LIAM MILBURN: Stoic Reflections on Hardship

Stoic Reflections on Hardship

Liam Milburn

On Exile 1

Hearing an exile lament because he was living in banishment, Musonius consoled him in somewhat the following way.

Why, he asked, should anyone who was not devoid of understanding be oppressed by exile? It does not in any way deprive us of water, earth, air, or the sun and the other planets, or indeed, even of the society of men, for everywhere and in every way there is opportunity for association with them.

What if we are kept from a certain part of the earth and from association with certain men, what is so dreadful about that?

Why, when we were at home, we did not enjoy the whole earth, nor did we have contact with all men; but even now in exile we may associate with our friends, that is to say the true ones and those deserving of the name, for they would never betray or abandon us; but if some prove to be sham and not true friends, we are better off separated from them than being with them.

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

We no longer practice the formal punishment of exile, as the Ancients did. I sometimes speculate whether we're missing something useful from the past. In one of my few clever moments, I suggested that if someone misbehaves at a party, you would surely ask him to leave, before locking him in the basement, or killing him.

In the last year, I've learned to deal with my own informal exile. I spent almost two decades growing up in a neighborhood outside of Boston. It took me another decade to recognize that I was harming myself, and the people I loved, by ever coming back. Some things had changed over which I had no power.

Upon re-reading this passage of Musonius recently, I recognized how my own thoughts and feelings reflected the situation he described. I have felt sadness, anger, and hopelessness. I felt I had a right to be in my old home, and I resented the people I thought had driven me from it.

Stoicism, however, has taught me to worry more for my own actions than about the actions of others. Nothing good will come from my whining and moping. Nothing will drive me away from what is good, unless I allow it to do so. What Musonius has to say applies just as much to those of us exiled now, for one reason or another, as it does to those exiled by law in the times of Greece and Rome.

Does being in one place or another change who I am? Does it deny me the needs of living? Does it still allow me to practice the virtues of wisdom, temperance, fortitude, and justice? If I can still do these things, what reason do I have to be miserable?

But surely I have lost my friends, those dearest to me? No, because a real friend will remain a dear friend, regardless of circumstance. The love and support we can offer one another will not alter because of time, distance, or situation. One of my only true friends is someone I have not seen for over thirty years, but we continue to care for one another. I have family in Austria I have not seen in almost as long, but we love one another without condition.

No, those friends that leave you because you are far away from them, or because you are no longer useful or convenient to them as soon as the wind changes, those people were never your friends.

Your exile has not taken your friends, because a friend cannot be taken, but it has simply taught you how little you meant to them. Exile has done you a favor.

 On Exile 2

Tell me, is not the universe the common fatherland of all men, as Socrates held? Well, then, you must not consider it really being banished from your fatherland if you go from where you were born and reared, but only being exiled from a certain city, that is if you claim to be a reasonable person.

For such a man does not value or despise any place as the cause of his happiness or unhappiness, but he makes the whole matter depend upon himself and considers himself a citizen of the city of God which is made up of men and gods. Euripides speaks in harmony with this thought when he says,

'As all the heavens are open to the eagle's flight

So all the earth is for a noble man his fatherland.' . . .

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I have always struggled with the temptations of provincialism. I grew up with both a strong sense of tribal identity, Irish, Austrian, Catholic, as well as a strong sense of human solidarity. These two would often falsely appear to be in conflict over the years.

I needed only to understand that the lower does not conflict with the higher, but can exist within it, in harmony.

I am impressed by how much our progressive age stresses the universality of the human condition, demands equal rights, and seeks to break down barriers.

These are good things. But have you noticed how we continue to entrench ourselves even further in our pigeonholes, how we identify more and more with our race, our class, our creed? A few years back, I was awkwardly told that I was not going to be invited to an event, because it involved Latino pride.

"I respect if I'm not welcome. But why can't I celebrate that with you?"

"You're not Latino, so you could never understand. We need to find our own equality. You need to stay away and back off."

Replace that label with any other, and we'd still have the same problem.

I'm sorry, but we can't have equal dignity for all persons when all we do is draw attention to our differences. Find brotherhood, find solidarity. None of us are special because of the color of our skin, how much we earn, or whatever church or social club we happen to attend.

Musonius reminds us that our humanity is not defined by where we came from, or where we might happen to live. Sadly, the very same people who tell us that there should be no differences often happen to be the first to insist upon them. Diversity is a pointless concept if it does not ground itself in unity.

I was once arguing with a Massachusetts Health and Human Services bureaucrat about housing one of our clients. I insisted that the housing project she had chosen for him would be a bad idea, because it was, put bluntly, a crack den.

"Oh stop, it's a great place to live! We're all working together to make Boston a better city, and we're cleaning it up. He'll be fine!"

"Would you live there, instead of in your million dollar home in Wellesley?"

"Well, that's hardly the point."

Yes, it is the point. If we're working together, we'll live together, and we won't divide races, classes, or creeds. Universality is not universal if it admits of exceptions. Place, time, or circumstances do not alter universal humanity.

The Stoic is always truly cosmopolitan. That does not mean that he shops at the right stores, or follows the best international fashions. It means that he recognizes himself as a citizen of the world. All the narrow politics and ideology aside, there are no borders between human beings. For all of our differences in background, we are all pretty much the same.

This is why my Catholic friends all consider me to be a hippie, but I have no problem with that label. Labels don't define me, but my humanity does. All creatures are creatures of God, and all have their inherent dignity. There can be no snubbing or exclusion of our neighbors.

Exile from one place to another, or from one situation to another, or even from one class to another, should never be a problem. I will define myself by my character, not by your labels.

Place or circumstances don’t define me, so there really is no exile at all.

On Exile 3

Therefore, just as a man who was living in his own country but in a different house from the one where he was born would be thought silly and an object of laughter if he should weep and wail because of this, so whoever considers it a misfortune because he is living in another city and not the one where he happens to have been born would rightly be considered foolish and stupid.

Furthermore, how should exile be an obstacle to the cultivation of the things that are one's own and to the acquisition of virtue, when no one was ever hindered from the knowledge and practice of what is needful because of exile?

May it not even be true that exile contributes to that end, since it furnishes men leisure and a greater opportunity for learning the good and practicing it than formerly, in that they are not forced by what only seems to be their fatherland into performing political duties, and they are not annoyed by their kinsmen nor by men who only seem to be their friends, who are skillful in fettering them and dragging them away from the pursuit of better things?

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

My own personality is one with a very vivid memory, a powerful sense of nostalgia, and an inclination to reflect upon the meaning of anything and everything. Combine this with the melancholy of my youth, and then the Black Dog of my later years, and you have a truly explosive mixture.

I have been learning, however, to direct those dispositions rightly.

My memory can be a blessing, and not a curse, because I have a storehouse of experience.

My nostalgia can be a blessing, and not a curse, because it can help me to see things from a broader viewpoint.

My reflective nature can be a blessing, and not a curse, because it encourages me to actually be a philosopher in life.

Even my melancholy can be a blessing, and not a curse, because I can see it not as sadness alone, but at what I think is its true root, sensitivity. And sensitivity is the root of compassion.

Yes, even the Black Dog can be seen as a blessing. As much as it has hurt, day by day, year by year, I can no longer imagine myself without the ability to fight it, and to conquer it.

For someone of my constitution, to be taken away from a place I have loved seems like a death sentence. All of my thoughts and feelings are so closely tied to a room, a house, or a city, that I immediately feel lost without them.

It is only when I can turn my judgment around that I see the real picture. All those people, places, or things that have meant so much to me were, in the end, not me. They helped me to live well, but they never defined me.

If I understand myself rightly, it is foolish to say that I am defined by my environment. Where I live is far less important than how well I live. The place does not make me, but I make the place.

Exile can even be seen as a wonderful opportunity. I can have a clean slate. All the baggage is gone, and the years upon years of residue, of blind assumptions, of poor habits, of stale living can be washed away. I can now see more clearly who I am, and also who my friends really were.

The trick is not to cling to the past, or to worry about the future. The Stoic life discards neither the past nor the future, but asks how living now can be redeemed through the former, and fulfilled in the latter.

