Discourses and Enchiridion

An excellent answer. Nor does the musician heed the multitude, so far as he is a true musician, nor the geometrician. Do you wish then to do good? What are you aiming at? Tell us, that we too may run to your lecture-room. Now can any one do good to others unless he has received good himself? No, no more than the man who is no carpenter can help others in carpentry, or he who is no shoemaker in shoemaking. that you have profited by your training. Would you really know then whether you have received any good? Produce your judgements, my philosopher. What does the will to get profess? Success in getting. And the will to avoid? Escape from what it avoids. Well, do we fulfil their profession? Tell me the truth, and if you lie, I will tell you myself. When lately your audience were slack in their attendance, and did not applaud you, you went away in low spirits. Again when you were lately praised you went round and said to every one, 'What did you think of me?' 'I thought you wonderful, master, as I live.' 'How did I give that passage?' 'Which do you mean?' 'Where I described Pan and the Nymphs.' 'Superlatively.'

Plain English · paraphraseAn excellent answer. The musician does not listen to the crowd, as long as he is a true musician, nor does the geometer. Do you want to do good? What are you aiming for? Tell us, so we can also go to your lecture. Can anyone do good to others unless they have received good themselves? No, just as someone who is not a carpenter cannot help in carpentry, or someone who is not a shoemaker in shoemaking. You have benefited from your training. If you really want to know whether you have received any good, show your judgments, my philosopher. What does the desire to get claim? Success in getting. And the desire to avoid? Escape from what it avoids. Well, do we fulfill their claims? Tell me the truth, and if you lie, I will tell you myself. When your audience recently did not come and did not praise you, you left in low spirits. Again, when you were recently praised, you went around and said to everyone, "What did you think of me?" "I thought you were wonderful, master, by my life." "How did I perform that passage?" "Which one do you mean?" "Where I described Pan and the Nymphs." "Superbly."

And yet you tell me that in respect to that will to get and will to avoid you behave in a natural way. Go to, get some one else to believe you! Did you not lately praise So-and-so against your real opinion? Did you not flatter So-and-so, the senator's son? Did you want your children to be like that? 'Heaven forbid!' Why then did you praise him and pay him attention? 'He is a young man of parts, and ready to listen to arguments.' How do you know that? 'He admires me.'

Do not flatter your hearers. Now you have stated the true reason. After all, what do you think? Do not these very admirers secretly despise you? When a man who is conscious of no good action or good thought meets a philosopher who says, 'Here is a genius, frank and unspoilt', do not you think he is bound to say to himself, 'This man wants something from me'? Tell me, what sign of genius has he displayed? Why, he has been with you all this long time, he has heard you discoursing, he has heard you lecturing. Has he grown modest? Has he returned to himself? Has he realized what misery he is in? Has he cast away his vanity? Is he looking for some one to teach him? 'He is.'

Plain English · paraphraseDon't flatter your audience. Now you've stated the true reason. After all, what do you think? Don't these very admirers secretly despise you? When a man who has done no good actions and had no good thoughts meets a philosopher who says, "Here is a genius, honest and unspoiled," don't you think he must say to himself, "This man wants something from me"? Tell me, what sign of genius has he shown? Why, he has been with you for a long time, he has heard you speaking, he has heard you lecturing. Has he become modest? Has he returned to himself? Has he realized what misery he is in? Has he given up his vanity? Is he looking for someone to teach him? "He is."

Some one to teach him how he should live? No, you fool, but how he should speak, for that is what he admires you for. Listen and hear what he says: 'This man is a perfect artist in style, his style is much finer than Dio's.' That's a different thing altogether. Does he say, 'This man has self-respect, he is trustworthy and tranquil-minded'? If he did say so, I should say, 'Since he is trustworthy, tell me what you mean by this "trustworthy" man', and if he could not answer I should add, 'First learn what your words mean, and then speak.' If you are in this sorry state, gaping for men to praise you, and counting your audience, do you really want to do others good? 'To-day I had a much larger audience.' 'Yes, it was a large one.' 'I suppose five hundred.' 'Nonsense! put them at a thousand.' 'Dio never had so large an audience.' 'How is that?' 'Why, they have a fine turn for understanding arguments.' Study the spirit of Socrates and not his style, 'Noble teaching, master, can move even a stone.'

