Slave, do you mean to arraign the Universe for one wretched leg? Will you not make a gift of it to the sum of things? Will you not resign it? Will you not joyfully yield it up to Him who gave it? Will you be vexed and discontented with the ordinances of Zeus, laid down and ordained by Him with the Fates who were present at your birth and span your thread of life?
Do you not know, what a little part you are, compared with the Universe? I say this of your body, for in reason you are not inferior to the gods nor less than they; for the greatness of reason is judged not by length or height but by its judgements.
Will you not then set your good in that region where you are equal to the gods?
I have never lost the use of a limb, as Epictetus did, but I have found all other sorts of obstacles, whether real or imagined, to complain about, and to set up as excuses for not living well. Heaven knows, it is easy enough to succumb to despair, and it becomes even easier when I commit that cardinal Stoic sin of defining my life by its circumstances.
It took me some time to recognize all the misleading assumptions I was making. I asked why the situation was so bad, instead of wondering why my attitude was so bad. Since I looked to the appearances on the outside for rewards, I neglected to attend to the merits on the inside for peace.
I am not a failure if the world doesn’t go my way; I am a failure if I don’t choose to do my best with the way of world.
The ignorant and the grasping will say you must, by the force of your will, take whatever you want. The wise and the compassionate, however, will rather encourage you to remember that you already have everything you need.
It might frustrate me to hear it, and I may try to laugh it off as a platitude, but finding my way calls for a sense of priority and proportion.
The health of my body, the weight of my wallet, and the number of my admirers are relative things, and ultimately quite insignificant things, compared to the worth of my character. In and of themselves, these conditions should be indifferent to me, where their quantity is only given any meaning and purpose by the quality of my virtues.
Epictetus had his maimed leg, and he did not view it as a hindrance to his happiness, for he understood it was merely something that had come to him, and it did not interfere with what he decided to make of himself.
Did not God, or Providence, or Fate, or Nature bring it about? Then it was meant to be for a good reason, and he could find a way to put it to its best use.
What can be made of a misfortune? To begin with, knowing why it doesn’t have to be a misfortune, how it can be transformed into an opportunity. It is the power of the mind, the divine piece that rises above the weakness of the flesh by having an awareness and a mastery over it, that makes this possible.
I will worry that my Black Dog, the crippling melancholy that follows me around wherever I go, is an unbearable burden to me. Then why is it that most anything good about me has arisen precisely because of my willingness to come to terms with it?
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