the rich and kings and tyrants, but no

poor man fills a part in the tragedy, except as one of the chorus. Kings indeed commence with prosperity:

"ornament the palaces with garlands," then about the third or fourth act they call out, "O Cithaeron, why didst

thou receive me?" Slave, where are the crowns, where the diadem? The guards help thee not at all. When then

you approach any of these persons, remember this that you are approaching a tragedian, not the actor but

OEdipus himself. But you say, "Such a man is happy; for he walks about with many," and I also place myself

with the many and walk about with many. In sum remember this: the door is open; be not more timid than

little children, but as they say, when the thing does not please them, "I will play no loner," so do you, when

things seem to you of such a kind, say I will no longer play, and begone: but if you stay, do not complain.

If these things are true, and if we are not silly, and are not acting hypocritically when we say that the good of

man is in the will, and the evil too, and that everything else does not concern us, why are we still disturbed,

why are we still afraid? The things about which we have been busied are in no man's power: and the things

which are in the power of others, we care not for. What kind of trouble have we still?

"But give me directions." Why should I give you directions? has not Zeus given you directions? Has he not

given to you what is your own free from hindrance and free from impediment, and what is not your own

subject to hindrance and impediment? What directions then, what kind of orders did you bring when you

came from him? Keep by every means what is your own; do not desire what belongs to others. Fidelity is

your own, virtuous shame is your own; who then can take these things from you? who else than yourself will

hinder you from using them? But how do you act? when you seek what is not your own, you lose that which

is your own. Having such promptings and commands from Zeus, what kind do you still ask from me? Am I

more powerful than he, am I more worthy of confidence? But if you observe these, do you want any others

besides? "Well, but he has not given these orders" you will say. Produce your precognitions, produce the

proofs of philosophers, produce what you have often heard, and produce what you have said yourself,

produce what you have read, produce what you have meditated on (and you will then see that all these things

are from God). How long, then, is it fit to observe these precepts from God, and not to break up the play? As

long as the play is continued with propriety. In the Saturnalia a king is chosen by lot, for it has been the

custom to play at this game. The king commands: "Do you drink," "Do you mix the wine," "Do you sing,"

"Do you go," "Do you come." I obey that the game may be broken up through me. But if he says, "Think that

you are in evil plight": I answer, "I do not think so"; and who compel me to think so? Further, we agreed to

play Agamemnon and Achilles. He who is appointed to play Agamemnon says to me, "Go to Achilles and

For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical arguments, so ought we to do in life. "Suppose it to be night."

I suppose that it is night. "Well then; is it day?" No, for I admitted the hypothesis that it was night. "Suppose

that you think that it is night?" Suppose that I do. "But also think that it is night." That is not consistent with

the hypothesis. So in this case also: "Suppose that you are unfortunate." Well, suppose so. "Are you then

unhappy?" Yes. "Well, then, are you troubled with an unfavourable demon?" Yes. "But think also that you

are in misery." This is not consistent with the hypothesis; and Another forbids me to think so.

How long then must we obey such orders? As long as it is profitable; and this means as long as I maintain

that which is becoming and consistent. Further, some men are sour and of bad temper, and they say, "I cannot

sup with this man to be obliged to hear him telling daily how he fought in Mysia: 'I told you, brother, how I

ascended the hill: then I began to be besieged again.'" But another says, "I prefer to get my supper and to hear

him talk as much as he likes." And do you compare these estimates: only do nothing in a depressed mood, nor

as one afflicted, nor as thinking that you are in misery, for no man compels you to that. Has it smoked in the

chamber? If the smoke is moderate, I will stay; if it is excessive, I go out: for you must always remember this

and hold it fast, that the door is open. Well, but you say to me, "Do not live in Nicopolis." I will not live

there. "Nor in Athens." I will not live in Athens. "Nor in Rome." I will not live in Rome. "Live in Gyarus." I

will live in Gyarus, but it seems like a great smoke to live in Gyarus; and I depart to the place where no man

will hinder me from living, for that dwellingplace is open to all; and as to the last garment, that is the poor

body, no one has any power over me beyond this. This was the reason why Demetrius said to Nero, "You

threaten me with death, but nature threatens you." If I set my admiration on the poor body, I have given

myself up to be a slave: if on my little possessions, I also make myself a slave: for I immediately make it

plain with what I may be caught; as if the snake draws in his head, I tell you to strike that part of him which

he guards; and do you he assured that whatever part you choose to guard, that part your master will attack.

"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 steppingstone

the weakness of him who is reviled, then he accomplishes something. "Strip him." What do you mean by

"him"? Lay hold of his garment, strip it off. "I have insulted you." Much good may it do you.

This was the practice of Socrates: this was the reason why he always had one face. But we choose to practice

and study anything rather than the means by which we shall be unimpeded and free. You say, "Philosophers

talk paradoxes." But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? and what is more paradoxical than to puncture a

man's eye in order that he may see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the surgical art, would he not

ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder then if in philosophy also many things which are true appear

When a person was reading hypothetical arguments, Epictetus said: This also is an hypothetical law that we

must accept what follows from the hypothesis. But much before this law is the law of life, that we must act

conformably to nature. For if in every matter and circumstance we wish to observe what is natural, it is plain

that in everything we ought to make it our aim that is consequent shall not escape us, and that we do not

admit the contradictory. First, then, philosophers exercise us in theory, which is easier; and then next they

lead us to the more difficult things; for in theory, there is nothing which draws us away from following what

is taught; but in the matters of life, many are the things which distract us. He is ridiculous, then, who says that

he wishes to begin with the matters of real life, for it is not easy to begin with the more difficult things; and

we ought to employ this fact as an argument to those parents who are vexed at their children learning

philosophy: "Am I doing wrong then, my father, and do I not know what is suitable to me and becoming? If

indeed this can neither be learned nor taught, why do you blame me? but if it can he taught, teach me; and if

you cannot, allow me to learn from those who say that they know how to teach. For what do you think? do

you suppose that I voluntarily fall into evil and miss the good? I hope that it may not be so. What is then the

cause of my doing wrong? Ignorance. Do you not choose then that I should get rid of my ignorance? Who

was ever taught by anger the art of a pilot or music? Do you think then that by means of your anger I shall

learn the art of life?" He only is allowed to speak in this way who has shown such an intention. But if a man

only intending to make a display at a banquet and to show that he is acquainted with hypothetical arguments

reads them and attends the philosophers, what other object has he than that some man of senatorian rank who

sits by him may admire? For there are the really great materials, and the riches here appear to be trifles there.

This is the reason why it is difficult for a man to be master of the appearances, where the things which disturb

the judgement are great. I know a certain person who complained, as he embraced the knees of Epaphroditus,

that he had only one hundred and fifty times ten thousand denarii remaining. What then did Epaphroditus do?

Did he laugh at him, as we slaves of Epaphroditus did? No, but he cried out with amazement, "Poor man,

When Epictetus had reproved the person who was reading the hypothetical arguments, and the teacher who

had suggested the reading was laughing at the reader, Epictetus said to the teacher: "You are laughing at

yourself; you did not prepare the young man nor did you ascertain whether he was able to understand these

matters; but perhaps you are only employing him as a reader." Well then, said Epictetus, if a man has not

ability enough to understand a complex, do we trust him in, giving praise, do we trust him in giving blame,

do we allow that he is able to form a judgement about good or bad? and if such a man blames any one, does

the man care for the blame? and if he praises any one, is the man elated, when in such small matters as an

hypothetical syllogism he who praises cannot see what is consequent on the hypothesis?

This then is the beginning of philosophy, a man's perception of the state of his ruling faculty; for when a man

knows that it is weak, then he will not employ it on things of the greatest difficulty. But at present, if men

cannot swallow even a morsel, they buy whole volumes and attempt to devour them; and this is the reason

why they vomit them up or suffer indigestion: and then come gripings, defluxes, and fevers. Such men ought

to consider what their ability is. In theory it is easy to convince an ignorant person; but in the affairs of real

life no one offers himself to be convinced, and we hate the man who has convinced us. But Socrates advised

Appearances to us in four ways: for either things appear as they are; or they are not, and do not even appear

to be; or they are, and do not appear to be; or they are not, and yet appear to be. Further, in all these cases to

form a right judgement is the office of an educated man. But whatever it is that annoys us, to that we ought to

apply a remedy. If the sophisms of Pyrrho and of the Academics are what annoys, we must apply the remedy

to them. If it is the persuasion of appearances, by which some things appear to be good, when they are not

good, let us seek a remedy for this. If it is habit which annoys us, we must try to seek aid against habit. What

aid then can we find against habit, The contrary habit. You hear the ignorant say: "That unfortunate person is

dead: his father and mother are overpowered with sorrow; he was cut off by an untimely death and in a

foreign land." Here the contrary way of speaking: tear yourself from these expressions: oppose to one habit

the contrary habit; to sophistry oppose reason, and the exercise and discipline of reason; against persuasive

CHAPTER 27. In how many ways appearances exist, and what aids we should provide against them 28

appearances we ought to have manifest precognitions, cleared of all impurities and ready to hand.

When death appears an evil, we ought to have this rule in readiness, that it is fit to avoid evil things, and that

death is a necessary thing. For what shall I do, and where shall I escape it? Suppose that I am not Sarpedon,

the son of Zeus, nor able to speak in this noble way: "I will go and I am resolved either to behave bravely

myself or to give to another the opportunity of doing so; if I cannot succeed in doing anything myself, I will

not grudge another the doing of something noble." Suppose that it is above our power to act thus; is it not in

our power to reason thus? Tell me where I can escape death: discover for me the country, show me the men

to whom I must go, whom death does not visit. Discover to me a charm against death. If I have not one, what

do you wish me to do? I cannot escape from death. Shall I not escape from the fear of death, but shall I die

lamenting and trembling? For the origin of perturbation is this, to wish for something, and that this should not

happen. Therefore if I am able to change externals according to my wish, I change them; but if I cannot, I am

ready to tear out the eyes of him who hinders me. For the nature of man is not to endure to be deprived of the

good, and not to endure the falling into the evil. Then, at last, when I am neither able to change circumstances

nor to tear out the eyes of him who hinders me, I sit down and groan, and abuse whom I can, Zeus and the

rest of the gods. For if they do not care for me, what are they to me? "Yes, but you will be an impious man."

In what respect then will it be worse for me than it is now? To sum up, remember this that unless piety and

your interest be in the same thing, piety cannot be maintained in any man. Do not these things seem

Let the followers of Pyrrho and the Academics come and make their objections. For I, as to my part, have no

leisure for these disputes, nor am I able to undertake the defense of common consent. If I had a suit even

about a bit of land, I would call in another to defend my interests. With what evidence then am I satisfied?

With that which belongs to the matter in hand. How indeed perception is effected, whether through the whole

body or any part, perhaps I cannot explain: for both opinions perplex me. But that you and I are not the same,

I know with perfect certainty. "How do you know it?" When I intend to swallow anything, I never carry it to

your b month, but to my own. When I intend to take bread, I never lay hold of a broom, but I always go to the

bread as to a mark. And you yourselves who take away the evidence of the senses, do you act otherwise?

What then? Ought we not with all our power to hold to this also, the maintaining of general opinion, and

fortifying ourselves against the arguments which are directed against it? Who denies that we ought to do this?

Well, he should do it who is able, who has leisure for it; but as to him who trembles and is perturbed and is

What is the cause of assenting to anything? The fact that it appears to be true. It is not possible then to assent

to that which appears not to be true. Why? Because this is the nature of the understanding, to incline to the

true, to be dissatisfied with the false, and in matters uncertain to withhold assent. What is the proof of this?

"Imagine, if you can, that it is now night." It is not possible. "Take away your persuasion that it is day." It is

not possible. "Persuade yourself or take away your persuasion that the stars are even in number." It is

impossible. When, then, any man assents to that which is false, be assured that he did not intend to assent to it

as false, for every soul is unwillingly deprived of the truth, as Plato says; but the falsity seemed to him to be

true. Well, in acts what have we of the like kind as we have here truth or falsehood? We have the fit and the

not fit, the profitable and the unprofitable, that which is suitable to a person and that which is not, and

whatever is like these. Can, then, a man think that a thing is useful to him and not choose it? He cannot. How

CHAPTER 28. That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and the great things among men 29

She thought that to indulge her passion and take vengeance on her husband was more profitable than to spare

her children. "It was so; but she was deceived." Show her plainly that she is deceived, and she will not do it;

but so long as you do not show it, what can she follow except that which appears to herself? Nothing else.

Why, then, are you angry with the unhappy woman that she has been bewildered about the most important

things, and is become a viper instead of a human creature? And why not, if it is possible, rather pity, as we

pity the blind and the lame, those who are blinded and maimed in the faculties which are supreme?

Whoever, then, clearly remembers this, that to man the measure of every act is the appearance whether the

thing appears good or bad: if good, he is free from blame; if bad, himself suffers the penalty, for it is

impossible that he who is deceived can be one person, and he who suffers another person whoever

remembers this will not be angry with any man, will not be vexed at any man, will not revile or blame any

"So then all these great and dreadful deeds have this origin, in the appearance?" Yes, this origin and no other.

The Iliad is nothing else than appearance and the use of appearances. It appeared to Paris to carry off the wife

of Menelaus: it appeared to Helen to follow him. If then it had appeared to Menelaus to feel that it was a gain

to be deprived of such a wife, what would have happened? Not only a wi would the Iliad have been lost, but

the Odyssey also. "On so small a matter then did such great things depend?" But what do you mean by such

great things? Wars and civil commotions, and the destruction of many men and cities. And what great matter

is this? "Is it nothing?" But what great matter is the death of many oxen, and many sheep, and many nests of

swallows or storks being burnt or destroyed? "Are these things, then, like those?" Very like. Bodies of men

are destroyed, and the bodies of oxen and sheep; the dwellings of men are burnt, and the nests of storks. What

is there in this great or dreadful? Or show me what is the difference between a man's house and a stork's nest,

as far as each is a dwelling; except that man builds his little houses of beams and tiles and bricks, and the

stork builds them of sticks and mud. "Are a stork and a man, then, like things?" What say you? In body they

"Does a man then differ in no respect from a stork?" Don't suppose that I say so; but there is no difference in

these matters. "In what, then, is the difference?" Seek and you will find that there is a difference in another

matter. See whether it is not in a man the understanding of what he does, see if it is not in social community,

in fidelity, in modesty, in steadfastness, in intelligence. Where then is the great good and evil in men? It is

where the difference is. If the difference is preserved and remains fenced round, and neither modesty is

destroyed, nor fidelity, nor intelligence, then the man also is preserved; but if any of these things is destroyed

and stormed like a city, then the man too perishes; and in this consist the great things. Paris, you say,

sustained great damage, then, when the Hellenes invaded and when they ravaged Troy, and when his brothers

perished. By no means; for no man is damaged by an action which is not his own; but what happened at that

time was only the destruction of storks' nests: now the ruin of Paris was when he lost the character of

modesty, fidelity, regard to hospitality, and to decency. When was Achilles ruined? Was it when Patroclus

died? Not so. But it happened when he began to be angry, when he wept for a girl, when he forgot that he was

at Troy not to get mistresses, but to fight. These things are the ruin of men, this is being besieged, this is the

destruction of cities, when right opinions are destroyed, when they are corrupted.

"When, then, women are carried off, when children are made captives, and when the men are killed, are these

not evils?" How is it then that you add to the facts these opinions? Explain this to me also. "I shall not do

that; but how is it that you say that these are not evils?" Let us come to the rules: produce the precognitions:

for it is because this is neglected that we cannot sufficiently wonder at what men do. When we intend to

judge of weights, we do not judge by guess: where we intend to judge of straight and crooked, we do not

judge by guess. In all cases where it is our interest to know what is true in any matter, never will any man

CHAPTER 28. That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and the great things among men 30

among us do anything by guess. But in things which depend on the first and on the only cause of doing right

or wrong, of happiness or unhappiness, of being unfortunate or fortunate, there only we are inconsiderate and

rash. There is then nothing like scales, nothing like a rule: but some appearance is presented, and straightway

I act according to it. Must I then suppose that I am superior to Achilles or Agamemnon, so that they by

following appearances do and suffer so many evils: and shall not the appearance be sufficient for me? And

what tragedy has any other beginning? The Atreus of Euripides, what is it? An appearance. The OEdipus of

Sophocles, what is it? An appearance. The Phoenix? An appearance. The Hippolytus? An appearance. What

kind of a man then do you suppose him to be who pays no regard to this matter? And what is the name of

those who follow every appearance? "They are called madmen." Do we then act at all differently?

The being of the Good is a certain Will; the being of the Bad is a certain kind of Will. What then are

externals? Materials for the Will, about which the will being conversant shall obtain its own good or evil.

How shall it obtain the good? If it does not admire the materials; for the opinions about the materials, if the

opinions are right, make the will good: but perverse and distorted opinions make the will bad. God has fixed

this law, and says, "If you would have anything good, receive it from yourself." You say, "No, but I have it

from another." Do not so: but receive it from yourself. Therefore when the tyrant threatens and calls me, I

say, "Whom do you threaten If he says, "I will put you in chains," I say, "You threaten my hands and my

feet." If he says, "I will cut off your head," I reply, "You threaten my head." If he says, "I will throw you into

prison," I say, "You threaten the whole of this poor body." If he threatens me with banishment, I say the

same. "Does he, then, not threaten you at all?" If I feel that all these things do not concern me, he does not

threaten me at all; but if I fear any of them, it is I whom he threatens. Whom then do I fear? the master of

what? The master of things which are in my own power? There is no such master. Do I fear the master of

"Do you philosophers then teach us to despise kings?" I hope not. Who among us teaches to claim against

them the power over things which they possess? Take my poor body, take my property, take my reputation,

take those who are about me. If I advise any persons to claim these things, they may truly accuse me. "Yes,

but I intend to command your opinions also." And who has given you this power? How can you conquer the

opinion of another man? "By applying terror to it," he replies, "I will conquer it." Do you not know that

opinion conquers itself, and is not conquered by another? But nothing else can conquer Will except the Will

itself. For this reason, too, the law of God is most powerful and most just, which is this: "Let the stronger

always be superior to the weaker." "Ten are stronger than one." For what? For putting in chains, for killing,

for dragging whither they choose, for taking away what a man has. The ten therefore conquer the one in this

in which they are stronger. "In what then are the ten weaker," If the one possess right opinions and the others

do not. "Well then, can the ten conquer in this matter?" How is it possible? If we were placed in the scales,

"How strange, then, that Socrates should have been so treated by the Athenians." Slave, why do you say

Socrates? Speak of the thing as it is: how strange that the poor body of Socrates should have been carried off

and dragged to prison by stronger men, and that any one should have given hemlock to the poor body of

Socrates, and that it should breathe out the life. Do these things seem strange. do they seem unjust, do you on

account of these things blame God? Had Socrates then no equivalent for these things, Where, then, for him

was the nature of good? Whom shall we listen to, you or him? And what does Socrates say? "Anytus and

Meletus can kill me, but they cannot hurt me": and further, he says, "If it so pleases God, so let it be."

But show me that he who has the inferior principles overpowers him who is superior in principles. You will

never show this, nor come near showing it; for this is the law of nature and of God that the superior shall

always overpower the inferior. In what? In that in which it is superior. One body is stronger than another:

many are stronger than one: the thief is stronger than he who is not a thief. This is the reason why I also lost

my lamp, because in wakefulness the thief was superior to me. But the man bought the lamp at this price: for

a lamp he became a thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast. This seemed to him a good bargain. Be it

so. But a man has seized me by the cloak, and is drawing me to the public place: then others bawl out,

"Philosopher, what has been the use of your opinions? see you are dragged to prison, you are going to be

beheaded." And what system of philosophy could f have made so that, if a stronger man should have laid

hold of my cloak, I should not be dragged off; that if ten men should have laid hold of me and cast me into

prison, I should not be cast in? Have I learned nothing else then? I have learned to see that everything which

happens, if it be independent of my will, is nothing to me. I may ask if you have not gained by this. Why then

do you seek advantage in anything else than in that in which you have learned that advantage is?

Then sitting in prison I say: "The man who cries out in this way neither hears what words mean, nor

understands what is said, nor does he care at all to know what philosophers say or what they do. Let him

But now he says to the prisoner, "Come out from your prison." If you have no further need of me in prison, I

come out: if you should have need of me again, I will enter the prison. "How long will you act thus?" So long

as reason requires me to be with the body: but when reason does not require this, take away the body, and

fare you well. Only we must not do it inconsiderately, nor weakly, nor for any slight reason; for, on the other

hand, God does not wish it to be done, and he has need of such a world and such inhabitants in it. But if he

sounds the signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates, we must obey him who gives the signal, as if he were a

"Well, then, ought we to say such things to the many?" Why should we? Is it not enough for a man to be

persuaded himself? When children come clapping their hands and crying out, "Today is the good

Saturnalia," do we say, "The Saturnalia are not good?" By no means, but we clap our hands also. Do you also

then, when you are not able to make a man change his mind, be assured that he is a child, and clap your hands

A man must keep this in mind; and when he is called to any such difficulty, he should know that the time is

come for showing if he has been instructed. For he who is come into a difficulty is like a young man from a

school who has practiced the resolution of syllogisms; and if any person proposes to him an easy syllogism,

he says, "Rather propose to me a syllogism which is skillfully complicated that I may exercise myself on it."

Even athletes are dissatisfied with slight young men, and say "He cannot lift me." "This is a youth of noble

disposition." But when the time of trial is come, one of you must weep and say, "I wish that I had learned

more." A little more of what? If you did not learn these things in order to show them in practice, why did you

learn them? I think that there is some one among you who are sitting here, who is suffering like a woman in

labour, and saying, "Oh, that such a difficulty does not present itself to me as that which has come to this

man; oh, that I should be wasting my life in a corner, when I might be crowned at Olympia. When will any

one announce to me such a contest?" Such ought to be the disposition of all of you. Even among the

gladiators of Caesar there are some who complain grievously that they are not brought forward and matched,

and they offer up prayers to God and address themselves to their superintendents entreating that they might

fight. And will no one among you show himself such? I would willingly take a voyage for this purpose and

see what my athlete is doing, how he is studying his subject. "I do not choose such a subject," he says. Why,

is it in your power to take what subject you choose? There has been given to you such a body as you have,

such parents, such brethren, such a country, such a place in your country: then you come to me and say,

"Change my subject." Have you not abilities which enable you to manage the subject which has been given to

you? "It is your business to propose; it is mine to exercise myself well." However, you do not say so, but you

say, "Do not propose to me such a tropic, but such: do not urge against me such an objection, but such."

There will be a time, perhaps, when tragic actors will suppose that they are masks and buskins and the long

cloak. I say, these things, man, are your material and subject. Utter something that we may know whether you

are a tragic actor or a buffoon; for both of you have all the rest in common. If any one then should take away

the tragic actor's buskins and his mask, and introduce him on the stage as a phantom, is the tragic actor lost,

An example of another kind. "Assume the governorship of a province." I assume it, and when I have assumed

it, I show how an instructed man behaves. "Lay aside the laticlave and, clothing yourself in rags, come

forward in this character." What then have I not the power of displaying a good voice? How, then, do you

now appear? As a witness summoned by God. "Come forward, you, and bear testimony for me, for you are

worthy to be brought forward as a witness by me: is anything external to the will good or bad? do I hurt any

man? have I made every man's interest dependent on any man except himself?" What testimony do you give

for God? "I am in a wretched condition, Master, and I am unfortunate; no man cares for me, no man gives me

anything; all blame me, all speak ill of me." Is this the evidence that you are going to give, and disgrace his

summons, who has conferred so much honour on you, and thought you worthy of being called to bear such

But suppose that he who has the power has declared, "I judge you to be impious and profane." What has

happened to you? "I have been judged to be impious and profane?" Nothing else? "Nothing else." But if the

same person had passed judgment on an hypothetical syllogism, and had made a declaration, "the conclusion

that, if it is day, it is light, I declare to be false," what has happened to the hypothetical syllogism? who is

judged in this case? who has been condemned? the hypothetical syllogism, or the man who has been deceived

by it? Does he, then, who has the power of making any declaration about you know what is pious or impious?

Has he studied it, and has he learned it? Where? From whom? Then is it the fact that a musician pays no

regard to him who declares that the lowest chord in the lyre is the highest; nor yet a geometrician, if he

declares that the lines from the centre of a circle to the circumference are not equal; and shall he who is really

instructed pay any regard to the uninstructed man when he pronounces judgment on what is pious and what is

impious, on what is just and unjust? Oh, the signal wrong done by the instructed. Did they learn this here?

Will you not leave the small arguments about these matters to others, to lazy fellows, that they may sit in a

corner and receive their sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them anything; and will you not come

forward and make use of what you have learned? For it is not these small arguments that are wanted now: the

writings of the Stoics are full of them. What then is the thing which is wanted? A man who shall apply them,

one who by his acts shall bear testimony to his words. Assume, I, entreat you, this character, that we may no

longer use in the schools the examples of the ancients but may have some example of our own.

To whom then does the contemplation of these matters belong? To him who has leisure, for man is an animal

that loves contemplation. But it is shameful to contemplate these things as runaway slaves do; we should sit,

as in a theatre, free from distraction, and listen at one time to the tragic actor, at another time to the

luteplayer; and not do as slaves do. As soon as the slave has taken his station he praises the actor and at the

same time looks round: then if any one calls out his master's name, the slave is immediately frightened and

disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus to contemplate the works of nature. For what is a master? Man

is not the master of man; but death is, and life and pleasure and pain; for if he comes without these things,

bring Caesar to me and you will see how firm I am. But when he shall come with these things, thundering

and lightning, and when I am afraid of them, what do I do then except to recognize my master like the

runaway slave? But so long as I have any respite from these terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the theatre,

so do I: I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all this I do with terror and uneasiness. But if I shall release myself from

my masters, that is from those things by means of which masters are formidable, what further trouble have I,

"What then, ought we to publish these things to all men?" No, but we ought to accommodate ourselves to the

ignorant and to say: "This man recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself: I excuse him." For

Socrates also excused the gaoler, who had the charge of him in prison and was weeping when Socrates was

going to drink the poison, and said, "How generously he laments over us." Does he then say to the gaoler that

for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but he says it to his friends who were able to hear it; and

When you are going into any great personage, remember that Another also from above sees what is going on,

and that you ought to please Him rather than the other. He, then, who sees from above asks you: "In the

schools what used you to say about exile and bonds and death and disgrace?" I used to say that they are

things indifferent. "What then do you say of them now? Are they changed at all?" No. "Are you changed

then?" No. "Tell me then what things are indifferent?" The things which are independent of the will. "Tell

me, also, what follows from this." The things which are independent of the will are nothing to me. "Tell me

also about the Good, what was your opinion?" A will such as we ought to have and also such a use of

appearances. "And the end, what is it?" To follow Thee. "Do you say this now also?" I say the same now

Then go into the great personage boldly and remember these things; and you will see what a youth is who has

studied these things when he is among men who have not studied them. I indeed imagine that you will have

such thoughts as these: "Why do we make so great and so many preparations for nothing? Is this the thing

which men name power? Is this the antechamber? this the men of the bedchamber? this the armed guards? Is

it for this that I listened to so many discourses? All this is nothing: but I have been preparing myself for

The opinion of the philosophers, perhaps, seems to some to be a paradox; but still let us examine as well as

we can, if it is true that it is possible to do everything both with caution and with confidence. For caution

seems to be in a manner contrary to confidence, and contraries are in no way consistent. That which seems to

many to be a paradox in the matter under consideration in my opinion is of this kind: if we asserted that we

ought to employ caution and in the same things, men might justly accuse us of bringing together things which

cannot be united. But now where is the difficulty in what is said? for if these things are true, which have been

often said and often proved, that the nature of good is in the use of appearances, and the nature of evil

likewise, and that things independent of our will do not admit either the nature of evil nor of good, what

paradox do the philosophers assert if they say that where things are not dependent on the will, there you

should employ confidence, but where they are dependent on the will, there you should employ caution? For if

the bad consists in a bad exercise of the will, caution ought only to be used where things are dependent on the

will. But if things independent of the will and not in our power are nothing to us, with respect to these we

must employ confidence; and thus we shall both be cautious and confident, and indeed confident because of

our caution. For by employing caution toward things which are really bad, it will result that we shall have

We are then in the condition of deer; when they flee from the huntsmen's feathers in fright, whither do they

turn and in what do they seek refuge as safe? They turn to the nets, and thus they perish by confounding

things which are objects of fear with things that they ought not to fear. Thus we also act: in what cases do we

fear? In things which are independent of the will. In what cases, on the contrary, do we behave with

confidence, as if there were no danger? In things dependent on the will. To be deceived then, or to act rashly,

or shamelessly or with base desire to seek something, does not concern us at all, if we only hit the mark in

things which are independent of our will. But where there is death, or exile or pain or infamy, there we

attempt or examine to run away, there we are struck with terror. Therefore, as we may expect it to happen

with those who err in the greatest matters, we convert natural confidence into audacity, desperation, rashness,

shamelessness; and we convert natural caution and modesty into cowardice and meanness, which are full of

fear and confusion. For if a man should transfer caution to those things in which the will may be exercised

and the acts of the will, he will immediately, by willing to be cautious, have also the power of avoiding what

he chooses: but if he transfer it to the things which are not in his power and will, and attempt to avoid the

things which are in the power of others, he will of necessity fear, he will be unstable, he will be disturbed. For

death or pain is not formidable, but the fear of pain or death. For this reason we commend the poet who said

Confidence then ought to be employed against death, and caution against the fear of death. But now we do

the contrary, and employ against death the attempt to escape; and to our opinion about it we employ

carelessness, rashness and indifference. These things Socrates properly used to call "tragic masks"; for as to

children masks appear terrible and fearful from inexperience, we also are affected in like manner by events

for no other reason than children are by masks. For what is a child? Ignorance. What is a child? Want of

knowledge. For when a child knows these things, he is in no way inferior to us. What is death? A "tragic

mask." Turn it and examine it. See, it does not bite. The poor body must be separated from the spirit either

now or later, as it was separated from it before. Why, then, are you troubled, if it be separated now? for if it is

not separated now, it will be separated afterward. Why? That the period of the universe may be completed,

for it has need of the present, and of the future, and of the past. What is pain? A mask. Turn it and examine it.

The poor flesh is moved roughly, then, on the contrary, smoothly. If this does not satisfy you, the door is

open: if it does, bear. For the door ought to be open for all occasions; and so we have no trouble.

What then is the fruit of these opinions? It is that which ought to he the most noble and the most becoming to

those who are really educated, release from perturbation, release from fear, freedom. For in these matters we

must not believe the many, who say that free persons only ought to be educated, but we should rather believe

the philosophers, who say that the educated only are free. "How is this?" In this manner. Is freedom anything

else than the power of living as we choose? "Nothing else." Tell me then, ye men, do you wish to live in

error? "We do not." No one then who lives in error is free. Do you wish to live in fear? Do you wish to live in

sorrow? Do you wish to live in perturbation? "By no means." No one, then, who is in a state of fear or sorrow

or perturbation is free; but whoever is delivered from sorrows and fears and perturbations, he is at the same

time also delivered from servitude. How then can we continue to believe you, most dear legislators, when you

say, "We only allow free persons to be educated?" For philosophers say we allow none to be free except the

educated; that is, God does not allow it. "When then a man has turned round before the praetor his own slave,

has he done nothing?" He has done something. "What?" He has turned round his own slave before the

praetor. "Has he done nothing, more?" Yes: he is also bound to pay for him the tax called the twentieth.

"Well then, is not the man who has gone through this ceremony become free?" No more than he is become

free from perturbations. Have you who are able to turn round others no master? is not money your master, or

a girl or a boy, or some tyrant, or some friend of the tyrant? why do you tremble then when you are going off

to any trial of this kind? It is for this reason that I often say: Study and hold in readiness these principles by

which you may determine what those things are with reference to which you ought to have confidence, and

those things with reference to which you ought to be cautious: courageous in that which does not depend on

"Well have I not read to you, and do you not know what I was doing?" In what? "In my little dissertations."

Show me how you are with respect to desire and aversion; and show if you do not fail in getting what you

wish, me and if you do not fall into the things which you would avoid: but as to these long and laboured

"What then did not Socrates write?" And who wrote so much? But how? As he could not always have at hand

one to argue against his principles or to be argued against in turn, he used to argue with and examine himself,

and he was always treating at least some one subject in a practical way. These are the things which a

philosopher writes. But little dissertations and that method, which I speak of, he leaves to others, to the

stupid, or to those happy men who being free from perturbations have leisure, or to such as are too foolish to

And will you now, when the opportunity invites, go and display those things which you possess, and recite

them, and make an idle show, and say, "See how I make dialogues?" Do not so, my man: but rather say: "See

how I am not disappointed of that which I desire. See how I do not fall into that which I would avoid. Set

death before me, and you will see. Set before me pain, prison, disgrace and condemnation." This is the proper

display of a young man who is come out of the schools. But leave the rest to others, and let no one ever hear

you say a word about these things; and if any man commends you for them, do not allow it; but think that you

are nobody and know nothing. Only show that you know this, how never to be disappointed in your desire

and how never to fall into that which you would avoid. Let others labour at forensic causes, problems and

syllogisms: do you labour at thinking about death, chains, the rack, exile; and do all this with confidence and

reliance on him who has called you to these sufferings, who has judged you worthy of the place in which,

being stationed, you will show what things the rational governing power can do when it takes its stand

against the forces which are not within the power of our will. And thus this paradox will no longer appear

either impossible or a paradox, that a man ought to be at the same time cautious and courageous: courageous

toward the things which do not depend on the will, and cautious in things which are within the power of the

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

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 wellbred 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

For what do you think? do you think that, if Socrates had wished to preserve externals, he would have come

forward and said: "Anytus and Meletus can certainly kill me, but to harm me they are not able?" Was he so

foolish as not to see that this way leads not to the preservation of life and fortune, but to another end? What is

the reason then that he takes no account of his adversaries, and even irritates them? Just in the same way my

friend Heraclitus, who had a little suit in Rhodes about a bit of land, and had proved to the judges that his

case was just, said, when he had come to the peroration of his speech, "I will neither entreat you nor do I care

what wi judgment you will give, and it is you rather than I who are on your trial." And thus he ended the

business. What need was there of this? Only do not entreat; but do not also say, "I. do not entreat"; unless

there is a fit occasion to irritate purposely the judges, as was the case with Socrates. And you, if you are

preparing such a peroration, why do you wait, why do you obey the order to submit to trial? For if you wish

to be crucified, wait and the cross will come: but if you choose to submit and to plead your cause as well as

you can, you must do what is consistent with this object, provided you maintain what is your own.

For this reason also it is ridiculous to say, "Suggest something to me." What should I suggest to you? "Well,

form my mind so as to accommodate itself to any event." Why that is just the same as if a man who is

ignorant of letters should say, "Tell me what to write when any name is proposed to me." For if I should tell

him to write Dion, and then another should come and propose to him not the name of Dion but that of Theon,

what will be done? what will he write? But if you behave practiced writing, you are also prepared to write

anything that is required. If you are not, what. can I now suggest? For if circumstances require something

else, what will you say or what will you do? Remember, then, this general precept and you will need no

suggestion. But if you gape after externals, you must of necessity ramble up and down in obedience to the

will of your master. And who is the master? He who has the power over the things which you seek to gain or

Diogenes said well to one who asked from him letters of recommendation, "That you are a man he said, "he

will know as soon as he sees you; and he will know whether you are good or bad, if he is by experience

skillful to distinguish the good and the bad; but if he is without experience, he will never know, if I write to

him ten thousand times." For it is just the same as if a drachma asked to be recommended to a person to be

tested. If he is skillful in testing silver, he will know what you are, for you will recommend yourself. We

ought then in life also to have some skill as in the case of silver coin that a man may be able to say, like the

judge of silver, "Bring me any drachma and I will test it." But in the case of syllogisms I would say, "Bring

any man that you please, and I will distinguish for you the man who knows how to resolve syllogisms and the

man who does not." Why? Because I know how to resolve syllogisms. I have the power, which a man must

have who is able to discover those who have the power of resolving syllogisms. But in life how do I act? At

one time I call a thing good, and at another time bad. What is the reason? The contrary to that which is in the

As Epictetus was saying that man is formed for fidelity, and that he who subverts fidelity subverts the

peculiar characteristic of men, there entered one of those who are considered to be men of letters, who had

once been detected in adultery in the city. Then Epictetus continued: But if we lay aside this fidelity for

which we are formed and make designs against our neighbor's wife, what are we are we doing? What else but

destroying and overthrowing? Whom? The man of fidelity, the man of modesty, the man of sanctity. Is this

all? And are we not overthrowing neighbourhood, and friendship, and the community; and in what place are

we putting ourselves? How shall I consider you, man? As a neighbour, as a friend? What kind of one? As a

citizen? Wherein shall I trust you? So if you were an utensil so worthless that a man could not use you, you

would be pitched out on the dung heaps, and no man would pick you up. But if, being a man, you are unable

to fill any place which befits a man, what shall we do with you? For suppose that you cannot hold the place of

a friend, can you hold the place of a slave? And who will trust you? Are you not then content that you also

should be pitched somewhere on a dung heap, as a useless utensil, and a bit of dung? Then will you say, "No

man, cares for me, a man of letters"? They do not, because you are bad and useless. It is just as if the wasps

complained because no man cares for them, but all fly from them, and if a man can, he strikes them and

knocks them down. You have such a sting that you throw into trouble and pain any man that you wound with

"What then, are not women common by nature?" So I say also; for a little pig is common to all the invited

guests, but when the portions have been distributed, go, if you think it right, and snatch up the portion of him

who reclines next to you, or slyly steal it, or place your hand down by it and lay hold of it, and if you cannot

tear away a bit of the meat, grease your fingers and lick them. A fine companion over cups, and Socratic

guest indeed! "Well, is not the theatre common to the citizens?" When then they have taken their seats, come,

if you think proper, and eject one of them. In this way women also are common by nature. When, then, the

legislator, like the master of a feast, has distributed them, will you not also look for your own portion and not

filch and handle what belongs to another. "But I am a man of letters and understand Archedemus."

Understand Archedemus then, and be an adulterer, and faithless, and instead of a man, be a wolf or an ape:

Things themselves are indifferent; but the use of them is not indifferent. How then shall a man preserve

firmness and tranquillity, and at the same time be careful and neither rash nor negligent? If he imitates those

who play at dice. The counters are indifferent; the dice are indifferent. How do I know what the cast will be?

But to use carefully and dexterously the cast of the dice, this is my business. Thus in life also the chief

business is this: distinguish and separate things, and say, "Externals are not in my power: will is in my power.

Where shall I seek the good and the bad? Within, in the things which are my own." But in what does not

belong to you call nothing either good or bad, or profit or damage or anything of the kind.

"What then? Should we use such things carelessly?" In no way: for this on the other hand is bad for the

faculty of the will, and consequently against nature; but we should act carefully because the use is not

indifferent and we should also act with firmness and freedom from perturbations because the material is

indifferent. For where the material is not indifferent, there no man can hinder me nor compel me. Where I can

be hindered and compelled the obtaining of those things is not in my power, nor is it good or bad; but the use

is either bad or good, and the use is in my power. But it is difficult to mingle and to bring together these two

things, the carefulness of him who is affected by the matter and the firmness of him who has no regard for it;

but it is not impossible; and if it is, happiness is impossible. But we should act as we do in the case of a

voyage. What can I do? I can choose the master of the ship, the sailors, the day, the opportunity. Then comes

a storm. What more have I to care for? for my part is done. The business belongs to another the master. But

the ship is sinking what then have I to do? I do the only things that I can, not to be drowned full of fear, nor

screaming, nor blaming God, but knowing that what has been produced must also perish: for I am not an

immortal being, but a man, a part of the whole, as an hour is a part of the day: I must be present like the hour,

and past like the hour. What difference, then, does it make to me how I pass away, whether by being

This is just what you will see those doing who play at ball skillfully. No one cares about the ball being good

or bad, but about throwing and catching it. In this therefore is the skill, this the art, the quickness, the

judgement, so that if I spread out my lap I may not be able to catch it, and another, if I throw, may catch the

ball. But if with perturbation and fear we receive or throw the ball, what kind of play is it then, and wherein

shall a man be steady, and how shall a man see the order in the game? But one will say, "Throw"; or, "Do not

throw"; and another will say, "You have thrown once." This is quarreling, not play.

Socrates, then, knew how to play at ball. How?" By using pleasantry in the court where he was tried. "Tell

me," he says, "Anytus, how do you say that I do not believe in God. The Demons, who are they, think you?

Are they not sons of Gods, or compounded of gods and men?" When Anytus admitted this, Socrates said,

"Who then, think you, can believe that there are mules, but not asses"; and this he said as if he were playing

at ball. And what was the ball in that case? Life, chains, banishment, a draught of poison, separation from

wife and leaving children orphans. These were the things with which he was playing; but still he did play and

threw the ball skillfully. So we should do: we must employ all the care of the players, but show the same

indifference about the ball. For we ought by all means to apply our art to some external material, not as

valuing the material, but, whatever it may be, showing our art in it. Thus too the weaver does not make wool,

but exercises his art upon such as he receives. Another gives you food and property and is able to take them

away and your poor body also. When then you have received the material, work on it. If then you come out

without having suffered anything, all who meet you will congratulate you on your escape; but he who knows

how to look at such things, if he shall see that you have behaved properly in the matter, will commend you

and be pleased with you; and if he shall find that you owe your escape to any want of proper behavior, he will

do the contrary. For where rejoicing is reasonable, there also is congratulation reasonable.

How then is it said that some external things are according to nature and others contrary to nature? It is said

as it might be said if we were separated from union: for to the foot I shall say that it is according to nature for

it to be clean; but if you take it as a foot and as a thing not detached, it will befit it both to step into the mud

and tread on thorns, and sometimes to be cut off for the benefit of the whole body; otherwise it is no longer a

foot. We should think in some way about ourselves also. What are you? A man. If you consider yourself as

detached from other men, it is according to nature to live to old age, to be rich, to be healthy. But if you

consider yourself as a man and a part of a certain whole, it is for the sake of that whole that at one time you

should be sick, at another time take a voyage and run into danger, and at another time be in want, and, in

some cases, die prematurely. Why then are you troubled? Do you not know, that as a foot is no longer a foot

if it is detached from the body, so you are no longer a man if you are separated from other men. For what is a

man? A part of a state, of that first which consists of Gods and of men; then of that which is called next to it,

which is a small image of the universal state. "What then must I be brought to trial; must another have a

fever, another sail on the sea, another die, and another be condemned?" Yes, for it is impossible in such a

body, in such a universe of things, among so many living together, that such things should not happen, some

to one and others to others. It is your duty then, since you are come here, to say what you ought, to arrange

these things as it is fit. Then some one says, "I shall charge you with doing me wrong." Much good may it do

you: I have done my part; but whether you also have done yours, you must look to that; for there is some

The hypothetical proposition is indifferent: the judgment about it is not indifferent, but it is either knowledge

or opinion or error. Thus life is indifferent: the use is not indifferent. When any man then tells you that these

things also are indifferent, do not become negligent; and when a man invites you to be careful, do not become

abject and struck with admiration of material things. And it is good for you to know your own preparation

and power, that in those matters where you have not been prepared, you may keep quiet, and not be vexed, if

others have the advantage over you. For you, too, in syllogisms will claim to have the advantage over them;

and if others should be vexed at this, you will console them by saying, "I have learned them, and you have

not." Thus also where there is need of any practice, seek not that which is required from the need, but yield in

that matter to those who have had practice, and be yourself content with firmness of mind.

Go and salute a certain person. "How?" Not meanly. "But I have been shut out, for I have not learned to make

my way through the window; and when I have found the door shut, I must either come back or enter through

the window." But still speak to him. "In what way?" Not meanly. But suppose that you have not got what you

wanted. Was this your business, and not his? Why then do you claim that which belongs to another? Always

remember what is your own, and what belongs to another; and you will not be disturbed. Chrysippus

therefore said well, "So long as future things are uncertain, I always cling to those which are more adapted to

the conservation of that which is according to nature; for God himself has given me the faculty of such

choice." But if I knew that it was fated for me to be sick, I would even move toward it; for the foot also, if it

had intelligence, would move to go into the mud. For why are ears of corn produced? Is it not that they may

become dry? And do they not become dry that they may be reaped? for they are not separated from

communion with other things. If then they had perception, ought they to wish never to be reaped? But this is

a curse upon ears of corn, never to be reaped. So we must know that in the case of men too it is a curse not to

die, just the same as not to be ripened and not to be reaped. But since we must be reaped, and we also know

that we are reaped, we are vexed at it; for we neither know what we are nor have we studied what belongs to

man, as those who have studied horses know what belongs to horses. But Chrysantas, when he was going to

strike the enemy, checked himself when he heard the trumpet sounding a retreat: so it seemed better to him to

obey the general's command than to follow his own inclination. But not one of us chooses, even when

necessity summons, readily to obey it, but weeping and groaning we suffer what we do suffer, and we call

them "circumstances." What kind of circumstances, man? If you give the name of circumstances to the things

which are around you, all things are circumstances; but if you call hardships by this name, what hardship is

there in the dying of that which has been produced? But that which destroys is either a sword, or a wheel, or

the sea, or a tile, or a tyrant. Why do you care about the way of going down to Hades? All ways are equal.

But if you will listen to the truth, the way which the tyrant sends you is shorter. A tyrant never killed a man in

six months: but a fever is often a year about it. All these things are only sound and the noise of empty names.