On Exile 4

.In fact, there have been cases where exile was an absolute blessing as it was to Diogenes, who by his exile was transformed from an ordinary citizen into a philosopher, and instead of sitting idly in Sinope, he busied himself in Greece, and in the pursuit of virtue came to surpass the philosophers.

To others who were in poor health as the result of overindulgence and high living, exile has been a source of strength because they were forced to live a more manly life. We even know of some who were cured of chronic ailments in exile, as for instance, in our day Spartiacus, the Lacedaemonian, who suffered long from a weak chest and for this reason was often ill from high living, but when he stopped living a life of luxury, he ceased to be ill.

They say that others addicted to high living have got rid of gout, although they were previously completely bed-ridden by the disease—people whom exile compelled to become accustomed to living more simply and by this very thing were brought back to health.

Thus it appears that by treating them better than they treat themselves, exile helps rather than hinders health both of body and of spirit.

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Let us not assume that any circumstance we consider unfamiliar or uncomfortable must be a burden. Change can be good, and change can be bad, and the only difference lies within our own judgment and action.

Though I wouldn't wish Musonius' claims to seem like they came from a travel brochure, I can attest to the power he describes. I owe much of my own health, mental and physical, to a change of location, simply because it offered me a change of opportunity. It wasn't a formal exile, imposed either from within or from without at that point, nor was it the agent of any change. It was not something that changed me, but was the occasion for me to help me change myself. Philosophically, it was a material cause for my own efficient cause.

If I wake in the morning, and I see nothing familiar about me, I can easily fall into despair. We all know that feeling, in a new place, of not knowing where we are. Even if jumped in my car and drove non-stop, I would have been two or three days from anything even remotely familiar. People spoke, thought, and acted very differently, and no one knew me. In one sense, I was a completely new person.

This can be horrifying, but it can also be redeeming. The estimation will make all the difference. At the very least, it wiped the slate clean, and removed past temptations. At the very best, it was an invitation to see myself as myself, and not as ruled by my layers of conditions.

We must be careful here, I think, because the romanticizing of 'starting over' can just as easily be an escape as it can be an opportunity. I perceive the difference as subtle but important. Running away from my problems isn't running really away from them at all, but actually running away from myself, from my responsibility to live well. But accepting what life will bring me, a new place, new people, and new circumstances can, when viewed rightly, be a true rediscovery of oneself. That can help me to be responsible for myself.

A new place will never be a cure, but it can be a means to a cure. I will, of course, uncover new problems, new struggles, and new conflicts, but a breath of fresh air can revive the soul.

Though I spent many of my younger days in New England, I had curiously become a fan of country music. I was rather alone in this love among my social circle, and I could clear a room if I wanted to be alone just by playing an album by Randy Travis, Alan Jackson, or Ricky Skaggs.

Then one day I walked into a diner in Texas, and all those same songs I loved were playing on the jukebox, and the customers sang along. I actually felt at home among strangers, and we discussed how we liked to eat our grits. I was far from home, and I didn't know a soul, but I oddly felt at home among total strangers. It was a new day.

No, the South didn't save my soul, but it helped me to rebuild. It didn't cure all that ailed me, but it helped me to manage the ailments. I will still feel as sick as a dog, but this dog found some new bones to chew. As some of my new friends might say, it ain't half bad.

On Exile 5

It is not true, moreover, that exiles lack the very necessities of life. To be sure men who are idle and unresourceful and unable to play the part of a man are generally in want and without resources even when they are in their own country, but energetic and hard working and intelligent men, no matter where they go, fare well and live without want.

We do not feel the lack of many things unless we wish to live luxuriously:

 'For what do mortals need beside two things only,

The bread of Demeter and a drink of the Water-carrier,

Which are at hand and have been made to nourish us?'

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I used to misread this years ago, assuming Musonius meant that anyone can find worldly success anywhere, since a clever mind, hard work, and dedication will always get the job done. If I just put my mind to it, I can achieve anything.

Distinguish. We are so familiar with the usual mantra, that we can be anything we want to be, as long as we just believe in ourselves. Lawyer, doctor, astronaut, real estate tycoon, President of the United States? All are within reach.

Let us define what we mean by success. The man who craves a success of power, glory, and wealth most certainly can't do that at all, because these things are not within his power. He depends more upon the circumstances of the world than his own effort in such a case, and he becomes 'successful' in direct proportion to how much he enslaves himself.

That is, however, not the sort of success or happiness that Musonius would encourage.

Note how Musonius says that the man in exile can still find the necessities, and will not be in want. He even tells us that this has nothing to do with living luxuriously.

So what are the necessities of survival? The most basic food, clothing, and shelter will do. Nothing fancy is necessary. Anything else is extraneous. As long as I live and breathe, I can practice wisdom and virtue. That is the sort of 'success' that Musonius would encourage.

Here is the even deeper beauty of it all. Let's say you also take my food, water, or shelter, and tell me that I must now die as a failure.

No, I can, by being energetic and resourceful in the true sense, live well until my dying day, whether it be at this moment or in years to come. It all depends on what we mean by living well. That is true even if you hold a gun to my head. The 'Stoic Turn' shifts the value of life around, and replaces all things external with things internal, distinguishes the things that are means from the true ends.

Exile must not make me weaker or worse, precisely because a good man needs very little outside of himself to live with moral excellence. If even those basic means are lost, then he can also die with excellence. This is a win/win situation, because you can't take it from him.

In the larger picture, the when, where, or how will make little difference at all. The good man can be good wherever, whenever, or however he lives. Exile will not change it.

What happens when we remove all the luxuries from a morally weak man? He becomes even weaker, and demands all the more loudly to be treated rightly. What happens when we remove all the luxuries from a morally strong man? He becomes even stronger, and quietly treats others rightly all the more.

I was always suspicious when, as a child, I was told that I could be whatever I wanted to be, and only my dreams were my limits. This is not because I am a cynic, but because I think I already saw an important distinction. I can learn to rule myself, but it is vanity and foolishness to dream to rule the world.

An exile understands this, because that reality has been forced upon him. The world does not, and should not, conform to our wishes. The man who is truly energetic, hard working, and intelligent makes himself happy through estimation, not through circumstance.

On Exile 6

.Let me add that men who are worth anything not only easily manage well so far as the necessities of life are concerned, when they are in exile, but many acquire great fortunes.

At any rate Odysseus, in worse plight than any exile one may say, since he was alone and naked and shipwrecked, when he arrived among strangers, the Phaeacians, was nevertheless able to enrich himself abundantly.

And when Themistocles was banished from home, going to people who were not only not friendly, but actual enemies and barbarians, the Persians, he received a gift of three cities, Myus, Magnesia, and Lampsacus, as a source of livelihood.

Dio of Syracuse too, deprived by Dionysius the tyrant of all his possessions, when he was banished from his country waxed so rich in exile that he raised a mercenary army, went with it to Sicily, and freed the island of the tyrant.

Who, then, if he were in his right mind, looking at these cases would still maintain that banishment is the cause of want for all exiles?

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

I must remember not to swing between extremes, from loving fortune to despising fortune. Musonius had just told us that exile will hardly remove us from the necessities of life, for we do not need luxuries to live well. This does not mean, however, that exile will inevitably deprive us of any wealth, power, or honor. Quite the contrary, it could be an occasion to add greatly to our fortune. New situations could reveal new opportunities, and we can still use those opportunities to live well.

Exile will not necessarily make me rich or poor, just as staying at home will not necessarily make me rich or poor. I should never assume that a change of place or circumstance will lead me to poverty. Musonius gives three examples of men who ended up quite the opposite, richer and more powerful than they had been before.

So what will it be? Should I only worry about the necessities, or should I also pay heed to the luxuries? The answer, of course, is yes, but in different senses. All things of fortune, all things external to us, must be viewed as being indifferent. This does not mean that they do not matter, but how they matter depends entirely upon our judgment and use of them. We must never desire them for their own sake, but only ask how we can employ them well.

Exile could make me poorer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because poverty does not measure the quality of my virtue. Exile could also, as it did above, make me far richer, and the only thing that matters is how I live in those circumstances, because wealth does not measure the quality of my virtue.

