51-100

When thou goest in to any of the great, remember that Another from above sees what is passing, and that thou shouldst please Him rather than man. He therefore asks thee:—

When you meet with any powerful person, remember that Another from above sees what's happening. You should please Him rather than any human being. He asks you:

“In the Schools, what didst thou call exile, imprisonment, bonds, death and shame?”

"In school, what did you call exile, imprisonment, chains, death, and shame?"

“I called them things indifferent.”

"I called them things that don't matter."

“What then dost thou call them now? Are they at all changed?”

"So what do you call them now? Have they changed at all?"

“No.”

"No."

“Is it then thou that art changed?”

"So are you the one who has changed?"

“No.”

"No."

“Say then, what are things indifferent?”

"So then, what are indifferent things?"

“Things that are not in our power.”

"Things outside our control."

“Say then, what follows?”

"So what follows from that?"

“That things which are not in our power are nothing to me.”

"Things outside my control mean nothing to me."

“Say also what things you hold to be good.”

"Also tell me what things you believe are good."

“A will such as it ought to be, and a right use of the things of sense.”

"A will that's properly aligned, and the right way to use physical things."

“And what is the end?”

"And what's the goal?"

“To follow Thee!”

"To follow You!"

“That Socrates should ever have been so treated by the Athenians!”

"Can you believe the Athenians treated Socrates that way!"

Slave! why say “Socrates”? Speak of the thing as it is: That ever then the poor body of Socrates should have been dragged away and haled by main force to prison! That ever hemlock should have been given to the body of Socrates; that that should have breathed its life away!—Do you marvel at this? Do you hold this unjust? Is it for this that you accuse God? Had Socrates no compensation for this? Where then for him was the ideal Good? Whom shall we hearken to, you or him? And what says he?

Slave! Why say “Socrates”? Speak of the thing as it is: That the poor body of Socrates should ever have been dragged away and hauled by force to prison! That hemlock should ever have been given to the body of Socrates, and that that should have breathed its life away! Do you marvel at this? Do you think it unjust? Is it for this that you accuse God? Did Socrates have no compensation for this? Where then, for him, was the ideal Good? Whom shall we listen to, you or him? And what does he say?

“Anytus and Melitus may put me to death: to injure me is beyond their power.”

"Anytus and Melitus can kill me. But they can't harm me."

And again:—

And again:—

“If such be the will of God, so let it be.”

"If that's what God wants, then so be it."

Nay, young man, for heaven’s sake; but once thou hast heard these words, go home and say to thyself:—“It is not Epictetus that has told me these things: how indeed should he? No, it is some gracious God through him. Else it would never have entered his head to tell me them—he that is not used to speak to any one thus. Well, then, let us not lie under the wrath of God, but be obedient unto Him.”—-Nay, indeed; but if a raven by its croaking bears thee any sign, it is not the raven but God that sends the sign through the raven; and if He signifies anything to thee through human voice, will He not cause the man to say these words to thee, that thou mayest know the power of the Divine—how He sends a sign to some in one way and to others in another, and on the greatest and highest matters of all signifies His will through the noblest messenger?

Listen, young man, for heaven's sake. Once you've heard these words, go home and say to yourself: "Epictetus didn't tell me these things. How could he? No, some gracious God spoke through him. Otherwise it would never have occurred to him to tell me this. He doesn't usually speak to anyone this way. So let's not anger God. Let's obey Him instead." Think about it this way. If a raven's croaking brings you a sign, it's not the raven but God who sends the sign through the raven. And if He reveals something to you through a human voice, won't He cause that person to say these words to you? This is so you can understand the power of the Divine. He sends signs to some people one way and to others another way. On the greatest and most important matters of all, He reveals His will through the noblest messenger.

What else does the poet mean:—

What else does the poet mean: ---

In the same way my friend Heraclitus, who had a trifling suit about a petty farm at Rhodes, first showed the judges that his cause was just, and then at the finish cried, “I will not entreat you: nor do I care what sentence you pass. It is you who are on your trial, not I!”—And so he ended the case.

My friend Heraclitus had a minor lawsuit over a small farm at Rhodes. He first proved to the judges that his case was just. Then at the end he declared, "I will not beg you. I don't care what sentence you pass. You are the ones on trial here, not me!" That's how he closed the case.

As for us, we behave like a herd of deer. When they flee from the huntsman’s feathers in affright, which way do they turn? What haven of safety do they make for? Why, they rush upon the nets! And thus they perish by confounding what they should fear with that wherein no danger lies. . . . Not death or pain is to be feared, but the fear of death or pain. Well said the poet therefore:—

As for us, we behave like a herd of deer. When they flee in fright from the huntsman’s feathers (harmless lines of feathers strung up to scare them), which way do they turn? What safe haven do they head for? Why, they rush into the nets! And so they die, because they confuse what they should fear with what holds no danger. . . . It is not death or pain that is to be feared, but the fear of death or pain. So the poet put it well:

How is it then that certain external things are said to be natural, and other contrary to Nature?

How is it that we call some external things natural and others unnatural?

Why, just as it might be said if we stood alone and apart from others. A foot, for instance, I will allow it is natural should be clean. But if you take it as a foot, and as a thing which does not stand by itself, it will beseem it (if need be) to walk in the mud, to tread on thorns, and sometimes even to be cut off, for the benefit of the whole body; else it is no longer a foot. In some such way we should conceive of ourselves also. What art thou?—A man.—Looked at as standing by thyself and separate, it is natural for thee in health and wealth long to live. But looked at as a Man, and only as a part of a Whole, it is for that Whole’s sake that thou shouldest at one time fall sick, at another brave the perils of the sea, again, know the meaning of want and perhaps die an early death. Why then repine? Knowest thou not that as the foot is no more a foot if detached from the body, so thou in like case art no longer a Man? For what is a Man? A part of a City:—first of the City of Gods and Men; next, of that which ranks nearest it, a miniature of the universal City. . . . In such a body, in such a world enveloping us, among lives like these, such things must happen to one or another. Thy part, then, being here, is to speak of these things as is meet, and to order them as befits the matter.

Think of it this way, as if we stood alone and separate from others. Take a foot, for instance. I'll agree it's natural for it to be clean. But if you think of it as a foot, as something that doesn't exist by itself, then it should be willing (if necessary) to walk in mud, step on thorns, and sometimes even be cut off for the good of the whole body. Otherwise it's no longer a foot. We should think of ourselves in much the same way. What are you? A man. If you look at yourself as standing alone and separate, it's natural for you to want health, wealth, and a long life. But if you look at yourself as a Man, and only as a part of a Whole, then for that Whole's sake you should sometimes fall sick, sometimes face dangers at sea, sometimes know what it means to go without, and perhaps die young. Why complain then? Don't you know that just as the foot is no longer a foot when detached from the body, you're no longer a Man in the same situation? What is a Man, after all? A part of a City. First, of the City of Gods and Men. Second, of the city nearest to you, a small version of the universal City. In such a body, in such a world surrounding us, among lives like these, such things must happen to one person or another. Your role, then, is to speak of these things appropriately and to handle them as the situation requires.

That was a good reply which Diogenes made to a man who asked him for letters of recommendation.—“That you are a man, he will know when he sees you;—whether a good or bad one, he will know if he has any skill in discerning the good or bad. But if he has none, he will never know, though I write him a thousand times.”—It is as though a piece of silver money desired to be recommended to some one to be tested. If the man be a good judge of silver, he will know: the coin will tell its own tale.

Diogenes gave a great answer to someone who asked him for a letter of recommendation. "He'll know you're a man when he sees you. Whether you're good or bad, he'll figure out if he knows how to judge character. If he doesn't know how to judge people, he'll never figure it out, even if I write to him a thousand times." It's like a silver coin wanting someone to vouch for it before being tested. If the person knows silver, he'll recognize its value. The coin will speak for itself.

