Discourses and Enchiridion

BOOK IV CHAPTER I On Freedom. Freedom consists in an untrammelled will, That man is free, who lives as he wishes, who is proof against compulsion and hindrance and violence, whose impulses are untrammelled, who gets what he wills to get and avoids what he wills to avoid. Who then would live in error? No one. Who would live deceived, reckless, unjust, intemperate, querulous, abject? No one. No bad man then lives as he would, and so no bad man is free. Who would live in a state of distress, fear, envy, pity, failing in the will to get and in the will to avoid? No one. Do we then find any bad man without distress or fear, above circumstance, free from failure? None. Then we find none free. not in birth or position. If a man who has been twice consul hear this, he will forgive you if you add, 'But you are wise, this does not concern you.' But if you tell him the truth, saying, 'You are just as much a slave yourself as those who have been thrice sold', what can you expect but a flogging?

'How can I be a slave?' he says; 'my father is free, my mother is free, no one has bought me; nay, I am a senator, and a friend of Caesar, I have been consul and have many slaves.' In the first place, most excellent senator, perhaps your father too was a slave of the same kind as you, yes and your mother and your grandfather and the whole line of your ancestors. And if really they were ever so free, how does that affect you? What does it matter if they had a fine spirit, when you have none, if they were fearless and you are a coward, if they were self-controlled and you are intemperate? Slavery means compulsion of the will. 'Nay, what has this to do with being a slave?' he replies. Does it seem to you slavery to act against your will, under compulsion and with groaning? 'I grant you that,' he says, 'but who can compel me except Caesar, who is lord of all?'

Why, then, your own lips confess that you have one master: you must not comfort yourself with the thought that he is, as you say, the common master of all, but realize that you are a slave in a large household. You are just like the people of Nicopolis, who are wont to cry aloud, 'By Caesar's fortune, we are free.' The tyranny of passion may be greater than that of Caesar. However, let us leave Caesar for the moment if you please, but tell me this: Did you never fall in love with any one, with a girl, or a boy, or a slave, or a free man? 'What has that to do with slavery or freedom?'

Were you never commanded by her you loved to do anything you did not wish? Did you never flatter your precious slave-boy? Did you never kiss his feet? Yet if any one compel you to kiss Caesar's, you count it an outrage, the very extravagance of tyranny. What is this if not slavery? Did you never go out at night where you did not wish, and spend more than you wished and utter words of lamentation and groaning? Did you put up with being reviled and shut out? If you are ashamed to confess your own story, see what Thrasonides says and does: he had served in as many campaigns or more perhaps than you and yet, first of all, he has gone out at night, at an hour when Getas does not dare to go, nay, if he were forced by his master to go, he would have made a loud outcry and have gone with lamentations over his cruel slavery, and then, what does he say? A worthless girl has made a slave of me, Whom never foe subdued.

Plain English · paraphraseHave you never been ordered by someone you loved to do something you didn't want to do? Have you never flattered your beloved young slave? Have you never kissed his feet? Yet if someone forces you to kiss Caesar's feet, you call it an outrage, the height of tyranny. What else is this if not slavery? Have you never gone out at night when you didn't want to, spent more than you wanted, and spoken words of sorrow and groaning? Have you endured being insulted and excluded? If you're too ashamed to admit your own actions, look at what Thrasonides says and does: he may have fought in as many or more battles than you, yet first of all, he went out at night, at a time when Getas wouldn't dare go, and if forced by his master to go, he would have cried out loudly and gone with complaints about his cruel slavery. And then, what does he say? "A worthless girl has made a slave of me, whom no enemy ever subdued."

Poor wretch, to be slave to a paltry girl and a worthless one too! Why do you call yourself free then any more? Why do you boast of your campaigns? Then he asks for a sword, and is angry with the friend who refuses it out of goodwill, and sends gifts to the girl who hates him, and falls to praying and weeping, and then again when he has a little luck he is exultant. How can we call him free when he has not learnt to give up desire and fear?

Plain English · paraphrasePoor fool, to be a slave to a petty girl and a useless one at that! Why do you still call yourself free? Why do you brag about your battles? He begs for a sword, gets angry when his friend refuses out of kindness, sends presents to the girl who despises him, and falls into prayer and weeping. Then, when he has a bit of luck, he becomes proud. How can we call him free when he has not learned to give up desire and fear?

The love of freedom is seen in the lower animals. Now look at the lower animals and see how we apply the notion of freedom to them. Men put lions in cages and rear them as tame creatures and feed them, and sometimes even take them about with them. Yet who will call a lion like that 'free'? The softer he lives, the worse is his slavery. What lion, if he got sense or reason, would wish to be a lion of that sort? Look at the birds yonder and see what lengths they go in striving to escape, when they are caught and reared in cages; why, some of them actually starve themselves rather than endure that sort of life; and even those that do not die, pine away and barely keep alive, and dash out if they find any chance of an opening. So strong is their desire for natural freedom, an independent and unhindered existence. Why, what ails you in your cage? 'What a question! I am born to fly where I will, to live in the air, to sing when I will; you take all this away, from me, and say, "What ails you?"'

Therefore we will call only those creatures free, that do not endure captivity, but escape by death as soon as they are caught. So too Diogenes says somewhere, 'A quiet death is the one sure means of freedom', and he writes to the Persian king, 'You cannot enslave the city of the Athenians any more than you can enslave fishes.' 'What! shall I not capture them?' 'If you capture them,' he says, 'they will straightway leave you and be gone, like fishes; for when you take one of them, he dies. So if the Athenians die as soon as you take them, what is the good of your armament?' These are the words of a free man who has seriously examined the question and found the truth, as is reasonable; but if you look for it elsewhere than where it is, what wonder if you never find it?

The slave wrongly thinks that enfranchisement is freedom, The slave is anxious to be set free at once. Why? Do you think it is because he is anxious to pay the tax on his manumission? No! the reason is he imagines that up till now he is hampered and ill at ease because he has not got his freedom. 'If I am enfranchised,' he says, 'at once all will be well, I heed nobody, I talk to all men as an equal and one of their quality, I go where I will, I come whence I will and where I will.' Then he is emancipated, and having nothing to eat he straightway looks for some one to flatter and to dine with; then he either has to sell his body to lust and endure the worst, and then becomes the slave of passion or ambition. and if he gets a manger to eat at, he has plunged into a slavery much severer than the first; or if perchance he grows rich, being a low-bred fellow he dotes on some paltry girl and gets miserable and bewails himself and longs to be a slave again.

Plain English · paraphraseThe slave wrongly thinks that being freed is freedom. The slave is eager to be set free right away. Why? Do you think it is because he is eager to pay the tax for his freedom? No! The reason is he believes up until now he has been held back and uncomfortable because he did not have freedom. "If I am freed," he says, "everything will be fine. I will not listen to anyone. I will speak to all men as an equal and one of their rank. I will go where I want. I will come from where I want and go where I want." Then he is freed, and having nothing to eat, he immediately looks for someone to flatter and dine with. Then he either has to sell his body to lust and suffer the worst, and then becomes a slave to passion or ambition. And if he gets a place to eat, he has fallen into a slavery much worse than the first. Or if by chance he becomes rich, being a low-born man, he becomes infatuated with some trivial girl and becomes miserable, laments, and longs to be a slave again.

'What ailed me in those days? Another gave me clothes and shoes, another fed me and tended me in sickness, and the service I did him was a small matter. Now, how wretched and miserable I am, with many masters instead of one! Still, if I can get rings on my fingers I shall live happily and prosperously enough.' And so first, to get them, he puts up with what he deserves, and having got them repeats the process. Next he says, 'If I go on a campaign I am quit of all my troubles.' He turns soldier and endures the lot of a criminal, but all the same he begs for a second campaign and a third. Lastly, when he gets the crown to his career and is made a senator, once more he becomes a slave again as he goes to the senate; then he enjoys the noblest and the sleekest slavery of all.

Let him not be foolish, let him learn, as Socrates said, what is the true nature of everything, The error is due to a failure to apply primary conceptions. and not apply primary conceptions at random to particular facts. For this is the cause of all the miseries of men, that they are not able to apply their common primary conceptions to particular cases. One of us fancies this, another that. One fancies he is ill. Not at all; it is only that he does not apply his primary conceptions. Another fancies that he is poor, that his father or mother is cruel, another that Caesar is not gracious. But really it is one thing, and one thing only; they do not know how to adjust their primary conceptions. For who has not a primary notion of evil—that it is harmful, to be shunned, by every means to be got rid of? One primary notion does not conflict with another, the conflict is in the application. What then is this evil which is harmful and to be shunned? 'Not to be Caesar's friend', he says.

He has gone out of his way, he has failed to apply his notions, he is in sore distress, he is seeking for what is nothing to the purpose; for when he has got Caesar's friendship he has equally failed of his object. For what is the object of every man's search? The true aim of men is achieved, not by becoming 'Caesar's friend', but by inward peace. To have a quiet mind, to be happy, to do everything as he will, to be free from hindrance and compulsion. Very well: when he becomes Caesar's friend is he relieved from hindrance and compulsion, is he in peace and happiness? Of whom are we to inquire? Whom can we better trust than the very man who has become Caesar's friend? Come forward and tell us! when was your sleep more tranquil, now or before you became Caesar's friend? At once the answer comes, 'Cease, by the gods I beg you, to mock at my fortune; you do not know what a miserable state is mine; no sleep comes near to me, but in comes some one to say, "Now he's awake, now he'll be coming out"; then troubles and cares assail me.' Tell me, when did you dine more agreeably, now or before?

Plain English · paraphraseHe has gone out of his way, he has failed to apply his ideas, he is in great distress, he is looking for something that does nothing to help; because when he has gained Caesar's friendship, he has still failed in his goal. For what is the goal of every man's search? The true aim of men is achieved, not by becoming Caesar's friend, but by inner peace. To have a quiet mind, to be happy, to do everything as he wants, to be free from obstacles and force. Very well: when he becomes Caesar's friend, is he free from obstacles and force, is he at peace and happy? From whom should we ask? Whom can we trust more than the very man who has become Caesar's friend? Come forward and tell us! When was your sleep more peaceful, now or before you became Caesar's friend? At once the answer comes, "Stop, by the gods I beg you, from mocking my fate; you do not know what a wretched state I am in; no sleep comes near me, but someone enters and says, 'Now he's awake, now he'll be coming out'; then troubles and cares attack me." Tell me, when did you dine more pleasantly, now or before?

Hear again what he says about this: if he is not invited, he is distressed, and if he is invited he dines as a slave with his lord, anxious all the while for fear he should say or do something foolish. And what do you think he fears? To be flogged like a slave? How should he come off so well? No, so great a man as he, and Caesar's friend, must fear to lose his neck; nought less were fitting. When did you bathe with more peace of mind, or exercise yourself more at your ease? In a word, which life would you rather live, to-day's or the old life? No one, I can swear, is so wanting in sense or feeling, that he does not lament his lot the louder the more he is Caesar's friend.

