Enchiridion of Epictetus — The Handbook

ENCHIRIDION

There are things which are within our power, and there are things which

are beyond our power. Within our power are opinion, aim, desire,

aversion, and, in one word, whatever affairs are our own. Beyond our

power are body, property, reputation, office, and, in one word, whatever

are not properly our own affairs.

Now the things within our power are by nature free, unrestricted,

unhindered; but those beyond our power are weak, dependent, restricted,

alien. Remember, then, that if you attribute freedom to things by nature

dependent and take what belongs to others for your own, you will be

hindered, you will lament, you will be disturbed, you will find fault

both with gods and men. But if you take for your own only that which is

your own and view what belongs to others just as it really is, then no

one will ever compel you, no one will restrict you; you will find fault

with no one, you will accuse no one, you will do nothing against your

will; no one will hurt you, you will not have an enemy, nor will you

suffer any harm.

Aiming, therefore, at such great things, remember that you must not allow

yourself any inclination, however slight, toward the attainment of the

others; but that you must entirely quit some of them, and for the present

postpone the rest. But if you would have these, and possess power and

wealth likewise, you may miss the latter in seeking the former; and you

will certainly fail of that by which alone happiness and freedom are

procured.

Seek at once, therefore, to be able to say to every unpleasing semblance,

“You are but a semblance and by no means the real thing.” And then

examine it by those rules which you have; and first and chiefly by this:

whether it concerns the things which are within our own power or those

which are not; and if it concerns anything beyond our power, be prepared

to say that it is nothing to you.

Remember that desire demands the attainment of that of which you are

desirous; and aversion demands the avoidance of that to which you are

averse; that he who fails of the object of his desires is disappointed;

and he who incurs the object of his aversion is wretched. If, then, you

shun only those undesirable things which you can control, you will never

incur anything which you shun; but if you shun sickness, or death, or

poverty, you will run the risk of wretchedness. Remove [the habit of]

aversion, then, from all things that are not within our power, and apply

it to things undesirable which are within our power. But for the present,

altogether restrain desire; for if you desire any of the things not

within our own power, you must necessarily be disappointed; and you are

not yet secure of those which are within our power, and so are legitimate

objects of desire. Where it is practically necessary for you to pursue or

avoid anything, do even this with discretion and gentleness and

moderation.

With regard to whatever objects either delight the mind or contribute to

use or are tenderly beloved, remind yourself of what nature they are,

beginning with the merest trifles: if you have a favorite cup, that it is

but a cup of which you are fond of—for thus, if it is broken, you can

bear it; if you embrace your child or your wife, that you embrace a

mortal—and thus, if either of them dies, you can bear it.

When you set about any action, remind yourself of what nature the action

is. If you are going to bathe, represent to yourself the incidents usual

in the bath—some persons pouring out, others pushing in, others scolding,

others pilfering. And thus you will more safely go about this action if

you say to yourself, “I will now go to bathe and keep my own will in

harmony with nature.” And so with regard to every other action. For thus,

if any impediment arises in bathing, you will be able to say, “It was not

only to bathe that I desired, but to keep my will in harmony with nature;

and I shall not keep it thus if I am out of humor at things that happen.”

Men are disturbed not by things, but by the views which they take of

things. Thus death is nothing terrible, else it would have appeared so to

Socrates. But the terror consists in our notion of death, that it is

terrible. When, therefore, we are hindered or disturbed, or grieved, let

us never impute it to others, but to ourselves—that is, to our own views.

It is the action of an uninstructed person to reproach others for his own

misfortunes; of one entering upon instruction, to reproach himself; and

one perfectly instructed, to reproach neither others nor himself.

Be not elated at any excellence not your own. If a horse should be

elated, and say, “I am handsome,” it might be endurable. But when you are

elated and say, “I have a handsome horse,” know that you are elated only

on the merit of the horse. What then is your own? The use of the

phenomena of existence. So that when you are in harmony with nature in

this respect, you will be elated with some reason; for you will be elated

at some good of your own.