"I am in danger of my life from Caesar." And am not I in danger who dwell in Nicopolis, where there are so

many earthquakes: and when you are crossing the Hadriatic, what hazard do you run? Is it not the hazard of

your life? "But I am in danger also as to opinion." Do you mean your own? how? For who can compel you to

have any opinion which you do not choose? But is it as to another man's opinion? and what kind of danger is

yours, if others have false opinions? "But I am in danger of being banished." What is it to be banished? To be

somewhere else than at Rome? "Yes: what then if I should be sent to Gyara?" If that suits you, you will go

there; but if it does not, you can go to another place instead of Gyara, whither he also will go, who sends you

to Gyara, whether he choose or not. Why then do you go up to Rome as if it were something great? It is not

worth all this preparation, that an ingenuous youth should say, "It was not worth while to have heard so much

and to have written so much and to have sat so long by the side of an old man who is not worth much." Only

remember that division by which your own and not your own are distinguished: never claim anything which

belongs to others. A tribunal and a prison are each a place, one high and the other low; but the will can be

maintained equal, if you choose to maintain it equal in each. And we shall then be imitators of Socrates, when

we are able to write paeans in prison. But in our present disposition, consider if we could endure in prison

another person saying to us. "Would you like me to read Paeans to you?" "Why do you trouble me? do you

not know the evils which hold me? Can I in such circumstances?" What circumstances? "I am going to die."

Through an unreasonable regard to divination many of us omit many duties. For what more can the diviner

see than death or danger or disease, generally things of that kind? If then I must expose myself to danger for a

friend, and if it is my duty even to die for him, what need have I then for divination? Have I not within me a

diviner who has told me the nature of good and of evil, and has explained to me the signs of both? What need

have I then to consult the viscera of victims or the flight of birds, and why do I submit when he says, "It is for

your interest"? For does he know what is for my interest, does he know what is good; and as he has learned

the signs of the viscera, has he also learned the signs of good and evil? For if he knows the signs of these, he

knows the signs both of the beautiful and of the ugly, and of the just and of the unjust. Do you tell me, man,

what is the thing which is signified for me: is it life or death, poverty or wealth? But whether these things are

for my interest or whether they are not, I do not intend to ask you. Why don't you give your opinion on

matters of grammar, and why do you give it here about things on which we are all in error and disputing with

one another? The woman, therefore, who intended to send by a vessel a month's provisions to Gratilla in her

banishment, made a good answer to him who said that Domitian would seize what she sent. "I would rather,"

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

What then should we do? We ought to come without desire or aversion, as the wayfarer asks of the man

whom he meets which of two roads leads (to his journey's end), without any desire for that which leads to the

right rather than to the left, for he has no wish to go by any road except the road which leads (to his end). In

the same way ought we to come to God also as a guide; as we use our eyes, not asking them to show us rather

such things as we wish, but receiving the appearances of things such as the eyes present them to us. But now

we trembling take the augur by the hand, and, while we invoke God, we entreat the augur, and say, "Master

have mercy on me; suffer me to come safe out of this difficulty." Wretch would you have, then, anything

other than what is best? Is there then anything better than what pleases God? Why do you, so far as in your

God is beneficial. But the Good also is beneficial. It is consistent then that where the nature of God is, there

also the nature of the good should be. What then is the nature of God? Flesh? Certainly not. An estate in

land? By no means. Fame? No. Is it intelligence, knowledge, right reason? Yes. Herein then simply seek the

nature of the good; for I suppose that you do not seek it in a plant. No. Do you seek it in an irrational animal?

No. If then you seek it in a rational animal, why do you still seek it anywhere except in the superiority of

rational over irrational animals? Now plants have not even the power of using appearances, and for this

reason you do not apply the term good to them. The good then requires the use of appearances. Does it

require this use only? For if you say that it requires this use only, say that the good, and that happiness and

unhappiness are in irrational animals also. But you do not say this, and you do right; for if they possess even

in the highest degree the use of appearances, yet they have not the faculty of understanding the use of

appearances; and there is good reason for this, for they exist for the purpose of serving others, and they

exercise no superiority. For the ass, I suppose, does not exist for any superiority over others. No; but because

we had need of a back which is able to bear something; and in truth we had need also of his being able to

walk, and for this reason he received also the faculty of making use of appearances, for otherwise he would

not have been able to walk. And here then the matter stopped. For if he had also received the faculty of

comprehending the use of appearances, it is plain that consistently with reason he would not then have been

subjected to us, nor would he have done us these services, but he would have been equal to us and like to us.

Will you not then seek the nature of good in the rational animal? for if it is not there, you not choose to say

that it exists in any other thing. "What then? are not plants and animals also the works of God?" They are; but

they are not superior things, nor yet parts of the Gods. But you are a superior thing; you are a portion

separated from the deity; you have in yourself a certain portion of him. Why then are you ignorant of your

own noble descent? Why do you not know whence you came? will you not remember when you are eating,

who you are who eat and whom you feed? When you are in conjunction with a woman, will you not

remember who you are who do this thing? When you are in social intercourse, when you are exercising

yourself, when you are engaged in discussion, know you not that you are nourishing a god, that you are

exercising a god? Wretch, you are carrying about a god with you, and you know it not. Do you think that I

mean some God of silver or of gold, and external? You carry him within yourself, and you perceive not that

you are polluting him by impure thoughts and dirty deeds. And if an image of God were present, you would

not dare to do any of the things which you are doing: but when God himself is present within and sees all and

hears all, you are not ashamed of thinking such things and doing such things, ignorant as you are of your own

nature and subject to the anger of God. Then why do we fear when we are sending a young man from the

school into active life, lest he should do anything improperly, eat improperly, have improper intercourse with

women; and lest the rags in which he is wrapped should debase him, lest fine garments should make him

proud? This youth does not know his own God: he knows not with whom he sets out. But can we endure

when he says, "I wish I had you with me." Have you not God with you? and do you seek for any other, when

you have him? or will God tell you anything else than this? If you were a statue of Phidias, either Athena or

Zeus you would think broth of yourself and of the artist, and if you had any understanding you would try to

do nothing unworthy of him who made you or of yourself, and try not to appear in an unbecoming dress to

those who look on you. But now because Zeus has made you, for this reason do you care not how you shall

appear? And yet is the artist like the artist in the other? or the work in the one case like the other? And what

work of an artist, for instance, has in itself the faculties, which the artist shows in making it? Is it not marble

or bronze, or gold or ivory? and the Athena of Phidias when she has once extended the hand and received in

it the figure of Victory stands in that attitude forever. But the works of God have power of motion, they

breathe, they have the faculty of using the appearances of things, and the power of examining them. Being the

work of such an artist, do you dishonor him? And what shall I say, not only that he made you, but also

intrusted you to yourself and made you a deposit to yourself? Will you not think of this too, but do you also

dishonor your guardianship? But if God had intrusted an orphan to you, would you thus neglect him? He has

delivered yourself to your care, and says, "I had no one fitter to intrust him to than yourself: keep him for me

such as he is by nature, modest, faithful, erect, unterrified, free from passion and perturbation." And then you

But some will say, "Whence has this fellow got the arrogance which he displays and these supercilious

looks?" I have not yet so much gravity as befits a philosopher; for I do not yet feel confidence in what I have

learned and what I have assented to: I still fear my own weakness. Let me get confidence and the, you shall

see a countenance such as I ought to have and an attitude such as I ought to have: then I will show to you the

statue, when it is perfected, when it is polished. What do you expect? a supercilious countenance? Does the

Zeus at Olympia lift up his brow? No, his look is fixed as becomes him who is ready to say

Such will I show myself to you, faithful, modest, noble, free from perturbation. "What, and immortal too,

exempt from old age, and from sickness?" No, but dying as becomes a god, sickening as becomes a god. This

power I possess; this I can do. But the rest I do not possess, nor can I do. I will show the nerves of a

philosopher. "What nerves are these?" A desire never disappointed, an aversion which never falls on that

which it would avoid, a proper pursuit, a diligent purpose, an assent which is not rash. These you shall see.

It is no common thing to do this only, to fulfill the promise of a man's nature. For what is a man? The answer

is: "A rational and mortal being." Then, by the rational faculty, from whom are we separated? From wild

beasts. And from what others? From sheep and like animals. Take care then to do nothing like a wild beast;

but if you do, you have lost the character of a man; you have not fulfilled your promise. See that you do

nothing like a sheep; but if you do, in this case the man is lost. What then do we do as sheep? When we act

gluttonously, when we act lewdly, when we act rashly, filthily, inconsiderately, to what have we declined? To

sheep. What have we lost? The rational faculty. When we act contentiously and harmfully and passionately,

and violently, to what have we declined? To wild beasts. Consequently some of us are great wild beasts, and

others little beasts, of a bad disposition and small, whence we may say, "Let me be eaten by a lion." But in all

CHAPTER 9. That when we cannot fulfill that which the character of a man promises, we assume the character of a philosopher 42

these ways the promise of a man acting as a man is destroyed. For when is a conjunctive proposition

maintained? When it fulfills what its nature promises; so that the preservation of a complex proposition is

when it is a conjunction of truths. When is a disjunctive maintained? When it fulfills what it promises. When

are flutes, a lyre, a horse, a dog, preserved? What is the wonder then if man also in like manner is preserved,

and in like manner is lost? Each man is improved and preserved by corresponding acts, the carpenter by acts

of carpentry, the grammarian by acts of grammar. But if a man accustoms himself to write ungrammatically,

of necessity his art will be corrupted and destroyed. Thus modest actions preserve the modest man, and

immodest actions destroy him: and actions of fidelity preserve the faithful man, and the contrary actions

destroy him. And on the other hand contrary actions strengthen contrary characters: shamelessness

strengthens the shameless man, faithlessness the faithless man, abusive words the abusive man, anger the

man of an angry temper, and unequal receiving and giving make the avaricious man more avaricious.

For this reason philosophers admonish us not to be satisfied with learning only, but also to add study, and

then practice. For we have long been accustomed to do contrary things, and we put in practice opinions which

are contrary to true opinions. If then we shall not also put in practice right opinions, we shall be nothing more

than the expositors of the opinions of others. For now who among us is not able to discuss according to the

rules of art about good and evil things? "That of things some are good, and some are bad, and some are

indifferent: the good then are virtues, and the things which participate in virtues; and the are the contrary; and

the indifferent are wealth, health, reputation." Then, if in the midst of our talk there should happen some

greater noise than usual, or some of those who are present should laugh at us, we are disturbed. Philosopher,

where are the things which you were talking about? Whence did you produce and utter them? From the lips,

and thence only. Why then do you corrupt the aids provided by others? Why do you treat the weightiest

matters as if you were playing a game of dice? For it is one thing to lay up bread and wine as in a storehouse,

and another thing to eat. That which has been eaten, is digested, distributed, and is become sinews, flesh,

bones, blood, healthy colour, healthy breath. Whatever is stored up, when you choose you can readily take

and show it; but you have no other advantage from it except so far as to appear to possess it. For what is the

difference between explaining these doctrines and those of men who have different opinions? Sit down now

and explain according to the rules of art the opinions of Epicurus, and perhaps you will explain his opinions

in a more useful manner than Epicurus himself. Why then do you call yourself a Stoic? Why do you deceive

the many? Why do you deceive the many? Why do you act the part of a Jew, when you are a Greek? Do you

not see how each is called a Jew, or a Syrian or an Egyptian? and when we see a man inclining to two sides,

we are accustomed to say, "This man is not a Jew, but he acts as one." But when he has assumed the affects

of one who has been imbued with Jewish doctrine and has adopted that sect, then he is in fact and he is

named a Jew. Thus we too being falsely imbued, are in name Jews, but in fact we are something else. Our

affects are inconsistent with our words; we are far from practicing what we say, and that of which we are

proud, as if we knew it. Thus being, unable to fulfill even what the character of a man promises, we even add

to it the profession of a philosopher, which is as heavy a burden, as if a man who is unable to bear ten pounds

Consider who you are. In the first place, you are a man; and this is one who has nothing superior to the

faculty of the will, but all other things subjected to it; and the faculty itself he possesses unenslaved and free

from subjection. Consider then from what things you have been separated by reason. You have been

separated from wild beasts: you have been separated from domestic animals. Further, you are a citizen of the

world, and a part of it, not one of the subservient, but one of the principal parts, for you are capable of

comprehending the divine administration and of considering the connection of things. What then does the

character of a citizen promise? To hold nothing as profitable to himself; to deliberate about nothing as if he

were detached from the community, but to act as the hand or foot would do, if they had reason and

understood the constitution of nature, for they would never put themselves in motion nor desire anything,

otherwise than with reference to the whole. Therefore the philosophers say well, that if the good man had

foreknowledge of what would happen, he would cooperate toward his own sickness and death and mutilation,

since he knows that these things are assigned to him according to the universal arrangement, and that the

whole is superior to the part and the state to the citizen. But now, because we do not know the future, it is our

duty to stick to the things which are in their nature more suitable for our choice, for we were made among

After this, remember that you are a son. What does this character promise? To consider that everything which

is the son's belongs to the father, to obey him in all things, never to blame him to another, nor to say or do

anything which does him injury, to yield to him in all things and give way, cooperating with him as far as you

can. After this know that you are a brother also, and that to this character it is due to make concessions; to be

easily persuaded, to speak good of your brother, never to claim in opposition to him any of the things which

are independent of the will, but readily to give them up, that you may have the larger share in what is

dependent on the will. For see what a thing it is, in place of a lettuce, if it should so happen, or a seat, to gain

Next to this, if you are senator of any state, remember that you are a senator: if a youth, that you are a youth:

if an old man, that you are an old man; for each of such names, if it comes to be examined, marks out the

proper duties. But if you go and blame your brother, I say to you, "You have forgotten who you are and what

is your name." In the next place, if you were a smith and made a wrong use of the hammer, you would have

forgotten the smith; and if you have forgotten the brother and instead of a brother have become an enemy,

would you appear not to have changed one thing for another in that case? And if instead of a man, who is a

tame animal and social, you are become a mischievous wild beast, treacherous, and biting, have you lost

nothing? But, you must lose a bit of money that you may suffer damage? And does the loss of nothing else do

a man damage? If you had lost the art of grammar or music, would you think the loss of it a damage? and if

you shall lose modesty, moderation and gentleness, do you think the loss nothing? And yet the things first

mentioned are lost by some cause external and independent of the will, and the second by our own fault; and

as to the first neither to have them nor to lose them is shameful; but as to the second, not to have them and to

lose them is shameful and matter of reproach and a misfortune. What does the pathic lose? He loses the man.

What does he lose who makes the pathic what he is? Many other things; and he also loses the man no less

than the other. What does he lose who commits adultery? He loses the modest, the temperate, the decent, the

citizen, the neighbour. What does he lose who is angry? Something else. What does the coward lose?

Something else. No man is bad without suffering some loss and damage. If then you look for the damage in

the loss of money only, all these men receive no harm or damage; it may be, they have even profit and gain,

when they acquire a bit of money by any of these deeds. But consider that if you refer everything to a small

coin, not even he who loses his nose is in your opinion damaged. "Yes," you say, "for he is mutilated in his

body." Well; but does he who has lost his smell only lose nothing? Is there, then, no energy of the soul which

is an advantage to him who possesses it, and a damage to him who has lost it? "Tell me what sort you mean."

Have we not a natural modesty? "We have." Does he who loses this sustain no damage? is he deprived of

nothing, does he part with nothing of the things which belong to him? Have we not naturally fidelity? natural

affection, a natural disposition to help others, a natural disposition to forbearance? The man then who allows

himself to be damaged in these matters, can he be free from harm and uninjured? "What then? shall I not hurt

him, who has hurt me?" In the first place consider what hurt is, and remember what you have heard from the

philosophers. For if the good consists in the will, and the evil also in the will, see if what you say is not this:

"What then, since that man has hurt himself by doing an unjust act to me, shall I not hurt myself by doing

some unjust act to him?" Why do we not imagine to something of this kind? But where there is any detriment

to the body or to our possession, there is harm there; and where the same thing happens to the faculty of the

will, there is no harm; for he who has been deceived or he who has done an unjust act neither suffers in the

head nor in the eye nor in the hip, nor does he lose his estate; and we wish for nothing else than these things.

But whether we shall have the will modest and faithful or shameless and faithless, we care not the least,

except only in the school so far as a few words are concerned. Therefore our proficiency is limited to these

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 rightangled triangle, or of a diesis, or of a half tone; but we learn each of these things by

a certain transmission according to art; and for this reason those who do not know them, do not think that

they know them. But as to good and evil, and beautiful and ugly, and becoming and unbecoming, and

happiness and misfortune, and proper and improper, and what we ought to do and what we ought not to do,

whoever came into the world without having an innate idea of them? Wherefore we all use these names, and

we endeavor to fit the preconceptions to the several cases thus: "He has done well, he has not done well; he

has done as he ought, not as he ought; he has been unfortunate, he has been fortunate; he is unjust, he is just":

who does not use these names? who among us defers the use of them till he has learned them, as he defers the

use of the words about lines or sounds? And the cause of this is that we come into the world already taught as

it were by nature some things on this matter, and proceeding from these we have added to them selfconceit.

"For why," a man says, "do I not know the beautiful and the ugly? Have I not the notion of it?" You have.

"Do I not adapt it to particulars?" You do. "Do I not then adapt it properly?" In that lies the whole question;

and conceit is added here. For, beginning from these things which are admitted, men proceed to that which is

matter of dispute by means of unsuitable adaptation; for if they possessed this power of adaptation in addition

to those things, what would hinder them from being perfect? But now since you think that you properly adapt

the preconceptions to the particulars, tell me whence you derive this. Because I think so. But it does not seem

so to another, and he thinks that he also makes a proper adaptation; or does he not think so? He does think so.

Is it possible then that both of you can properly apply the preconceptions to things about which you have

contrary opinions? It is not possible. Can you then show us anything better toward adapting the

preconceptions beyond your thinking that you do? Does the madman do any other things than the things as in

which seem to him right? Is then this criterion for him also? It is not sufficient. Come then to something

Observe, this is the beginning of philosophy, a perception of the disagreement of men with one another, and

an inquiry into the cause of the disagreement, and a condemnation and distrust of that which only "seems,"

and a certain investigation of that which "seems" whether it "seems" rightly, and a discovery of some rule, as

we have discovered a balance in the determination of weights, and a carpenter's rule in the case of straight

and crooked things. This is the beginning of philosophy. "Must we say that all thins are right which seem so

to all?" And how is it possible that contradictions can be right? "Not all then, but all which seem to us to be

right." How more to you than those which seem right to the Syrians? why more than what seem right to the

Egyptians? why more than what seems right to me or to any other man? "Not at all more." What then "seems"

to every man is not sufficient for determining what "is"; for neither in the case of weights or measures are we

satisfied with the bare appearance, but in each case we have discovered a certain rule. In this matter then is

there no rule certain to what "seems?" And how is it possible that the most necessary things among men

should have no sign, and be incapable of being discovered? There is then some rule. And why then do we not

seek the rule and discover it, and afterward use it without varying from it, not even stretching out the finger

without it? For this, I think, is that which when it is discovered cures of their madness those who use mere

"seeming" as a measure, and misuse it; so that for the future proceeding from certain things known and made

clear we may use in the case of particular things the preconceptions which are distinctly fixed.

What is the matter presented to us about which we are inquiring? "Pleasure." Subject it to the rule, throw it

into the balance. Ought the good to be such a thing that it is fit that we have confidence in it? "Yes." And in

which we ought to confide? "It ought to be." Is it fit to trust to anything which is insecure? "No." Is then

pleasure anything secure? "No." Take it then and throw it out of the scale, and drive it far away from the

place of good things. But if you are not sharpsighted, and one balance is not enough for you, bring another.

Is it fit to be elated over what is good? "Yes." Is it proper then to be elated over present pleasure? See that

you do not say that it is proper; but if you do, I shall then not think you are worthy even of the balance. Thus

things are tested and weighed when the rules are ready. And to philosophize is this, to examine and confirm

the rules; and then to use them when they are known is the act of a wise and good man.

What things a man must learn in order to be able to apply the art of disputation, has been accurately shown by

our philosophers; but with respect to the proper use of the things, we are entirely without practice. Only give

to any of us, whom you please, an illiterate man to discuss with,, and he cannot discover how to deal with the

man. But when he has moved the man a little, if he answers beside the purpose, he does not know how to

treat him, but he then either abuses or ridicules him, and says, "He is an illiterate man; it is not possible to do

anything with him." Now a guide, when he has found a man out of the road leads him into the right way: he

does not ridicule or abuse him and then leave him. Do you also show this illiterate man the truth, and you will

see that he follows. But so long as you do not show him the truth, do not ridicule him, but rather feel your

How then did Socrates act? He used to compel his adversary in disputation to bear testimony to him, and he

wanted no other witness. Therefore he could say, "I care not for other witnesses, but I am always satisfied

with the evidence of my adversary, and I do not ask the opinion of others, but only the opinion of him who is

disputing with me." For he used to make the conclusions drawn from natural notions so plain that every man

saw the contradiction and withdrew from it: "Does the envious man rejoice?" "By no means, but he is rather

pained." Well, "Do you think that envy is pain over evils? and what envy is there of evils?" Therefore he

made his adversary say that envy is pain over good things. "Well then, would any man envy those who are

nothing to him?" "By no means." Thus having completed the notion and distinctly fixed it he would go away

without saying to his adversary, "Define to me envy"; and if the adversary had defined envy, he did not say,

"You have defined it badly, for the terms of the definition do not correspond to the thing defined." These are

technical terms, and for this reason disagreeable and hardly intelligible to illiterate men, which terms we

cannot lay aside. But that the illiterate man himself, who follows the appearances presented to him, should be

able to concede anything or reject it, we can never by the use of these terms move him to do. Accordingly,

being conscious of our own inability, we do not attempt the thing; at least such of us as have any caution do

not. But the greater part and the rash, when they enter into such disputations, confuse themselves and confuse

others; and finally abusing their adversaries and abused by them, they walk away.

Now this was the first and chief peculiarity of Socrates, never to be irritated in argument, never to utter

anything abusive, anything insulting, but to bear with abusive persons and to put an end to the quarrel. If you

would know what great power he had in this way, read the Symposium of Xenophon, and you will see how

many quarrels he put an end to. Hence with good reason in the poets also this power is most highly praised,

Well then; the matter is not now very safe, and particularly at Rome; for he who attempts to do it, must not do

it in a corner, you may be sure, but must go to a man of consular rank, if it so happen, or to a rich man, and

ask him, "Can you tell me, Sir, to whose care you have entrusted your horses?" "I can tell you." Here you

entrusted them to a person indifferently and to one who has no experience of horses? "By no means." Well

then; can you tell me to whom you entrust your gold or silver things or your vestments? "I don't entrust even

these to anyone indifferently." Well; your own body, have you already considered about entrusting the care of

it to any person? "Certainly." To a man of experience, I suppose, and one acquainted with the aliptic, or with

the healing art? "Without a doubt." Are these the best things that you have, or do you also possess something

else which is better than all these? "What kind of thing do you mean?" That I mean which makes use of these

things, and tests each of these things and deliberates. "Is it the soul that you mean?" You think right, for it is

the soul that I mean. "In truth I do think the soul is a much better thing than all the others which I possess."

Can you then show us in what way you have taken care of the soul? for it is not likely that you, who are so

wise a man and have a reputation in the city, inconsiderately and carelessly allow the most valuable thing that

you possess to be neglected and to perish? "Certainly not." But have you taken care of the soul yourself; and

have you learned from another to do this, or have you discovered the means yourself? Here comes the danger

that in the first place he may say, "What is this to you, my good man, who are you?" Next, if you persist in

troubling him, there is a danger that he may raise his hands and give you blows. I was once myself also an

When I see a man anxious, I say, "What does this man want? If he did not want something which is not in his

power, how could he be anxious?" For this reason a lute player when he is singing by himself has no anxiety,

but when he enters the theatre, he is anxious even if he has a good voice and plays well on the lute; for he not

only wishes to sing well, but also to obtain applause: but this is not in his power. Accordingly, where he has

skill, there he has confidence. Bring any single person who knows nothing of music, and the musician does

not care for him. But in the matter where a man knows nothing and has not been practiced, there he is

anxious. What matter is this? He knows not what a crowd is or what the praise of a crowd is. However he has

learned to strike the lowest chord and the highest; but what the praise of the many is, and what power it has in

life he neither knows nor has he thought about it. Hence he must of necessity tremble and grow pale. I cannot

then say that a man is not a lute player when I see him afraid, but I can say something else, and not one thing,

but many. And first of all I call him a stranger and say, "This man does not know in what part of the world he

is, but though he has been here so long, he is ignorant of the laws of the State and the customs, and what is

permitted and what is not; and he has never employed any lawyer to tell him and to explain the laws." But a

man does not write a will, if he does not does not know how it ought to be written, or he employs a person

who does know; nor does he rashly seal a bond or write a security. But he uses his desire without a lawyer's

advice, and aversion, and pursuit, and attempt and purpose. "How do you mean without a lawyer?" He does

not know that he wills what is not allowed, and does not will that which is of necessity; and he does not know

either what is his own or what is or what is another man's; but if he did know, he could never be impeded, he

would never be hindered, he would not be anxious. "How so?" Is any man then afraid about things which are

not evil? "No." Is he afraid about things which are evils, but still so far within his power that they may not

happen? "Certainly he is not." If, then, the things which are independent of the will are neither good nor bad,

and all things which do depend on the will are within our power, and no man can either take them from us or

give them to us, if we do not choose, where is room left for anxiety? But we are anxious about our poor body,

our little property, about the will of Caesar; but not anxious about things internal. Are we anxious about not

forming a false opinion? No, for this is in my power. About not exerting our movements contrary to nature?

No, not even about this. When then you see a man pale, as the physician says, judging from the complexion,

this man's spleen is disordered, that man's liver; so also say, this man's desire and aversion are disordered, he

is not in the right way, he is in a fever. For nothing else changes the color, or causes trembling or chattering

For this reason when Zeno was going to meet Antigonus, he was not anxious, for Antigonus had no power

over any of the things which Zeno admired; and Zeno did not care for those things over which Antigonus had

power. But Antigonus was anxious when he was going to meet Zeno, for he wished to please Zeno; but this

was a thing external. But Zeno did not want to please Antigonus; for no man who is skilled in any art wishes

Should I try to please you? Why? I suppose, you know the measure by which one man is estimated by

another. Have you taken pains to learn what is a good man and what is a bad man, and how a man becomes

one or the other? Why, then, are you not good yourself? "How," he replies, "am I not good?" Because no

good man laments or roans or weeps, no good man is pale and trembles, or says, "How will he receive me,

how will he listen to me?" Slave, just as it pleases him. Why do you care about what belongs to others? Is it

now his fault if he receives badly what proceeds from you? "Certainly." And is it possible that a fault should

be one man's, and the evil in another? "No." Why then are you anxious about that which belongs to others?

"Your question is reasonable; but I am anxious how I shall speak to him." Cannot you then speak to him as

you choose? "But I fear that I may be disconcerted?" If you are going to write the name of Dion, are you

afraid that you would be disconcerted? "By no means." Why? is it not because you have practiced writing the

name? "Certainly." Well, if you were going to read the name, would you not feel the same? and why?

Because every art has a certain strength and confidence in the things which belong to it. Have you then not

practiced speaking? and what else did you learn in the school? Syllogisms and sophistical propositions? For

what purpose? was it not for the purpose of discoursing skillfully? and is not discoursing skillfully the same

as discoursing seasonably and cautiously and with intelligence, and also without making mistakes and

without hindrance, and besides all this with confidence? "Yes." When, then, you are mounted on a horse and

go into a plain, are you anxious at being matched against a man who is on foot, and anxious in a matter in

which you are practiced, and he is not? "Yes, but that person has power to kill me." Speak the truth then,

unhappy man, and do not brag, nor claim to be a philosopher, nor refuse to acknowledge your masters, but so

long as you present this handle in your body, follow every man who is stronger than yourself. Socrates used

to practice speaking, he who talked as he did to the tyrants, to the dicasts, he who talked in his prison.

Diogenes had practiced speaking, he who spoke as he did to Alexander, to the pirates, to the person who

bought him. These men were confident in the things which they practiced. But do you walk off to your own

affairs and never leave them: go and sit in a corner, and weave syllogisms, and propose them to another.

When a certain Roman entered with his son and listened to one reading, Epictetus said, "This is the method of

instruction"; and he stopped. When the Roman asked him to go on, Epictetus said: Every art, when it is

taught, causes labour to him who is unacquainted with it and is unskilled in it, and indeed the things which

proceed from the arts immediately show their use in the purpose for which they were made; and most of them

contain something attractive and pleasing. For indeed to be present and to observe how a shoemaker learns is

not a pleasant thing; but the shoe is useful and also not disagreeable to look at. And the discipline of a smith

when he is learning is very disagreeable to one who chances to be present and is a stranger to the art: but the

work shows the use of the art. But you will see this much more in music; for if you are present while a person

is learning, the discipline will appear most disagreeable; and yet the results of music are pleasing and

delightful to those who know nothing of music. And here we conceive the work of a philosopher to be

something of this kind: he must adapt his wish to what is going on, so that neither any of the things which are

taking place shall take place contrary to our wish, nor any of the things which do not take place shall not take

place when we wish that they should. From this the result is to those who have so arranged the work of

philosophy, not to fall in the desire, nor to fall in with that which they would avoid; without uneasiness,

without fear, without perturbation to pass through life themselves, together with their associates maintaining

the relations both natural and acquired, as the relation of son, of father, of brother, of citizen, of man, of wife,

of neighbour, of fellowtraveler, of ruler, of ruled. The work of a philosopher we conceive to be something

We see then that the carpenter when he has learned certain things becomes a carpenter; the pilot by learning

certain things becomes a pilot. May it not, then, in philosophy also not be sufficient to wish to be wise and

good, and that there is also a necessity to learn certain things? We inquire then what these things are. The

philosophers say that we ought first to learn that there is a God and that he provides for all things; also that it

is not possible to conceal from him our acts, or even our intentions and thoughts. The next thing, is to learn

what is the nature of the Gods; for such as they are discovered to be, he, who would please and obey them,

must try with all his power to be like them. If the divine is faithful, man also must be faithful; if it is free,

man also must be free; if beneficent, man also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, man also must be

magnanimous; as being, then an imitator of God, he must do and say everything consistently with this fact.

"With what then must we begin?" If you will enter on the discussion, I will tell you that you must first

understand names. "So, then, you say that I do not now understand names?" You do not understand them.

"How, then, do I use them?" Just as the illiterate use written language, as cattle use appearances: for use is

one thing, understanding is another. But if you think that you understand them, produce whatever word you

please, and let us try whether we understand it. But it is a disagreeable thing for a man to be confuted who is

now old and, it may be, has now served his three campaigns. I too know this: for now you are come to me as

if you were in want of nothing: and what could you even imagine to be wanting to you? You are rich, you

have children, and a wife, perhaps and many slaves: Caesar knows you, in Rome you have many friends, you

render their dues to all, you know how to requite him who does you a favour, and to repay in the same kind

him who does a wrong. What do you lack? If, then, I shall show you that you lack the things most necessary

and the chief things for happiness, and that hitherto you have looked after everything rather than what you

ought, and, to crown all, that you neither know what God is nor what man is, nor what is good nor what is

bad; and as to what I have said about your ignorance of other matters, that may perhaps be endured, but if I

say that you know nothing about yourself, how is it possible that you should endure me and bear the proof

and stay here? It is not possible; but you immediately go off in bad humour. And yet what harm have I done

you? unless the mirror also injures the ugly man because it shows him to himself such as he is; unless the

physician also is supposed to insult the sick man, when he says to him, "Man, do you think that you ail

nothing? But you have a fever: go without food today; drink water." And no one says, "What an insult!" But

if you say to a man, "Your desires are inflamed, your aversions are low, your intentions are inconsistent, your

pursuits are not comfortable to nature, your opinions are rash and false," the man immediately goes away and

Our way of dealing is like that of a crowded assembly. Beasts are brought to be sold and oxen; and the

greater part of the men come to buy and sell, and there are some few who come to look at the market and to

inquire how it is carried on, and why, and who fixes the meeting and for what purpose. So it is here also in

this assembly: some like cattle trouble themselves about nothing except their fodder. For to all of you who

are busy about possessions and lands and slaves and magisterial offices, these are nothing except fodder. But

there are a few who attend the assembly, men who love to look on and consider what is the world, who

governs it. Has it no governor? And how is it possible that a city or a family cannot continue to exist, not

even the shortest time without an administrator and guardian, and that so great and beautiful a system should

be administered with such order and yet without a purpose and by chance? There is then an administrator.

What kind of administrator and how does he govern? And who are we, who were produced by him, and for

what purpose? Have we some connection with him and some relation toward him, or none? This is the way in

which these few are affected, and then they apply themselves only to this one thing, to examine the meeting

and then to go away. What then? They are ridiculed by the many, as the spectators at the fair are by the

traders; and if the beasts had any understanding, they would ridicule those who admired anything else than

When some persons have heard these words, that a man ought to be constant, and that the will is naturally

free and not subject to compulsion, but that all other things are subject to hindrance, to slavery, and are in the

power of others, they suppose that they ought without deviation to abide by everything which they have

determined. But in the first place that which has been determined ought to be sound. I require tone in the

body, but such as exists in a healthy body, in an athletic body; but if it is plain to me that you have the tone of

a frenzied man and you boast of it, I shall say to you, "Man, seek the physician": this is not tone, but atony. In

a different way something of the same kind is felt by those who listen to these discourses in a wrong manner;

CHAPTER 15. To or against those who obstinately persist in what they have determined 49

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

Now this man was with difficulty persuaded to change his mind. But it is impossible to convince some

persons at present; so that I seem now to know, what I did not know, before, the meaning of the common

saying, "That you can neither persuade nor break a fool." May it never be my lot to have a wise fool for my

friend: nothing is more untractable. "I am determined," the man says. Madmen are also; but the more firmly

they form a judgment on things which do not exist, the more ellebore they require. Will you not act like a

sick man and call in the physician? "I am sick, master, help me; consider what I must do: it is my duty to

obey you." So it is here also: "I know not what I ought to do, but I am come to learn." Not so; but, "Speak to

me about other things: upon this I have determined." What other things? for what is greater and more useful

than for you to be persuaded that it is not sufficient to have made your determination and not to change it.

This is the tone of madness, not of health. "I will die, if you compel me to this." Why, man? What has

happened? "I have determined." I have had a lucky escape that you have not determined to kill me. "I take no

money." Why? "I have determined." Be assured that with the very tone which you now use in refusing to

take, there is nothing to hinder you at some time from inclining without reason to take money and then

saying, "I have determined." As in a distempered body, subject to defluxions, the humor inclines sometimes

to these parts and then to those, so too a sickly soul knows not which way to incline: but if to this inclination

Where is the good? In the will. Where is the evil? In the will. Where is neither of them? In those things which

are independent of the will. Well then? Does any one among us think of these lessons out of the schools?

Does any one meditate by himself to give an answer to things as in the case of questions? Is it day? "Yes." Is

it night? "No." Well, is the number of stars even? "I cannot say." When money is shown to you, have you

studied to make the proper answer, that money is not a good thing? Have you practiced yourself in these

answers, or only against sophisms? Why do you wonder then if in the cases which you have studied, in those

you have improved; but in those which you have not studied, in those you remain the same? When the

rhetorician knows that he has written well, that he has committed to memory what he has written, and brings

an agreeable voice, why is he still anxious? Because he is not satisfied with having studied. What then does

he want? To be praised by the audience? For the purpose, then, of being able to practice declamation, he has

been disciplined: but with respect to praise and blame he has not been disciplined. For when did he hear from

any one what praise is, what blame is, what the nature of each is, what kind of praise should be sought, or

what kind of blame should be shunned? And when did he practice this discipline which follows these words?

Why then do you still wonder if, in the matters which a man has learned, there he surpasses others, and in

those in which he has not been disciplined, there he is the same with the many. So the lute player knows how

to play, sings well, and has a fine dress, and yet he trembles when he enters on the stage; for these matters he

understands, but he does not know what a crowd is, nor the shouts of a crowd, nor what ridicule is. Neither

does he know what anxiety is, whether it is our work or the work of another, whether it is possible to stop it

or not. For this reason, if he has been praised, he leaves the theatre puffed up, but if he has been ridiculed, the

This is the case also with ourselves. What do we admire? Externals. About what things are we busy?

Externals. And have we any doubt then why we fear or why we are anxious? What, then, happens when we

think the things which are coming on us to be evils? It is not in our power not to be afraid, it is not in our

power not to be anxious. Then we say, "Lord God, how shall I not be anxious?" Fool, have you not hands, did

not God make them for you, Sit down now and pray that your nose may not run. Wipe yourself rather and do

not blame him. Well then, has he given to you nothing in the present case? Has he not given to you

endurance? has he not given to you magnanimity? has he not given to you manliness? When you have such

hands, do you look for one who shall wipe your you st nose? But we neither study these things nor care for

them. Give me a man who cares how he shall do anything, not for the obtaining of a thing but who cares

about his own energy. What man, when he is walking about, cares for his own energy? who, when he is

deliberating, cares about his own deliberation, and not about obtaining that about which he deliberates? And

if he succeeds, he is elated and says, "How well we have deliberated; did I not tell you, brother, that it is

impossible, when we have thought about anything, that it should not turn out thus?" But if the thing should

turn out otherwise, the wretched man is humbled; he knows not even what to say about what has taken place.

Who among us for the sake of this matter has consulted a seer? Who among us as to his actions has not slept

in indifference? Who? Give to me one that I may see the man whom I have long been looking for, who is

Why then are we still surprised, if we are well practiced in thinking about matters, but in our acts are low,

without decency, worthless, cowardly, impatient of labour, altogether bad? For we do not care about things,

nor do we study them. But if we had feared not death or banishment, but fear itself, we should have studied

not to fall into those things which appear to us evils. Now in the school we are irritable and wordy; and if any

little question arises about any of these things, we are able to examine them fully. But drag us to practice, and

you will find us miserably shipwrecked. Let some disturbing appearance come on us, and you will know what

we have been studying and in what we have been exercising ourselves. Consequently, through want of

discipline, we are always adding something to the appearance and representing things to be greater than what

they are. For instance as to myself, when I am on a voyage and look down on the deep sea, or look round on

it and see no land, I am out of my mind and imagine that I must drink up all this water if I am wrecked, and it

does not occur to me that three pints are enough. What then disturbs me? The sea? No, but my opinion.

Again, when an earthquake shall happen, I imagine that the city is going to fall on me; is not one little stone

What then are the things which are heavy on us and disturb us? What else than opinions? What else than

opinions lies heavy upon him who goes away and leaves his companions and friends and places and habits of

life? Now little children, for instance, when they cry on the nurse leaving them for a short time, forget their

sorrow if they receive a small cake. Do you choose then that we should compare you to little children? No, by

Zeus, for I do not wish to be pacified by a small cake, but by right opinions. And what are these? Such as a

man ought to study all day, and not to be affected by anything that is not his own, neither by companion nor

place nor gymnasia, and not even by his own body, but to remember the law and to have it before his eyes.

And what is the divine law? To keep a man's own, not to claim that which belongs to others, but to use what

is given, and when it is not given, not to desire it; and when a thing is taken away, to give it up readily and

immediately, and to be thankful for the time that a man has had the use of it, if you would not cry for your

nurse and mamma. For what matter does it make by what thing a man is subdued, and on what he depends?

In what respect are you better than he who cries for a girl, if you grieve for a little gymnasium, and little

porticoes and young men and such places of amusement? Another comes and laments that he shall no longer

drink the water of Dirce. Is the Marcian water worse than that of Dirce? "But I was used to the water of

Dirce?" And you in turn will be used to the other. Then if you become attached to this also, cry for this too,

"When then shall I see Athens again and the Acropolis?" Wretch, are you not content with what you see

daily? have you anything better or greater to see than the sun, the moon, the stars, the whole earth, the sea?

But if indeed you comprehend him who administers the Whole, and carry him about in yourself, do you still

desire small stones, and a beautiful rock? When, then, you are going to leave the sun itself and the moon,

what will you do? will you sit and weep like children? Well, what have you been doing in the school? what

did you hear, what did you learn? why did you write yourself a philosopher, when you might have written the

truth; as, "I made certain introductions, and I read Chrysippus, but I did not even approach the door of a

philosopher." For how should I possess anything of the kind which Socrates possessed, who died as he did,

who lived as he did, or anything such as Diogenes possessed? Do you think that any one of such men wept or

grieved, because he was not going to see a certain man, or a certain woman, nor to be in Athens or in Corinth,

but, if it should so happen, in Susa or in Ecbatana? For if a man can quit the banquet when he chooses, and no

longer amuse himself, does he still stay and complain, and does he not stay, as at any amusement, only so

long as he is pleased? Such a man, I suppose, would endure perpetual exile or to be condemned to death. Will

you not be weaned now, like children, and take more solid food, and not cry after mammas and nurses, which

are the lamentations of old women? "But if I go away, I shall cause them sorrow." You cause them sorrow?

By no means; but that will cause them sorrow which also causes you sorrow, opinion. What have you to do

then? Take away your own opinion, and if these women are wise, they will take away their own: if they do

My man, as the proverb says, make a desperate effort on behalf of tranquillity of mind, freedom and

magnanimity. Lift up your head at last as released from slavery. Dare to look up to God and say, "Deal with

me for the future as thou wilt; I am of the same mind as thou art; I am thine: I refuse nothing that pleases

thee: lead me where thou wilt: clothe me in any dress thou choosest: is it thy will that I should hold the office

of a magistrate, that I should be in the condition of a private man, stay there or be an exile, be poor, be rich? I

will make thy defense to men in behalf of all these conditions. I will show the nature of each thing what it is."

You will not do so; but sit in an ox's belly, and wait for your mamma till she shall feed you. Who would

Hercules have been, if he had sat at home? He would have been Eurystheus and not Hercules. Well, and in

his travels through the world how many intimates and how many friends had he? But nothing more dear to

him than God. For this reason it was believed that he was the son of God, and he was. In obedience to God,

then, he went about purging away injustice and lawlessness. But you are not Hercules and you are not able to

purge away the wickedness of others; nor yet are you Theseus, able to pure away the evil things of Attica.

Clear away your own. From yourself, from your thoughts cast away, instead of Procrustes and Sciron,

sadness, fear, desire, envy, malevolence, avarice, effeminacy, intemperance. But it is not possible to eject

these things otherwise than by looking to God only, by fixing your affections on him only, by being

consecrated to his commands. But if you choose anything else, you will with sighs and groans be compelled

to follow what is stronger than yourself, always seeking tranquillity and never able to find it; for you seek

What is the first business of him who philosophizes? To throw away selfconceit. For it is impossible for a

man to begin to learn that which he thinks that he knows. As to things then which ought to be done and ought

not to be done, and good and bad, and beautiful and ugly, all of us talking of them at random go to the

philosophers; and on these matters we praise, we censure, we accuse, we blame, we judge and determine

about principles honourable and dishonourable. But why do we go to the philosophers? Because we wish to

learn what we do not think we know. And what is this? Theorems. For we wish to learn what philosophers

say as being something elegant and acute; and some wish to learn that they may get profit what they learn. It

is ridiculous then to think that a person wishes to learn one thing, and will learn another; or further, that a

man will make proficiency in that which he does not learn. But the many are deceived by this which deceived

also the rhetorician Theopompus, when he blames even Plato for wishing everything to be defined. For what

does he say? "Did none of us before you use the words 'good' or 'just,' or do we utter the sounds in an

unmeaning and empty way without understanding what they severally signify?" Now who tells you,

Theopompus, that we had not natural notions of each of these things and preconceptions? But it is not

possible to adapt preconceptions to their correspondent objects if we have not distinguished them, and

inquired what object must be subjected to each preconception. You may make the same charge against

physicians also. For who among us did not use the words "healthy" and "unhealthy" before Hippocrates lived,

or did we utter these words as empty sounds? For we have also a certain preconception of health, but we are

not able to adapt it. For this reason one says, "Abstain from food"; another says, "Give food"; another says,

"Bleed"; and another says, "Use cupping." What is the reason? is it any other than that a man cannot properly

So it is in this matter also, in the things which concern life. Who among us does not speak of good and bad,

of useful and not useful; for who among us has not a preconception of each of these things? Is it then a

distinct and perfect preconception? Show this. How shall I show this? Adapt the preconception properly to

the particular things. Plato, for instance, subjects definitions to the preconception of the useful, but you to the

preconception of the useless. Is it possible then that both of you are right? How is it possible? Does not one

man adapt the preconception of good to the matter of wealth, and another not to wealth, but to the matter of

pleasure and to that of health? For, generally, if all of us who use those words know sufficiently each of them,

and need no diligence in resolving, the notions of the preconceptions, why do we differ, why do we quarrel,

And why do I now allege this contention with one another and speak of it? If you yourself properly adapt

your preconceptions, why are you unhappy, why are you hindered? Let us omit at present the second topic

about the pursuits and the study of the duties which relate to them. Let us omit also the third topic, which

relates to the assents: I give up to you these two topics. Let us insist upon the first, which presents an almost

obvious demonstration that we do not properly adapt the preconceptions. Do you now desire that which is

possible and that which is possible to you? Why then are you hindered? why are you unhappy? Do you not

now try to avoid the unavoidable? Why then do you fall in with anything which you would avoid? Why are

you unfortunate? Why, when you desire a thing, does it not happen, and, when you do not desire it, does it

happen? For this is the greatest proof of unhappiness and misery: "I wish for something, and it does not

It was because she could not endure this that Medea came to murder her children: an act of a noble spirit in

this view at least, for she had a just opinion what it is for a thing not to succeed which a person wishes. Then

she says, "Thus I shall be avenged on him who has wronged and insulted me; and what shall I gain if he is

punished thus? how then shall it be done? I shall kill my children, but I shall punish myself also: and what do

I care?" This is the aberration of soul which possesses great energy. For she did not know wherein lies the

doing of that which we wish; that you cannot get this from without, nor yet by the alteration and new

adaptation of things. Do not desire the man, and nothing which you desire will fall to happen: do not

obstinately desire that he shall live with you: do not desire to remain in Corinth; and, in a word, desire

nothing than that which God wills. And who shall hinder you? who shall compel you? No man shall compel

When you have such a guide, and your wishes and desires are the same as his, why do you fear

disappointment? Give up your desire to wealth and your aversion to poverty, and you will be disappointed in

the one, you will fall into the other. Well, give them up to health, and you will be unfortunate: give them up

to magistracies, honours, country, friends, children, in a word to any of the things which are not in man's

power. But give them up to Zeus and to the rest of the gods; surrender them to the gods, let the gods govern,

let your desire and aversion be ranged on the side of the gods, and wherein will you be any longer unhappy?

