1. This above all is the task of Nature-to bind and harmonize together the force of the appearances of the Right and of the Useful.
2. Things are indifferent, but the uses of them are not indifferent.
How, then, shall one preserve at once both a steadfast and tranquil mind, and also carefulness of things, that he be not heedless or slovenly? If he take the example of dice players. The numbers are indifferent, the dice are indifferent. How can I tell what may be thrown up? But carefully and skillfully to make use of what is thrown, that is where my proper business begins. And this is the great task of life also, to discern things and divide them, and say, "Outward things are not in my power; to will is in my power. Where shall I seek the Good, and where the Evil? Within me-in all that is my own." But of all that is alien to thee call nothing good nor evil, nor profitable nor hurtful, nor any such term as these.
3. What then? should we be careless of such things? In no wise. For this, again, is a vice in the Will, and thus contrary to Nature. But be at once careful, because the use of things is not indifferent, and steadfast and tranquil because the things themselves are. For where there is aught that concerns me, there none can hinder or compel me; and in those things where I am hindered or compelled the attainment is not in my power, and is neither good nor evil; but my use of the event is either evil or good, and this is in my power. And hard it is, indeed, to mingle and reconcile together the carefulness of one whom outward things affect, with the steadfastness of him who regards them not. But impossible, it is not; and if it is, it is impossible to be happy.
4. Give me one man that cares how he shall do anything-that thinks not of the gaining of the thing, but thinks of his own energy.
5. Chrysippus, therefore, said well-"As long as future things are hidden from me, I hold always by whatever state is the most favorable for gaining the things that are according to Nature; for G.o.d Himself gave it to me to make such choice. But if I knew that it were now ordained for me to be sick, I would even move to it of myself. For the foot, too, if it had intelligence, would move of itself to be mired."
6. For to what end, think you, are ears of corn produced? Is it not that they may become dry and parched? And the reason they are parched, is it not that they may be reaped? for it is not to exist for themselves alone that they come into the world. If, then, they had perception would it be proper for them to pray that they should never be reaped? since never to be reaped is for ears of corn a curse. So understand that for men it is a curse not to die, just as not to be ripened and not to be reaped. But we, since we are both the things to be reaped and are also conscious that we shall be reaped, have indignation thereat. For we know not what we are, nor have we studied what concerns humanity as those that have the care of horses study what concerns them. But Chrysantas, when just about to smite the enemy, forbore on hearing the trumpet sounding his recall; so much better did it seem to him to obey the commander"s order than to do his own will. But of us not one will follow with docility the summons even of necessity, but weeping and groaning the things that we suffer, we suffer, calling them our doom.[1] What doom, man? If by doom you mean that which is doomed to happen to us, then we are doomed in all things. But if only our afflictions are to be called doom, then what affliction is it that that which has come into being should perish? But we perish by the sword, or the wheel, or the sea, or the tile of a roof, or a tyrant. What matters it by what road thou goest down into Hades? they are all equal. But if thou wilt hear the truth, the way the tyrant sends thee is the shortest. Never did a tyrant cut a man"s throat in six months, but a fever will often be a year killing him. All these things are but noise, and a clatter of empty names.
7. But let us do as in setting out on a voyage. What is it possible for me to do? This-to choose the captain, crew, the day, the opportunity.
Then a tempest has burst upon us; but what doth it concern me? I have left nothing undone that was mine to do; the problem is now another"s, to wit, the captain"s. But now the ship is sinking! and what have I to do? I do only what I am able-drown without terror and screaming and accusing of G.o.d, but knowing that that which has come into being must also perish. For I am no Immortal, but a man, a part of the sum of things as an hour is of the day. Like the hour, I must arrive, and, like the hour, pa.s.s away. What, then, can it matter to me how I pa.s.s away-whether by drowning or by a fever? for pa.s.s I must, even by some such thing. Now, this is what you shall see done by skillful ball-players. None careth for the ball as it were a thing good or bad; but only about throwing it and catching it. In this, then, there is rule, in this art, quickness, judgment: so that I may fail of catching the ball, even if I spread out my lap, and another, if I throw it, may catch it. But if I am anxious and nervous as I catch and throw, what kind of play is this? how shall one be steady? how shall he observe the order of the game? One will call "Throw," "Do not throw," and another, "You have thrown once." But this is strife and not play.