As in a voyage, when the ship is at anchor, if you go on shore to get

water, you may amuse yourself with picking up a shellfish or a truffle in

your way, but your thoughts ought to be bent toward the ship, and

perpetually attentive, lest the captain should call, and then you must

leave all these things, that you may not have to be carried on board the

vessel, bound like a sheep; thus likewise in life, if, instead of a

truffle or shellfish, such a thing as a wife or a child be granted you,

there is no objection; but if the captain calls, run to the ship, leave

all these things, and never look behind. But if you are old, never go far

from the ship, lest you should be missing when called for.

Demand not that events should happen as you wish; but wish them to happen

as they do happen, and you will go on well.

Sickness is an impediment to the body, but not to the will unless itself

pleases. Lameness is an impediment to the leg, but not to the will; and

say this to yourself with regard to everything that happens. For you will

find it to be an impediment to something else, but not truly to yourself.

Upon every accident, remember to turn toward yourself and inquire what

faculty you have for its use. If you encounter a handsome person, you

will find continence the faculty needed; if pain, then fortitude; if

reviling, then patience. And when thus habituated, the phenomena of

existence will not overwhelm you.

Never say of anything, “I have lost it,” but, “I have restored it.” Has

your child died? It is restored. Has your wife died? She is restored. Has

your estate been taken away? That likewise is restored. “But it was a bad

man who took it.” What is it to you by whose hands he who gave it has

demanded it again? While he permits you to possess it, hold it as

something not your own, as do travelers at an inn.

If you would improve, lay aside such reasonings as these: “If I neglect

my affairs, I shall not have a maintenance; if I do not punish my

servant, he will be good for nothing.” For it were better to die of

hunger, exempt from grief and fear, than to live in affluence with

perturbation; and it is better that your servant should be bad than you

unhappy.

Begin therefore with little things. Is a little oil spilled or a little

wine stolen? Say to yourself, “This is the price paid for peace and

tranquillity; and nothing is to be had for nothing.” And when you call

your servant, consider that it is possible he may not come at your call;

or, if he does, that he may not do what you wish. But it is not at all

desirable for him, and very undesirable for you, that it should be in his

power to cause you any disturbance.

If you would improve, be content to be thought foolish and dull with

regard to externals. Do not desire to be thought to know anything; and

though you should appear to others to be somebody, distrust yourself. For

be assured, it is not easy at once to keep your will in harmony with

nature and to secure externals; but while you are absorbed in the one,

you must of necessity neglect the other.

If you wish your children and your wife and your friends to live forever,

you are foolish, for you wish things to be in your power which are not

so, and what belongs to others to be your own. So likewise, if you wish

your servant to be without fault, you are foolish, for you wish vice not

to be vice but something else. But if you wish not to be disappointed in

your desires, that is in your own power. Exercise, therefore, what is in

your power. A man’s master is he who is able to confer or remove whatever

that man seeks or shuns. Whoever then would be free, let him wish

nothing, let him decline nothing, which depends on others; else he must

necessarily be a slave.

Remember that you must behave as at a banquet. Is anything brought round

to you? Put out your hand and take a moderate share. Does it pass by you?

Do not stop it. Is it not yet come? Do not yearn in desire toward it, but

wait till it reaches you. So with regard to children, wife, office,

riches; and you will some time or other be worthy to feast with the gods.

And if you do not so much as take the things which are set before you,

but are able even to forego them, then you will not only be worthy to

feast with the gods, but to rule with them also. For, by thus doing,

Diogenes and Heraclitus, and others like them, deservedly became divine,

and were so recognized.

When you see anyone weeping for grief, either that his son has gone

abroad or that he has suffered in his affairs, take care not to be

overcome by the apparent evil, but discriminate and be ready to say,

“What hurts this man is not this occurrence itself—for another man might

not be hurt by it—but the view he chooses to take of it.” As far as

conversation goes, however, do not disdain to accommodate yourself to him

and, if need be, to groan with him. Take heed, however, not to groan

inwardly, too.