Even as the traveller asks his way of him that he meets, inclined in no wise to bear to the right rather than to the left (for he desires only the way leading whither he would go), so should we come unto God as to a guide; even as we use our eyes without admonishing them to show us some things rather than others, but content to receive the images of such things as they present to us. But as it is we stand anxiously watching the victim, and with the voice of supplication call upon the augur:—“Master, have mercy on me: vouchsafe unto me a way of escape!” Slave, would you then have aught else then what is best? is there anything better than what is God’s good pleasure? Why, as far as in you lies, would you corrupt your Judge, and lead your Counsellor astray?

Just as a traveler asks directions from someone he meets, with no preference for turning right or left (he only wants the road that leads to his destination), we should approach God as our guide. We use our eyes the same way, without telling them to show us certain things instead of others. We're content to see whatever images they present to us. But instead, we stand there anxiously watching the sacrificial victim. We call out to the fortune-teller with pleading voices: "Master, have mercy on me. Show me a way out!" Slave, do you want anything other than what is best? Is there anything better than what God wants? Why would you try to corrupt your Judge? Why would you lead your Counselor astray, as far as you're able?

God is beneficent. But the Good also is beneficent. It should seem then that where the real nature of God is, there too is to be found the real nature of the Good. What then is the real nature of God?—Intelligence, Knowledge, Right Reason. Here then without more ado seek the real nature of the Good. For surely thou dost not seek it in a plant or in an animal that reasoneth not.

God is beneficent. But the Good is also beneficent. It follows that wherever we find the true nature of God, we also find the true nature of the Good. What then is the true nature of God? Intelligence, Knowledge, Right Reason. So this is where you should look for the true nature of the Good. Surely you wouldn't look for it in a plant or in an animal without reason.

Seek then the real nature of the Good in that without whose presence thou wilt not admit the Good to exist in aught else.—What then? Are not these other things also works of God?—They are; but not preferred to honour, nor are they portions of God. But thou art a thing preferred to honour: thou art thyself a fragment torn from God:—thou hast a portion of Him within thyself. How is it then that thou dost not know thy high descent—dost not know whence thou comest? When thou eatest, wilt thou not remember who thou art that eatest and whom thou feedest? In intercourse, in exercise, in discussion knowest thou not that it is a God whom thou feedest, a God whom thou exercisest, a God whom thou bearest about with thee, O miserable! and thou perceivest it not. Thinkest thou that I speak of a God of silver or gold, that is without thee? Nay, thou bearest Him within thee! all unconscious of polluting Him with thoughts impure and unclean deeds. Were an image of God present, thou wouldest not dare to act as thou dost, yet, when God Himself is present within thee, beholding and hearing all, thou dost not blush to think such thoughts and do such deeds, O thou that art insensible of thine own nature and liest under the wrath of God!

Look for the true nature of the Good in that without which you won't find Good in anything else. What about other things? Aren't they also works of God? They are, but they're not preferred to honor. They aren't portions of God. But you are something preferred to honor. You yourself are a fragment torn from God. You have a portion of Him within yourself. Why don't you know your high descent? Why don't you know where you come from? When you eat, won't you remember who you are that eats and whom you feed? In relationships, in exercise, in discussion, don't you know that it is a God whom you feed, a God whom you exercise, a God whom you carry about with you, O miserable one! And you don't perceive it. Do you think I speak of a God of silver or gold that is outside you? No, you carry Him within you! You're completely unaware of polluting Him with impure thoughts and unclean deeds. If an image of God were present, you wouldn't dare to act as you do. Yet when God Himself is present within you, seeing and hearing all, you don't blush to think such thoughts and do such deeds. O you who are insensible of your own nature and lie under the wrath of God!

Why then are we afraid when we send a young man from the Schools into active life, lest he should indulge his appetites intemperately, lest he should debase himself by ragged clothing, or be puffed up by fine raiment? Knows he not the God within him; knows he not with whom he is starting on his way? Have we patience to hear him say to us, Would I had thee with me!—Hast thou not God where thou art, and having Him dost thou still seek for any other! Would He tell thee aught else than these things? Why, wert thou a statue of Phidias, an Athena or a Zeus, thou wouldst bethink thee both of thyself and thine artificer; and hadst thou any sense, thou wouldst strive to do no dishonour to thyself or him that fashioned thee, nor appear to beholders in unbefitting guise. But now, because God is thy Maker, is that why thou carest not of what sort thou shalt show thyself to be? Yet how different the artists and their workmanship! What human artist’s work, for example, has in it the faculties that are displayed in fashioning it? Is it aught but marble, bronze, gold, or ivory? Nay, when the Athena of Phidias has put forth her hand and received therein a Victory, in that attitude she stands for evermore. But God’s works move and breathe; they use and judge the things of sense. The workmanship of such an Artist, wilt thou dishonor Him? Ay, when he not only fashioned thee, but placed thee, like a ward, in the care and guardianship of thyself alone, wilt thou not only forget this, but also do dishonour to what is committed to thy care! If God had entrusted thee with an orphan, wouldst thou have thus neglected him? He hath delivered thee to thine own care, saying, I had none more faithful than myself: keep this man for me such as Nature hath made him—modest, faithful, high-minded, a stranger to fear, to passion, to perturbation. . . .

Why then are we afraid, when we send a young man from the Schools into active life, that he will indulge his appetites without restraint? Why fear that he will debase himself by ragged clothing, or be puffed up by fine clothes? Does he not know the God within him? Does he not know with whom he is setting out on his way? Can we have patience to hear him say to us, I wish I had you with me! Do you not have God where you are? And having him, do you still look for anyone else? Would he tell you anything other than these things? Why, if you were a statue by Phidias, an Athena or a Zeus, you would think of both yourself and your maker. And if you had any sense, you would try to do no dishonor to yourself or to the one who shaped you. You would not want to appear before viewers in an unfitting form. But now, because God is your Maker, is that why you do not care what sort of person you show yourself to be? Yet how different are the two artists, and their works! What human artist’s work, for example, contains the faculties that were shown in making it? Is it anything but marble, bronze, gold, or ivory? Indeed, once the Athena of Phidias has put out her hand and received a Victory in it, she stands in that pose forever. But God’s works move and breathe. They use and judge the things of sense. You are the work of such an Artist. Will you dishonor him? He not only made you. He also placed you, like a ward, in the care and guardianship of yourself alone. And will you not only forget this, but also dishonor what was committed to your care! If God had entrusted an orphan to you, would you have neglected him like this? He has handed you over to your own care, saying, I had no one more faithful than myself. Keep this man for me just as Nature made him: modest, faithful, high-minded, a stranger to fear, to passion, to disturbance. . . .

Such will I show myself to you all.—“What, exempt from sickness also: from age, from death?”—Nay, but accepting sickness, accepting death as becomes a God!

This is how I will show myself to you all. "What, free from sickness too? From aging, from death?" No, but accepting sickness and accepting death as a God would!

No labour, according to Diogenes, is good but that which aims at producing courage and strength of soul rather than of body.

According to Diogenes, the only worthwhile work is that which builds courage and strength of character, not physical strength.

A guide, on finding a man who has lost his way, brings him back to the right path—he does not mock and jeer at him and then take himself off. You also must show the unlearned man the truth, and you will see that he will follow. But so long as you do not show it him, you should not mock, but rather feel your own incapacity.

When a guide finds someone who's lost, he helps them back to the right path. He doesn't mock them and walk away. You should do the same with someone who doesn't understand. Show them the truth, and you'll see they will follow it. But if you haven't shown them yet, don't mock them. Instead, recognize your own failure to teach them properly.

