Discourses and Enchiridion

'Away with him.' I follow; it is in the game. 'But you lose your neck.' Well! does the Emperor himself, and you who obey him, keep his neck for ever? 'But you will be flung abroad unburied.' I shall be, if I and the dead body are one, but if I am not the same as the dead body, state the facts with more discrimination, and do not try to frighten me. These are things to frighten children and fools. But if a man has once entered a philosopher's lecture-room and does not know what his true self is, he deserves to fear and to flatter what he flattered afterwards: I mean, if he has not yet learnt that he is not flesh or bones or sinews, but the faculty which uses them, and which also governs the impressions and understands them. Philosophy bids us claim only what is our own. 'Yes, but these arguments make men despise the laws.'

'Nay, these arguments of all others make those who adopt them obedient to the laws. Law is not what any fool can do. Yet see how these arguments make us behave rightly even towards our critics, since they teach us to claim nothing against them, in which they can surpass us. They teach us to give way in regard to our poor body, to give way in regard to property, children, parents, brothers, to give up everything, resign everything: only our judgements they reserve, and these Zeus willed should be each man's special property. How can you call this lawlessness, how can you call it stupidity? I give way to you in that wherein you are better and stronger than I: where, on the other hand, I am the better man, it is for you to give way to me, for I have made this my concern, and you have not. You make it your concern, how to live in a palace, how slaves and freedmen are to serve you, how you are to wear conspicuous raiment, how you are to have a multitude of huntsmen, minstrels, players. Do I lay claim to any of these? But the rational self will grow foul and rusty if it be not exercised. But you, for your part, have you concerned yourself with judgements? Have you concerned yourself with your own rational self? Do you know what are its constituents, what is its principle of union, how it is articulated, what are its faculties and of what nature? Why are you vexed then, if another who has made these things his study has the advantage of you here?

'But these are the greatest matters of all.' Who, I ask, prevents you from busying yourself with these and devoting your attention to these? Who has a larger equipment of books, of leisure, of masters who will do you good? Only incline your mind to these things, bestow a little time, if no more, on your own Governing Principle, consider what this possession is and whence it has come to you, this faculty which uses all the rest, which proves all the rest, selecting and rejecting. So long as you busy yourself with external things, no one will succeed with them so well as you, but this faculty of reason will be, what your own choice makes it, mouldy and neglected.

CHAPTER VIII To those who hastily assume the character of Philosophers.

Do not judge men by the outside. Never bestow praise or blame on any one for qualities which are indifferent, nor credit them with skill or want of skill; then you will escape at once from recklessness and malice. 'This man washes hastily.' Does he do evil then? Not at all. What is it he does then? He washes hastily. Do you mean that everything is well done? By no means: but acts based on right judgements are done well and those based on bad judgements are done badly. Until you have learnt from what judgement each of a man's acts proceeds, do not praise or blame him. But a judgement is not easily determined by externals. An adze does not make a carpenter, nor a cloak a philosopher. 'This man is a carpenter.' Why? 'He uses an adze.' What has that to do with it? 'This man is a musician, for he sings.' What does that matter? 'This man is a philosopher.' Why? 'He wears a cloak and long hair.' But what do mountebanks wear? Therefore, if a man sees one of them misbehaving, he says at once, 'Look what the philosopher is doing.' But his misconduct should rather have led him to say that he was no philosopher. For, if this is the primary conception and profession of

Plain English · paraphraseDo not judge people by their appearance. Do not give praise or blame to anyone for qualities that don’t really matter, and do not assume they are skilled or unskilled. Then you will avoid both carelessness and malice. “This man washes quickly.” Does that mean he does evil? Not at all. What does it mean then? He washes quickly. Do you mean everything he does is well done? Not at all. But actions based on good judgments are done well, and those based on bad judgments are done badly. Until you understand what kind of judgment a man’s actions come from, do not praise or blame him. But judgment is not easily seen from the outside. A tool does not make a carpenter, nor does a cloak make a philosopher. “This man is a carpenter.” Why? “Because he uses a tool.” What does that prove? “This man is a musician, because he sings.” What does that matter? “This man is a philosopher.” Why? “Because he wears a cloak and long hair.” But what do performers wear? So, if someone sees one of them acting improperly, he says at once, “Look what the philosopher is doing.” But his bad behavior should have led him to say that he was no philosopher. For, if this is the main idea and claim of

a philosopher, to wear a cloak and long hair, they would be right: but if it is rather this—to be free from error—why do they not deprive him of the name 'philosopher' because he does not fulfil the philosopher's profession? For this is what happens in other arts. When one sees a man planing badly, one does not say, 'What is the good of the carpenter's art, see what bad work carpenters do', but one says quite the contrary, 'This man is not a carpenter, for he planes badly.' In like manner if one hears a man singing badly, one does not say, 'See how badly musicians sing', but rather, 'This man is no musician.' It is only in regard to philosophy that men behave so: when they see any one acting contrary to the philosopher's profession, instead of refusing him the name, they assume that he is a philosopher, and then finding from the facts that he is misbehaving, they infer that there is no use in being a philosopher. What is the reason for this? The reason is that we pay regard to the primary notion of the carpenter, and to that of the musician, and to that of other craftsmen in like manner, but pay no regard to the notion of the philosopher, but as it is

indistinct and inarticulate in our minds we judge it by externals only. Can you name any other art that is acquired by dress and hair, and is destitute of principles and subject-matter and end?