No one who is miserable can be free, though he be a king or a king's friend. Inasmuch then as neither those who bear the name of kings nor kings' friends live as they will, what free men are left? Seek, and you shall find, for nature supplies you with means to find the truth. If, with these means and no more to guide you, you cannot find the answer for yourself, then listen to those who have made the search. What do they say? Does freedom seem to you a good thing? 'The greatest good.' Can any one who attains the greatest good be miserable or fare badly? 'No.' Whensoever then you see men unhappy, miserable, mourning, you may declare with confidence that they are not free. 'I do declare it.' Well then, we have got away from buying and selling, and. that kind of disposal of property which they deal with. For if you are right in making these admissions, no one who is miserable can be free, whether he be a great king or a little one, a consular or one who has twice been consul. 'Granted.' Answer me once more. Does freedom seem to you a great and noble and precious thing? 'Certainly.'

Can then one who possesses so great and precious and noble a thing be of a humble spirit? 'He cannot.' Therefore when you see a man cringing to another or flattering him against his true opinion, you may say with confidence that he too is not free, and not only if he does it for a paltry dinner, but even if he does it for a province or a consulship. But those who do it for small objects you may call slaves on a small scale, and the others, as they deserve, slaves on a large scale. 'I grant you this too.' Freedom implies independence of another's will or authority. Again, does freedom seem to you' to be something independent, owning no authority but itself? 'Certainly.'

Plain English · paraphraseCan someone who has such a great, precious, and noble thing be humble? "No." So when you see a man groveling before another or praising him against his true opinion, you can say with confidence that he is not free. This is true not only if he does it for a cheap dinner, but even if he does it for a province or a consulship. Those who do it for small things you can call small-scale slaves, and the others, as they deserve, large-scale slaves. "I agree with this too." Freedom means being independent of another's will or authority. Again, does freedom seem to you to be something independent, obeying no authority but itself? "Certainly."

Then whenever a man can be hindered or compelled by another at will, assert with confidence that he is not free. Do not look at his grandfathers and great grandfathers and search whether he was bought or sold, but if you hear him say 'Master' from the heart and with feeling, then call him slave, though twelve fasces go before him; and if you hear him say, 'Wretched am I, that I am so treated', call him slave; in a word, if you see him bewailing himself, complaining, miserable, call him slave, though he wears the purple hem. If, however, he does not behave like this, call him not free yet, but get to know his judgements and see whether they are liable to compulsion or hindrance or unhappiness, and if you find any such, call him a slave on holiday at the Saturnalia; say that his master is away; he will presently return and then you will learn his true condition. 'In what form will he return?' In the form of every one who has authority over the things that a man wishes for, to get them for him or to take them away. 'Have we then so many masters?'

Yes, for even before these personal masters, we have masters in circumstance, and circumstances are many. It must needs follow then that those who have authority over any of these are our masters. We fear or love Caesar, not for himself, but for what he controls. For no one really fears Caesar himself; men fear death, exile, deprivation of property, prison, disfranchisement. Nor does any one love Caesar, unless he has great merit; we love wealth, the tribunate, the praetorship, the consulship. When we love and hate and fear these, the men who have authority over them are bound to be our masters, and that is why we worship them like gods; for we consider that that which has authority over the greatest benefit is divine; and then if we make a false minor premiss, 'this man has control over the greatest benefit', our conclusion is bound to be wrong too. Independence lies not in the things beyond our control, What is it then which makes man his own master and free from hindrance? Wealth does not make him so, nor a consulship, nor a province, nor a kingdom; we must find something else. Now what is it which makes him unhindered and unfettered in writing? 'Knowledge of how to write.' What makes him so in flute-playing? 'Knowledge of flute-playing.'

So too in living, it is knowledge of how to live. You have heard this as a general principle; consider it in detail. Is it possible for one who aims at an object which lies in the power of others to be unhindered? Is it possible for him to be untrammelled? 'No.' It follows that he cannot be free. Consider then: have we nothing which is in our power alone, or have we everything? Or only some things in our power, and some in that of others? 'How do you mean?' When you wish your body to be whole, is it in your power or not? 'It is not.' And when you wish it to be healthy? 'That is not in my power.' And when you wish it to be beautiful? 'That is not in my power.' And to live or die? 'That is not mine either.' The body then is something not our own and must give an account to any one who is stronger than ourselves. 'Granted.' Is it in your power to have land when you will, and as long as you will, and of the quality you will? 'No.' And slaves? 'No.' And clothes? 'No.' And your bit of a house? 'No.' And horses? 'None of these things.'

And if you wish your children or your wife or your brother or your friends to live, whatever happens, is that in your power? 'No, that is not either.' but in something which owns no authority outside it―in the region of assent, impulse, will to get and to avoid. Have you nothing then which owns no other authority, nothing which you alone control, or have you something of that sort? 'I do not know.' Look at the matter thus and consider it. Can any one make you assent to what is false? 'No one.' Well, then, in the region of assent you are unhindered and unfettered. 'Granted.' Again, can any one force your impulse towards what you do not wish? 'He can; for when he threatens me with death or bonds, he forces my impulse.' Well now, if you despise death and bonds, do you heed him any longer? 'No.' Is it your doing then to despise death, or is it not yours? 'Mine.' It rests with you then to be impelled to action, does it not? 'I grant it rests with me.' And impulse not to act, with whom does that rest? It is yours too. 'Supposing that my impulse is to walk, and he hinders me, what then?' What part of you will he hinder? Your assent?

'No, but my poor body.' Yes, as a stone is hindered. 'Granted; but I do not walk any more.' Who told you that it is your business to walk unhindered? The only thing I told you was unhindered was your impulse; as to the service of the body, and its cooperation, you have heard long ago that it is no affair of yours. 'I grant you this too.' Can any one compel you to will to get what you do not wish? 'No one.' Or to purpose or to plan, or in a word to deal with the impressions that you meet with? 'No one can do this either; but if I will to get something a man will hinder me from obtaining it.' How will he hinder you, if you set your will upon things which are your own and beyond hindrance? 'Not at all.' But no one tells you that he who wills to get what is not his own is unhindered. You must limit your desire to what is your own. 'Am I then not to will to get health?'

Certainly not, nor anything else that is not your own. For nothing is your own, that it does not rest with you to procure or to keep when you will. Keep your hands far away from it; above all, keep your will away, or else you surrender yourself into slavery, you put your neck under the yoke, if you admire what is not your own, and set your heart on anything mortal, whatever it be, or anything that depends upon another. 'Is not my hand my own?' It is a part of you, but by nature a thing of clay, subject to hindrance and compulsion, slave to everything that is stronger than itself. Nay, why do I name you the hand? The body is a beast of burden, to be given up if need be. You must treat your whole body like a poor ass, with its burden on its back, going with you just so far as it may, and so far as it is given you; but if the king's service calls, and a soldier lays hands on it, let it go, do not resist or murmur; if you do, you will only get a flogging and lose your poor ass all the same.

Plain English · paraphraseCertainly not, and nothing else that is not yours. For nothing that is not yours is yours, so that you can have it or keep it whenever you want. Keep your hands far from it; above all, keep your will far from it, or else you hand yourself over to slavery, you put your neck under the yoke, if you admire what is not yours and set your heart on anything mortal, whatever it is, or anything that depends on another. "Is not my hand my own?" It is part of you, but by nature it is made of clay, subject to hindrance and force, a slave to everything stronger than itself. No, why do I even mention the hand? The body is a beast of burden, to be given up if needed. You must treat your whole body like a poor donkey, with its load on its back, going with you only as far as it can, and only as far as it is given to you. But if the king's service calls, and a soldier takes hold of it, let it go. Do not resist or complain. If you do, you will only get beaten and lose your poor donkey just the same.

But when this is your proper attitude to your body, consider what is left for you to do with other things that are procured for the body's sake. As the body is the poor ass, other things become the ass's bridle and pack-saddle, shoes and barley and fodder. Give them up too, let them go quicker and with a lighter heart than the ass itself. If you distinguish what is your own from what is not your own, you have nothing to fear. And when you have prepared and trained yourself thus to distinguish what is your own from what is not your own, things subject to hindrance from things unhindered, to regard these latter as your concern, and the former as not, to direct your will to gain the latter and to avoid the former, then have you any one to fear any more? 'No one.'

Of course. What should you fear for? Shall you fear for what is your own, that is, for what makes good and evil for you? Nay, who has authority over what is yours? Who can take it away, who can hinder it, any more than they can hinder God? Is it your body and your property that you fear for? Are you afraid for what is not your own, for what does not concern you at all?

This is what you went to the philosophers to learn. Why, what have you been studying all along but to distinguish what it yours from what is not yours, what is in your power from what is not in your power, things subject to hindrance from things unhindered? Why did you go to the philosophers? Was it that you might be just as unfortunate and miserable as ever? I say that so trained you will be free from fear and perturbation. What has pain to do with you now, for it is only things that cause fear in expectation which cause pain when they come? What shall you have desire for any longer, for your will is tranquil and harmonious, set on objects within its compass to obtain, objects that are noble and within your reach, and you have no wish to get what is beyond your will, and you give no scope to that jostling element of unreason which breaks all bounds in its impatience?

When once you adopt this attitude towards things, no man can inspire fear in you any longer. For how can man cause fear in man by his aspect or his talk or by his society generally, any more than fear can be roused by horse or dog or bee in another horse or dog or bee? No, it is things which inspire fear in every man; it is the power of winning things for another or of taking them away from him, that makes a man feared. The inner citadel is destroyed not by force, but by judgements. How then is the citadel destroyed? Not by fire or sword, but by judgements. For if we pull down the citadel in the city, we have not got rid of the citadel which is held by fever or by fair women, in a word the citadel in ourselves and the tyrants who are within us, who threaten each one of us day by day, now in new forms, now in old. This is the point where we must begin, this is where the citadel must be destroyed, and the tyrants cast forth; we must give up our body, and all that belongs to it —faculties, property, reputation, offices, honours, children, brothers, friends—all these we must regard as having no concern for us.

The outward citadel matters not, if your will is submitted to God's will. If the tyrants are cast forth from this, what need is there for me to blockade the outward citadel? What harm does it do to me by standing? Why do I try and cast forth the guards? I feel them no longer; their rods and their spears and swords are pointed against others. I was never hindered in my will or compelled against my wish. Nay, how can this be? I have submitted my will to God. He wills that I should have a fever; I will it too. He wills that I should have an impulse. I will it too. He wills that I should will to get a thing. I too will it. He wills that I should get something, and I wish it; He wills that I should not, I wish it no more I am willing then (if He wills it) to die or be put on the rack. Who can hinder me any more against my own judgement or put compulsion on me? I am as safe as Zeus.