But if, lazy wretch, you envy, and complain, and are jealous, and fear, and never cease for a single day

complaining both of yourself and of the gods, why do you still speak of being educated? What kind of an

education, man? Do you mean that you have been employed about sophistical syllogisms? Will you not, if it

is possible, unlearn all these things and begin from the beginning, and see at the same time that hitherto you

have not even touched the matter; and then, commencing from this foundation, will you not build up all that

comes after, so that nothing, may happen which you do not choose, and nothing shall fail to happen which

Give me one young man who has come to the school with this intention, who is become a champion for this

matter and says, "I give up everything else, and it is enough for me if "t shall ever be in my power to pass my

life free from hindrance and free from trouble, and to stretch out my neck to all things like a free man, and to

look up to heaven as a friend of God, and fear nothing that can happen." Let any of you point out such a man

that I may "Come, young man, into the possession of that which is your own, it is your destiny to adorn

philosophy: yours are these possessions, yours these books, yours these discourses." Then when he shall have

laboured sufficiently and exercised himself in this of the matter, let him come to me again and say, "I desire

to be free from passion and free from perturbation; and I wish as a pious man and a philosopher and a diligent

person to know what is my duty to the gods, what to my parents, what to my brothers, what to my country,

what to strangers." Come also to the second matter: this also is yours. "But I have now sufficiently studied the

second part also, and I would gladly be secure and unshaken, and not only when I am awake, but also when I

am asleep, and when I am filled with wine, and when I am melancholy." Man, you are a god, you have great

"No: but I wish to understand what Chrysippus says in his treatise of the Pseudomenos." Will you not hang

yourself, wretch, with such your intention? And what good will it do you? You will read the whole with

sorrow, and you will speak to others trembling, Thus you also do. "Do you wish me, brother, to read to you,

and you to me?" "You write excellently, my man; and you also excellently in the style of Xenophon, and you

in the style of Plato, and you in the style of Antisthenes." Then, having told your dreams to one another, you

return to the same things: your desires are the same, your aversions the same, your pursuits are the same, and

your designs and purposes, you wish for the same things and work for the same. In the next place you do not

even seek for one to give you advice, but you are vexed if you hear such things. Then you say, "An

illnatured old fellow: when I was going away, he did not weep nor did he say, 'Into what danger you are

going: if you come off safe, my child, I will burn lights.' This is what a goodnatured man would do." It will

be a great thing for you if you do return safe, and it will be worth while to burn lights for such a person: for

Casting away then, as I say, this conceit of thinking that we know something useful, we I I must come to

philosophy as we apply to geometry, and to music: but if we do not, we shall not even approach to

proficiency, though we read all the collections and commentaries of Chrysippus and those of Antipater and

Every habit and faculty is maintained and increased by the corresponding actions: the habit of walking by

walking, the habit of running by running. If you would be a good reader, read; if a writer, write. But when

you shall not have read thirty days in succession, but have done something else, you will know the

consequence. In the same way, if you shall have lain down ten days, get up and attempt to make a long walk,

and you will see how your legs are weakened. Generally, then, if you would make anything a habit, do it; if

you would not make it a habit, do not do it, but accustom yourself to do something else in place of it.

So it is with respect to the affections of the soul: when you have been angry, you must know that not only has

this evil befallen you, but that you have also increased the habit, and in a manner thrown fuel upon fire. When

you have been overcome in sexual intercourse with a person, do not reckon this single defeat only, but reckon

that you have also nurtured, increased your incontinence. For it is impossible for habits and faculties, some of

them not to be produced, when they did not exist before, and others not be increased and strengthened by

In this manner certainly, as philosophers say, also diseases of the mind grow up. For when you have once

desired money, if reason be applied to lead to a perception of the evil, the desire is stopped, and the ruling

faculty of our mind is restored to the original authority. But if you apply no means of cure, it no longer

returns to the same state, but, being again excited by the corresponding appearance, it is inflamed to desire

quicker than before: and when this takes place continually, it is henceforth hardened, and the disease of the

mind confirms the love of money. For he who has had a fever, and has been relieved from it, is not in the

same state that he was before, unless he has been completely cured. Something of the kind happens also in

diseases of the soul. Certain traces and blisters are left in it, and unless a man shall completely efface them,

when he is again lashed on the same places, the lash will produce not blisters but sores. If then you wish not

to be of an angry temper, do not feed the habit; throw nothing on it which will increase it: at first keep quiet,

and count the days on which you have not been angry. I used to be in passion every day; now every second

day; then every third, then every fourth. But if you have intermitted thirty days, make a sacrifice to God. For

the habit at first begins to be weakened, and then is completely destroyed. "I have not been vexed today, 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. Today when I saw a handsome person, I did not

say to myself, "I wish I could lie with her," and "Happy is her husband"; for he who says this says, "Happy is

her adulterer also." Nor do I picture the rest to my mind; the woman present, and stripping herself and lying

down by my side. I stroke my head and say, "Well done, Epictetus, you have solved a fine little sophism,

much finer than that which is called the master sophism." And if even the woman is willing, and gives signs,

and sends messages, and if she also fondle me and come close to me, and I should abstain and be victorious,

that would be a sophism beyond that which is named "The Liar," and "The Quiescent." Over such a victory as

How then shall this be done? Be willing at length to be approved by yourself, be willing to appear beautiful

to God, desire to he in purity with your own pure self and with God. Then when any such appearance visits

you, Plato says, "Have recourse to expiations, go a suppliant to the temples of the averting deities." It is even

sufficient if "you resort to the society of noble and just men," and compare yourself with them, whether you

find one who is living or dead. Go to Socrates and see him lying down with Alcibiades, and mocking his

beauty: consider what a victory he at last found that he had gained over himself; what an Olympian victory;

in what number he stood from Hercules; so that, by the Gods, one may justly salute him, "Hail, wondrous

man, you who have conquered not less these sorry boxers and pancratiasts nor yet those who are like them,

the gladiators." By placing these objects on the other side you will conquer the appearance: you will not be

drawn away by it. But, in the first place, be not hurried away by the rapidity of the appearance, but say,

"Appearances, wait for me a little: let me see who you are, and what you are about: let me put you to the

test." And then do not allow the appearance to lead you on and draw lively pictures of the things which will

follow; for if you do, it will carry you off wherever it pleases. But rather bring in to oppose it some other

beautiful and noble appearance and cast out this base appearance. And if you are accustomed to be exercised

in this way, you will see what shoulders, what sinews, what strength you have. But now it is only trifling

This is the true athlete, the man who exercises himself against such appearances. Stay, wretch, do not be

carried away. Great is the combat, divine is the work; it is for kingship, for freedom, for happiness, for

freedom from perturbation. Remember God: call on him as a helper and protector, as men at sea call on the

Dioscuri in a storm. For what is a greater storm than that which comes from appearances which are violent

and drive away the reason? For the storm itself, what else is it but an appearance? For take away the fear of

death, and suppose as many thunders and lightnings as you please, and you will know what calm and serenity

there is in the ruling faculty. But if you have once been defeated and say that you will conquer hereafter, then

say the same again, be assured that you at last be in so wretched a condition and so weak that you will not

even know afterward that you are doing wrong, but you will even begin to make apologies for your

The argument called the "ruling argument" appears to have been proposed from such principles as these:

there is in fact a common contradiction between one another in these three positions, each two being in

contradiction to the third. The propositions are, that everything past must of necessity be true; that an

impossibility does not follow a possibility; and that thing is possible which neither is nor t at a t will be true.

Diodorus observing this contradiction employed the probative force of the first two for the demonstration of

this proposition, "That nothing is possible which is not true and never will be." Now another will hold these

two: "That something is possible, which is neither true nor ever will be": and "That an impossibility does not

follow a possibility," But he will not allow that everything which is past is necessarily true, as the followers

of Cleanthes seem to think, and Antipater copiously defended them. But others maintain the other two

propositions, "That a thing is possible which is neither true nor will he true": and "That everything which is

past is necessarily true"; but then they will maintain that an impossibility can follow a possibility. But it is

impossible to maintain these three propositions, because of their common contradiction.

If then any man should ask me which of these propositions do I maintain? I will answer him that I do not

know; but I have received this story, that Diodorus maintained one opinion, the followers of Panthoides, I

think, and Cleanthes maintained another opinion, and those of Chrysippus a third. "What then is your

opinion?" I was not made for this purpose, to examine the appearances that occur to me and to compare what

others say and to form an opinion of my own on the thing. Therefore I differ not at all from the grammarian.

"Who was Hector's father?" Priam. "Who were his brothers?" Alexander and Deiphobus. "Who was their

mother?" Hecuba. I have heard this story. "From whom?" From Homer. And Hellanicus also, I think, writes

about the same things, and perhaps others like him. And what further have I about the ruling argument?

Nothing. But, if I am a vain man, especially at a banquet, I surprise the guests by enumerating those who

have written on these matters. Both Chrysippus has written wonderfully in his first book about "Possibilities,"

and Cleanthes has written specially on the subject, and Archedemus. Antipater also has written not only in his

work about "Possibilities," but also separately in his work on the ruling argument. Have you not read the

work? "I have not read it." Read. And what profit will a man have from it? he will be more trifling and

impertinent than he is now; for what else have you rained by reading it? What opinion have you formed on

this subject? none; but you will tell us of Helen and Priam, and the island of Calypso which never was and

never will be. And in this matter indeed it is of no great importance if you retain the story, but have formed

no opinion of your own. But in matters of morality this happens to us much more than in these things of

"Of things some are good, some are bad, and others are indifferent. The good then are the virtues and the

things which partake of the virtues; the bad are the vices, and the things which partake of them; and the

indifferent are the things which lie between the virtues and the vices, wealth, health, life, death, pleasure,

pain." Whence do you know this? "Hellanicus says it in his Egyptian history"; for what difference does it

make to say this, or to say that "Diogenes has it in his Ethic," or Chrysippus or Cleanthes? Have you then

examined any of these things and formed an opinion of your own? Show how you are used to behave in a

storm on shipboard? Do you remember this division, when the sail rattles and a man, who knows nothing of

times and seasons, stands by you when you are screaming and says, "Tell me, I ask you by the Gods, what

you were saying just now. Is it a vice to suffer shipwreck: does it participate in vice?" Will you not take up a

stick and lay it on his head? What have we to do with you, man? we are perishing and you come to mock us?

But if Caesar sent for you to answer a charge, do you remember the distinction? If, when you are going in,

pale and trembling, a person should come up to you and say, "Why do you tremble, man? what is the matter

about which you are engaged? Does Caesar who sits within give virtue and vice to those who go in to him?"

You reply, "Why do you also mock me and add to my present sorrows?" Still tell me, philosopher, tell me

why you tremble? Is it not death of which you run the risk, or a prison, or pain of the body, or banishment, or

disgrace? What else is there? Is there any vice or anything which partakes of vice? What then did you use to

say of these things? "What have you to do with me, man? my own evils are enough for me." And you say

right. Your own evils are enough for you, your baseness, your cowardice, your boasting which you showed

when you sat in the school. Why did you decorate yourself with what belonged to others? Why did you call

Observe yourselves thus in your actions, and you will find to what sect you belong. You will find that most of

you are Epicureans, a few Peripatetics, and those feeble. For wherein will you show that you really consider

virtue equal to everything else or even superior? But show me a Stoic, if you can. Where or how? But you

can show me an endless number who utter small arguments of the Stoics. For do the same persons repeat the

Epicurean opinions any worse? And the Peripatetic, do they not handle them also with equal accuracy? who

then is a Stoic? As we call a statue Phidiac which is fashioned according to the art of Phidias; so show me a

man who is fashioned according to the doctrines which he utters. Show me a man who is sick and happy, in

danger and happy, dying and happy, in exile and happy, in disgrace and happy. Show him: I desire, by the

gods, to see a Stoic. You cannot show me one fashioned so; but show me at least one who is forming, who

has shown a tendency to be a Stoic. Do me this favor: do not grudge an old man seeing a sight which I have

not seen yet. Do you think that you must show me the Zeus of Phidias or the Athena, a work of ivory and

gold? Let any of you show me a human soul ready to think as God does, and not to blame either God or man,

ready not to be disappointed about anything, not to consider himself damaged by anything, not to be angry,

not to be envious, not to be jealous; and why should I not say it direct? desirous from a man to become a god,

and in this poor mortal body thinking of his fellowship with Zeus. Show me the man. But you cannot. Why

then do you delude yourselves and cheat others? and why do you put on a guise which does not belong to

you, and walk about being thieves and pilferers of these names and things which do not belong to you?

And now I am your teacher, and you are instructed in my school. And I have this purpose, to make you free

from restraint, compulsion, hindrance, to make you free, prosperous, happy, looking to God in everything

small and great. And you are here to learn and practice these things. Why, then, do you not finish the work, if

you also have such a purpose as you ought to have, and if I, in addition to the purpose, also have such

qualification as I ought to have? What is that which is wanting? When I see an artificer and material by him, I

expect the work. Here, then, is the artificer, here the material; what is it that we want? Is not the thing, one

that can be taught? It is. Is it not then in our power? The only thing of all that is in our power. Neither wealth

is in our power, nor health, nor reputation, nor in a word anything else except the right use of appearances.

This is by nature free from restraint, this alone is free from impediment. Why then do you not finish the

work? Tell me the reason. For it is either through my fault that you do not finish it, or through your own fault,

or through the nature of the thing. The thing itself is possible, and the only thing in our power. It remains then

that the fault is either in me or in you, or, what is nearer the truth, in both. Well then, are you willing that we

begin at last to bring such a purpose into this school, and to take no notice of the past? Let us only make a

The propositions which are true and evident are of necessity used even by those who contradict them: and a

man might perhaps consider it to be the greatest proof of a thing being evident that it is found to be necessary

even for him who denies it to make use of it at the same time. For instance, if a man should deny that there is

anything universally true, it is plain that he must make the contradictory negation, that nothing is universally

true. What, wretch, do you not admit even this? For what else is this than to affirm that whatever is

universally affirmed is false? Again, if a man should come forward and say: "Know that there is nothing that

can be known, but all things are incapable of sure evidence"; or if another say, "Believe me and you will be

the better for it, that a man ought not to believe anything"; or again, if another should say, "Learn from me,

man, that it is not possible to learn anything; I tell you this and will teach you, if you choose." Now in what

respect do these differ from those? Whom shall I name? Those who call themselves Academics? "Men, agree

Thus Epicurus also, when he designs to destroy the natural fellowship of mankind, at the same time makes

use of that which he destroys. For what does he say? "Be not deceived men, nor be led astray, nor be

mistaken: there is no natural fellowship among rational animals; believe me. But those who say otherwise,

deceive you and seduce you by false reasons." What is this to you? Permit us to be deceived. Will you fare

worse, if all the rest of us are persuaded that there is a natural fellowship among us, and that it ought by all

means to be preserved? Nay, it will be much better and safer for you. Man, why do you trouble yourself about

us? Why do you keep awake for us? Why do you light your lamp? Why do you rise early? Why do you write

so many books, that no one of us may be deceived about the gods and believe that they take care of men; or

that no one may suppose the nature of good to be other than pleasure? For if this is so, lie down and sleep,

and lead the life of a worm, of which you judged yourself worthy: eat and drink, and enjoy women, and ease

yourself, and snore. And what is it to you, how the rest shall think about these things, whether right or

wrong? For what have we to do with you? You take care of sheep because they supply us with wool, and

milk, and, last of all, with their flesh. Would it not be a desirable thing if men could be lulled and enchanted

by the Stoics, and sleep and present themselves to you and to those like you to be shorn and milked? For this

you ought to say to your brother Epicureans: but ought you not to conceal it from others, and particularly

before everything to persuade them that we are by nature adapted for fellowship, that temperance is a good

thing; in order that all things may be secured for you? Or ought we to maintain this fellowship with some and

not with others? With whom, then, ought we to maintain it? With such as on their part also maintain it, or

with such as violate this fellowship? And who violate it more than you who establish such doctrines?

What then was it that waked Epicurus from his sleepiness, and compelled him to write what he did write?

What else was it than that which is the strongest thing in men, nature, which draws a man to her own will

though he be unwilling and complaining? "For since," she says, "you think that there is no community among

mankind, write this opinion and leave it for others, and break your sleep to do this, and by your own practice

condemn your own opinions." Shall we then say that Orestes was agitated by the Erinyes and roused from his

deep sleep, and did not more savage Erinyes and Pains rouse Epicurus from his sleep and not allow him to

rest, but compelled him to make known his own evils, as madness and wine did the Galli? So strong and

invincible is man's nature. For how can a vine be moved not in the mariner of a vine, but in the manner of an

olive tree? or on the other hand how can an olive tree be moved not in the manner of an olive tree, but in the

manner of a vine? It is impossible: it cannot be conceived. Neither then is it possible for a man completely to

lose the movements of a man; and even those who are deprived of their genital members are not able to

deprive themselves of man's desires. Thus Epicurus also mutilated all the offices of a man, and of a father of

a family, and of a citizen and of a friend, but he did not mutilate human desires, for he could not; not more

than the lazy Academics can cast away or blind their own senses, though they have tried with all their might

to do it. What a shame is this? when a man has received from nature measures and rules for the knowing of

truth, and does not strive to add to these measures and rules and to improve them, but, just the contrary,

What say you philosopher? piety and sanctity, what do you think that they are? "If you like, I will

demonstrate that they are good things." Well, demonstrate it, that our citizens may be turned and honor the

deity and may no longer be negligent about things of the highest value. "Have you then the demonstrations?"

I have, and I am thankful. "Since then you are well pleased with them, hear the contrary: 'That there are no

Gods, and, if there are, they take no care of men, nor is there any fellowship between us and them; and that

this piety and sanctity which is talked of among most men is the lying of boasters and sophists, or certainly of

legislators for the purpose of terrifying and checking wrongdoers.'" Well done, philosopher, you have done

something for our citizens, you have brought back all the young men to contempt of things divine. "What

then, does not this satisfy you? Learn now, that justice is nothing, that modesty is folly, that a father is

nothing, a son nothing." Well done, philosopher, persist, persuade the young men, that we may have more

with the same opinions as you who say the same as you. From such you an principles as those have grown

our wellconstituted states; by these was Sparta founded: Lycurgus fixed these opinions in the Spartans by

his laws and education, that neither is the servile condition more base than honourable, nor the condition of

free men more honorable than base, and that those who died at Thermopylae died from these opinions; and

through what other opinions did the Athenians leave their city? Then those who talk thus, marry and beget

children, and employ themselves in public affairs and make themselves priests and interpreters. Of whom? of

gods who do not exist: and they consult the Pythian priestess that they may hear lies, and they repeat the

Man what are you doing? are you refuting yourself every day; and will you not give up these frigid attempts?

When you eat, where do you carry your hand to? to your mouth or to your eye? when you wash yourself,

what do you go into? do you ever call a pot a dish, or a ladle a spit? If I were a slave of any of these men,

even if I must be flayed by him dally, I would rack him. If he said, "Boy, throw some oliveoil into the bath,"

I would take pickle sauce and pour it down on his head. "What is this?" he would say. An appearance was

presented to me, I swear by your genius, which could not be distinguished from oil and was exactly like it.

"Here give me the barley drink," he says. I would fill and carry him a dish of sharp sauce. "Did I not ask for

the barley drink?" Yes, master; this is the barley drink. "Take it and smell; take it and taste." How do you

know then if our senses deceive us? If I had three or four fellowslaves of the same opinion, I should force

him to hang himself through passion or to change his mind. But now they mock us by using all the things

Grateful indeed are men and modest, who, if they do nothing else, are daily eating bread and yet are

shameless enough to say, we do not know if there is a Demeter or her daughter Persephone or a Pluto; not to

mention that they are enjoying the night and the day, the seasons of the year, and the stars, and the sea, and

the land, and the cooperation of mankind, and yet they are not moved in any degree by these things to turn

their attention to them; but they only seek to belch out their little problem, and when they have exercised their

stomach to go off to the bath. But what they shall say, and about what things or to what persons, and what

their hearers shall learn from this talk, they care not even in the least degree, nor do they care if any generous

youth after hearing such talk should suffer any harm from it, nor after he has suffered harm should lose all the

seeds of his generous nature: nor if we should give an adulterer help toward being shameless in his acts; nor

if a public peculator should lay hold of some cunning excuse from these doctrines; nor if another who

neglects his parents should be confirmed in his audacity by this teaching. What then in your opinion is good

or bad? This or that? Why then should a man say any more in reply to such persons as these, or give them any

reason or listen to any reasons from them, or try to convince them? By Zeus one might much sooner expect to

make certainties change their mind than those who are become so deaf and blind to their own evils.

Some things men readily confess, and other things they do not. No one then will confess that he is a fool or

without understanding; but, quite the contrary, you will hear all men saying, "I wish that I had fortune equal

to my understanding." But readily confess that they are timid, and they say: "I am rather timid, I confess; but

to other respects you will not find me to foolish." A man will not readily confess that he is intemperate; and

that he is unjust he will not confess at all. He will by no means confess that be is envious or a busybody.

Most men will confess that they are compassionate. What then is the reason? The chief thing is inconsistency

and confusion in the things which relate to good and evil. But different men have different reasons; and

generally what they imagine to be base, they do not confess at all. But they suppose timidity to be a

characteristic of a good disposition, and compassion also; but silliness to be the absolute characteristic of a

slave. And they do not at all admit the things which are offenses against society. But in the case of most

errors, for this reason chiefly, they are induced to confess them, because they that there is something

involuntary in them as in timidity and compassion; and if a man confess that he is in any respect intemperate,

he alleges love as an excuse for what is involuntary. But men do not imagine injustice to be at all There is

also in jealousy, as they suppose, something involuntary; and for this reason they confess to jealousy also.

Living among such men, who are so confused so ignorant of what they say, and of evils which they have or

have not, and why they have them, or how they shall be relieved of them, I think it is worth the trouble for a

man to watch constantly "Whether I also am one of them, what imagination I have about myself, how I

conduct myself, whether I conduct myself as a prudent man, whether I conduct myself as a temperate man,

whether I ever say this, that I have been taught to be prepared for everything that may happen. Have I the

consciousness, which a man who knows nothing ought to have, that I know nothing? Do I go to my teacher as

men go to oracles, prepared to obey? or do I like a sniveling boy go to my school to learn history and

understand the books which I did not understand before, and, if it should happen so, to explain them also to

others?" Man, you have had a fight in the house with a poor slave, you have turned the family upside down,

you have frightened the neighbours, and you come to me as if you were a wise man, and you take your seat

and judge how I have explained some word, and how I have babbled whatever came into my head. You come

full of envy, and humbled, because you bring nothing from home; and you sit during, the discussion thinking

of nothing else than how your father is disposed toward you and your brother. "What are they saying about

me there? now they think that I am improving, and are saying, 'He will return with all knowledge.' I wish I

could learn everything before I return: but much labour is necessary, and no one sends me anything, and the

Then they say, "No one gains any profit from the school." Why, who comes to the school, who comes for the

purpose of being improved? who comes to present his opinions to he purified? who comes to learn what he is

in want of? Why do you wonder then if you carry back from the school the very things which you bring into

it? For you come not to lay aside or to correct them or to receive other principles in place of them. By no

means, nor anything like it. You rather look to this, whether you possess already that for which you come.

You wish to prattle about theorems? What then? Do you not become greater triflers? Do not your little

theorems give you some opportunity of display? You solve sophistical syllogisms. Do you not examine the

assumptions of the syllogism named "The Liar"? Do you not examine hypothetical syllogisms? Why, then,

are you still vexed if you receive the things for which you come to the school? "Yes; but if my child die or

my brother, or if I must die or be racked, what good will these things do me?" Well, did you come for this?

for this do you sit by my side? did you ever for this light your lamp or keep awake? or, when you went out to

the walkingplace, did you ever propose any appearance that had been presented to you instead of a

syllogism, and did you and your friends discuss it together? Where and when? Then you say, "Theorems are

useless." To whom? To such as make a bad use of them. For eyesalves are not useless to those who use them

as they ought and when they ought. Fomentations are not useless. Dumbbells are not useless; but they are

useless to some, useful to others. If you ask me now if syllogisms are useful, I will tell you that they are

useful, and if you choose, I will prove it. "How then will they in any way be useful to me?" Man, did you ask

if they are useful to you, or did you ask generally? Let him who is suffering from dysentery ask me if vinegar

is useful: I will say that it is useful. "Will it then be useful to me?" I will say, "No." Seek first for the

discharge to be stopped and the ulcers to be closed. And do you, O men, first cure the ulcers and stop the

discharge; be tranquil in your mind, bring it free from distraction into the school, and you will know what

What a man applies himself to earnestly, that he naturally loves. Do men then apply themselves earnestly to

the things which are bad? By no means. Well, do they apply themselves to things which in no way concern

themselves? Not to these either. It remains, then, that they employ themselves earnestly only about things

which are good; and if they are earnestly employed about things, they love such things also. Whoever, then,

understands what is good, can also know how to love; but he who cannot distinguish good from bad, and

things which are neither good nor bad from both, can he possess the power of loving? To love, then, is only

"How is this?" a man may say; am foolish, and yet love my child." I am surprised indeed that you have begun

by making the admission that you are foolish. For what are you deficient in? Can you not make use of your

senses? do you not distinguish appearances? do you not use food which is suitable for your body, and

clothing and habitation? Why then do you admit that you are foolish? It is in truth because you are often

disturbed by appearances and perplexed, and their power of persuasion often conquers you; and sometimes

you think these things to be good, and then the same things to be bad, and lastly neither good nor bad; and in

short you grieve, fear, envy, are disturbed, you are changed. This is the reason why you confess that you are

foolish. And are you not changeable in love? But wealth, and pleasure and, in a word, things themselves, do

you sometimes think them to he good and sometimes bad? and do you not think the same men at one time to

be good, at another time bad? and have you not at one time a friendly feeling toward them and at another time

the feeling of an enemy? and do you not at one time praise them and at another time blame them? "Yes; I

have these feelings also." Well then, do you think that he who has been deceived about a man is his friend?

"Certainly not." And he who has selected a man as his friend and is of a changeable disposition, has he

goodwill toward him? "He has not." And he who now abuses a man, and afterward admires him? "This man

also has no goodwill to the other." Well then, did you never see little dogs caressing and playing with one

another, so that you might say there is nothing more friendly? but, that you may know what friendship is,

throw a bit of flesh among them, and you will learn. Throw between yourself and your son a little estate, and

you will know how soon he will wish to bury you and how soon you wish your son to die. Then you will

change your tone and say, "What a son I have brought up! He has long been wishing to bury me." Throw a

smart girl between you; and do you, the old man, love her, and the young one will love her too, If a little fame

intervene, or dangers, it will be just the same. You will utter the words of the father of Admetus!

Do you think that Admetus did not love his own child when he was little? that he was not in agony when the

child had a fever? that he did not often say, "I wish I had the fever instead of the child?" then when the test

(the thing) came and was near, see what words they utter. Were not Eteocles and Polynices from the same

mother and from the same father? Were they not brought up together, had they not lived together, drunk

together, slept together, and often kissed one another? So that, if any man, I think, had seen them, he would

have ridiculed the philosophers for the paradoxes which they utter about friendship. But when a quarrel rose

between them about the royal power, as between dogs about a bit of meat, see what they say,

For universally, be not deceived, every animal is attached to nothing so much as to its own interest. Whatever

then appears to it an impediment to this interest, whether this be a brother, or a father, or a child, or beloved,

or lover, it hates, spurns, curses: for its nature is to love nothing so much as its own interest; this is father, and

brother and kinsman, and country, and God. When, then, the gods appear to us to be an impediment to this,

we abuse them and throw down their statues and burn their temples, as Alexander ordered the temples of

For this reason if a man put in the same place his interest, sanctity, goodness, and country, and parents, and

friends, all these are secured: but if he puts in one place his interest, in another his friends, and his country

and his kinsmen and justice itself, all these give way being borne down by the weight of interest. For where

the "I" and the "Mine" are placed, to that place of necessity the animal inclines: if in the flesh, there is the

ruling power: if in the will, it is there: and if it is in externals, it is there. If then I am there where my will is,

then only shall I be a friend such as I ought to be, and son, and father; for this will he my interest, to maintain

the character of fidelity, of modesty, of patience, of abstinence, of active cooperation, of observing my

relations. But if I put myself in one place, and honesty in another, then the doctrine of Epicurus becomes

strong, which asserts either that there is no honesty or it is that which opinion holds to be honest.

It was through this ignorance that the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians quarreled, and the Thebans with

both; and the great king quarreled with Hellas, and the Macedonians with both; and the Romans with the

Getae. And still earlier the Trojan war happened for these reasons. Alexander was the guest of Menelaus; and

if any man had seen their friendly disposition, he would not have believed any one who said that they were

not friends. But there was cast between them a bit of meat, a handsome woman, and about her war arose. And

now when you see brothers to be friends appearing to have one mind, do not conclude from this anything

about their friendship, not even if they say it and swear that it is impossible for them to be separated from one

another. For the ruling principle of a bad man cannot be trusted, it is insecure, has no certain rule by which it

is directed, and is overpowered at different times by different appearances. But examine, not what other men

examine, if they are born of the same parents and brought up together, and under the same pedagogue; but

examine this only, wherein they place their interest, whether in externals or in the will. If in externals, do not

name them friends, no more than name them trustworthy or constant, or brave or free: do not name them even

men, if you have any judgment. For that is not a principle of human nature which makes them bite one

another, and abuse one another, and occupy deserted places or public places, as if they were mountains, and

in the courts of justice display the acts of robbers; nor yet that which makes them intemperate and adulterers

and corrupters, nor that which makes them do whatever else men do against one another through this one

opinion only, that of placing themselves and their interests in the things which are not within the power of

their will. But if you hear that in truth these men think the good to be only there, where will is, and where

there is a right use of appearances, no longer trouble yourself whether they are father or son, or brothers, or

have associated a long time and are companions, but when you have ascertained this only, confidently declare

that they are friends, as you declare that they are faithful, that they are just. For where else is friendship than

where there is fidelity, and modesty, where there is a communion of honest things and of nothing else?

"But," you may say, "such a one treated me with regard so long; and did he not love me?" How do you know,

slave, if he did not regard you in the same way as he wipes his shoes with a sponge, or as he takes care of his

beast? How do you know, when you have ceased to be useful as a vessel, he will not throw you away like a

broken platter? "But this woman is my wife, and we have lived together so long." And how long did Eriphyle

live with Amphiaraus, and was the mother of children and of many? But a necklace came between them.

"And what is a necklace?" It is the opinion about such things. That was the bestial principle, that was the

thing which broke asunder the friendship between husband and wife, that which did not allow the woman to

be a wife nor the mother to be a mother. And let every man among you who has seriously resolved either to

be a friend himself or to have another for his friend, cut out these opinions, hate them, drive them from his

soul. And thus, first of all, he will not reproach himself, he will not be at variance with himself, will not

change his mind, he will not torture himself. In the next place, to another also, who is like himself, he will be

altogether and completely a friend. But he will bear with the man who is unlike himself, he will be kind to

him, gentle, ready to pardon on account of his ignorance, on account of his being mistaken in things of the

greatest importance; but he will be harsh to no man, being well convinced of Plato's doctrine that every mind

is deprived of truth unwillingly. If you cannot do this, yet you can do in all other respects as friends do, drink

together, and lodge together, and sail together, and you may be born of the same parents; for snakes also are:

but neither will they be friends nor you, so long as you retain these bestial and cursed opinions.

Every man will read a book with more pleasure or even with more case, if it is written in fairer characters.

Therefore every man will also listen more readily to what is spoken, if it is signified by appropriate and

becoming words. We must not say, then, that there is no faculty of expression: for this affirmation is the

characteristic of an impious and also of a timid man. Of an impious man, because he undervalues the gifts

which come from God, just as if he would take away the commodity of the power of vision, or of hearing, or

of seeing. Has, then, God given you eyes to no purpose? and to no purpose has he infused into them a spirit

so strong and of such skillful contrivance as to reach a long way and to fashion the forms of things which are

seen? What messenger is so swift and vigilant? And to no purpose has he made the interjacent atmosphere so

efficacious and elastic that the vision penetrates through the atmosphere which is in a manner moved? And to

no purpose has he made light, without the presence of which there would be no use in any other thing?

Man, be neither ungrateful for these gifts nor yet forget the things which are superior to them. But indeed for

the power of seeing and hearing, and indeed for life itself, and for the things which contribute to support it,

for the fruits which are dry, and for wine and oil give thanks to God: but remember that he has given you

something else better than all these, I mean the power of using them, proving them and estimating the value

of each. For what is that which gives information about each of these powers, what each of them is worth? Is

it each faculty itself? Did you ever hear the faculty of vision saying anything about itself? or the faculty of

hearing? or wheat, or barley, or a horse or a dog? No; but they are appointed as ministers and slaves to serve

the faculty which has the power of making use of the appearances of things. And if you inquire what is the

value of each thing, of whom do you inquire? who answers you? How then can any other faculty be more

powerful than this, which uses the rest as ministers and itself proves each and pronounces about them? for

which of them knows what itself is, and what is its own value? which of them knows when it ought to employ

itself and when not? what faculty is it which opens and closes the eyes, and turns them away from objects to

which it ought not to apply them and does apply them to other objects? Is it the faculty of vision? No; but it is

the faculty of the will. What is that faculty which closes and opens the ears? what is that by which they are

curious and inquisitive, or, on the contrary, unmoved by what is said? is it the faculty of hearing? It is no

other than the faculty of the will. Will this faculty then, seeing that it is amid all the other faculties which are

blind and dumb and unable to see anything else except the very acts for which they are appointed in order to

minister to this and serve it, but this faculty alone sees sharp and sees what is the value of each of the rest;

will this faculty declare to us that anything else is the best, or that itself is? And what else does the do when it

is opened than see? But whether we ought to look on the wife of a certain person, and in what manner, who

tells us? The faculty of the will. And whether we ought to believe what is said or not to believe it, and if we

do believe, whether we ought to be moved by it or not, who tells us? Is it not the faculty of the will? But this

faculty of speaking and of ornamenting words, if there is indeed any such peculiar faculty, what else does it

do, when there happens to be discourse about a thing, than to ornament the words and arrange them as

hairdressers do the hair? But whether it is better to speak or to be silent, and better to speak in this way or that

way, and whether this is becoming or not becoming and the season for each and the and the use, what else

tells us than the faculty of the will? Would you have it then to come forward and condemn itself?

"What then," it says, "if the fact is so, can that which ministers be superior to that to which it ministers, can

the horse be superior to the rider, or the do, to the huntsman, or the instrument to the musician, or the servants

to the king?" What is that which makes use of the rest? The will. What takes care of all? The will. What

destroys the whole man, at one time by hunger, at another time by hanging, and at another time by a

precipice? The will. Then is anything stronger in men than this? and how is it possible that the things which

are subject to restraint are stronger than that which is not What things are naturally formed to hinder the

faculty of vision? Both will and things which do not depend on the faculty of the will. It is the same with the

faculty of hearing, with the faculty of speaking in like manner. But what has a natural power of hindering the

will? Nothing which is independent of the will; but only the will itself, when it is perverted. Therefore this is

Then being so great a faculty and set over all the rest, let it come forward and tell us that the most excellent of

all things is the flesh. Not even if the flesh itself declared that it is the most excellent, would any person bear

that it should say this. But what is it, Epicurus, which pronounces this, which wrote about "The End of our

Being," which wrote on "The Nature of Things," which wrote about the Canon, which led you to wear a

beard, which wrote when it was dying that it was spending the last and a happy day? Was this the flesh or the

will? Then do you admit that you possess anything superior to this? and are you not mad? are you in fact so

What then? Does any man despise the other faculties I hope not. Does any man say that there is no use or

excellence in the speaking faculty? I hope not. That would be foolish, impious, ungrateful toward God. But a

man renders to each thing its due value. For there is some use even in an ass, but not so much as in an ox:

there is also use in a dog, but not so much as in a slave: there is also some use in a slave, but not so much as

in citizens: there is also some use in citizens, but riot so much as in magistrates. Not, indeed, because some

things are superior, must we undervalue the use which other things have. There is a certain value in the power

of speaking, but it is not so great as the power of the will. When, then, I speak thus, let no man think that I

ask you to neglect the power of speaking, for neither do I ask you to neglect the eyes, nor the ears nor the

hands nor the feet nor clothing nor shoes. But if you ask me, "What, then, is the most excellent of all things?"

what must I say? I cannot say the power of speaking, but the power of the will, when it is right. For it is this

which uses the other, and all the other faculties both small and great. For when this faculty of the will is set

right, a man who is not good becomes good: but when it falls, a man becomes bad. It is through this that we

are unfortunate, that we are fortunate, that we blame one another, are pleased with one another. In a word, it

is this which if neglect it makes unhappiness, and if we carefully look after it makes happiness.

But to take away the faculty of speaking, and to say that there is no such faculty in reality, is the act not only

of an ungrateful man toward those who gave it, but also of a cowardly man: for such a person seems to me to

fear if there is any faculty of this kind, that we shall not be able to despise it. Such also are those who say that

there is no difference between beauty and ugliness. Then it would happen that a man would be affected in the

same way if he saw Thersites and if he saw Achilles; in the same way, if he saw Helen and any other woman.

But these are foolish and clownish notions, and the notions of men who know not the nature of each thing,

but are afraid, if a man shall see the difference, that he shall immediately be seized and carried off

vanquished. But this is the great matter; to leave to each thing the power which it has, and leaving to it this

power to see what is the worth of the power, and to learn what is the most excellent of all things, and to

pursue this always, to be diligent about this, considering t all other things of secondary value compared with

this, but yet, as far as we can, not neglecting all those other things. For we must take care of the eyes also, not

as if they were the most excellent thing, but we must take care of them on account of the most excellent thing,

because it will not be in its true natural condition, if it does not rightly use the other faculties, and prefer some

What then is usually done? Men generally act as a traveler would do on his way to his own country, when he

enters a good inn, and being pleased with it should remain there. Man, you have forgotten your purpose: you

were not traveling to this inn, but you were pass through it. "But this is a pleasant inn." And how many other

inns are pleasant? and how many meadows are pleasant? yet only passing through. But your purpose is this,

return to your country, to relieve your kinsmen of anxiety, to discharge the duties of a citizen, to marry, to

beget children, to fill the usual magistracies. For you are not come to select more pleasant places, but to live

in these where you were born and of which you were made a citizen. Something of the kind takes place in the

matter which we are considering. Since, by the aid of speech and such communication as you receive here,

you must advance to perfection, and purge your will, and correct the faculty which makes use of the

appearances of things; and since it is necessary also for the teaching of theorems to be effected by a certain

mode of expression and with a certain variety and sharpness, some persons captivated by these very things

abide in them, one captivated by the expression, another by syllogisms, another again by sophisms, and still

another by some other inn of the kind; and there they stay and waste away as if they were among Sirens.

Man, your purpose was to make yourself capable of using conformably to nature the appearances presented to

you, in your desires not to be frustrated, in your aversion from things not to fall into that which you would

avoid, never to have no luck, nor ever to have bad luck, to be free, not hindered, not compelled, conforming

yourself to the administration of Zeus, obeying it, well satisfied with this, blaming no one, charging no one

Then having this purpose before you, if some little form of expression pleases you, if some theorems please

you, do you abide among them and choose t dwell o well there, forgetting the things at home, and do you say,

"These things are fine"? Who says that they are not fine? but only as being a way home, as inns are. For what

hinders you from being an unfortunate man, even if you speak like Demosthenes? and what prevents you, if

you can resolve syllogisms like Chrysippus, from being wretched, from sorrowing, from envying, in a word,

from being disturbed, from being unhappy? Nothing. You see then that these were inns, worth nothing; and

that the purpose before you was something else. When I speak thus to some persons, they think that I am

rejecting care about speaking, or care about theorems. I am not rejecting this care, but I am rejecting the

abiding about these things incessantly and putting our hopes in them. If a man by this teaching does harm to

those who listen to him, reckon me too among those who do this harm: for I am not able, when I see one

thing which is most excellent and supreme, to say that another is so, in order to please you.

A certain person said to him: "Frequently I desired to hear you and came to you, and you never gave me any

answer: and now, if it is possible, I entreat you to say something to me." Do you think, said Epictetus, that as

there is an art in anything else, so there is also an art in speaking, and that he who has the art, will speak

skillfully, and he who has not, will speak unskillfully? "I do think so." He, then, who by speaking receives

benefit himself and is able to benefit others, will speak skillfully: but he who is rather damaged by speaking

and does damage to others, will he be unskilled in this art of speaking? And you may find that some are

damaged and others benefited by speaking. And are all who hear benefited by what they hear? Or will you

find that among them also some are benefited and some damaged? "There are both among these also," he

said. In this case also, then, those who hear skillfully are benefited, and those who hear unskillfully are

damaged? He admitted this. Is there then a skill in hearing also, as there is in speaking? "It seems so." If you

choose, consider the matter in this way also. The practice of music, to whom does it belong? "To a musician."

And the proper making of a statue, to whom do you think that it belongs? "To a statuary." And the looking at

a statue skillfully, does this appear to you to require the aid of no art? "This also requires the aid of art." Then

if speaking properly is the business of the skillful man, do you see that to hear also with benefit is the

business of the skillful man? Now as to speaking and hearing perfectly, and usefully, let us for the present, if

you please, say no more, for both of us are a long way from everything of the kind. But I think that every man

will allow this, that he who is going to hear philosophers requires some amount of practice in hearing. Is it

Tell me then about what I should talk to you: about what matter are you able to listen? "About good and

evil." Good and evil in what? In a horse? "No." Well, in an ox? "No." What then? In a man? "Yes." Do know

then what a man is, what the notion is that we have of him, or have we our ears in any degree practiced about

this matter? But do you understand what nature is? or can you even in any degree understand me when I say,

"I shall use demonstration to you?" How? Do you understand this very thing, what demonstration is, or how

anything is demonstrated, or by what means; or what things are like demonstration, but are not

demonstration? Do you know what is true or what is false? What is consequent on a thing, what is repugnant

to a thing, or not consistent, or inconsistent? But must I excite you to philosophy, and how? Shall I show to

you the repugnance in the opinions of most men, through which they differ about things good and evil, and

about things which are profitable and unprofitable, when you know not this very thing, what repugnance is?

Show me then what I shall accomplish by discoursing with you; excite my inclination to do this. As the grass

which is suitable, when it is presented to a sheep, moves its inclination to eat, but if you present to it a stone

or bread, it will not be moved to eat; so there are in us certain natural inclinations also to speak, when the

hearer shall appear to be somebody, when he himself shall excite us: but when he shall sit by us like a stone

or like grass, how can he excite a man's desire? Does the vine say to the husbandman, "Take care of me?" No,

but the vine by showing in itself that it will be profitable to the husbandman, if he does take care of it, invites

him to exercise care. When children are attractive and lively, whom do they not invite to play with them, and

crawl with them, and lisp with them? But who is eager to play with an ass or to bray with it? for though it is

"Why then do you say nothing to me?" I can only say this to you, that he who knows not who he is, and for

what purpose he exists, and what is this world, and with whom he is associated, and what things are the good

and the bad, and the beautiful and the ugly, and who neither understands discourse nor demonstration, nor

what is true nor what is false, and who is not able to distinguish them, will neither desire according to nature,

nor turn away, nor move upward, nor intend, nor assent, nor dissent, nor suspend his judgment: to say all in a

few words, he will go about dumb and blind, thinking that he is somebody, but being nobody. Is this so now

for the first time? Is it not the fact that, ever since the human race existed, all errors and misfortunes have

arisen through this ignorance? Why did Agamemnon and Achilles quarrel with one another? Was it not

through not knowing what things are profitable and not profitable? Does not the one say it is profitable to

restore Chryseis to her father, and does not the other say that it is not profitable? does not the one say that he

ought to take the prize of another, and does not the other say that he ought not? Did they not for these reasons

forget both who they were and for what purpose they had come there? Oh, man, for what purpose did you

come? to gain mistresses or to fight? "To fight." With whom? the Trojans or the Hellenes? "With the

Trojans." Do you then leave Hector alone and draw your sword against your own king? And do you, most

excellent Sir, neglect the duties of the king, you who are the people's guardian and have such cares; and are

you quarreling about a little girl with the most warlike of your allies, whom you ought by every means to take

care of and protect? and do you become worse than a wellbehaved priest who treats you these fine

gladiators with all respect? Do you see what kind of things ignorance of what is profitable does?