What distinguishes the philosopher is the life of reason. What then is the subject-matter of the philosopher? Is it a cloak? No, it is reason. What is his end? Is it to wear a cloak? No, but to keep his reason right. What are his principles? Are they concerned with how to grow a long beard or thick hair? No, but rather, as Zeno says, to understand the elements of reason, the true nature of each, and how they are duly related to one another, and all that is consequential on this. Will you not, then, first see whether he fulfils his profession by behaving unseemly, and only then, if it be so, accuse his calling? As it is, when you think that he is behaving ill, when your own conduct is discreet, you say, 'Look at the philosopher', as though it were fitting to call the man who acts so a philosopher, and again, 'There's your philosopher!' But you do not say, 'Look at the carpenter', or 'Look at the musician', when you discover one of that class in adultery or see him eating greedily. So true it is that you realize the philosopher's profession to a certain extent, but you fall away from it and are confounded by sheer want of practice.

Plain English · paraphraseWhat makes a philosopher special is a life guided by reason. So, what is the philosopher's focus? Is it clothing? No, it is reason. What is his goal? Is it to wear a cloak? No, but to keep his reason correct. What are his principles? Are they about growing a long beard or thick hair? No, but rather, as Zeno says, to understand the parts of reason, the true nature of each, and how they properly relate to one another, and everything that follows from this. Should you not first check whether he lives up to his profession by acting improperly, and only then, if that is the case, criticize his profession? As it is, when you think he is acting badly, while your own behavior is sensible, you say, "Look at the philosopher," as if it were right to call someone who acts that way a philosopher, and again, "There's your philosopher!" But you would not say, "Look at the carpenter," or "Look at the musician," when you find one of those people committing adultery or eating greedily. So true it is that you understand the philosopher's profession to some extent, but you fall away from it and are confused because of your lack of practice.

There are philosophers who dress for the part, But even those who are called philosophers use vulgar means to pursue their calling: they just put on a cloak and let their beard grow and say, 'I am a philosopher.' But no one if he merely buys a harp and a plectrum will say, 'I am a musician', nor if he puts on a smith's cap and apron will say, 'I am a smith': no doubt they fit the dress to the art, but they take their name from the art and not from the dress. but it is better not to announce one's calling, but let one's actions speak. For this reason Euphrates was right in saying, 'For a long time I tried not to be known for a philosopher and this was useful to me. For, in the first place, I knew that what I did rightly was done for my own sake and not for the spectators: it was for myself that I ate rightly and was modest in my aspect and my gait: all was for myself and God. Secondly, as the performance was mine only, so also was the risk: if I did anything shameful or unseemly the cause of philosophy was not endangered, nor did I injure the public by going wrong as a philosopher. For this reason those who did not know my design wondered how it was that, though I was familiar and conversant with all philosophers, I was not a philosopher myself. What harm is there in the philosopher being discovered by my acts, and not by outward signs?'

See how I eat, how I drink, how I sleep, how I bear and forbear, how I work for others, how I exercise the will to get and the will to avoid, how I observe my relationships, natural and acquired, without confusion and without hindrance. Judge me by this, if you can. But if you are so deaf and blind, that you do not consider Hephaestus a good smith unless you see him with his smith's cap on his head, what harm is there in being unrecognized by so foolish a judge? So it was that most men did not recognize Socrates for a philosopher, and they came to him and asked him to introduce them to philosophers. Well, was he annoyed with them, as we should be? Did he say, 'Do not you think me a philosopher?' No, he took them and introduced them, and was content with this one thing, that he was a philosopher, and was glad that he was not vexed at being not taken for one: for he remembered his proper business. What is the business of a good and true man? To have many pupils? Certainly not: those who have set their heart on that shall look to that. Is it then to take difficult principles and define them precisely?

Others there will be who will look to this. Where then was it that Socrates asserted himself and wished to assert himself?

Socrates was content to be the man he was. In the region of injury and benefit. 'If any one', said he, 'can injure me, I am of no good; if I wait for some one to benefit me, I am naught. If I will, and my will is not done, I am miserable.' This was the great field of conflict to which he challenged every man, and in which I think he would have given way to none. But how, think you? Was it by proclaiming aloud, 'This is the man I am'? Never! but by being the man he was. For, again, it is a fool's and a braggart's part to say, 'I am free from passion and tumult. Men, I would have you know, that, while you are in turmoil and disturbance about worthless matters, I alone am relieved from all perturbation.' What, are you not content to be free from pain, without proclaiming, 'Come, all ye who suffer from gout, headache, fever, come ye lame and blind and behold how I am untouched by any sickness'? That is a vain and vulgar boast, unless, like Asclepius, you can at once show them by what treatment they too can be relieved of disease, and for this purpose produce your own good health as an example.

The true Cynic appeals to men by his simple life, Such is the character of the Cynic whom Zeus has deemed worthy of crown and sceptre. He says, 'Men, you are looking for happiness and peace not where it is but where it is not, and, that you may see this, behold I have been sent to you by God as an example, having neither property nor house nor wife nor children—no, not even a bed or a tunic or a piece of furniture. See how healthy I am. Try me, and if you see that I am at peace in my mind, hear my remedies and the treatment which cured me.' This indeed is a humane and noble saying. But notice whose work it is: the work of Zeus or whomsoever He thinks worthy of this service—never to lay bare before the multitude any weakness whereby he should make of none effect the witness which he bears to virtue, and bears against outward things. His noble face ne’er paled, nor from his cheeks Wiped he a tear.

Not only so, he must not long for anything or hanker after anything—human being or place or way of life—as children hanker after sweet grapes or holidays: he must be adorned with self-respect on every side, as others find their adornment in walls and doors and door-keepers.

while the would-be philosopher puts dress before discipline. Instead of that your would-be philosophers just take a start towards philosophy, and, like dyspeptics rushing to some dainty food, of which they are bound soon to grow sick, they claim at once the sceptre and the kingdom. He lets his hair grow, assumes a cloak, bares his shoulder for all to see, fights with those that meet him, and, if he sees any one in a fine cloak, quarrels with him. Man, discipline yourself first: watch your own impulse, to see that it is not like the sickly craving of a woman with child. It is better to let your character grow in secret, like the seed. Study first not to let men know what you are: keep your philosophy to yourself for a little. That is how fruit is produced. The seed must needs be buried first, and be hidden, and increase by slow degrees, that it may come to fullness. But if it bear the ear before it grows the stalk, it is like a plant from the garden of Adonis and comes to no good. That is the sort of plant you are: you have blossomed sooner than you ought, and will wither away when the storm comes.