Remember that you are an actor in a drama of such sort as the Author

chooses—if short, then in a short one; if long, then in a long one. If it

be his pleasure that you should enact a poor man, or a cripple, or a

ruler, or a private citizen, see that you act it well. For this is your

business—to act well the given part, but to choose it belongs to another.

When a raven happens to croak unluckily, be not overcome by appearances,

but discriminate and say, “Nothing is portended to _me_, either to my

paltry body, or property, or reputation, or children, or wife. But to

_me_ all portents are lucky if I will. For whatsoever happens, it belongs

to me to derive advantage therefrom.”

You can be unconquerable if you enter into no combat in which it is not

in your own power to conquer. When, therefore, you see anyone eminent in

honors or power, or in high esteem on any other account, take heed not to

be bewildered by appearances and to pronounce him happy; for if the

essence of good consists in things within our own power, there will be no

room for envy or emulation. But, for your part, do not desire to be a

general, or a senator, or a consul, but to be free; and the only way to

this is a disregard of things which lie not within our own power.

Remember that it is not he who gives abuse or blows, who affronts, but

the view we take of these things as insulting. When, therefore, anyone

provokes you, be assured that it is your own opinion which provokes you.

Try, therefore, in the first place, not to be bewildered by appearances.

For if you once gain time and respite, you will more easily command

yourself.

Let death and exile, and all other things which appear terrible, be daily

before your eyes, but death chiefly; and you will never entertain an

abject thought, nor too eagerly covet anything.

If you have an earnest desire toward philosophy, prepare yourself from

the very first to have the multitude laugh and sneer, and say, “He is

returned to us a philosopher all at once”; and, “Whence this supercilious

look?” Now, for your part, do not have a supercilious look indeed, but

keep steadily to those things which appear best to you, as one appointed

by God to this particular station. For remember that, if you are

persistent, those very persons who at first ridiculed will afterwards

admire you. But if you are conquered by them, you will incur a double

ridicule.

If you ever happen to turn your attention to externals, for the pleasure

of anyone, be assured that you have ruined your scheme of life. Be

content, then, in everything, with being a philosopher; and if you wish

to seem so likewise to anyone, appear so to yourself, and it will suffice

you.

Let not such considerations as these distress you: “I shall live in

discredit and be nobody anywhere.” For if discredit be an evil, you can

no more be involved in evil through another than in baseness. Is it any

business of yours, then, to get power or to be admitted to an

entertainment? By no means. How then, after all, is this discredit? And

how it is true that you will be nobody anywhere when you ought to be

somebody in those things only which are within your own power, in which

you may be of the greatest consequence? “But my friends will be

unassisted.” What do you mean by “unassisted”? They will not have money

from you, nor will you make them Roman citizens. Who told you, then, that

these are among the things within our own power, and not rather the

affairs of others? And who can give to another the things which he

himself has not? “Well, but get them, then, that we too may have a

share.” If I can get them with the preservation of my own honor and

fidelity and self-respect, show me the way and I will get them; but if

you require me to lose my own proper good, that you may gain what is no

good, consider how unreasonable and foolish you are. Besides, which would

you rather have, a sum of money or a faithful and honorable friend?

Rather assist me, then, to gain this character than require me to do

those things by which I may lose it. Well, but my country, say you, as

far as depends upon me, will be unassisted. Here, again, what assistance

is this you mean? It will not have porticos nor baths of your providing?

And what signifies that? Why, neither does a smith provide it with shoes,

nor a shoemaker with arms. It is enough if everyone fully performs his

own proper business. And were you to supply it with another faithful and

honorable citizen, would not he be of use to it? Yes. Therefore neither

are you yourself useless to it. “What place, then,” say you, “shall I

hold in the state?” Whatever you can hold with the preservation of your

fidelity and honor. But if, by desiring to be useful to that, you lose

these, how can you serve your country when you have become faithless and

shameless?