It was the first and most striking characteristic of Socrates never to become heated in discourse, never to utter an injurious or insulting word—on the contrary, he persistently bore insult from others and thus put an end to the fray. If you care to know the extent of his power in this direction, read Xenophon’s Banquet, and you will see how many quarrels he put an end to. This is why the Poets are right in so highly commending this faculty:—

Socrates had one quality that stood out above all others: he never lost his temper in conversation. He never spoke harsh or insulting words. Instead, he calmly endured insults from others and stopped arguments before they escalated. Want to see how powerful this skill was? Read Xenophon's Banquet. You'll discover how many fights he ended. This is why the Poets are right to praise this ability so highly:

Nevertheless the practice is not very safe at present, especially in Rome. One who adopts it, I need not say, ought not to carry it out in an obscure corner, but boldly accost, if occasion serve, some personage of rank or wealth.

Still, this practice isn't very safe right now, especially in Rome. Anyone who takes it up shouldn't hide in some obscure corner. Instead, they should boldly approach some person of high rank or wealth when the opportunity arises.

“Can you tell me, sir, to whose care you entrust your horses?”

"Can you tell me, sir, who takes care of your horses?"

“I can.”

"I can."

“Is it to the first comer, who knows nothing about them?”

"Should you give them to just anyone who comes along, someone who knows nothing about them?"

“Certainly not.”

"Certainly not."

“Well, what of the man who takes care of your gold, your silver or your raiment?”

"Well, what about the person who takes care of your gold, your silver, or your clothes?"

“He must be experienced also.”

"He must also have experience."

“And your body—have you ever considered about entrusting it to any one’s care?”

"And your body—have you ever thought about trusting someone else to take care of it?"

“Of course I have.”

"Of course I have."

“And no doubt to a person of experience as a trainer, a physician?”

"And surely, to someone experienced as a trainer or a physician?"

“Surely.”

"Surely."

“And these things the best you possess, or have you anything more precious?”

"Are these the best things you have, or do you have anything more valuable?"

“What can you mean?”

"What do you mean?"

“I mean that which employs these; which weights all things; which takes counsel and resolve.”

"I'm talking about the part of you that uses these things, that weighs everything, that thinks things through and makes decisions."

“Oh, you mean the soul.”

"Oh, you mean the soul."

“You take me rightly; I do mean the soul. By Heaven, I hold that far more precious than all else I possess. Can you show me then what care you bestow on a soul? For it can scarcely be thought that a man of your wisdom and consideration in the city would suffer your most precious possession to go to ruin through carelessness and neglect.”

"You understand me correctly. I do mean the soul. I swear, I consider it far more precious than anything else I own. So tell me, what care do you give to your soul? It's hard to believe that someone as wise and respected in the city as you would let your most precious possession fall into ruin through carelessness and neglect."

“Certainly not.”

"Certainly not."

“Well, do you take care of it yourself? Did any one teach you the right method, or did you discover it yourself?”

"So, do you take care of it yourself? Did anyone teach you the right way to do it, or did you figure it out on your own?"

Now here comes in the danger: first, that the great man may answer, “Why, what is that to you, my good fellow? are you my master?” And then, if you persist in troubling him, may raise his hand to strike you. It is a practice of which I was myself a warm admirer until such experiences as these befell me.

Here's the danger: the important person might respond, "Why do you care? Who are you to tell me what to do?" If you keep bothering him, he might even hit you. I used to really admire this practice myself until things like this happened to me.

When a youth was giving himself airs in the Theatre and saying, “I am wise, for I have conversed with many wise men,” Epictetus replied, “I too have conversed with many rich men, yet I am not rich!”

When a young man was showing off in the Theatre and saying, "I am wise, for I have talked with many wise men," Epictetus replied, "I too have talked with many rich men, yet I am not rich!"

We see that a carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things: that a pilot, by learning certain things, becomes a pilot. Possibly also in the present case the mere desire to be wise and good is not enough. It is necessary to learn certain things. This is then the object of our search. The Philosophers would have us first learn that there is a God, and that His Providence directs the Universe; further, that to hide from Him not only one’s acts but even one’s thoughts and intentions is impossible; secondly, what the nature of God is. Whatever that nature is discovered to be, the man who would please and obey Him must strive with all his might to be made like unto him. If the Divine is faithful, he also must be faithful; if free, he also must be free; if beneficent, he also must be beneficent; if magnanimous, he also must be magnanimous. Thus as an imitator of God must he follow Him in every deed and word.

We see that a carpenter becomes a carpenter by learning certain things. A pilot becomes a pilot by learning certain things. Perhaps the same is true here. The mere desire to be wise and good is not enough. We must learn certain things. This is what we're searching for. Philosophers tell us to learn this first: there is a God, and His Providence directs the Universe. We cannot hide from Him, not our actions, not even our thoughts and intentions. Nothing can be hidden. Second, we must learn what the nature of God is. Whatever that nature turns out to be, anyone who wants to please and obey Him must try with all their strength to become like Him. If the Divine is faithful, we must also be faithful. If free, we must also be free. If beneficent, we must also be beneficent. If magnanimous, we must also be magnanimous. As an imitator of God, we must follow Him in every deed and word.

If I show you, that you lack just what is most important and necessary to happiness, that hitherto your attention has been bestowed on everything rather than that which claims it most; and, to crown all, that you know neither what God nor Man is—neither what Good or Evil is: why, that you are ignorant of everything else, perhaps you may bear to be told; but to hear that you know nothing of yourself, how could you submit to that? How could you stand your ground and suffer that to be proved? Clearly not at all. You instantly turn away in wrath. Yet what harm have I done to you? Unless indeed the mirror harms the ill-favoured man by showing him to himself just as he is; unless the physician can be thought to insult his patient, when he tells him:—“Friend, do you suppose there is nothing wrong with you? why, you have a fever. Eat nothing to-day, and drink only water.” Yet no one says, “What an insufferable insult!” Whereas if you say to a man, “Your desires are inflamed, your instincts of rejection are weak and low, your aims are inconsistent, your impulses are not in harmony with Nature, your opinions are rash and false,” he forthwith goes away and complains that you have insulted him.

Suppose I show you that you lack exactly what is most important and necessary for happiness. Suppose I show you that until now you have given your attention to everything except what most demands it. And, to crown it all, suppose I show you that you know neither what God is nor what Man is, neither what Good is nor what Evil is. Why, being told that you are ignorant of everything else, perhaps you may bear. But to hear that you know nothing of yourself, how could you submit to that? How could you stand your ground and let that be proved? Clearly you could not. You turn away at once in anger. Yet what harm have I done you? Unless, of course, the mirror harms the ugly man by showing him to himself just as he is. Unless the physician can be thought to insult his patient when he tells him, “Friend, do you suppose there is nothing wrong with you? Why, you have a fever. Eat nothing today, and drink only water.” Yet no one says, “What an unbearable insult!” But if you say to a man, “Your desires are inflamed, your instincts of rejection are weak and low, your aims are inconsistent, your impulses are not in harmony with Nature, your opinions are rash and false,” he at once goes away and complains that you have insulted him.

Our way of life resembles a fair. The flocks and herds are passing along to be sold, and the greater part of the crowd to buy and sell. But there are some few who come only to look at the fair, to inquire how and why it is being held, upon what authority and with what object. So too, in this great Fair of life, some, like the cattle, trouble themselves about nothing but the fodder. Know all of you, who are busied about land, slaves and public posts, that these are nothing but fodder! Some few there are attending the Fair, who love to contemplate what the world is, what He that administers it. Can there be no Administrator? is it possible, that while neither city nor household could endure even a moment without one to administer and see to its welfare, this Fabric, so fair, so vast, should be administered in order so harmonious, without a purpose and by blind chance? There is therefore an Administrator. What is His nature and how does He administer? And who are we that are His children and what work were we born to perform? Have we any close connection or relation with Him or not?