There you have the words of a philosopher! These are the feelings of one who is to benefit mankind, there you have a man who has listened to reason, who has read the teaching of Socrates in the spirit of Socrates, and not as so much Lysias or Isocrates! '"I have often wondered by what arguments"—no, "by what argument"—the singular is smoother than the plural.' Did you ever read the words except as one reads paltry songs? If you had read them properly you would not have dwelt on these points of language, but would rather have studied the passage, 'Anytus and Meletus can kill me, but they cannot harm me', and this, 'My nature is such that I cannot attend to my affairs, but only to the argument which appears best to me when I reflect.' That was why no one ever heard Socrates say, 'I know and teach'; no, he sent one man here, another there; and therefore they used to come to him, asking to be introduced by him to philosophers, and he took and introduced them. No, of course, as he went with them he would say, 'Come and hear me discourse to-day in the house of Quadratus'!

The true philosopher should draw his audience by force of character What am I to hear from you? Do you want to display to me your fine composition? Man, you compose well enough, and what good does it do you? 'Do praise me, I beg.' What do you mean by praise? 'Say "Bravo!" to me, or "Marvellous!"' Very well, I say it; but if praise is what philosophers put in the category of the good, what praise can I give you? If correct speaking is a good thing, teach me that, and I will praise you. 'What? are you bound to dislike listening to fine oratory?' Heaven forbid! I do not dislike listening to a harp-player, but am I therefore bound to stand and play the harp? Hear what Socrates says, 'It would not be seemly for me, sir, at this time of life, to come before you like a youth framing fine phrases.' 'Like a youth', he says. Yes, it is indeed a pretty art, to select fine phrases and put them together, and then come forward and read them or recite them with ability, and as one reads to add, 'There are not many that can understand what I say, as sure as you hope to live.'

Does the philosopher invite men to a lecture? Does he not draw to him those who are going to get good from him, as the sun draws sustenance to itself? No physician worth the name invites men to come and be healed by him, though I hear that in Rome to-day physicians do invite them; in my day physicians were called in by their patients. 'I bid you to come and hear that you are in a bad way, that you attend to everything rather than what you should attend to, and that you do not know what is good and what is evil, and are unhappy and miserable.' A fine invitation!

Plain English · paraphraseDoes the philosopher invite people to a lecture? Does he not attract those who will benefit from him, like the sun draws nourishment to itself? No true doctor invites people to come and be healed by him. I hear that in Rome today, doctors do invite them. In my time, doctors were called by their patients. "I invite you to come and hear that you are in bad shape, that you pay attention to the wrong things, and that you don't know what is good and what is evil, and you are unhappy and miserable." A fine invitation!

and not by fine phrases. Surely, unless the philosopher's words force home this lesson, they are dead and so is he. Rufus was wont to say, 'If you find leisure to praise me, my words are spoken in vain.' Wherefore he spoke in such fashion that each of us as he sat there thought he was himself accused: such was his grip of men's doings, so vividly did he set each man's ills before his eyes. The philosopher's school, sirs, is a physician's consulting-room. You must leave it in pain, not in pleasure; for you come to it in disorder, one with a shoulder put out, another with an ulcer, another with fistula, another with headache. And then you would have me sit there and utter fine little thoughts and phrases, that you may leave me with praise on your lips, and carrying away, one his shoulder, one his head, one his ulcer, one his fistula, exactly in the state he brought them to me. Is it for this you say that young men are to go abroad and leave their parents and friends and kinsmen and property, that they may say, 'Ye gods!' to you when you deliver your phrases? Was this what Socrates did, or Zeno, or Cleanthes? You ask, 'Is there not the hortatory style?'

The true hortatory style lays hold on character. Yes—no one denies it—just as there is the style for proof and the style for teaching. Who has ever named a fourth style along with them, the ostentatious? What is the hortatory style? The power of showing to one and to many what a sordid struggle they are plunged in, and how they pay regard to everything rather than to what they want. For they want what tends to happiness, but they seek it in the wrong place. Is it for this that you must set up a thousand benches and invite men to come and hear you, and then mount the rostrum in a fine robe or an elegant cloak and describe the death of Achilles? Cease, by all your gods, to dishonour noble words and subjects, so far as in you lies. Nothing is more effective in exhortation than when the speaker makes plain to his hearers that he has need of them. Tell me, in all your readings or discourses, did you ever make one of your audience anxious about himself or rouse him to a sense of his position? Did you ever send one away saying, 'The philosopher has got a good grip of me: I must act so no more'? Why, even if your fame is at its height, he only says to some one, 'A pretty description that about Xerxes!' while another puts in, 'No, the battle of Thermopylae.' Is this what a philosopher's lecture comes to?