Is anyone preferred before you at an entertainment, or in courtesies, or

in confidential intercourse? If these things are good, you ought to

rejoice that he has them; and if they are evil, do not be grieved that

you have them not. And remember that you cannot be permitted to rival

others in externals without using the same means to obtain them. For how

can he who will not haunt the door of any man, will not attend him, will

not praise him, have an equal share with him who does these things? You

are unjust, then, and unreasonable if you are unwilling to pay the price

for which these things are sold, and would have them for nothing. For how

much are lettuces sold? An obulus, for instance. If another, then, paying

an obulus, takes the lettuces, and you, not paying it, go without them,

do not imagine that he has gained any advantage over you. For as he has

the lettuces, so you have the obulus which you did not give. So, in the

present case, you have not been invited to such a person’s entertainment

because you have not paid him the price for which a supper is sold. It is

sold for praise; it is sold for attendance. Give him, then, the value if

it be for your advantage. But if you would at the same time not pay the

one, and yet receive the other, you are unreasonable and foolish. Have

you nothing, then, in place of the supper? Yes, indeed, you have—not to

praise him whom you do not like to praise; not to bear the insolence of

his lackeys.

The will of nature may be learned from things upon which we are all

agreed. As when our neighbor’s boy has broken a cup, or the like, we are

ready at once to say, “These are casualties that will happen”; be

assured, then, that when your own cup is likewise broken, you ought to be

affected just as when another’s cup was broken. Now apply this to greater

things. Is the child or wife of another dead? There is no one who would

not say, “This is an accident of mortality.” But if anyone’s own child

happens to die, it is immediately, “Alas! how wretched am I!” It should

be always remembered how we are affected on hearing the same thing

concerning others.

As a mark[1] is not set up for the sake of missing the aim, so neither

does the nature of evil exist in the world.

If a person had delivered up your body to some passer-by, you would

certainly be angry. And do you feel no shame in delivering up your own

mind to any reviler, to be disconcerted and confounded?

XXIX[2]

In every affair consider what precedes and what follows, and then

undertake it. Otherwise you will begin with spirit, indeed, careless of

the consequences, and when these are developed, you will shamefully

desist. “I would conquer at the Olympic Games.” But consider what

precedes and what follows, and then, if it be for your advantage, engage

in the affair. You must conform to rules, submit to a diet, refrain from

dainties; exercise your body, whether you choose it or not, at a stated

hour, in heat and cold; you must drink no cold water, and sometimes no

wine—in a word, you must give yourself up to your trainer as to a

physician. Then, in the combat, you may be thrown into a ditch, dislocate

your arm, turn your ankle, swallow an abundance of dust, receive stripes

[for negligence], and, after all, lose the victory. When you have

reckoned up all this, if your inclination still holds, set about the

combat. Otherwise, take notice, you will behave like children who

sometimes play wrestlers, sometimes gladiators, sometimes blow a trumpet,

and sometimes act a tragedy, when they happen to have seen and admired

these shows. Thus you too will be at one time a wrestler, and another a

gladiator; now a philosopher, now an orator; but nothing in earnest. Like

an ape you mimic all you see, and one thing after another is sure to

please you, but is out of favor as soon as it becomes familiar. For you

have never entered upon anything considerately; nor after having surveyed

and tested the whole matter, but carelessly, and with a halfway zeal.

Thus some, when they have seen a philosopher and heard a man speaking

like Euphrates[3]—though, indeed, who can speak like him?—have a mind to

be philosophers, too. Consider first, man, what the matter is, and what

your own nature is able to bear. If you would be a wrestler, consider

your shoulders, your back, your thighs; for different persons are made

for different things. Do you think that you can act as you do and be a

philosopher, that you can eat, drink, be angry, be discontented, as you

are now? You must watch, you must labor, you must get the better of

certain appetites, must quit your acquaintances, be despised by your

servant, be laughed at by those you meet; come off worse than others in

everything—in offices, in honors, before tribunals. When you have fully

considered all these things, approach, if you please—that is, if, by

parting with them, you have a mind to purchase serenity, freedom, and

tranquillity. If not, do not come hither; do not, like children, be now a

philosopher, then a publican, then an orator, and then one of Caesar’s

officers. These things are not consistent. You must be one man, either

good or bad. You must cultivate either your own reason or else externals;

apply yourself either to things within or without you—that is, be either

a philosopher or one of the mob.