Our way of life is like a fair. Flocks and herds pass by to be sold. Most of the crowd comes to buy and sell. But a few people come only to watch the fair. They want to understand how and why it's being held. They ask about its authority and purpose. The same is true in this great Fair of life. Some people, like cattle, care only about fodder. Understand this, all of you who busy yourselves with land, slaves, and public positions. These things are nothing but fodder! A few people attend the Fair who love to think about what the world is. They wonder about the one who runs it. Can there be no Administrator? Is it possible that a city or household couldn't last even a moment without someone to manage it and look after its welfare, yet this Fabric, so beautiful and vast, could run in such harmonious order without purpose and by blind chance? There must be an Administrator. What is His nature and how does He govern? And who are we, His children, and what work were we born to do? Do we have any close connection or relationship with Him or not?

Such are the impressions of the few of whom I speak. And further, they apply themselves solely to considering and examining the great assembly before they depart. Well, they are derided by the multitude. So are the lookers-on by the traders: aye, and if the beasts had any sense, they would deride those who thought much of anything but fodder!

These are the impressions of the few people I'm talking about. They focus only on studying and examining the great gathering before they leave. The crowd mocks them for this. It's like how traders mock the spectators. And if animals could think, they would mock anyone who cared about anything besides food!

I think I know now what I never knew before—the meaning of the common saying, A fool you can neither bend nor break. Pray heaven I may never have a wise fool for my friend! There is nothing more intractable.—“My resolve is fixed!”—Why so madman say too; but the more firmly they believe in their delusions, the more they stand in need of treatment.

I think I finally understand what I never grasped before. The common saying, A fool you can neither bend nor break. I pray I never have a wise fool for my friend! Nothing is more stubborn than that. "My resolve is fixed!" they say. But madmen say the same thing. The more firmly they believe their delusions, the more they need help.

—“O! when shall I see Athens and its Acropolis again?”—Miserable man! art thou not contented with the daily sights that meet thine eyes? canst thou behold aught greater or nobler than the Sun, Moon, and Stars; than the outspread Earth and Sea? If indeed thou apprehendest Him who administers the universe, if thou bearest Him about within thee, canst thou still hanker after mere fragments of stone and fine rock? When thou art about to bid farewell to the Sun and Moon itself, wilt thou sit down and cry like a child? Why, what didst thou hear, what didst thou learn? why didst thou write thyself down a philosopher, when thou mightest have written what was the fact, namely, “I have made one or two Compendiums, I have read some works of Chrysippus, and I have not even touched the hem of Philosophy’s robe!”

"Oh, when will I see Athens and its Acropolis again?" You miserable man! Aren't you satisfied with the daily sights before your eyes? Can you see anything greater or nobler than the Sun, Moon, and Stars? What about the vast Earth and Sea spread out before you? If you truly understand the one who runs the universe, if you carry Him within you, can you still crave mere fragments of stone and pretty rock? When you're about to say goodbye to the Sun and Moon themselves, will you sit down and cry like a child? What did you learn? What did you study? Why did you call yourself a philosopher when you could have written the truth instead: "I made one or two Compendiums. I read some works of Chrysippus. I haven't even touched the hem of Philosophy's robe!"

Friend, lay hold with a desperate grasp, ere it is too late, on Freedom, on Tranquility, on Greatness of soul! Lift up thy head, as one escaped from slavery; dare to look up to God, and say:—“Deal with me henceforth as Thou wilt; Thou and I are of one mind. I am Thine: I refuse nothing that seeeth good to Thee; lead on whither Thou wilt; clothe me in what garb Thou pleasest; wilt Thou have me a ruler or a subject—at home or in exile—poor or rich? All these things will I justify unto men for Thee. I will show the true nature of each. . . .”

My friend, grab hold now with everything you have, before it's too late. Seize Freedom, Tranquility, and Greatness of soul! Lift up your head like someone who has escaped slavery. Dare to look up to God and say: "From now on, deal with me as You wish. You and I are of one mind. I am Yours. I refuse nothing that seems good to You. Lead me wherever You want. Dress me in whatever clothes You choose. Do You want me as a ruler or a subject? At home or in exile? Poor or rich? I will justify all these things to others for Your sake. I will show the true nature of each..."

Who would Hercules have been had he loitered at home? no Hercules, but Eurystheus. And in his wanderings through the world how many friends and comrades did he find? but nothing dearer to him than God. Wherefore he was believed to be God’s son, as indeed he was. So then in obedience to Him, he went about delivering the earth from injustice and lawlessness.

What would Hercules have been if he'd stayed home and done nothing? No Hercules at all, just another Eurystheus. During his travels around the world, he found many friends and companions. But nothing was more important to him than God. That's why people believed he was God's son, which he truly was. So in obedience to God, he went around the world freeing it from injustice and lawlessness.

But thou art not Hercules, thou sayest, and canst not deliver others from their iniquity—not even Theseus, to deliver the soil of Attica from its monsters? Purge away thine own, cast forth thence—from thine own mind, not robbers and monsters, but Fear, Desire, Envy, Malignity, Avarice, Effeminacy, Intemperance. And these may not be cast out, except by looking to God alone, by fixing thy affections on Him only, and by consecrating thyself to His commands. If thou choosest aught else, with sighs and groans thou wilt be forced to follow a Might greater than thine own, ever seeking Tranquillity without, and never able to attain unto her. For thou seekest her where she is not to be found; and where she is, there thou seekest her not!

You're not Hercules, you say, and you can't save others from their wickedness. You're not even Theseus, who could rid Attica of its monsters. Then purge away your own. Cast them out from your own mind. Not robbers and monsters, but Fear, Desire, Envy, Malice, Greed, Weakness, and Excess. You can't cast these out except by looking to God alone. Fix your affections on Him only. Consecrate yourself to His commands. If you choose anything else, you'll be forced to follow a power greater than your own, with sighs and groans. You'll always be seeking peace outside yourself. You'll never be able to reach it. You're looking for peace where it can't be found. And where it actually is, you're not looking!

If a man would pursue Philosophy, his first task is to throw away conceit. For it is impossible for a man to begin to learn what he has a conceit that he already knows.

If you want to pursue philosophy, your first task is to let go of conceit. You can't begin to learn what you think you already know.

Give me but one young man, that has come to the School with this intention, who stands forth a champion of this cause, and says, “All else I renounce, content if I am but able to pass my life free from hindrance and trouble; to raise my head aloft and face all things as a free man; to look up to heaven as a friend of God, fearing nothing that may come to pass!” Point out such a one to me, that I may say, “Enter, young man, into possession of that which is thine own. For thy lot is to adorn Philosophy. Thine are these possessions; thine these books, these discourses!”

Show me just one young man who comes to the School with this goal. Someone who stands up as a champion of this cause and says, "I give up everything else. I'll be satisfied if I can just live my life free from obstacles and worry. I want to hold my head high and face everything as a free man. I want to look up to heaven as a friend of God, without fearing anything that might happen." Point out someone like that to me so I can say, "Come in, young man. Take possession of what belongs to you. Your destiny is to honor Philosophy. These possessions are yours. These books are yours. These teachings are yours!"

And when our champion has duly exercised himself in this part of the subject, I hope he will come back to me and say:—“What I desire is to be free from passion and from perturbation; as one who grudges no pains in the pursuit of piety and philosophy, what I desire is to know my duty to the Gods, my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country, to strangers.”

After our student has properly trained himself in this area, I hope he'll return to me and say: "I want to be free from destructive emotions and inner turmoil. As someone who spares no effort in pursuing piety and philosophy, I want to know my duty to the Gods. I want to know my duty to my parents, to my brothers, to my country, to strangers."

“Enter then on the second part of the subject; it is thine also.”

"Move on to the second part of the topic. It's yours too."

“But I have already mastered the second part; only I wished to stand firm and unshaken—as firm when asleep as when awake, as firm when elated with wine as in despondency and dejection.”

"But I've already mastered the second part. I just wanted to stay firm and unshaken. As firm when I'm asleep as when I'm awake. As firm when I'm drunk as when I'm depressed and dejected."

“Friend, you are verily a God! you cherish great designs.”

"Friend, you really are a god! You have such grand ambitions."