CHAPTER XXIV That we ought not to spend our feelings on things beyond our power. Men's unhappiness is their own fault. If a thing goes against another's nature, you must not take it as evil for you; for you are born not to share humiliation or evil fortune, but to share good fortune. And if a man is unfortunate, remember that his misfortune is his own fault; for God created all men for happiness and peace of mind. To this end He gave men resources, giving each man some things for his own, and some not for his own, things subject to hindrance and deprivation and compulsion not for his own, but things beyond hindrance for his own. They need never be miserable if they learn to distinguish what is their own from what is not. The true nature of good and evil He gave man for his own, as was natural for Him to do, Who cares for us and protects us as a Father. 'Oh, but I have just parted from such an one, and he is distressed!'

Why did he count as his own what was not his? When he rejoiced to look on you why did he not reflect that you are mortal, and that you may go on a journey? Wherefore he pays the penalty for his own foolishness. But why do you bewail yourself, and to what end? Did not you study this distinction either? Did you, as worthless women do, regard all the things in which you took pleasure—places, persons, ways of life —as though they would always be with you? And so now you sit and weep because you do not see the same persons and pass your time in the same place. No doubt you deserve this fate—to be more wretched than rooks and ravens, who may fly where they will and change their nests, and cross the seas, without lamenting or longing for their first possessions. 'Yes, but this happens to them because they have no reason.'

Is our reason then given us by the gods for misfortune and misery, that we may continue in wretchedness and mourning? Or would you have all men to be immortal, and no one go abroad? Are we never to go away but all to stay rooted like plants, and if one of our close friends goes abroad are we to sit and weep: and again, if he return, are we to dance and clap like little children?

Plain English · paraphraseIs our reason given to us by the gods for misfortune and misery, so that we must remain in wretchedness and mourning? Or do you want all people to be immortal, and for no one to ever leave? Are we never to go away, but always to stay rooted like plants? And if one of our close friends leaves, are we to sit and weep? And again, if he returns, are we to dance and clap like little children?

Men must come and go in the course of nature, Shall we not at last give up the milk of babes, and remember what we heard from the philosophers, unless we took what they said for enchanters' tales? 'This world is one city, and the substance of which it is constructed is one; and things must needs move in a cycle, one thing giving way to another, and some things must pass away, and others come into being, some must abide as they are and others must move; but the universe is full of friends. and the universe is full of friends—the gods first, and after them men, whom nature has made akin to one another; some of them must be with one another and others must go away, and we should rejoice in those that are with us, yet not be sad at those who go away. And man, besides being born to a high courage, and to despise all that is beyond his will, has this too for his own, that he is not rooted nor attached to the earth, but goes now to one place, now to another, at one time under the pressure of business, at another merely to see the world.' Odysseus and Heracles are typical of man's life, its movement, and its ties of friendship. Such indeed was the lot of Odysseus:

Cities of many men he saw, and learnt Their mind; and yet earlier it was the lot of Heracles to go about all the inhabited world, Beholding laws and insolence of men,

Plain English · paraphraseHe saw the cities of many people and learned about their ways. Before this, it was Heracles' task to travel across the whole inhabited world, seeing the laws and the arrogance of human beings.

cleansing the world and casting forth the insolent, and bringing "in the rule of law. Yet how many friends, think you, had he in Thebes, how many in Argos, how many in Athens, and how many did he win for himself as he went about, seeing that he married a wife, where he thought fit, and got children, and forsook his children, with no mourning nor longing, nor as one leaving them orphans? For he knew that no man is an orphan, but that all men have always the Father Who cares for them continually; for to him it was no mere tale that he had heard that Zeus is the Father of men, for he believed Him to be his own father and called Him so, and all that he did he did as looking to Him, wherefore it was in his power to live happily everywhere. But happiness and longing for what is absent can never be united; for that which is happy must needs have all that it will, and be as it were in a state of satisfaction; no thirst or hunger must come near it. Do not believe Homer if he makes Odysseus unhappy. But Odysseus, you say, had a sense of longing for his wife, and sat upon a rock and wept. Do you take Homer for your authority in everything, and Homer's stories? If Odysseus really wept, was he not miserable, and what good man is ever miserable? The universe is indeed managed ill if Zeus does not take care of His citizens, that they may be happy as He is. It is not lawful or right even to think of such a thing, and if Odysseus wept and lamented, he was no good man. For how can a man be good, when he knows not who he is, and how can he know this when he has forgotten that all things that have come into being are perishable, and that it is impossible for man to be with man for ever? Now to desire what is impossible is slavish and silly; it is to make oneself a stranger in the world, and to fight against God with one's own judgements, as alone one can.