Look what farmers say about seeds, when the hot weather comes before its time. They are all anxiety for fear that the seeds should grow insolent and then a single frost seize them and expose their weakness. You, too, man, must beware: you have grown insolent and have leapt to an opinion before the time: you think yourself a somebody, fool that you are among fools; you will be frost-bitten, nay you are frost-bitten already down at the root, though above you still blossom for a little and therefore think you are still alive and flourishing. Leave us at least to ripen in the natural course. Why do you expose us to the air, why do you force us? We cannot bear the air yet. Let the root grow, and then produce the stem, first one joint, then the second, then the third: then in that way the fruit will force its way naturally, whether I will or no.

Plain English · paraphraseLook what farmers say about seeds when the hot weather comes too soon. They are all anxiety, fearing that the seeds might grow arrogant and then a single frost might catch them and reveal their weakness. You too, man, must be careful: you have grown arrogant and jumped to an opinion before the time. You think yourself important, fool that you are among fools. You will be frost-bitten, no, you are already frost-bitten at the root, though above you still bloom for a little while and so think you are still alive and thriving. Let us at least ripen in the natural course. Why do you expose us to the air? Why do you force us? We cannot yet bear the air. Let the root grow, then produce the stem, first one joint, then the second, then the third. Then, in that way, the fruit will come naturally, whether I will or not.

For who that has conceived and travailed with such great judgements does not become aware of his own gifts and hasten to act in accordance with them? Why, a bull is not ignorant of his own nature and endowment when he catches sight of a wild beast, nor does he wait for some one to encourage him; and so with a dog, when he sees a wild animal. If then I have the equipment of a good man, am I to wait for you to equip me to do my proper work? But as yet I have not the equipment, believe me. Why then would you make me wither away before the time, just as you have withered away yourself?

Plain English · paraphraseWho that has conceived and gone through such great judgments does not become aware of his own gifts and hurry to act according to them? A bull is not ignorant of his nature and abilities when he sees a wild beast, and he does not wait for someone to encourage him. The same is true of a dog when he sees a wild animal. If I have the equipment of a good man, am I to wait for you to equip me to do my proper work? But I do not yet have the equipment, I assure you. Why then would you make me wither away before the time, just as you have withered away yourself?

CHAPTER IX To one who was modest and has become shameless.

It is better to be without wealth or office, than to be the slave of your passions; When you see another man in office, set against his office the fact that you have no need of office: when you see another rich, look what you have instead. If you have nothing instead, you are miserable, but if you have this—that you have no need of wealth—know that you are better off and have something much more valuable. Another has a beautiful wife, you have freedom from desire for a beautiful wife. Do these seem to you small matters? Nay, what a price the rich themselves, and those who hold office, and who live with beautiful wives, would give to despise wealth and office and the very women whom they love and win! Do you not know what the thirst of a man in a fever is like, how different from the thirst of a man in health? The healthy man drinks and his thirst is gone: the other is delighted for a moment and then grows giddy, the water turns to gall, and he vomits and has colic, and is more exceeding thirsty. Such is the condition of the man who is haunted by desire in wealth or in office, and in wedlock with a lovely woman: jealousy clings to him, fear of loss, shameful words, shameful thoughts, unseemly deeds.

for that means loss of manhood. 'Nay, but what do I lose?' he says.

Man, you were self-respecting and are so no more; have you lost nothing? Instead of Chrysippus and Zeno you read Aristides and Evenus; have you lost nothing? Instead of Socrates and Diogenes you admire the man who can cajole and corrupt most women. You want to be handsome and you make yourself up as what you are not; you want to show off glittering clothes, that you may attract women's eyes, and you count yourself lucky if you light on some precious cosmetic. Before, you thought of none of these things; your only concern was to find seemly discourse, a man of worth, a noble thought; and therefore you slept like a man, you walked like a man, you dressed like a man, your conversation was what a good man's should be. Can you say then, 'I have lost nothing'? Do you mean that men lose nothing but mere money? Is there no loss of self-respect, no loss of decency? Does the loss of these count for nothing? To you perhaps the loss of these qualities seems as nothing: there was a time when you counted this the only loss and the only harm, and when your one anxiety was that no one should dislodge you from these views and these acts.

If you have lost your self-respect, you must fight against yourself to recover it. And lo! you have been dislodged from them, but by none other than yourself. Fight against yourself, deliver yourself, that you may be modest, self-respecting, free. If any one ever told you that some one was compelling me to be a profligate, to dress like a profligate, to scent myself, would you not go and murder the man who so abused me? Will you not help yourself then? And how much easier this help is to give! There is no need to kill or to imprison or to assault any one, no need to come out into the market-place: you have only to talk to yourself, to the man who is most likely to be persuaded, and whom no one can persuade better than yourself. Therefore, first realize what is happening to you, and having done so, do not be faint-hearted or behave as men of a mean spirit do, who when once they have given in surrender completely and are swept away, so to speak, by the stream: no, learn a lesson from the trainers. The boy has fallen, suppose. Fight and fight again: victory will be its own reward. 'Get up', says the trainer, 'and wrestle again, until you are made strong.' Let this be your attitude; for know that nothing is more amenable than the mind of man. You have but to will a thing and it is done, and all is right; on the other hand you have but to relax your effort and all is lost. For destruction and deliverance lie within you.