Duties are universally measured by relations. Is a certain man your

father? In this are implied taking care of him, submitting to him in all

things, patiently receiving his reproaches, his correction. But he is a

bad father. Is your natural tie, then, to a _good_ father? No, but to a

father. Is a brother unjust? Well, preserve your own just relation toward

him. Consider not what _he_ does, but what _you_ are to do to keep your

own will in a state conformable to nature, for another cannot hurt you

unless you please. You will then be hurt when you consent to be hurt. In

this manner, therefore, if you accustom yourself to contemplate the

relations of neighbor, citizen, commander, you can deduce from each the

corresponding duties.

Be assured that the essence of piety toward the gods lies in this—to form

right opinions concerning them, as existing and as governing the universe

justly and well. And fix yourself in this resolution, to obey them, and

yield to them, and willingly follow them amidst all events, as being

ruled by the most perfect wisdom. For thus you will never find fault with

the gods, nor accuse them of neglecting you. And it is not possible for

this to be affected in any other way than by withdrawing yourself from

things which are not within our own power, and by making good or evil to

consist only in those which are. For if you suppose any other things to

be either good or evil, it is inevitable that, when you are disappointed

of what you wish or incur what you would avoid, you should reproach and

blame their authors. For every creature is naturally formed to flee and

abhor things that appear hurtful and that which causes them; and to

pursue and admire those which appear beneficial and that which causes

them. It is impracticable, then, that one who supposes himself to be hurt

should rejoice in the person who, as he thinks, hurts him, just as it is

impossible to rejoice in the hurt itself. Hence, also, a father is

reviled by his son when he does not impart the things which seem to be

good; and this made Polynices and Eteocles[4] mutually enemies—that

empire seemed good to both. On this account the husbandman reviles the

gods; [and so do] the sailor, the merchant, or those who have lost wife

or child. For where our interest is, there, too, is piety directed. So

that whoever is careful to regulate his desires and aversions as he ought

is thus made careful of piety likewise. But it also becomes incumbent on

everyone to offer libations and sacrifices and first fruits, according to

the customs of his country, purely, and not heedlessly nor negligently;

not avariciously, nor yet extravagantly.

When you have recourse to divination, remember that you know not what the

event will be, and you come to learn it of the diviner; but of what

nature it is you knew before coming; at least, if you are of philosophic

mind. For if it is among the things not within our own power, it can by

no means be either good or evil. Do not, therefore, bring with you to the

diviner either desire or aversion—else you will approach him

trembling—but first clearly understand that every event is indifferent

and nothing to _you_, of whatever sort it may be; for it will be in your

power to make a right use of it, and this no one can hinder. Then come

with confidence to the gods as your counselors; and afterwards, when any

counsel is given you, remember what counselors you have assumed, and

whose advice you will neglect if you disobey. Come to divination as

Socrates prescribed, in cases of which the whole consideration relates to

the event, and in which no opportunities are afforded by reason or any

other art to discover the matter in view. When, therefore, it is our duty

to share the danger of a friend or of our country, we ought not to

consult the oracle as to whether we shall share it with them or not. For

though the diviner should forewarn you that the auspices are unfavorable,

this means no more than that either death or mutilation or exile is

portended. But we have reason within us; and it directs us, even with

these hazards, to stand by our friend and our country. Attend, therefore,

to the greater diviner, the Pythian God, who once cast out of the temple

him who neglected to save his friend.[5]

Begin by prescribing to yourself some character and demeanor, such as you

may preserve both alone and in company.

Be mostly silent, or speak merely what is needful, and in few words. We

may, however, enter sparingly into discourse sometimes, when occasion

calls for it; but let it not run on any of the common subjects, as

gladiators, or horse races, or athletic champions, or food, or drink—the

vulgar topics of conversation—and especially not on men, so as either to

blame, or praise, or make comparisons. If you are able, then, by your own

conversation, bring over that of your company to proper subjects; but if

you happen to find yourself among strangers, be silent.

Let not your laughter be loud, frequent, or abundant.