The traveller in life seeking a faithful companion will attach himself to God. I act as the more cautious travellers do. A man has heard that the road is infested by robbers; he does not dare to venture on it alone, but waits for company—a legate, or a quaestor, or a proconsul—and joining him he passes safely on the road. The prudent man does the same in the world; in the world are many haunts of robbers, tyrants, storms, distresses, chances of losing what is dearest. 'Where is a man to escape? How is he to go on his way unrobbed? What company is he to wait for that he may pass through in safety? To whom is he to join himself? To this or that rich man, or consular? What is the good of that? Your great man himself is stripped, and utters mourning and lamentation. What if my fellow traveller turns against me himself to rob me? What am I to do? I will be "a friend of Caesar"; if I am his companion no one will do me wrong. But first, how many things must I endure and undergo, to become a distinguished person! How often must I suffer robbery and from how many! And then, if I rise to distinction, even Caesar is mortal. And if some circumstance lead him to become my enemy, where, I ask, is it better for me to retire? To the wilderness? Why, does not fever come there? What is to become of me then? Is it impossible to find a travelling-companion who is safe, trustworthy, strong, proof against attack?' Thus he reflects and comes to understand that if he attaches himself to God, he will pass through the world in safety.

'What do you mean by "attach" himself?' He must make God's will his will, and study God's purposes. That what God wills, he may will too, and what God wills not, he may not will either. How then is this to be done? How else, but by examining the purposes of God and His governance of the world. What has He given me to be my own, and independent, what has He reserved for Himself? He has given me all that lies within the sphere of my choice, and has put it in my hands, unfettered, unhindered. How could He make my clay body free from hindrance? My property, my chattels, my honour, my children, my wife, He made subject to the revolution of the universe. Why then do I fight against God? Why do I will what is not for me to will, what is not given me to hold under all conditions, but to hold only as it is given and so far as it is given?

We must resign what God takes away. Suppose He that gave takes away. Why then do I resist? I shall not merely be silly, if I try to compel Him that is stronger; first of all I shall be doing wrong. For whence did I bring what I have into the world? My father gave them me. And who gave them him? Who is it that has made the sun, and the fruits of the earth, and the seasons, and the union and fellowship of men with one another?

Plain English · paraphraseWe must let go of what God takes away. Suppose the One who gave also takes away. Then why do I resist? If I try to force my will against His, I will not only be foolish, but I will also be in the wrong. After all, where did I get what I have in the world? My father gave it to me. And who gave it to him? Who is it that made the sun, the fruits of the earth, the seasons, and the bonds between people?

God gave you everything, yet you complain if you have to give up anything. You have received everything, nay your very self, from Another, and yet you complain and blame the Giver, if He takes anything away from you. Who are you and for what have you come? Did not He bring you into the world? Did not He show you the light? Has He not given you fellow workers? Has He not given you senses too, and reason? And in what character did He bring you into life? Was it not as a mortal, one who should live upon earth with his little portion of flesh and behold God's governance and share for a little while in His pageant and His festival? Will you not then look at the pageant and the festal gathering as long as it is given you, and then, when God leads you forth, go away with an obeisance to Him and thanksgiving for what you have heard and seen? 'No, I wanted to go on feasting.'

You must be ready to leave the festival when the time comes, and make room for others. Yes, those at the Mysteries too want to go on with the ceremony, and those at Olympia to see fresh competitors, but the festival is at an end. Leave it and depart, in a thankful and modest spirit; make room for others. Others must come into being, even as you did, and being born must have room and dwellings and necessaries. But if the first corners do not retire, what is left for them? Why will nothing satisfy or content you? Why do you crowd the world's room? 'Yes, but I want my wife and my children to be with me.' Are they yours? Are they not His who gave them? Are they not His who has made you? Will you not give up what it not yours, and give way to Him who is stronger than you? 'Why then did He bring me into the world on these terms?'

Plain English · paraphraseBe ready to leave the festival when the time comes, and make room for others. Those at the Mysteries also want to continue the ceremony, and those at Olympia want to see new competitors, but the festival is over. Leave it and go, with a grateful and humble heart; make room for others. Others must come into being, just as you did, and when they are born, they must have space, homes, and what they need. But if the first ones do not step aside, what is left for them? Why will nothing satisfy or satisfy you? Why do you crowd the world’s space? "But I want my wife and children to be with me." Are they yours? Are they not His who gave them? Are they not His who made you? Will you not give up what is not yours, and make way for Him who is stronger than you? "Then why did He bring me into the world on these terms?"

There is no place for a querulous spectator. Depart, if it does not suit you. God has no need of a querulous spectator. He needs men who join in the feast and in the dance, ready to applaud and glorify and praise the festival. But the impatient and miserable He will gladly see left outside the festival: for even when they were there they did not behave as at a festival nor fill the place appropriate to them, but were peevish and complained of fate and fortune and their company: insensible to fortune's gifts and to their own faculties, which they have received for just the opposite—a great heart, a noble spirit, and the very freedom we are now in search of. 'For what then have I received these gifts?' My gifts are given me for just as long as God wills. To use them. 'For how long?' Just so long as He who lent them wills. 'But what if they are necessary for me?' Do not set your heart on them, and they will not be. Do not tell yourself that they are necessary, and they are not.

But it needs practice to resign them. This is what you ought to practise from sunrise to sunset, beginning with the meanest things and those most subject to injury—a jug or a cup. From this go on to a tunic, a dog, a horse, a field; and from that to yourself, your body and its members, your children, your wife, your brothers. Look carefully on all sides and fling them away from you. Purify your judgements, and see that nothing that is not your own is attached to you or clings to you, that nothing shall give you pain if it is torn from you. And as you train yourself day by day, as in the lecture-room, say not that you are a philosopher (I grant you that would be arrogant), but that you are providing for your enfranchisement; for this is freedom indeed. Only so can you win freedom like Diogenes, who was master though a slave; This was the freedom which Diogenes won from Antisthenes, and said that no one could enslave him any more. That explains his bearing as a captive, and his behaviour to the pirates: did he call any of them master? I do not mean the mere name (I have no fear of that), but the state of mind, of which it is the expression. Think how he rebukes them for feeding their prisoners badly. Think how he was sold: did he look for a master? No, for a slave. And when he was sold, think how he bore himself towards his master: he began talking to him at once, telling him that he ought not to dress as he did, or shave as he did, and what life his sons ought to lead. What wonder in that? For if he had bought a slave skilled in gymnastic would he have used him as a servant in the palaestra or as a master? As a master; and in the same way if he had bought a man skilled in medicine or in architecture. for mastery depends on skill, not on power to punish. And on this principle the man with skill is bound in every subject to be superior to the man without skill. Whoever then possesses knowledge of life in general must be master. For who is master on shipboard?

'The helmsman.' Why? Is it because any one who disobeys him is punished? [No! but because he possesses skill in steering.] 'But my master can flog me.' Can he do it with impunity? 'So I thought.' But as he cannot do it with impunity, therefore he has no authority to do it. No one can do wrong acts with impunity. The cruel master violates his nature, and therefore does badly. 'What penalty falls on the man who imprisons his own slave, if he think fit?' The very act of imprisoning him is his penalty, and this you will admit yourself, if you will hold fast the principle that man is not a brute but a civilized creature. For when does a vine do badly? When it acts against its nature. When does a cock do badly? In the same conditions. The same is true of a man. What is his nature then? Is it to bite and kick and cast into prison and behead? No, but to do good, to work with others and pray for them. Therefore, whether you will or no, man does badly when he acts without sense. 'Did not Socrates then do badly?' No, but his judges and accusers did.

It was not Socrates who did badly, but his judges; 'Did not Helvidius in Rome do badly?' No, but his murderer did. 'What do you mean?' Just as you do not say the fighting-cock has done badly when it has won and been wounded, but when it has been beaten without a scratch, and you do not count a hound happy when he does not strain in the pursuit, but when you see him sweating, in distress, his flanks bursting with the chase. What is there incredible in the statement that every man's evil is that which contradicts his nature? Is this incredible? Is it not what you say in every other sphere? Why then do you take another line only when man is in question? Is our other statement then incredible—that man's nature is civilized and affectionate and trustworthy? for they were false to their nature and he was true to his. 'No, this is not, either.'

How comes it then, further, that he suffers no harm though he be flogged or imprisoned or beheaded? Is not it true that, if he suffer these things in a noble spirit, he goes away the gainer, and is profited, whereas he who suffers harm is the man who undergoes the most pitiful and shameful fate, the man who changes from a man into a wolf or a serpent or a wasp?

Freedom consists in fixing our aim on what is our own, and accepting Destiny. Come now and let us review the conclusions we have agreed to. He is free, whom none can hinder, the man who can deal with things as he wishes. But the man who can be hindered or compelled or fettered or driven into anything against his will, is a slave. And who is he whom none can hinder? The man who fixes his aim on nothing that is not his own. And what does 'not his own' mean? All that it does not lie in our power to have or not to have, or to have of a particular quality or under particular conditions. The body then does not belong to us, its parts do not belong to us, our property does not belong to us. If then you set your heart on one of these as though it were your own, you will pay the penalty deserved by him who desires what does not belong to him. The road that leads to freedom, the only release from slavery is this, to be able to say with your whole soul: Lead me, O Zeus, and lead me, Destiny, Whither ordainèd is by your decree.

Plain English · paraphraseFreedom means focusing on what is truly ours and accepting what fate brings. Come now, let us go over the points we have agreed on. A free person is one no one can stop, the one who can handle things as he wants. But the one who can be stopped, forced, bound, or driven to do something against his will is a slave. And who is the one no one can stop? The one who focuses only on what is truly his. And what is not his? Everything that is not in our power to have or not have, or to have in a certain way or under certain conditions. Then the body is not ours, its parts are not ours, our possessions are not ours. If you set your heart on any of these as if they were yours, you will suffer the punishment due to one who desires what is not his. The path to freedom, the only way to escape slavery, is this: to be able to say from your whole soul: Lead me, O Zeus, and lead me, Fate, wherever your decree ordains.

When you are out in the world, you have done with the questions of the lecture-room. You know what good and evil are. But, what say you, my philosopher, suppose the tyrant call on you to say something unworthy of you? Do you assent or refuse? Tell me. 'Let me think it over.' You will think it over now, will you? And what, pray, did you think over when you were at lecture? Did you not study what things are good and what are evil, and what are neither? 'Yes, I did.' What conclusion did you approve then? 'That things right and noble were good, things wrong and shameful bad.' Is life a good thing? 'No.' Is death evil? 'No.' Is prison? 'No.' And what did you think of ignoble and faithless speech, and treachery to a friend and flattery of a tyrant? 'We thought them evil.' Why do you ask the question now, then? You should have asked it and made up your mind long ago. It is nonsense to question now whether, when I can win the greatest goods, it is fitting for me not to win the greatest evils? A fine and necessary question forsooth, needing a deal of thought! Man, why do you mock us?