Years ago, I had met a kindly musician at a local Irish pub. I was bemoaning how I had foolishly chosen a vocation that would forever leave me one paycheck from the street. He understood, because his vocation was even leaner, as he didn't even get a paycheck, and was only one gig from the street.

But he smiled at me, and said, "I figured long ago that if the Good Lord made me poor, I'd be a good poor man, and if the Good Lord made me rich, I'd be a good rich man. Now I'm not sure which of those would be harder."

Whether exiles brings poverty or riches, and it could well bring either, Nature only asks that I make good use of whatever I have been given.

On Exile 7

Furthermore, it is not at all necessary for exiles to suffer ill repute because of their banishment, since everyone knows that many trials are badly judged and many people are unjustly banished from their country, and that in the past there have been cases of good men who have been exiled by their countrymen, as for example from Athens Aristides the Just and from Ephesus Hermodorus, because of whose banishment Heraclitus bade the Ephesians, every grown man of them, go hang themselves.

In fact some exiles even became very famous, as Diogenes of Sinope and Clearchus, the Lacedaemonian, who with Cyrus marched against Artaxerxes, not to mention more. How, pray, could this condition in which some people have become more renowned than before be responsible for ill-repute?

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

We should also not assume that exile must bring with it a loss of reputation. Like wealth and power, for some it may even increase in their new circumstances.

Also like wealth and power, fame is something that is in itself indifferent, and we should never assume that Musonius is measuring the value life by such standards in themselves. Nevertheless, even as we should know that our circumstances are never the measure of a good life, we should never see changes of time and place as burdens. They are always opportunities for virtue, whether Providence gives us fortune or takes it away.

We rightly often tie reputation together with wealth and power, and for good reason. Such external things can be a blessing or a curse, dependent entirely upon our estimation and use of them. I do wonder, however, if reputation is somewhat more fickle than wealth or power. It was always easier to convince myself that money or influence were hardly important, but I have had a harder time not caring whether or not I am liked.

I am usually able to convince myself that my bank account is not the measure of my character, but I will still feel the pull of being respected. Now I don't think I have ever been popular in any context, but it does feel deeply comforting to be respected, hurtful to be frowned upon. I remind myself of two important facts.

First, I should hardly avoid honor, just as I should not avoid wealth or power in themselves, or anything that is indifferent. But I should ask myself not only whether I am liked, but what sort of person is doing the liking. It is hardly to my credit to be respected by a a greedy or dishonest man, but I should take note if I am respected by a just and honest man.

Second, it isn't the respect of others that makes me good, but other good men will recognize me if I am good. I suspect that many famous people of the past were good precisely because they didn't seek honor, and that it turn is exactly the reason decent people ended up honoring them. They say that love comes when you aren't looking for it, and I wonder if the same is true of repute. As soon as I want it, I'm not doing it right.

I found a companion for my life when I began to measure the worth of a person by thoughts and deeds, and not by shallow images. I also found that person at a point when I finally understood that I did not need to be recognized to be whole. Life can be funny like that.

Above all else, be charged with a love of wisdom and a commitment to character. Sometimes this may end up making me poor and scorned, at other times it may make me rich and revered. And if fortune does indeed give me money or fame, let me be certain I am receiving it for the right reasons, and making use of it in the right way.

On Exile 8

 But, you insist, Euripides says that exiles lose their personal liberty when they are deprived of their freedom of speech. For he represents Jocasta asking Polynices her son what misfortunes an exile has to bear. He answers,

 'One greatest of all, that he has not freedom of speech.'

"She replies,

‘You name the plight of a slave, not to be able to say what one thinks.'

But I should say in rejoinder:

'You are right, Euripides, when you say that it is the condition of a slave not to say what one thinks when one ought to speak, for it is not always, nor everywhere, nor before everyone that we should say what we think.

'But that one point, it seems to me, is not well-taken, that exiles do not have freedom of speech, if to you freedom of speech means not suppressing whatever one chances to think. For it is not as exiles that men fear to say what they think, but as men afraid lest from speaking pain or death or punishment or some such other thing shall befall them.

'Fear is the cause of this, not exile. For to many people, nay to most, even though dwelling safely in their native city, fear of what seem to them dire consequences of free speech is present.’

'However, the courageous man, in exile no less than at home, is dauntless in the face of all such fears; for that reason also he has the courage to say what he thinks equally at home or in exile.'

Such are the things one might reply to Euripides. . . .

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

Exile need not deny us prosperity or reputation, and most importantly it need not deny us happiness, because our happiness depends upon what we do, not upon what is done to us.

It may still, however, remove something else that is very dear to us, our freedom of speech. Is it not a curse to be hindered from speaking our minds, from voicing our thoughts and feelings? To suppress such a liberty is surely hard to bear?

I need to consider in what way anyone can limit my words, or any of my thoughts or actions, for that matter. Another person can certainly threaten me, intimidate me, punish me, restrain me physically, or even do me physical or emotional harm. A person can even end my life. What no one can do, however, is control my own judgment and decisions. These are entirely up to me, and even if I were to be harmed or killed for them, I am the one who has still made the choice.

It isn't the threat made by someone that hinders me, but rather my fear of the consequences of the threat. Now fear is a powerful emotion, but as long as I am still able to reason, I am able to make of it whatever I will.

Musonius is simply pointing us back to a basic tenet of Stoicism, the distinction between what is within and beyond my power. It is the gravity of the punishment that worries me when I choose not to speak my mind.

How much I fear the loss of something tells me precisely how deeply I value it. If you tell me I will lose my property or reputation, that I will be punished by being locked away or even killed, I will gladly curtail my freedom of speech, or of any action, if I care for wealth, honor, or my body more than I care for my love of truth and honesty. If, however, I understand that all worldly goods are simply granted by fortune, while virtue is my highest good that is completely within my power, the decision will become quite a bit easier.

I cringe with shame when I think of the times I should have spoken out, but buttoned my lip because I feared losing status or position. For a people so enamored of our freedom of thought and expression, we are remarkably docile and cowardly when we are threatened with losing power or influence.

I can no longer count the times I've heard people say something like "I really don't want to do this, but I don't have a choice." Actually, we always have a choice, and what we really mean is that we may think something is wrong, but we are willing to suspend our power to act out of a fear of the consequences.

"But I could lose my job!" All right then, you've lost your job. But what have you lost by not standing up for what is right and fair? We sell our souls for trinkets.

Only the Stoic recognition that our own virtue is our highest good can help me to understand that my own failure to live rightly is the only thing I need to fear. Anything else is just a reshuffling of our circumstances, of things that were beyond my power to begin with. This is a powerful tool in practicing courage.

On Exile 9

.But tell me, my friend, when Diogenes was in exile at Athens, or when he was sold by pirates and came to Corinth, did anyone, Athenian or Corinthian, ever exhibit greater freedom of speech than he?

And again, were any of his contemporaries freer than Diogenes? Why, even Xeniades, who bought him, he ruled as a master rules a slave. But why should I employ examples of long ago? Are you not aware that I am an exile?

Well, then, have I been deprived of freedom of speech? Have I been bereft of the privilege of saying what I think? Have you or anyone else ever seen me cringing before anyone just because I am an exile, or thinking that my lot is worse now than formerly?

No, I'll wager that you would say that you have never seen me complaining or disheartened because of my banishment, for if I have been deprived of my country, I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile."

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

The Stoic Turn reminds us that the world may provide or deprive us of many things, but only we can provide or deprive ourselves of our happiness. We are too quick to define our lives by our circumstances, and when those circumstances seem to overwhelm us, we are too quick to surrender.

I enjoy the turn of the phrase here: I may be deprived of my country, but I have not been deprived of my ability to endure exile.

I have often struggled to rightly understand such strength, and over the years I have distinguished between a strength of character and a strength of power.

The former is what Musonius describes, the willingness to depend upon my own virtue as the measure of my life, whatever the externals may be, while the latter is the attempt to use my strength to conquer the externals. Both seem, at first, to take the form of self-reliance, though I would suggest that the real difference between them is one as radical as the difference between freedom and slavery.

My self-reliance hinges upon whether it is truly free of hindrance, and I find that nothing is a greater hindrance than making my life depend upon the order of my circumstances, whether or not I have any apparent power over the things around me.