Avoid taking oaths, if possible, altogether; at any rate, so far as you

are able.

Avoid public and vulgar entertainments; but if ever an occasion calls you

to them, keep your attention upon the stretch, that you may not

imperceptibly slide into vulgarity. For be assured that if a person be

ever so pure himself, yet, if his companion be corrupted, he who

converses with him will be corrupted likewise.

Provide things relating to the body no further than absolute need

requires, as meat, drink, clothing, house, retinue. But cut off

everything that looks toward show and luxury.

Before marriage guard yourself with all your ability from unlawful

intercourse with women; yet be not uncharitable or severe to those who

are led into this, nor boast frequently that you yourself do otherwise.

If anyone tells you that a certain person speaks ill of you, do not make

excuses about what is said of you, but answer: “He was ignorant of my

other faults, else he would not have mentioned these alone.”

It is not necessary for you to appear often at public spectacles; but if

ever there is a proper occasion for you to be there, do not appear more

solicitous for any other than for yourself—that is, wish things to be

only just as they are, and only the best man to win; for thus nothing

will go against you. But abstain entirely from acclamations and derision

and violent emotions. And when you come away, do not discourse a great

deal on what has passed and what contributes nothing to your own

amendment. For it would appear by such discourse that you were dazzled by

the show.

Be not prompt or ready to attend private recitations; but if you do

attend, preserve your gravity and dignity, and yet avoid making yourself

disagreeable.

When you are going to confer with anyone, and especially with one who

seems your superior, represent to yourself how Socrates or Zeno[6] would

behave in such a case, and you will not be at a loss to meet properly

whatever may occur.

When you are going before anyone in power, fancy to yourself that you may

not find him at home, that you may be shut out, that the doors may not be

opened to you, that he may not notice you. If, with all this, it be your

duty to go, bear what happens and never say to yourself, “It was not

worth so much”; for this is vulgar, and like a man bewildered by

externals.

In company, avoid a frequent and excessive mention of your own actions

and dangers. For however agreeable it may be to yourself to allude to the

risks you have run, it is not equally agreeable to others to hear your

adventures. Avoid likewise an endeavor to excite laughter, for this may

readily slide you into vulgarity, and, besides, may be apt to lower you

in the esteem of your acquaintance. Approaches to indecent discourse are

likewise dangerous. Therefore, when anything of this sort happens, use

the first fit opportunity to rebuke him who makes advances that way, or,

at least, by silence and blushing and a serious look show yourself to be

displeased by such talk.

If you are dazzled by the semblance of any promised pleasure, guard

yourself against being bewildered by it; but let the affair wait your

leisure, and procure yourself some delay. Then bring to your mind both

points of time—that in which you shall enjoy the pleasure, and that in

which you will repent and reproach yourself, after you have enjoyed

it—and set before you, in opposition to these, how you will rejoice and

applaud yourself if you abstain. And even though it should appear to you

a seasonable gratification, take heed that its enticements and

allurements and seductions may not subdue you, but set in opposition to

this how much better it is to be conscious of having gained so great a

victory.

When you do anything from a clear judgment that it ought to be done,

never shrink from being seen to do it, even though the world should

misunderstand it; for if you are not acting rightly, shun the action

itself; if you are, why fear those who wrongly censure you?

As the proposition, “either it is day or it is night,” has much force in

a disjunctive argument, but none at all in a conjunctive one, so, at a

feast, to choose the largest share is very suitable to the bodily

appetite, but utterly inconsistent with the social spirit of the

entertainment. Remember, then, when you eat with another, not only the

value to the body of those things which are set before you, but also the

value of proper courtesy toward your host.

If you have assumed any character beyond your strength, you have both

demeaned yourself ill in that and quitted one which you might have

supported.

As in walking you take care not to tread upon a nail, or turn your foot,

so likewise take care not to hurt the ruling faculty of your mind. And if

we were to guard against this in every action, we should enter upon

action more safely.