You ought to be able to apply your decisions at once and at a glance. That is not the sort of thing that men 'question'. If you really imagined shameful acts to be bad, and noble acts good, and all else to be indifferent, you would not have proceeded to raise this question: not at all: you would at once have been able to decide the question by intuition, as an act of sight. For when do you question whether black things are white, or heavy things light, instead of following the obvious conclusions of your senses? Why then do you talk now of considering whether things indifferent are more to be shunned than things evil? These are not your judgements: prison and death do not seem to you indifferent, but the greatest evils, nor do base words and acts seem evil, they seem not to matter for us.

Men keep their true judgements for the Schools, and are false to them in the world. This is the habit to which you have trained yourself from the first. 'Where am I? In the lecture-room. And who are listening to me? I am talking to philosophers. But now I have left the lecture-room. Away with those sayings of pedants and fools!' That is how a philosopher gives witness against a friend, that is how a philosopher turns parasite: that is how he hires himself out at a price, and speaks against his real opinion in the Senate, while in his heart his judgement cries aloud, not a flat and miserable apology for an opinion, hanging to idle discussions as by a hair-thread, but a judgement strong and serviceable, trained by actions, which is the true initiation. Watch yourself and see how you take the news, I do not say that your child is dead (how should that befall you? ), but that your oil is spilt, or your wine drunk up: well may one who stands by, as your temper rises high, say just this to you, 'Philosopher, you use different language in the lecture-room: why do you deceive us? Why, worm that you are, do you call yourself a man?' I would fain stand by one of these men when he is indulging his lust, that I might see how eager he is, and what words he utters, and whether he remembers his own name, or the discourses which he hears or delivers or reads.

'Yes, but what has this to do with freedom?' It is slavery to court rich old men and women. Nay! what else but this has to do with it, whether you rich people agree, or not? 'And who is your witness to this?' Why, it is none other than your very selves. You who own that great master, and live at his nod and motion, and your blood runs cold if he so much as look at one of you with a sour face: you who pay court to old women and old men, and say, 'I cannot do that, I am not allowed.' Why are you not allowed? Did you not just now contend with me and assert you were free? 'Yes, but Aprulla has forbidden me.'

Tell the truth then, slave that you are, and do not run away from your masters, nor disown your slavery, nor dare to claim your enfranchisement, when you have so many proofs of slavery against you. The passionate lover is more excusable. I declare that the man who is compelled by love to act against his opinion, seeing the better course all the time, but wanting the strength to follow it, one might be more inclined to think deserving pardon, as overpowered by an influence violent and in a way divine. But who can bear with you, whose love is all for old women and old men, wiping their faces clean and washing them and giving them presents, and tending them like a slave in their illness, while all the time you are praying for them to die, and questioning the doctors, whether they are sick unto death at last? It is degrading to court slaves for the sake of office. Or again, when you kiss the hands of other people's slaves in order to get those great and splendid offices and honours, becoming the slave of men who are not even free? Then, if you please, you walk in splendour as praetor or consul. Do I not know how you became praetor, where you got the consulship, who gave it you? For my part I would not wish to live, if I had to owe my life to Felicio, and put up with his contempt and slavish arrogance; for I know what a slave is who is prosperous as the world thinks and puffed up with vanity.

Plain English · paraphraseTell the truth then, slave that you are, and do not run away from your masters, nor deny your slavery, nor dare to claim freedom when you have so many signs of being a slave. The passionate lover is more excusable. I say that the man who is forced by love to act against his judgment, seeing the better path all the time but lacking the strength to follow it, might be more likely to be forgiven, since he is overcome by a powerful and almost divine influence. But who can tolerate you, whose love is only for old women and old men, wiping their faces, washing them, giving them gifts, and caring for them like a slave during their illness, while all the time you are hoping they will die, and asking the doctors if they are finally dying? It is disgraceful to flatter slaves for the sake of office. Or again, when you kiss the hands of other people's slaves to gain those great and splendid positions and honors, becoming a slave to men who are not even free? Then, if you like, you walk in glory as praetor or consul. Do I not know how you became praetor, where you got the consulship, who gave it to you? For my part, I would not want to live if I had to owe my life to Felicio, and endure his contempt and arrogant slave behavior; for I know what a slave is who is prosperous by worldly standards and swollen with pride.

'Are you then free?' says one.

I do not profess to be wholly free, but I can point you to Diogenes, By the gods, I wish to be and pray to be, but I cannot yet look in the face of my masters, I still set store by my poor body, I count it of great moment to keep it sound, yes though I have not a sound body to begin with. But I can show you one who is free, that you may not have to look for your example. Diogenes was free. How came he by this? Not because he was of free parents (he was not), but because he was free himself, had cast away all the weakness that might give slavery a hold on him, and so no one could approach or lay hold on him to enslave him. Everything he had he was ready to let go, it was loosely attached to him. If you had laid hold on his property, he would have let it go rather than have followed you for it; if you seized his leg, he would have let that go; if his whole poor body, he would have let his whole body go; and the same with kinsfolk, friends, and country. For he knew whence he had them and from whom, and on what conditions he received them. His true ancestors, the gods, and his true Country he would never have deserted, nor have suffered another to yield them more obedience or attention, nor would another have died for his Country more cheerfully. For he never sought to get the reputation of acting for the universe, but he remembered that everything that comes to pass has its source there and is done for that true Country's sake and is entrusted to us by Him that governs it. Wherefore look what he says and writes himself: 'Therefore, Diogenes,' he says, 'you have power to converse as you will with the king of the Persians and with Archidamus, king of the Lacedaemonians.' Was it because he was the son of free parents? When all the men of Athens and Lacedaemon and Corinth were unable to converse with them as they wished, and feared and flattered them instead, was it because they were sons of slaves? 'Why have I the power to do it then?' he says. 'Because I count my poor body not my own, because I need nothing, because law and nothing else is all in all to me.' These were the things which left him free.

and Socrates, whose memory is as potent as his presence. And that you may not think that I point you to the example of a man alone in the world, with no wife or children or country or friends or kindred, who might have bent his will and drawn him from his purpose, take Socrates and look at him: he had wife and children, but regarded them as not his own; a country, in such manner and so far as duty allowed: friends, kinsmen, all these things he had made subject to law and obedience to law. For this reason, when duty called him to take the field, he was the first to leave Athens and ran all risks of battle most ungrudgingly, but when he was sent by the Tyrants to fetch Leon, he never entertained the idea, because he thought it shameful, though he knew that he would have to die, if it so chanced. And what did it matter to him? Why, he wanted to preserve something else—not his poor flesh, but his honour and self-respect. These are things which cannot be trusted to another or made subject to another. Afterwards when he had to plead for his life, did he behave as one who had children or as one who had a wife? No, but as one alone in the world. And again, when he had to drink the poison, how did he behave? When he might have saved himself, and when Crito said to him, 'Escape, for the sake of your children', what did he say? Did he think the chance a godsend? No, he looked at what was fitting, and had no eye, no thought for anything besides. For he wished to save not his poor body, but 'that which right increases and preserves, and wrong diminishes and makes to wither'. Socrates refuses to save himself with dishonour: he who would not put the question to the vote, when the Athenians bade him, who despised the Tyrants, who held such noble discourse on virtue and goodness—it is impossible to save him with dishonour: his safety is secured by death, not by flight. For the good actor too, if he stops when he ought, has more chance of safety than one who acts out of season.

What will your children do then? 'If I had gone away to Thessaly you would have looked after them: and when I have gone away to Hades, will there be no one to look after them?' See how he calls death by smooth names and scoffs at it. But if you and I had been in his place, we should at once have argued that we ought to repay injury with injury: and we should have added, 'I shall be useful to many men if I keep alive, but to no one if I die.' Nay, had it been necessary to creep out through a hole in the rock to escape, we should have done so. And yet how could we have been of use to any one? For those we were trying to help would not have stood fast. Or again, if we did good by living, should we not have done much more good to men by dying when and as we ought? Even so now that Socrates is dead, the memory of what he did or said in his lifetime is no less useful to men, or it may be even more useful than before.

True freedom is worth paying a great price for. Make this your study, study these judgements, and these sayings: fix your eyes on these examples, if you wish to be free, if you set your desires on freedom as it deserves. It is no wonder that you pay this great, this heavy price for so vast an object. Men hang themselves, or cast themselves down headlong, nay sometimes whole cities perish for the sake of what the world calls 'freedom', and will you not repay to God what He has given, when He asks it, for the sake of true freedom, the freedom which stands secure against all attack? Shall you not practise, Practise giving back what is not yours, as Plato says, not death only, but torture and exile and flogging, in a word practise giving back all that is not yours? If not, you will be a slave among slaves, even if you are consul ten thousand times, and no less, if you go up into Caesar's Palace; and you will discover that 'what philosophers say may be contrary to opinion', as Cleanthes said, 'but not contrary to reason'. and you will discover the true values of things. For you will really get to know that what they say is true, and that none of these objects that men admire and set their hearts on is of any use to those who get them, though those who have never chanced to have them get the impression, that if only these things were theirs their cup of blessings would be full, and then, when they get them, the sun scorches them and the sea tosses them no less, and they feel the same boredom and the same desire for what they have not got. For freedom is secured not by the fulfilling of men's desires, but by the removal of desire. It may be worth while after all to listen to a philosopher. To learn the truth of what I say, you must spend your pains on these new studies instead of your studies in the past: sit up late that you may acquire a judgement that makes you free: pay your attentions not to a rich old man, but to a philosopher, and be seen about his doors: to be so seen will not do you discredit: you will not depart empty or without profit, if you approach in the right spirit. If you doubt my word, do but try: there is no disgrace in trying.

CHAPTER II On intercourse with men.

Be true to yourself, even if you thereby lose a friend. The one thing to be careful about beyond all others is this—not to get so involved with any of your former companions or friends, as to compromise your character for his sake, for if you do this you will destroy yourself. If the thought slips in, 'I shall seem rude to him, and he will not be the same to me as before', remember that nothing is done without paying for it, and that it is not possible to be the same man that you once were, unless you do as you did before. Choose then which you will—to be like your former self and be loved as before by those who loved you, or to be better than before, and so miss what they once gave you. For if this is the better choice, then incline to this, and let no irrelevant arguments distract you, You cannot advance by facing both ways. for no one can make progress by facing both ways. No; if you have chosen this course before all, if you wish to devote yourself to this and nothing else, and to spend all your labour on this, then dismiss all other thoughts, or else this facing both ways will produce a double result—you will not make progress as you ought, and you will fail to get what you got before; for before, when you frankly set your desires on worthless objects, you were agreeable to your companions. You cannot excel both ways; in proportion as you succeed on the one side, you must needs fall short on the other. When you do not drink with those whom you used to drink with, you cannot seem as agreeable to them as of old; choose then, whether you wish to be a drinker and gratify them, or sober and displease them. You cannot make the best of both worlds. If you do not sing with those that you sang with, you cannot win their affection as before: here too then you must choose which you prefer. For if it is better to have self-respect and self-control, than to have it said of one, 'What a charming fellow!', then give up all other considerations, put them from you, turn away from them, and have nothing to do with them. But if this is not going to satisfy you, then turn round completely, and practise the very opposite—unnatural lust, adultery, and all that is in keeping with them, and you shall get what you want. Yes, jump up and shriek applause over your dancer.