Plain English · paraphraseIf you have lost your self-respect, you must fight against yourself to get it back. And look! You have been pushed away from them, but by no one else than yourself. Fight against yourself, save yourself, so that you may be modest, self-respecting, free. If anyone ever told you that someone was forcing me to be a profligate, to dress like a profligate, to scent myself, would you not go and kill the man who so abused me? Will you not help yourself then? And how much easier this help is to give! There is no need to kill or to imprison or to attack anyone, no need to go out into the marketplace: you have only to speak to yourself, to the man who is most likely to be persuaded, and whom no one can persuade better than yourself. Therefore, first understand what is happening to you, and having done so, do not be weak-hearted or act like men of a mean spirit, who, once they have given in, surrender completely and are carried away, as it were, by the current: no, learn a lesson from the trainers. Suppose the boy has fallen. Struggle and struggle again: victory will be its own reward. "Get up," says the trainer, "and wrestle again, until you are made strong." Let this be your attitude; for know that nothing is more responsive than the mind of man. You have only to want something and it is done, and all is well; on the other hand, you have only to relax your effort and all is lost. For destruction and deliverance lie within you.

'What good do I get then?' What greater good do you look for than this? You were shameless and shall be self-respecting, you were undisciplined and shall be disciplined, untrustworthy and you shall be trusted, dissolute and you shall be self-controlled. If you look for greater things than these, go on doing as you do now: not even a god can save you.

CHAPTER X What things we should despise, and what we should deem important. Men's difficulties are concerned with external things. All men's difficulties and perplexities are concerned with external things. 'What am I to do?' 'How is it to be done?' 'How is it to turn out?' 'I fear this or that may befall me.' All these phrases are used by persons occupied with matters outside their will. For who says, 'How am I to refuse assent to the false?' 'How am I to refuse to swerve from the true?' If a man is so gifted by nature as to be anxious about these things, I will remind him: 'Why are you anxious? It rests with you: be not troubled. Be not over-hasty in assent, before you have applied the rule of nature.'

They may avoid anxiety if they direct their will to things not beyond their control Again, if he is anxious about his will to get, lest it should fail of its object and miss the mark, and about his will to avoid, lest it should fall into what it avoids, first of all I will salute him, because he has got rid of the excitements and fears of other men, and has turned his thoughts to his own business where his true self lies. Then I shall say to him: 'If you would not fail to get what you will, nor fall into what you will to avoid, do not will to get what is not your own, nor to avoid what is not in your control: otherwise you are bound to fail and to fall into disaster. Where is the difficulty if you do as I say? What room is there for phrases like, "How am I to get it?" "How is it to turn out?" "I fear this or that may befall me."' for good and evil are in the region of the will. Is not the issue of the future outside our will? 'Yes.' And the essence of good and evil is in the region of the will? 'Yes.'

Is it in your power then to make a natural use of every event that happens? Can any one hinder you from that? 'No one.' Say no more then, 'What is to happen?' For whatever happens, you will turn it to good purpose, and the issue will be your good fortune. What would Heracles have been if he had said, 'How am I to prevent a big lion from appearing, or a big boar, or brutal men?' What care you, I say? If a big boar appears, you will have a greater struggle to engage in; if evil men appear, you will free the world from evil men. Death comes to all. Let it find us busy with a man's highest concerns. 'But if I die thus?'

Plain English · paraphraseIs it in your power then to use every event as it naturally happens? Can anyone stop you from doing that? "No one." Then say no more, "What is to happen?" For whatever happens, you will use it for good, and the result will be your good fortune. What would Heracles have been if he had said, "How can I stop a big lion from appearing, or a big boar, or brutal men?" What do you care? If a big boar appears, you will have a greater struggle to take on; if evil men appear, you will free the world from evil men. Death comes to all. Let it find us occupied with a man's highest concerns. "But if I die thus?"

You will die a good man, fulfilling a noble action. For since you must die in any case, you must be found doing something—whatever it be—farming or digging or trading or holding the counsulship or suffering indigestion or diarrhoea. What then would you have death find you doing? For my part I would be found busy with some humane task, whatever it be—something noble, beneficent, advancing the common weal. And if I cannot be found doing great things like these, I would do what none can hinder, what is given me to do, setting myself right, bringing to perfection the faculty that deals with impressions, working to achieve freedom from passion, rendering what is due to each relation in life; nay, if I am so fortunate, attaining to the third sphere of activity, that concerned with certainty of judgements.

The man who has accepted God's will has a happy end, If death finds me thus occupied, I am content if I can lift up my hands to God and say, 'I have not neglected the faculties which I received from Thee, to enable me to understand Thy governance and follow it, I have not dishonoured Thee so far as in me lay. See how I have dealt with my senses, see how I have dealt with my primary notions. Did I ever complain of Thee, did I ever show discontent with anything that happened to any one, or wish it to happen otherwise, did I offend in my relations towards others? In that Thou didst beget me I am grateful for Thy gifts: in so far as I have used what Thou gayest me I am satisfied. Take Thy gifts back again and place them where Thou wilt: for they were all Thine, Thou hast given them to me.' Are you not content to leave the world in this state of mind? Nay, what life is better or more seemly than his who is so minded, and what end can be more happy?

But to achieve this you must pay the price. But to achieve this, you must put up with great troubles and great losses. You cannot have this and wish to get a consulship, you cannot have this and set your heart on owning lands, you cannot take thought for yourself and for wretched slaves at the same time. No, if you wish for what is not your own, you lose what is yours. This is in the nature of things: nothing is done but at a price. And what need for wonder? If you wish to become consul, you must keep late hours, run to and fro, kiss people's hands, lie perishing at other men's doors, say and do many things unfit for a free man, send gifts to many, and presents every day to some. And what do you get for it? Twelve bundles of rods, the privilege of sitting three or four times on the tribunal and of giving games in the Circus, and doles in baskets. If it be not so, let any one show me what there is besides. Will you then spend nothing, and use no effort to secure release from passion and perturbation, that sleeping you may sleep and waking you may wake, that you may fear nothing and be anxious for nothing? But if while you are thus engaged you have losses or spend money amiss, or if another gets what you ought to have got, are you going to be vexed all at once at what happens? Will you not weigh what the exchange is and how precious your gain, instead of wishing to obtain this great prize for nothing? Nay, how can you? 'One business interferes with another.'