I should not assume that simply having influence and wealth makes someone only strong in power, but I should assume that he is a man who depends upon being strong in power when he loves those things for their own sake.

The man strong in character may gain or lose power over the world, but he does not allow this to determine the value of his life. The man only strong in power will rise or fall entirely on those terms.

He does not even control himself, because his life is measured by his circumstances, and he does not even control those circumstances, because fortune can just as easily take away what it has given.

Not all people who are strong, are strong in quite the same way.

It is a test of a hardship such as exile that can identify which type of strength we truly possess.

Musonius was himself a man who struggled with exile throughout his life, and we can see by his words and deeds how strong he was in character. I also often think of Napoleon Bonaparte, a man strong in power, but also a man who could not bear exile, because he no longer had power over others. If only he had chosen to rule himself.

 On Exile 10

The reflections which I employ for my own benefit so as not to be irked by exile, I should like to repeat to you. It seems to me that exile does not strip a man entirely, not even of the things which the average man calls goods, as I have just shown. But if he is deprived of some or all of them, he is still not deprived of the things which are truly goods.

Certainly the exile is not prevented from possessing courage and justice simply because he is banished, nor self-control, nor understanding, nor any of the other virtues which when present serve to bring honor and benefit to a man and show him to be praiseworthy and of good repute, but when absent, serve to cause him harm and dishonor and show him to be wicked and of ill-repute.

Since this is true, if you are that good man and have his virtues, exile will not harm or degrade you, because the virtues are present in you which are most able to help and to sustain you.

But if you are bad, it is the evil that harms you and not exile; and the misery you feel in exile is the product of evil, not of exile. It is from this you must hasten to secure release rather than from exile.

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

In typical Stoic fashion, Musonius explains that our confusion arises from what we consider to be 'good' in life. We will grumble and roll our eyes at this, of course, because only philosophers seem to worry about such abstract and obscure questions. This arises, however, from a misunderstanding of true philosophy, which isn't just about thinking well, but ordered primarily toward the fullness of living well.

As the grounded philosophers, like the Stoics, remind us time and time again, there is no more practical and critical matter than understanding the nature of the good. All thought, desire, and action rises or falls with that understanding.

"Average men" will tend to find the good in pleasure, honor, or wealth, and Musonius has explained that we need not even lose those things in a state of exile. Many have indeed increased their fortunes when cast away from home.

But even if we lose such things, these are hardly complete goods, which are determined by the value of my thoughts and deeds, not by the externals themselves. I can, in any and every circumstance, continue to practice courage, justice, temperance, or wisdom, since such goods are absolute, and depend upon nothing but my judgment. Indeed, losing pleasure, honor, and wealth can even give me an even greater opportunity to act with virtue.

The only thing that is completely good for man is the exercise of virtue, and the only thing that is completely evil for man is the exercise of vice. Happiness or misery hinge upon these two. The evil is never in the circumstances of the exile, or of any supposed misfortune, but in our use of it. We are mistaken when we say that our conditions are evil, but quite right when we see evil in our response. Let us not confuse what is done to us with what we do.

I don't think Musonius wishes to scold us, but rather to encourage us. He reminds us that he too must think through the benefit and harm in his state, and it is only in this way that he does not confuse evil with any circumstance. Our estimation of where we are to find the pure good of our nature, which can be nothing but the exercise of that nature, will be a powerful tool in living well.

Whenever I fell that itch of temptation, of measuring myself by all the worldly trappings, I do much as he suggests, and I can feel the whole viewpoint gradually shift, as if I was seeing the very same things but from a different perspective, from seeing myself from the outside in, to seeing myself from the inside out. There we have yet another instance of the Stoic Turn.

On Exile 11

. . . These things I used to repeat to myself and I say them to you now. If you are wise, you will not consider that exile is a thing to be dreaded, since others bear it easily, but evil. It makes wretched every man in whom it is present. And neither of the two necessary alternatives is a just cause for repining.

For either you were banished justly or unjustly. If justly, how can it be right or fitting to feel aggrieved at just punishment? If unjustly, the evil involved is not ours, but falls upon those who banished us.

If in fact you agree that doing a wrong (as they have done) is the most hateful thing in the world, while suffering a wrong (as has been our fate) in the eyes of the gods and of just men is held a ground not for hate but for help.

—Musonius Rufus, Fragment 9 (tr Lutz)

If I remember to understand the source of good and evil rightly, then I will also be able to perceive how all other things fall into their rightful place. It isn't the exile, or any circumstance, that harms me, but my own thinking.

Musonius reiterates a common Stoic formula here, and it reveals the logical order of Stoic thinking just as much as it offers a very practical guide to all the alternatives in our daily choices. This is how I usually repeat it to myself. Any hardship or suffering can, of course, replace exile in this case.

Let us say I have been exiled. If I deserved the exile, then I have been rightly punished. It is entirely up to me if I choose to learn from my situation, to improve myself, and to make right whatever it is that I have done wrong.

If I did not deserve the exile, then I have not done wrong, but others have done me wrong. That is still not an evil for me, but for others.

All that remains for me to decide is how I will act toward the evil by another. If I respond in kind, I have made myself as bad as the original offender. That is, however, still entirely on me. If I respond with care, concern, and assistance for the wrongdoers, I now have the wonderful opportunity to transform evil into good, by my own thoughts and actions alone. Whether I 'win' or 'lose' depends upon me, not upon them.

To love our enemies, to do good for those who persecute us, is hardly a pipe dream. Stoic thinking makes very clear how this logically follows from a right apprehension of what is truly good in our lives.

I have long lost track of the number of times I've been pushed around, and I can barely remember when I deserved it, and when I didn't. It hardly matters, because as soon as I use the actions of another as a justification for anger or hate, I've already thrown away the only thing that can make me good, and could perhaps help other people to also become good for themselves.

 Struggling with Circumstances 1

It is circumstances which show what men are. Therefore when a difficulty falls upon you, remember that God, like a trainer of wrestlers, has matched you with a rough young man.

'For what purpose?' you may say, Why, that you may become an Olympic conqueror; but it is not accomplished without sweat. In my opinion no man has had a more profitable difficulty than you have had, if you choose to make use of it as an athlete would deal with a young antagonist.

We are now sending a scout to Rome; but no man sends a cowardly scout, who, if he only hears a noise and sees a shadow anywhere, comes running back in terror and reports that the enemy is close at hand.

"So now if you should come and tell us, 'fearful is the state of affairs at Rome, terrible is death, terrible is exile; terrible is calumny; terrible is poverty; fly, my friends; the enemy is near', we shall answer, 'Begone, prophesy for yourself; we have committed only one fault, that we sent such a scout.'

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

I have often confused courage with aggression. While the latter is the exercise of brute strength, the former is the exercise of conviction.

I have never been the sort of person who is physically brave. I'm actually rather physically pathetic. In my early teenage years, my uncle, an accomplished mountaineer, dragged me on a two week tour of the Austrian Alps. We lived off of the land, climbed peak after peak, and for most of the time we were never below the tree line. It was one of the most wonderful and exhilarating moments of my life.

By the end, he took me up a mountain that was fairly easy for the first few hours, but had a stretch at the end that required some clever free climbing. I did my best, but made the horrible mistake of looking down. I saw 500 meters of empty space below me. I panicked.

Here was a moment, and it is a moment I will never forget. I had my fingers and toes glued to the rock, but my will seemed to give out. For a brief second, I wanted to let go and fall, because the terror was so great. My state of horror and panic was that severe.

And out of nowhere, with no other inspiration or encouragement, I told myself that I was able. I looked up. I made the last few grabs, and before I knew it, I was at the peak at one of the most beautiful places on God's Earth.

Going down was easier.

Courage is never about toughness or physical strength. Do not be deceived. The least of us, in body and mind, can practice fortitude, because it is nothing more than about how we think.

As a child I always worried about the bullies, and whenever they challenged me, whether I could 'take' them.

The courage I learned wasn't about winning the fight by defeating the aggressor. It was always about defeating myself. A few times I was the physical victor, mainly because I had more to lose. Usually, I found myself in the dirt, with a bloody nose, coupled with the ridicule of my peers.