You might as well try to combine Agamemnon and Thersites. But characters so opposite do not mix: you cannot act both Thersites and Agamemnon. If you want to be Thersites you must be humpbacked and bald, if Agamemnon, you must be handsome and tall, and love your subjects.

CHAPTER III What to aim at in exchange.

If you are careful to get good value in exchange, you will keep your character, If you give up any external possession, mind you see what you are to get in exchange for it: and if it is worth more, then never say, 'I have been a loser.' You will not lose if you get a horse for an ass, an ox for a sheep, a noble action for a piece of money, true peace instead of pedantry, self-respect instead of foul language. If you remember this you will everywhere preserve your character as it ought to be: if you do not remember it, I warn you that your time perishes for nought, and you will waste and overthrow all the pains that you now spend upon yourself. It needs but a little to overthrow and destroy everything—just a slight aberration from reason. but to do this you must be careful and alert. For the helmsman to wreck his vessel, he does not need the same resources, as he needs to save it: if he turn it but a little too far to the wind, he is lost; yes, and if he do it not deliberately but from mere want of attention, he is lost all the same. It is very much the same in life: if you doze but a little, all that you have amassed up till now leaves you. Keep awake then and watch your impressions: it is no trifle you have in keeping, but self-respect, honour, constancy, a quiet mind, untouched by distress, or fear, or agitation—in a word, freedom.

What are you going to sell all this for? Look and see what your purchase is worth. 'But I am not going to sell my freedom for anything of that kind.'

Well, suppose you waive external gain, consider what the exchange is that you are making. [It is yours to say] 'Self-control for me, a tribunate for him: a praetorship for him, self-respect for me. I do not clamour, when to do so is unseemly, I will not jump from my seat, when I ought not, for I am free and God's friend, to obey Him of my own free will. Do not claim outward things, but only your own good, as God ordains. I must not lay claim to anything else—body, property, office, reputation, anything in short, for He does not wish me to lay claim to them: had He wished it, He would have made them good for me, but He has not done so, and therefore I cannot transgress any of His commands.' In everything you do, guard what is your own good: for the rest, be content just to take anything that is given you, so far as you may use it rationally. Otherwise you will be wretched and miserable, hampered and hindered. These are the laws that are sent you from God, these are His ordinances. These you must expound, and these obey, not those of Masurius and Cassius.

CHAPTER IV To those whose heart is set on a quiet life. Men will submit themselves to others for many objects. Remember that it is not only desire of office and of wealth that makes men abject and subservient to others, but also desire of peace and leisure and travel and learning. Regard for any external thing, whatever it be, makes you subservient to another. What difference does it make then whether you desire to be a senator, or not to be a senator, to be in office, or to be out of office? What difference is there between saying, 'I am miserable, I don't know what to do, I am tied to my books like a corpse', and saying, 'I am miserable, I have no leisure to read'? For books, like salutations and office, belong to the outer world which is beyond your own control. The only true standard is peace of mind. If you deny it, tell me why do you want to read? If you are drawn by the mere pleasure of reading, or by curiosity, you are a trifler, without perseverance: but if you judge it by the true standard, what is that but peace of mind? If reading does not win you peace of mind, what is the good of it?

'Nay,' he says, 'it does, and that is just why I am vexed at being deprived of it.' True peace of mind can be cultivated at all times, and nothing can hinder it. It is not a question of reading. And what, pray, is this peace of mind, which any one can hinder—I do not mean Caesar, or Caesar's friend, but a raven, a flute-player, a fever, countless other things? Nothing is so characteristic of peace of mind as that it is continuous and unhindered. Suppose now I am called away to do something: I shall go and attend to the limits which one must observe—acting with self-respect and security, with no will to get or to avoid external things, watching men also to see what they say and how they move, and that not from ill nature, nor to blame or mock at them, but looking at myself all the time to see if I am making the same mistakes too. 'How then shall I cease to err?' you ask.

Time was when I made the same mistakes as others, but I do so no more, thanks be to God. If you have acted thus and devoted yourself to this, have you done worse than if you had read a thousand lines or written as many? When you eat, are you vexed that you are not reading? Are you not content with eating as your reading bids you? And the same when you wash and take exercise? Why, then, do you not keep an equable tenor always, even when you approach Caesar or this or that great man? What do you lack, if you keep yourself free from passion, undismayed, modest, if you are rather a 'spectator of events than a spectacle to others, if you do not envy those preferred to you, if you are not dazzled by material things?

Plain English · paraphraseThere was a time when I made the same mistakes as others, but I no longer do. Thanks be to God. If you have done this and given yourself to it, have you done worse than if you had read a thousand lines or written as many? When you eat, are you upset that you are not reading? Are you not satisfied with eating, as your reading tells you to be? And the same when you wash and take exercise? Then why do you not keep a steady and even course always, even when you go near Caesar or this or that great man? What do you lack, if you keep yourself free from passion, unshaken, modest, if you are more a spectator of events than a spectacle to others, if you do not envy those who are preferred to you, if you are not dazzled by material things?

Study is a preparation for life, not an end in itself. You say you lack books? How, or to what end? Books are, no doubt, a preparation for life, but life itself is made up of things different from hooks. To ask for books is as though an athlete should complain, as he enters the arena, that he is not training outside. Life is what you were training for all along, this is what the leaping-weights, and the sawdust, and the young men you wrestled with were leading up to. What? Are you hankering after them, when the time for action is come? It is as if in the sphere of assent, when impressions are presented to us, some which are 'apprehensive', and some which have no such power, we should refuse to distinguish between them and should prefer to read the theory of apprehensive impressions. We fail because we cannot apply our studies to practice. What, then, is the reason of our failure?

The reason is that we never directed our reading or our writing to the right object—that is, to dealing naturally with the impressions that come upon us, when we have to act. We are content to go thus far and no farther—to understand what is said, and to be able to explain it to another, to analyse the syllogism and trace out the hypothetical argument. Therefore hindrance besets us in the sphere where our pains are spent. Do you want things which are not always in your power?

Be condemned, then, to hindrance, obstruction, failure. But if we were to study the doctrine of impulse, not to see what is said about impulse but to make our own impulses good, if we were to study the will to get and the will to avoid to the end that we may never fail to get what we will nor fall into what we avoid, and study the doctrine of what is fitting that we may remember our true relations and may do nothing irrationally or contrary to what is fitting—then we should not have to suffer vexation at being hindered in regard to the principles we have studied, but should find contentment in acting in accordance with them, and we should cease to calculate as we have been wont to do till to-day, 'To-day I read so many lines, wrote so many', and should reckon thus, 'To-day I governed my impulse by the precepts of the philosophers, I did not entertain desire, I avoided only things within the compass of my will, I was not awed by this man, or over-persuaded by that man, but trained my faculty of patience, of abstinence, of co-operation': and then we should give thanks to God, for the gifts for which our thanks are due.

We behave like the multitude, instead of like Socrates, who made God's will his guide. As it is, we do not realize that we too, with a difference, behave like the multitude. Another man fears that he may not become a magistrate, you fear that you may be one. Man, act not so. Nay, just as you laugh at him who fears he may not hold office, so laugh at yourself too. There is nothing to choose between being thirsty with fever, and shunning water like a madman. If you act thus; how shall you be able to say, as Socrates did, 'If God so wills, so be it'? Do you think that, if Socrates had set his desire on a life of leisure and daily conversation with young men in the Lyceum or the Academy, he would have cheerfully gone on all the campaigns in which he served? Would he not have groaned and lamented 'Unhappy that I am, wretched and miserable in the field, when I might be sunning myself in the Lyceum.' What? Was this your task in life, to sun yourself? Was it not to have a mind at peace, to be free from hindrance and encumbrance? Nay, how would he have been Socrates any more, if he had lamented like that? How could he have written songs of triumph in prison?

If your will is to be free, you must ignore all that lies outside its control, and make the most of your circumstances. In a word, then, remember this, that, whenever you pay regard to anything outside your will's control, you so far destroy your will. And freedom from office lies outside your will just as much as office, leisure just much as business. 'Am I, then, to pass my life amid this tumult?' What do you mean by 'tumult'? 'Amid a multitude of men.' Well, and what is there hard in that? Imagine you are at Olympia, make up your mind that it is a festival. There, too, one cries this, another that, one does this, another that, and one man jostles another. The public baths, too, are thronged, yet which of us does not enjoy this assemblage, and leave it with pain? Be not dissatisfied nor peevish at what happens. 'Vinegar disgusts me, for it is acid; honey disgusts me, for it upsets my tone; I dislike green stuff.' In the same way you say, 'I dislike retirement, it means solitude; I dislike a crowd, it means disturbance.'

Plain English · paraphraseIf you want to be free, you must ignore everything that is outside your control, and make the best of your situation. In short, remember this: whenever you pay attention to anything outside your control, you weaken your own will. And being free from office is as much outside your control as having office, and leisure is as much outside your control as work. "Am I then to spend my life in this noise?" What do you mean by "noise"? "Among many people." Well, what's hard about that? Imagine you're at Olympia, decide it's a festival. There, too, one person shouts this, another that, one does this, another that, and one person bumps into another. The public baths are also crowded, yet who among us does not enjoy such a gathering and leave without pain? Do not be annoyed or grumpy about what happens. "Vinegar disgusts me, because it's sour; honey disgusts me, because it upsets my voice; I dislike green food." In the same way you say, "I dislike retirement, because it means being alone; I dislike a crowd, because it means disturbance."

Say not so, but, if things so turn out, that you live alone or in a small company, call it 'peace' and make a proper use of it: The tumult of the world may be turned to good account. converse with yourself, train your impressions, develop your primary notions. If you chance on a crowd, call it 'games', 'assembly', 'festival', and try to share the feast with your fellow men. For what sight is pleasanter for the man who loves his kind than a multitude of men? We are pleased to see troops of horses or oxen, we delight to see a multitude of ships: does the sight of a multitude of men vex us? 'Nay, but their clamour overwhelms me.' Well, that is only a hindrance to your hearing: how does it affect you? Does it affect your faculty of dealing with your impressions? Who can hinder you from dealing naturally with the will to get and the will to avoid, the impulse to act and not to act? What tumult can avail to touch these?