"But I also am rich." Are you then richer than Agamemnon? "But I am also handsome." Are you then more

handsome than Achilles? "But I have also beautiful hair." But had not Achilles more beautiful hair and

goldcolored? and he did not comb it elegantly nor dress it. "But I am also strong." Can you then lift so great

a stone as Hector or Ajax? "But I am also of noble birth." Are you the son of a goddess mother? are you the

son of a father sprung from Zeus? What good then do these things do to him, when he sits and weeps for a

girl? "But I am an orator." And was he not? Do you not see how he handled the most skillful of the Hellenes

This is all that I have to say to you; and I say even this not willingly. "Why?" Because you have not roused

me. For what must I look to in order to be roused, as men who are expert in are roused by generous horses?

Must I look to your body? You treat it disgracefully. To your dress? That is luxurious. To your behavior to

your look? That is the same as nothing. When you would listen to a philosopher, do not say to him, "You tell

me nothing"; but only show yourself worthy of hearing or fit for hearing; and you will see how you will move

When one of those who were present said, "Persuade me that logic is necessary," he replied: Do you wish me

to prove this to you? The answer was, "Yes." Then I must use a demonstrative form of speech. This was

granted. How then will you know if I am cheating you by argument? The man was silent. Do you see, said

Epictetus, that you yourself are admitting that logic is necessary, if without it you cannot know so much as

Every error comprehends contradiction: for since he who errs does not wish to err, but to he right, it is plain

that he does not do what he wishes. For what does the thief wish to do? That which is for his own interest. If,

then, the theft is not for his interest, he does not do that which he wishes. But every rational: soul is by nature

offended at contradiction, and so long as it does not understand this contradiction, it is not hindered from

doing contradictory things: but when it does understand the contradiction, it must of necessity avoid the

contradiction and avoid it as much as a man must dissent from the false when he sees that a thing is false; but

He, then, is strong in argument and has the faculty of exhorting and confuting, who is able to show to each

man the contradiction through which he errs and clearly to prove how he does not do that which he wishes

and does that which he does not wish. For if any one shall show this, a man will himself withdraw from that

which he does; but so long as you do not show this, do not be surprised if a man persists in his practice; for

having the appearance of doing right, he does what he does. For this reason Socrates, also trusting to this

power, used to say, "I am used to call no other witness of what I say, but I am always satisfied with him with

whom I am discussing, and I ask him to give his opinion and call him as a witness, and through he is only

one, he is sufficient in the place of all." For Socrates knew by what the rational soul is moved, just like a pair

of scales, and that it must incline, whether it chooses or not. Show the rational governing faculty a

contradiction, and it will withdraw from it; but if you do not show it, rather blame yourself than him who is

A certain young man a rhetorician came to see Epictetus, with his hair dressed more carefully than was usual

and his attire in an ornamental style; whereupon Epictetus said: Tell me you do not think that some dogs are

beautiful and some horses, and so of all other animals. "I do think so," the youth replied. Are not then some

men also beautiful and others ugly? "Certainly." Do we, then, for the same reason call each of them in the

same kind beautiful, or each beautiful for something peculiar? And you will judge of this matter thus. Since

we see a dog naturally formed for one thing, and a horse for another, and for another still, as an example, a

nightingale, we may generally and not improperly declare each of them to be beautiful then when it is most

excellent according to its nature; but since the nature of each is different, each of them seems to me to be

beautiful in a different way. Is it not so? He admitted that it was. That then which makes a dog beautiful,

makes a horse ugly; and that which makes a horse beautiful, makes a dog ugly, if it is true that their natures

are different. "It seems to be so." For I think that what makes a pancratiast beautiful, makes a wrestler to be

not good, and a runner to be most ridiculous; and he who is beautiful for the Pentathlon, is very ugly for

wrestling. "It is so," said he. What, then, makes a man beautiful? Is that which in its kind makes both a dog

and a horse beautiful? "It is," he said. What then makes a dog beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a

dog. And what makes a horse beautiful? The possession of the excellence of a horse. What then makes a man

beautiful? Is it not the possession of the excellence of a man? And do you, then, if you wish to be beautiful,

young man, labour at this, the acquisition of human excellence. But what is this? Observe whom you yourself

praise, when you praise many persons without partiality: do you praise the just or the unjust? "The just."

Whether do you praise the moderate or the immoderate? "The moderate." And the temperate or the

intemperate? "The temperate." If, then, you make yourself such a person, you will know that you will make

yourself beautiful: but so long as you neglect these things, you must be ugly, even though you contrive all

Further I do not know what to say to you: for if I say to you what I think, I shall offend you, and you will

perhaps leave the school and not return to it: and if I do not say what I think, see how I shall be acting, if you

come to me to be improved, and I shall not improve you at all, and if you come to me as to a philosopher, and

I shall say nothing to you as a philosopher. And how cruel it is to you to leave you uncorrected. If at any time

afterward you shall acquire sense, you will with good reason blame me and say, "What did Epictetus observe

in me that, when he saw me in such a plight coming to him in such a scandalous condition, he neglected me

and never said a word? did he so much despair of me? was I not young? was I not able to listen to reason?

and how many other young men at this age commit many like errors? I hear that a certain Polemon from

being a most dissolute youth underwent such a great change. Well, suppose that he did not think that I should

be a Polemon; yet he might have set my hair right, he might have stripped off my decorations, he might have

stopped me from plucking the hair out of my body; but when he saw me dressed like what shall I say? he

kept silent." I do not say like what; but you will say, when you come to your senses and shall know what it is

If you bring this charge against me hereafter, what defense shall I make? Why, shall I say that the man will

not be persuaded by me? Was Laius persuaded by Apollo? Did he and get drunk and show no care for the

oracle? Well then, for this reason did Apollo refuse to tell him the truth? I indeed do not know, whether you

will be persuaded by me or not; but Apollo knew most certainly that Laius would not be persuaded and yet he

spoke. But why did he speak? I say in reply: But why is he Apollo, and why does he deliver oracles, and why

has he fixed himself in this place as a prophet and source of truth and for the inhabitants of the world to resort

to him? and why are the words "Know yourself" written in front of the temple, though no person takes any

Did Socrates persuade all his hearers to take care of themselves? Not the thousandth part. But, however, after

he had been placed in this position by the deity, as he himself says, he never left it. But what does he say even

to his judges? "If you acquit me on these conditions that I no longer do that which I do now, I will not

consent and I will not desist; but I will go up both to young and to old, and, to speak plainly, to every man

whom I meet, and I will ask the questions which I ask now; and most particularly will I do this to you my

fellowcitizens, because you are more nearly related to me." Are you so curious, Socrates, and such a

busybody? and how does it concern you how we act? and what is it that you say? "Being of the same

community and of the same kin, you neglect yourself, and show yourself a bad citizen to the state, and a bad

kinsman to your kinsmen, and a bad neighbor to your neighbors." "Who, then are you?" Here it is a great

thing to say, "I am he whose duty it is to take care of men; for it is not every little heifer which dares to resist

a lion; but if the bull comes up and resists him, say to the bull, if you choose, 'And who are you, and what

business have you here?'" Man, in every kind there is produced something which excels; in oxen, in dogs, in

bees, in horses. Do not then say to that which excels, "Who, then, are you?" If you do, it will find a voice in

some way and say, "I am such a thing as the purple in a garment: do not expect me to be like the others, or

What then? am I such a man? Certainly not. And are you such a man as can listen to the truth? I wish you

were. But however since in a manner I have been condemned to wear a white beard and a cloak, and you

come to me as to a philosopher, I will not treat you in a cruel way nor yet as if I despaired of you, but I will

say: Young man, whom do you wish to make beautiful? In the first place, know who you are and then adorn

yourself appropriately. You are a human being; and this is a mortal animal which has the power of using

appearances rationally. But what is meant by "rationally?" Conformably to nature and completely. What,

then, do you possess which is peculiar? Is it the animal part? No. Is it the condition of mortality? No. Is it the

power of using appearances? No. You possess the rational faculty as a peculiar thing: adorn and beautify this;

but leave your hair to him who made it as he chose. Come, what other appellations have you? Are you man or

woman? "Man." Adorn yourself then as man, not as woman. Woman is naturally smooth and delicate; and if

she has much hair (on her body), she is a monster and is exhibited at Rome among monsters. And in a man it

is monstrous not to have hair; and if he has no hair, he is a monster; but if he cuts off his hairs and plucks

them out, what shall we do with him? where shall we exhibit him? and under what name shall we show him?

"I will exhibit to you a man who chooses to be a woman rather than a man." What a terrible sight! There is no

man who will not wonder at such a notice. Indeed I think that the men who pluck out their hairs do what they

do without knowing what they do. Man what fault have you to find with your nature? That it made you a

man? What then? was it fit that nature should make all human creatures women? and what advantage in that

case would you have had in being adorned? for whom would you have adorned yourself, if all human

creatures were women? But you are not pleased with the matter: set to work then upon the whole business.

Take away what is its name? that which is the cause of the hairs: make yourself a woman in all respects,

that we may not be mistaken: do not make one half man, and the other half woman. Whom do you wish to

please? The women?, Please them as a man. "Well; but they like smooth men." Will you not hang yourself?

and if women took delight in catamites, would you become one? Is this your business? were you born for this

purpose, that dissolute women should delight in you? Shall we make such a one as you a citizen of Corinth

and perchance a prefect of the city, or chief of the youth, or general or superintendent of the games? Well,

and when you have taken a wife, do you intend to have your hairs plucked out? To please whom and for what

purpose? And when you have begotten children, will you introduce them also into the state with the habit of

plucking their hairs? A beautiful citizen, and senator and rhetorician. We ought to pray that such young men

Do not so, I entreat you by the Gods, young man: but when you have once heard these words, go away and

say to yourself, "Epictetus has not said this to me; for how could he? but some propitious good through him:

for it would never have come into his thoughts to say this, since he is not accustomed to talk thus with any

person. Come then let us obey God, that we may not be subject to his anger." You say, "No." But, if a crow

by his croaking signifies anything to you, it is not the crow which signifies, but God through the crow; and if

he signifies anything through a human voice, will he not cause the man to say this to you, that you may know

the power of the divinity, that he signifies to some in this way, and to others in that way, and concerning the

greatest things and the chief he signifies through the noblest messenger? What else is it which the poet says:

Was Hermes going to descend from heaven to say this to him? And now the Gods say this to you and send

the messenger, the slayer of Argus, to warn you not to pervert that which is well arranged, nor to busy

yourself about it, but to allow a man to be a man, and a woman to be a woman, a beautiful man to be as a

beautiful man, and an ugly man as an ugly man, for you are not flesh and hair, but you are will; and if your

will beautiful, then you will be beautiful. But up the present time I dare not tell you that you are ugly, for I

think that you are readier to hear anything than this. But see what Socrates says to the most beautiful and

blooming of men Alcibiades: "Try, then, to be beautiful." What does he say to him? "Dress your hair and

pluck the hairs from your legs." Nothing of that kind. But "Adorn your will, take away bad opinions." "How

with the body?" Leave it as it is by nature. Another has looked after these things: intrust them to him. "What

then, must a man be uncleaned?" Certainly not; but what you are and are made by nature, cleanse this. A man

should be cleanly as a man, a woman as a woman, a child as a child. You say no: but let us also pluck out the

lion's mane, that he may not be uncleaned, and the cock's comb for he also ought to he cleaned. Granted, but

There are three things in which a man ought to exercise himself who would be wise and good. The first

concerns the desires and the aversions, that a man may not fail to get what he desires, and that he may not fall

into that which he does not desire. The second concerns the movements (toward) and the movements from an

object, and generally in doing what a man ought to do, that he may act according to order, to reason, and not

carelessly. The third thing concerns freedom from deception and rashness in judgement, and generally it

concerns the assents. Of these topics the chief and the most urgent is that which relates to the affects; for an

affect is produced in no other way than by a failing to obtain that which a man desires or a falling into that

which a man would wish to avoid. This is that which brings in perturbations, disorders, bad fortune,

misfortunes, sorrows, lamentations and envy; that which makes men envious and jealous; and by these causes

we are unable even to listen to the precepts of reason. The second topic concerns the duties of a man; for I

ought not to be free from affects like a statue, but I ought to maintain the relations natural and acquired, as a

The third topic is that which immediately concerns those who are making proficiency, that which concerns

the security of the other two, so that not even in sleep any appearance unexamined may surprise us, nor in

intoxication, nor in melancholy. "This," it may be said, "is above our power." But the present philosophers

neglecting the first topic and the second, employ themselves on the third, using sophistical arguments,

making conclusions from questioning, employing hypotheses, lying. "For a man must," as it is said, "when

employed on these matters, take care that he is not deceived." Who must? The wise and good man. This then

is all that is wanting to you. Have you successfully worked out the rest? Are you free from deception in the

matter of money? If you see a beautiful girl, do you resist the appearance? If your neighbor obtains an estate

by will, are you not vexed? Now is there nothing else wanting to you except unchangeable firmness of mind?

Wretch, you hear these very things with fear and anxiety that some person may despise you, and with

inquiries about what any person may say about you. And if a man come and tell you that in a certain

conversation in which the question was, "Who is the best philosopher," a man who was present said that a

certain person was the chief philosopher, your little soul which was only a finger's length stretches out to two

cubits. But if another who is present "You are mistaken; it is not worth while to listen to a certain person, for

what does he know? he has only the first principles, and no more?" then you are confounded, you grow pale,

you cry out immediately, "I will show him who I am, that I am a great philosopher." It is seen by these very

things: why do you wish to show it by others? Do you not know that Diogenes pointed out one of the sophists

in this way by stretching out his middle finger? And then when the man was wild with rage, "This," he said,

"is the certain person: I pointed him out to you." For a man is not shown by the finger, as a stone or a piece of

wood: but when any person shows the man s principles, then he shows him as a man.

Let us look at your principles also. For is it not plain that you value not at all your own will, but you look

externally to things which are independent of your will? For instance, what will a certain person say? and

what will people think of you? will you be considered a man of learning; have you read Chrysippus or

Antipater? for if you have read Archedemus also, you have everything. Why are you still uneasy lest you

should not show us who you are? Would you let me tell you what manner of man you have shown us that you

are? You have exhibited yourself to us as a mean fellow, querulous, passionate, cowardly, finding fault with

everything, blaming everybody, never quiet, vain: this is what you have exhibited to us. Go away now and

read Archedemus; then, if a mouse should leap down and make a noise, you are a dead man. For such a death

awaits you as it did what was the man's name? Crinis; and he too was proud, because he understood

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

CHAPTER 2. In what a man ought to be exercised who has made proficiency; and that we neglect the chief things 70

envy: I am not hindered, I am not restrained. What remains for me? I have leisure, I am tranquil: let us see

how we must deal with sophistical arguments; let us see how when a man has accepted an hypothesis he shall

not be led away to anything absurd." To them such things belong. To those who are happy it is appropriate to

light a fire, to dine; if they choose, both to sing and to dance. But when the vessel is sinking, you come to me

The material for the wise and good man is his own ruling faculty: and the body is the material for the

physician and the aliptes; the land is the matter for the husbandman. The business of the wise and good man

is to use appearances conformably to nature: and as it is the nature of every soul to assent to the truth, to

dissent from the false, and to remain in suspense as to that which is uncertain; so it is its nature to be moved

toward the desire of the good, and to aversion from the evil; and with respect to that which is neither good

nor bad it feels indifferent. For as the moneychanger is not allowed to reject Caesar's coin, nor the seller of

herbs, but if you show the coin, whether he chooses or not, he must give up what is sold for the coin; so it is

also in the matter of the soul. When the good appears, it immediately attracts to itself; the evil repels from

itself. But the soul will never reject the manifest appearance of the good, any more than persons will reject

For this reason the good is preferred to every intimate relationship. There is no intimate relationship between

me and my father, but there is between me and the good. "Are you so hardhearted?" Yes, for such is my

nature; and this is the coin which God has given me. For this reason, if the good is something different from

the beautiful and the just, both father is gone, and brother and country, and everything. But shall I overlook

my own good, in order that you may have it, and shall I give it up to you? Why? "I am your father." But you

are not my good. "I am your brother." But you are not my good. But if we place the good in a right

determination of the will, the very observance of the relations of life is good, and accordingly he who gives

up any external things obtains that which is good. Your father takes away your property. But he does not

injure you. Your brother will have the greater part of the estate in land. Let him have as much as he chooses.

Will he then have a greater share of modesty, of fidelity, of brotherly affection? For who will eject you from

this possession? Not even Zeus, for neither has he chosen to do so; but he has made this in my own power,

and he has given it to me just as he possessed it himself, free from hindrance, compulsion, and impediment.

When then the coin which another uses is a different coin, if a man presents this coin, he receives that which

is sold for it. Suppose that there comes into the province a thievish proconsul, what coin does he use? Silver

coin. Show it to him, and carry off what you please. Suppose one comes who is an adulterer: what coin does

he use? Little girls. "Take," a man says, "the coin, and sell me the small thing." "Give," says the seller, "and

buy." Another is eager to possess boys. Give him the coin, and receive what you wish. Another is fond of

hunting: give him a fine nag or a dog. Though he groans and laments, he will sell for it that which you want.

Against this kind of thing chiefly a man should exercise himself. As soon as you go out in the morning,

examine every man whom you see, every man whom you hear; answer as to a question, "What have you

seen?" A handsome man or woman? Apply the rule: Is this independent of the will, or dependent?

Independent. Take it away. What have you seen? A man lamenting over the death of a child. Apply the rule.

Death is a thing independent of the will. Take it away. Has the proconsul met you? Apply the rule. What kind

of thing is a proconsul's office? Independent of the will, or dependent on it? Independent. Take this away

If we practiced this and exercised ourselves in it daily from morning to night, something indeed would be

done. But now we are forthwith caught halfasleep by every appearance, and it is only, if ever, that in the

CHAPTER 3. What is the matter on which a good man should he employed, and in what we ought chiefly to practice ourselves 71

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

We ought then to eradicate these bad opinions, and to this end we should direct all our efforts. For what is

weeping and lamenting? Opinion. What is bad fortune? Opinion. What is civil sedition, what is divided

opinion, what is blame, what is accusation, what is impiety, what is trifling? All these things are opinions,

and nothing more, and opinions about things independent of the will, as if they were good and bad. Let a man

transfer these opinions to things dependent on the will, and I engage for him that he will be firm and constant,

whatever may be the state of things around him. Such as is a dish of water, such is the soul. Such as is the ray

of light which falls on the water, such are the appearances. When the water is moved, the ray also seems to be

moved, yet it is not moved. And when, then, a man is seized with giddiness, it is not the arts and the virtues

which are confounded, but the spirit on which they are impressed; but if the spirit be restored to its settled

The governor of Epirus having shown his favor to an actor in an unseemly way and being publicly blamed on

this account, and afterward having reported to Epictetus that he was blamed and that he was vexed at those

who blamed him, Epictetus said: What harm have they been doing? These men also were acting, as partisans,

as you were doing. The governor replied, "Does, then, any person show his partisanship in this way?" When

they see you, said Epictetus, who are their governor, a friend of Caesar and his deputy, showing partisanship

in this way, was it not to be expected that they also should show their partisanship in the same way? for if it is

not right to show partisanship in this way, do not do so yourself; and if it is right, why are you angry if they

followed your example? For whom have the many to imitate except you, who are their superiors, to whose

example should they look when they go to the theatre except yours? "See how the deputy of Caesar looks on:

he has cried out, and I too, then, will cry out. He springs up from his seat, and I will spring up. His slaves sit

in various parts of the theatre and call out. I have no slaves, but I will myself cry out as much as I can and as

loud as all of them together." You ought then to know when you enter the theatre that you enter as a rule and

example to the rest how they ought to look at the acting. Why then did they blame you? Because every man

hates that which is a hindrance to him. They wished one person to be crowned; you wished another. They

were a hindrance to you, and you were a hindrance to them. You were found to be the stronger; and they did

what they could; they blamed that which hindered them. What, then, would you have? That you should do

what you please, and they should not even say what they please? And what is the wonder? Do not the

husbandmen abuse Zeus when they are hindered by him? do not the sailors abuse him? do they ever cease

abusing Caesar? What then does not Zeus know? is not what is said reported to Caesar? What, then, does he

do? he knows that, if he punished all who abuse him, he would have nobody to rule over. What then? when

you enter the theatre, you ought to say not, "Let Sophron be crowned", but you ought to say this, "Come let

me maintain my will in this matter so that it shall be conformable to nature: no man is dearer to me than

myself. It would be ridiculous, then, for me to be hurt (injured) in order that another who is an actor may be

crowned." Whom then do I wish to gain the prize? Why the actor who does gain the prize; and so he will

always gain the prize whom I wish to gain it. "But I wish Sophron to be crowned." Celebrate as many games

as you choose in your own house, Nemean, Pythian, Isthmian, Olympian, and proclaim him victor. But in

public do not claim more than your due, nor attempt to appropriate to yourself what belongs to all. If you do

not consent to this, bear being abused: for when you do the same as the many, you put yourself on the same

CHAPTER 4. Against a person who showed his partisanship in an unseemly way in a theatre 72

"I am sick here," said one of the pupils, "and I wish to return home." At home, I suppose, you free from

sickness. Do you not consider whether you are doing, anything here which may be useful to the exercise of

your will, that it may be corrected? For if you are doing nothing toward this end, it was to no purpose that

you came. Go away. Look after your affairs at home. For if your ruling power cannot be maintained in a state

conformable to nature, it is possible that your land can, that you will he able to increase your money, you will

take care of your father in his old age, frequent the public place, hold magisterial office: being bad you will

do badly anything else that you have to do. But if you understand yourself, and know that you are casting

away certain bad opinions and adopting others in their place, and if you have changed your state of life from

things which are not within your will to things which are within your will, and if you ever say, "Alas!" you

are not saying what you say on account of your father, or your brother, but on account of yourself, do you

still allege your sickness? Do you not know that both disease and death must surprise us while we are doing

something? the husbandman while he is tilling the ground, the sailor while he is on his voyage? what would

you be doing when death surprises you, for you must be surprised when you are doing something? If you can

be doing anything better than this when you are surprised, do it. For I wish to be surprised by disease or death

when I am looking after nothing else than my that may be free from perturbation, own will that I may be free

from hindrance, free from compulsion, and in a state of liberty. I wish to be found practicing these things that

I may be able to say to God, "Have I in any respect transgressed thy commands? have I in any respect

wrongly used the powers which Thou gavest me? have I misused my perceptions or my preconceptions? have

I ever blamed Thee? have I ever found fault with Thy administration? I have been sick, because it was Thy

will, and so have others, but I was content to be sick. I have been poor because it was Thy will, but I was

content also. I have not filled a magisterial office, because it was not Thy pleasure that I should: I have never

desired it. Hast Thou ever seen me for this reason discontented? have I not always approached Thee with a

cheerful countenance, ready to do Thy commands and to obey Thy signals? Is it now Thy will that I should

depart from the assemblage of men? I depart. I give Thee all thanks that Thou hast allowed me to join in this

Thy assemblage of men and to see Thy works, and to comprehend this Thy administration." May death

surprise me while I am thinking of these things, while I am thus writing and reading.

"But my mother will not hold my head when I am sick." Go to your mother then; for you are a fit person to

have your head held when you are sick. "But at home I used to lie down on a delicious bed." Go away to your

bed: indeed you are fit to lie on such a bed even when you are in health: do not, then, lose what you can do

But what does Socrates say? "As one man," he says, "is pleased with improving his land, another with

improving his horse, so I am daily pleased in observing that I am growing better." "Better in what? in using

nice little words?" Man, do not say that. "In little matters of speculation?" What are you saying? "And indeed

I do not see what else there is on which philosophers employ their time." Does it seem nothing to you to have

never found fault with any person, neither with God nor man? to have blamed nobody? to carry the same face

always in going out and coming in? This is what Socrates knew, and yet he never said that he knew anything

or taught anything. But if any man asked for nice little words or little speculations, he would carry him to

Protagoras or to Hippias; and if any man came to ask for potherbs, he would carry him to the gardener. Who

then among you has this purpose? for if indeed you had it, you would both be content in sickness, and in

hunger, and in death. If any among you has been in love with a charming girl, he knows that I say what is

When some person asked him how it happened that since reason has been more cultivated by the men of the

present age, the progress made in former times was greater. In what respect, he answered, has it been more

cultivated now, and in what respect was the progress greater then? For in that in which it has now been more

cultivated, in that also the progress will now be found. At present it has been cultivated for the purpose of

resolving syllogisms, and progress is made. But in former times it was cultivated for the purpose of

maintaining the governing faculty in a condition conformable to nature, and progress was made. Do not, then,

mix things which are different and do not expect, when you are laboring at one thing, to make progress in

another. But see if any man among us when he is intent see I upon this, the keeping himself in a state

conformable to nature and living so always, does not make progress. For you will not find such a man.

The good man is invincible, for he does not enter the contest where he is not stronger. If you want to have his

land and all that is on it, take the land; take his slaves, take his magisterial office, take his poor body. But you

will not make his desire fail in that which it seeks, nor his aversion fall into that which he would avoid. The

only contest into which he enters is that about things which are within the power of his will; how then will he

Some person having asked him what is Common sense, Epictetus replied: As that may be called a certain

Common hearing which only distinguishes vocal sounds, and that which distinguishes musical sounds is not

Common, but artificial; so there are certain things which men, who are not altogether perverted, see by the

common notions which all possess. Such a constitution of the mind is named Common sense.

It is not easy to exhort weak young men; for neither is it easy to hold cheese with a hook. But those who have

a good natural disposition, even if you try to turn them aside, cling still more to reason. Wherefore Rufus

generally attempted to discourage, and he used this method as a test of those who had a good natural

disposition and those who had not. "For," it was his habit to say, "as a stone, if you cast it upward, will be

brought down to the earth by its own nature, so the man whose mind is naturally good, the more you repel

When the administrator came to visit him, and the man was an Epicurean, Epictetus said: It is proper for us

who are not philosophers to inquire of you who are philosophers, as those who come to a strange city inquire

of the citizens and those who are acquainted with it, what is the best thing in the world, in order that we also,

after inquiry, may go in quest of that which is best and look at it, as strangers do with the things in cities. For

that there are three things which relate to man, soul, body, and things external, scarcely any man denies. It

remains for you philosophers to answer what is the best. What shall we say to men? Is the flesh the best? and

was it for this that Maximus sailed as far as Cassiope in winter with his son, and accompanied him that he

might be gratified in the flesh? Then the man said that it was not, and added, "Far be that from him." Is it not

fit then, Epictetus said, to be actively employed about the best? "It is certainly of all things the most fit."

What, then, do we possess which is better than the flesh? "The soul," he replied. And the good things of the

best, are they better, or the good things of the worse? "The good things of the best." And are the good things

of the best within the power of the will or not within the power of the will? "They are within the power of the

will." Is, then, the pleasure of the soul a thing within the power of the will? "It is," he replied. And on what

shall this pleasure depend? On itself? But that cannot be conceived: for there must first exist a certain

substance or nature of good, by obtaining which we shall have pleasure in the soul. He assented to this also.

On what, then, shall we depend for this pleasure of the soul? for if it shall depend on things of the soul, the

substance of the good is discovered; for good cannot be one thing, and that at which we are rationally

delighted another thing; nor if that which precedes is not good, can that which comes after be good, for in

order that the thing which comes after may be good, that which precedes must be good. But you would not

affirm this, if you are in your right mind, for you would then say what is inconsistent both with Epicurus and

the rest of your doctrines. It remains, then, that the pleasure of the soul is in the pleasure from things of the

body: and again that those bodily things must be the things which precede and the substance of the good.

For this reason Maximus acted foolishly if he made the voyage for any other reason than for the sake of the

flesh, that is, for the sake of the best. And also a man acts foolishly if he abstains from that which belongs to

others, when he is a judge and able to take it. But, if you please, let us consider this only, how this thing may

be done secretly, and safely, and so that no man will know it. For not even does Epicurus himself declare

stealing to be bad, but he admits that detection is; and because it is impossible to have security against

detection, for this reason he says, "Do not steal." But I say to you that if stealing is done cleverly and

cautiously, we shall not be detected: further also we have powerful friends in Rome both men and women,

and the Hellenes are weak, and no man will venture to go up to Rome for the purpose. Why do you refrain

from your own good? This is senseless, foolish. But even if you tell me that you do refrain, I will not believe

you. For as it is impossible to assent to that which appears false, and to turn away from that which is true, so

it is impossible to abstain from that which appears good. But wealth is a good thing, and certainly most

efficient in producing pleasure. Why will you not acquire wealth? And why should we not corrupt our

neighbor's wife, if we can do it without detection? and if the husband foolishly prates about the matter, why

not pitch him out of the house? If you would be a philosopher such as you ought to be, if a perfect

philosopher, if consistent with your own doctrines. If you would not, you will not differ at all from us who

are called Stoics; for we also say one thing, but we do another: we talk of the things which are beautiful, but

we do what is base. But you will be perverse in the contrary way, teaching what is bad, practicing what is

In the name of God, are you thinking of a city of Epicureans? "I do not marry." "Nor I, for a man ought not to

marry; nor ought we to beget children, nor engage in public matters." What then will happen? whence will

the citizens come? who will bring them up? who will be governor of the youth, who preside wi over

gymnastic exercises? and in what also will the teacher instruct them? will he teach them what the

Lacedaemonians were taught, or what the Athenians were taught? Come take a young man, bring him up

according to your doctrines. The doctrines are bad, subversive of a state, pernicious to families, and not

becoming to women. Dismiss them, man. You live in a chief city: it is your duty to be a magistrate, to judge

justly, to abstain from that which belongs to others; no woman ought to seem beautiful to you except your

own wife, and no youth, no vessel of silver, no vessel of gold. Seek for doctrines which are consistent with

what I say, and, by making them your guide, you will with pleasure abstain from things which have such

persuasive power to lead us and overpower us. But if to the persuasive power of these things, we also devise

such a philosophy as this which helps to push us on toward them and strengthens us to this end, what will be

the consequence? In a piece of toreutic art which is the best part? the silver or the workmanship? The

substance of the hand is the flesh; but the work of the hand is the principal part. The duties then are also

three; those which are directed toward the existence of a thing; those which are directed toward its existence

in a particular kind; and third, the chief or leading things themselves. So also in man we ought not to value

the material, the poor flesh, but the principal. What are these? Engaging in public business, marrying,

begetting children, venerating God, taking care of parents, and, generally, having desires, aversions, pursuits

of things and avoidances, in the way in which we ought to do these things, and according to our nature. And

how are we constituted by nature? Free, noble, modest: for what other animal blushes? what other is capable

of receiving the appearance of shame? and we are so constituted by nature as to subject pleasure to these

things, as a minister, a servant, in order that it may call forth our activity, in order that it may keep us constant

"But I am rich and I want nothing." Why, then, do you pretend to be a philosopher? Your golden and your

silver vessels are enough for you. What need have you of principles? "But I am also a judge of the Greeks."

Do you know how to judge? Who taught you to know? "Caesar wrote to me a codicil." Let him write and

give you a commission to judge of music; and what will be the use of it to you? Still how did you become a

judge? whose hand did you kiss? the hand of Symphorus or Numenius? Before whose bedchamber have you

slept? To whom have you sent gifts? Then do you not see that to be a judge is just of the same value as

Numenius is? "But I can throw into prison any man whom I please." So you can do with a stone. "But I can

beat with sticks whom I please." So you may an ass. This is not a governing of men. Govern us as rational

animals: show us what is profitable to us, and we will follow it: show us what is unprofitable, and we will

turn away from it. Make us imitators of yourself, as Socrates made men imitators of himself. For he was like

a governor of men, who made them subject to him their desires, their aversion, their movements toward an

object and their turning away from it. "Do this: do not do this: if you do not obey, I will throw you into

prison." This is not governing men like rational animals. But I: As Zeus has ordained, so act: if you do not act

so, you will feel the penalty, you will be punished. What will be the punishment? Nothing else than not

having done your duty: you will lose the character of fidelity, modesty, propriety. Do not look for greater

As we exercise ourselves against sophistical questions, so we ought to exercise ourselves daily against

appearances; for these appearances also propose questions to us. "A certain person son is dead." Answer: the

thing is not within the power of the will: it is not an evil. "A father has disinherited a certain son. What do

you think of it?" It is a thing beyond the power of the will, not an evil. "Caesar has condemned a person." It is

a thing beyond the power of the will, not an evil. "The man is afflicted at this." Affliction is a thing which

depends on the will: it is an evil. He has borne the condemnation bravely." That is a thing within the power of

the will: it is a good. If we train ourselves in this manner, we shall make progress; for we shall never assent to

anything of which there is not an appearance capable of being comprehended. Your son is dead. What has

happened? Your son is dead. Nothing more? Nothing. Your ship is lost. What has happened? Your ship is

lost. A man has been led to prison. What has happened? He has been led to prison. But that herein he has

fared badly, every man adds from his own opinion. "But Zeus," you say, "does not do right in these matters."

Why? because he has made you capable of endurance? because he has made you magnanimous? because he

has taken from that which befalls you the power of being evil? because it is in your power to be happy while

you are suffering what you suffer; because he has opened the door to you, when things do not please you?

Hear how the Romans feel toward philosophers, if you would like to know. Italicus, who was the most in

repute of the philosophers, once when I was present being, vexed with his own friends and as if he was

suffering something intolerable said, "I cannot bear it, you are killing me: you will make me such as that man

When a certain person came to him, who was going up to Rome on account of a suit which had regard to his

rank, Epictetus inquired the reason of his going to Rome, and the man then asked what he thought about the

matter. Epictetus replied: If you ask me what you will do in Rome, whether you will succeed or fall, I have

no rule about this. But if you ask me how you will fare, I can tell you: if you have right opinions, you will

fare well; if they are false, you will fare ill. For to every man the cause of his acting is opinion. For what is

the reason why you desired to be elected governor of the Cnossians? Your opinion. What is the reason that

you are now going up to Rome? Your opinion. And going in winter, and with danger and expense. "I must

go." What tells you this? Your opinion. Then if opinions are the causes of all actions, and a man has bad

opinions, such as the cause may be, such also is the effect. Have we then all sound opinions, both you and

your adversary? And how do you differ? But have you sounder opinions than your adversary? Why? You

think so. And so does he think that his opinions are better; and so do madmen. This is a bad criterion. But

show to me that you have made some inquiry into your opinions and have taken some pains about them. And

as now you are sailing to Rome in order to become governor of the Cnossians, and you are not content to stay

at home with the honors which you had, but you desire something greater and more conspicuous, so when did

you ever make a voyage for the purpose of examining your own opinions, and casting them out, if you have

any that are bad? Whom have you approached for this purpose? What time have you fixed for it? What age?

Go over the times of your life by yourself, if you are ashamed of me. When you were a boy, did you examine

your own opinions? and did you not then, as you do all things now, do as you did do? and when you were

become a youth and attended the rhetoricians, and yourself practiced rhetoric, what did you imagine that you

were deficient in? And when you were a young man and engaged in public matters, and pleaded causes

yourself, and were gaining reputation, who then seemed your equal? And when would you have submitted to

any man examining and show that your opinions are bad? What, then, do you wish me to say to you? "Help

me in this matter." I have no theorem (rule) for this. Nor have you, if you came to me for this purpose, come

to me as a philosopher, but as to a seller of vegetables or a shoemaker. "For what purpose then have

philosophers theorems?" For this purpose, that whatever may happen, our ruling faculty may be and continue

to be conformable to nature. Does this seem to you a small thing? "No; but the greatest." What then? does it

need only a short time? and is it possible to seize it as you pass by? If you can, seize it.

Then you will say, "I met with Epictetus as I should meet with a stone or a statue": for you saw me, and

nothing more. But he meets with a man as a man, who learns his opinions, and in his turn shows his own.

Learn my opinions: show me yours; and then say that you have visited me. Let us examine one another: if I

have any bad opinion, take it away; if you have any, show it. This is the meaning of meeting with a

philosopher. "Not so, but this is only a passing visit, and while we are hiring the vessel, we can also see

Epictetus. Let us see what he says." Then you go away and say: "Epictetus was nothing: he used solecisms

and spoke in a barbarous way." For of what else do you come as judges? "Well, but a man may say to me, "If

I attend to such matters, I shall have no land, as you have none; I shall have no silver cups as you have none,

nor fine beasts as you have none." In answer to this it is perhaps sufficient to say: I have no need of such

things: but if you possess many things you have need of others: whether you choose or not, you are poorer

than I am. "What then have I need of?" Of that which you have not: of firmness, of a mind which is

conformable to nature, of being free from perturbation. Whether I have a patron or not, what is that to me?

but it is something to you. I am richer than you: I am not anxious what Caesar will think of me: for this

reason, I flatter no man. This is what I possess instead of vessels of silver and gold. You have utensils of

gold; but your discourse, your opinions, your assents, your movements, your desires are of earthen ware. But

when I have these things conformable to nature, why should I not employ my studies also upon reason? for I

have leisure: my mind is not distracted. What shall I do, since I have no distraction? What more suitable to a

man have I than this? When you have nothing to do, you are disturbed, you go to the theatre or you wander

about without a purpose. Why should not the philosopher labour to improve his reason? You employ yourself

about crystal vessels: I employ myself about the syllogism named "The Living": you about myrrhine vessels;

I employ myself about the syllogism named "The Denying." To you everything appears small that you

possess: to me all that I have appears great. Your desire is insatiable: mine is satisfied. To (children) who put

their hand into a narrow necked earthen vessel and bring out figs and nuts, this happens; if they fill the hand,

they cannot take it out, and then they cry. Drop a few of them and you will draw things out. And do you part

When the need of each opinion comes, we ought to have it in readiness: on the occasion of breakfast, such as

relate to breakfast; in the bath, those that concern the bath; in bed, those that concern bed.

And we ought to retain these verses in such way that we may use them, not that we may utter them aloud, as

when we exclaim "Paean Apollo." Again in fever we should have ready such opinions as concern a fever; and

we ought not, as soon as the fever begins, to lose and forget all. (A man who has a fever) may "If I

philosophize any longer, may I be hanged: wherever I go, I must take care of the poor body, that a fever may

not come." But what is philosophizing? Is it not a preparation against events which may happen? Do you not

understand that you are saying something of this kind? "If I shall still prepare myself to bear with patience

what happens, may I be hanged." But this is just as if a man after receiving blows should give up the

Pancratium. In the Pancratium it is in our power to desist and not to receive blows. But in the other matter,

we give up philosophy, what shall we gain I gain? What then should a man say on the occasion of each

painful thing? "It was for this that I exercised myself, for this I disciplined myself." God says to you, "Give

me a proof that you have duly practiced athletics, that you have eaten what you ought, that you have been

exercised, that you have obeyed the aliptes." Then do you show yourself weak when the time for action

comes? Now is the time for the fever. Let it be borne well. Now is the time for thirst, well; now is the time for

hunger, bear it well. Is it not in your power? who shall hinder you? The physician will hinder you from

drinking; but he cannot prevent you from bearing thirst well: and he will hinder you from eating; but he

"But I cannot attend to my philosophical studies." And for what purpose do you follow them? Slave, is it not

that you may be happy, that you may be constant, is it not that you may be in a state conformable to nature

and live so? What hinders you when you have a fever from having your ruling faculty conformable to nature?

Here is the proof of the thing, here is the test of the philosopher. For this also is a part of life, like walking,

like sailing, like journeying by land, so also is fever. Do you read when you are walking? No. Nor do you

when you have a fever. if you walk about well, you have all that belongs to a man who walks. If you bear

fever well, you have all that belongs to a man in a fever. What is it to bear a fever well? Not to blame God or

man; not to be afflicted it that which happens, to expect death well and nobly, to do what must be done: when

the physician comes in, not to be frightened at what he says; nor if he says, "You are doing well," to be

overjoyed. For what good has he told you? and when you were in health, what good was that to you? And

even if he says, "You are in a bad way," do not despond. For what is it to be ill? is it that you are near the

severance of the soul and the body? what harm is there in this? If you are not near now, will you not

afterward be near? Is the world going to be turned upside down when you are dead? Why then do you flatter

the physician? Why do you say, "If you please, master, I shall be well"? Why do you give him an opportunity

of raising his eyebrows? Do you not value a physician, as you do a shoemaker when he is measuring your

foot, or a carpenter when he is building your house, and so treat the physician as to the body which is not

yours, but by nature dead? He who has a fever has an opportunity of doing this: if he does these things, he has

what belongs to him. For it is not the business of a philosopher to look after these externals, neither his wine

nor his oil nor his poor body, but his own ruling power. But as to externals how must he act? so far as not to

be careless about them. Where then is there reason for fear? where is there, then, still reason for anger, and of

fear about what belongs to others, about things which are of no value? For we ought to have these two

principles in readiness: that except the will nothing is good nor bad; and that we ought not to lead events, but

to follow them. "My brother ought not to have behaved thus to me." No; but he will see to that: and, however

he may behave, I will conduct myself toward him as I ought. For this is my own business: that belongs to

There are certain penalties fixed as by law for those who disobey the divine administration. Whoever thinks

any other thing to be good except those things which depend on the will, let him envy, let him desire, let him

flatter, let him be perturbed: whoever considers anything else to be evil, let him grieve, let him lament, let

him weep, let him be unhappy. And yet, though so severely punished, we cannot desist.

This, then, may be applied even to a father: "I must not, even if a worse man than you should come, treat a

father unworthily, for all are from paternal Zeus." And of a brother, "For all are from the Zeus who presides

over kindred." And so in the other relations of life we shall find Zeus to be an inspector.

We ought not to make our exercises consist in means contrary to nature and adapted to cause admiration, for,

if we do so, we, who call ourselves philosophers, shall not differ at all from jugglers. For it is difficult even to

walk on a rope; and not only difficult, but it is also dangerous. Ought we for this reason to practice walking

on a rope, or setting up a palm tree, or embracing statues? By no means. Everything, which is difficult and

dangerous is not suitable for practice; but that is suitable which conduces to the working out of that which is

proposed to us as a thing to be worked out. To live with desire and aversion, free from restraint. And what is

this? Neither to be disappointed in that which you desire, nor to fall into anything which you would avoid.

Toward this object, then, exercise ought to tend. For, since it is not possible to have your desire not

disappointed and your aversion free from falling into that which you would avoid, great and constant practice

you must know that if you allow your desire and aversion to turn to things which are not within the power of

the will, you will neither have your desire capable of attaining your object, nor your aversion free from the

power of avoiding that which you would avoid. And since strong habit leads, and we are accustomed to

employ desire and aversion only to things which are not within the power of our will, we ought to oppose to

this habit a contrary habit, and where there is great slipperiness in the appearances, there to oppose the habit

I am rather inclined to pleasure: I will incline to the contrary side above measure for the sake of exercise. I

am averse to pain: I will rub and exercise against this the appearances which are presented to me for the

purpose of withdrawing my aversion from every such thing. For who is a practitioner in exercise? He who

practices not using his desire, and applies his aversion only to things which are within the power of his will,

and practices most in the things which are difficult to conquer. For this reason one man must practice himself

more against one thing and another against another thing. What, then, is it to the purpose to set up a palm

tree, or to carry about a tent of skins, or a mortar and a pestle? Practice, man, if you are irritable, to endure if

you are abused, not to be vexed if you are treated with dishonour. Then you will make so much progress that,

even if a man strikes you, you will say to yourself, "Imagine that you have embraced a statue": then also

exercise yourself to use wine properly so as not to drink much, for in this also there are men who foolishly

practice themselves; but first of all you should abstain from it, and abstain from a young girl and dainty

cakes. Then at last, if occasion presents itself, for the purpose of trying yourself at a proper time, you will

descend into the arena to know if appearances overpower you as they did formerly. But at first fly far from

that which is stronger than yourself: the contest is unequal between a charming young girl and a beginner in

philosophy. "The earthen pitcher," as the saying is, "and the rock do not agree."

After the desire and the aversion comes the second topic of the movements toward action and the withdrawals

from it; that you may be obedient to reason, that you do nothing out of season or place, or contrary to any

propriety of the kind. The third topic concerns the assents, which is related to the things which are persuasive

and attractive. For as Socrates said, "we ought not to live a life without examination," so we ought not to

accept an appearance without examination, but we should say, "Wait, let me see what you are and whence

you come"; like the watch at night, "Show me the pass." "Have you the signal from nature which the

appearance that may be accepted ought to have?" And finally whatever means are applied to the body by

those who exercise it, if they tend in any way toward desire and it, aversion, they also may be fit means of

exercise; but if they are for display, they are the indications of one who has turned himself toward something

external, and who is hunting for something else, and who looks for spectators who will say, "Oh the great

man." For this reason, Apollonius said well, "When you intend to exercise yourself for your own advantage,

and you are thirsty from heat, take in a mouthful of cold water, and spit it out, and tell nobody."