None of that mattered, and it still doesn't matter. Fear is in myself, and as powerful as the feeling may be, I can work with it, and through it.

I do not deny or repress the feelings. I learn to use them to my advantage, as a means to make myself better. I can choose to accept the challenge that Nature has given me, and I will only lose the battle if I betray myself. I win when I have acted rightly, whatever the consequence.

Difficulty indeed causes pain, and it breeds uncertainty. As long as I am certain in my convictions, those feelings are hardly wasted.

Struggling with Circumstances 2

 Diogenes, who was sent as a scout before you, made a different report to us. He says that death is no evil, for neither is it base. He says that fame is the noise of madmen.

And what has this spy said about pain, about pleasure, and about poverty? He says that to be naked is better than any purple robe, and to sleep on the bare ground is the softest bed, and he gives as a proof of each thing that he affirms his own courage, his tranquillity his freedom, and the healthy appearance and compactness of his body.

"'There is no enemy' he says, 'all is peace.'

How so, Diogenes? 'See,' he replies, 'if I am struck, if I have been wounded, if I have fled from any man.'

This is what a scout ought to be. But you come to us and tell us one thing after another. Will you not go back, and you will see clearer when you have laid aside fear?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

We only fear about the things that we are desperately afraid of losing. Tell me right now what you really love, and I will tell you right now what it is that you fear.

If you wish wealth, power, success, or esteem, you will do anything and everything to acquire these things. Those loves define most all of the people I knew as a young man.

In return, your greatest fear will be all about losing those things you love so much.

Last year, I ran into a college friend. I use the term 'friend' lightly, since we were really just acquaintances. Yet he was very worried about something, and drew me aside in private to discuss what was on his mind.

"Do you remember that time I cheated on my girlfriend?"

I remembered not just one time, but a number of times. It turned out that girlfriend was now his wife.

"Yes," I replied, "but I hoped that was done and over with between both of you, and that you fixed it."

"No. She never knew. And she can never know. You won't tell her, will you?"

I assured him I would never tell her, unless she asked me directly.

He became very angry. I didn't know all the specifics, but it seemed there was trouble brewing in that perfect upper class home. He was worried that a precedent of infidelity would hurt him in a divorce settlement.

Well, there you have it. If he had been like Diogenes, he would have worried more about his loyalty and integrity than about his property. He would never have worried about his professional reputation, because fame is the noise of madmen.

If I desire none of the things that the world tells me I must desire, I will never fear their loss. I will have no enemies, as long as I am not struggling for the things that they struggle for. I give you your pleasures, you fame, your money, your influence, and I ask nothing from you.

All is peace, because I need not fight for everything that you may think is important.

I am now an older man, and I hope I am somewhat wiser. Your job, your home, your friends, your car, and your vacations do not impress me. I need not fear losing any of those things, because I do not care for them.

I do not care when you take such things from me. Because they are not me.

Struggling with Circumstances 3

What then shall I do? What do you do when you leave a ship? Do you take away the helm or the oars? What then do you take away? You take what is your own, your bottle and your wallet; and now if you think of what is your own, you will never claim what belongs to others.

The emperor says, 'Lay aside your laticlave.' See, I put on the angusticlave. 'Lay aside this also.' See, I have only my toga. 'Lay aside your toga.' See, I am naked. 'But you still raise my envy.' Take then all my poor body. When, at a man's command, I can throw away my poor body, do I still fear him?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

Consider all the things we mistakenly think are ours, and then how fully we allow our lives to depend upon such false possessions. If we understand what truly belongs to us, and what can never be taken away, we will never suffer the frustration and loss of being swayed and swept by fortune.

One of the few times I felt that my attempts at teaching made any practical difference to people was not in a formal classroom at all, but when I had been asked to lead a self-help group. Reading our text together led to one person after another worried about how fragile and unstable the circumstances of our lives were.

Now this could have gone very poorly, very quickly, if we had either just complained until we were drowning in our tears, or if we had brushed off the concerns with some clever saying about "not worrying", or "letting go and letting God." Neither dwelling on the wrong, nor offering quick solutions without explanations, was going to cut it. We managed a middle path.

First, what are these things I consider to be mine, but are not really mine at all, because my 'possession' of them does not really depend upon me?

The very things that seem to bring me grief are precisely the things that aren't mine to begin with. I make myself miserable by relying upon them, and treating them as if I owned them and deserved them. These include my wealth, my influence, my reputation, my position.

Consider all these fancy titles and badges of honor, like the clothing Epictetus speaks of. The world gives them to us, and the world takes them away.

Even my body and its health are hardly mine to control. My very name was given

to me by others, my identity is wrapped up into the conditions I was born into, and my career, however humble or noble, is a social construct. None of these things are me.

One of my favorite episodes of one of my favorite shows, Babylon 5, titled "Come the Inquisitor" had a dark and mysterious stranger interrogate our characters about only one question: "Who are you?" He finds the usual responses wanting.

Unacceptable! What a sad thing you are! Unable to answer even such a simple question without falling back on references, and genealogies and what other people call you. Have you nothing of your own? Nothing to stand on that is not provided, defined, delineated, stamped, sanctioned, numbered, and approved by others? How can you expected to fight for someone else when you haven't the fairest idea who you are?

The clever reference to Patrick McGoohan's The Prisoner was not lost on me.

I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own!

I can almost feel a "Stoicism and Popular Art" essay coming on. . .

So our group has now exhausted all the things we usually rely on, and there's an awkward silence. After I've removed all the externals, what is left? It would seem even my life is on lease.

"Yes, but no one can judge for me, decide for, act for me, love for me. That's what's mine."

Those words came from our youngest, and perhaps most troubled, participant.

If I don't claim ownership of the things that aren't mine, I won't resent losing them, and if I rely on what can never be taken from me, I can always find peace. The trappings don't matter.

I need not worry what the world thinks or says of me. The praise is often worse than the rejection. Peel back all the glory, the achievement, step out from the rank and file of those who seek fame and attention. Sebastian, the dark and mysterious stranger in "Come the Inquisitor", says it this way:

How do you know the chosen ones? No greater love hath a man than he lay down his life for his brother. Not for millions. . . not for glory, not for fame. For one person. . . in the dark. . . where no one will ever know. . . or see.

Making that kind of commitment is entirely within my possession.

Struggling with Circumstances 4

 ‘But a certain person will not leave to me the succession to his estate!'

What then? Had I forgotten that not one of these things was mine? How then do we call them mine, just as we call the bed in the inn? If, then, the innkeeper at his death leaves you the beds, all is well: but if he leaves them to another, he will have them, and you will seek another bed. If then you shall not find one, you will sleep on the ground: only sleep with a good will and snore, and remember that tragedies have their place among the rich and kings and tyrants, but no poor man fills a part in the tragedy, except as one of the chorus.

Kings indeed commence with prosperity: 'ornament the palaces with garlands,' then about the third or fourth act they call out, 'O Cithaeron, why did you receive me?'

Slave, where are the crowns, where the diadem? The guards help you not at all. When then you approach any of these persons, remember this that you are approaching a tragedian, not the actor but Oedipus himself.

But you say, 'Such a man is happy; for he walks about with many,' and I also place myself with the many and walk about with many. In sum remember this: the door is open; be not more timid than little children, but as they say, when the thing does not please them, 'I will play no longer,' so do you, when things seem to you of such a kind, say I will no longer play, and begone: but if you stay, do not complain.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.24 (tr Long)

I am saddened by the number of times I have seen families, rich, poor, and anywhere in between, destroying themselves over inheritance. I attended a funeral for an older man I had befriended through work, and I was one of only a half dozen people there. None of his children, or their families, attended, because they were all in dispute over some property he owned. They had only visited him a handful of times during his extended hospice care to ask him to sign legal papers.

I hardly know if I helped that man in any way while he was still alive, but I made a point of going to see him weekly, so that he might see that not all people wanted only power and possessions, and not all people are ready to dispose of others. His family hardly seemed like malicious people, but they simply could not see beyond that inheritance. My understanding is that, a few years later, the brothers and sisters ignore one another around town, a behavior I have found typical of people who have put a balance sheet in place of their hearts.