8. Thus Socrates knew how to play ball. How? When he jested in the court of justice. "Tell me, Anytus," he said, "how say you that I believe there is no G.o.d? The Daemons, who are they, think you? Are they not sons of G.o.d, or a mixed nature between G.o.ds and men?" And when this was admitted-"Who, do you think, can hold that mules exist, but not a.s.ses?"[2] And thus he played with the ball. And what was the ball that was there thrown about among them? Life, chains, exile, a draught of poison, to be torn from a wife, to leave children orphans. These were the things among them that they played withal; yet none the less did he play, and flung the ball with proper grace and measure. And so should we do also, having the carefulness of the most zealous players, and yet indifference, as were it merely about a ball.
CHAPTER III.
THINGS ARE WHAT THEY ARE.
1. Each thing that allures the mind or offers an advantage or is loved by you, remember to speak of it as it is, from the smallest things upward. If you love an earthen jar, then think, _I love an earthen jar_, for so shall you not be troubled when it breaks. And when you kiss your little child, or wife, think, _I kiss a mortal_; and so shall you not be troubled when they die.
2. When you are about to take in hand some action, bethink you what it is that you are about to do. If you go to the bath, represent to yourself all that takes place there-the squirting of water, the slapping, the scolding, the pilfering; and then shall you take the matter in hand more safely, saying straightway: _I desire to be bathed, and maintain my purpose according to Nature._ And even so with each and every action. For thus, if aught should occur to cross you in your bathing, this thought shall be straightway at hand: _But not this alone did I desire; but also to maintain my purpose according to Nature.
And I shall not maintain it if I have indignation at what happens here._
3. The first difference between the vulgar man[1] and the philosopher: The one saith, _Woe is me for my child, my brother, woe for my father_; but the other, if ever he shall be compelled to say, _Woe is me_, checks himself, and saith, _for myself_. For nothing that the Will willeth not can hinder or hurt the Will, but itself only can hurt itself. If then, indeed, we too incline to this, that when we are afflicted we accuse ourselves, and recollect that nothing else than Opinion can cause us any trouble or unsettlement, I swear by all the G.o.ds we have advanced! But as it is, we have from the beginning traveled a different road. While we are still children, if haply we stumbled as we were gaping about, the nurse did not chide us, but beat the stone. For what had the stone done?
Ought it to have moved out of the way for your child"s folly? Again, if we find nothing to eat after coming from the bath, never doth the tutor check our desire, but he beats the cook. Man, we did not set thee to be a tutor of the cook, but of our child-him shall you train, him improve.
And thus, even when full-grown, we appear as children. For a child in music is he who hath not learned music, and in letters, one who hath not learned letters, and in life, one undisciplined in philosophy.
4. It is not things, but the opinions about the things, that trouble mankind. Thus Death is nothing terrible; if it were so, it would have appeared so to Socrates. But the opinion we have about Death, that it is terrible, _that_ it is wherein the terror lieth. When, therefore, we are hindered or troubled or grieved, never let us blame any other than ourselves; that is to say, our opinions. A man undisciplined in philosophy blames others in matters in which he fares ill; one who begins to be disciplined blames himself, one who is disciplined, neither others nor himself.
5. Be not elated in mind at any superiority that is not of yourself. If your horse were elated and should say, _I am beautiful_, that would be tolerable. But when you are elated and say, _I have a beautiful horse_, know that it is at an excellence in your horse that you are elated.
What, then, is your own? This-to make use of the appearances. So that when you deal according to Nature in the use of appearances, then shall you be elated, for you will then be elated at an excellence that is your own.