Plain English · paraphraseDo not say that. But if things turn out so that you live alone or with a small group, call it "peace" and use it properly. The noise of the world can be used for good. Talk with yourself, train your impressions, develop your basic ideas. If you find yourself among a crowd, call it "games," "gathering," "festival," and try to share the feast with your fellow humans. What sight is more pleasant for one who loves their kind than a large number of people? We enjoy seeing herds of horses or oxen, we take pleasure in seeing many ships: does the sight of many people trouble us? "No, but their noise overwhelms me." Well, that is only a hindrance to your hearing: how does it affect you? Does it affect your ability to handle your impressions? Who can stop you from naturally responding to the will to get and the will to avoid, the impulse to act or not to act? What noise can touch these?

God's will is the one law, whether He gives you peace or the tumult of conflict. Only remember these general principles: 'What is mine, what is not mine? What is given me? What does God wish me to do now? What does He not wish?' A little while ago His will was that you should live a quiet life in converse with yourself, and write on these matters, read, listen, prepare yourself: you had sufficient time for this. Now He says to you, 'Now come into the conflict, show us what you have learnt, how you have trained. How long are you going to exercise yourself in solitude? The time has now come for you to discover whether you are an athlete worthy of victory, or one of those who go about the world suffering continual defeat.' Why, then, are you vexed? There is no conflict without a crowd: there must be many to train beforehand, many to cry applause, many stewards, many spectators. 'Yes, but I wanted to live a quiet life.'

Lament and mourn, then, as you deserve: for what greater penalty than this can fall on him who is uninstructed and disobedient to the ordinances of God than to be distressed, to mourn, to envy, in a word, to be unhappy and miserable? Have you no wish to free yourself from these ills? For freedom you must give up, if need be, even Athens or Rome, with all their attractions. 'And how shall I free myself?' Have you not often heard, that you must get rid of the will to get altogether, and must will to avoid only those things which are within your control? That you must give up everything—body, property, reputation, books, the throng, office, private life? For if once you swerve from this path you become a slave and a subject, you are liable to hindrance and compulsion, and completely at the mercy of others. But the saying of Cleanthes is ready to our need, Lead me, O Zeus, and lead me, Destiny.

Will you have me go to Rome? To Rome then. To Gyara? I will go to Gyara. To Athens? I will go to Athens. To prison? I will go to prison. If once you say, 'When are we to get away to Athens?' you are lost. That wish, if unfulfilled, must make you miserable, and, if fulfilled, it must make you puffed up, elated on false grounds: again, if you are hindered. it must make you unhappy, at the conflict between circumstances and your will. Give up all these things then. 'Athens is beautiful.' Yes, but happiness is far more beautiful—freedom from passion and disturbance, the sense that your affairs depend on no one. 'In Rome there is crowd and salutations.' Yes, but peace of mind outweighs all discomforts. If, then, the time for these has come, why do you not get rid of your will to avoid them? Why must you bear your burden like a cudgelled ass? If you do this, you must needs (look you) be the perpetual slave of him who has power to accomplish your departure, or him who can in any way hinder it, and you are bound to pay respect to him as to an Evil Genius.

Make your Governing Principle the one object of your study, and all will be well. There is but one way to peace of mind (keep this thought by you at dawn and in the day-time and at night)—to give up what is beyond your control, to count nothing your own, to surrender everything to heaven and fortune, to lehve everything to be managed by those to whom Zeus has given control, and to devote yourself to one object only, that which is your own beyond all hindrance, and in all that you read and write and hear to make this your aim. Therefore I cannot call a man industrious, if I am merely told that he reads or writes, no, not even if one adds 'he is at work all night', unless I know what he is working for. You do not call a man industrious who keeps late hours for the sake of a mistress: neither do I. But if he does it for glory, I call him ambitious; if for money, I call him fond of money, not fond of work. But if the object of his work is his own Governing Principle, if he is working to make this live a natural life, then and then only I call him industrious. You must never praise or blame

men for qualities that are indifferent, but for their judgements. For it is these which are each man's property, these which make their actions base or noble. Bear this in mind and rejoice in what is at hand and be content with what the moment brings. If you see any of the principles that you have learnt and thought over being realized by you in action, rejoice over them. If you have put away bad nature, and evil-speaking, or made them less, if you have got rid of wantonness, foul speaking, recklessness, slackness, if you are not excited by things that once excited you, or at least not as before, then you can keep festival day by day, to-day because you behaved well in this action, to-morrow because you did well in another. How much greater cause is this for offering sacrifice than if you were made consul or prefect! These things come to you from your own self and from the gods. Remember Who is the Giver, and to whom He gives and why. If you are brought up to reason thus, you need no longer raise the question, 'Where shall I be happy?' and 'Where shall I please God?' Do not men have their equal portion in all places? Do they not everywhere alike behold what comes to

CHAPTER V To those that are contentious and brutal.

The good man avoids contention,The good and noble man does not contend with any one, and to the best of his power does not suffer others to contend. We have an illustration of this, as of other qualities, set out for us in the life of Socrates, who not only avoided contention himself on all occasions, but tried to prevent the contentions of others. Look at the Symposium of Xenophon and see how many contentions he has reconciled, and again how patient he was with Thrasymachus, with Polus, with Callicles, and how patient always with his wife, and with his son, when his son tried to convict him of fallacious arguments. For he remembered to hold fast the truth that no man is master of another's Governing Principle. not interfering with others' action, but following nature. Therefore he wished to do nothing that was not his own. What does that mean? Not to move other people to act naturally, for that is not his to do: but to let others act for themselves, as they think fit, and himself none the less to live and spend his days in accord with nature, only doing his own business in such a way that they, too, should follow nature. For this is the conduct which the good and noble man always has set before him.

Plain English · paraphraseThe good man avoids arguments. The good and noble man does not argue with anyone, and to the best of his ability, he stops others from arguing. We have an example of this, as with other qualities, in the life of Socrates, who not only avoided arguments himself in every situation, but also tried to stop others from arguing. Look at the Symposium of Xenophon and see how many arguments he has settled. Again, see how patient he was with Thrasymachus, with Polus, with Callicles, and how patient he always was with his wife and with his son, when his son tried to prove that his arguments were wrong. For he remembered the truth that no one is in control of another's Governing Principle. He does not interfere with others' actions, but follows nature. Therefore, he wished to do nothing that was not his own. What does that mean? It means not trying to make others act naturally, for that is not his job. But to let others act as they see fit, and himself to live and spend his days in harmony with nature, doing his own business in such a way that they, too, might follow nature. For this is the behavior that the good and noble man always keeps in mind.

Is it his will to become praetor? No, but if this is given him, to keep his own Governing Principle in these circumstances. To marry? No, but if marriage is given him, to keep himself in a natural state in those circumstances. But if he wills that his son or his wife should not go wrong, then he wills to make his own what is not his own. In fact education is this, to learn what is one's own and what is not. Then he will never be disappointed. Where, then, is there any room for contention if a man bears himself thus? Is he amazed at anything that happens? Does anything take him by surprise? Does he not expect the wicked to deal worse and more severely with him than the event turns out? Does he not count everything gain in which they fall short of the worst? 'Such a one reviled you.' Many thanks to him for not striking. 'But he did strike too.' Many thanks to him for not wounding. 'But he did wound.' Many thanks to him for not killing. For when, or in whose school, did he learn 'that man is a gentle and sociable creature and that wrongdoing in itself does great harm to the wrongdoer'?

If his neighbour attacks him he will take no revenge, If, then, he has not learnt this or been convinced of it, why should he not follow what appears to be his interest? 'My neighbour has thrown stones.' Is that any offence on your part? 'But my crockery is broken.'

Plain English · paraphraseIf his neighbor attacks him, he will not take revenge. If, then, he has not learned this or been convinced of it, why should he not do what seems to be in his interest? "My neighbor has thrown stones." Is that an offense against you? "But my crockery is broken."

You are no piece of crockery: you are a rational will. You ask what is given you to meet this attack? If you want to act the wolf, you may bite back, and throw more stones at him than he threw: but if you seek to act as a man, then examine your store and see what faculties you have brought into the world with you. Have you brought the faculty of a brute, the faculty of revenging wrongs? When is a horse miserable? When it is deprived of its natural faculties, not when it is unable to crow like a cock, but when it is unable to run. And the dog? Not when it cannot fly, but when it cannot follow a trail. for that would be to lose what stamps him as a man—his rational faculty. On the same principle a man is wretched, not when he cannot throttle lions or embrace statues (for he has not been endowed by nature with faculties for this), but when he has lost his rational and trustworthy faculty. This is he for whom men should meet and mourn The miseries he has come to,

not, by Zeus, the man who is born or dies, but he whose lot it is to lose while he lives what is his own—not his patrimony, his paltry field or house or inn or slaves (for none of these is man's own, but all are alien to him, all are subject and subservient to their Masters, who give them now to one now to another)—to lose the qualities that make him man, the distinctive stamp impressed upon his mind: like the stamp we look for on coins, which if we find we pass them, and if we do not, fling them away. Whose imprint does this sesterce bear? 'Trajan's.' Here with it. 'Nero's.' Fling it away, it will not pass, it is good for nothing.

For a man is accepted or rejected for his judgements. So, too, it is with man. What stamp have his judgements? 'Gentle, sociable, patient, affectionate.' Good, I accept him, I make him a citizen, I accept him as a neighbour and fellow voyager. Only beware that he has not the stamp of Nero. Is he hot-tempered, is he wrathful, is he querulous? 'If it takes his fancy, he cuffs the heads of those he meets.' Why, then, did you say that he is a man? Is everything judged by its outward form alone? On that principle you must call your waxen apple an apple. No, it must smell and taste like an apple: the outward semblance is not enough. So, when you judge man, nose and eyes are not sufficient, you must see if he has the judgements of a man. Here is one who does not listen to reason, does not understand when his fallacies are exposed; he is an ass. Here is one whose self-respect is deadened: he is useless, anything rather than a man. Here is one looking to find some one he can kick or bite; it follows he is not even a sheep or an ass, but some savage beast or other.

Plain English · paraphraseA man is accepted or rejected based on his judgments. The same is true for a man. What is the mark of his judgments? "Gentle, sociable, patient, affectionate." Good. I accept him. I make him a citizen. I accept him as a neighbor and fellow traveler. But be careful that he does not have the mark of Nero. Is he hot-tempered? Is he wrathful? Is he quarrelsome? "If it takes his fancy, he hits the heads of those he meets." Then why did you say he is a man? Is everything judged only by its outward form? By that rule, you must call your wax apple an apple. No. It must smell and taste like an apple. The outward look is not enough. So, when you judge a man, eyes and nose are not enough. You must see if he has the judgments of a man. Here is one who does not listen to reason, who does not understand when his errors are shown. He is an ass. Here is one whose self-respect is deadened. He is useless, anything but a man. Here is one looking to find someone he can kick or bite. It follows that he is not even a sheep or an ass, but some wild beast or other.