How much happier I can be when I expect to own nothing but myself, and I expect no inheritance from anyone. As Epictetus says, all the terrible tragedies are self-imposed, for we want things that are not ours, and tie ourselves up in knots with their pursuit.

If I choose to play the game as other play it, I will find myself quickly pulled under. A small compromise here, an injustice overlooked there, and before I know it I have sold what I truly value, wisdom, character, love, and friendship, for the sake of kingdoms and crowns.

Or, as Epictetus says, I can choose not to play. I can take my toys, go home, and play with my real friends. But I cannot be angry when I stick around and reap exactly what I myself have sowed.

I need to be very careful when I think that grasping people are happy people. I imagine most every Greek tragedy was written to show how they are, in the end, the most miserable people. Was Oedipus happy, when he still lived in power, pride, and ignorance? I can still walk about with many, but I need not try to make them my puppets, or to make them heed me. I can simply be myself, and not worry about the rat race.

Struggling with Circumstances 5

If these things are true, and if we are not silly, and are not acting hypocritically when we say that the good of man is in the will, and the evil too, and that everything else does not concern us, why are we still disturbed, why are we still afraid?

The things about which we have been busied are in no man's power: and the things which are in the power of others, we care not for. What kind of trouble have we still?.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

Stoic moral principles are hardly complex, though they may sometimes seem very difficult to live. I have discerned two obstacles to my own practice of Stoicism.

Sometimes I don't seem to know that they are true, and sometimes I don't seem to even want them to be true. The first comes from a weakness of habit in the mind, the second a weakness from a habit in the will.

The Stoics always remind us that we should not hate an evil man, since he is evil through his ignorance of the good. This calls for my compassion and assistance, not my anger.

We walk through our lives, engaged in many complex and difficult tasks, but we often simply do not know why we are doing them. How many of us have dedicated the time and effort needed to answering the question of who we are? What is our human nature? How is it fulfilled? If we do not know this, we ultimately cannot act well.

My knowledge and action may also be hindered by a weakness in my commitment. I may, in part and only vaguely, understand the theory of Stoic ethics, but I am still dragged down by the old habits I have become so comfortable with.

The love of money, of fame, of power, of pleasure still weighs on me. It is what most everyone around me loves, and it what I have been told, time and time again, that I must strive for. It is no wonder that my choices are weakened by such a burden.

I still choose poorly because I might be afraid of what is unfamiliar, unpopular, or deeply challenging to everything I have known before.

The troubles will only pass when we transform our awareness of Nature from theory into practice, from the hypothetical to the actual, from a hazy comprehension to the fullness of living.

We need not be afraid of the true good, because once we embrace it, we have freed ourselves from all the grief and pain of depending upon what is outside of our power. This way lies happiness.

Struggling with Circumstances 6

 'But give me directions!' Why should I give you directions? Has not Zeus given you directions? Has he not given to you what is your own free from hindrance and free from impediment, and what is not your own subject to hindrance and impediment?

What directions then, what kind of orders did you bring when you came from him?

Keep by every means what is your own; do not desire what belongs to others. Fidelity is your own, virtuous shame is your own; who then can take these things from you? who else than you yourself will hinder you from using them?

But how do you act? When you seek what is not your own, you lose that which is your own. Having such promptings and commands from Zeus, what kind do you still ask from me? Am I more powerful than he, am I more worthy of confidence? But if you observe these, do you want any others besides?

'Well, but he has not given these orders', you will say. Produce your precognitions, produce the proofs of philosophers, produce what you have often heard, and produce what you have said yourself, produce what you have read, produce what you have meditated on, and you will then see that all these things are from God. How long, then, is it fit to observe these precepts from God, and not to break up the play? As long as the play is continued with propriety.

In the Saturnalia a king is chosen by lot, for it has been the custom to play at this game. The king commands: 'Do you drink,' 'Do you mix the wine,' 'Do you sing,' 'Do you go,' 'Do you come.' I obey that the game may not be broken up through me.

But if he says, 'Think that you are in evil plight', I answer, 'I do not think so'; and who compels me to think so? Further, we agreed to play Agamemnon and Achilles. He who is appointed to play Agamemnon says to me, 'Go to Achilles and tear from him Briseis.' I go. He says, 'Come,' and I come.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

Why can't there be an owner's manual, complete with step-by-step multilingual instructions? Why is there no IKEA for the happy life? Why must it all seem so cryptic and complex?

I find myself asking such questions only when I am really making excuses. Saying that the answers are unknowable allows me to wallow in skepticism, and saying that the solutions are too confusing allows me to hide away from effort. This, in turn, allows me to live under the illusion of deferring my responsibility for myself.

But the answers are neither cryptic nor complex, and life requires no set of directions any more than Nature itself has already given us. To borrow from the Catholic tradition, the law is already written on the human heart.

If I consider that the perfection of any thing is achieved the what is specific to its own nature, and never simply by what is external to it, and if I at the same time consider that it is the nature of man, as a being of intellect and of will, to know the truth, love the good, and to act according to truth and goodness, then I already have my answer. It isn't unknowable, and it isn't too confusing. Only my past habits are getting in my way.

In the simplest of terms, I must act through what is my own, and not depend upon what is not my own. The reverse is also true. As soon as I depend upon what is not my own, I have surrendered what is my own. Here is the difference between a free man and a slave.

The great tradition of philosophy and literature, from Epictetus to Shakespeare, has often made use of acting in a play as an analogy for life. Most things in our lives, our conditions and circumstances, are given to us, as if by the directions of the playwright or the director. How well I play my part, however, and how well I choose to understand my part, are those things that are within my power.

Struggling with Circumstances 7

For as we behave in the matter of hypothetical arguments, so ought we to do in life. 'Suppose it to be night.' I suppose that it is night. 'Well then; is it day?' No, for I admitted the hypothesis that it was night. 'Suppose that you think that it is night?' Suppose that I do. 'But also think that it is actually night.' That is not consistent with the hypothesis.

So in this case also: 'Suppose that you are unfortunate.' Well, suppose so. 'Are you then unhappy?' Yes. 'Well, then, are you troubled with an unfavorable demon?' Yes. 'But think also that you are actually in misery.' This is not consistent with the hypothesis; and Another forbids me to think so.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

For good or for ill, I listened to quite a bit of dark and depressing music in my younger days. I honestly still have a soft spot for various forms of goth, new wave, alternative, and soul-crushing neo-progressive rock. Add to that my love of heart-wrenching Country music and morbid Celtic ballads, and you have a man who knows his grief.

At the tender age of fifteen, I would regularly ponder the immortal words of The Smiths, from the song "How Soon is Now?"

I am the son and the heir

Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.

I am the son and heir of nothing in particular.

You shut your mouth

How can you say I go about things the wrong way?

I am human and I need to be loved

Just like everybody else does.

There's a club, if you'd like to go

You could meet somebody who really loves you.

So you go and you stand on your own

And you leave on your own

And you go home and you cry and you want to die.

When you say 'it's gonna happen now'

When exactly do you mean?

See I've already waited too long

And all my hope is gone.

There is a certain emotional satisfaction in bemoaning our fate, and I don't deny it to anyone. We all, I think, need to struggle through that stage, at any age.

This is exactly what Epictetus addresses.

Could I be unhappy? Of course. Am I unhappy? That's a different question altogether. The hypothetical and the actual are two very different realms of living.

I can think of thousands of ways my life could be very different. I can imagine a world where I didn't fall for false imaginings, or a world where I didn't take a tight hold on what was real. That I wasted years of my life on vanity could have been changed by not sitting next to someone at a party. That I found honest friendship and companionship could have been changed by a single stroke on a keyboard. 

Yet these are all the 'could-have-beens'. They are not real, but just hypothetical. I worry far too much about the 'what if?' questions. I should worry far more about the 'what is' reality that is before me. 

There are all sorts of reasons out there to be miserable. I find that I have little, if not absolutely nothing, in common with the values of those around me.

I have walked the streets of many cities, and I see greed, hate, or just plain indifference. I see the clash of ideologies and politics that have nothing to do with my sense of a true human dignity.

I see business based upon profit for the few, not for the benefit of the many. I see a professional world more like the strutting of peacocks than the peace of the lambs.