CHAPTER IV.
THREE STEPS TO PERFECTION.
1. There are three divisions of Philosophy wherein a man must exercise himself who would be wise and good.[1]
The first concerns his pursuit and avoidance, so that he may not fail of aught that he would attain, nor fall into aught that he would avoid.
The second concerns his desires and aversions, and, generally, all that it becomes a man to be, so that he bear himself orderly and prudently and not heedlessly.
The third is that which concerns security from delusion and hasty apprehension, and, generally, the a.s.senting to appearances.
Of these the chief and most urgent is that which hath to do with the pa.s.sions,[2] for the pa.s.sions arise in no other way than by our failing in endeavor to attain or to avoid something. This it is which brings in troubles and tumults and ill-luck and misfortune, that is the cause of griefs and lamentations and envies, that makes envious and jealous men; by which things we become unable even to hear the doctrines of reason.
The second concerns that which is becoming to a man; for I must not be pa.s.sionless,[3] like a statue, but maintain all relations natural and acquired, as a religious being, as a son, as a brother, as a father, as a citizen.
The third is that which concerns men as soon as they are making advance in philosophy, which provides for the security of the two others; so that not even in dreams may any appearance that approacheth us pa.s.s untested, nor in wine, nor in ill-humors. This, a man may say, is beyond us. But the philosophers of this day, pa.s.sing by the first and second parts of philosophy, occupy themselves in the third, caviling, and arguing by questions, and constructing hypotheses and fallacies. For, they say, when dealing with these subjects a man must guard himself from delusion. Who must? The wise and good man.
2. And this security is all you lack, then; the rest you have wrought out already? You are not to be imposed upon by money? and if you see a fair girl you can hold out against the appearance? and if your neighbor inherits a legacy you are not envious? there is now, in short, nothing lacking to you except to confirm what you have? Wretch! these very things dost thou hear in fear and anxiety lest some one may despise thee, and inquiring what men say about thee. And if some one come and tell you that when it was discussed who was the best of the philosophers, one present said, _Such a one is the greatest philosopher_, your little soul will grow up from a finger"s breadth to two cubits. And if another who was present said, _Nothing of the kind; it is not worth while to listen to him; for what does he know? he has made a beginning in philosophy and no more_, you are amazed, you grow pale, and straightway you cry out, _I will show him who I am, that I am a great philosopher_.
Out of these very things it is seen what you are; why do you desire to show it by any others?
CHAPTER V.
THAT A MAN MAY BE BOTH BOLD AND FEARFUL.
1. To some it may perchance seem a paradox, this axiom of the philosophers; yet let us make the best inquiry we can if it be true that it is possible to do all things at once with fearfulness and with boldness. For fearfulness seemeth in a manner contrary to boldness, and contraries can never co-exist. But that which to many seemeth a paradox in this matter seems to me to stand somehow thus: If we affirmed that both fearfulness and boldness could be used in the very same things, they would justly accuse us that we were reconciling what is irreconcilable. But now, what is there so strange in this saying? For if it is sound, what hath been so often both affirmed and demonstrated, that the essence of the Good is in the use of appearances, and even so of the Evil, and things uncontrollable by the Will have the nature neither of good nor of evil, what paradox do the philosophers affirm if they say that in things uncontrollable by the Will, then be boldness thy part, and in things subject to the Will, fearfulness. For if Evil lie in an evil Will, then in these things alone is it right to use fearfulness.
And if things uncontrollable by the Will, and that are not in our power, are nothing to us, then in these things we should use boldness. And thus shall we be at one time both fearful and bold-yea, and bold even through our fearfulness. For through being fearful in things that are veritably evil it comes that we shall be bold in those that are not so.
2. But we, on the contrary, fall victims as deer do. When these are terrified and fly from the scares, whither do they turn and to what do they retreat as a refuge? To the nets: and thus they perish, confusing things to fear and things to be bold about. And thus do we also. Where do we employ fear? In things beyond our Will. And wherein do we act boldly, as were there nothing to dread? In things subject to the Will.