The body is to everyone the proper measure of its possessions, as the

foot is of the shoe. If, therefore, you stop at this, you will keep the

measure; but if you move beyond it, you must necessarily be carried

forward, as down a precipice; as in the case of a shoe, if you go beyond

its fitness to the foot, it comes first to be gilded, then purple, and

then studded with jewels. For to that which once exceeds the fit measure

there is no bound.

Women from fourteen years old are flattered by men with the title of

mistresses. Therefore, perceiving that they are regarded only as

qualified to give men pleasure, they begin to adorn themselves, and in

that to place all their hopes. It is worth while, therefore, to try that

they may perceive themselves honored only so far as they appear beautiful

in their demeanor and modestly virtuous.

It is a mark of want of intellect to spend much time in things relating

to the body, as to be immoderate in exercises, in eating and drinking,

and in the discharge of other animal functions. These things should be

done incidentally and our main strength be applied to our reason.

When any person does ill by you, or speaks ill of you, remember that he

acts or speaks from an impression that it is right for him to do so. Now

it is not possible that he should follow what appears right to you, but

only what appears so to himself. Therefore, if he judges from false

appearances, he is the person hurt, since he, too, is the person

deceived. For if anyone takes a true proposition to be false, the

proposition is not hurt, but only the man is deceived. Setting out, then,

from these principles, you will meekly bear with a person who reviles

you, for you will say upon every occasion, “It seemed so to him.”

Everything has two handles: one by which it may be borne, another by

which it cannot. If your brother acts unjustly, do not lay hold on the

affair by the handle of his injustice, for by that it cannot be borne,

but rather by the opposite—that he is your brother, that he was brought

up with you; and thus you will lay hold on it as it is to be borne.

These reasonings have no logical connection: “I am richer than you,

therefore I am your superior.” “I am more eloquent than you, therefore I

am your superior.” The true logical connection is rather this: “I am

richer than you, therefore my possessions must exceed yours.” “I am more

eloquent than you, therefore my style must surpass yours.” But you, after

all, consist neither in property nor in style.

Does anyone bathe hastily? Do not say that he does it ill, but hastily.

Does anyone drink much wine? Do not say that he does ill, but that he

drinks a great deal. For unless you perfectly understand his motives, how

should you know if he acts ill? Thus you will not risk yielding to any

appearances but such as you fully comprehend.

Never proclaim yourself a philosopher, nor make much talk among the

ignorant about your principles, but show them by actions. Thus, at an

entertainment, do not discourse how people ought to eat, but eat as you

ought. For remember that thus Socrates also universally avoided all

ostentation. And when persons came to him and desired to be introduced by

him to philosophers, he took them and introduced them; so well did he

bear being overlooked. So if ever there should be among the ignorant any

discussion of principles, be for the most part silent. For there is great

danger in hastily throwing out what is undigested. And if anyone tells

you that you know nothing, and you are not nettled at it, then you may be

sure that you have really entered on your work. For sheep do not hastily

throw up the grass to show the shepherds how much they have eaten, but,

inwardly digesting their food, they produce it outwardly in wool and

milk. Thus, therefore, do you not make an exhibition before the ignorant

of your principles, but of the actions to which their digestion gives

rise.

When you have learned to nourish your body frugally, do not pique

yourself upon it; nor, if you drink water, be saying upon every occasion,

“I drink water.” But first consider how much more frugal are the poor

than we, and how much more patient of hardship. If at any time you would

inure yourself by exercise to labor and privation, for your own sake and

not for the public, do not attempt great feats; but when you are

violently thirsty, just rinse your mouth with water, and tell nobody.

The condition and characteristic of a vulgar person is that he never

looks for either help or harm from himself, but only from externals. The

condition and characteristic of a philosopher is that he looks to himself

for all help or harm. The marks of a proficient are that he censures no

one, praises no one, blames no one, accuses no one; says nothing

concerning himself as being anybody or knowing anything. When he is in

any instance hindered or restrained, he accuses himself; and if he is

praised, he smiles to himself at the person who praises him; and if he is

censured, he makes no defense. But he goes about with the caution of a

convalescent, careful of interference with anything that is doing well

but not yet quite secure. He restrains desire; he transfers his aversion

to those things only which thwart the proper use of our own will; he

employs his energies moderately in all directions; if he appears stupid

or ignorant, he does not care; and, in a word, he keeps watch over

himself as over an enemy and one in ambush.