He will pay no heed to the opinion of the ignorant. 'What then? Do you want me to be despised?' By whom? By those who know? Nay, how will those who know despise one who is gentle and self-respecting? By those who do not know? What do you care for them? No craftsman cares for those who have no skill! 'Yes, but they will attack me much more.' What do you mean by 'me'? Can any one injure your will or hinder you from dealing with the impressions you meet with in a natural way? 'No.'

Plain English · paraphraseHe will not listen to the opinions of the ignorant. "What then? Do you want me to be despised?" By whom? By those who understand? No, how could those who understand despise someone who is gentle and self-respecting? By those who don't understand? What do you care about them? No craftsman cares about those who have no skill! "Yes, but they will attack me much more." What do you mean by "me"? Can anyone injure your will or stop you from dealing with the impressions you meet in a natural way? "No."

Why, then, do you persist in being troubled and want to show yourself a man of fears? Why do you not come forward and openly proclaim that you are at peace with all men, whatever they do, and that you laugh above all at those who think that they are harming you? saying, 'These slaves do not know who I am, nor where to find what is good or bad for me, for they have no way of getting at my position.' In the same way those who inhabit a strong city laugh at those who besiege it. 'Why are these men troubling themselves for nothing? Our wall is secure, we have food for a long time, and all other supplies.' His security is in his judgements. These are the things that make a city secure against capture; the soul of man is made secure by judgements alone. For what wall is so strong, or what substance so impenetrable, or what property so secure against robbery, or what reputation so unassailable? When the objects that a man sets his mind on are bound to bring him trouble of mind, sick hopes, fear, mourning, disappointment of the will to get, failure of the will to avoid, they are always subject to death and to capture.

Plain English · paraphraseWhy, then, do you keep being troubled and trying to act like someone who is afraid? Why do you not step forward and clearly say that you are at peace with everyone, no matter what they do, and that you laugh at those who think they are hurting you? Say, "These people don't know who I am, or where to find what is good or bad for me, because they have no way of reaching my position." In the same way, those who live in a strong city laugh at those who attack it. "Why are these men wasting their effort? Our wall is strong, we have enough food for a long time, and all other supplies." His security is in his judgments. These are the things that make a city safe from capture; the human soul is made safe only by judgments. For what wall is so strong, or what material so impenetrable, or what possession so safe from theft, or what reputation so unshakable? When the things a person focuses on are bound to bring him mental trouble, sick hopes, fear, sorrow, disappointment in getting what he wants, failure in avoiding what he doesn't want, they are always subject to death and capture.

He shall therefore see that he has right judgement on outward things, If this be so, are we not willing to make the one means of safety which is given us secure, and, abandoning what is mortal and slavish, to spend our efforts on what is immortal and free by nature? Do we not remember that one man does not harm nor benefit another? It is man's judgement on each situation that harms him. It is this which overthrows him, this is contention, this is faction, this is war. The conflict of Eteocles and Polynices was caused by nothing else but this judgement, the judgement on kingship, the judgement on exile—that exile is the worst of evils, kingship the greatest good: and the nature of every man is this—to pursue the good, to avoid the evil, to consider him who takes away from one's good and who involves one in evil as an enemy and aggressor, even though he be a brother, a son, a father, for no kinship is closer than that of the good. Wherefore, if these outward things are reckoned good and evil, there is no love between father and sons or between brother and brother, but the whole world is full of enemies, aggressors, malicious persons. and then he will be free from contention, as Socrates was. But if a right will is the only good thing, and a wrong will the only evil, what becomes of conflict and reviling? How can it arise? Over things that do not concern us? With whom should we contend? With the ignorant, the miserable, with those who are deluded in regard to the highest matters?

Socrates remembered this when he lived in his own house and bore with a most shrewish wife and an unfeeling son. For what did her shrewishness mean? Pouring water at will over his head, and trampling on his cake. What is that to me, if I make up my mind that it is nothing to me? This is what I have to do, and no king nor master shall hinder me against my will, the many shall not prevail against the one, nor the stronger against the weaker: for God has given each man his reason to use unhindered. These judgements make affection in a household, concord in a city, peace among nations; they make a man grateful towards God, confident in all places, for he looks on outward things as alien to him and as worth nothing. But though we are capable of writing and reading these sentiments, though we can praise them as we read, yet they do not bring conviction to us, nor anything like it. Wherefore the proverb about the Lacedaemonians, Lions at home, foxes at Ephesus, will fit us too. In the lecture-room we are lions, and foxes in the world outside!

Plain English · paraphraseSocrates remembered this when he lived in his own house and put up with a very nagging wife and an unfeeling son. For what did her nagging mean? Pouring water over his head whenever she wanted, and trampling on his cake. What does that matter to me, if I decide it doesn't matter at all? This is what I must do, and no king or master shall stop me against my will. The many shall not overcome the one, nor the stronger the weaker: for God has given each man his reason to use freely. These beliefs create love in a household, harmony in a city, peace among nations; they make a man grateful to God, confident in all places, for he sees outward things as foreign to him and as worthless. But though we are able to write and read these ideas, though we can praise them as we read, yet they do not convince us, nor anything like that. Therefore the proverb about the Lacedaemonians, "Lions at home, foxes at Ephesus," will fit us too. In the lecture-room we are lions, and foxes in the world outside!

CHAPTER VI To those who are distressed at being pitied. Those who complain of being pitied are really accepting the multitude's standard of happiness, 'I am vexed', he says, 'at being pitied.' Is it your doing that you are pitied, or the doing of those who pity you? Or again, does it rest with you to stop their pity? 'Yes, if I show them that I do not deserve their pity.' But is it in your power, or is it not, not to deserve pity? 'I think that it is in my power.'

But these men do not pity you for what would deserve pity, if anything did—I mean for your errors—but for poverty and lack of office and diseases and death and other things of this sort. and can escape their pity only by base arts. Are you, then, prepared to persuade the multitude that none of these things, after all, is evil, but that it is possible for a man who is poor, and without office or honour, to be happy, or do you try to show off to them as a man of wealth and office? The second course stamps you as a braggart without taste or worth. And consider by what means you would achieve your pretence: you will have to borrow some wretched slaves and possess a few pieces of plate, and show them many times over, if you can, and try not to let men know that they are the same; and you must display gay apparel and other splendours and show yourself off as one who is honoured by eminent persons and must try to dine at their table, or at least be thought to do so; and you must use base arts on your person, to make yourself seem handsomer and better made than you really are: these are the contrivances you must adopt, if you wish to take the second way of avoiding pity.

How can you convince the multitude, when you have failed to convince yourself? But the first way is a long, nay an endless, one—to attempt the very task which Zeus could not accomplish—to convince all men of what is good and what is evil. Is this given to you? No! This only is given you —to convince yourself: you have not yet done that: and yet you are already attempting—are you?—to convince others. Why! Who has been your companion so long as you have been yourself, and who can exercise such persuasion on you as you can on yourself, and who is more kindly and friendly disposed to you than you are? How is it, then, that you have not yet persuaded yourself to learn? Are not your thoughts turned upside down? Have you set your mind on this, and not on learning how to be quit of pain and trouble and humiliation, and so to be free? Have you not heard, then, that there is but one way which leads to this—to give up all that lies beyond the will, to abandon it and confess that it is not yours? To what class of things does another man's opinion about you belong? 'To what is outside the will.' Then it concerns you not at all? 'Not at all.'

While, then, you still allow yourself to be vexed and troubled at men's opinion, do you imagine that you have attained conviction as to what is good and evil?

Plain English · paraphraseWhile you are still upset and troubled by what people think of you, do you think you have really understood what is good and what is evil?

Why is it that mere acceptance of principles has no effect? Will you not, then, let other men alone and become your own master and pupil? 'Other men shall see for themselves whether it is to their advantage to be in an unnatural state and live their lives so, but no man is nearer me than I am myself. Why is it, then, that though I have heard the arguments of philosophers and assent to them, they have not lightened my burden? Am I so wanting in ability? Why, in all the other things I chose to undertake, I was not found to be duller than most. I was quick at learning letters and wrestling and geometry and the analysis of syllogisms. Is it, then, that reason has failed to convince me? Why, there is nothing which I have so stamped with my approval and choice from the first—and even now these principles are the subject of my reading, I hear and write of nothing else: up till to-day we have found no argument to prevail against this. What then do I lack? Is it due to want of practice in them? Is it that the contrary judgements have not been removed from my mind? Is it that my own convictions are untrained and unaccustomed to confront facts, like arms put away in a cupboard and grown rusty, that cannot be fitted to my body? Yes, of course! In wrestling or writing or reading I am not content with merely learning; I twist the arguments put before me to and fro and construct new ones, and I deal with variable premisses in like manner. But when I have to deal with those necessary principles, which enable a man, if he grounds himself on them, to escape pain, fear, passion, hindrance—to be free, I do not exercise myself in them nor devote to them the practice that is proper for them. And then, am I concerned by what the multitude will say of me, and whether in their eyes I shall appear a happy or important personage?'

It is your own opinion of yourself which counts. Miserable man, will you not see what opinion you pronounce on yourself? How do you appear to yourself? What manner of man in thought, in will to get and will to avoid: what manner of man in impulse, preparation, design, and the other activities of man? Yet you are concerned whether other men pity you? 'Yes, but they pity me when I do not deserve it.' Is this what pains you? and is the man who is pained to be pitied? 'Yes.'

Plain English · paraphraseIt is your own opinion of yourself that matters. Poor man, won't you see what judgment you pass on yourself? How do you see yourself? What kind of person are you in thought, in your desire to gain and your desire to avoid? What kind of person in impulse, preparation, intention, and the other actions of a human being? And yet you care whether other people pity you? "Yes, but they pity me when I don't deserve it." Is this what troubles you? And is the one who is troubled the one who is pitied? "Yes."

Then you are not pitied without deserving it after all. By the very feelings you entertain in regard to pity you make yourself worthy of pity. What does Antisthenes say? Did you never hear? 'It is the part of a king, Cyrus, to do well and be ill-spoken of.' If you are in good health you pay no heed to those who think you are ill. My head is sound and all think that I have a headache. What do I care? I am free from fever, and men sympathize with me as though I had fever: 'Unhappy man, this long time you have had fever without ceasing.' I put on a gloomy face and assent: 'It is quite true I have been ill for a long time.' 'What is to happen then?' 'What God wills': and as I say it I laugh in my sleeve at those who pity me.

Do the same with regard to men's estimate of your happiness. What prevents me, then, from doing the same here too? I am poor, but I hold a right judgement on poverty: what do I care then, whether they pity me for poverty? I am not in office and others are; but I hold the right opinion as to being in office and out of it. Those who pity me shall take their own views: I have neither hunger nor thirst nor cold, but their own hunger or thirst makes them imagine the same of me. What am I to do for them then? I go about proclaiming and saying, 'Sirs, be not deluded, all is well with me, I take no heed of poverty, or want of office, or, in a word, of anything at all except right judgements: these I hold free from hindrance, I have paid regard to nothing besides.' Yet what nonsense am I talking? How do I hold right judgements any longer if I am not content with being what I am, and am excited over other men's opinion of me? Men achieve the objects they work for, such as wealth or office. 'But others will get more than I do, and will be preferred to me.'