To be beguiled, then, or to be rash, or to do some shameless act, or with base greed to pursue some object-these things concern us no whit if we may only hit the mark in things beyond the Will. But where death is, or exile, or suffering, or evil repute, there we run away, there we are scared. Therefore, as it were to be looked for in those who are astray in the things of greatest moment, we work out our natural boldness into swaggering, abandonment, rashness, shamelessness; and our natural fearfulness and shamefastness into cowardice and meanness, full of terror and trouble. For if one should transfer his fearfulness to the realm of the Will, and the works thereof, straightway, together with the intention of fearing to do wrong, he shall have it in his power to avoid doing it; but if he use it in things out of our own power and beyond the Will, then striving to avoid things that are in others" power, he shall of necessity be terrified and unsettled and troubled. For death is not fearful, nor pain, but the fear of pain or death. And thus we praise him[1] who said:
"Fear not to die, but fear a coward"s death."
3. It is right, then, that we should turn our boldness against death, and our fearfulness against the fear of death. But now we do the contrary: death we flee from, but as to the state of our opinion about death we are negligent, heedless, indifferent. These things Socrates did well to call bugbears. For as to children, through their inexperience, ugly masks appear terrible and fearful; so we are somewhat in the same way moved towards the affairs of life, for no other cause than as children are affected by these bugbears. For what is a child? Ignorance.
What is a child? That which has never learned. For when he knows these things he is nowise inferior to us. What is death? A bugbear. Turn it round; examine it: see, it does not bite. Now or later that which is body must be parted from that which is spirit, as formerly it was parted. Why, then, hast thou indignation if it be now? for if it be not now, it will be later. And wherefore? That the cycle of the world may be fulfilled; for it hath need of a present and of a future and of a past.
What is pain? A bugbear. Turn it about and examine it. This poor body is moved harshly, then again softly. If thou hast no advantage thereof, the door is open;[2] if thou hast, then bear it. For in all events it is right that the door should stand open, and so have we no distress.
4. Shall I, then, exist no longer? Nay, thou shalt exist, but as something else, whereof the universe hath now need.[3] For neither didst thou choose thine own time to come into existence, but when the universe had need of thee.
5. What, then, is the fruit of these opinions? That which ought to be the fairest and comeliest to those who have been truly taught,-tranquillity, courage, and freedom. For concerning these things, the mult.i.tude are not to be believed which say that those only should be taught who are freemen, but the philosophers rather, which say that those only are free who have been taught. How is this? It is thus-Is freedom anything else than the power to live as we choose?
_Nothing else._ Do ye choose, then, to live in sin? _We do not choose it._ None, therefore, that fears or grieves or is anxious is free; but whosoever is released from griefs and fears and anxieties is by that very thing released from slavery. How, then, shall we still believe you, most excellent legislators, when ye say, "We permit none to be taught, save freemen?"[4] for the philosophers say, "We permit none to be free save those who have been taught"-that is, G.o.d permits it not. _So, when a man turns round his slave before the Praetor,[5] has he done nothing?_ He has done something. _And what?_ He has turned round his slave before the Praetor. _Nothing else at all?_ Yea, this too-he must pay for him the tax of the twentieth. _What then? has the man thus treated not gained his freedom?_ No more than he has gained tranquillity of mind.
For thou, who art able to emanc.i.p.ate others, hast thou no master? is money not thy master, or l.u.s.t, or a tyrant, or some friend of a tyrant?
Why, then, dost thou tremble when thou art to meet with some affliction in this kind? And therefore I say oftentimes, be these things your study, be these things ever at your hand, wherein ye should be bold and wherein fearful; bold in things beyond the Will, fearful in things subject to the Will.
CHAPTER VI.[1]
THE WISE MAN"S FEAR AND THE FOOL"S.