“The question at stake,” said Epictetus, “is no common one; it is this:—Are we in our senses, or are we not?”

"The question at stake," said Epictetus, "is no common one; it is this: Are we in our senses, or are we not?"

If you have given way to anger, be sure that over and above the evil involved therein, you have strengthened the habit, and added fuel to the fire. If overcome by a temptation of the flesh, do not reckon it a single defeat, but that you have also strengthened your dissolute habits. Habits and faculties are necessarily affected by the corresponding acts. Those that were not there before, spring up: the rest gain in strength and extent. This is the account which Philosophers give of the origin of diseases of the mind:—Suppose you have once lusted after money: if reason sufficient to produce a sense of evil be applied, then the lust is checked, and the mind at once regains its original authority; whereas if you have recourse to no remedy, you can no longer look for this return—on the contrary, the next time it is excited by the corresponding object, the flame of desire leaps up more quickly than before. By frequent repetition, the mind in the long run becomes callous; and thus this mental disease produces confirmed Avarice.

If you've given in to anger, understand this: beyond the immediate harm, you've also strengthened the habit and added fuel to the fire. If you've been overcome by physical temptation, don't count it as just one defeat. You've also reinforced your undisciplined habits. Habits and abilities are shaped by the actions that correspond to them. New ones emerge where none existed before. Existing ones grow stronger and more extensive. This is how philosophers explain the origin of mental diseases. Suppose you've lusted after money once. If you apply enough reasoning to recognize the evil in it, the lust is stopped. Your mind immediately regains its original authority. But if you use no remedy, you can't expect this recovery. On the contrary, the next time the corresponding object triggers it, the flame of desire leaps up more quickly than before. Through frequent repetition, the mind eventually becomes numb. This mental disease then produces confirmed greed.

One who has had fever, even when it has left him, is not in the same condition of health as before, unless indeed his cure is complete. Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of the mind. Behind, there remains a legacy of traces and blisters: and unless these are effectually erased, subsequent blows on the same spot will produce no longer mere blisters, but sores. If you do not wish to be prone to anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend its increase. At first, keep quiet and count the days when you were not angry: “I used to be angry every day, then every other day: next every two, next every three days!” and if you succeed in passing thirty days, sacrifice to the Gods in thanksgiving.

When someone recovers from a fever, they're not immediately back to full health unless they're completely cured. The same thing happens with mental illnesses. Traces and scars remain behind. If these aren't properly healed, the next blow to the same spot won't just cause blisters. It will create open wounds. If you don't want to be quick to anger, don't feed the habit. Give it nothing that helps it grow. Start by staying calm and counting the days you weren't angry: "I used to be angry every day, then every other day, then every two days, then every three days!" If you make it thirty days, offer thanks to the Gods in gratitude.

How then may this be attained?—Resolve, now if never before, to approve thyself to thyself; resolve to show thyself fair in God’s sight; long to be pure with thine own pure self and God!

How can you achieve this? Decide now, if you haven't already, to earn your own approval. Decide to present yourself honorably before God. Strive to be pure in the eyes of your own pure self and God!

That is the true athlete, that trains himself to resist such outward impressions as these.

A true athlete trains themselves to resist these kinds of external impressions.

“Stay, wretched man! suffer not thyself to be carried away!” Great is the combat, divine the task! you are fighting for Kingship, for Liberty, for Happiness, for Tranquillity. Remember God: call upon Him to aid thee, like a comrade that stands beside thee in the fight.

"Stop, you miserable person! Don't let yourself be swept away!" The struggle is great, the task divine! You are fighting for Kingship, for Liberty, for Happiness, for Peace of Mind. Remember God. Call on Him to help you, like a comrade standing beside you in the fight.

Who then is a Stoic—in the sense that we call a statue of Phidias which is modelled after that master’s art? Show me a man in this sense modelled after the doctrines that are ever upon his lips. Show me a man that is sick—and happy; an exile—and happy; in evil report—and happy! Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I long to see one Stoic! Nay, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at least see one in whom the process is at work—one whose bent is in that direction. Do me that favour! Grudge it not to an old man, to behold a sight he has never yet beheld. Think you I wish to see the Zeus or Athena of Phidias, bedecked with gold and ivory?—Nay, show me, one of you, a human soul, desiring to be of one mind with God, no more to lay blame on God or man, to suffer nothing to disappoint, nothing to cross him, to yield neither to anger, envy, nor jealousy—in a word, why disguise the matter? one that from a man would fain become a God; one that while still imprisoned in this dead body makes fellowship with God his aim. Show me him!—Ah, you cannot! Then why mock yourselves and delude others? why stalk about tricked out in other men’s attire, thieves and robbers that you are of names and things to which you can show no title!

Who then is a Stoic, in the sense in which we call a statue a Phidias when it is modelled on that master’s art? Show me a man modelled in this way on the doctrines that are always on his lips. Show me a man who is sick, and happy. An exile, and happy. In disgrace, and happy! Show me him, I ask again. So help me Heaven, I long to see one Stoic! No, if you cannot show me one fully modelled, let me at least see one in whom the process is at work, one whose bent is in that direction. Do me that favor! Do not begrudge an old man the sight of something he has never yet seen. Do you think I want to see the Zeus or Athena of Phidias, adorned with gold and ivory? No, show me, one of you, a human soul that desires to be of one mind with God. Show me one who no longer lays blame on God or man, who lets nothing disappoint him and nothing cross him, and who gives way to neither anger, envy, nor jealousy. In a word, why disguise the matter? Show me one who longs to become a God instead of a man. Show me one who, while still imprisoned in this dead body, makes fellowship with God his aim. Show me him! Ah, you cannot! Then why mock yourselves and deceive others? Why do you strut about dressed up in other men’s clothes, thieves and robbers that you are, of names and things to which you can show no claim!

If you have assumed a character beyond your strength, you have both played a poor figure in that, and neglected one that is within your powers.

If you take on a role that's beyond your abilities, you'll do poorly at it. You'll also ignore a role you could have handled well.

Fellow, you have come to blows at home with a slave: you have turned the household upside down, and thrown the neighbourhood into confusion; and do you come to me then with airs of assumed modesty—do you sit down like a sage and criticise my explanation of the readings, and whatever idle babble you say has come into my head? Have you come full of envy, and dejected because nothing is sent you from home; and while the discussion is going on, do you sit brooding on nothing but how your father or your brother are disposed towards you:—“What are they saying about me there? at this moment they imagine I am making progress and saying, He will return perfectly omniscient! I wish I could become omniscient before I return; but that would be very troublesome. No one sends me anything—the baths at Nicopolis are dirty; things are wretched at home and wretched here.” And then they say, “Nobody is any the better for the School.”—Who comes to the School with a sincere wish to learn: to submit his principles to correction and himself to treatment? Who, to gain a sense of his wants? Why then be surprised if you carry home from the School exactly what you bring into it?

Look at you. You got into a fight with a slave at home. You turned the whole household upside down and threw the neighborhood into chaos. And now you come to me putting on airs of fake humility. You sit down like some wise man and criticize how I explain the readings. You judge whatever random thoughts you think have popped into my head. You arrive full of envy and depressed because nothing gets sent to you from home. During the whole discussion, you sit there brooding about nothing except how your father or brother feel about you. "What are they saying about me back there? Right now they probably think I'm making progress and saying, 'He'll come back knowing everything!' I wish I could become all-knowing before I return, but that would be so much work. No one sends me anything. The baths at Nicopolis are filthy. Things are terrible at home and terrible here." And then people say, "Nobody gets any better from the School." Who actually comes to the School with a genuine desire to learn? Who comes to have their principles corrected and themselves given treatment? Who comes to understand what they're lacking? Why be surprised then if you take home from the School exactly what you brought into it?

“Epictetus, I have often come desiring to hear you speak, and you have never given me any answer; now if possible, I entreat you, say something to me.”