When anyone shows himself vain on being able to understand and interpret

the works of Chrysippus,[7] say to yourself: “Unless Chrysippus had

written obscurely, this person would have had nothing to be vain of. But

what do I desire? To understand nature, and follow her. I ask, then, who

interprets her; and hearing that Chrysippus does, I have recourse to him.

I do not understand his writings. I seek, therefore, one to interpret

_them_.” So far there is nothing to value myself upon. And when I find an

interpreter, what remains is to make use of his instructions. This alone

is the valuable thing. But if I admire merely the interpretation, what do

I become more than a grammarian, instead of a philosopher, except,

indeed, that instead of Homer I interpret Chrysippus? When anyone,

therefore, desires me to read Chrysippus to him, I rather blush when I

cannot exhibit actions that are harmonious and consonant with his

discourse.

Whatever rules you have adopted, abide by them as laws, and as if you

would be impious to transgress them; and do not regard what anyone says

of you, for this, after all, is no concern of yours. How long, then, will

you delay to demand of yourself the noblest improvements, and in no

instance to transgress the judgments of reason? You have received the

philosophic principles with which you ought to be conversant; and you

have been conversant with them. For what other master, then, do you wait

as an excuse for this delay in self-reformation? You are no longer a boy

but a grown man. If, therefore, you will be negligent and slothful, and

always add procrastination to procrastination, purpose to purpose, and

fix day after day in which you will attend to yourself, you will

insensibly continue to accomplish nothing and, living and dying, remain

of vulgar mind. This instant, then, think yourself worthy of living as a

man grown up and a proficient. Let whatever appears to be the best be to

you an inviolable law. And if any instance of pain or pleasure, glory or

disgrace, be set before you, remember that now is the combat, now the

Olympiad comes on, nor can it be put off; and that by one failure and

defeat honor may be lost or—won. Thus Socrates became perfect, improving

himself by everything, following reason alone. And though you are not yet

a Socrates, you ought, however, to live as one seeking to be a Socrates.

The first and most necessary topic in philosophy is the practical

application of principles, as, _We ought not to lie_; the second is that

of demonstrations as, _Why it is that we ought not to lie_; the third,

that which gives strength and logical connection to the other two, as,

_Why this is a demonstration_. For what is demonstration? What is a

consequence? What a contradiction? What truth? What falsehood? The third

point is then necessary on account of the second; and the second on

account of the first. But the most necessary, and that whereon we ought

to rest, is the first. But we do just the contrary. For we spend all our

time on the third point and employ all our diligence about that, and

entirely neglect the first. Therefore, at the same time that we lie, we

are very ready to show how it is demonstrated that lying is wrong.

Upon all occasions we ought to have these maxims ready at hand:

Conduct me, Zeus, and thou, O Destiny,

Wherever your decrees have fixed my lot.

I follow cheerfully; and, did I not,

Wicked and wretched, I must follow still.[8]

Who’er yields properly to Fate is deemed

Wise among men, and knows the laws of Heaven.[9]

And this third:

“O Crito, if it thus pleases the gods, thus let it be.”[10]

“Anytus and Melitus may kill me indeed; but hurt me they cannot.”[11]

Footnotes

us to aim at. Our missing it is no work of His; nor so properly

anything real, as a mere negative and failure of our own.

exception of some very trifling differences, is the same as chapter

XXIX of the _Enchiridion_.—Ed.]

with the highest encomiums, by Pliny the Younger, _Letters_ I. 10.

battle.—Ed.]

commentary on this passage, of a man assaulted and killed on his way

to consult the oracle, while his companion, deserting him, took refuge

in the temple till cast out by the Deity.—Tr.]

Stoic school.—Ed.]

head of the Stoa after Cleanthes. His works, which are lost, were most

influential and were generally accepted as the authoritative

interpretation of orthodox Stoic philosophy.—Ed.]

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