Well, what is more reasonable than that those who have spent their pains on any object should have the advantage in that on which they have spent their pains? They have spent their pains on office, you on judgements, they on wealth, you on the way to deal with impressions. See whether they have the advantage of you in that on which you have spent pains and which they neglect: whether in assent they keep more to natural standards, whether they are more successful in getting what they will to get, and in avoiding what they will to avoid, whether in design, in purpose, in impulse they aim better than you, whether they do what is fitting for them as men, as sons, and as parents, and in each relation that you name in turn. But if they hold office and you do not, will you not tell yourself the truth—that you do nothing to gain office, and they do everything, and it is most unreasonable that one who pays attention to a thing should have less success in it than one who does not? If you have fixed your aim on other things you cannot hope to achieve this too. 'Nay, but I pay regard to right judgements and therefore it is more reasonable that I should rule.'

Yes, in judgements, for you have devoted yourself to them: but you must give place to others in that to which they have devoted themselves. You might as well claim to be a better shot with the bow than regular bowmen because you have right judgements, or to be better at smith's work than the professional smith. Give up your devotion to judgements then and busy yourself with the objects you wish to obtain, and then complain if you do not succeed, for you have a right to complain. But, as it is, you say you are bent on other things, and attending to other things, and the proverb of the people is a good one: 'One business has nothing in common with another.' One man rises at dawn and tries to find whom he can salute as he leaves home, or to whom he can make a pleasant speech, or send a gift, how he can please the dancer, how he can deal maliciously with one man to gratify another. When he prays, his prayers are for this object; when he sacrifices, his sacrifice is for this; the prayer of Pythagoras— That sleep fall not upon his tender eyes—

he has turned to this end. 'How went I wrong?' Was it in matters of flattery? 'What wrought I?' Have I acted as a free man and a gentleman? And if he finds himself acting so he blames and accuses himself and says, 'Whatever should you say this for? Might you not have told a lie? Even philosophers say, "There is nothing to hinder one's telling a lie."' If you prefer the rational life to the life of flattery, your object is freedom. But if you have really given your mind to nothing but how to deal properly with impressions, then as soon as you get up in the morning you must consider, 'What do I lack to secure freedom from passion? What do I lack to be unperturbed? What am I? Am I a mere body, or property, or reputation?' None of these. What then? A rational creature. What then are the demands upon me? Reflect upon your actions. 'Where have I gone wrong' in regard to peace of mind? 'What have I done' unfriendly, or unsociable, or heartless? What did I fail to accomplish in this regard that I ought to have done?

And you will not claim equality with those who have chosen the other part Seeing then that there is this great difference in men's desires and acts and prayers, do you still wish to be equal with them in matters to which they have given their minds and you have not? And, that being so, are you surprised and annoyed if they pity you? They are not annoyed if you pity them. Why? Because they are convinced that their lot is a good one, and you are not convinced. That is why you are not content with your portion, but hanker after theirs, and they are content with their portion and do not hanker after yours. For, if you were really convinced that you are right in regard to what is good and that they are far away from the truth, you would never have taken any account of what they say of you.

CHAPTER VII On freedom from fear. The man to whom life and possessions are indifferent tyrant. What makes the Emperor an object of fear? The guards, one says, with their swords, and the chamberlains and those who close the door against those who enter. Why is it then that, if you bring a child to him when his fears no guards are with him, the child is not afraid? Is it because the child is not aware of them? Now if a man is aware of the guards and their swords, but comes for that very purpose, because his misfortunes make him wish to die and he is anxious to die easily by some one else's hand, does he fear the guards? 'No, for he wishes for the very thing which makes men fear them.' If then a man whose will is not set on dying or living, but who is content with what is given him, comes before the Tyrant, what prevents him from coming without fear? 'Nothing.'

Now suppose a man is of the same mind in regard to property as this man in regard to his body: suppose he feels the same about wife and children: suppose, in a word, he is so distracted and desperate that he regards it as indifferent whether he has these things or not: just as children playing with potsherds are anxious about the game, but do not care for the potsherds in themselves, so he has not set his heart on material things, but accepts the game cheerfully, and enjoys handling them—how can any tyrant, how can any guards or swords inspire fear in such a one?

The rational man knows that he is part of a larger whole. Yet if madness can produce this attitude of mind, if even habit can produce it in the Galilaeans, can reason and demonstration teach no one that God has made all things in the world, and the world itself as a whole to have its own end without hindrance, but its individual parts to subserve the whole? Now all other things are without the capacity of understanding His governance, but the rational creature has faculties that enable him to reflect on all these things, to realize that he is a part, and what part he is, and that it is well for the parts to give way to the whole. And further, being by nature noble and generous and free, he sees that he has some of the things about him unhindered and in his own control, and some again subject to hindrance and dependent on others, the acts of his will unhindered, and things beyond his will subject to hindrance. If he finds his good in things that are within his control, nothing can disturb him. And therefore if he makes up his mind that his good and his interest lie in the former alone, in things that are unhindered and depend upon himself, he will be free, tranquil, happy, unharmed, high-minded, reverent, giving thanks for everything to God, on no occasion blaming or accusing any one for what happens; but if he finds his good in things outside and beyond his will, he is bound to be hindered and hampered, and to be the slave of those who have authority over those things on which his admiration and his fear are centred, he is bound to be irreverent because he thinks that God is injuring him, and unfair, always seeking to win for himself more than his share; he is bound to be of a mean and paltry spirit.

If a man understands this, there is nothing to prevent him from living with an easy and obedient spirit, content with his past lot and awaiting with a gentle spirit all that may yet befall him.

Plain English · paraphraseIf a man understands this, nothing will stop him from living with a calm and obedient spirit, content with what has happened before and waiting with a gentle spirit for whatever may still come to him.

He will bear poverty and exile and death itself with contentment. 'Would you give me poverty?' Give it me and you shall learn what poverty is when a good actor plays the part. 'Would you give me office?' Give it me, and troubles with it. 'Exile?' Wherever I go, it will be well with me: for even here it was not the place that made me well off, but my judgements, and these I shall carry away with me, for no one can rob me of them; these alone are my own and cannot be taken away, with these I am content wherever I am and whatever I do. 'But now the time is come to die.' What do you mean by 'die'? Do not use fine words, but state the facts as they are. 'Now is the time for your material part to be restored to the elements of which it was composed.' What is there dreadful in that? What loss to the universe will this mean, what strange or irrational event? Is this a thing to make one fear the tyrant? Is this what makes the swords of the guards seem long and sharp? The man whom God has made free is under no one's authority and has no fears. Let others look to that; I have considered the whole matter, and no one has authority over me. God has set me free, I have learnt to understand His commands, no one can make a slave of me any more, my judges and he who claims my freedom are as they should be.

'Am I not master of your body?' What does that concern me? 'Am I not master of your property?' Well, how does that concern me? 'Am I not master of exile and imprisonment?' Again, I resign all, yes, and my body itself for you to deal with, when you will. Only try your authority and you will learn how far it extends. What then can I fear any more? The chamberlains? What should I fear their doing? Fear their shutting me out? If they find me wanting to enter, let them shut me out! 'Why then do you come to the king's door?' Because I think it is fitting for me to join in the game while it lasts. 'How then do you escape being shut out?' If I am not received, it is not my will to enter; my will is always to prefer what comes to pass, for I consider what God wills better than what I will. He makes God's will his will, I will attach myself to Him as His minister and servant, my impulses and my wishes are one with His, in a word my will is His will. There can be no exclusion for me, but only for those who try to press in. Why then do I not press in?

Plain English · paraphrase"Am I not in charge of your body?" What does that matter to me? "Am I not in charge of your possessions?" Well, how does that matter to me? "Am I not in charge of banishment and imprisonment?" Again, I give up everything, yes, even my body itself for you to handle whenever you wish. Just try your authority and you will see how far it reaches. What then can I fear anymore? The palace guards? What should I fear they might do? Fear that they might keep me out? If they find me trying to enter, let them shut me out! "Why then do you go to the king's door?" Because I believe it is right for me to take part in the game while it is still going on. "How then do you avoid being shut out?" If I am not admitted, it is not because I want to enter; my will is always to accept what happens, for I believe what God wills is better than what I will. He who makes God's will his own will, I will join Him as His servant and helper, my desires and my choices will be the same as His. In short, my will is His will. There can be no exclusion for me, but only for those who try to force their way in. Why then do I not force my way in?"

Because I know that nothing good is given within to those who have entered. But when I hear a man called happy because he is honoured by Caesar I say, 'What is his portion?' '[A province or a procuratorship.]' Does he also get a judgement, such as a governor should have? Does he get the skill to use a procuratorship? Why should I push my way in any more? and regards honours as the nuts that children scramble for. Some one flings a shower of figs and nuts: the children try to seize them, and fight with one another for them; grown men do not, for they count it a small matter. If one fling potsherds even children do not try to catch them. Governorships are being given to this man and that: the children shall see to them! A praetorship, a consulship: let the children scramble for them: let them be shut out and beaten, let them kiss the hands of the giver and his slaves; for me they are figs and nuts. But what if a fig chance to fall into my lap when he is throwing? Take and eat it, for one may value a fig so far. But if I stoop for it and upset my neighbour or am upset by him, if I flatter those who enter, the fig is not worth while, nor is any other of the good things which the philosophers have persuaded me not to believe to be good.

The swords of the guards deserve no more respect than a fever or a falling tile. Show me the swords of the guards. 'See how large and how sharp they are.' Well, what do these large, sharp swords do? 'They kill.' What does fever do? 'The same.' What does a tile do? 'The same.' Would you have me then stand in awe of all these things, and pay them reverence, and go about as the slave of all?

God forbid! No, if I have once learnt that what is born must needs also be destroyed in order that the world may not stand still or be hindered, it makes no difference to me whether a fever is to destroy it or a falling tile or a soldier, but if I must compare them I know that the soldier will do the thing quicker and with less pain. Serve Caesar so long as he requires nothing unreasonable: if he requires more, give up the game. Seeing then that I neither fear anything that he can do to me nor desire anything that he can provide, why do I stand in awe and amazement before him any more? Why do I fear the guards? Why do I rejoice if he speaks to me in a friendly way and gives me a welcome? Why do I tell other people how he talked to me? Is he a Socrates or a Diogenes, that his praise of me should be a proof of what I am? Do I admire his character? No, it is to keep up the game that I come to him and serve him, so long as he commands me to do nothing stupid or unseemly. But if he says to me, 'Go and fetch Leon of Salamis', I say to him, 'Look for some one else, I will play no longer.'