Solitude is a certain condition of a helpless man. For because a man is alone, he is not for that reason also

solitary; just as though a man is among numbers, he is not therefore not solitary. When then we have lost

either a brother, or a son, or a friend on whom we were accustomed to repose, we say that we are left solitary,

though we are often in Rome, though such a crowd meet us, though so many live in the same place, and

sometimes we have a great number of slaves. For the man who is solitary, as it is conceived, is considered to

be a helpless person and exposed to those who wish to harm him. For this reason when we travel, then

especially do we say that we are lonely when we fall among robbers, for it is not the sight of a human

creature which removes us from solitude, but the sight of one who is faithful and modest and helpful to us.

For if being alone is enough to make solitude, you may say that even Zeus is solitary in the conflagration and

bewails himself saying, "Unhappy that I am who have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor Apollo, nor brother, nor

son, nor descendant nor kinsman." This is what some say that he does when he is alone at the conflagration.

For they do not understand how a man passes his life when he is alone, because they set out from a certain

natural principle, from the natural desire of community and mutual love and from the pleasure of

conversation among men. But none the less a man ought to be prepared in a manner for this also, to be able to

be sufficient for himself and to be his own companion. For as Zeus dwells with himself, and is tranquil by

himself, and thinks of his own administration and of its nature, and is employed in thoughts suitable to

himself; so ought we also to be able to talk with ourselves, not to feel the want of others also, not to be

unprovided with the means of passing our time; to observe the divine administration and the relation of

ourselves to everything else; to consider how we formerly were affected toward things that happen and how

at present; what are still the things which give us pain; how these also can be cured and how removed; if any

For you see that Caesar appears to furnish us with great peace, that there are no longer enemies nor battles

nor great associations of robbers nor of pirates, but we can travel at every hour and sail from east to west. But

can Caesar give us security from fever also, can he from shipwreck, from fire, from earthquake or from

lightning? well, I will say, can he give us security against love? He cannot. From sorrow? He cannot. From

envy? He cannot. In a word then he cannot protect us from any of these things. But the doctrine of

philosophers promises to give us security even against these things. And what does it say? "Men, if you will

attend to me, wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you will not feel sorrow, nor anger, nor compulsion,

nor hindrance, but you will pass your time without perturbations and free from everything." When a man has

this peace, not proclaimed by Caesar (for how should he be able to proclaim it?), but by God through reason,

is he not content when he is alone? when he sees and reflects, "Now no evil can happen to me; for me there is

no robber, no earthquake, everything is full of peace, full of tranquillity: every way, every city, every

meeting, neighbor, companion is harmless. One person whose business it is, supplies me with food; another

with raiment; another with perceptions, and preconceptions. And if he does not supply what is necessary, He

gives the signal for retreat, opens the door, and says to you, 'Go.' Go whither? To nothing terrible, but to the

place from which you came, to your friends and kinsmen, to the elements: what there was in you of fire goes

to fire; of earth, to earth; of air, to air; of water to water: no Hades, nor Acheron, nor Cocytus, nor

Pyriphlegethon, but all is full of Gods and Demons." When a man has such things to think on, and sees the

sun, the moon and stars, and enjoys earth and sea, he is not solitary nor even helpless. "Well then, if some

man should come upon me when I am alone and murder me?" Fool, not murder you, but your poor body.

What kind of solitude then remains? what want? why do we make ourselves worse than children? and what

do children do when they are left alone? They take up shells and ashes, and they build something, then pull it

down, and build something else, and so they never want the means of passing the time. Shall I, then, if you

sail away, sit down and weep, because I have been left alone and solitary? Shall I then have no shells, no

ashes? But children do what they do through want of thought, and we through knowledge are unhappy.

Every great power is dangerous to beginners. You must then bear such things as you are able, but

conformably to nature: but not... Practice sometimes a way of living like a man in health. Abstain from food,

drink water, abstain sometimes altogether from desire, in order that you may some time desire consistently

with reason; and if consistently with reason, when you have anything good in you, you will desire well. "Not

so; but we wish to live like wise men immediately and to be useful to men." Useful how? what are you

doing? have you been useful to yourself? "But, I suppose, you wish to exhort them." You exhort them! You

wish to be useful to them. Show to them in your own example what kind of men philosophy makes, and don't

trifle. When you are eating, do good to those who eat with you; when you are drinking, to those who are

drinking with you; by yielding to all, giving way, bearing with them, thus do them good, and do not spit on

As bad tragic actors cannot sing alone, but in company with many: so some persons cannot walk about alone.

Man, if you are anything, both walk alone and talk to yourself, and do not hide yourself in the chorus.

Examine a little at last, look around, stir yourself up, that you may know who you are.

When a man drinks water, or does anything for the sake of practice, whenever there is an opportunity he tells

it to all: "I drink water." Is it for this that you drink water, for the purpose of drinking water? Man, if it is

good for you to drink, drink; but if not, you are acting ridiculously. But if it is good for you and you do drink,

say nothing about it to those who are displeased with waterdrinkers. What then, do you wish to please these

Of things that are done some are done with a final purpose, some according to occasion, others with a certain

reference to circumstances, others for the purpose of complying with others. and some according to a fixed

You must root out of men these two things, arrogance and distrust. Arrogance, then, is the opinion that you

want nothing: but distrust is the opinion that you cannot be happy when so many circumstances surround you.

Arrogance is removed by confutation; and Socrates was the first who practiced this. And, that the thing is not

impossible, inquire and seek. This search will do you no harm; and in a manner this is philosophizing, to seek

"I am superior to you, for my father is a man of consular rank." Another says, "I have been a tribune, but you

have not." If we were horses, would you say, "My father was swifter?" "I have much barley and fodder, or

elegant neck ornaments." If, then, while you were saying this, I said, "Be it so: let us run then." Well, is there

nothing in a man such as running in a horse, by which it will he known which is superior and inferior? Is

there not modesty, fidelity, justice? Show yourself superior in these, that you may be superior as a man. If

you tell me that you can kick violently, I also will say to you that you are proud of that which is the act of an

In every act consider what precedes and what follows, and then proceed to the act. If you do not consider, you

will at first begin with spirit, since you have not thought at all of the things which follow; but afterward,

when some consequences have shown themselves, you will basely desist. "I wish to conquer at the Olympic

games." "And I too, by the gods: for it is a fine thing." But consider here what precedes and what follows;

and then, if it is for your good, undertake the thing. You must act according to rules, follow strict diet, abstain

from delicacies, exercise yourself by compulsion at fixed times, in heat, in cold; drink no cold water, nor

wine, when there is opportunity of drinking it. In a word you must surrender yourself to the trainer as you do

to a physician. Next in the contest, you must be covered with sand, sometimes dislocate a hand, sprain an

ankle, swallow a quantity of dust, be scourged with the whip; and after undergoing all this, you must

sometimes be conquered. After reckoning all these things, if you have still an inclination, go to the athletic

practice. If you do not reckon them, observe you behave like children who at one time you wi play as

wrestlers, then as gladiators, then blow a trumpet, then act a tragedy, when they have seen and admired such

things. So you also do: you are at one time a wrestler, then a gladiator, then a philosopher, then a rhetorician;

but with your whole soul you are nothing: like the ape, you imitate all that you see; and always one thing

after another pleases you, but that which becomes familiar displeases you. For you have never undertaken

anything after consideration, nor after having explored the whole matter and put it to a strict examination; but

you have undertaken it at hazard and with a cold desire. Thus some persons having seen a philosopher and

having heard one speak like Euphrates yet who can speak like him? wish to be philosophers themselves.

Man, consider first what the matter is, then your own nature also, what it is able to bear. If you are a wrestler,

look at your shoulders, your thighs, your loins: for different men are naturally formed for different things. Do

you think that, if you do, you can be a philosopher? Do you think that you can eat as you do now, drink as

you do now, and in the same way be angry and out of humour? You must watch, labour, conquer certain

desires, you must depart from your kinsmen, be despised by your slave, laughed at by those who meet you, in

everything you must be in an inferior condition, as to magisterial office, in honours, in courts of justice.

When you have considered all these things completely, then, if you think proper, approach to philosophy, if

you would gain in exchange for these things freedom from perturbations, liberty, tranquillity. If you have not

considered these things, do not approach philosophy: do not act like children, at one time a philosopher, then

a tax collector, then a rhetorician, then a procurator of Caesar These things are not consistent. You must be

one man either good or bad: you must either labour at your own ruling faculty or at external things: you must

either labour at things within or at external things: that is, you must either occupy the place of a philosopher

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?"

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 illnatured disposition? Is any man among us prepared like a luteplayer 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

Why, then, are they more powerful than you? Because they utter these useless words from their real opinions:

but you utter your elegant words only from your lips; for this reason they are without strength and dead, and

it is nauseous to listen to your exhortations and your miserable virtue, which is talked of everywhere. In this

way the vulgar have the advantage over you: for every opinion is strong and invincible. Until, then, the good

sentiments are fixed in you, and you shall have acquired a certain power for your security, I advise you to be

CHAPTER 16. That we ought with caution to enter, into familiar intercourse with men 82

careful in your association with like wax in the sun there will be melted away whatever you inscribe on your

minds in the school. Withdraw, then, yourselves far from the sun so long as you have these waxen

sentiments. For this reason also philosophers advise men to leave their native country, because ancient habits

distract them and do not allow a beginning to be made of a different habit; nor can we tolerate those who

meet us and say: "See such a one is now a philosopher, who was once soandso." Thus also physicians send

those who have lingering diseases to a different country and a different air; and they do right, Do you also

introduce other habits than those which you have: fix your opinions and exercise yourselves in them. But you

do not so: you go hence to a spectacle, to a show of gladiators, to a place of exercise, to a circus; then you

come back hither, and again from this place you go to those places, and still the same persons. And there is

no pleasing habit, nor attention, nor care about self and observation of this kind, "How shall I use the

appearances presented to me? according to nature, or contrary to nature? how do I answer to them? as I

ought, or as I ought not? Do I say to those things which are independent of the will, that they do not concern

me?" For if you are not yet in this state, fly from your former habits, fly from the common sort, if you intend

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

"But my wife treats me badly." Well, if any man asks you what this is, say, "My wife treats me badly." "Is

there, then, nothing more?" Nothing. "My father gives me nothing." But to say that this is an evil is

something which must be added to it externally, and falsely added. For this reason we must not get rid of

When anything shall be reported to you which is of a nature to disturb, have this principle in readiness, that

the news is about nothing which is within the power of your will. Can any man report to you that you have

formed a bad opinion, or had a bad desire? By no means. But perhaps he will report that some person is dead.

What then is that to you? He may report that some person speaks ill of you. What then is that to you? Or that

your father is planning something or other. Against whom? Against your will? How can he? But is it against

your poor body, against your little property? You are quite safe: it is not against you. But the judge declares

that you have committed an act of impiety. And did not the judges make the same declaration against

Socrates ? Does it concern you that the judge has made this declaration? No. Why then do you trouble

yourself any longer about it? Your father has a certain duty, and if he shall not fulfill it, he loses the character

of a father, of a man of natural affection, of gentleness. Do not wish him to lose anything else on this account.

For never does a man do wrong, in one thing, and suffer in another. On the other side it is your duty to make

your defense firmly, modestly, without anger: but if you do not, you also lose the character of a son, of a man

of modest behavior, of generous character. Well then, is the judge free from danger? No; but he also is in

equal danger. Why then are you still afraid of his decision? What have you to do with that which is another

man's evil? It is your own evil to make a bad defense: be on your guard against this only. But to be

condemned or not to be condemned, as that is the act of another person, so it is the evil of another person. "A

certain person threatens you." Me? No. "He blames you." Let him see how he manages his own affairs. "He is

The first difference between a common person and a philosopher is this: the common person says, "Woe to

me for my little child, for my brother, for my father." The philosopher, if he shall ever be compelled to say,

"Woe to me," stops and says, "but for myself." For nothing which is independent of the will can hinder or

damage the will, and the will can only hinder or damage itself. If, then, we ourselves incline in this direction,

so as, when we are unlucky, to blame ourselves and to remember that nothing else is the cause of perturbation

or loss of tranquillity except our own opinion, I swear to you by all the gods that we have made progress. But

in the present state of affairs we have gone another way from the beginning. For example, while we were still

children, the nurse, if we ever stumbled through want of care, did not chide us, but would beat the stone. But

what did the stone do? Ought the stone to have moved on account of your child's folly? Again, if we find

nothing to eat on coming out of the bath, the pedagogue never checks our appetite, but he flogs the cook.

Man, did we make you the pedagogue of the cook and not of the child? Correct the child, improve him. In

this way even when we are grown up we are like children. For he who is unmusical is a child in music; he

who is without letters is a child in learning: he who is untaught, is a child in life.

In the case of appearances, which are objects of the vision, nearly all have allowed the good and the evil to be

in ourselves, and not in externals. No one gives the name of good to the fact that it is day, nor bad to the fact

that it is night, nor the name of the greatest evil to the opinion that three are four. But what do men say? They

say that knowledge is good, and that error is bad; so that even in respect to falsehood itself there is a good

result, the knowledge that it is falsehood. So it ought to be in life also. "Is health a good thing, and is sickness

a bad thing" No, man. "But what is it?" To be healthy, and healthy in a right way, is good: to be healthy in a

bad way is bad; so that it is possible to gain advantage even from sickness, I declare. For is it not possible to

gain advantage even from death, and is it not possible to gain advantage from mutilation? Do you think that

Menoeceus gained little by death? "Could a man who says so, gain so much as Menoeceus gained?" Come,

man, did he not maintain the character of being a lover of his country, a man of great mind, faithful,

generous? And if he had continued to live, would he not have lost all these things? would he not have gained

the opposite? would he not have gained the name of coward, ignoble, a hater of his country, a man who

feared death? Well, do you think that he gained little by dying? "I suppose not." But did the father of

Admetus gain much by prolonging his life so ignobly and miserably? Did he not die afterward? Cease, I

adjure you by the gods, to admire things. Cease to make yourselves slaves, first of things, then on account of

"Can advantage then be derived from these things." From all; and from him who abuses you. Wherein does

the man who exercises before the combat profit the athlete? Very greatly. This man becomes my exerciser

before the combat: he exercises me in endurance, in keeping my temper, in mildness. You say no: but he,

who lays hold of my neck and disciplines my loins and shoulders, does me good; and the exercise master

does right when he says: "Raise him up with both hands, and the heavier he is, so much the more is my

advantage." But if a man exercises me in keeping my, temper, does he not do good? This is not knowing how

to gain an advantage from men. "Is my neighbour bad?" Bad to himself, but good to me: he exercises my

good disposition, my moderation. "Is my father bad?" Bad to himself, but to me good. This is the rod of

CHAPTER 19. What is the condition of a common kind of man and of a philosopher 84

Hermes: "Touch with it what you please," as the saying is. "and it will be of gold." I say not so: but bring

what you please, and I will make it good. Bring disease, bring death, bring poverty, bring abuse, bring trial on

capital charges: all these things through the rod of Hermes shall be made profitable. "What will you do with

death?" Why, what else than that it shall do you honour, or that it shall show you by act through it, what a

man is who follows the will of nature? "What will you do with disease?" I will show its nature, I will be

conspicuous in, it, I will be firm, I will be happy, I will not flatter the physician, I will not wish to die. What

else do you seek? Whatever you shall give me, I will make it happy, fortunate, honoured, a thing which a

You say No: but take care that you do not fall sick: it is a bad thing." This is the same as if you should say,

"Take care that you never receive the impression that three are four: that is bad." Man, how is it bad? If I

think about it as I ought, how shall it, then, do me any damage? and shall it not even do me good? If, then, I

think about poverty as I ought to do, about disease, about not having office, is not that enough for me? will it

not be an advantage? How, then, ought I any longer to look to seek evil and good in externals? What happens

these doctrines are maintained here, but no man carries them away home; but immediately every one is at war

with his slave, with his neighbours, with those who have sneered at him, with those who have ridiculed him.

They who have taken up bare theorems immediately wish to vomit them forth, as persons whose stomach is

diseased do with food. First digest the thing, then do not vomit it up thus: f you do not digest it, the thing

become truly an emetic, a crude food and unfit to eat. But after digestion show us some chance in your ruling

faculty, as athletes show in their shoulders by what they have been exercised and what they have eaten; as

those who have taken up certain arts show by what they have learned. The carpenter does not come and say,

"Hear me talk about the carpenter's art"; but having undertaken to build a house, he makes it, and proves that

he knows the art. You also ought to do something of the kind; eat like a man, drink like a man, dress, marry,

beget children, do the office of a citizen, endure abuse, bear unreasonable brother, bear with your father, bear

with your son, neighbour, compassion. Show us these things that we may see that you have in truth learned

something from the philosophers. You say, "No, but come and hear me read commentaries." Go away, and

seek somebody to vomit them on. "And indeed I will expound to you the writings of Chrysippus as no other

man can: I will explain his text most clearly: I will add also, if I can, the vehemence of Antipater and

Is it, then, for this that young men shall leave their country and their parents, that they may come to this

place, and hear you explain words? Ought they not to return with a capacity to endure, to be active in

association with others, free from passions, free from perturbation, with such a provision for the journey of

life with which they shall be able to bear well the things that happen and derive honour from them? And how

can you give them any of these things which you do not possess? Have you done from the beginning

anything else than employ yourself about the resolution of Syllogisms, of sophistical arguments, and in those

which work by questions? "But such a man has a school; why should not I also have a school?" These things

are not done, man, in a careless way, nor just as it may happen; but there must be a (fit) age and life and God

as a guide. You say, "No." But no man sails from a port without having sacrificed to the Gods and invoked

their help; nor do men sow without having called on Demeter; and shall a man who has undertaken so great a

work undertake it safely without the Gods? and shall they who undertake this work come to it with success?

What else are you doing, man, than divulging the mysteries? You say, "There is a temple at Eleusis, and one

here also. There is an Hierophant at Eleusis, and I also will make an Hierophant: there is a herald, and I will

establish a herald; there is a torchbearer at Eleusis, and I also will establish a torchbearer; there are torches

at Eleusis, and I will have torches here. The words are the same: how do the things done here differ from

those done there?" Most impious man, is there no difference? these things are done both in due place and in

due time; and when accompanied with sacrifice and prayers, when a man is first purified, and when he is

disposed in his mind to the thought that he is going to approach sacred rites and ancient rites. In this way the

mysteries are useful, in this way we come to the notion that all these things were established by the ancients

for the instruction and correction of life. But you publish and divulge them out of time, out of place, without

sacrifices, without purity; you have not the garments which the hierophant ought to have, nor the hair, nor the

headdress, nor the voice, nor the age; nor have you purified yourself as he has: but you have committed to

You ought to approach these matters in another way; the thing is great, it is mystical, not a common thing,

nor is it given to every man. But not even wisdom perhaps is enough to enable a man to take care of youths: a

man must have also a certain readiness and fitness for this purpose, and a certain quality of body, and above

all things he must have God to advise him to occupy this office, as God advised Socrates to occupy the place

of one who confutes error, Diogenes the office of royalty and reproof, and the office of teaching precepts. But

you open a doctor's shop, though you have nothing except physic: but where and how they should be applied,

you know not nor have you taken any trouble about it. "See," that man says, "I too have salves for the eyes."

Have you also the power of using them? Do you know both when and how they will do good, and to whom

they will do good? Why then do you act at hazard in things of the greatest importance? why are you careless?

why do you undertake a thing that is in no way fit for you? Leave it to those who are able to do it, and to do it

well. Do not yourself bring disgrace on philosophy through your own acts, and be not one of those who load

it with a bad reputation. But if theorems please you, sit still and turn them over by yourself; but never say that

you are a philosopher, nor allow another to say it; but say: "He is mistaken, for neither are my desires

different from what they were before, nor is my activity directed to other objects, nor do I assent to other

things, nor in the use of appearances have I altered at all from my former condition." This you must think and

say about yourself, if you would think as you ought: if not, act at hazard, and do what you are doing; for it

When one of his pupils inquired of Epictetus, and he was a person who appeared to be inclined to Cynism,

what kind of person a Cynic ought to be and what was the notion of the thing, We will inquire, said Epictetus,

at leisure: but I have so much to say to you that he who without God attempts so great a matter, is hateful to

God, and has no other purpose than to act indecently in public. For in any wellmanaged house no man

comes forward, and says to himself, "I ought to be manager of the house." If he does so, the master turns

round and, seeing him insolently giving orders, drags him forth and flogs him. So it is also in this great city;

for here also there is a master of the house who orders everything. "You are the sun; you can by going round

make the year and seasons, and make the fruits grow and nourish them, and stir the winds and make them

remit, and warm the bodies of men properly: go, travel round, and so administer things from the greatest to

the least." "You are a calf; when a lion shall appear, do your proper business: if you do not, you will suffer."

"You are a bull: advance and fight, for this is your business, and becomes you, and you can do it." "You can

lead the army against Illium; be Agamemnon." "You can fight in single combat against Hector: be Achilles."

But if Thersites came forward and claimed the command, he would either not have obtained it; or, if he did

Do you also think about the matter carefully: it is not what it seems to you. "I wear a cloak now and I shall

wear it then: I sleep hard now, and I shall sleep hard then: I will take in addition a little bag now and a staff,

and I will go about and begin to beg and to abuse those whom I meet; and if I see any man plucking the hair

out of his body, I will rebuke him, or if he has dressed his hair, or if he walks about in purple." If you imagine

the thing to be such as this, keep far away from it: do not approach it: it is not at all for you. But if you

imagine it to be what it is, and do not think yourself to be unfit for it, consider what a great thing you

In the first place in the things which relate to yourself, you must not be in any respect like what you do now:

you must not blame God or man: you must take away desire altogether, you must transfer avoidance only to

the things which are within the power of the will: you must not feel anger nor resentment nor envy nor pity; a

girl must not appear handsome to you, nor must you love a little reputation, nor be pleased with a boy or a

cake. For you ought to know that the rest of men throw walls around them and houses and darkness when

they do any such things, and they have many means of concealment. A man shuts the door, he sets somebody

before the chamber: if a person comes, say that he is out, he is not at leisure. But the Cynic instead of all

these things must use modesty as his protection: if he does not, he will he indecent in his nakedness and

under the open sky. This is his house, his door: this is the slave before his bedchamber: this is his darkness.

For he ought not to wish to hide anything that he does: and if he does, he is gone, he has lost the character of

a Cynic, of a man who lives under the open sky, of a free man: he has begun to fear some external thing, he

has begun to have need of concealment, nor can he get concealment when he chooses. For where shall he

hide himself and how? And if by chance this public instructor shall be detected, this pedagogue, what kind of

things will he be compelled to suffer? when then a man fears these things, is it possible for him to be bold

In the first place, then, you must make your ruling faculty pure, and this mode of life also. "Now, to me the

matter to work on is my understanding, as wood is to the carpenter, as hides to the shoemaker; and my

business is the right use of appearances. But the body is nothing to me: the parts of it are nothing to me.

Death? Let it come when it chooses, either death of the whole or of a part. Fly, you say. And whither; can any

man eject me out of the world? He cannot. But wherever I ever I go, there is the sun, there is the moon, there

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

It is his duty, then, to he able with a loud voice, if the occasion should arise, and appearing on the tragic stage

to say like Socrates: "Men, whither are you hurrying, what are you doing, wretches? like blind people you are

wandering up and down: you are going by another road, and have left the true road: you seek for prosperity

and happiness where they are not, and if another shows you where they are, you do not believe him." Why do

you seek it without? In the body? It is not there. If you doubt, look at Myro, look at Ophellius. In

possessions? It is not there. But if you do not believe me, look at Croesus: look at those who are now rich,

with what lamentations their life is filled. In power? It is not there. If it is, those must be happy who have

been twice and thrice consuls; but they are not. Whom shall we believe in these matters? you who from

without see their affairs and are dazzled by an appearance, or the men themselves? What do they say? Hear

them when they groan, when they grieve, when on account of these very consulships and glory and splendour

they think that they are more wretched and in greater danger. Is it in royal power? It is not: if it were, Nero

would have been happy, and Sardanapalus. But neither was Agamemnon happy, though he was a better man

Wretch, which of your affairs goes badly? Your possessions? No. Your body? No. But you are rich in gold

and copper. What then is the matter with you? That part of you, whatever it is, has been neglected by you and

is corrupted, the part with which we desire, with which we avoid, with which we move toward and move

from things. How neglected? He knows not the nature of good for which he is made by nature and the nature

of evil; and what is his own, and what belongs to another; and when anything that belongs to others goes

badly, he says, "Woe to me, for the Hellenes are in dancer." Wretched is his ruling faculty, and alone

neglected and uncared for. "The Hellenes are going to die destroyed by the Trojans." And if the Trojans do

not kill them, will they not die? "Yes; but not all at once." What difference, then, does it make? For if death is

an evil, whether men die altogether, or if they die singly, it is equally an evil. Is anything else then going to

happen than the separation of the soul and the body? Nothing. And if the Hellenes perish, is the door closed,

and is it not in your power to die? "It is." Why then do you lament "Oh, you who are a king and have the

sceptre of Zeus?" An unhappy king does not exist more than an unhappy god. What then art thou? In truth a

shepherd: for you weep as shepherds do, when a wolf has carried off one of their sheep: and these who are

governed by you are sheep. And why did you come hither? Was your desire in any danger? was your

aversion? was your movement? was your avoidance of things? He replies, "No; but the wife of my brother

was carried off." Was it not then a great gain to be deprived of an adulterous wife? "Shall we be despised,

then, by the Trojans?" What kind of people are the Trojans, wise or foolish? If they are wise, why do you

In what, then, is the good, since it is not in these things? Tell us, you who are lord, messenger and spy. Where

you do not think that it is, nor choose to seek it: for if you chose to seek it, you would have found it to he in

yourselves; nor would you be wandering out of the way, nor seeking what belongs to others as if it were your

own. Turn your thoughts into yourselves: observe the preconceptions which you have. What kind of a thing

do you imagine the good to be? "That which flows easily, that which is happy, that which is not impeded."

Come, and do you not naturally imagine it to be great, do you not imagine it to be valuable? do you not

imagine it to be free from harm? In what material then ought you to seek for that which flows easily, for that

which is not impeded? in that which serves or in that which is free? "In that which is free." Do you possess

the body, then, free or is it in servile condition? "We do not know." Do you not know that it is the slave of

fever, of gout, ophthalmia, dysentery, of a tyrant, of fire, of iron, of everything which is stronger? Yes, it is a

slave." How, then, is it possible that anything which belongs to the body can be free from hindrance? and

how is a thing great or valuable which is naturally dead, or earth, or mud? Well then, do you possess nothing

which is free? "Perhaps nothing." And who is able to compel you to assent to that which appears false? "No

man." And who can compel you not to assent to that which appears true? "No man." By this, then, you see

that there is something in you naturally free. But to desire or to be averse from, or to move toward an object

or to move from it, or to prepare yourself, or to propose to do anything, which of you can do this, unless he

has received an impression of the appearance of that which is profitable or a duty? "No man." You have,

then, in these thongs also something which is not hindered and is free. Wretched men, work out this, take care

"And how is it possible that a man who has nothing, who is naked, houseless, without a hearth, squalid,

without a slave, without a city, can pass a life that flows easily?" See, God has sent you a man to show you

that it is possible. "Look at me, who am without a city, without a house, without possessions, without a slave;

I sleep on the ground; I have no wife, no children; no praetorium, but only the earth and heavens, and one

poor cloak. And what do I want? Am I not without sorrow? am I not without fear? Am I not free? When did

any of you see me failing in the object of my desire? or ever falling into that which I would avoid? did I ever

blame God or man? did I ever accuse any man? did any of you ever see me with sorrowful countenance? And

how do I meet with those whom you are afraid of and admire? Do not I treat them like slaves? Who, when he

This is the language of the Cynics, this their character, this is their purpose. You say "No": but their

characteristic is the little wallet, and staff, and great jaws: the devouring of all that you give them, or storing it

up, or the abusing unseasonably all whom they meet, or displaying their shoulder as a fine thing. Do you see

how you are going, to undertake so great a business? First take a mirror: look at your shoulders; observe your

loins, your thighs. You are going, my man, to be enrolled as a combatant in the Olympic games, no frigid and

miserable contest. In the Olympic games a man is not permitted to be conquered only and to take his

departure; but first he must be disgraced in the sight of all the world, not in the sight of Athenians only, or of

Lacedaemonians or of Nicopolitans; next he must be whipped also if he has entered into the contests rashly:

and before being whipped, he must suffer thirst and heat, and swallow much dust.

Reflect more carefully, know thyself, consult the divinity, without God attempt nothing; for if he shall advise

you, be assured that he intends you to become great or to receive many blows. For this very amusing quality

is conjoined to a Cynic: he must be flogged like an ass, and when he is flogged, he must love those who flog

him, as if he were the father of all, and the brother of all. You say "No"; but if a man flogs you, stand in the

public place and call out, "Caesar, what do I suffer in this state of peace under thy protection? Let us bring

the offender before the proconsul." But what is Caesar to a Cynic, or what is a proconsul, or what is any other

except him who sent the Cynic down hither, and whom he serves, namely Zeus? Does he call upon any other

than Zeus? Is he not convinced that, whatever he suffers, it is Zeus who is exercising him? Hercules when he

was exercised by Eurystheus did not think that he was wretched, but without hesitation he attempted to

execute all that he had in hand. And is he who is trained to the contest and exercised by Zeus going to call out

and to be vexed, he who is worthy to bear the sceptre of Diogenes? Hear what Diogenes says to the

passersby when he is in a fever, "Miserable wretches, will you not stay? but are you going so long a journey

to Olympia to see the destruction or the fight of athletes; and will you not choose to see the combat between a

fever and a man?" Would such a man accuse God who sent him down as if God were treating him

unworthily, a man who gloried in his circumstances, and claimed to be an example to those who were passing

by? For what shall he accuse him of? because he maintains a decency of behavior, because he displays his

virtue more conspicuously? Well, and what does he say of poverty, about death, about pain? How did he

compare his own happiness with that of the Great King? or rather he thought that there was no comparison

between them. For where there are perturbations, and griefs, and fears, and desires not satisfied, and

aversions of things which you cannot avoid, and envies and jealousies, how is there a road to happiness

there? But where there are corrupt principles, there these things must of necessity be.

When the young man asked, if when a Cynic is sick, and a friend asks him to come to his house and be taken

care of in his sickness, shall the Cynic accept the invitation, he replied: And where shall you find, I ask, a

Cynic's friend? For the man who invites ought to be such another as the that he may be worthy of being

reckoned the Cynic's friend. He ought to be a partner in the Cynic's sceptre and his royalty, and a worthy

minister, if he intends to be considered worthy of a Cynic's friendship, as Diogenes was a friend of

Antisthenes, as Crates was a friend of Diogenes. Do you think that, if a man comes to a Cynic and salutes

him, he is the Cynic's friend, and that the Cynic will think him worthy of receiving a Cynic into his house? So

that, if you please, reflect on this also: rather look round for some convenient dunghill on which you shall

bear your fever and which will shelter you from the north wind that you may not be chilled. But you seem to

me to wish to go into some man's house and to be well fed there for a time. Why then do you think of

"But," said the young man, "shall marriage and the procreation of children as a chief duty be undertaken by

the Cynic?" If you grant me a community of wise men, Epictetus replies, perhaps no man will readily apply

himself to the Cynic practice. For on whose account should he undertake this manner of life? However if we

suppose that he does, nothing will prevent him from marrying and begetting children; for his wife will be

another like himself, and his fatherinlaw another like himself, and his children will be brought up like

himself. But in the present state of things which is like that of an army placed in battle order, is it not fit that

the Cynic should without any distraction be employed only on the administration of God, able to go about

among men, not tied down to the common duties of mankind, nor entangled in the ordinary relations of life,

which if he neglects, he will not maintain the character of an honourable and good man? and if he observes

them he will lose the character of the messenger, and spy and herald of God. For consider that it is his duty to

do something toward his fatherinlaw, something to the other kinsfolk of his wife, something to his wife

also. He is also excluded by being a Cynic from looking after the sickness of his own family, and from

providing for their support. And, to say nothing of the rest, he must have a vessel for heating water for the

child that he may wash it in the bath; wool for his wife when she is delivered of a child, oil, a bed, a cup: so

the furniture of the house is increased. I say nothing of his other occupations and of his distraction. Where,

whose duty it is to look after others, the married and those who have children; to see who uses his wife well,

who uses her badly; who quarrels; what family is well administered, what is not; going about as a physician

does and feels pulses? He says to one, "You have a fever," to another, "You have a headache, or the gout": he

says to one, "Abstain from food"; to another he says, "Eat"; or "Do not use the bath"; to another, "You require

the knife, or the cautery." How can he have time for this who is tied to the duties of common life? is it not his

duty to supply clothing to his children, and to send them to the schoolmaster with writing tablets, and styles.

Besides, must he not supply them with beds? for they cannot be genuine Cynics as soon as they are born. If

he does not do this, it would be better to expose the children as soon as they are born than to kill them in this

way. Consider what we are bringing the Cynic down to, how we are taking his royalty from him. "Yes, but

Crates took a wife." You are speaking of a circumstance which arose from love and of a woman who was

another Crates. But we are inquiring about ordinary marriages and those which are free from distractions, and

making this inquiry we do not find the affair of marriage in this state of the world a thing which is especially

"How, then, shall a man maintain the existence of society?" In the name of God, are those men greater

benefactors to society who introduce into the world to occupy their own places two or three grunting

children, or those who superintend as far as they can all mankind, and see what they do, how they live, what

they attend to, what they neglect contrary to their duty? Did they who left little children to the Thebans do

them more good than Epaminondas who died childless? And did Priamus, who begat fifty worthless sons, or

Danaus or AEolus contribute more to the community than Homer? then shall the duty of a general or the

business of a writer exclude a man from marriage or the begetting of children, and such a man shall not be

judged to have accepted the condition of childlessness for nothing; and shall not the royalty of a Cynic be

considered an equivalent for the want of children? Do we not perceive his grandeur and do we not justly

contemplate the character of Diogenes; and do we, instead of this, turn our eyes to the present Cynics, who

are dogs that wait at tables and in no respect imitate the Cynics of old except perchance in breaking wind, but

in nothing else? For such matters would not have moved us at all nor should we have wondered if a Cynic

should not marry or beget children. Man, the Cynic is the father of all men; the men are his sons, the women

are his daughters: he so carefully visits all, so well does he care for all. Do you think that it is from idle

impertinence that he rebukes those whom he meets? He does it as a father, as a brother, and as the minister of

If you please, ask me also if a Cynic shall engage in the administration of the state. Fool, do you seek a

greater form of administration than that in which he is engaged? Do you ask if he shall appear among the

Athenians and say something about the revenues and the supplies, he who must talk with all men, alike with

Athenians, alike with Corinthians, alike with Romans, not about supplies, nor yet about revenues, nor about

peace or war, but about happiness and unhappiness, about good fortune and bad fortune, about slavery and

freedom? When a man has undertaken the administration of such a state, do you ask me if he shall engage in

the administration of a state? ask me also if he shall govern: again I will say to you: Fool, what greater

It is necessary also for such a man to have a certain habit of body: for if he appears to be consumptive, thin

and pale, his testimony has not then the same weight. For he must not only by showing the qualities of the

soul prove to the vulgar that it is in his power independent of the things which they admire to be a good man,

but he must also show by his body that his simple and frugal way of living in the open air does not injure

even the body. "See," he says, "I am a proof of this, and my own body also is." So Diogenes used to do, for

he used to go about freshlooking, and he attracted the notice of the many by his personal appearance. But if

a Cynic is an object of compassion, he seems to a beggar: all persons turn away from him, all are offended

with him; for neither ought he to appear dirty so that he shall not also in this respect drive away men; but his

There ought also to belong to the Cynic much natural grace and sharpness; and if this is not so, he is a stupid

fellow, and nothing else; and he must have these qualities that he may be able readily and fitly to be a match

for all circumstances that may happen. So Diogenes replied to one who said, "Are you the Diogenes who

does not believe that there are gods?" "And, how," replied Diogenes, "can this be when I think that you are

odious to the gods?" On another occasion in reply to Alexander, who stood by him when he was sleeping,

But before all the Cynic's ruling faculty must be purer than the sun; and, if it is not, he must be a cunning

knave and a fellow of no principle, since while he himself is entangled in some vice he will reprove others.

For see how the matter stands: to these kings and tyrants their guards and arms give the power of reproving

some persons, and of being able even to punish those who do wrong though they are themselves bad; but to a

Cynic instead of arms and guards it is conscience which gives this power. When he knows that be has

watched and labored for mankind, and has slept pure, and sleep has left him still purer, and that he thought

whatever he has thought as a friend of the gods, as a minister, as a participator of the power of Zeus, and that

and also, "If so it pleases the gods, so let it be"; why should he not have confidence to speak freely to his own

brothers, to his children, in a word to his kinsmen? For this reason he is neither overcurious nor a busybody

when he is in this state of mind: for he is not a meddler with the affairs of others when he is superintending

human affairs, but he is looking after his own affairs. If that is not so, you may also say that the general is a

busybody, when he inspects his soldiers, and examines them, and watches them, and punishes the disorderly.

But if, while you have a cake under your arm, you rebuke others, I will say to you: "Will you not rather go

away into a corner and eat that which you have stolen"; what have you to do with the affairs of others? For

who are you? are you the bull of the herd, or the queen of the bees? Show me the tokens of your supremacy,

such as they have from nature. But if you are a drone claiming the sovereignty over the bees, do you not

The Cynic also ought to have such power of endurance as to seem insensible to the common sort and a stone:

no man reviles him, no man strikes him, no man insults him, but he gives his body that any man who chooses

may do with it what he likes. For he bears in mind that the inferior must be overpowered by the superior in

that in which it is inferior; and the body is inferior to the many, the weaker to the stronger. He never then

descends into such a contest in which he can be overpowered; but he immediately withdraws from things

which belong to others, he claims not the things which are servile. where there is will and the use of

appearances, there you will see how many eyes he has so that you may say, "Argus was blind compared with

him." Is his assent ever hasty, his movement rash, does his desire ever fall in its object, does that which he

would avoid befall him, is his purpose unaccomplished, does he ever find fault, is he ever humiliated, is he

ever envious? To these he directs all his attention and energy; but as to everything else he snores supine. All

is peace; there is no robber who takes away his will, no tyrant. But what say you as to his body? I say there is.

And as to magistracies and honours? What does he care for them? When then any person would frighten him

through them, he says to him, "Begone, look for children: masks are formidable to them; but I know that they

About such a matter as this you are deliberating. Therefore, if you please, I urge you in God's name, defer the

matter, and first consider your preparation for it. For see what Hector says to Andromache, "Retire rather," he

First say to yourself, who you wish to be: then do accordingly what you are doing; for in nearly all other

things we see this to be so. Those who follow athletic exercises first determine what they wish to be, then do

accordingly what follows. If a man is a runner in the long course, there is a certain kind of diet, of walking,

rubbing and exercise: if a man is a runner in the stadium, all these things are different; if he is a Pentathlete,

they are still more different. So you will find it also in the arts. If you are a carpenter, you will have such and

such things: if a worker in metal, such things. For everything that we do, if we refer it to no end, we shall do

it to no purpose; and if we refer it to the wrong end, we shall miss the mark. Further, there is a general end or

purpose, and a particular purpose. First of all, we must act as a man. What is comprehended in this? We must

not be like a sheep, though gentle, nor mischievous, like a wild beast. But the particular cud has reference to

each person's mode of life and his will. The luteplayer acts as a luteplayer, the carpenter as a carpenter, the

philosopher as a philosopher, the rhetorician as a rhetorician. When then you say, "Come and hear me read to

you": take care first of all that you are not doing this without a purpose; then, if you have discovered that you

are doing this with reference to a purpose, consider if it is the right purpose. Do you wish to do good or to be

praised? Immediately you hear him saying, "To me what is the value of praise from the many?" and he says

well, for it is of no value to a musician, so far as he is a musician, nor to a geometrician. Do you then wish to

be useful? in what? tell us that we may run to your audienceroom. Now can a man do anything useful to

others, who has not received something useful himself? No, for neither can a man do anything useful in the

carpenter's art, unless he is a carpenter; nor in the shoemaker's art, unless he is a shoemaker.

Do you wish to know then if you have received any advantage? Produce your opinions, philosopher. What is

the thing which desire promises? Not to fall in the object. What does aversion promise? Not to fall into that

which you would avoid. Well; do we fulfill their promise? Tell me the truth; but if you lie, I will tell you.

Lately when your hearers came together rather coldly, and did not give you applause, you went away

humbled. Lately again when you had been praised, you went about and said to all, "What did you think of

me?" "Wonderful, master, I swear by all that is dear to me." "But how did I treat of that particular matter?"

"Which?" "The passage in which I described Pan and the nymphs?" "Excellently." Then do you tell me that

in desire and in aversion you are acting according to nature? Begone; try to persuade somebody else. Did you

not praise a certain person contrary to your opinion? and did you not flatter a certain person who was the son

of a senator? Would you wish your own children to be such persons? "I hope not." Why then did you praise

and flatter him? "He is an ingenuous youth and listens well to discourses." How is this? "He admires me."

You have stated your proof. Then what do you think? do not these very people secretly despise you? When,

then, a man who is conscious that he has neither done any good nor ever thinks of it, finds a philosopher who

says, "You have a great natural talent, and you have a candid and good disposition," what else do you think

that he says except this, "This man has some need of me?" Or tell me what act that indicates a, great mind has

he shown? Observe; he has been in your company a long time; he has listened to your discourses, he has

heard you reading; has he become more modest? has he been turned to reflect on himself? has he perceived in

what a bad state he is? has he cast away selfconceit? does he look for a person to teach him? "He does." A

man who will teach him to live? No, fool, but how to talk; for it is for this that he admires you also. Listen

and hear what he says: "This man writes with perfect art, much better than Dion." This is altogether another

thing. Does he say, "This man is modest, faithful, free from perturbations?" and even if he did say it, I should

say to him, "Since this man is faithful, tell me what this faithful man is." And if he could not tell me, I should

You, then, who are in a wretched plight and gaping after applause and counting your auditors, do you intend

to be useful to others? "Today many more attended my discourse." "Yes, many; we suppose five hundred."

"That is nothing; suppose that there were a thousand." "Dion never had so many hearers." "How could he?"

"And they understand what is said beautifully." "What is fine, master, can move even a stone." See, these are

the words of a philosopher. This is the disposition of a man who will do good to others; here is a man who

has listened to discourses, who has read what is written about Socrates as Socratic, not as the compositions of

Lysias and Isocrates. "I have often wondered by what arguments." Not so, but "by what argument": this is

more exact than that. What, have you read the words at all in a different way from that in which you read

little odes? For if you read them as you ought, you would not have been attending to such matters, but you

would rather have been looking to these words: "Anytus and Meletus are able to kill me, but they cannot

harm me": and "I am always of such a disposition as to pay regard to nothing of my own except to the reason

which on inquiry seems to me the best." Hence who ever heard Socrates say, "I know something and I teach";

but he used to send different people to different teachers. Therefore they used to come to him and ask to be

introduced to philosophy by him; and he would take them and recommend them. Not so; but as he

accompanied them he would say, "Hear me today discoursing in the house of Quadratus." Why should I

hear you? Do you wish to show me that you put words together cleverly? You put them together, man; and

what good will it do you? "But only praise me." What do you mean by praising? "Say to me, "Admirable,

wonderful." Well, I say so. But if that is praise whatever it is which philosophers mean by the name of good,

what have I to praise in you? If it is good to speak well, teach me, and will praise you. "What then? ought a

man to listen to such things without pleasure?" I hope not. For my part I do not listen even to a luteplayer

without pleasure. Must I then for this reason stand and play the lute? Hear what Socrates says, "Nor would it

be seemly for a man of my age, like a young man composing addresses, to appear before you." "Like a young

man," he says. For in truth this small art is an elegant thing, to select words, and to put them together, and to

come forward and gracefully to read them or to speak, and while he is reading to say, "There are not many

Does a philosopher invite people to hear him? As the sun himself draws men to him, or as food does, does

not the philosopher also draw to him those who will receive benefit? What physician invites a man to be

treated by him? Indeed I now hear that even the physicians in Rome do invite patients, but when I lived there,

the physicians were invited. "I invite you to come and hear that things are in a bad way for you, and that you

are taking care of everything except that of which you ought to take care, and that you are ignorant of the

good and the bad and are unfortunate and unhappy." A fine kind of invitation: and yet if the words of the

philosopher do not produce this effect on you, he is dead, and so is the speaker. Rufus was used to say: "If

you have leisure to praise me, I am speaking to no purpose." Accordingly he used to speak in such a way that

every one of us who were sitting there supposed that some one had accused him before Rufus: he so touched

The philosopher's school, ye men, is a surgery: you ought not to go out of it with pleasure, but with pain. For

you are not in sound health when you enter: one has dislocated his shoulder, another has an abscess, a third a

fistula, and a fourth a headache. Then do I sit and utter to you little thoughts and exclamations that you may

praise me and go away, one with his shoulder in the same condition in which he entered, another with his

head still aching, and a third with his fistula or his abscess just as they were? Is it for this then that young men

shall quit home, and leave their parents and their friends and kinsmen and property, that they may say to you,

"Wonderful!" when you are uttering your exclamations. Did Socrates do this, or Zeno, or Cleanthes?