You cannot indulge your desires and follow your reason too. You cannot combine attention to outward possessions with attention to your own Governing Principle. If you want outward things, let your reason go, or you will have neither the one nor the other, being pulled both ways. If you wish for reason, you must let outward things go. The oil will be spilt, my poor furniture will perish, but I shall be free from passion. Say a fire shall arise when I am away and my books perish, yet I shall deal with my impressions in accord with nature. 'But I shall have nothing to eat.'

Death is a refuge in the last resort, and meantime you can control what is yours. If I am so miserable, death is my harbour. Death: this is the harbour, this the refuge from all things, therefore nothing in life is difficult. When you wish, you leave, and no smoke annoys you. Why then are you anxious, why keep late hours? Why do you not reckon up at once where your good and your evil lie, and say, 'Both are in my power: no one can deprive me of my good, and no one can plunge me in evil against my will. Why then do I not snore at my ease? I am secure in what is mine: what is not mine will be the concern of any one who gets it as a gift from Him who has authority to give it. Who am I to will that what is not mine should be thus or thus? Is it given to me to choose? Has any one set me to administer it? I am content with the things over which I have authority. These I must make as beautiful as possible; the rest must be as their master wills.'

The laments of Homer's heroes show their lack of right judgements. If a man has this before his eyes he is no longer wakeful, 'hither and thither tossed'. What would he have, or what does he long for? Does he long for Patroclus or Antilochus or Menelaus? When did he think any of his friends was immortal? When had he not before his eyes the fact that to-morrow or the day after he or his friend must die? 'Yes,' he says, 'but I thought he would outlive me and enrich my son.' Yes, for you were a fool, and set your thoughts on uncertainties. Why not then accuse yourself, instead of sitting crying like young girls? 'Nay, but he set food for me to eat.' Yes, fool, for he was alive: now he cannot. But Automedon will set meat for you, and if he dies you will find another. If the pot in which your meat was boiling is broken, must you needs die of hunger, because you have lost the pot you are used to? Do not you send and buy another? 'Nay,' he says, 'No worse ill could befall me.'

What! Is this what you call ill? And yet you forbear to remove it and blame your mother for not warning you, that you might spend your days lamenting ever since. What think you? Did not Homer compose these lines on purpose that we might see that there is nothing to prevent the noblest, the strongest, the richest, the most handsome, from being most wretched and most miserable when they have not the judgements they should have?

Plain English · paraphraseWhat! Do you call this bad? And yet you refuse to get rid of it and blame your mother for not warning you, so that you have been grieving ever since. What do you think? Did Homer not write these lines on purpose so that we might see that nothing stops the noblest, the strongest, the richest, the most handsome from being the most wretched and miserable when they lack the judgments they should have?

CHAPTER XI On cleanliness. Cleanliness is distinctive of man. Some men raise the question whether the social faculty is a necessary element in man's nature: nevertheless even they, I think, would not question that cleanliness at any rate is essential to it, and that this, if anything, divides him from the lower animals. So when we see one of the other animals cleaning itself, we are wont to say in our surprise, 'He does it like a man.' And again, if some one finds fault with an animal for being dirty we are wont to say at once, as if in defence, 'Of course he is not a man.' So true is it that we think the quality to be distinctive of man, deriving it first from the gods. For since the gods are by nature pure and unalloyed, just in so far as men have approached them by virtue of reason, they have a tendency to purity and cleanliness. But since it is impossible for their nature to be entirely pure, being composed of such stuff as it is, the reason which they have received endeavours, so far as in it lies, to make this stuff clean.

The primary cleanliness is inward, and springs from right judgements. The primary and fundamental purity is that of the soul, and so with impurity. You cannot find the same impurity in a soul as in a body: the soul's impurity you will find to be just this—that which renders it unclean for its own functions; and the functions of a soul are: impulse to act and not to act, will to get and will to avoid, preparation, design, assent. What is it then which renders the soul foul and unclean in these functions? It It is nothing but its evil judgements. And so the soul's impurity consists in bad judgements, and purification consists in producing in it right judgements, and the pure soul is one which has right judgements, for this alone is proof against confusion and pollution in its functions.

Plain English · paraphraseThe main kind of cleanliness is inside, and it comes from making correct judgments. The most important and basic purity is that of the soul, and the same goes for impurity. You won't find the same kind of impurity in a soul as in a body. The impurity of a soul is simply what makes it unfit for its own functions. The functions of a soul are: the impulse to act or not to act, the will to seek or to avoid, preparation, planning, and agreement. What then makes the soul dirty and unclean in these functions? It is nothing but bad judgments. So the impurity of the soul lies in bad judgments, and purification means bringing about correct judgments in it. A pure soul is one that has correct judgments, because only this protects it from confusion and pollution in its functions.

Bodily cleanliness ought to follow, And one ought to endeavour, as far as may be, to achieve a similar cleanliness in one's body too. Man's temperament is such that there must needs be mucous discharge: for this reason nature made hands, and the nostrils themselves like channels to cleanse his humours. If he swallows them I say that he does not act as a man should. It was impossible for men's feet not to be made muddy and dirty when they pass through mud and dirt; for this reason nature provided water and hands to wash with. It was impossible that some impurity should not stick to the teeth from eating. Therefore we are bidden to wash our teeth. otherwise a man is hardly human or fit for society. Why? That you may be a man and not a beast or a pig. It was impossible that sweat and the pressure of our clothes should not leave some defilement clinging to the body, and needing to be cleansed. Therefore we have water, olive-oil, hands, towel, strigils, soap, and on occasion every other sort of apparatus, to make the body clean. 'Not for me', you say.