"Epictetus, I've come to hear you speak many times, but you've never answered me. Now, if you can, I'm begging you. Please say something to me."

“Is there, do you think,” replied Epictetus, “an art of speaking as of other things, if it is to be done skilfully and with profit to the hearer?”

"Do you think," Epictetus replied, "that there's an art to speaking, just like there is for other skills, if you want to do it well and benefit your listener?"

“Yes.”

"Yes."

“And are all profited by what they hear, or only some among them? So that it seems there is an art of hearing as well as of speaking. . . . To make a statue needs skill: to view a statue aright needs skill also.”

"Do all people benefit from what they hear, or only some of them? It seems there is an art to hearing, just as there is an art to speaking. . . . Making a statue requires skill. Viewing a statue properly requires skill too."

“Admitted.”

"Agreed."

“And I think all will allow that one who proposes to hear philosophers speak needs a considerable training in hearing. Is that not so? The tell me on what subject your are able to hear me.”

I think everyone would agree that listening to philosophers requires real training. Don't you think so? Then tell me what subject you're actually able to hear me discuss.

“Why, on good and evil.”

"Why, on good and evil."

“The good and evil of what? a horse, an ox?”

"The good and evil of what? A horse, an ox?"

“No; of a man.”

"No, of a man."

“Do we know then what Man is? what his nature is? what is the idea we have of him? And are our ears practised in any degree on the subject? Nay, do you understand what Nature is? can you follow me in any degree when I say that I shall have to use demonstration? Do you understand what Demonstration is? what True or False is? . . . must I drive you to Philosophy? . . . Show me what good I am to do by discoursing with you. Rouse my desire to do so. The sight of a pasture it loves stirs in a sheep the desire to feed: show it a stone or a bit of bread and it remains unmoved. Thus we also have certain natural desires, aye, and one that moves us to speak when we find a listener that is worth his salt: one that himself stirs the spirit. But if he sits by like a stone or a tuft of grass, how can he rouse a man’s desire?”

Do we even know what a human being is? What our nature is? What concept do we have of ourselves? Have our ears been trained at all on this subject? Do you understand what Nature is? Can you follow me at all when I say I'll need to use logical proof? Do you understand what proof is? What true or false means? . . . must I force you into Philosophy? . . . Show me what good it will do to talk with you. Give me a reason to want to do it. When a sheep sees a pasture it loves, it wants to feed. Show it a stone or a piece of bread and it stays still. We have certain natural desires too, including one that moves us to speak when we find a listener who's worth talking to, one who stirs our spirit. But if someone sits there like a stone or a clump of grass, how can he awaken a person's desire to speak?

“Then you will say nothing to me?”

"So you won't say anything to me?"

“I can only tell you this: that one who knows not who he is and to what end he was born; what kind of world this is and with whom he is associated therein; one who cannot distinguish Good and Evil, Beauty and Foulness, . . . Truth and Falsehood, will never follow Reason in shaping his desires and impulses and repulsions, nor yet in assent, denial, or suspension of judgement; but will in one word go about deaf and blind, thinking himself to be somewhat, when he is in truth of no account. Is there anything new in all this? Is not this ignorance the cause of all the mistakes and mischances of men since the human race began? . . .”

Here's what I can tell you: someone who doesn't know who they are or why they were born is lost. Someone who doesn't understand what kind of world this is or who they share it with is confused. Someone who can't tell the difference between Good and Evil, Beauty and Ugliness, Truth and Falsehood will never use Reason to guide their desires and actions. They won't know when to agree, disagree, or hold back judgment. In short, they'll stumble through life deaf and blind, thinking they matter when they really don't. Is any of this new? Hasn't this ignorance been the root cause of every mistake and disaster humanity has faced since the beginning?

“This is all I have to say to you, and even this against the grain. Why? Because you have not stirred my spirit. For what can I see in you to stir me, as a spirited horse will stir a judge of horses? Your body? That you maltreat. Your dress? That is luxurious. You behavior, your look?—Nothing whatever. When you want to hear a philosopher, do not say, You say nothing to me’; only show yourself worthy or fit to hear, and then you will see how you will move the speaker.”

"This is all I have to say to you, and even this reluctantly. Why? Because you haven't stirred my spirit. What can I see in you to inspire me, the way a spirited horse will inspire a judge of horses? Your body? You mistreat it. Your dress? It's luxurious. Your behavior, your appearance? Nothing at all. When you want to hear a philosopher, don't say, 'You say nothing to me.' Just show yourself worthy or fit to hear, and then you'll see how you move the speaker."

And now, when you see brothers apparently good friends and living in accord, do not immediately pronounce anything upon their friendship, though they should affirm it with an oath, though they should declare, “For us to live apart in a thing impossible!” For the heart of a bad man is faithless, unprincipled, inconstant: now overpowered by one impression, now by another. Ask not the usual questions, Were they born of the same parents, reared together, and under the same tutor; but ask this only, in what they place their real interest—whether in outward things or in the Will. If in outward things, call them not friends, any more than faithful, constant, brave or free: call them not even human beings, if you have any sense. . . . But should you hear that these men hold the Good to lie only in the Will, only in rightly dealing with the things of sense, take no more trouble to inquire whether they are father and son or brothers, or comrades of long standing; but, sure of this one thing, pronounce as boldly that they are friends as that they are faithful and just: for where else can Friendship be found than where Modesty is, where there is an interchange of things fair and honest, and of such only?

When you see brothers who seem like good friends living in harmony, don't rush to judge their friendship. This is true even if they swear oaths about it. Even if they say, "We could never live apart!" Don't believe them right away. The heart of a bad person can't be trusted. It has no principles. It's unstable, controlled first by one feeling, then by another. Don't ask the usual questions. Don't ask if they were born to the same parents, raised together, or taught by the same teacher. Ask only this: where do they place their real interests? Is it in external things or in the Will? If they care about external things, don't call them friends. Don't call them faithful, constant, brave, or free. If you have any sense, don't even call them human beings. But suppose you learn that these men believe the Good exists only in the Will. Suppose they believe it exists only in dealing rightly with the things of the senses. Then stop asking questions. Don't bother checking if they're father and son, brothers, or old companions. Once you know this one thing, you can boldly say they are friends. You can say they are faithful and just. Where else can Friendship exist except where there is Modesty? Where else but where people exchange what is fair and honest, and nothing else?

No man can rob us of our Will—no man can lord it over that!

No one can steal our free will. No one can control that!

When disease and death overtake me, I would fain be found engaged in the task of liberating mine own Will from the assaults of passion, from hindrance, from resentment, from slavery.

When disease and death come for me, I hope to be found working to free my own will. I want to liberate it from the attacks of passion, from obstacles, from resentment, from slavery.

Thus would I fain to be found employed, so that I may say to God, “Have I in aught transgressed Thy commands? Have I in aught perverted the faculties, the senses, the natural principles that Thou didst give me? Have I ever blamed Thee or found fault with Thine administration? When it was Thy good pleasure, I fell sick—and so did other men: by my will consented. Because it was Thy pleasure, I became poor: but my heart rejoiced. No power in the State was mine, because Thou wouldst not: such power I never desired! Hast Thou ever seen me of more doleful countenance on that account? Have I not ever drawn nigh unto Thee with cheerful look, waiting upon Thy commands, attentive to Thy signals? Wilt Thou that I now depart from the great Assembly of men? I go: I give Thee all thanks, that Thou hast deemed me worthy to take part with Thee in this Assembly: to behold Thy works, to comprehend this Thine administration.”

This is how I would want to be found occupied, so that I may say to God, “Have I in any way broken your commands? Have I in any way misused the faculties, the senses, the natural principles that you gave me? Have I ever blamed you or found fault with your administration? When it was your good pleasure, I fell sick, and so did other men. And my will consented. Because it was your pleasure, I became poor. But my heart rejoiced. I held no power in the State, because you did not will it. Such power I never desired! Have you ever seen me look gloomier on that account? Have I not always come before you with a cheerful face, waiting on your commands, attentive to your signals? Do you want me to leave the great Assembly of men now? I go. I give you all thanks that you have thought me worthy to take part with you in this Assembly, to see your works, and to understand this administration of yours.”