What then? is there not the hortatory style? Who denies it? as there is the style of refutation, and the didactic

style. Who, then, ever reckoned a fourth style with these, the style of display? What is the hortatory style? To

be able to show both to one person and to many the struggle in which they are engaged, and that they think

more about anything than about what they really wish. For they wish the things which lead to happiness, but

they look for them in the wrong place. In order that this may be done, a thousand seats must be placed and

men must be invited to listen, and you must ascend the pulpit in a fine robe or cloak and describe the death of

Achilles. Cease, I entreat you by the gods, to spoil good words and good acts as much as you can. Nothing

can have more power in exhortation than when the speaker shows to the hearers that he has need of them. But

tell me who when he hears you reading or discoursing is anxious about himself or turns to reflect on himself?

or when he has gone out says, "The philosopher hit me well: I must no longer do these things." But does he

not, even if you have a great reputation, say to some person, "He spoke finely about Xerxes"; and another

says, "No, but about the battle of Thermopylae"? Is this listening to a philosopher?

Let not that which in another is contrary to nature be an evil to you: for you are not formed by nature to be

depressed with others nor to be unhappy with others, but to be happy with them. If a man is unhappy,

remember that his unhappiness is his own fault: for God has made all men to be happy, to be free from

perturbations. For this purpose he has given means to them, some things to each person as his own, and other

things not as his own: some things subject to hindrance and compulsion and deprivation; and these things are

not a man's own: but the things which are not subject to hindrances are his own; and the nature of good and

evil, as it was fit to be done by him who takes care of us and protects us like a father, he has made our own.

"But," you say, "I have parted from a certain person, and he is grieved." Why did he consider as his own that

which belongs to another? why, when he looked on you and was rejoiced, did he not also reckon that you are

mortal, that it is natural for you to part from him for a foreign country? Therefore he suffers the consequences

of his own folly. But why do you or for what purpose bewail yourself? Is it that you also have not thought of

these things? but like poor women who are good for nothing, you have enjoyed all things in which you took

pleasure, as if you would always enjoy them, both places and men and conversation; and now you sit and

weep because you do not see the same persons and do not live in the same places. Indeed you deserve this, to

be more wretched than crows and ravens who have the power of flying where they please and changing their

nests for others, and crossing the seas without lamenting or regretting their former condition. "Yes, but this

happens to them because they are irrational creatures." Was reason, then, given to us by the gods for the

purpose of unhappiness and misery, that we may pass our lives in wretchedness and lamentation? Must all

persons be immortal and must no man go abroad, and must we ourselves not go abroad, but remain rooted

like plants; and, if any of our familiar friends go abroad, must we sit and weep; and, on the contrary, when he

Shall we not now wean ourselves and remember what we have heard from the philosophers? if we did not

listen to them as if they were jugglers: they tell us that this world is one city, and the substance out of which it

has been formed is one, and that there must be a certain period, and that some things must give way to others,

that some must be dissolved, and others come in their place; some to remain in the same place, and others to

be moved; and that all things are full of friendship, first of the gods, and then of men who by nature are made

to be of one family; and some must be with one another, and others must be separated, rejoicing in those who

are with them, and not grieving for those who are removed from them; and man in addition to being by nature

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 94

of a noble temper and having a contempt of all things which are not in the power of his will, also possesses

this property, not to be rooted nor to be naturally fixed to the earth, but to go at different times to different

places, sometimes from the urgency of certain occasions, and at others merely for the sake of seeing. So it

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

casting out and clearing away their lawlessness and introducing in their place good rules of law. And yet how

many friends do you think that he had in Thebes, how many in Argos, how many in Athens? and how many

do you think that he gained by going about? And he married also, when it seemed to him a proper occasion,

and begot children, and left them without lamenting or regretting or leaving them as orphans; for he knew

that no man is an orphan; but it is the father who takes care of all men always and continuously. For it was

not as mere report that he had heard that Zeus is the father of for he thought that Zeus was his own father, and

he called him so, and to him he looked when he was doing what he did. Therefore he was enabled to live

happily in all places. And it is never possible for happiness and desire of what is not present to come together.

that which is happy must have all that desires, must resemble a person who is filled with food, and must have

neither thirst nor hunger. "But Ulysses felt a desire for his wife and wept as he sat on a rock." Do you attend

to Homer and his stories in everything? Or if Ulysses really wept, what was he else than an unhappy man?

and what good man is unhappy? In truth, the whole is badly administered, if Zeus does not take care of his

own citizens that they may be happy like himself. But these things are not lawful nor right to think of: and if

Ulysses did weep and lament, he was not a good man. For who is good if he knows not who he is? and who

knows what he is, if he forgets that things which have been made are perishable, and that it is not possible for

one human being to be with another always? To desire, then, things which are impossible is to have a slavish

character and is foolish: it is the part of a stranger, of a man who fights against God in the only way that he

"But my mother laments when she does not see me." Why has she not learned these principles? and I do not

say this, that we should not take care that she may not lament, but I say that we ought not to desire in every

way what is not our own. And the sorrow of another is another's sorrow: but my sorrow is my own. I, then,

will stop my own sorrow by every means, for it is in my power: and the sorrow of another I will endeavor to

stop as far as I can; but I will not attempt to do it by every means; for if I do, I shall be fighting against God, I

shall be opposing and shall be placing myself against him in the administration of the universe; and the

reward of this fighting against God and of this disobedience not only will the children of my children pay, but

I also shall myself, both by day and by night, startled by dreams, perturbed, trembling at every piece of news,

and having my tranquillity depending on the letters of others. Some person has arrived from Rome. "I only

hope that there is no harm." But what harm can happen to you, where you are not? From Hellas some one is

come: "I hope that there is no harm." In this way every place may be the cause of misfortune to you. Is it not

enough for you to be unfortunate there where you are, and must you be so even beyond sea, and by the report

of letters? Is this the way in which your affairs are in a state of security? "Well, then, suppose that my friends

have died in the places which are far from me." What else have they suffered than that which is the condition

of mortals? Or how are you desirous at the same time to live to old age, and at the same time not to see the

death of any person whom you love? Know you not that in the course of a long time many and various kinds

of things must happen; that a fever shall overpower one, a robber another, and a third a tyrant? Such is the

condition of things around us, such are those who live with us in the world: cold and heat, and unsuitable

ways of living, and journeys by land, and voyages by sea, and winds, and various circumstances which

surround us, destroy one man, and banish another, and throw one upon an embassy and another into an army.

Sit down, then, in a flutter at all these things, lamenting, unhappy, unfortunate, dependent on another, and

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 95

Did you hear this when you were with the philosophers? did you learn this? do you not know that human life

is a warfare? that one man must keep watch, another must go out as a spy, and a third must fight? and it is not

possible that all should be in one place, nor is it better that it be so. But you, neglecting neglecting to do the

commands of the general, complain when anything more hard than usual is imposed on you, and you do not

observe what you make the army become as far as it is in your power; that if all imitate you, no man will dig

a trench, no man will put a rampart round, nor keep watch, nor expose himself to danger, but will appear to

be useless for the purposes of an army. Again, in a vessel if you go as a sailor, keep to one place and stick to

it. And if you are ordered to climb the mast, refuse; if to run to the head of the ship, refuse; and what master,

of a ship will endure you? and will he not pitch you overboard as a useless thing, an impediment only and bad

example to the other sailors? And so it is here also: every man's life is a kind of warfare, and it is long and

diversified. You must observe the duty of a soldier and do everything at the nod of the general; if it is

possible, divining what his wishes are: for there is no resemblance between that general and this, neither in

strength nor in superiority of character. You are placed in a great office of command and not in any mean

place; but you are always a senator. Do you not know that such a man must give little time to the affairs of

his household, but be often away from home, either as a governor or one who is governed, or discharging

some office, or serving in war or acting as a judge? Then do you tell me that you wish, as a plant, to be fixed

to the same places and to be rooted? "Yes, for it is pleasant." Who says that it is not? but a soup is pleasant,

and a handsome woman is pleasant. What else do those say who make pleasure their end? Do you not see of

what men yon have uttered the language? that it is the language of Epicureans and catamites? Next while you

are doing what they do and holding their opinions, do you speak to us the words of Zeno and of Socrates?

Will you not throw away as far as you can the things belonging to others with which you decorate yourself,

though they do not fit you at all? For what else do they desire than to sleep without hindrance and free from

compulsion, and when they have risen to yawn at their leisure, and to wash the face, then write and read what

they choose, and then talk about some trifling matter being praised by their friends whatever they may say,

then to go forth for a walk, and having walked about a little to bathe, and then eat and sleep, such sleep as is

the fashion of such men? why need we say how? for one can easily conjecture. Come, do you also tell your

own way of passing the time which you desire, you who are an admirer of truth and of Socrates and

Diogenes. What do you wish to do in Athens? the same, or something else? Why then do you call yourself a

Stoic? Well, but they who falsely call themselves Roman citizens, are severely punished; and should those,

who falsely claim so great and reverend a thing and name, get off unpunished? or is this not possible, but the

law divine and strong and inevitable is this, which exacts the severest punishments from those who commit

the greatest crimes? For what does this law say? "Let him who pretends to things which do not belong to him

be a boaster, a vainglorious man: let him who disobeys the divine administration be base, and a slave; let him

suffer grief, let him be envious, let him pity; and in a word let him be unhappy and lament."

"Well then; do you wish me to pay court to a certain person? to go to his doors?" If reason requires this to be

done for the sake of country, for the sake of kinsmen, for the sake of mankind, why should you not go? You

are not ashamed to go to the doors of a shoemaker, when you are in want of shoes, nor to the door of a

gardener, when you want lettuces; and are you ashamed to go to the doors of the rich when you want

anything? "Yes, for I have no awe of a shoemaker." Don't feel any awe of the rich. "Nor will I flatter the

gardener." And do not flatter the rich. "How, then, shall I get what I want?" Do I say to you, "Go as if you

were certain to get what you want"? And do not I only tell you that you may do what is becoming to

yourself? "Why, then, should I still go?" That you may have gone, that you may have discharged the duty of a

citizen, of a brother, of a friend. And further remember that you have gone to the shoemaker, to the seller of

vegetables, who have no power in anything great or noble, though he may sell dear. You go to buy lettuces:

they cost an obolus, but not a talent. So it is here also. The matter is worth going for to the rich man's door.

Well, I will go. It is worth talking about. Let it be so; I will talk with him. But you must also kiss his hand

and flatter him with praise. Away with that, it is a talent's worth: it is not profitable to me, nor to the state nor

to my friends, to have done that which spoils a good citizen and a friend. "But you seem not to have been

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 96

eager about the matter, if you do not succeed." Have you again forgotten why you went? Know you not that a

good man does nothing for the sake of appearance, but for the sake of doing right? "What advantage is it,

then, to him to have done right?" And what advantage is it to a man who writes the name of Dion to write it

as he ought? The advantage is to have written it. "Is there no reward then?" Do you seek a reward for a good

man greater than doing what is good and just? At Olympia you wish for nothing more, but it seems to you

enough to be crowned at the games. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be good and

happy? For these purposes being introduced by the gods into this city, and it being now your duty to

undertake the work of a man, do you still want nurses also and a mamma, and do foolish women by their

weeping move you and make you effeminate? Will you thus never cease to be a foolish child? know you not

that he who does the acts of a child, the older he is, the more ridiculous he is?

In Athens did you see no one by going to his house? "I visited any man that I pleased." Here also be ready to

see, and you will see whom you please: only let it be without meanness, neither with desire nor with aversion,

and your affairs will be well managed. But this result does not depend on going nor on standing at the doors,

but it depends on what is within, on your opinions. When you have learned not to value things which are

external, and not dependent on the will, and to consider that not one of them is your own, but that these things

only are your own, to exercise the judgment well, to form opinions, to move toward an object, to desire, to

turn from a thing, where is there any longer room for flattery, where for meanness? why do you still long for

the quiet there, and for the places to which you are accustomed? Wait a little and you will again find these

places familiar: then, if you are of so ignoble a nature, again if you leave these also, weep and lament.

"How then shall I become of an affectionate temper?" By being of a noble disposition, and happy. For it is

not reasonable to be meansspirited nor to lament yourself, nor to depend on another, nor even to blame God

or man. I entreat you, become an affectionate person in this way, by observing these rules. But if through this

affection, as you name it, you are going to be a slave and wretched, there is no profit in being affectionate.

And what prevents you from loving another as a person subject to mortality, as one who may go away from

you. Did not Socrates love his own children? He did; but it was as a free man, as one who remembered that

he must first be a friend to the gods. For this reason he violated nothing which was becoming to a good man,

neither in making his defense nor by fixing a penalty on himself, nor even in the former part of his life when

he was a senator or when be was a soldier. But we are fully supplied with every pretext for being of ignoble

temper, some for the sake of a child, some for a mother, and others for brethren's sake. But it is not fit for us

to be unhappy on account of any person, but to be happy on account of all, but chiefly on account of God

who has made us for this end. Well, did Diogenes love nobody, who was so kind and so much a lover of all

that for mankind in general he willingly undertook so much labour and bodily sufferings? He did love

mankind, but how? As became a minister of God, at the same time caring for men, and being also subject to

God. For this reason all the earth was his country, and no particular place; and when he was taken prisoner he

did not regret Athens nor his associates and friends there, but even he became familiar with the pirates and

tried to improve them; and being sold afterward he lived in Corinth as before at Athens; and he would have

behaved the same, if he had gone to the country of the Perrhaebi. Thus is freedom acquired. For this reason

he used to say, "Ever since Antisthenes made me free, I have not been a slave." How did Antisthenes make

him free? Hear what he says: "Antisthenes taught me what is my own, and what is not my own; possessions

are not my own, nor kinsmen, domestics, friends, nor reputation, nor places familiar, nor mode of life; all

these belong to others." What then is your own? "The use of appearances. This be showed to me, that I

possess it free from hindrance, and from compulsion, no person can put an obstacle in my way, no person can

force me to use appearances otherwise than I wish." Who then has any power over me? Philip or Alexander,

or Perdiccas or the Great King? How have they this power? For if a man is going to be overpowered by a

man, he must long before be overpowered by things. If, then, pleasure is not able to subdue a man, nor pain,

nor fame, nor wealth, but he is able, when he chooses, to spit out all his poor body in a man's face and depart

from life, whose slave can he still be? But if he dwelt with pleasure in Athens, and was overpowered by this

manner of life, his affairs would have been at every man's command; the stronger would have had the power

of grieving him. How do you think that Diogenes would have flattered the pirates that they might sell him to

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 97

some Athenian, that some time he might see that beautiful Piraeus, and the Long Walls and the Acropolis? In

what condition would you see them? As a captive, a slave and mean: and what would be the use of it for you?

"Not so: but I should see them as a free man." Show me, how you would be free. Observe, some person has

caught you, who leads you away from your accustomed place of abode and says, "You are my slave, for it is

in my power to hinder you from living as you please, it is in my power to treat you gently, and to humble

you: when I choose, on the contrary you are cheerful and go elated to Athens." What do you say to him who

treats you as a slave? What means have you of finding one who will rescue you from slavery? Or cannot you

even look him in the face, but without saying more do you entreat to be set free? Man, you ought to go gladly

to prison, hastening, going before those who lead you there. Then, I ask you, are you unwilling to live in

Rome and desire to live in Hellas? And when you must die, will you then also fill us with your lamentations,

because you will not see Athens nor walk about in the Lyceion? Have you gone abroad for this? was it for

this reason you have sought to find some person from whom you might receive benefit? What benefit? That

you may solve syllogisms more readily, or handle hypothetical arguments? and for this reason did you leave

brother, country, friends, your family, that you might return when you had learned these things? So you did

not go abroad to obtain constancy of mind, nor freedom from perturbation, nor in order that, being secure

from harm, you may never complain of any person, accuse no person, and no man may wrong you, and thus

you may maintain your relative position without impediment? This is a fine traffic that you have gone abroad

for in syllogisms and sophistical arguments and hypothetical: if you like, take your place in the agora and

proclaim them for sale like dealers in physic. Will you not deny even all that you have learned that you may

not bring a bad name on your theorems as useless? What harm has philosophy done you? Wherein has

Chrysippus injured you that you should prove by your acts that his labours are useless? Were the evils that

you had there not enough, those which were the cause of your pain and lamentation, even if you had not gone

abroad? Have you added more to the list? And if you again have other acquaintances and friends, you will

have more causes for lamentation; and the same also if you take an affection for another country. Why, then,

do you live to surround yourself with other sorrows upon sorrows through which you are unhappy? Then, I

ask you, do you call this affection? What affection, man! If it is a good thing, it is the cause of no evil: if it is

bad, I have nothing to do with it. I am formed by nature for my own good: I am not formed for my own evil.

What then is the discipline for this purpose? First of all the highest and the principal, and that which stands as

it were at the entrance, is this; when you are delighted with anything, be delighted as with a thing which is

not one of those which cannot be taken away, but as with something of such a kind, as an earthen pot is, or a

glass cup, that, when it has been broken, you may remember what it was and may not be troubled. So in this

matter also: if you kiss your own child, or your brother or friend, never give full license to the appearance,

and allow not your pleasure to go as far as it chooses; but check it, and curb it as those who stand behind men

in their triumphs and remind them that they are mortal. Do you also remind yourself in like manner, that he

whom you love is mortal, and that what you love is nothing of your own: it has been given to you for the

present, not that it should not be taken from you, nor has it been given to you for all time, but as a fig is given

to you or a bunch of grapes at the appointed season of the year. But if you wish for these things in winter, you

are a fool. So if you wish for your son or friend when it is not allowed to you, you must know that you are

wishing for a fig in winter. For such as winter is to a fig, such is every event which happens from the universe

to the things which are taken away according to its nature. And further, at the times when you are delighted

with a thing, place before yourself the contrary appearances. What harm is it while you are kissing your child

to say with a lisping voice, "Tomorrow you will die"; and to a friend also, "Tomorrow 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

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 98

to be made from the grapes. For all these things are changes from a former state into other states; not a

destruction, but a certain fixed economy and administration. Such is going away from home and a small

change: such is death, a greater change, not from the state which now is to that which is not, but to that which

is not now. "Shall I then no longer exist?" You will not exist, but you be something else, of which the world

now has need: for you also came into existence not when you chose, but when the world had need of you.

Wherefore the wise and good man, remembering who he is and whence he came, and by whom he was

produced, is attentive only to this, how he may fill his place with due regularity and obediently to God. "Dost

Thou still wish me to exist? I will continue to exist as free, as noble in nature, as Thou hast wished me to

exist: for Thou hast made me free from hindrance in that which is my own. But hast Thou no further need of

me? I thank Thee; and so far I have remained for Thy sake, and for the sake of no other person, and now in

obedience to Thee I depart." "How dost thou depart?" Again, I say, as Thou hast pleased, as free, as Thy

servant, as one who has known Thy commands and Thy prohibitions. And so long as I shall stay in Thy

service, whom dost Thou will me to be? A prince or a private man, a senator or a common person, a soldier

or a general, a teacher or a master of a family? whatever place and position Thou mayest assign to me, as

Socrates says, "I will die ten thousand times rather than desert them." And where dost Thou will me to be? in

Rome or Athens, or Thebes or Gyara. Only remember me there where I am. If Thou sendest me to a place

where there are no means for men living according to nature, I shall not depart in disobedience to Thee, but

as if Thou wast giving me the signal to retreat: I do not leave Thee, let this be to from my intention, but

perceive that Thou hast no need of me. If means of living according to nature be allowed me, I will seek no

Let these thoughts be ready to hand by night and by day: these you should write, these you should read: about

these you should talk to yourself, and to others. Ask a man, "Can you help me at all for this purpose?" and

further, go to another and to another. Then if anything that is said he contrary to your wish, this reflection

first will immediately relieve you, that it is not unexpected. For it is a great thing in all cases to say, "I knew

that I begot a son who is mortal." For so you also will say, "I knew that I am mortal, I knew that I may leave

my home, I knew that I may be ejected from it, I knew that I may be led to prison." Then if you turn round,

and look to yourself, and seek the place from which comes that which has happened, you will forthwith

recollect that it comes from the place of things which are out of the power of the will, and of things which are

not my own. "What then is it to me?" Then, you will ask, and this is the chief thing: "And who is it that sent

it?" The leader, or the general, the state, the law of the state. Give it me then, for I must always obey the law

in everything. Then, when the appearance pains you, for it is not in your power to prevent this, contend

against it by the aid of reason, conquer it: do not allow it to gain strength nor to lead you to the consequences

by raising images such as it pleases and as it pleases. If you be in Gyara, do not imagine the mode of living at

Rome, and how many pleasures there were for him who lived there and how many there would be for him

who returned to Rome: but fix your mind on this matter, how a man who lives in Gyara ought to live in

Gyara like a man of courage. And if you be in Rome, do not imagine what the life in Athens is, but think only

Then in the place of all other delights substitute this, that of being conscious that you are obeying God, that,

not in word but in deed, you are performing the acts of a wise and good man. For what a thing it is for a man

to be able to say to himself, "Now, whatever the rest may say in solemn manner in the schools and may be

judged to be saying in a way contrary to common opinion, this I am doing; and they are sitting and are

discoursing of my virtues and inquiring about me and praising me; and of this Zeus has willed that I shall

receive from myself a demonstration, and shall myself know if He has a soldier such as He ought to have, a

citizen such as He ought to have, and if He has chosen to produce me to the rest of mankind as a witness of

the things which are independent of the will: 'See that you fear without reason, that you foolishly desire what

you do desire: seek not the good in things external; seek it in yourselves: if you do not, you will not find it.'

For this purpose He leads me at one time hither, at another time sends me thither, shows me to men as poor,

without authority, and sick; sends me to Gyara, leads me into prison, not because He hates me, far from him

CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power 99

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

Having these things always in hand, and exercising them by yourself, and keeping them in readiness, you will

never be in want of one to comfort you and strengthen you. For it is not shameful to be without something to

eat, but not to have reason sufficient for keeping away fear and sorrow. But if once you have gained

exemption from sorrow and fear, will there any longer be a tyrant for you, or a tyrant's guard, or attendants on

Caesar? Or shall any appointment to offices at court cause you pain, or shall those who sacrifice in the

Capitol, on the occasion of being named to certain functions, cause pain to you who have received so great

authority from Zeus? Only do not make a proud display of it, nor boast of it; but show it by your acts; and if

no man perceives it, be satisfied that you are yourself in a healthy state and happy.

Consider as to the things which you proposed to yourself at first, which you have secured and which you

have not; and how you are pleased when you recall to memory the one and are pained about the other; and if

it is possible, recover the things wherein you failed. For we must not shrink when we are engaged in the

greatest combat, but we must even take blows. For the combat before us is not in wrestling and the

Pancration, in which both the successful and the unsuccessful may have the greatest merit, or may have little,

and in truth may be very fortunate or very unfortunate; but the combat is for good fortune and happiness

themselves. Well then, even if we have renounced the contest in this matter, no man hinders us from

renewing the combat again, and we are not compelled to wait for another four years that the games at

Olympia may come again; but as soon as you have recovered and restored yourself, and employ the same

zeal, you may renew the combat again; and if again you renounce it, you may again renew it; and if you once

gain the victory, you are like him who has never renounced the combat. Only do not, through a habit of doing

the same thing, begin to do it with pleasure, and then like a bad athlete go about after being conquered in all

"The sight of a beautiful young girl overpowers me. Well, have I not been overpowered before? An

inclination arises in me to find fault with a person; for have I not found fault with him before?" You speak to

us as if you had come off free from harm, just as if a man should say to his physician who forbids him to

bathe, "Have I not bathed before?" If, then, the physician can say to him, "Well, and what, then, happened to

you after the bath? Had you not a fever, had you not a headache?" And when you found fault with a person

lately, did you not do the act of a malignant person, of a trifling babbler; did you not cherish this habit in you

by adding to it the corresponding acts? And when you were overpowered by the young girl, did you come off

unharmed? Why, then, do you talk of what you did before? You ought, I think, remembering what you did, as

slaves remember the blows which they have received, to abstain from the same faults. But the one case is not

like the other; for in the case of slaves the pain causes the remembrance: but in the case of your faults, what is

the pain, what is the punishment; for when have you been accustomed to fly from evil acts? Sufferings, then,

Are you not ashamed at more cowardly and more mean than fugitive slaves? How do they when they run

away leave their masters? on what estates do they depend, and what domestics do they rely on? Do they not,

after stealing a little which is enough for the first days, then afterward move on through land or through sea,

contriving one method after another for maintaining their lives? And what fugitive slave ever died of hunger?

But you are afraid lest necessary things should fall you, and are sleepless by night. Wretch, are you so blind,

and don't you see the road to which the want of necessaries leads? "Well, where does it lead?" To the same

place to which a fever leads, or a stone that falls on you, to death. Have you not often said this yourself to

your companions? have you not read much of this kind, and written much? and how often have you boasted

"Yes: but my wife and children also suffer hunger." Well then, does their hunger lead to any other place? Is

there not the same descent to some place for them also? Is not there the same state below for them? Do you

not choose, then, to look to that place full of boldness against every want and deficiency, to that place to

which both the richest and those who have held the highest offices, and kings themselves and tyrants must

descend? or to which you will descend hungry, if it should so happen, but they burst by indigestion and

drunkenness. What beggar did you hardly ever see who was not an old man, and even of extreme old age?

But chilled with cold day and night, and lying on the ground, and eating only what is absolutely necessary

they approach near to the impossibility of dying. Cannot you write? Cannot you teach children? Cannot you

be a watchman at another person's door? "But it is shameful to come to such necessity." Learn, then, first

what are the things which are shameful, and then tell us that you are a philosopher: but at present do not, even

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

tomorrow. Tremble about your poor slaves lest they steal, lest they run away, lest they die. So live, and

continue to live, you who in name only have approached philosophy and have disgraced its theorems as far as

you can by showing them to be useless and unprofitable to those who take them up; you who have never

sought constancy, freedom from perturbation, and from passions: you who have not sought any person for the

sake of this object, but many for the sake of syllogisms; you who have never thoroughly examined any of

these appearances by yourself, "Am I able to bear, or am I not able to bear? What remains for me to do?" But

as if all your affairs were well and secure, you have been resting on the third topic, that of things being

unchanged, in order that you may possess unchanged what? cowardice, mean spirit, the admiration of the

rich, desire without attaining any end, and avoidance which fails in the attempt? About security in these

Ought you not to have gained something in addition from reason and, then, to have protected this with

security? And whom did you ever see building a battlement all round and not encircling it with a wall? And

what doorkeeper is placed with no door to watch? But you practice in order to be able to prove what? You

practice that you may not be tossed as on the sea through sophisms, and tossed about from what? Show me

first what you hold, what you measure, or what you weigh; and show me the scales or the medimnus; or how

long will you go on measuring the dust? Ought you not to demonstrate those things which make men happy,

which make things go on for them in the way as they wish, and why we ought to blame no man, accuse no

man, and acquiesce in the administration of the universe? Show me these. "See, I show them: I will resolve

syllogisms for you." This is the measure, slave; but it is not the thing measured. Therefore you are now

paying the penalty for what you neglected, philosophy: you tremble, you lie awake, you advise with all

persons; and if your deliberations are not likely to please all, you think that you have deliberated ill. Then you

fear hunger, as you suppose: but it is not hunger that you fear, but you are afraid that you will not have a

cook, that you will not have another to purchase provisions for the table, a third to take off your shoes, a

fourth to dress you, others to rub you, and to follow you, in order that in the bath, when you have taken off

your clothes and stretched yourself out like those who are crucified you may be rubied on this side and on

that, and then the aliptes may say, "Change his position, present the side, take hold of his head, show the

shoulder"; and then when you have left the bath and gone home, you may call out, "Does no one bring

something to eat?" And then, "Take away the tables, sponge them": you are afraid of this, that you may not

be able to lead the life of a sick man. But learn the life of those who are in health, how slaves live, how

labourers, how those live who are genuine philosophers; how Socrates lived, who had a wife and children;

how Diogenes lived, and how Cleanthes, who attended to the school and drew water. If you choose to have

these things, you will have them everywhere, and you will live in full confidence. Confiding in what? In that

alone in which a man can confide, in that which is secure, in that which is not subject to hindrance, in that

which cannot be taken away, that is, in your own will. And why have you made yourself so useless and good

for nothing that no man will choose to receive you into his house, no man to take care of you? but if a utensil

entire and useful were cast abroad, every man who found it would take it up and think it a gain; but no man

will take you up, and every man will consider you a loss. So cannot you discharge the office of a dog, or of a

Does any good man fear that he shall fall to have food? To the blind it does not fall, to the lame it does not:

shall it fall to a good man? And to a good soldier there does not fail to one who gives him pay, nor to a

labourer, nor to a shoemaker: and to the good man shall there be wanting such a person? Does God thus

neglect the things that He has established, His ministers, His witnesses, whom alone He employs as examples

to the uninstructed, both that He exists, and administers well the whole, and does not neglect human affairs,

and that to a good man there is no evil either when he is living or when he is dead? What, then, when He does

not supply him with food? What else does He do than like a good general He has given me the signal to

retreat? I obey, I follow, assenting to the words of the Commander, praising, His acts: for I came when it

pleased Him, and I will also go away when it pleases Him; and while I lived, it was my duty to praise God

both by myself, and to each person severally and to many. He does not supply me with many things, nor with

abundance, He does not will me to live luxuriously; for neither did He supply Hercules who was his own son;

but another was king of Argos and Mycenae, and Hercules obeyed orders, and laboured, and was exercised.

And Eurystheus was what he was, neither kin, of Argos nor of Mycenae, for he was not even king of himself;

but Hercules was ruler and leader of the whole earth and sea, who purged away lawlessness, and introduced

justice and holiness; and he did these things both naked and alone. And when Ulysses was cast out

shipwrecked, did want humiliate him, did it break his spirit? but how did he go off to the virgins to ask for

Relying on what? Not on reputation nor on wealth nor on the power of a magistrate, but on his own strength,

that is, on his opinions about the things which are in our power and those which, are not. For these are the

only things which make men free, which make them escape from hindrance, which raise the head of those

who are depressed, which make them look with steady eyes on the rich and on tyrants. And this was the gift

given to the philosopher. But you will not come forth bold, but trembling about your trifling garments and

"What, then, if I shall be sick?" You will be sick in such a way as you ought to be. "Who will take care of

me?" God; your friends. "I shall lie down on a hard bed." But you will lie down like a man. "I shall not have a

convenient chamber." You will be sick in an inconvenient chamber. "Who will provide for me the necessary

food?" Those who provide for others also. You will be sick like Manes. "And what, also, will be the end of

the sickness? Any other than death?" Do you then consider that this the chief of all evils to man and the chief

mark of mean spirit and of cowardice is not death, but rather the fear of death? Against this fear then I advise

you to exercise yourself: to this let all your reasoning tend, your exercises, and reading; and you will know

He is free who lives as he wishes to live; who is neither subject to compulsion nor to hindrance, nor to force;

whose movements to action are not impeded, whose desires attain their purpose, and who does not fall into

that which he would avoid. Who, then, chooses to live in error? No man. Who chooses to live deceived, liable

to mistake, unjust, unrestrained, discontented, mean? No man. Not one then of the bad lives as he wishes; nor

is he, then, free. And who chooses to live in sorrow, fear, envy, pity, desiring and failing in his desires,

attempting to avoid something and falling into it? Not one. Do we then find any of the bad free from sorrow,

free from fear, who does not fall into that which he would avoid, and does not obtain that which he wishes?

If, then, a man who has been twice consul should hear this, if you add, "But you are a wise man; this is

nothing to you": he will pardon you. But if you tell him the truth, and say, "You differ not at all from those

who have been thrice sold as to being yourself not a slave," what else ought you to expect than blows? For he

says, "What, I a slave, I whose father was free, whose mother was free, I whom no man can purchase: I am

also of senatorial rank, and a friend of Caesar, and I have been a consul, and I own many slaves." In the first

place, most excellent senatorial man, perhaps your father also was a slave in the same kind of servitude, and

your mother, and your grandfather and all your ancestors in an ascending series. But even if they were as free

as it is possible, what is this to you? What if they were of a noble nature, and you of a mean nature; if they

were fearless, and you a coward; if they had the power of selfrestraint, and you are not able to exercise it.

"And what," you may say, "has this to do with being a slave?" Does it seem to you to be nothing to do a thing

unwillingly, with compulsion, with groans, has this nothing to do with being a slave? "It is something," you

say: "but who is able to compel me, except the lord of all, Caesar?" Then even you yourself have admitted

that you have one master. But that he is the common master of all, as you say, let not this console you at all:

but know that you are a slave in a great family. So also the people of Nicopolis are used to exclaim, "By the

However, if you please, let us not speak of Caesar at present. But tell me this: did you never love any person,

a young girl, or slave, or free? What then is this with respect to being a slave or free? Were you never

commanded by the person beloved to do something which you did not wish to do? have you never flattered

your little slave? have you never kissed her feet? And yet if any man compelled you to kiss Caesar's feet, you

would think it an insult and excessive tyranny. What else, then, is slavery? Did you never go out by night to

some place whither you did not wish to go, did you not expend what you did not wish to expend, did you not

utter words with sighs and groans, did you not submit to abuse and to be excluded? But if you are ashamed to

confess your own acts, see what Thrasonides says and does, who having seen so much military service as

perhaps not even you have, first of all went out by night, when Geta does not venture out, but if he were

compelled by his master, would have cried out much and would have gone out lamenting his bitter slavery.

Next, what does Thrasonides say? "A worthless girl has enslaved me, me whom no enemy, ever did."

Unhappy man, who are the slave even of a girl, and a worthless girl. Why then do you still call yourself free?

and why do you talk of your service in the army? Then he calls for a sword and is angry with him who out of

kindness refuses it; and he sends presents to her who hates him, and entreats and weeps, and on the other

hand, having had a little success, he is elated. But even then how? was he free enough neither to desire nor to

Now consider in the case of animals, how we employ the notion of liberty. Men keep tame lions shut up, and

feed them, and some take them about; and who will say that this lion is free? Is it not the fact that the more he

lives at his ease, so much the more he is in a slavish condition? and who if he had perception and reason

would wish to be one of these lions? Well, these birds when they are caught and are kept shut up, how much

do they suffer in their attempts to escape? and some of them die of hunger rather than submit to such a kind

of life. And as many of them as live, hardly live and with suffering pine away; and if they ever find any

opening, they make their escape. So much do they desire their natural liberty, and to be independent and free

from hindrance. And what harm is there to you in this? "What do you say? I am formed by nature to fly

where I choose, to live in the open air, to sing when I choose: you deprive me of all this, and say, 'What harm

is it to you?' For this reason we shall say that those animals only are free which cannot endure capture, but, as

soon as they are caught, escape from captivity by death. So Diogenes says that there is one way to freedom,

and that is to die content: and he writes to the Persian king, "You cannot enslave the Athenian state any more

than you can enslave fishes." "How is that? cannot I catch them?" "If you catch them," says Diogenes, "they

will immediately leave you, as fishes do; for if you catch a fish, it dies; and if these men that are caught shall

die, of what use to you is the preparation for war?" These are the words of a free man who had carefully

examined the thing and, as was natural, had discovered it. But if you look for it in a different place from

The slave wishes to be set free immediately. Why? Do you think that he wishes to pay money to the

collectors of twentieths? No; but because he imagines that hitherto through not having obtained this, he is

hindered and unfortunate. "If I shall be set free, immediately it is all happiness, I care for no man, I speak to

all as an equal and, like to them, I go where I choose, I come from any place I choose, and go where I

choose." Then he is set free; and forthwith having no place where he can eat, he looks for some man to flatter,

some one with whom he shall sup: then he either works with his body and endures the most dreadful things;

and if he can obtain a manger, he falls into a slavery much worse than his former slavery; or even if he is

become rich, being a man without any knowledge of what is good, he loves some little girl, and in his

happiness laments and desires to be a slave again. He says, "what evil did I suffer in my state of slavery?

Another clothed me, another supplied me with shoes, another fed me, another looked after me in sickness;

and I did only a few services for him. But now a wretched man, what things I suffer, being a slave of many

instead of to one. But however," he says, "if I shall acquire rings, then I shall live most prosperously and

happily." First, in order to acquire these rings, he submits to that which he is worthy of; then, when he has

acquired them, it is again all the same. Then he says, "if I shall be engaged in military service, I am free from

all evils." He obtains military service. He suffers as much as a flogged slave, and nevertheless he asks for a

second service and a third. After this, when he has put the finishing stroke to his career and is become a

senator, then he becomes a slave by entering into the assembly, then he serves the finer and most splendid

slavery not to be a fool, but to learn what Socrates taught, what is the nature of each thing that exists, and

that a man should not rashly adapt preconceptions to the several things which are. For this is the cause to men

of all their evils, the not being able to adapt the general preconceptions to the several things. But we have

different opinions. One man thinks that he is sick: not so however, but the fact is that he does not adapt his

preconceptions right. Another thinks that he is poor; another that he has a severe father or mother; and

another, again, that Caesar is not favourable to him. But all this is one and only one thing, the not knowing

how to adapt the preconceptions. For who has not a preconception of that which is bad, that it is hurtful, that

it ought to be avoided, that it ought in every way to be guarded against? One preconception is not repugnant

to another, only where it comes to the matter of adaptation. What then is this evil, which is both hurtful, and a

thing to be avoided? He answers, "Not to be Caesar's friend." He is gone far from the mark, he has missed the

adaptation, he is embarrassed, he seeks the things which are not at all pertinent to the matter; for when he has

succeeded in being Caesar's friend, nevertheless he has failed in finding what he sought. For what is that

which every man seeks? To live secure, to be happy, to do everything as he wishes, not to be hindered, nor

compelled. When then he is become the friend of Caesar, is he free from hindrance? free from compulsion, is

he tranquil, is he happy? Of whom shall we inquire? What more trustworthy witness have we than this very

man who is, become Caesar's friend? Come forward and tell us when did you sleep more quietly, now or

before you became Caesar's friend? Immediately you hear the answer, "Stop, I entreat you, and do not mock

me: you know not what miseries I suffer, and sleep does not come to me; but one comes and says, 'Caesar is

already awake, he is now going forth': then come troubles and cares." Well, when did you sup with more

pleasure, now or before? Hear what he says about this also. He says that if he is not invited, he is pained: and

if he is invited, he sups like a slave with his master, all the while being anxious that he does not say or do

anything foolish. And what do you suppose that he is afraid of; lest he should be lashed like a slave? How can

he expect anything so good? No, but as befits so great a man, Caesar's friend, he is afraid that he may lose his

head. And when did you bathe more free from trouble, and take your gymnastic exercise more quietly? In

fine, which kind of life did you prefer? your present or your former life? I can swear that no man is so stupid

or so ignorant of truth as not to bewail his own misfortunes the nearer he is in friendship to Caesar.

Since, then, neither those who are called kings live as they choose, nor the friends of kings, who finally are

those who are free? Seek, and you will find; for you have aids from nature for the discovery of truth. But if

you are not able yourself by going along these ways only to discover that which follows, listen to those who

have made the inquiry. What do they say? Does freedom seem to you a good thing? "The greatest good." Is it

possible, then, that he who obtains the greatest good can be unhappy or fare badly? "No." Whomsoever, then,

you shall see unhappy, unfortunate, lamenting, confidently declare that they are not free. "I do declare it." We

have now, then, got away from buying and selling and from such arrangements about matters of property; for

if you have rightly assented to these matters, if the Great King is unhappy, he cannot be free, nor can a little

king, nor a man of consular rank, nor one who has been twice consul. "Be it so."

Further, then, answer me this question also: Does freedom seem to you to be something great and noble and

valuable? "How should it not seem so?" Is it possible, then, when a man obtains anything, so great and

valuable and noble to be mean? "It is not possible." When, then, you see any man subject to another, or

flattering him contrary to his own opinion, confidently affirm that this man also is not free; and not only if he

do this for a bit of supper, but also if he does it for a government or a consulship: and call these men "little

slaves" who for the sake of little matters do these things, and those who do so for the sake of great things call

"great slaves," as they deserve to be. "This is admitted also." Do you think that freedom is a thing

independent and selfgoverning? "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

greatgrandfathers, or inquire about his being bought or sold; but if you hear him saying from his heart and

with feeling, "Master," even if the twelve fasces precede him, call him a slave. And if you hear him say,

"Wretch that I am, how much I suffer," call him a slave. If, finally, you see him lamenting, complaining,

unhappy, call him a slave though he wears a praetexta. If, then, he is doing nothing of this kind, do not yet

say that he is free, but learn his opinions, whether they are subject to compulsion, or may produce hindrance,

or to bad fortune; and if you find him such, call him a slave who has a holiday in the Saturnalia: say that his

master is from home: he will return soon, and you will know what he suffers. "Who will return?" Whoever

has in himself the power over anything which is desired by the man, either to give it to him or to take it

away? "Thus, then, have we many masters?" We have: for we have circumstances as masters prior to our

present masters; and these circumstances are many. Therefore it must of necessity be that those who have the

power over any of these circumstances must be our masters. For no man fears Caesar himself, but he fears

death, banishment, deprivation of his property, prison, and disgrace. Nor does any man love Caesar, unless

Caesar is a person of great merit, but he loves wealth, the office of tribune, praetor or consul. When we love,

and hate, and fear these things, it must be that those who have the power over them must be our masters.

Therefore we adore them even as gods; for we think that what possesses the power of conferring the greatest

advantage on us is divine. Then we wrongly assume that a certain person has the power of conferring the

greatest advantages; therefore he is something divine. For if we wrongly assume that a certain person has the

power of conferring the greatest advantages, it is a necessary consequence that the conclusion from these

What, then, is that which makes a man free from hindrance and makes him his own master? For wealth does

not do it, nor consulship, nor provincial government, nor royal power; but something else must be discovered.

What then is that which, when we write, makes us free from hindrance and unimpeded? "The knowledge of

the art of writing." What, then, is it in playing the lute? "The science of playing the lute." Therefore in life

also it is the science of life. You have, then, heard in a general way: but examine the thing also in the several

parts. Is it possible that he who desires any of the things which depend on others can be free from hindrance?

"No." Is it possible for him to be unimpeded? "No." Therefore he cannot be free. Consider then: whether we

have nothing which is in our own power only, or whether we have all things, or whether some things are in

our own power, and others in the power of others. "What do you mean?" When you wish the body to be

entire, is it in your power or not? "It is not in my power." When you wish it to be healthy? "Neither is this in

my power." When you wish it to be handsome? "Nor is this." Life or death? "Neither is this in my power."

Your body, then, is another's, subject to every man who is stronger than yourself? "It is." But your estate, is it

in your power to have it when you please, and as long as you please, and such as you please? "No." And your

slaves? "No." And your clothes? "No." And your house? "No." And your horses? "Not one of these things."

And if you wish by all means your children to live, or your wife, or your brother, or your friends, is it in your

Whether, then, have you nothing which is in your own power, which depends on yourself only and cannot be

taken from you, or have you anything of the kind? "I know not." Look at the thing, then, thus, examine it. Is

any man able to make you assent to that which is false? "No man." In the matter of assent, then, you are free

from hindrance and obstruction. "Granted." Well; and can a man force you to desire to move toward that to

which you do not choose? "He can, for when he threatens me with death or bonds, he compels me to desire to

move toward it." If, then, you despise death and bonds, do you still pay any regard to him? "No." Is, then, the

despising of death an act of your own, or is it not yours? "It is my act." It is your own act, then, also to desire

to move toward a thing: or is it not so? "It is my own act." But to desire to move away from a thing, whose

act is that? This also is your act. "What, then, if I have attempted to walk, suppose another should hinder me."