What! The smith will clean his iron tool of rust, and will have instruments made for the purpose, and even you will wash your plate when you are going to eat, unless you are absolutely foul and dirty, and yet you will not wash nor make clean your poor body? 'Why should I?' says he. I will tell you again: first, that you may act like a man, next, that you may not annoy those you meet. You are doing something very like it even here, though you are not aware of it. You think you deserve to have a scent of your own. Very well, deserve it: but do you think those who sit by you deserve it too, and those who recline by you, and those who kiss you? Go away then into a wilderness, where you deserve to go, and live by yourself, and have your smell to yourself, for it is right that you should enjoy your uncleanness by yourself. But if you are in a city, what sort of man are you making yourself, to behave so thoughtlessly and inconsiderately? Your body deserves as much care as a horse. If nature had trusted a horse to your care, would you have left it uncared for? Imagine that your body has been committed to you as a horse: wash it, rub it down well, make it such that no one will shun it or turn from it. But who does not turn from a man who is dirty, odorous, foul-complexioned, more than from one who is bespattered with muck? The smell of the latter is external and accidental, that of the former comes from want of tendance; it is from within, and shows a sort of inward rottenness.

'But Socrates rarely washed.' Socrates did not neglect his body. Why, his body was clean and bright, nay, it was so gracious and agreeable that the handsomest and noblest were in love with him, and desired to recline by him rather than by those who were perfect in beauty. He might have never washed or bathed, if he had liked: I tell you his ablutions, if rare, were powerful. If you will not wash in hot water, wash in cold. But Aristophanes says: I mean the pallid folk, that shoeless go. True, but he also says he trod the air and stole clothes from the Gymnasium. The fact is, that all who have written about Socrates bear witness to just the opposite: he was not only pleasant to hear, but pleasant to look upon. They write the same again about Diogenes.

The philosopher who looks dirty frightens away his pupils. You must not scare away the masses from philosophy by your bodily appearance, but show yourself cheerful and unruffled in the body as in other things. 'Men, look at me, I have nothing, I need nothing; without house, without city, an exile, if it so chance, and without a hearth, behold how I live a life more tranquil and happy than all the noble and the rich: but you see also that my poor body is not disfigured by my hard living!' But if a man says this to me, and wears the face and figure of one condemned, no god will ever persuade me to come near philosophy, if that is the sort of men she makes. Far be it from me: though it were to make me wise, I would not.

A sense of beauty, however misdirected, may be turned to right ends. By the gods, when the young man feels the first stirrings of philosophy I would rather he came to me with his hair sleek than dishevelled and dirty: for that shows a sort of reflection of the beautiful, and a longing for the comely, and where he imagines these to be, there he spends his effort. It only remains then to point him the way and say, 'Young man, you are in search of the beautiful, and you do well. Know then, that it is to be found where your reason is. Seek for it in the region of impulses to act and not to act, in the region of the will to get and the will to avoid. This is your distinctive possession, your body is born to be but clay. Why do you toil for it in vain? Time, if nothing else, will teach you that it is nothing.' But if he comes to me befouled, dirty, with a beard trailing to his knees, what can I say to him, what similitude can I use to attract him? To what is he devoted that has any likeness to the beautiful, that I may change his direction and say, 'The beautiful is not here, but here'? Would you have me say to him, 'The beautiful is to be found not in filthiness but in reason'? Does he want the beautiful? Does he show any sign of it? Go and reason with a pig, that he wallow no more in the mire! That was why Xenocrates’ discourses laid hold on Polemo, for he was a young man of taste; he had come with glimmerings of devotion to the beautiful, though he sought it elsewhere.

Plain English · paraphraseA sense of beauty, even if misplaced, can be directed toward the right things. By the gods, when a young man first begins to feel the stirrings of philosophy, I would rather he came to me with his hair smooth than messy and dirty. That shows a kind of reflection on the beautiful, a desire for the attractive, and where he thinks these things are, there he puts his effort. Then all that remains is to show him the right path and say, "Young man, you are seeking the beautiful, and you are doing well. Know this: it is found where your reason is. Look for it in the area of impulses to act or not to act, in the area of the will to gain and the will to avoid. This is your true possession. Your body is only clay. Why do you work for it in vain? Time, if nothing else, will teach you that it is nothing." But if he comes to me dirty, with a beard reaching his knees, what can I say to him? What comparison can I use to draw him in? What is he devoted to that has any resemblance to the beautiful, so that I can change his direction and say, "The beautiful is not here, but here"? Would you have me say to him, "The beautiful is not found in filth, but in reason"? Does he want the beautiful? Does he show any sign of it? Go and reason with a pig, telling it not to wallow in the mud! That was why Xenocrates' speeches affected Polemo, because he was a young man with taste; he had come with hints of devotion to the beautiful, even though he was looking for it in the wrong place.

The animals that live with man are cleanly. why should you be lower than they? Why, nature did not make even those lower animals dirty who associate with men. Does a horse or a well-bred dog wallow in mire? No, it is only the pig, and greasy geese, and worms and spiders, creatures the furthest removed from human society. Do you then, being a man, choose to be a wretched worm or spider, lower even than the animals that associate with men? Will you never wash, be it how you will? Will you not cleanse yourself? Will you not come clean among us that you may give pleasure to your companions? What! do you enter our temples, where custom forbids spitting or wiping the nose, in this condition, a man of filth and drivel? Man is adorned by his reason, but must keep his body clean to avoid offence. 'What?' you ask. 'Do you call on us to adorn ourselves?' Far from it, if it be not with our natural adornment of reason, judgements, activities, and the body only so far as to be cleanly and give no offence. If you hear that you must not wear scarlet, must you needs go off and spread filth on your cloak, or tear it in half?