Now I could give up. But none of these things are up to me. Who I am, and how I live, is up to me. 

We'd all like to build bonfires, and call the masses to us. That would make us important. Maybe I'll just light a single match, for but a moment, and cast that little light. 

Nature, and Nature's God, tell me I must live my best as I am. We are sorely mistaken if we think that what 'could have been' is what defines us. 

Let us define ourselves not by what has happened, or even by what is happening. 

Let us define ourselves not by what we could have done, or by what we are now doing. 

Let us define ourselves by what we will choose, in this very next moment, right here and right now, to make our own lives better, and to love our neighbors.

I still love that Smiths song, but I also understand that it isn't about what happens. It isn't about needing love, it's about needing to love.

Struggling with Circumstances 8

How long then must we obey such orders? As long as it is profitable, and this means as long as I maintain that which is becoming and consistent. Further, some men are sour and of bad temper, and they say, 'I cannot sup with this man to be obliged to hear him telling daily how he fought in Mysia: 'I told you, brother, how I ascended the hill: then I began to be besieged again.'

But another says, 'I prefer to get my supper and to hear him talk as much as he likes.' And do you compare these estimates: only do nothing in a depressed mood, nor as one afflicted, nor as thinking that you are in misery, for no man compels you to that.

Has it smoked in the chamber? If the smoke is moderate, I will stay; if it is excessive, I go out: for you must always remember this and hold it fast, that the door is open.

Well, but you say to me, 'Do not live in Nicopolis.' I will not live there. 'Nor in Athens.' I will not live in Athens. 'Nor in Rome.' I will not live in Rome. 'Live in Gyarus.' I will live in Gyarus, but it seems like a great smoke to live in Gyarus; and I depart to the place where no man will hinder me from living, for that dwelling-place is open to all; and as to the last garment, that is the poor body, no one has any power over me beyond this.

This was the reason why Demetrius said to Nero, 'You threaten me with death, but nature threatens you.' If I set my admiration on the poor body, I have given myself up to be a slave: if on my little possessions, I also make myself a slave: for I immediately make it plain with what I may be caught; as if the snake draws in his head, I tell you to strike that part of him which he guards; and do you be assured that whatever part you choose to guard, that part your master will attack. Remembering this, whom will you still flatter or fear?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

One learns with time, I think, that the merit of our actions is not merely in what we do, but the judgment and attitude with which we act. I think of the countless times I have thought myself driven near to exasperation or rage when I have seen arrogance, hypocrisy, greed, or betrayal. And I must only remind myself that I can turn that figurative switch in my own thinking. This is, I might say, not a harm to my soul, but to that of the offender. Now what can I do to make right of this wrong?

Whether it be a mere annoyance or a direct threat, I can, at the very least, practice a simple exercise. I can observe misdeeds, and make note of them, so I might know exactly how not to live myself. That is indeed profitable.

It is even more profitable to use any occasion as an opportunity for making something right, in however small a way. I recently observed an unpopular colleague being gossiped about by other faculty at the other end of the room. It was of the usual sort, laughing openly behind their hands.

So I made a simple effort to just walk to her desk, and speak to her for a few minutes with respect and kindness. This, of course, caused even more daggers to be hurled at us from across the room, but I practiced something I hoped would be helpful for me, for her, and bring cheer to a gloomy situation. Perhaps it could even be an opportunity for the offenders to reconsider their attitudes.

I may find the good in anything and everything, if I simply look and estimate rightly, and I need only recall that I am the one who chooses the measure of my judgment. I am the one who will say yes or no to something, and this is not determined by another.

I have noticed many people who, when confronted with ignorance or injustice, will simply say, "well that's the way the world works. You have to be practical, you know, and you pretty much have to play along."

Now others may indeed work in such a way, but I do not have to. If I value justice and compassion, then it is only up to me if I choose to act in this way. I imagine the only reason I may feel restrained by custom and habit is if I, in fact, still do care more about my body, my possessions, or my influence.

I adore those words by Seneca's friend, Demetrius the Cynic. What are you going to take from me in body, while you do terrible harm to your own soul? There we have the spirit of Socrates, of Diogenes, of all the Stoics, and of the whole tradition of philosophical wisdom.

Struggling with Circumstances 9

But I should like to sit where the Senators sit!' Do you see that you are putting yourself in straits, you are squeezing yourself?

'How then shall I see well in any other way in the amphitheater?' Man, do not be a spectator at all; and you will not be squeezed. Why do you give yourself trouble? Or wait a little, and when the spectacle is over, seat yourself in the place reserved for the Senators and sun yourself.

For remember this general truth, that it is we who squeeze ourselves, who put ourselves in straits; that is, our opinions squeeze us and put us in straits. For what is it to be reviled?

Stand by a stone and revile it; and what will you gain? If, then, a man listens like a stone, what profit is there to the reviler? But if the reviler has as a stepping-stone on the weakness of him who is reviled, then he accomplishes something.

'Strip him.' What do you mean by 'him'? 'Lay hold of his garment, strip it off. I have insulted you.' Much good may it do you.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

We seem to think that the more we increase our status and position, the more we increase our freedom from lesser things. In fact, we do quite the opposite, because we are squeezing ourselves with all the restrictions of playing the game.

I had just turned ten when Jimmy Carter was giving a speech right down the street from our house. My father decided to take me to see the man in action. We never actually saw anything of him at all, because of the huge crowds of people who became quite pushy and unruly. I recall seeing all the landscaping crushed flat, and hordes of people pushing and squeezing themselves along. It was rather frightening, and I had a quick image of how terrible it might feel to be trampled. We managed to pull ourselves out of the mess, and I recall the freedom and peace of being outside of the herd.

A few years later I saw Ronald Reagan in downtown Boston. He was a tiny little speck on a distant stage, and his words were barely discernible. But what was very discernible were the angry crowds of protestors, and the equally angry counter-protestors. There was yelling, spitting, pushing, grappling and a few swings of fists.

There was no greatness, virtue, or freedom here. Just a mob, and all because we had squeezed ourselves. No one had done this to us.

I have seen all too many fights, verbal and physical, where the participants simply enslave themselves to their passions. Pray tell, has yelling and screaming, pushing and shoving, ever convinced another man to change his thinking or his living? I am expressing only my hatred and anger, and I only then encourage it in return from others.

What happened to walking away? Do I not realize that by being angry, I give another power over me? By wishing to strut and pose in front of others, I have only constrained myself.

You won't particularly hurt me by taking my possessions or my reputation, if those are things I don't really care for. You won't really be insulting me if I don't care for your values. I need not allow anyone or anything to offend me.

We have all seen how the bullies will grab a victim's cap and play a malicious game of keep away. We of course play into the game by jumping around after our things. They won't give them back because we dart around and grab, yelling "give it back!"

In middle school, some older kids surrounded me while I was walking home. They first told me how ugly my jacket was. I had to resists the immediate instinct to say "not as ugly as your mother." I smiled and continued walking. At this point they grabbed my schoolbag.

Now I can have a very mean temper, and it was bubbling. I was tempted to do a full body tackle, even though I was half the size. But I somehow managed to walk on, hopefully not showing my fear. They yelled after me, "hey fag, want your bag back?"

"You can have it if you like it." I somehow managed.

Now that could have gotten me a beating, but what was funny was they they just dropped it and walked away. And even if I'd gotten the beating, I would still have been the better man-child, however weak, awkward, or pathetic I was in their eyes.

What I love determines what helps me or hurts me. If I love the draw of the crowd, I enslave myself to the crowd. The crowd gives, and the crowd takes away. If, on the other hand, I depend on my own judgment and character, I am the only one who can give or take away.

Struggling with Circumstances 10

This was the practice of Socrates: this was the reason why he always had one face. But we choose to practice and study anything rather than the means by which we shall be unimpeded and free.

You say, 'Philosophers talk paradoxes.' But are there no paradoxes in the other arts? and what is more paradoxical than to puncture a man's eye in order that he may see? If any one said this to a man ignorant of the surgical art, would he not ridicule the speaker? Where is the wonder then if in philosophy also many things which are true appear paradoxical to the inexperienced?"