What part of you does he hinder? does he hinder the faculty of assent? "No: but my poor body." Yes, as he

would do with a stone. "Granted; but I no longer walk." And who told you that walking is your act free from

hindrance? for I said that this only was free from hindrance, to desire to move: but where there is need of

body and its cooperation, you have heard long ago that nothing is your own. "Granted also." And who can

compel you to desire what you do not wish? "No man." And to propose, or intend, or in short to make use of

the appearances which present themselves, can any man compel you? "He cannot do this: but he will hinder

me when I desire from obtaining what I desire." If you desire anything which is your own, and one of the

things which cannot be hindered, how will he hinder you? "He cannot in any way." Who, then, tells you that

"Must I, then, not desire health?" By no means, nor anything else that belongs to another: for what is not in

your power to acquire or to keep when you please, this belongs to another. Keep, then, far from it not only

your hands but, more than that, even your desires. If you do not, you have surrendered yourself as a slave;

you have subjected your neck, if you admire anything not your own, to everything that is dependent on the

power of others and perishable, to which you have conceived a liking. "Is not my hand my own?" It is a part

of your own body; but it is by nature earth, subject to hindrance, compulsion, and the slave of everything

which is stronger. And why do I say your hand? You ought to possess your whole body as a poor ass loaded,

as long as it is possible, as long as you are allowed. But if there be a press, and a soldier should lay hold of it,

let it go, do not resist, nor murmur; if you do, you will receive blows, and nevertheless you will also lose the

ass. But when you ought to feel thus with respect to the body, consider what remains to be done about all the

rest, which is provided for the sake of the body. When the body is an ass, all the other things are bits

belonging to the ass, packsaddles, shoes, barley, fodder. Let these also go: get rid of them quicker and more

When you have made this preparation, and have practiced this discipline, to distinguish that which belongs to

another from that which is your own, the things which are subject to hindrance from those which are not, to

consider the things free from hindrance to concern yourself, and those which are not free not to concern

yourself, to keep your desire steadily fixed to the things which do concern yourself, and turned from the

things which do not concern yourself; do you still fear any man? "No one." For about what will you be

afraid? about the things which are your own, in which consists the nature of good and evil? and who has

power over these things? who can take them away? who can impede them? No man can, no more than he can

impede God. But will you be afraid about your body and your possessions, about things which are not yours,

about things which in no way concern you? and what else have you been studying from the beginning than to

distinguish between your own and not your own, the things which are in your power and not in your power,

the things subject to hindrance and not subject? and why have you come to the philosophers? was it that you

may nevertheless be unfortunate and unhappy? You will then in this way, as I have supposed you to have

done, be without fear and disturbance. And what is grief to you? for fear comes from what you expect, but

grief from that which is present. But what further will you desire? For of the things which are within the

power of the will, as being good and present, you have a proper and regulated desire: but of the things which

are not in the power of the will you do not desire any one, and so you do not allow any place to that which is

When, then, you are thus affected toward things, what man can any longer be formidable to you? For what

has a man which is formidable to another, either when you see him or speak to him or, finally, are conversant

with him? Not more than one horse has with respect to another, or one dog to another, or one bee to another

bee. Things, indeed, are formidable to every man; and when any man is able to confer these things on another

or to take them away, then he too becomes formidable. How then is an acropolis demolished? Not by the

sword, not by fire, but by opinion. For if we abolish the acropolis which is in the city, can we abolish also

that of fever, and that of beautiful women? Can we, in a word, abolish the acropolis which is in us and cast

out the tyrants within us, whom we have dally over us, sometimes the same tyrants, at other times different

tyrants? But with this we must begin, and with this we must demolish the acropolis and eject the tyrants, by

giving up the body, the parts of it, the faculties of it, the possessions, the reputation, magisterial offices,

honours, children, brothers, friends, by considering all these things as belonging to others. And if tyrants have

been ejected from us, why do I still shut in the acropolis by a wall of circumvallation, at least on my account;

for if it still stands, what does it do to me? why do I still eject guards? For where do I perceive them? against

others they have their fasces, and their spears, and their swords. But I have never been hindered in my will,

nor compelled when I did not will. And how is this possible? I have placed my movements toward action in

obedience to God. Is it His will that I shall have fever? It is my will also. Is it His will that I should move

toward anything? It is my will also. Is it His will that I should obtain anything? It is my wish also. Does He

not will? I do not wish. Is it His will that I be put to the rack? It is my will then to die; it is my will then to be

put to the rack. Who, then, is still able to hinder me contrary to my own judgement, or to compel me? No

Thus the more cautious of travelers also act. A traveler has heard that the road is infested by robbers; he does

not venture to enter on it alone, but he waits for the companionship on the road either of an ambassador, or of

a quaestor, or of a proconsul, and when he has attached himself to such persons he goes along the road safely.

So in the world the wise man acts. There are many companies of robbers, tyrants, storms, difficulties, losses

of that which is dearest. "Where is there any place of refuge? how shall he pass along without being attacked

by robbers? what company shall he wait for that he may pass along in safety? to whom shall he attach

himself? To what person generally? to the rich man, to the man of consular rank? and what is the use of that

to me? Such a man is stripped himself, groans and laments. But what if the fellowcompanion himself turns

against me and becomes my robber, what shall I do? I will be 'a friend of Caesar': when I am Caesar's

companion no man will wrong me. In the first place, that I may become illustrious, what things must I endure

and suffer? how often and by how many must I he robbed? Then, if I become Caesar's friend, he also is

mortal. And if Caesar from any circumstance becomes my enemy, where is it best for me to retire? Into a

desert? Well, does fever not come there? What shall be done then? Is it not possible to find a safe fellow

traveler, a faithful one, strong, secure against all surprises?" Thus he considers and perceives that if he

"How do you understand 'attaching yourself to God'?" In this sense, that whatever God wills, a man also shall

will; and what God does not will, a man shall not will. How, then, shall this he done? In what other way than

by examining the movements of God and his administration What has He given to me as my own and in my

own power? what has He reserved to Himself? He has given to me the things which are in the power of the

will: He has put them in my power free from impediment and hindrance. How was He able to make the

earthly body free from hindrance? And accordingly He has subjected to the revolution of the whole,

possessions, household things, house, children, wife. Why, then, do I fight against God? why do I will what

does not depend on the will? why do I will to have absolutely what is not granted to ma? But how ought I to

will to have things? In the way in which they are given and as long as they are given. But He who has given

takes away. Why then do I resist? I do not say that I shall be fool if I use force to one who is stronger, but I

shall first be unjust. For whence had I things when I came into the world? My father gave them to me. And

who gave them to him? and who made the sun? and who made the fruits of the earth? and who the seasons?

Then after receiving everything from another and even yourself, are you angry and do you blame the Giver if

he takes anything from you? Who are you, and for what purpose did you come into the world? Did not He

introduce you here, did He not show you the light, did he not give you fellowworkers, and perception, and

reason? and as whom did He introduce you here? did He not introduce you as a subject to death, and as one to

live on the earth with a little flesh, and to observe His administration, and to join with Him in the spectacle

and the festival for a short time? Will you not, then, as long as you have been permitted, after seeing the

spectacle and the solemnity, when he leads you out, go with adoration of Him and thanks for what you have

seen, and heard? "No; but I would, still enjoy the feast." The initiated, too, would wish to be longer in the

initiation: and perhaps also those, at Olympia to see other athletes; but the solemnity is ended: go away like a

grateful and modest man; make room for others: others also must be born, as you were, and being born they

must have a place, and houses and necessary things. And if the first do not retire, what remains? Why ire you

insatiable? Why are you not content? why do you contract the world? "Yes, but I would have my little

children with me and my wife." What, are they yours? do they not belong to the Giver, and to Him who made

you? then will you not give up what belongs to others? will you not give way to Him who is superior? "Why,

then, did He introduce me into the world on these conditions," And if the conditions do not suit you depart.

He has no need of a spectator who is not satisfied. He wants those who join in the festival, those who take

part in the chorus, that they may rather applaud, admire, and celebrate with hymns the solemnity. But those

who can bear no trouble, and the cowardly He will not willingly see absent from the great assembly; for they

did not when they were present behave as they ought to do at a festival nor fill up their place properly, but

they lamented, found fault with the deity, fortune, their companions; not seeing both what they had. and their

own powers, which they received for contrary purposes, the powers of magnanimity, of a generous mind,

manly spirit, and what we are now inquiring about, freedom. "For what purpose, then, have I received these

things? To use them. "How long;" So long as He who his lent them chooses. "What if they are necessary to

me?" Do not attach yourself to them and they will not be necessary: do not say to yourself that they are

This study you ought to practice from morning to evening, beginning, with the smallest things and those most

liable to damage, with an earthen pot, with a cup. Then proceed in this way to a tunic to a little dog, to a

horse, to a small estate in land: then to yourself, to your body, to the parts of your body, to your brothers.

Look all round and throw these things from you. Purge your opinions so that nothing cleave to you of the

things which are not your own, that nothing grow to you, that nothing give you pain when it is torn from you;

and say, while you are daily exercising yourself as you do there, not that you are philosophizing, for this is an

arrogant expression, but that you are presenting an asserter of freedom: for this is really freedom. To this

freedom Diogenes was called by Antisthenes, and he said that he could no longer be enslaved by any man.

For this reason when he was taken prisoner, how did he behave to the pirates? Did he call any of them

master? and I do not speak of the name, for I am not afraid of the word, but of the state of mind by which the

word is produced. How did he reprove them for feeding badly their captives? How was he sold? Did he seek

a master? no; but a slave, And, when he was sold, how did he behave to his master? Immediately he disputed

with him and said to his master that he ought not to be dressed as he was, nor shaved in such a manner; and

about the children he told them how he ought to bring them up. And what was strange in this? for if his

master had bought an exercise master, would he have employed him in the exercises of the palaestra as a

servant or as a master? and so if he had bought a physician or an architect. And so, in every matter, it is

absolutely necessary that he who has skill must be the superior of him who has not. Whoever, then, generally

possesses the science of life, what else must he be than master? For who is master of a ship? "The man who

governs the helm." Why? Because he who will not obey him suffers for it. "But a master can give me

stripes." Can he do it, then, without suffering for it?' "So I also used to think." But because he can not do it

without suffering for it, for this reason it is not in his power: and no man can do what is unjust without

suffering for it. "And what is the penalty for him who puts his own slave in chains, what do you think that

is?" The fact of putting the slave in chains: and you also will admit this, if you choose to maintain the truth,

that man is not a wild beast, but a tame animal. For when is a a vine doing badly? When it is in a condition

contrary to its nature. When is a cock? Just the same. Therefore a man also is so. What then is a man's nature?

To bite, to kick, and to throw into prison and to behead? No; but to do good, to cooperate with others, to

wish them well. At that time, then, he is in a bad condition, whether you choose to admit it or not, when he is

"Socrates, then, did not fare badly?" No; but his judges aid his accusers did. "Nor did Helvidius at Rome fare

badly?" No; but his murderer did. "How do you mean?" The same as you do when you say that a cock has not

fared badly when he has gained the victory and been severely wounded; but that the cock has fared badly

when he has been defeated and is unhurt: nor do you call a dog fortunate who neither pursues game nor

labors, but when you see him sweating, when you see him in pain and panting violently after running. What

paradox do we utter if we say that the evil in everything's that which is contrary to the nature of the thing? Is

that a paradox? for do you not say this in the case of all other things? Why then in the case of man only do

you think differently, But because we say that the nature of man is tame and social and faithful, you will not

say that this is a paradox? "It is not." What then is it a paradox to say that a man is not hurt when he is

whipped, or put in chains, or beheaded? does he not, if he suffers nobly, come off even with increased

advantage and profit? But is he not hurt, who suffers in a most pitiful and disgraceful way, who in place of a

Well then let us recapitulate the things which have been agreed on. The man who is not under restraint is free,

to whom things are exactly in that state in which he wishes them to be; but he who can be restrained or

compelled or hindered, or thrown into any circumstances against his will, is a slave. But who is free from

restraint? He who desires nothing that belongs to others. And what are the things which belong to others?

Those which are not in our power either to have or not to have, or to have of a certain kind or in a certain

manner. Therefore the body belongs to another, the parts of the body belong to another, possession belongs to

another. If, then, you are attached to any of these things as your own, you will pay the penalty which it is

proper for him to pay who desires what belongs to another. This road leads to freedom, that is the only way of

But what do you say, philosopher? The tyrant summons you to say something which does not become you.

Do you say it or do you not? Answer me. "Let me consider." Will you consider now? But when you were in

the school, what was it which you used to consider? Did you not study what are the things that are good and

what are bad, and what things are neither one nor the other? "I did." What then was our opinion? "That just

and honourable acts were good; and that unjust and disgraceful acts were bad." Is life a good thing? "No." Is

death a bad thing? "No." Is prison? "No." But what did we think about mean and faithless words and betrayal

of a friend and flattery of a tyrant? "That they are bad." Well then, you are not considering, nor have you

considered nor deliberated. For what is the matter for consideration: is it whether it is becoming for me, when

I have it in my power, to secure for myself the greatest of good things, and not to secure for myself the

greatest evils? A fine inquiry indeed, and necessary, and one that demands much deliberation. Man, why do

you mock us? Such an inquiry is never made. If you really imagined that base things were bad and

honourable things were good, and that all other things were neither good nor bad, you would not even have

approached this inquiry, nor have come near it; but immediately you would have been able to distinguish

them by the understanding as you would do by the vision. For when do you inquire if black things are white,

if heavy things are light, and do not comprehend the manifest evidence of the senses? How, then, do you now

say that you are considering whether things which are neither good nor bad ought to be avoided more than

things which are bad? But you do not possess these opinions; and neither do these things seem to you to he

neither good nor bad, but you think that they are the greatest evils; nor do you think those other things to be

evils, but matters which do not concern us at all. For thus from the beginning you have accustomed yourself.

"Where am I? In the schools: and are any listening to me? I am discoursing among philosophers. But I have

gone out of the school. Away with this talk of scholars and fools." Thus a friend is overpowered by the

testimony of a philosopher: thus a philosopher becomes a parasite; thus he lets himself for hire for money:

thus in the senate a man does not say what he thinks; in private he proclaims his opinions. You are a cold and

miserable little opinion, suspended from idle words as from a hair. But keep yourself strong and fit for the

uses of life and initiated by being exercised in action. How do you hear? I do not say that your child is dead

for how could you bear that? but that your oil is spilled, your wine drunk up. Do you act in such a way that

one standing by you while you are making a great noise, may say this only, "Philosopher, you say something

different in the school. Why do you deceive us? Why, when you are only a worm, do you say that you are a

man?" I should like to be present when one of the philosophers is lying with a woman, that I might see how

he is exerting himself, and what words he is uttering, and whether he remembers his title of philosopher, and

"And what is this to liberty?" Nothing else than this, whether you who are rich choose or not. "And who is

your evidence for this?" who else than yourselves? who have a powerful master, and who live in obedience to

his nod and motion, and who faint if he only looks at you with a scowling countenance; you who court old

women and old men, and say, "I cannot do this: it is not in my power." Why is it not in your power? Did you

not lately contend with me and say that you are free "But Aprulla has hindered me." Tell the truth, then,

slave, and do not run away from your masters, nor deny, nor venture to produce any one to assert your

freedom, when you have so many evidences of your slavery. And indeed when a man is compelled by love to

do something contrary to his opinion, and at the same time sees the better but has not the strength to follow it,

one might consider him still more worthy of excuse as being held by a certain violent and, in a manner, a

divine power. But who could endure you who are in love with old women and old men, and wipe the old

women's noses, and wash them and give them presents, and also wait on them like a slave when they are sick,

and at the same time wish them dead, and question the physicians whether they are sick unto death? And

again, when in order to obtain these great and much admired magistracies and honours, you kiss the hands of

these slaves of others, and so you are not the slave even of free men. Then you walk about before me in

stately fashion, praetor or a consul. Do I not know how you became a praetor, by what means you got your

consulship, who gave it to you? I would not even choose to live, if I must live by help of Felicion and endure

his arrogance and servile insolence: for I know what a slave is, who is fortunate, as he thinks, and puffed up

"You then," a man may say, "are you free?" I wish, by the Gods, and pray to be free; but I am not yet able to

face my masters, I still value my poor body, I value greatly the preservation of it entire, though I do not

possess it entire. But I can point out to you a free man, that you may no longer seek an example. Diogenes

was free. How was he free? not because he was born of free parents, but because he was himself free,

because he had cast off all the handles of slavery, and it was not possible for any man to approach him, nor

had any man the means of laying hold of him to enslave him. He had everything easily loosed, everything

only hanging to him. If you laid hold of his property, he would rather have let it go and be yours than he

would have followed you for it: if you had laid hold of his leg, he would have let go his leg; if of all his body,

all his poor body; his intimates, friends, country, just the same. For he knew from whence he had them, and

from whom, and on what conditions. His true parents indeed, the Gods, and his real country he would never

have deserted, nor would he have yielded to any man in obedience to them or to their orders, nor would any

man have died for his country more readily. For he was not used to inquire when he should be considered to

have done anything on behalf of the whole of things, but he remembered that everything which is done comes

from thence and is done on behalf of that country and is commanded by him who administers it. Therefore

see what Diogenes himself says and writes: "For this reason," he says, "Diogenes, it is in your power to speak

both with the King of the Persians and with Archidamus the king of the Lacedaemonians, as you please."

Was it because he was born of free parents? I suppose all the Athenians and all the Lacedaemonians, because

they were born of slaves, could not talk with them as they wished, but feared and paid court to them. Why

then does he say that it is in his power? "Because I do not consider the poor body to be my own, because I

want nothing, because law is everything to me, and nothing else is." These were the things which permitted

And that you may not think that I show you the example of a man who is a solitary person, who has neither

wife nor children, nor country, nor friends nor kinsmen, by whom he could be bent and drawn in various

directions, take Socrates and observe that he had a wife and children, but he did not consider them as his

own; that he had a country, so long as it was fit to have one, and in such a manner as was fit; friends and

kinsmen also, but he held all in subjection to law and to the obedience due to it. For this reason he was the

first to go out as a soldier, when it was necessary; and in war he exposed himself to danger most unsparingly,

and when he was sent by the tyrants to seize Leon, he did not even deliberate about the matter, because he

thought that it was a base action, and he knew that he must die, if it so happened. And what difference did

that make to him? for he intended to preserve something else, not his poor flesh, but his fidelity, his

honourable character. These are things which could not be assailed nor brought into subjection. Then, when

he was obliged to speak in defense of his life, did he behave like a man who had children, who had a wife?

No, but he behaved like a man who has neither. And what did he do when he was to drink the poison, and

when he had the power of escaping from prison, and when Crito said to him, "Escape for the sake of your

children," what did Socrates say? Did he consider the power of escape as an unexpected gain? By no means:

he considered what was fit and proper; but the rest he did not even look at or take into the reckoning. For he

did not choose, he said, to save his poor body, but to save that which is increased and saved by doing what is

just, and is impaired and destroyed by doing what is unjust. Socrates will not save his life by a base act; he

who would not put the Athenians to the vote when they clamoured that he should do so, he who refused to

obey the tyrants, he who discoursed in such a manner about virtue and right behavior. It is not possible to

save such a man's life by base acts, but he is saved by dying, not by running away. For the good actor also

preserves his character by stopping when he ought to stop, better than when he goes on acting beyond the

proper time. What then shall the children of Socrates do? "If," said Socrates, "I had gone off to Thessaly,

would you have taken care of them; and if I depart to the world below, will there be no man to take care of

them?" See how he gives to death a gentle name and mocks it. But if you and I had been in his place, we

should have immediately answered as philosophers that those who act unjustly must be repaid in the same

way, and we should have added, "I shall be useful to many, if my life is saved, and if I die, I shall be useful to

no man." For, if it had been necessary, we should have made our escape by slipping through a small hole.

And how in that case should we have been useful to any man? for where would they have been then staying?

or if we were useful to men while we were alive, should we not have been much more useful to them by

dying when we ought to die, and as we ought? And now, Socrates being dead, no less useful to men, and even

Think of these things, these opinions, these words: look to these examples, if you would be free, if you desire

the thing according to its worth. And what is the wonder if you buy so great a thing at the price of things so

many and so great? For the sake of this which is called "liberty," some hang themselves, others throw

themselves down precipices, and sometimes even whole cities have perished: and will you not for the sake of

the true and unassailable and secure liberty give back to God when He demands them the things which He

has given? Will you not, as Plato says, study not to die only, but also to endure torture, and exile, and

scourging, and, in a word, to give up all which is not your own? If you will not, you will be a slave among

slaves, even you be ten thousand times a consul; and if you make your way up to the Palace, you will no less

be a slave; and you will feel, that perhaps philosophers utter words which are contrary to common opinion, as

Cleanthes also said, but not words contrary to reason. For you will know by experience that the words are

true, and that there is no profit from the things which are valued and eagerly sought to those who have

obtained them; and to those who have not yet obtained them there is an imagination that when these things

are come, all that is good will come with them; then, when they are come, the feverish feeling is the same, the

tossing to and fro is the same, the satiety, the desire of things which are not present; for freedom is acquired

not by the full possession of the things which are desired, but by removing the desire. And that you may

know that this is true, as you have laboured for those things, so transfer your labour to these; be vigilant for

the purpose of acquiring an opinion which will make you free; pay court to a philosopher instead of to a rich

old man: be seen about a philosopher's doors: you will not disgrace yourself by being seen; you will not go

away empty nor without profit, if you go to the philosopher as you ought, and if not, try at least: the trial is

To This matter before all you must attend: that you be never so closely connected with any of your former

intimates or friends as to come down to the same acts as he does. If you do not observe this rule, you will ruin

yourself. But if the thought arises in your mind. "I shall seem disobliging to him, and he will not have the

same feeling toward me," remember that nothing is done without cost, nor is it possible for a man if he does

not do the same to be the same man that he was. Choose, then, which of the two you will have, to be equally

loved by those by whom you were formerly loved, being the same with your former self; or, being superior,

not to obtain from your friends the same that you did before. For if this is better, turn away to it, and let not

other considerations draw you in a different direction. For no man is able to make progress, when he is

wavering between opposite things, but if you have preferred this to all things, if you choose to attend to this

only, to work out this only, give up everything else. But if you will not do this, your wavering will produce

both these results: you will neither improve as you ought, nor will you obtain what you formerly obtained.

For before, by plainly desiring the things which were worth nothing, you pleased your associates. But you

cannot excel in both kinds, and it is necessary that so far as you share in the one, you must fall short in the

other. You cannot, when you do not drink with those with whom you used to drink, he agreeable to them as

you were before. Choose, then, whether you will be a hard drinker and pleasant to your former associates or a

sober man and disagreeable to them. You cannot, when you do not sing with those with whom you used to

sing, be equally loved by them. Choose, then, in this matter also which of the two you will have. For if it is

better to be modest and orderly than for a man to say, "He is a jolly fellow," give up the rest, renounce it, turn

away from it, have nothing to do with such men. But if this behavior shall not please you, turn altogether to

the opposite: become a catamite, an adulterer, and act accordingly, and you will get what you wish. And jump

up in the theatre and bawl out in praise of the dancer. But characters so different cannot be mingled: you

cannot act both Thersites and Agamemnon. If you intend to be Thersites, you must be humpbacked and bald:

if Agamemnon, you must be tall and handsome, and love those who are placed in obedience to you.

Keep this thought in readiness, when you lose anything external, what you acquire in place of it; and if it be

worth more, never say, "I have had a loss"; neither if you have got a horse in place of an ass, or an ox in place

of a sheep, nor a good action in place of a bit of money, nor in place of idle talk such tranquillity as befits a

man, nor in place of lewd talk if you have acquired modesty. If you remember this, you will always maintain

your character such as it ought to be. But if you do not, consider that the times of opportunity are perishing,

and that whatever pains you take about yourself, you are going to waste them all and overturn them. And it

needs only a few things for the loss and overturning of all, namely a small deviation from reason. For the

steerer of a ship to upset it, he has no need of the same means as he has need of for saving it: but if he turns it

a little to the wind, it is lost; and if he does not do this purposely, but has been neglecting his duty a little, the

ship is lost. Something of the kind happens in this case also: if you only fall to nodding a little, all that you

have up to this time collected is gone. Attend therefore to the appearances of things, and watch over them; for

that which you have to preserve is no small matter, but it is modesty and fidelity and constancy, freedom

from the affects, a state of mind undisturbed, freedom from fear, tranquillity, in a word, "liberty." For what

will you sell these things? See what is the value of the things which you will obtain in exchange for these.

"But shall I not obtain any such thing for it?" See, and if you do in return get that, see what you receive in

place of it. "I possess decency, he possesses a tribuneship: be possesses a praetorship, I possess modesty. But

I do not make acclamations where it is not becoming: I will not stand up where I ought not; for I am free, and

a friend of God, and so I obey Him willingly. But I must not claim anything else, neither body nor

possession, nor magistracy, nor good report, nor in fact anything. For He does not allow me to claim them:

for if He had chosen, He would have made them good for me; but He has not done so, and for this reason I

cannot transgress his commands." Preserve that which is your own good in everything; and as to every other

thing, as it is permitted, and so far as to behave consistently with reason in respect to them, content with this

only. If you do not, you will be unfortunate, you will fall in all things, you will be hindered, you will be

impeded. These are the laws which have been sent from thence; these are the orders. Of these laws a man

ought to be an expositor, to these he ought to submit, not to those of Masurius and Cassius.

Remember that not only the desire of power and of riches makes us mean and subject to others, but even the

desire of tranquillity, and of leisure. and of traveling abroad, and of learning. For, to speak plainly, whatever

the external thing may be, the value which we set upon it places us in subjection to others. What, then, is the

difference between desiring, to be a senator or not desiring to be one; what is the difference between desiring

power or being content with a private station; what is the difference between saying, "I am unhappy, I have

nothing, to do, but I am bound to my books as a corpse"; or saying, "I am unhappy, I have no leisure for

reading"? For as salutations and power are things external and independent of the will, so is a book. For what

purpose do you choose to read? Tell me. For if you only direct your purpose to being amused or learning

something, you are a silly fellow and incapable of enduring labour. But if you refer reading to the proper end,

what else is this than a tranquil and happy life? But if reading does not secure for you a happy and tranquil

life, what is the use of it? But it does secure this," the man replies, "and for this reason I am vexed that I am

deprived of it." And what is this tranquil and happy life, which any man can impede; I do not say Caesar or

Caesar's friend, but a crow, a piper, a fever, and thirty thousand other things? But a tranquil and happy life

contains nothing so sure is continuity and freedom from obstacle. Now I am called to do something: I will go,

then, with the purpose of observing the measures which I must keep, of acting with modesty, steadiness,

without desire and aversion to things external; and then that I may attend to men, what they say, how they are

moved; and this not with any bad disposition, or that I may have something to blame or to ridicule; but I turn

to myself, and ask if I also commit the same faults. "How then shall I cease to commit them?" Formerly I also

Come, when you have done these things and have attended to them, have you done a worse act than when

you have read a thousand verses or written as many? For when you eat, are you grieved because you are not

reading? are you not satisfied with eating according to what you have learned by reading, and so with bathing

and with exercise? Why, then, do you not act consistently in all things, both when you approach Caesar and

when you approach any person? If you maintain yourself free from perturbation, free from alarm, and steady;

if you look rather at the things which are done and happen than are looked at yourself; if you do not envy

those who are preferred before you; if surrounding circumstances do not strike you with fear or admiration,

what do you want? Books? How or for what purpose? for is not this a preparation for life? and is not life

itself made up of certain other things than this? This is just as if an athlete should weep when he enters the

stadium, because he is not being exercised outside of it. It was for this purpose that you used to practice

exercise; for this purpose were used the halteres, the dust, the young men as antagonists; and do you seek for

those things now when it is the time of action? This is just as if in the topic of assent when appearances

present themselves, some of which can he comprehended, and some cannot be comprehended, we should not

choose to distinguish them but should choose to read what has been written about comprehension.

What then is the reason of this? The reason is that we have never read for this purpose, we have never written

for this purpose, so that we may in our actions use in a way conformable to nature the appearances presented

to us; but we terminate in this, in learning what is said, and in being able to expound it to another, in

resolving a syllogism, and in handling the hypothetical syllogism. For this reason where our study is, there

alone is the impediment. Would you have by all means the things which are not in your power? Be prevented

then, be hindered, fail in your purpose. But if we read what is written about action, not that we may see what

is said about action, but that we may act well: if we read what is said about desire and aversion, in order that

we may neither fall in our desires, nor fall into that which we try to avoid: if we read what is said about duty,

in order that, remembering the relations, we may do nothing irrationally nor contrary to these relations; we

should not be vexed in being hindered as to our readings, but we should be satisfied with doing, the acts

which are conformable, and we should be reckoning not what so far we have been accustomed to reckon;

"Today I have read so many verses, I have written so many"; but, "Today I have employed my action as it

is taught by the philosophers; I have not employed any desire; I have used avoidance only with respect to

things which are within the power of my will; I have not been afraid of such a person, I have not been

prevailed upon by the entreaties of another; I have exercised my patience, my abstinence my cooperation

But now we do not know that we also in another way are like the many. Another man is afraid that he shall

not have power: you are afraid that you will. Do not do so, my man; but as you ridicule him who is afraid that

he, shall not have power, so ridicule yourself also. For it makes no difference whether you are thirsty like a

man who has a fever, or have a dread of water like a man who is mad. Or how will you still be able to say as

Socrates did, "If so it pleases God, so let it be"? Do you think that Socrates, if he had been eager to pass his

leisure in the Lyceum or in the Academy and to discourse dally with the young men, would have readily

served in military expeditions so often as he did; and would he not have lamented and groaned, "Wretch that I

am; I must now be miserable here, when I might be sunning myself in the Lyceum"? Why, was this your

business, to sun yourself? And is it not your business to be happy, to be free from hindrance, free from

impediment? And could he still have been Socrates, if he had lamented in this way: how would he still have

In short, remember this, that what you shall prize which is beyond your will, so far you have destroyed your

will. But these things are out of the power of the will, not only power, but also a private condition: not only

occupation, but also leisure. "Now, then, must I live in this tumult?" Why do you say "tumult"? "I mean

among many men." Well what is the hardship? Suppose that you are at Olympia: imagine it to be a panegyris,

where one is calling out one thing, another is doing another thing, and a third is pushing another person: in

the baths there is a crowd: and who of us is not pleased with this assembly and leaves it unwillingly, Be not

difficult to please nor fastidious about what happens. "Vinegar is disagreeable, for it is sharp; honey is

disagreeable, for it disturbs my habit of body. I do not like vegetables." So also, "I do not like leisure; it is a

desert: I do not like a crowd; it is confusion." But if circumstances make it necessary for you to live alone or

with a few, call it quiet and use the thing as you ought: talk with yourself, exercise the appearances, work up

your preconceptions. If you fall into a crowd, call it a celebration of games, a panegyris, a festival: try to

enjoy the festival with other men. For what is a more pleasant sight to him who loves mankind than a number

of men? We see with pleasure herds of horses or oxen: we are delighted when we see many ships: who is

pained when he sees many men? "But they deafen me with their cries." Then your hearing is impeded. What,

then, is this to you? Is, then, the power of making use of appearances hindered? And who prevents you from

using, according to nature, inclination to a thing and aversion from it; and movement toward a thing and

Do you only bear in mind the general rules: "What is mine, what is not mine; what is given to me; what does

God will that I should do now? what does He not will?" A little before he willed you to be at leisure, to talk

with yourself, to write about these things, to read, to hear, to prepare yourself. You had sufficient time for

this. Now He says to you: "Come now to the contest; show us what you have learned, how you have practiced

the athletic art. How long will you be exercised alone? Now is the opportunity for you to learn whether you

are an athlete worthy of victory, or one of those who go about the world and are defeated." Why, then, are;

you vexed? No contest is without confusion. There be many who exercise themselves for the contests, many

who call out to those who exercise themselves, many masters, many spectators. "But my wish is to live

quietly." Lament, then, and groan as you deserve to do. For what other is a greater punishment than this to the

untaught man and to him who disobeys the divine commands: to be grieved, to lament, to envy, in a word, to

be disappointed and to he unhappy? Would you not release yourself from these things? "And how shall I

release myself?" Have you not often heard that you ought to remove entirely desire, apply aversion to those

things only which are within your power, that you ought to give up everything, body, property, fame, books,

tumult, power, private station? for whatever way you turn, you are a slave, you are subjected, you are

hindered, you are compelled, you are entirely in the power of others. But keep the words of Cleanthes in

Is it your will that I should go to Rome? I will go to Rome. To Gyara? I will go to Gyara. I will go to Athens?

I will go to Athens. To prison? I will go to prison. If you should once say, "When shall a man go to Athens?"

you are undone. It is a necessary consequence that this desire, if it is not accomplished, must make you

unhappy; and if it is accomplished, it must make you vain, since you are elated at things at which you ought

not to be elated; and on the other hand, if you are impeded, it must make you wretched because you fall into

that which you would not fall into. Give up then all these things. "Athens is a good place." But happiness is

much better; and to be free from passions, free from disturbance, for your affairs not to depend on any man.

"There is tumult at Rome and visits of salutation." But happiness is an equivalent for all troublesome things.

If, then, the time comes for these things, why do you not take away the wish to avoid them? what necessity is

there to carry to avoid a burden like an ass, and to be beaten with a stick? But if you do not so, consider that

you must always be a slave to him who has it in his power to effect your release, and also to impede you, and

There is only one way to happiness, and let this rule be ready both in the morning and during the day and by

night; the rule is not to look toward things which are out of the power of our will, to think that nothing is our

own, to give up all things to the Divinity, to Fortune; to make them the superintendents of these things, whom

Zeus also has made so; for a man to observe that only which is his own, that which cannot be hindered; and

when we read, to refer our reading to this only, and our writing and our listening. For this reason, I cannot

call the man industrious, if I hear this only, that he reads and writes; and even if a man adds that he reads all

night, I cannot say so, if he knows not to what he should refer his reading. For neither do you say that a man

is industrious if he keeps awake for a girl; nor do I. But if he does it for reputation, I say that he is a lover of

reputation. And if he does it for money, I say that he is a lover of money, not a lover of labour; and if he does

it through love of learning, I say that he is a lover of learning. But if he refers his labour to his own ruling

power, that he may keep it in a state conformable to nature and pass his life in that state, then only do I say

that he is industrious. For never commend a man on account of these things which are common to all, but on

account of his opinions; for these are the things which belong to each man, which make his actions bad or

good. Remembering these rules, rejoice in that which is present, and be content with the things which come

in season. If you see anything which you have learned and inquired about occurring, to you in your course of

life, be delighted at it. If you have laid aside or have lessened bad disposition and a habit of reviling; if you

have done so with rash temper, obscene words, hastiness, sluggishness; if you are not moved by what you

formerly were, and not in the same way as you once were, you can celebrate a festival daily, today because

you have behaved well in one act, and tomorrow because you have behaved well in another. How much

greater is this a reason for making sacrifices than a consulship or the government of a province? These things

come to you from yourself and from the gods. Remember this, Who gives these things and to whom, and for

what purpose. If you cherish yourself in these thoughts, do you still think that it makes any difference where

yon shall be happy, where you shall please God? Are not the gods equally distant from all places? Do they

The wise and good man neither himself fights with any person, nor does he allow another, so far as he can

prevent it. And an example of this as well as of all other things is proposed to us in the life of Socrates, who

not only himself on all occasions avoided fights, but would not allow even others to quarrel. See in

Xenophon's Symposium how many quarrels he settled; how further he endured Thrasymachus and Polus and

Callicles; how he tolerated his wife, and how he tolerated his son who attempted to confute him aid to cavil

with him. For he remembered well that no man has in his power another man's ruling principle. He wished,

therefore nothing else than that which was his own. And what is this? Not that this or that man may act

according to nature; for that is a thing which belongs to another; but that while others are doing their own

acts, as they choose, he may never the less be in a condition conformable to nature and live in it, only doing

what is his own to the end that others also may be in a state conformable to nature. For this is the object

always set before him by the wise and good man. Is it to be commander of an army? No: but if it is permitted

him, his object is in this matter to maintain his own ruling principle. Is it to marry? No; but if marriage is

allowed to him, in this matter his object is to maintain himself in a condition conformable to nature. But if he

would have his son not to do wrong, or his wife, he would have what belongs to another not to belong to

another; and to he instructed is this: to learn what things are a man's own and what belongs to another.

How, then, is there left any place for fighting, to a man who has this opinion? Is he surprised at anything

which happens, and does it appear new to him? Does he not expect that which comes from the bad to be

worse and more grievous than what actually befalls him? And does he not reckon as pure gain whatever they

may do which falls short of extreme wickedness? "Such a person has reviled you." Great thanks to him for

not having, struck you. "But he has struck me also." Great thanks that he did not wound you "But he

wounded me also." Great thanks that he did not kill you. For when did he learn or in what school that man is

a tame animal, that men love one another, that an act of injustice is a great harm to him who does it. Since

then he has not to him who does it. Since then he has not learned this and is not convinced of it, why shall he

not follow that which seems to be for his own "Your neighbour has thrown stones." Have you then done

anything wrong? "But the things in the house have been broken." Are you then a utensil? No; but a free

power of will. What, then, is given to you in answer to this? If you are like a wolf, you must bite in return,

and throw more stones. But if you consider what is proper for a man, examine your storehouse, see with at

faculties you came into the world. Have you the disposition of a wild beast, Have you the disposition of

revenge for an injury? When is a horse wretched? When he is deprived of his natural faculties; not when he

cannot crow like a cock, but when he cannot run. When is a dog wretched? Not when he cannot fly, but when

he cannot track his game. Is, then, a man also unhappy in this way, not because he cannot strangle lions or

embrace statues, for he did not come into the world in the possession of certain powers from nature for this

purpose, but because he has lost his probity and his fidelity? People ought to meet and lament such a man for

the misfortunes into which he has fallen; not indeed to lament because a man his been born or has died, but

because it has happened to him in his lifetime to have lost the things which are his own, not that which he

received from his father, not his land and house, and his inn, and his slaves; for not one of these things is a

man's own, but all belong to others, are servile and subject to account, at different times given to different

persons by those who have them in their power: but I mean the things which belong to him as a man, the

marks in his mind with which he came into the world, such as we seek also on coins, and if we find them, we

approve of the coins, and if we do not find the marks, we reject them. What is the stamp on this Sestertius?

"The stamp of Trajan." Present it. "It is the stamp of Nero." Throw it away: it cannot be accepted, it is

counterfeit. So also in this case. What is the stamp of his opinions? "It is gentleness, a sociable disposition, a

tolerant temper, a disposition to mutual affection." Produce these qualities. I accept them: I consider this man

a citizen, I accept him as a neighbour, a companion in my voyages. Only see that he has not Nero's stamp. Is

he passionate, is he full of resentment, is he faultfinding? If the whim seizes him, does he break the heads of

those who come in his way? Why, then did you say that he is a man? Is everything judged by the bare form?

If that is so, say that the form in wax is all apple and has the smell and the taste of an apple. But the external

figure is not enough: neither then is the nose enough and the eyes to make the man, but he must have the

opinions of a man. Here is a man who does not listen to reason, who does not know when he is refuted: he is

an ass: in another man the sense of shame is become dead: he is good for nothing, he is anything rather than a

man. This man seeks whom he may meet and kick or bite, so that he is not even a sheep or an ass, but a kind

"What then would you have me to be despised?" By whom? by those who know you? and how and how shall

those who know you despise a man who is gentle and modest? Perhaps you mean by those who do not know

you? What is that to you? For no other artisan cares for the opinion of those who know not his art. "But they

will be more hostile to me for this reason." Why do you say "me"? Can any man injure your will, or prevent

you from using in a natural way the appearances which are presented to you, "In no way can he." Why, then,

are still disturbed and why do you choose to show yourself afraid? And why do you not come forth and

proclaim that you are at peace with all men whatever they may do, and laugh at those chiefly who think that

they can harm you? "These slaves," you can say, "know not either who I am nor where lies my good or my

In this way, also, those who occupy a strong city mock the besiegers; "What trouble these men are now

taking for nothing: our wall is secure, we have food for a very long time, and all other resources." These are

the things which make a city strong and impregnable: but nothing else than his opinions makes a man's soul

impregnable. For what wall is so strong, or what body is so hard, or what possession is so safe, or what

honour so free from assault? All things everywhere are perishable, easily taken by assault, and, if any man in

any way is attached to them, he must be disturbed, expect what is bad, he must fear, lament, find his desires

disappointed, and fall into things which he would avoid. Then do we not choose to make secure the only

means of safety which are offered to us, and do we not choose to withdraw ourselves from that which is

perishable and servile and to labour at the things, which are imperishable and by nature free; and do we not

remember that no man either hurts another or does good to another, but that a man's opinion about each thing

is that which hurts him, is that which overturns him; this is fighting, this is civil discord, this is war? That

which made Eteocles and Polynices enemies was nothing else than this opinion which they had about royal

power, their opinion about exile, that the one is the extreme of evils, the other the greatest good. Now this is

the nature of every man to seek the good, to avoid the bad; to consider him who deprives us of the one and

involves us in the other an enemy and treacherous, even if he be a brother, or a son or a father. For nothing is

more akin to us than the good: therefore if these things are good and evil, neither is a father a friend to sons,

nor a brother to a brother, but all the world is everywhere full of enemies, treacherous men, and sycophants.

But if the will, being what it ought to be, is the only good; and if the will, being such as it ought not to be, is

the only evil, where is there any strife, where is there reviling? about what? about the things which do not

concern us? and strife with whom? with the ignorant, the unhappy, with those who are deceived about the

Remembering this Socrates managed his own house and endured a very illtempered wife and a foolish son.

For in what did she show her bad temper? In pouring water on his head as much as she liked, and in

trampling on the cake. And what is this to me, if I think that these things are nothing to me? But this is my

business; and neither tyrant shall check my will nor a master; nor shall the many check me who am only one,

nor shall the stronger check me who am the weaker; for this power of being free from check is given by God

to every man. For these opinions make love in a house, concord in a state, among nations peace, and gratitude

to God; they make a man in all things cheerful in externals as about things which belong to others, as about

things which are of no value. We indeed are able to write and to read these things, and to praise them when

they are read, but we do not even come near to being convinced of them. Therefore what is said of the

Lacedaemonians, "Lions at home, but in Ephesus foxes," will fit in our case also, "Lions in the school, but

"I am grieved," a man says, "at being pitied." Whether, then, is the fact of your being pitied a thing which

concerns you or those who pity you? Well, is it in your power to stop this pity? "It is in my power, if I show

them that I do not require pity." And whether, then, are you in the condition of not deserving pity, or are you

not in that condition? "I think I am not: but these persons do not pity me for the things for which, if they

ought to pity me, it would be proper, I mean, for my faults; but they pity me for my poverty, for not

possessing honourable offices, for diseases and deaths and other such things." Whether, then, are you

prepared to convince the many that not one of these things is an evil, but that it is possible for a man who is

poor and has no office and enjoys no honour to be happy; or to show yourself to them as rich and in power?

For the second of these things belong, to a man who is boastful, silly and good for nothing. And consider by

what means the pretense must be supported. It will be necessary for you to hire slaves and to possess a few

silver vessels, and to exhibit them in public, if it is possible, though they are often the same, and to attempt to

conceal the fact that they are the same, and to have splendid garments, and all other things for display, and to

show that you are a man honoured by the great, and to try to sup at their houses, or to be supposed to sup

there, and as to your person to employ some mean arts, that you may appear to be more handsome and nobler

than you are. These things you must contrive, if you choose to go by the second path in order not to be pitied.

But the first way is both impracticable and long, to attempt the very thing which Zeus has not been able to do,

to convince all men what things are good and bad. Is this power given to you? This only is given to you, to

convince yourself; and you have not convinced yourself. Then I ask you, do you attempt to persuade other

men? and who has lived so long with you as you with yourself? and who has so much power of convincing

you as you have of convincing yourself; and who is better disposed and nearer to you than you are to

yourself? How, then, have you not convinced yourself in order to learn? At present are not things upside

down? Is this what you have been earnest about doing, to learn to be free from grief and free from

disturbance, and not to be humbled, and to be free? Have you not heard, then, that there is only one way

which leads to this end, to give up the things which do not depend on the will, to withdraw from them, and to

admit that they belong to others? For another man, then, to have an opinion about you, of what kind is it? "It

is a thing independent of the will." Then is it nothing to you? "It is nothing." When, then, you are still vexed

Will you not, then, letting others alone, be to yourself both scholar and teacher? "The rest of mankind will

look after this, whether it is to their interest to be and to pass their lives in a state contrary to nature: but to me

no man is nearer than myself. What, then, is the meaning of this, that I have listened to the words of the

philosophers and I assent to them, but in fact I am no way made easier? Am I so stupid? And yet, in all other

things such as I have chosen, I have not been found very stupid; but I learned letters quickly, and to wrestle,

and geometry, and to resolve syllogisms. Has not, then, reason convinced me? and indeed no other things

have I from the beginning so approved and chosen: and now I read about these things, hear about them, write

about them; I have so far discovered no reason stronger than this. In what, then, am I deficient? Have the

contrary opinions not been eradicated from me? Have the notions themselves not been exercised nor used to

be applied to action, but as armour are laid aside and rusted and cannot fit me? And yet neither in the

exercises of the palaestra, nor in writing or reading am I satisfied with learning, but I turn up and down the

syllogisms which are proposed, and I make others, and sophistical syllogisms also. But the necessary

theorems, by proceeding from which a man can become free from grief, fear, passions, hindrance, and a free

man, these I do not exercise myself in nor do I practice in these the proper practice. Then I care about what

others will say of me, whether I shall appear to them worth notice, whether I shall appear happy."

Wretched man, will you not see what you. are saying about yourself? What do you appear to yourself to be?

in your opinions, in your desires, in your aversions from things, in your movements, in your preparation, in

your designs, and in other acts suitable to a man? But do you trouble yourself about this, whether others pity

you? "Yes, but I am pitied not as I ought to be." Are you then pained at this? and is he who is pained, an

object of pity? "Yes." How, then, are you pitied not as you ought to be? For by the very act that you feel

about being pitied, you make yourself deserving of pity. What then says Antisthenes? Have you not heard?

"It is a royal thing, O Cyrus, to do right and to be illspoken of." My head is sound, and all think that I have

the headache. What do I care for that? I am free from fever, and people sympathize with me as if I had a

fever: "Poor man, for so long a time you have not ceased to have fever." I also say with a sorrowful

countenance: "In truth it is now a long time that I have been ill." "What will happen then?" "As God may

please": and at the same time I secretly laugh at those who are pitying me. What, then, hinders the same being

done in this case also? I am poor, but I have a right opinion about poverty. Why, then, do I care if they pity

me for my poverty? I am not in power; but others are: and I have the opinion which I ought to have about

having and not having power. Let them look to it who pity me; but I am neither hungry nor thirsty nor do I

suffer cold; but because they are hungry or thirsty they think that I too am. What, then, shall I do for them?

Shall I go about and proclaim and say: "Be not mistaken, men, I am very well, I do not trouble myself about

poverty, nor want of power, nor in a word about anything else than right opinions. These I have free from

restraint, I care for nothing at all." What foolish talk is this? How do I possess right opinions when I am not

"But," you say, "others will get more and be preferred to me." What, then, is more reasonable than for those

who have laboured about anything to have more in that thing in which they have laboured? They have

laboured for power, you have laboured about opinions; and they have laboured for wealth, you for the proper

use of appearances. See if they have more than you in this about which you have laboured, and which they

neglect; if they assent better than you with respect to the natural rules of things; if they are less disappointed

than you in their desires; if they fall less into things which they would avoid than you do; if in their

intentions, if in the things which they propose to themselves, if in their purposes, if in their motions toward an

object they take a better aim; if they better observe a proper behavior, as men, as sons, as parents, and so on

as to the other names by which we express the relations of life. But if they exercise power, and you do not,

will you not choose to tell yourself the truth, that you do nothing for the sake of this, and they do all? But it is

most unreasonable that he who looks after anything should obtain less than he who does not look after it.