'But how am I to have a beautiful cloak?' Man, you have water, wash it. Here is a young man worthy to be loved, here is an old man worthy to love and to be loved, one to whom a man is to hand over his son to be instructed: daughters and young men will come to him, if it so chance, and for what? That he may discourse to them on a dunghill? God forbid. All eccentricity springs from some human source, but this comes near to being inhuman altogether.

CHAPTER XII On attention. Attention cannot be taken up and dropped at will. When you relax your attention for a little, do not imagine that you will recover it wherever you wish, but bear this well in mind, that your error of to-day must of necessity put you in a worse position for other occasions. For in the first place—and this is the most serious thing—a habit of inattention is formed, and next a habit of deferring attention: and you get into the way of putting off from one time to another the tranquil and becoming life, the state and behaviour which nature prescribes. Now if such postponement of attention is profitable, it would be still more profitable to abandon it altogether: but if it is not profitable, why do you not keep up your attention continuously? 'I want to play to-day.' What prevents you, if you attend? 'I want to sing.'

It has a bearing on all parts of life, What prevents you, if you attend? Is any part of life excluded, on which attention has no bearing, any that you will make worse by attention, and better by inattention? Nay, is there anything in life generally which is done better by those who do not attend? Does the carpenter by inattention do his work better? Does the helmsman by inattention steer more safely? and is any of the minor duties of life fulfilled better by inattention? Do you not realize, that when once you have let your mind go wandering, you lose the power to recall it, to bring it to bear on what is seemly, self-respecting, and modest: you do anything that occurs to you and follow your inclinations?

but above all it should be directed to the universal principles that govern life. To what then must I attend? First to those universal principles I have spoken of: these you must keep at command, and without them neither sleep nor rise, drink nor eat nor deal with men: the principle that no one can control another's will, and that the will alone is the sphere of good and evil. No one then has power to procure me good or to involve me in evil, but I myself alone have authority over myself in these matters. So, when I have made these secure, what need have I to be disturbed about outward things? Then there is nothing to fear, for he who has knowledge can despise criticism. What need have I to fear tyrant, or disease, or poverty, or disaster? 'But I do not please So-and-so.' Well, is he my doing? Is he my judgement? 'No.' What concern is it of mine then? 'Nay, but he is highly thought of.'

That will be for him to consider, and for those who think much of him: I have One Whom I must please, One to Whom I must submit myself and obey—God and those who come next to God. He commended me to myself, and made my will subject to me alone, and gave me rules for the right use of it; and if I follow these in syllogisms I pay no heed to any one who contradicts me, if I follow them in dealing with variable premisses I pay regard to no one. Why then am I annoyed by those who criticize me in greater matters? What is the reason for this perturbation? It is none other than that I have had no training in this sphere. For every science is entitled to despise ignorance and the ignorant, and this is true of arts as well as of sciences. Take any shoemaker, any carpenter you like, and you find he laughs the multitude to scorn when his own craft is in question.

Hold fast your principles, and set your mind on objects that your will can compass, and in each act take account of the situation. First then we must have these principles ready to our hand. Without them we must do nothing. We must set our mind on this object: pursue nothing that is outside us, nothing that is not our own, even as He that is mighty has ordained: pursuing what lies within our will, and all else only so far as it is given us to do so. Further, we must remember who we are, and by what name we are called, and must try to direct our acts to fit each situation and its possibilities. We must consider what is the time for singing, what the time for play, and in whose presence: what will be unsuited to the occasion; whether our companions are to despise us, or we to despise ourselves: when to jest, and whom to mock at: and on what occasion to be conciliatory and to whom: in a word, how one ought to maintain one's character in society. Wherever you swerve from any of these principles, you suffer loss at once; not loss from without, but issuing from the very act itself.

You cannot escape error, but it is worth while to persist in the endeavour. What then? Is it possible to escape error altogether? No, it is impossible: but it is possible to set one's mind continuously on avoiding error. For it is well worth while to persist in this endeavour, if in the end we escape a few errors, and no more. As it is, you say, 'I will fix my attention to-morrow': which means, let me tell you, 'To-day I will be shameless, inopportune, abject: others shall have power to vex me: to-day I will harbour anger and envy.' Look what evils you allow yourself. Nay, if it is well to fix my attention to-morrow, how much better to do so to-day! If it is profitable to-morrow, much more so is it to-day: that you may be able to do the same to-morrow, and not put off again to the day after.

Plain English · paraphraseYou cannot escape error, but it is worth while to keep trying. What then? Is it possible to escape error completely? No, it is impossible. But it is possible to keep your mind constantly focused on avoiding error. For it is well worth while to keep trying, if in the end we escape a few errors, and no more. As it is, you say, "I will fix my attention tomorrow." Which means, let me tell you, "Today I will be shameless, inopportune, abject: others shall have power to vex me: today I will harbor anger and envy." Look what evils you allow yourself. Nay, if it is good to fix my attention tomorrow, how much better to do so today! If it is profitable tomorrow, much more so is it today: that you may be able to do the same tomorrow, and not put it off again to the day after.

CHAPTER XIII To those who lightly communicate their secrets.