Such I would were the subject of my thoughts, my pen, my study, when death overtakes me.

I want these to be the subjects filling my thoughts, my writing, and my study when death finds me.

Seemeth it nothing to you, never to accuse, never to blame either God or Man? to wear ever the same countenance in going forth as in coming in? This was the secret of Socrates: yet he never said that he knew or taught anything. . . . Who amongst you makes this his aim? Were it indeed so, you would gladly endure sickness, hunger, aye, death itself.

Does it seem like nothing to you, never to accuse anyone? Never to blame God or other people? To always wear the same expression when going out as when coming home? This was the secret of Socrates. Yet he never claimed that he knew or taught anything. . . . Who among you makes this your goal? If you truly did, you would gladly endure sickness, hunger, even death itself.

How are we constituted by Nature? To be free, to be noble, to be modest (for what other living thing is capable of blushing, or of feeling the impression of shame?) and to subordinate pleasure to the ends for which Nature designed us, as a handmaid and a minister, in order to call forth our activity; in order to keep us constant to the path prescribed by Nature.

How did Nature design us? To be free, to be noble, to be modest. What other living creature can blush or feel shame? We're meant to treat pleasure as a servant, not a master. Pleasure should serve the purposes Nature intended for us. It should motivate us to act and keep us on the path Nature laid out for us.

The husbandman deals with land; physicians and trainers with the body; the wise man with his own Mind.

A farmer works with land. Doctors and trainers work with the body. The wise person works with their own mind.

Which of us does not admire what Lycurgus the Spartan did? A young citizen had put out his eye, and been handed over to him by the people to be punished at his own discretion. Lycurgus abstained from all vengeance, but on the contrary instructed and made a good man of him. Producing him in public in the theatre, he said to the astonished Spartans:—“I received this young man at your hands full of violence and wanton insolence; I restore him to you in his right mind and fit to serve his country.”

Who among us doesn't admire what Lycurgus the Spartan did? A young citizen had put out his eye. The people handed the young man over to Lycurgus to be punished however he saw fit. Lycurgus didn't take revenge. Instead, he taught the young man and made him into a good person. He brought him out in public at the theater. He said to the astonished Spartans: "You gave me this young man full of violence and reckless arrogance. I'm returning him to you in his right mind and ready to serve his country."

A money-changer may not reject Cæsar’s coin, nor may the seller of herbs, but must when once the coin is shown, deliver what is sold for it, whether he will or no. So is it also with the Soul. Once the Good appears, it attracts towards itself; evil repels. But a clear and certain impression of the Good the Soul will never reject, any more than men do Cæsar’s coin. On this hangs every impulse alike of Man and God.

A money-changer cannot refuse Caesar's coin. Neither can the herb seller. Once the coin is shown, they must hand over what is being sold, whether they want to or not. The Soul works the same way. When the Good appears, it draws us toward itself. Evil pushes us away. But when the Soul sees a clear and certain impression of the Good, it will never reject it, just as people never reject Caesar's coin. Every impulse of both Man and God depends on this.

Asked what Common Sense was, Epictetus replied:—

When asked what Common Sense was, Epictetus replied:

As that may be called a Common Ear which distinguishes only sounds, while that which distinguishes musical notes is not common but produced by training; so there are certain things which men not entirely perverted see by the natural principles common to all. Such a constitution of the Mind is called Common Sense.

Think of an ordinary ear that can only tell sounds apart. Compare it to a trained ear that can pick out musical notes. The trained ear isn't ordinary. It comes from practice. In the same way, people who aren't completely corrupted can see certain things through natural principles we all share. We call this mental ability Common Sense.

Canst thou judge men? . . . then make us imitators of thyself, as Socrates did. Do this, do not do that, else will I cast thee into prison: this is not governing men like reasonable creatures. Say rather, As God hath ordained, so do; else thou wilt suffer chastisement and loss. Askest thou what loss? None other than this: To have left undone what thou shouldst have done: to have lost the faithfulness, the reverence, the modesty that is in thee! Greater loss than this seek not to find!

Can you judge others? Then make us want to imitate you, as Socrates did. Do this, don't do that, or I'll throw you in prison. That's not how you govern reasonable people. Say instead, Do as God has ordained. If you don't, you will suffer punishment and loss. What loss, you ask? Nothing more than this: You will have failed to do what you should have done. You will have lost the faithfulness, reverence, and modesty within you. Don't look for any greater loss than that!

“His son is dead.”

"His son is dead."

What has happened?

What has happened?

“His son is dead.”

"His son is dead."

Nothing more?

Nothing more?

“Nothing.”

"Nothing."

“His ship is lost.”

"His ship is lost."

“He has been haled to prison.”

"He has been dragged to prison."

What has happened?

What has happened?

“He has been haled to prison.”

"He has been dragged to prison."

But that any of these things are misfortunes to him, is an addition which every one makes of his own. But (you say) God is unjust is this.—Why? For having given thee endurance and greatness of soul? For having made such things to be no evils? For placing happiness within thy reach, even when enduring them? For open unto thee a door, when things make not for thy good?—Depart, my friend and find fault no more!

But calling any of these things misfortunes is something each person adds on their own. You say God is unjust in this? Why? For giving you endurance and greatness of soul? For making such things not actually evils? For putting happiness within your reach, even while you endure them? For opening a door for you when things don't work in your favor? Leave, my friend, and stop complaining!

You are sailing to Rome (you tell me) to obtain the post of Governor of Cnossus. You are not content to stay at home with the honours you had before; you want something on a larger scale, and more conspicuous. But when did you ever undertake a voyage for the purpose of reviewing your own principles and getting rid of any of them that proved unsound? Whom did you ever visit for that object? What time did you ever set yourself for that? What age? Run over the times of your life—by yourself, if you are ashamed before me. Did you examine your principles when a boy? Did you not do everything just as you do now? Or when you were a stripling, attending the school of oratory and practising the art yourself, what did you ever imagine you lacked? And when you were a young man, entered upon public life, and were pleading causes and making a name, who any longer seemed equal to you? And at what moment would you have endured another examining your principles and proving that they were unsound? What then am I to say to you? “Help me in this matter!” you cry. Ah, for that I have no rule! And neither did you, if that was your object, come to me as a philosopher, but as you might have gone to a herb-seller or a cobbler.—“What do philosophers have rules for, then?”—Why, that whatever may betide, our ruling faculty may be as Nature would have it, and so remain. Think you this a small matter? Not so! but the greatest thing there is. Well, does it need but a short time? Can it be grasped by a passer-by?—grasp it, if you can!

You're sailing to Rome, you tell me, to get the position of Governor of Cnossus. You're not happy staying home with the honors you already have. You want something bigger and more impressive. But when did you ever take a trip to examine your own principles and get rid of the ones that don't hold up? Who did you ever visit for that purpose? What time did you ever set aside for it? At what age? Go through the stages of your life. Do it alone if you're too embarrassed to do it in front of me. Did you examine your principles when you were a boy? Didn't you do everything just like you do now? Or when you were a young man attending rhetoric school and practicing the art yourself, what did you think you were missing? And when you became an adult, entered public life, argued cases and built your reputation, who could match you then? At what point would you have let someone else examine your principles and prove they were flawed? So what am I supposed to say to you? "Help me with this!" you cry. I have no method for that! And you didn't come to me as a philosopher either, if that was your goal. You came to me like you'd go to a spice merchant or a shoemaker. "What do philosophers have methods for, then?" For this: that whatever happens, our ruling faculty stays as Nature intended it to be. You think this is a small thing? It's not. It's the greatest thing there is. Well, does it only take a short time? Can someone passing through grasp it? Go ahead and try, if you can!