"Not so: but since I care about right opinions, it more reasonable for me to have power." Yes in the matter

about which you do care, in opinions. But in a matter in which they have cared more than you, give way to

them. The case is just the same as if, because you have right opinions, you thought that in using the bow you

should hit the mark better than an archer, and in working in metal you should succeed better than a smith.

Give up, then, your earnestness about opinions and employ yourself about the things which you wish to

acquire; and then lament, if you do not succeed; for you deserve to lament. But now you say that you are

occupied with other things, that you are looking after other things; but the many say this truly, that one act

has no community with another. He who has risen in the morning seeks whom he shall salute, to whom he

shall say something agreeable, to whom he shall send a present, how he shall please the dancing man, how by

bad behavior to one he may please another. When he prays, he prays about these things; when he sacrifices,

he transfers to these things. "Where have I failed in the matters pertaining to flattery?" "What have I done?"

Anything like a free man, anything like a nobleminded man? And if he finds anything of the kind, he

blames and accuses himself: "Why did you say this? Was it not in your power to lie? Even the philosophers

say that nothing hinders us from telling a lie." But do you, if indeed you have cared about nothing else except

the proper use of appearances, as soon as you have risen in the morning reflect, "What do I want in order to

be free from passion, and free from perturbation? What am I? Am I a poor body, a piece of property, a thing

of which something is said? I am none of these. But what am I? I am a rational animal. What then is required

of me?" Reflect on your acts. "Where have I omitted the things which conduce to happiness? What have I

done which is either unfriendly or unsocial? what have I not done as to these things which I ought to have

So great, then, being, the difference in desires, actions, wishes, would you still have the same share with

others in those things about which you have not laboured, and they have laboured? Then are you surprised if

they pity you, and are you vexed? But they are not vexed if you pity them. Why? Because they are convinced

that they have that which is good, and you are not convinced. For this reason you are not satisfied with your

own, but you desire that which they have: but they are satisfied with their own, and do not desire what you

have: since, if you were really convinced that with respect to what is good, it is you who are the possessor of

it and that they have missed it, you would not even have thought of what they say about you.

What makes the tyrant formidable? "The guards," you say, "and their swords, and the men of the bedchamber

and those who exclude them who would enter." Why, then, if you bring a boy to the tyrant when he is with

his guards, is he not afraid; or is it because the child does not understand these things? If, then, any man does

understand what guards are and that they have swords, and comes to the tyrant for this very purpose because

he wishes to die on account of some circumstance and seeks to die easily by the hand of another, is he afraid

of the guards? "No, for he wishes for the thing which makes the guards formidable." If, then, neither any man

wishing to die nor to live by all means, but only as it may be permitted, approaches the tyrant, what hinders

him from approaching the tyrant without fear? "Nothing." If, then, a man has the same opinion about his

property as the man whom I have instanced has about his body; and also about his children and his wife, and

in a word is so affected by some madness or despair that he cares not whether he possesses them or not, but

like children who are playing, with shells care about the play, but do not trouble themselves about the shells,

so he too has set no value on the materials, but values the pleasure that he has with them and the occupation,

Then through madness is it possible for a man to be so disposed toward these things, and the Galilaens

through habit, and is it possible that no man can learn from reason and from demonstration that God has

made all the things in the universe and the universe itself completely free from hindrance and perfect, and the

parts of it for the use of the whole? All other animals indeed are incapable of comprehending the

administration of it; but the rational animal, man, has faculties for the consideration of all these and for

understanding that it is a part, and what kind of a part it is, and that it is right for the parts to be subordinate to

the whole. And besides this being naturally noble, magnanimous and free, man sees that of the things which

surround him some are free from hindrance and in his power, and the other things are subject to hindrance

and in the power of others; that the things which are free from hindrance are in the power of the will; and

those which are subject to hinderance are the things which are not in the power of the will. And, for this

reason, if he thinks that his good and his interest be in these things only which are free from hindrance and in

his own power, he will be free, prosperous, happy, free from harm, magnanimous pious, thankful to God for

all things; in no matter finding fault with any of the things which have not been put in his power, nor blaming

any of them. But if he thinks that his good and his interest are in externals and in things which are not in the

power of his will, he must of necessity be hindered, be impeded, be a slave to those who have the power over

things which he admires and fears; and he must of necessity be impious because he thinks that he is harmed

by God, and he must be unjust because he always claims more than belongs to him; and he must of necessity

What hinders a man, who has clearly separated these things, from living with a light heart and bearing easily

the reins, quietly expecting everything which can happen, and enduring that which has already happened?

"Would you have me to bear poverty?" Come and you will know what poverty is when it has found one who

can act well the part of a poor man. "Would you have me to possess power?" Let me have power, and also the

trouble of it. "Well, banishment?" Wherever I shall go, there it will be well with me; for here also where I am,

it was not because of the place that it was well with me, but because of my opinions which I shall carry off

with me: for neither can any man deprive me of them; but my opinions alone are mine and they cannot he

taken from me, and I am satisfied while I have them, wherever I may be and whatever I am doing. "But now

it is time to die." Why do you say "to die"? Make no tragedy show of the thing, but speak of it as it is: it is

now time for the matter to be resolved into the things out of which it was composed. And what is the

formidable thing here? what is going to perish of the things which are in the universe? what new thing or

wondrous is going to happen? Is it for this reason that a tyrant is formidable? Is it for this reason that the

guards appear to have swords which are large and sharp? Say this to others; but I have considered about all

these thins; no man has power over me. I have been made free; I know His commands, no man can now lead

me as a slave. I have a proper person to assert my freedom; I have proper judges. Are you not the master of

my body? What, then, is that to me? Are you not the master of my property? What, then, is that to me? Are

you not the master of my exile or of my chains? Well, from all these things and all the poor body itself I

depart at your bidding, when you please. Make trial of your power, and you will know how far it reaches.

Whom then can I still fear? Those who are over the bedchamber? Lest they should do, what? Shut me out? If

they find that I wish to enter, let them shut me out. "Why, then, do you go to the doors?" Because I think it

befits me, while the play lasts, to join in it. "How, then, are you not shut out?" Because, unless some one

allows me to go in, I do not choose to ,o in, but am always content with that I which happens; for I think that

what God chooses is better than what I choose. I will attach myself as a minister and follower to Him; I have

the same movements as He has, I have the same desires; in a word, I have the same will. There is no shutting

out for me, but for those who would force their in. Why, then, do not I force my way in? Because I know that

nothing good is distributed within to those who enter. But when I hear any man called fortunate because he is

honoured by Caesar, I say, "What does he happen to get?" A province. Does he also obtain an opinion such as

he ought? The office of a Prefect. Does he also obtain the power of using his office well? Why do I still strive

to enter? A man scatters dried figs and nuts: the children seize them and fight with one another; men do not,

for they think them to be a small matter. But if a man should throw about shells, even the children do not

seize them. Provinces are distributed: let children look to that. Money is distributed: let children look to that.

Praetorships, consulships are distributed: let children scramble for them, let them be shut out, beaten, kiss the

hands of the giver, of the slaves: but to me these are only dried figs and nuts. What then? If you fail to get

them, while Caesar is scattering them about, do not be troubled: if a dried fig come into your lap, take it and

eat it; for so far you may value even a fig. But if I shall stoop down and turn another over, or be turned over

by another, and shall flatter those who have got into chamber, neither is a dried fig worth the trouble, nor

anything else of the things which are not good, which the philosophers have persuaded me not to think good.

Show me the swords of the guards. "See how big they are, and how sharp." What, then, do these big and

sharp swords do? "They kill." And what does a fever do? "Nothing else." And what else a tile? "Nothing

else." Would you then have me to wonder at these things and worship them, and go about as the slave of all

of them? I hope that this will not happen: but when I have once learned that everything which has come into

existence must also go out of it, that the universe may not stand still nor be impeded, I no longer consider it

any difference whether a fever shall do it, or a tile, or a soldier. But if a man must make a comparison

between these things, I know that the soldier will do it with less trouble, and quicker. When, then, I neither

fear anything which a tyrant can do to me, nor desire anything which he can give, why do I still look on with

wonder? Why am I still confounded? Why do I fear the guards? Why am I pleased if he speaks to me in a

friendly way, and receives me, and why do I tell others how he spoke to me? Is he a Socrates, is he a

Diogenes that his praise should be a proof of what I am? Have I been eager to imitate his morals? But I keep

up the play and go to him, and serve him so long as he does not bid me to do anything foolish or

unreasonable. But if he says to me, "Go and bring Leon of Salamis," I say to him, "Seek another, for I am no

longer playing." "Lead him away." I follow; that is part of the play. "But your head will be taken off." Does

the tyrant's head always remain where it is, and the heads of you who obey him? "But you will be cast out

unburied." If the corpse is I, I shall be cast out; but if I am different from the corpse, speak more properly

according as the fact is, and do not think of frightening me. These things are formidable to children and fools.

But if any man has once entered a philosopher's school and knows not what he is, he deserves to be full of

fear and to flatter those whom afterward he used to flatter; if he has not yet learned that he is not flesh nor

bones nor sinews, but he is that which makes use of these parts of the body and governs them and follows the

"Yes, but this talk makes us despise the laws." And what kind of talk makes men more obedient to the laws

who employ such talk? And the things which are in the power of a fool are not law. And yet see how this talk

makes us disposed as we ought to be even to these men; since it teaches us to claim in opposition to them

none of the things in which they are able to surpass us. This talk teaches us, as to the body, to give it up, as to

property, to give that up also, as to children, parents, brothers, to retire from these, to give up all; It only

makes an exception of the opinions, which even Zeus has willed to be the select property of every man. What

transgression of the laws is there here, what folly? Where you are superior and stronger, there I give way to

you: on the other hand, where I am superior, do you yield to me; for I have studied this, and you have not. It

is your study to live in houses with floors formed of various stones, how your slaves and dependents shall

serve you, how you shall wear fine clothing, have many hunting men, lute players, and tragic actors. Do I

claim any of these? have you made any study of opinions and of your own rational faculty? Do you know of

what parts it is composed, how they are brought together, how they are connected, what powers it has, and of

what kind? Why then are you vexed, if another, who has made it his study, has the advantage over you in

these things? "But these things are the greatest." And who hinders you from being employed about these

things and looking after them? And who has a better stock of books, of leisure, of persons to aid you? Only

turn your mind at last to these things, attend, if it be only a short time, to your own ruling faculty: consider

what this is that you possess, and whence it came, this which uses all others, and tries them, and selects and

rejects. But so long as you employ yourself about externals you will possess them as no man else does; but

Never praise nor blame a man because of the things which are common, and do not ascribe to him any skill or

want of skill; and thus you will be free from rashness and from malevolence. "This man bathes very quickly."

Does he then do wrong? Certainly not. But what does he do? He bathes very quickly. Are all things then done

well? By no means: but the acts which proceed from right opinions are done well; and those which proceed

from bad opinions are done ill. But do you, until you know the opinion from which a man does each thing,

neither praise nor blame the act. But the opinion is not easily discovered from the external things. "This man

is a carpenter." Why? "Because he uses an ax." What, then, is this to the matter? "This man is a musician

because he sings." And what does that signify? "This man is a philosopher. Because he wears a cloak and

long hair." And what does a juggler wear? For this reason if a man sees any philosopher acting indecently,

immediately he says, "See what the philosopher is doing"; but he ought because of the man's indecent

behavior rather to say that he is not a philosopher. For if this is the preconceived notion of a philosopher and

what he professes, to wear a cloak and long hair, men would say well; but if what he professes is this rather,

to keep himself free from faults, why do we not rather, because he does not make good his professions, take

from him the name of philosopher? For so we do in the case of all other arts. When a man sees another

handling an ax badly, he does not say, "What is the use of the carpenter's art? See how badly carpenters do

their work"; but he says just the contrary, "This man is not a carpenter, for he uses an ax badly." In the same

way if a man hears another singing badly, he does not say, "See how musicians sing"; but rather, "This man is

not a musician." But it is in the matter of philosophy only that people do this. When they see a man acting

contrary to the profession of a philosopher, they do not take away his title, but they assume him to be a

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philosopher, and from his acts deriving the fact that he is behaving indecently they conclude that there is no

What, then, is the reason of this? Because we attach value to the notion of a carpenter, and to that of a

musician, and to the notion of other artisans in like manner, but not to that of a philosopher, and we judge

from externals only that it is a thing confused and ill defined. And what other kind of art has a name from the

dress and the hair; and has not theorems and a material and an end? What, then, is the material of the

philosopher? Is it a cloak? No, but reason. What is his end? is it to wear a cloak? No, but to possess the

reason in a right state. Of what kind are his theorems? Are they those about the way in which the beard

becomes great or the hair long? No, but rather what Zeno says, to know the elements of reason, what kind of

a thing each of them is, and how they are fitted to one another, and what things are consequent upon them.

Will you not, then, see first if he does what he professes when he acts in an unbecoming manner, and then

blame his study? But now when you yourself are acting in a sober way, you say in consequence of what he

seems to you to be doing wrong, "Look at the philosopher," as if it were proper to call by the name of

philosopher one who does these things; and further, "This is the conduct of a philosopher." But you do not

say, "Look at the carpenter," when you know that a carpenter is an adulterer or you see him to be a glutton;

nor do you say, "See the musician." Thus to a certain degree even you perceive the profession of a

philosopher, but you fall away from the notion, and you are confused through want of care.

But even the philosophers themselves as they are called pursue the thing by beginning with things which are

common to them and others: as soon as they have assumed a cloak and grown a beard, they say, "I am a

philosopher." But no man will say, "I am a musician," if he has bought a plectrum and a lute: nor will he say,

"I am a smith," if he has put on a cap and apron. But the dress is fitted to the art; and they take their name

from the art, and not from the dress. For this reason Euphrates used to say well, "A long time I strove to be a

philosopher without people knowing it; and this," he said, "was useful to me: for first I knew that when I did

anything well, I did not do it for the sake of the spectators, but for the sake of myself: I ate well for the sake

of myself; I had my countenance well composed and my walk: all for myself and for God. Then, as I

struggled alone, so I alone also was in danger: in no respect through me, if I did anything base or

unbecoming, was philosophy endangered; nor did I injure the many by doing anything wrong as a

philosopher. For this reason those who did not know my purpose used to wonder how it was that, while I

conversed and lived altogether with all philosophers, I was not a philosopher myself. And what was the harm

for me to be known to be a philosopher by my acts and not by outward marks?" See how I eat, how I drink,

how I sleep, how I bear and forbear, how I cooperate, how I employ desire, how I employ aversion, how I

maintain the relations, those which are natural or those which are acquired, how free from confusion, how

free from hindrance. Judge of me from this, if you can. But if you are so deaf and blind that you cannot

conceive even Hephaestus to be a good smith, unless you see the cap on his head, what is the harm in not

So Socrates was not known to be a philosopher by most persons; and they used to come to him and ask to be

introduced to philosophers. Was he vexed then as we are, and did he say, "And do you not think that I am a

philosopher?" No, but he would take them and introduce them, being satisfied with one thing, with being a

philosopher; and being pleased also with not being thought to be a philosopher, he was not annoyed: for he

thought of his own occupation. What is the work of an honourable and good man? To have many pupils? By

no means. They will look to this matter who are earnest about it. But was it his business to examine carefully

difficult theorems? Others will look after these matters also. In what, then, was he, and who was he and

whom did he wish to be? He was in that wherein there was hurt and advantage. "If any man can damage me,"

he says, "I am doing nothing: if I am waiting for another man to do me good, I am nothing. If I anguish for

anything, and it does not happen, I am unfortunate." To such a contest he invited every man, and I do not

think that he would have declined the contest with any one. What do you suppose? was it by proclaiming and

saying, "I am such a man?" Far from it, but by being such a man. For further, this is the character of a fool

and a boaster to say, "I am free from passions and disturbance: do not be ignorant, my friends, that while you

CHAPTER 8. Against those who hastily rush into the use of the philosophic dress 123

are uneasy and disturbed about things of no value, I alone am free from all perturbation." So is it not enough

for you to feel no pain, unless you make this proclamation: "Come together all who are suffering gout, pains

in the head, fever, ye who are lame, blind, and observe that I am sound from every ailment." This is empty

and disagreeable to hear, unless like Aesculapius you are able to show immediately by what kind of treatment

they also shall be immediately free from disease, and unless you show your own health as an example.

For such is the Cynic who is honoured with the sceptre and the diadem of Zeus, and says, "That you may see,

O men, that you seek happiness and tranquillity not where it is, but where it is not, behold I am sent to you by

God as an example. I who have neither property nor house, nor wife nor children, nor even a bed, nor coat

nor household utensil; and see how healthy I am: try me, and if you see that I am free from perturbations,

hear the remedies and how I have been cured." This is both philanthropic and noble. But see whose work it is,

the work of Zeus, or of him whom He may judge worthy of this service, that he may never exhibit anything to

the many, by which he shall make of no effect his own testimony, whereby he gives testimony to virtue, and

And not this only, but he neither desires nor seeks anything, nor man nor place nor amusement, as children

seek the vintage or holidays; always fortified by modesty as others are fortified by walls and doors and

But now, being only moved to philosophy, as those who have a bad stomach are moved to some kinds of

food which they soon loathe, straightway toward the sceptre and to the royal power. They let the hair grow,

they assume the cloak, they show the shoulder bare, they quarrel with those whom they meet; and if they see

a man in a thick winter coat, they quarrel with him. Man, first exercise yourself in winter weather: see your

movements that they are not those of a man with a bad stomach or those of a longing woman. First strive that

it be not known what you are: be a philosopher to yourself a short time. Fruit grows thus: the seed must be

buried for some time, hid, grow slowly in order that it may come to perfection. But if it produces the ear

before the jointed stem, it is imperfect, a produce of the garden of Adonis. Such a poor plant are you also:

you have blossomed too soon; the cold weather will scorch you up. See what the husbandmen say about seeds

when there is warm weather too early. They are afraid lest the seeds should be too luxuriant, and then a single

frost should lay hold of them and show that they are too forward. Do you also consider, my man: you have

shot out too soon, you have hurried toward a little fame before the proper season: you think that you are

something, a fool among fools: you will be caught by the frost, and rather you have been frostbitten in the

root below, but your upper parts still blossom a little, and for this reason you think that you are still alive and

flourishing. Allow us to ripen in the natural way: why do you bare us? why do you force us? we are not yet

able to bear the air. Let the root grow, then acquire the first joint, then the second, and then the third: in this

way, then, the fruit will naturally force itself out, even if I do not choose. For who that is pregnant and I filled

with such great principles does not also perceive his own powers and move toward the corresponding acts? A

bull is not ignorant of his own nature and his powers, when a wild beast shows itself, nor does he wait for one

to urge him on; nor a dog when he sees a wild animal. But if I have the powers of a good man, shall I wait for

you to prepare me for my own acts? At present I have them not, believe me. Why then do you wish me to be

When you see another man in the possession of power, set against this the fact that you have not the want of

power; when you see another rich, see what you possess in place of riches: for if you possess nothing in place

of them, you are miserable; but if you have not the want of riches, know that you possess more than this man

possesses and what is worth much more. Another man possesses a handsome woman: you have the

satisfaction of not desiring a handsome wife. Do these things appear to you to he small? And how much

would these persons give, these very men who are rich and in possession of power, and live with handsome

women, to be able to despise riches and power and these very women whom they love and enjoy? Do you not

know, then, what is the thirst of a man who has a fever? He possesses that which is in no degree like the thirst

of a man who is in health: for the man who is in health ceases to be thirsty after he has drunk; but the sick

man, being pleased for a short time, has a nausea; he converts the drink into bile, vomits, is griped, and more

thirsty. It is such a thing to have desire of riches and to possess riches, desire of power and to possess power,

desire of a beautiful woman and to sleep with her: to this is added jealousy, fear of being deprived of the

"And what do I lose?" you will say. My man, you were modest, and you are so no longer. Have you lost

nothing? In place of Chrysippus and Zeno you read Aristides and Evenus; have you lost nothing? In place of

Socrates and Diogenes, you admire him who is able to corrupt and seduce most women. You wish to appear

handsome and try to make yourself so, though you are not. You like to display splendid clothes that you may

attract women; and if you find any fine oil, yon imagine that you are happy. But formerly you did not think of

any such thing, but only where there should be decent talk, a worthy man, and a generous conception.

Therefore you slept like a man, walked forth like a man, wore a manly dress, and used to talk in a way

becoming a good man; then do you say to me, "I have lost nothing?" So do men lose nothing more than coin?

Is not modesty lost? Is not decent behavior lost? is it that he who has lost these things has sustained no loss?

Perhaps you think that not one of these things is a loss. But there was a time when you reckoned this the only

loss and damage, and you were anxious that no man should disturb you from these words and actions.

Observe, you are disturbed from these good words and actions by nobody but by yourself. Fight with

yourself, restore yourself to decency, to modesty, to liberty. If any man ever told you this about me, that a

person forces me to be an adulterer, to wear such a dress as yours, to perfume myself with oils, would you not

have gone and with your own hand have killed the man who thus calumniated me? Now will you not help

yourself? and how much easier is this help? There is no need to kill any man, nor to put him in chains, nor to

treat him with contumely, nor to enter the Forum, but it is only necessary for you to speak to yourself who

will be the most easily persuaded, with whom no man has more power of persuasion than yourself. First of

all, condemn what you are doing, and then, when you have condemned it, do not despair of yourself, and be

not in the condition of those men of mean spirit, who, when they have once given in, surrender themselves

completely and are carried away as if by a torrent. But see what the trainers of boys do. Has the boy fallen?

"Rise," they say, "wrestle again till you are made strong." Do you also do something of the same kind: for be

well assured that nothing is more tractable than the human soul. You must exercise the will, and the thing is

done, it is set right: as on the other hand, only fall anodding, and the thing is lost: for from within comes

ruin and from within comes help. "Then what good do I gain?" And what greater good do you seek than this?

From a shameless man you will become a modest man, from a disorderly you will become an orderly man,

from a faithless you will become a faithful man, from a man of unbridled habits a sober man. If you seek

anything more than this, go on doing what you are doing: not even a God can now help you.

The difficulties of all men are about external things, their helplessness is about externals. "What shall I do,

how will it be, how will it turn out, will this happen, will that?" All these are the words of those who are

turning themselves to things which are not within the power of the will. For who says, "How shall I not assent

to that which is false? how shall I not turn away from the truth?" If a man be of such a good disposition as to

be anxious about these things, I will remind him of this: "Why are you anxious? The thing is in your own

power: be assured: do not be precipitate in assenting before you apply the natural rule." On the other side, if a

CHAPTER 10. What things we ought to despise, and what things we ought to value 125

man is anxious about desire, lest it fail in its purpose and miss its end, and with respect to the avoidance of

things, lest he should fall into that which he would avoid, I will first kiss him, because he throws away the

things about which others are in a flutter, and their fears, and employs his thoughts about his own affairs and

his own condition. Then I shall say to him: "If you do not choose to desire that which you will fall to obtain

nor to attempt to avoid that into which you will fall, desire nothing which belongs to others, nor try to avoid

any of the things which are not in your power. If you do not observe this rule, you must of necessity fall in

your desires and fall into that which you would avoid. What is the difficulty here? where is there room for the

words, 'How will it be?' and 'How will it turn out?' and, 'Will this happen or that?'

Now is not that which will happen independent of the will? "Yes." And the nature of good and of evil, is it

not in the things which are within the power of the will? "Yes." Is it in your power, then, to treat according to

nature everything which happens? Can any person hinder you? "No man." No longer then say to me, "How

will it be?" For however it may be, you will dispose of it well, and the result to you will be a fortunate one.

What would Hercules have been if he had said, "How shall a great lion not appear to me, or a great boar, or

savage men?" And what do you care for that? If a great boar appear, you will fight a greater fight: if bad men

appear, you relieve the earth of the bad. "Suppose, then, that I may lose my life in this way." You will die a

good man, doing a noble act. For since we must certainly die, of necessity a man must be found doing

something, either following the employment of a husbandman, or digging, or trading, or serving in a

consulship or suffering from indigestion or from diarrhea. What then do you wish to be doing, when you are

found by death? I for my part would wish to be found doing something which belongs to a man, beneficent,

suitable to the general interest, noble. But if I cannot be found doing things so great, I would be found doing

at least that which I cannot be hindered from doing, that which is permitted me to do, correcting, myself,

cultivating the faculty which makes use of appearances, labouring at freedom from the affects, rendering to

the relations of life their due; if I succeed so far, also touching on the third topic, safety in the forming

judgements about things. If death surprises me when I am busy about these things, it is enough for me if I can

"The means which I have received from Thee for seeing Thy administration and following it, I have not

neglected: I have not dishonoured Thee by my acts: see how I have used my perceptions, see how I have used

my preconceptions: have I ever blamed Thee? have I been discontented with anything that happens, or

wished it to be otherwise? have I wished to transgress the relations? That Thou hast given me life, I thank

Thee for what Thou has given me: so long as I have used the things which are Thine, I am content; take them

back and place them wherever Thou mayest choose; for Thine were all things, Thou gavest them to me." Is it

not enough to depart in this state of mind, and what life is better and more becoming than that of a man who

But that this may be done, a man must receive no small things, nor are the things small which he must lose.

You cannot both wish to be a consul and to have these things, and to be eager to have lands and these things

also; and to be solicitous about slaves and about yourself. But if you wish for anything which belongs to

another, that which is your own is lost. This is the nature of the thing: nothing is given or had for nothing.

And where is the wonder? If you wish to be a consul, you must keep awake, run about, kiss hands, waste

yourself with exhaustion at other men's doors, say and do many things unworthy of a free man, send gifts to

many, daily presents to some. And what is the thing that is got? Twelve bundles of rods, to sit three or four

times on the tribunal, to exhibit the games in the Circus and to give suppers in small baskets. Or, if you do

not agree about this, let some one show me what there is besides these things. In order, then, to secure

freedom from passions, tranquillity, to sleep well when you do sleep, to be really awake when you are awake,

to fear nothing, to be anxious about nothing, will you spend nothing and give no labour? But if anything

belonging to you be lost while you are thus busied, or be wasted badly, or another obtains what you ought to

have obtained, will you immediately be vexed at what has happened? Will you not take into the account on

the other side what you receive and for what, how much for how much? Do you expect to have for nothing

things so great? And how can you? One work has no community with another. You cannot have both external

CHAPTER 10. What things we ought to despise, and what things we ought to value 126

things after bestowing care on them and your own ruling faculty: but if you would have those, give up this. If

you do not, you will have neither this nor that, while you are drawn in different ways to both. The oil will be

spilled, the household vessels will perish: but I shall be free from passions. There will be a fire when I am not

present, and the books will be destroyed: but I shall treat appearances according to nature. "Well; but I shall

have nothing to eat." If I am so unlucky, death is a harbour; and death is the harbour for all; this is the place

of refuge; and for this reason not one of the things in life is difficult: as soon as you choose, you are out of the

house, and are smoked no more. Why, then, are you anxious, why do you lose your sleep, why do you not

straightway, after considering wherein your good is and your evil, say, "Both of them are in my power?

Neither can any man deprive me of the good, nor involve me in the bad against my will. Why do I not throw

myself down and snore? for all that I have is safe. As to the things which belong to others, he will look to

them who gets them, as they may be given by Him who has the power. Who am I who wish to have them in

this way or in that? is a power ofselecting them given to me? has any person made me the dispenser of them?

Those things are enough for me over which I have power: I ought to manage them as well as I can: and all the

When a man has these things before his eyes, does he keep awake and turn hither and thither? What would he

have, or what does he regret, Patroclus or Antilochus or Menelaus? For when did he suppose that any of his

friends was immortal, and when had he not before his eyes that on the morrow or the day after he or his

friend must die? "Yes," he says, "but I thought that he would survive me and bring up my son." You were a

fool for that reason, and you were thinking of what was uncertain. Why, then, do you not blame yourself, and

sit crying like girls? "But he used to set my food before me." Because he was alive, you fool, but now he

cannot: but Automedon will set it before you, and if Automedon also dies, you will find another. But if the

pot, in which your meat was cooked, should be broken, must you die of hunger, because you have not the pot

Why is this your ill? Do you, then, instead of removing it, blame your mother for not foretelling it to you that

you might continue grieving from that time? What do you think? do you not suppose that Homer wrote this

that we may learn that those of noblest birth, the strongest and the richest, the most handsome, when they

have not the opinions which they ought to have, are not prevented from being most wretched and

Some persons raise a question whether the social feeling is contained in the nature of man; and yet I think

that these same persons would have no doubt that love of purity is certainly contained in it, and that, if man is

distinguished from other animals by anything, he is distinguished by this. When, then, we see any other

animal cleaning itself, we are accustomed to speak of the act with surprise, and to add that the animal is

acting like a man: and, on the other hand, if a man blames an animal for being dirty, straightway as if we

were making an excuse for it, we say that of course the animal is not a human creature. So we suppose that

there is something superior in man, and that we first receive it from the Gods. For since the Gods by their

nature are pure and free from corruption, so far as men approach them by reason, so far do they cling to

purity and to a love of purity. But since it is impossible that man's nature can be altogether pure being mixed

of such materials, reason is applied, as far as it is possible, and reason endeavours to make human nature love

The first, then, and highest purity is that which is in the soul; and we say the same of impurity. Now you

could not discover the impurity of the soul as you could discover that of the body: but as to the soul, what

else could you find in it than that which makes it filthy in respect to the acts which are her own? Now the acts

of the soul are movement toward an object or movement from it, desire, aversion, preparation, design, assent.

What, then, is it which in these acts makes the soul filthy and impure? Nothing else than her own bad

judgements. Consequently, the impurity of the soul is the soul's bad opinions; and the purification of the soul

is the planting in it of proper opinions; and the soul is pure which has proper opinions, for the soul alone in

Now we ought to work at something like this in the body also, as far as we can. It was impossible for the

defluxions of the nose not to run when man has such a mixture in his body. For this reason, nature has made

hands and the nostrils themselves as channels for carrying off the humours. If, then, a man sucks up the

defluxions, I say that he is not doing the act of a man. It was impossible for a man's feet not to be made

muddy and not be soiled at all when he passes through dirty places. For this reason, nature has made water

and hands. It was impossible that some impurity should not remain in the teeth from eating: for this reason,

she says, wash the teeth. Why? In order that you may be a man and not a wild beast or a hog. It was

impossible that from the sweat and the pressing of the clothes there should not remain some impurity about

the body which requires to be cleaned away. For this reason water, oil, hands, towels, scrapers, nitre,

sometimes all other kinds of means are necessary for cleaning the body. You do not act so: but the smith will

take off the rust from the iron, and be will have tools prepared for this purpose, and you yourself wash the

platter when you are going to eat, if you are not completely impure and dirty: but will you not wash the body

nor make it clean? "Why?" he replies. I will tell you again; in the first place, that you may do the acts of a

man; then, that you may not be disagreeable to those with whom you associate. You do something of this

kind even in this matter, and you do not perceive it: you think that you deserve to stink. Let it be so: deserve

to stink. Do you think that also those who sit by you, those who recline at table with you, that those who kiss

you deserve the same? Either go into a desert, where you deserve to go, or live by yourself, and smell

yourself. For it is just that you alone should enjoy your own impurity. But when you are in a city, to behave

so inconsiderately and foolishly, to what character do you think that it belongs? If nature had entrusted to you

a horse, would you have overlooked and neglected him? And now think that you have been intrusted with

your own body as with a horse; wash it, wipe it, take care that no man turns away from it, that no one gets out

of the way for it. But who does not get out of the way of a dirty man, of a stinking man, of a man whose skin

is foul, more than he does out of the way of a man who is daubed with muck? That smell is from without, it is

put upon him; but the other smell is from want of care, from within, and in a manner from a body in

"But Socrates washed himself seldom." Yes, but his body was clean and fair: and it was so agreeable and

sweet that tile most beautiful and the most noble loved him, and desired to sit by him rather than by the side

of those who had the handsomest forms. It was in his power neither to use the bath nor to wash himself, if he

chose; and yet the rare use of water had an effect. If you do not choose to wash with warm water, wash with

For Aristophanes says of Socrates that he also walked the air and stole clothes from the palaestra. But all who

have written about Socrates bear exactly the contrary evidence in his favour; they say that he was pleasant not

only to hear, but also to see. On the other hand they write the same about Diogenes. For we ought not even by

the appearance of the body to deter the multitude from philosophy; but as in other things, a philosopher

should show himself cheerful and tranquil, so also he should in the things that relate to the body: "See, ye

men, that I have nothing, that I want nothing: see how I am without a house, and without a city, and an exile,

if it happens to be so, and without a hearth I live more free from trouble and more happily than all of noble

birth and than the rich. But look at my poor body also and observe that it is not injured by my hard way of

living." But if a man says this to me, who has the appearance and face of a condemned man, what God shall

persuade me to approach philosophy, if it makes men such persons? Far from it; I would not choose to do so,

even if I were going to become a wise man. I indeed would rather that a young man, who is making his first

movements toward philosophy, should come to me with his hair carefully trimmed than with it dirty and

rough, for there is seen in him a certain notion of beauty and a desire of that which is becoming; and where he

supposes it to be, there also he strives that it shall be. It is only necessary to show him, and to say: "Young

man, you seek beauty, and you do well: you must know then that it grows in that part of you where you have

the rational faculty: seek it there where you have the movements toward and the movements from things,

where you have the desire toward, ind the aversion from things: for this is what you have in yourself of a

superior kind; but the poor body is naturally only earth: why do you labour about it to no purpose? if you

shall learn nothing else, you will learn from time that the body is nothing." But if a man comes to me daubed

with filth, dirty, with a mustache down to his knees, what can I say to him, by what kind of resemblance can I

lead him on? For about what has he busied himself which resembles beauty, that I may be able to change him

and "Beauty is not in this, but in that?" Would you have me to tell him, that beauty consists not in being

daubed with muck, but that it lies in the rational part? Has he any desire of beauty? has he any form of it in

For this reason the words of Xenocrates touched Polemon also; since he was a lover of beauty, for he entered,

having in him certain incitements to love of beauty, but he looked for it in the wrong place. For nature has not

made even the animals dirty which live with man. Does a horse ever wallow in the mud or a wellbred dog?

But the hog, and the dirty geese, and worms and spiders do, which are banished furthest from human

intercourse. Do you, then, being a man, choose to be not as one of the animals which live with man, but

rather a worm, or a spider? Will you not wash yourself somewhere some time in such manner as you choose?

Will you not wash off the dirt from your body? Will you not come clean that those with whom you keep

company may have pleasure in being with you? But do you go with us even into the temples in such a state,

where it is not permitted to spit or blow the nose, being a heap of spittle and of snot?

When then? does any man require you to ornament yourself? Far from it; except to ornament that which we

really are by nature, the rational faculty, the opinions, the actions; but as to the body only so far as purity,

only so far as not to give offense. But if you are told that you ought not to wear garments dyed with purple,

go and daub your cloak with muck or tear it. "But how shall I have a neat cloak?" Man, you have water; wash

it. Here is a youth worthy of being loved, here is an old man worthy of loving and being loved in return, a fit

person for a man to intrust to him a son's instruction, to whom daughters and young men shall come, if

opportunity shall so happen, that the teacher shall deliver his lessons to them on a dunghill. Let this not be so:

every deviation comes from something which is in man's nature; but this is near being something not in man's

When you have remitted your attention for a short time, do not imagine this, that you will recover it when

you choose; but let but let this thought be present to you, that in consequence of the fault committed 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

worse by using attention, and better by not attending at all? And what else of things in life is done better by

those who do not use attention? Does he who works in wood work better by not attending to it? Does the

captain of a ship manage it better by not attending? and is any of the smaller acts done better by inattention?

Do you not see that, when you have let your mind loose, it is no longer in your power to recall it, either to

propriety, or to modesty, or to moderation: but you do everything that comes into your mind in obedience to

To what things then ought I to attend? First to those general (principles) and to have them in readiness, and

without them not to sleep, not to rise, not to drink, not to eat, not to converse with men; that no man is master

of another man's will, but that in the will alone is the good and the bad. No man, then, has the power either to

procure for me any good or to involve me in any evil, but I alone myself over myself have power in these

things. When, then, these things are secured to me, why need I be disturbed about external things? What

tyrant is formidable, what disease, what poverty, what offense? "Well, I have not pleased a certain person." Is

he then my work, my judgement? "No." Why then should I trouble myself about him? "But he is supposed to

be some one." He will look to that himself; and those who think so will also. But I have One Whom I ought

to please, to Whom I ought to subject myself, Whom I ought to obey, God and those who are next to Him. He

has placed me with myself, and has put my will in obedience to myself alone, and has given me rules for the

right use of it; and when I follow these rules in syllogisms, I do not care for any man who says anything else:

in sophistical argument, I care for no man. Why then in greater matters do those annoy me who blame me?

What is the cause of this perturbation? Nothing else than because in this matter I am not disciplined. For all

knowledge despises ignorance and the ignorant; and not only the sciences, but even the arts. Produce any

shoemaker that you please, and he ridicules the many in respect to his own work. Produce any carpenter.

First, then, we ought to have these in readiness, and to do nothing without them, and we ought to keep the

soul directed to this mark, to pursue nothing external, and nothing which belongs to others, but to do as He

has appointed Who has the power; we ought to pursue altogether the things which are in the power of the

will, and all other things as it is permitted. Next to this we ought to remember who we are, and what is our

name, and to endeavour to direct our duties toward the character of our several relations in this manner: what

is the season for singing, what is the season for play, and in whose presence; what will be the consequence of

the act; whether our associates will despise us, whether we shall despise them; when to jeer, and whom to

ridicule; and on what occasion to comply and with whom; and finally, in complying how to maintain our own

character. But wherever you have deviated from any of these rules, there is damage immediately, not from

What then? is it possible to be free from faults? It is not possible; but tills is possible, to direct your efforts

incessantly to being faultless. For we must be content if by never remitting this attention we shall escape at

least a few errors. But now when you have said, "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

When a man has seemed to us to have talked with simplicity about his own affairs, how is it that at last we

are ourselves also induced to discover to him our own secrets and we think this to be candid behavior? In the

first place, because it seems unfair for a man to have listened to the affairs of his neighbour, and not to

communicate to him also in turn our own affairs: next, because we think that we shall not present to them the

appearance of candid men when we are silent about our own affairs. Indeed men are often accustomed to say,

"I have told you all my affairs, will you tell me nothing of your own? where is this done?" Besides, we have

also this opinion that we can safely trust him who has already told us his own affairs; for the notion rises in

our mind that this man could never divulge our affairs because he would be cautious that we also should not

divulge his. In this way also the incautious are caught by the soldiers at Rome. A soldier sits by you in a

common dress and begins to speak ill of Caesar; then you, as if you had received a pledge of his fidelity by

his having begun the abuse, utter yourself also what you think, and then you are carried off in chains.

Something of this kind happens to us generally. Now as this man has confidently intrusted his affairs to me,

shall I also do so to any man whom I meet? For when I have heard, I keep silence, if I am of such a

disposition; but he goes forth and tells all men what he has heard. Then if I hear what has been done, if I be a

man like him, I resolve to be revenged, I divulge what he has told me; I both disturb others and am disturbed

myself. But if I remember that one man does not injure another, and that every man's acts injure and profit

him, I secure this, that I do not anything like him, but still I suffer what I do suffer through my own silly talk.

"True: but it is unfair when you have heard the secrets of your neighbour for you in turn to communicate

nothing to him." Did I ask you for your secrets, my man? did you communicate your affairs on certain terms,

that you should in return hear mine also? If you are a babbler and think that all who meet you are friends, do

you wish me also to be like you? But why, if you did well in entrusting your affairs to me, and it is not well

for me to intrust mine to you, do you wish me to be so rash? It is just the same as if I had a cask which is

watertight, and you one with a hole in it, and you should come and deposit with me your wine that I might

put it into my cask, and then should complain that I also did not intrust my wine to you, for you have a cask

with a hole in it. How then is there any equality here? You intrusted your affairs to a man who is faithful and

modest, to a man who thinks that his own actions alone are injurious and useful, and that nothing external is.

Would you have me intrust mine to you, a man who has dishonoured his own faculty of will, and who wishes

to gain some small bit of money or some office or promotion in the court, even if you should be going to

murder your own children, like Medea? Where is this equality? But show yourself to me to be faithful,

modest, and steady: show me that you have friendly opinions; show that your cask has no hole in it; and you

will see how I shall not wait for you to trust me with your affairs, but I myself shall come to you and ask you

to hear mine. For who does not choose to make use of a good vessel? Who does not value a benevolent and

faithful adviser? who will not willingly receive a man who is ready to bear a share, as we may say, of the

difficulty of his circumstances, and by this very act to ease the burden, by taking a part of it.

"True: but I trust you; you do not trust me." In the first place, not even do you trust me, but you are a babbler,

and for this reason you cannot hold anything; for indeed, if it is true that you trust me, trust your affairs to me

only; but now, whenever you see a man at leisure, you seat yourself by him and say: "Brother, I have no

friend more benevolent than you nor dearer; I request you to listen to my affairs." And you do this even to

those who are not known to you at all. But if you really trust me, it is plain that you trust me because I am

faithful and modest, not because I have told my affairs to you. Allow me, then, to have the same opinion

about you. Show me that, if one man tells his affairs to another, he who tells them is faithful and modest. For

if this were so, I would go about and tell my affairs to every man, if that would make me faithful and modest.

But the thing is not so, and it requires no common opinions. If, then, you see a man who is busy about things

not dependent on his will and subjecting his will to them, you must know that this man has ten thousand

persons to compel and hinder him. He has no need of pitch or the wheel to compel him to declare what he

knows: but a little girl's nod, if it should so happen, will move him, the blandishment of one who belongs to

Caesar's court, desire of a magistracy or of an inheritance, and things without end of that sort. You must

remember, then, among general principles that secret discourses require fidelity and corresponding opinions.

But where can we now find these easily? Or if you cannot answer that question, let some one point out to me

a man who can say: "I care only about the things which are my own, the things which are not subject to

hindrance, the things which are by nature free." This I hold to be the nature of the good: but let all other

5. CHAPTER 1. Of the things which are in our Power, and not in our Power, page = 8

6. CHAPTER 2. How a Man on every occasion can maintain his Proper Character, page = 9

7. CHAPTER 3. How a man should proceed from the principle of God being the father of all men to the rest, page = 11

11. CHAPTER 7. Of the use of sophistical arguments, and hypothetical, and the like, page = 15

13. CHAPTER 9. How from the fact that we are akin to God a man may proceed to the consequences, page = 17

22. CHAPTER 18. That we ought not to he angry with the errors of others, page = 26

31. CHAPTER 27. In how many ways appearances exist, and what aids we should provide against them, page = 33

32. CHAPTER 28. That we ought not to he angry with men; and what are the small and the great things among men, page = 34

34. CHAPTER 30. What we ought to have ready in difficult circumstances, page = 39

39. CHAPTER 4. Against a person who had once been detected in adultery, page = 42

44. CHAPTER 9. That when we cannot fulfill that which the character of a man promises, we assume the character of a philosopher, page = 47

50. CHAPTER 15. To or against those who obstinately persist in what they have determined, page = 54

51. CHAPTER 16. That we do not strive to use our opinions about good and evil, page = 55

54. CHAPTER 19. Against those who embrace, philosophical opinions only in words, page = 61

59. CHAPTER 24. To a person who was one of those who was not valued by him, page = 70

64. CHAPTER 2. In what a man ought to be exercised who has made proficiency; and that we neglect the chief things, page = 75

65. CHAPTER 3. What is the matter on which a good man should he employed, and in what we ought chiefly to practice ourselves, page = 76

66. CHAPTER 4. Against a person who showed his partisanship in an unseemly way in a theatre, page = 77

69. CHAPTER 7. To the administrator of the free cities who was an Epicurean, page = 79

71. CHAPTER 9. To a certain rhetorician who was going up to Rome on a suit, page = 81

75. CHAPTER 13. What solitude is, and what kind of person a solitary man is, page = 85

77. CHAPTER 15. That we ought to proceed with circumspection to everything, page = 86

78. CHAPTER 16. That we ought with caution to enter, into familiar intercourse with men, page = 87

81. CHAPTER 19. What is the condition of a common kind of man and of a philosopher, page = 89

82. CHAPTER 20. That we can derive advantage from all external things, page = 89

83. CHAPTER 21. Against those who readily come to the profession of sophists, page = 90

85. CHAPTER 23. To those who read and discuss for the sake of ostentation, page = 97

86. CHAPTER 24. That we ought not to be moved by a desire of those things which are not in our power, page = 99

93. CHAPTER 4. To those who are desirous of passing life in tranquility, page = 118

97. CHAPTER 8. Against those who hastily rush into the use of the philosophic dress, page = 127

98. CHAPTER 9. To a person who had been changed to a character of shamelessness, page = 129

99. CHAPTER 10. What things we ought to despise, and what things we ought to value, page = 130

102. CHAPTER 13. Against or to those who readily tell their own affairs, page = 135