If we concern ourselves with the sorrows of others we shall be miserable indeed. 'But my mother mourns because she does not see me.' Why does she not take to heart these lessons? Yet I do not say that we must not take pains to prevent her lamenting; but that we must not wish absolutely for what is not ours. Another's sorrow is no concern of mine, my sorrow is my own; and so I shall absolutely check my own sorrow, for it is in my power, but another's I shall try to check only so far as I can, but not absolutely; otherwise I shall fight against God, I shall set myself against Zeus and array myself against His conduct of the universe, and the penalty for this battling with God and this disobedience will be paid not only by 'children's children', but by me in my own person, by day and by night, when I start in my dreams and am disturbed, when I tremble at every message, when my peace of mind hangs upon another's letters. Some one is come from Rome. 'If only it be no ill news!' What ill can happen to you in a place where you are not? From Greece. 'If only it be no ill news!'

Plain English · paraphraseIf we worry about the sorrows of others, we will be very miserable. "But my mother is sad because she doesn't see me." Why won't she take these lessons to heart? Still, I don't say we must not try to stop her from grieving; I say we must not long absolutely for what is not ours. Another's sorrow is not my concern; my sorrow is my own. So I will completely control my own sorrow, because I can. Another's sorrow I will try to stop only as much as I can, but not completely. Otherwise, I will fight against God, I will oppose Zeus and challenge His rule of the universe. And the punishment for this struggle with God and this disobedience will not only fall on "children's children," but on me personally, day and night. I will wake in my sleep in distress, I will tremble at every message, my peace of mind will depend on another's letters. Someone has come from Rome. "I hope it's no bad news!" What bad can happen to you in a place where you are not? From Greece. "I hope it's no bad news!"

On this principle, every place can cause you misery. Is it not enough that you should be miserable where you are yourself? Must you needs be miserable overseas, and by letter? Is this what you mean by being secure? What happens then if your friends there die? What else except that mortal men have died? How can you wish at the same time to grow old and not to see the death of any that you love? Do you not know that in the long course of time many events of divers sorts must happen? One man must be overcome by fever, another by a robber, a third by a despot. For such is the nature of the atmosphere about us, and of our companions; cold and heat and unsuitable food, and travel by land, and sea, and winds and manifold perils destroy one man and send another into exile, and another they send on an embassy or as a soldier. Sit still then with your wits dazed at all these things—mourning, unfortunate, miserable, depending on something other than yourself—not one thing or two, but things innumerable.

Life is a soldier's service, Is this what your lesson comes to, is this what you learnt in the philosopher's school? Do you not know that life is a soldier's service? One man must keep guard, another go out to reconnoitre, another take the field. It is not possible for all to stay where they are, nor is it better so. But you neglect to fulfil the orders of the general and complain, when some severe order is laid upon you; you do not understand to what a pitiful state you are bringing the army so far as in you lies; you do not see that if all follow your example there will be no one to dig a trench, or raise a palisade, no one to keep night watch or fight in the field, but every one will seem an unserviceable soldier.

Again, if you go as a sailor on shipboard, keep to one place and hold fast to that; if you are called on to climb the mast, refuse, if to run out on the bows, refuse that. Why, what ship's master will put up with you, and not fling you overboard like a useless bit of furniture, a mere hindrance and bad example to the other sailors? So too it is in the world; each man's life is a campaign, and a long and varied one. and you must play your part and obey your unseen General. It is for you to play the soldier's part—do everything at the General's bidding, divining His wishes, if it be possible. For there is no comparison between that General and the ordinary one in power and superiority of character. You are set in an imperial City and not in some humble town; you are always a senator. Do you not know that such an one can attend but little to his own household? He must spend most of his time abroad, in command or under command, or as subordinate to some officer, or as soldier or judge? And yet you tell me you want to be attached like a plant and rooted in the same place? 'Yes, for it is pleasant.'