Then you will say, “Yes, I met Epictetus!”

Then you'll say, "Yes, I met Epictetus!"

Aye, just as you might a statue or a monument. You saw me! and that is all. But a man who meets a man is one who learns the other’s mind, and lets him see his in turn. Learn my mind—show me yours; and then go and say that you met me. Let us try each other; if I have any wrong principle, rid me of it; if you have, out with it. That is what meeting a philosopher means. Not so, you think; this is only a flying visit; while we are hiring the ship, we can see Epictetus too! Let us see what he has to say. Then on leaving you cry, “Out on Epictetus for a worthless fellow, provincial and barbarous of speech!” What else indeed did you come to judge of?

Yes, treat me like you would a statue or a monument. You saw me, and that's all. But when one person truly meets another, they learn what the other thinks. They let the other see their own thoughts in return. Learn what I think. Show me what you think. Then you can say you met me. Let's test each other. If I have any wrong ideas, help me get rid of them. If you have any, bring them out. That's what meeting a philosopher means. But no, you don't think that way. This is just a quick stop. While you're hiring the ship, you figure you can see Epictetus too! Let's see what he has to say. Then when you leave, you complain, "Epictetus is worthless, provincial, and speaks like a barbarian!" What else did you come here to judge?

Whether you will or no, you are poorer than I!

Whether you like it or not, you are poorer than I am!

“What then do I lack?”

"So what am I missing?"

What you have not: Constancy of mind, such as Nature would have it be: Tranquillity. Patron or no patron, what care I? but you do care. I am richer than you: I am not racked with anxiety as to what Cæsar may think of me; I flatter none on that account. This is what I have, instead of vessels of gold and silver! your vessels may be of gold, but your reason, your principles, your accepted views, your inclinations, your desires are of earthenware.

What you do not have: constancy of mind, such as Nature would have it be. Tranquillity. Whether I have a patron or not, what do I care? But you do care. I am richer than you. I am not racked with anxiety about what Cæsar may think of me. I flatter no one on that account. This is what I have instead of vessels of gold and silver! Your vessels may be of gold, but your reason, your principles, your accepted views, your inclinations, your desires are of earthenware.

To you, all you have seems small: to me, all I have seems great. Your desire is insatiable, mine is satisfied. See children thrusting their hands into a narrow-necked jar, and striving to pull out the nuts and figs it contains: if they fill the hand, they cannot pull it out again, and then they fall to tears.—“Let go a few of them, and then you can draw out the rest!”—You, too, let your desire go! covet not many things, and you will obtain.

What you have seems small to you. What I have seems great to me. Your desire can never be satisfied. Mine is content. Watch children reaching into a jar with a narrow neck, trying to pull out the nuts and figs inside. If they fill their hand, they can't pull it back out. Then they start crying. "Let go of a few, and then you can pull out the rest!" You need to do the same with your desires. Stop wanting so many things, and you'll get what you need.

Pittacus wronged by one whom he had it in his power to punish, let him go free, saying, Forgiveness is better than revenge. The one shows native gentleness, the other savagery.

Pittacus was wronged by someone he had the power to punish. Instead, he let the person go free, saying, Forgiveness is better than revenge. One approach shows natural kindness, the other shows cruelty.

“My brother ought not to have treated me thus.”

"My brother shouldn't have treated me this way."

True: but he must see to that. However he may treat me, I must deal rightly by him. This is what lies with me, what none can hinder.

True. But he must see to that. No matter how he treats me, I must treat him rightly. This is what's up to me. No one can stop me from doing this.

Nevertheless a man should also be prepared to be sufficient unto himself—to dwell with himself alone, even as God dwells with Himself alone, shares His repose with none, and considers the nature of His own administration, intent upon such thoughts as are meet unto Himself. So should we also be able to converse with ourselves, to need none else beside, to sigh for no distraction, to bend our thoughts upon the Divine Administration, and how we stand related to all else; to observe how human accidents touched us of old, and how they touch us now; what things they are that still have power to hurt us, and how they may be cured or removed; to perfect what needs perfecting as Reason would direct.

A person should also learn to be self-sufficient. They should be able to spend time alone with themselves, just as God exists alone. God shares His rest with no one and focuses on the nature of His own work, thinking thoughts that are fitting for Him. We should be able to do the same. We should be able to talk with ourselves and not need anyone else. We shouldn't long for distractions. Instead, we should focus our thoughts on the Divine Administration and understand our relationship to everything else. We need to look at how human troubles affected us in the past and how they affect us now. We must identify what things still have the power to hurt us. Then we can figure out how to heal or remove them. We should work to improve whatever needs improving, following Reason as our guide.

If a man has frequent intercourse with others, either in the way of conversation, entertainment, or simple familiarity, he must either become like them, or change them to his own fashion. A live coal placed next a dead one will either kindle that or be quenched by it. Such being the risk, it is well to be cautious in admitting intimacies of this sort, remembering that one cannot rub shoulders with a soot-stained man without sharing the soot oneself. What will you do, supposing the talk turns on gladiators, or horses, or prize-fighters, or (what is worse) on persons, condemning this and that, approving the other? Or suppose a man sneers and jeers or shows a malignant temper? Has any among us the skill of the lute-player, who knows at the first touch which strings are out of tune and sets the instrument right: has any of you such power as Socrates had, in all his intercourse with men, of winning them over to his own convictions? Nay, but you must needs be swayed hither and thither by the uninstructed. How comes it then that they prove so much stronger than you? Because they speak from the fulness of the heart—their low, corrupt views are their real convictions: whereas your fine sentiments are but from the lips, outwards; that is why they are so nerveless and dead. It turns one’s stomach to listen to your exhortations, and hear of your miserable Virtue, that you prate of up and down. Thus it is that the Vulgar prove too strong for you. Everywhere strength, everywhere victory waits your conviction!

If a man spends a lot of time with others, whether in conversation, at entertainments, or in simple familiarity, he must either become like them or change them to his own ways. A live coal placed next to a dead one will either kindle it or be put out by it. Since the risk is this great, it is wise to be cautious about letting such intimacies form. Remember that you cannot rub shoulders with a man covered in soot without getting some of the soot on yourself. What will you do if the talk turns to gladiators, or horses, or prize-fighters, or (what is worse) to persons, condemning this one and that one, approving another? Or suppose a man sneers and jeers, or shows a spiteful temper? Does any of us have the skill of the lute-player, who knows at the first touch which strings are out of tune and sets the instrument right? Does any of you have the power Socrates had, in all his dealings with men, of winning them over to his own convictions? No, you are bound to be swayed this way and that by the uninstructed. How is it, then, that they prove so much stronger than you? Because they speak from the fullness of the heart. Their low, corrupt views are their real convictions. Your fine sentiments, on the other hand, come only from the lips, outward. That is why they are so feeble and dead. It turns one’s stomach to listen to your exhortations, and to hear about your miserable Virtue, which you chatter about up and down. That is how the common people prove too strong for you. Everywhere, strength and victory wait on your conviction!

In general, any methods of discipline applied to the body which tend to modify its desires or repulsions, are good—for ascetic ends. But if done for display, they betray at once a man who keeps an eye on outward show; who has an ulterior purpose, and is looking for spectators to shout, “Oh what a great man!” This is why Apollonius so well said: “If you are bent upon a little private discipline, wait till you are choking with heat some day—then take a mouthful of cold water, and spit it out again, and tell no man!”

Generally, any physical discipline that helps control your desires or aversions is good when done for self-improvement. But if you do it for show, you reveal yourself as someone who cares about appearances. You have hidden motives and want an audience to shout, "Oh what a great man!" This is why Apollonius said it so well: "If you want to practice a little private discipline, wait until you're burning up with heat one day. Then take a mouthful of cold water, spit it out again, and tell no one!"