We are led to confide in those who confide in us. When a man seems to have talked frankly to us about his own affairs,. how we are drawn to communicate our own secrets to him and think this is frankness! First because it seems unfair to have heard our neighbour's affairs and yet not give him a share of our own in turn: next because we think we shall not give the impression of being frank if we are silent about our own affairs. In fact we often find men in the habit of saying, 'I've told you all my affairs, won't you tell me any of yours? How it that?' Besides we think we may safely confide in one who has already confided his affairs to us: for we have a sort of feeling that he would never talk of our affairs for fear that we should talk of his. That is how people get caught in Rome. This is exactly the way in which reckless persons are caught by soldiers in Rome. A soldier sits by you in civilian dress, and begins to speak ill of the Emperor: then, as you have, so to speak, taken security from him for his good faith in the fact that he began the abuse, you are led to speak your own mind and so are arrested and imprisoned. The same sort of thing happens to us in ordinary life. If your confidant babbles there is no need for you to do so. Still, though he has confided his affairs to me with security, am I to do the same to the first man I meet? No, I hear and hold my tongue, if I am that sort of man, but he goes off and tells every one. Then, if I hear what he has done, if I am like him, I go and tell his secrets, because I want to have my revenge, and so I bring confusion to others and myself. But if I bear in mind, that one man does not harm another, but that it is his own acts which help or harm a man, I achieve this conquest—that I abstain from doing the same as he did, but still my own babbling has put me in the position I am in.

Plain English · paraphraseWe tend to trust people who trust us. When someone talks openly with us about their own matters, we feel drawn to share our own secrets with them, thinking this is being open. First, it feels unfair to hear about our neighbor's affairs and not share our own in return. Second, we think that if we stay silent about our own matters, we won't seem open. Often, people say things like, "I've told you all my affairs, won't you tell me any of yours? How is that?" Also, we think it's safe to confide in someone who has already confided in us. We get the feeling that they would never talk about our affairs, because they fear we might talk about theirs. That is how people get caught in Rome. This is exactly how careless people are caught by soldiers in Rome. A soldier sits next to you in civilian clothes and starts speaking badly about the Emperor. Then, because he has shown trust by speaking out, you feel safe and speak your mind, and so you are arrested and imprisoned. The same thing happens in everyday life. If your confidant talks too much, there is no need for you to do the same. Still, even if he has confided in me with security, am I to do the same to the first person I meet? No, I listen and keep quiet, if I am that kind of person, but he goes off and tells everyone. Then, if I hear what he has done, and if I am like him, I go and tell his secrets, because I want revenge, and so I bring confusion to others and myself. But if I remember that one person does not harm another, but that it is a person's own actions that help or harm them, I achieve this: I stop myself from doing the same as he did. Still, my own talking has put me in the position I am in.

You are not bound to repay a man's confidences, if he is not fit to be trusted. 'Yes,' you say; 'but it is unfair to hear your neighbour's secrets, and give him no share of your own in return.' Man, did I invite your confidences? Did you tell me your secrets on conditions, that you might hear mine in return? If you are a babbler and think every one you meet is a friend, do you want me to be like yourself? What! if you have done well to confide in me, but it is not possible to confide in you and do well, do you still want me to unbosom myself? That is just as though I had a sound cask and you an unsound one, and you came and handed over your wine to me to put it into my cask, and then were vexed that I did not trust my wine to you, because your cask had a hole in it.

Plain English · paraphraseYou are not required to share someone's secrets if they are not trustworthy. "Yes," you say, "but it's unfair to hear your neighbor's secrets and give him none of your own in return." Did I ask for your confidences? Did you tell me your secrets with the expectation that I would share mine with you? If you are talkative and treat everyone you meet as a friend, why should I be like you? If you have done well by confiding in me, but it would not be wise to confide in you, do you still expect me to open up to you? That would be like having a good cask and you having a broken one. Suppose you bring your wine to me to put into my cask, and then you get angry that I don't trust you with my wine, because your cask is leaking.

There is no equality where character is not equal on both sides. What becomes of your equality now? You trusted to one who is trustworthy, self-respecting, who believes that good and harm depend on his own activities and on nothing outside: would you have me confide in you, you who have made light of your own will and want to get pelf or office or advancement at court, even at the cost of slaying your children like Medea? Where is the equality in that? A trustworthy character invites confidences. No, show yourself to me as one who is trustworthy, self-respecting, safe, show that your judgements are those of a friend, show that your vessel is not unsound, and then you will see that I will not wait for you to confide your affairs to me, but will come to you myself and ask you to hear mine. For who is there that will not use a goodly vessel, who that despises a loyal and faithful counsellor, who that will not gladly welcome one who is ready to share the burden of his distresses and to relieve him by the very fact of sharing in them? 'Yes; but I trust you, and you do not trust me.'

The mere babbler deserves no return. In the first place you do not trust me; you are only garrulous and therefore cannot keep anything back. For if what you say is true, trust your secrets to me and no one else: instead of which, whenever you see any one at leisure, you sit down by him and say, 'My brother, you are the dearest friend I have; I beg you to listen to my story'. And you do this to those you have not known even for a short while. If you really trust me, you trust me, of course, because I am trustworthy and self-respecting, not because I told you my secrets. Let me too then be allowed to think as you do. Prove to me that if a man tells his secrets to another, he is therefore trustworthy and self-respecting. If that were so, I should have gone about the world telling every man my affairs, if that were going to make me trustworthy and self-respecting. To be really trustworthy a man must show that he has no concern except with what is truly his own. It is not really so. No, to be trustworthy a man needs judgements beyond the ordinary. If you see that a man is devoted to things outside his own will and has made his will subject to these, be sure that he has countless persons who hinder and constrain him. He has no need of a pitch-plaster or a rack to make him reveal what he knows, but the nod of a pretty maid, if it so chance, will shake his principles, a kindness from one of Caesar's officers, a lust for office or inheritance, and countless other motives such as these. You must therefore remember generally, that confidences require trust and trustworthy principles: and where can you easily find these nowadays? Let me be shown a man who is so minded as to say, 'I have no concern except with what is my own, with what is beyond hindrance and by nature free. This is the true good, and it is mine: all else I leave to the Giver of events to decide, and raise no question.'