Who denies it? Dainties are pleasant too, and a beautiful woman is a pleasant thing. Your talk is the talk of those who make pleasure their end. To talk of pleasure is to use the base language of Epicurus. Do you not realize whose language you are using, the language of Epicureans and abandoned creatures? and yet though your actions and your principles are theirs, you quote to us the words of Zeno and Socrates? Fling away from you, as far as may be, these alien properties that you adorn yourself with, and that do not fit you! People of that sort have no wish except to sleep without hindrance or compulsion, and then to get up and yawn at their ease and wash their face, then to write and read at their pleasure, then to talk nonsense and be complimented by their friends, whatever they say, then to go out for a walk and after a little walk to have a bath, then to eat, and then go to sleep—the sort of sleep men of that kind are likely to indulge in—I need say no more—you may judge what it is.

Come, now, tell me the way of life your heart is set on—you who profess to admire truth and Socrates and Diogenes. What do you want to do in Athens? Just what you are doing? Nothing else? To be false to the Stoic name brings its own punishment. Then why do you call yourself a Stoic? If those who speak falsely of the Roman constitution are seriously punished, are those who speak falsely of so great and serious a subject and a name to get off scot free? That cannot be; none may escape this divine and mighty law, which exacts the greatest punishments from those whose offence is greatest. What does it say? 'He that pretends to qualities that concern him not, let him be given to vanity and arrogance; let him that disobeys the divine government be an abject slave, let him be subject to pain, envy, pity, in a word, let him be miserable and full of lamentations.' You may approach the rich in a good cause, but you must not pay too high a price.'What is your conclusion? Would you have me court this great man or that and frequent his doorstep?'

If reason so determine, for country's sake or kindred or mankind, why should you not go to him? You are not ashamed to go to the shoemaker when you want shoes, nor to the market-gardener when you want lettuces. Are you ashamed to go to the rich when you want something they can give? 'Yes, but I do not admire the shoemaker.' Do not admire the rich man either. 'I shall not flatter the market-gardener.' Do not flatter the rich man either. 'How then am I to get what I want?' Do I say to you, 'Go, and you will get what you want', or only, 'Go, and act up to your character'? 'Why do I go then?' That you may come away feeling that you have fulfilled the acts required of a citizen, a brother, a friend. But remember that you have gone to a shoemaker, a greengrocer, one who has no authority over great or high matters, though he sell what he has for a big price. You are going as it were to fetch lettuces; they are worth an obol, but not a talent.

Plain English · paraphraseIf reason decides that, for the sake of your country, your family, or humanity, you should go to him, then why not go? You are not ashamed to go to the shoemaker when you need shoes, or to the market gardener when you need lettuces. Are you ashamed to go to the rich when you need something they can give? "Yes, but I don't admire the shoemaker." Then don't admire the rich man either. "I won't flatter the market gardener." Then don't flatter the rich man either. "But how then will I get what I want?" Do I tell you, "Go, and you will get what you want," or only, "Go, and act in a way that is true to your character?" "Then why do I go?" So that you may leave feeling you have done what is required of a citizen, a brother, a friend. But remember that you are going to a shoemaker, a greengrocer, someone who has no authority over great or important matters, even though he may sell his goods for a high price. You are going, as it were, to buy lettuces; they are worth an obol, not a talent.

Apply this principle. The business is worth going to a man's door for. Very well, I will go. It is worth an interview. Very well, I will have an interview with him. But if I must kiss his hand and flatter him with compliments, that is like paying a talent. I will have none of it. It is not to my profit, nor to the profit of the city or my friends to ruin a good citizen and a friend. Do what is right, and never mind what men think. 'But men will think you took no pains if you fail.' Have you again forgotten why you went there? Do you not know that a good man does nothing for the sake of what men think, but only for the sake of doing right? 'What does he gain by doing right?' What does a man gain who writes Dio's name correctly? The gain of writing. 'Is there no further reward?'

Do you look for any greater reward for a good man than to do what is noble and right? At Olympia you do not want anything else; you are content to have been crowned at Olympia. Does it seem to you so small and worthless a thing to be noble and good and happy? Therefore, since the gods have made you a citizen of this city and you are bound to set your hand betimes to a man's work, why hanker after nurses and the breast, and allow silly women to soften you and make you effeminate with their tears? Will you then never cease to be a babe? Do you not know that he who acts like a child is ridiculous in proportion to his years? Flattery has no place if you are set on right judgement. Did you not see any one in Athens, or go to any one's house? 'Yes, the man I wanted to see.'