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.25 (tr Long)

I can understand why philosophers, and Socrates in particular, are often seen at the very least as an annoyance, at the very worst as deeply dangerous.

The true philosopher is not merely an academic. He is a man committed to truth, and he lives accordingly. He understands that the higher goods of the soul are not to be compromised for the lower goods of the body, and this is readily apparent in the consistency between what he says, and what he does. As Epictetus says, Socrates had only one face. He did not preach wisdom and virtue, and then sell out those qualities for convenience and utility.

The true philosopher seems an annoyance because he reminds us that we aren't really all that we say we are. We mouth the words, and are content to act very differently. Few things are more frustrating than being caught out. The blame is on us, of course, though we readily blame the messenger. Note how deeply anti-Stoic we are by dodging our own responsibilities.

The true philosopher also seems dangerous, because his values, and his actions, are not merely inconvenient to our feelings. They can undermine all the false standards and assumptions of the world we live in. Socrates was seen as not only believing in all the wrong things, but as challenging established convention and corrupting the young.

If heterodoxy and iconoclasm involve reminding people that wisdom, temperance, justice, and courage are always better than ignorance, greed, power, and cowardice, then I'd like to know where to sign up as a corrupter.

We may think that those philosophers are too clever for their own good, and that they are full of contradictions. Yet the doctor, knowledgeable in healing the body, seems full of paradoxes to the layman, just as the philosopher, the healer of the soul, seems full of paradoxes to the willfully ignorant.

It is the philosopher, like Socrates, who recognizes that circumstances are hardly burdens. They are opportunities to live with excellence. Yes, they will sometimes hurt, sometimes terribly so, but I need only remember how little a thing I may be giving up for so great a reward. Understand what is right and good, the measure of true happiness and joy, and it all falls into place.

On Constancy 1

The being of the Good is a certain Will; the being of the Bad is a certain kind of Will. What then are externals? Materials for the Will, about which the will being conversant shall obtain its own good or evil. How shall it obtain the good? If it does not admire the materials; for the opinions about the materials, if the opinions are right, make the will good: but perverse and distorted opinions make the will bad.

God has fixed this law, and says, 'If you would have anything good, receive it from yourself.' You say, 'No, but I have it from another.' Do not says so, but receive it from yourself.

Therefore when the tyrant threatens and calls me, I say, 'Whom do you threaten?' If he says, 'I will put you in chains,' I say, 'You threaten my hands and my feet.' If he says, 'I will cut off your head,' I reply, 'You threaten my head.' If he says, 'I will throw you into prison,' I say, 'You threaten the whole of this poor body.' If he threatens me with banishment, I say the same.

''Does he, then, not threaten you at all?' If I feel that all these things do not concern me, he does not threaten me at all; but if I fear any of them, it is I whom he threatens. Whom then do I fear? the master of what? The master of things which are in my own power? There is no such master. Do I fear the master of things which are not in my power? And what are these things to me?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

The words we employ, wittingly or unwittingly, tell us very much about our values. That we have regularly replaced the language of virtue with the language of success, gratification, and recognition can be an indication that we are straying from the path of Nature. I regularly hear people being praised for their success, their ambition, their popularity, or their sense of humor. I don't recall when I last heard of anyone being praised for his constancy.

Constancy is nothing but being loyal and faithful to ourselves, to our fellows, and to what we know to be right and true, and doing so in the face of burdens and obstacles. It is to be unchanging and enduring through the good and the bad. As with any virtue, it is one thing to speak of it, another thing to practice it. One only has constancy when the actions conform to the words, regardless of the circumstances.

On the day of our wedding, my wife was beaming, except at the moment when we recited our vows, when a look of anxiety came over her face. But I only had to smile at her, and her joy returned. I did not take this as a bad sign, or as a hint that she didn't love me. I'd been through all that before. Quite the contrary, I understood it as an indication that she took those words of absolute commitment seriously, and that was exactly the reason I had asked her to marry me. She was someone who was serious about constancy, because she recognized that her deeds would need to match her words.

How many times have we heard the words "I love you" said without true commitment? "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds."

When, as Epictetus says, I grasp that my moral good rests in the disposition of my will toward my external circumstances, and that my good is never itself determined only by those externals, I am on my way toward living with constancy.

Whenever I fail at being constant, as I quite often do, it is because I fear the loss of something, and I am terrified of the hurt I am so sure will follow. Conversely, I may be drawn to the promise of some benefit if I will only break my commitment, just this once.

Now the only way to overcome this temptation is to fix my judgment. What is it that I may lose or gain? Property? Reputation? My body itself? These things are externals, beyond my power, and they do not concern what is truly me, that which is within my power. If I understand that my measure of good and evil is mistaken, then I will no longer fear losing or desire to gain such things.

On Constancy 2

Do you philosophers then teach us to despise kings?' I hope not. Who among us teaches to claim against them the power over things which they possess? Take my poor body, take my property, take my reputation, take those who are about me. If I advise any persons to claim these things, they may truly accuse me.

'Yes, but I intend to command your opinions also.' And who has given you this power? How can you conquer the opinion of another man?

"By applying terror to it,' he replies, 'I will conquer it.'

Do you not know that opinion conquers itself, and is not conquered by another? But nothing else can conquer Will except the Will itself. For this reason, too, the law of God is most powerful and most just, which is this: 'Let the stronger always be superior to the weaker.'

'Ten are stronger than one.’ For what? For putting in chains, for killing, for dragging whither they choose, for taking away what a man has. The ten therefore conquer the one in this in which they are stronger.

'In what then are the ten weaker?' If the one possess right opinions and the others do not.

'Well then, can the ten conquer in this matter?' How is it possible? If we were placed in the scales, must not the heavier draw down the scale in which it is?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

I am struck by the similarity between the words of Epictetus and the words from the Gospel of Matthew: "given unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, but give unto God the things that are God's."

The point isn't about hating worldly power or those in authority. It's rather a matter of understanding how the Stoic Turn requires us to reconsider what we think is good or bad, right or wrong, powerful or weak.

I need not resent the giving and taking away of wealth, power, or privilege, because these things aren't mine. Let a leader do with them as he pleases. If he is a good leader, he will make us of these materials to help improve the souls of his subjects. If he is a bad leader, he has lost his own soul.

But surely he is stronger? Distinguish. In the world of externals, might may seem to make right, though even then we are under a heavy illusion if we think we have any true grasp over such things. No one has power over my judgments, however many legions or divisions he may command.

But surely he can rule me through fear? No, I will be the one who rules or succumbs to fear, no one else. Consider that worldly power must come and go, because it is never fully ours, but the power of our judgements can be unwavering, because they are always fully our own. Now which of these is truly stronger and superior?

There is not necessarily strength in numbers. If ten men are strong in wealth and influence, but empty of wisdom and virtue, they are simply ten ignorant men. The one wise man, however little else he may have, is far more powerful than they are. They already defeat themselves, but the wise man cannot be defeated, if only he so chooses.

No, he who dies with the most toys most certainly does not win.

On Constancy 3

How strange, then, that Socrates should have been so treated by the Athenians.' Slave, why do you say Socrates? Speak of the thing as it is: how strange that the poor body of Socrates should have been carried off and dragged to prison by stronger men, and that any one should have given hemlock to the poor body of Socrates, and that it should breathe out the life.

Do these things seem strange? Do they seem unjust, do you on account of these things blame God? Had Socrates then no equivalent for these things, Where, then, for him was the nature of good?

Whom shall we listen to, you or him? And what does Socrates say? 'Anytus and Meletus can kill me, but they cannot hurt me': and further, he says, 'If it so pleases God, so let it be.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

Surely Socrates succumbed to great strength and power, when he was imprisoned, tried, and executed? Couldn't he have played the game a bit more expertly and survived to continue his mission, or even have raised a protest from all the young dissatisfied souls who listened to his teachings? At the very least, he could have defended himself more tactfully, and tugged at the heartstrings of the jurors.

I have heard all kinds of trendy explanations of why Socrates acted as he did. He basically committed suicide because did not wish to live the painful life of an old man, or he wanted to die with the image of a popular martyr, or he was simply an egomaniac. I only know Socrates from what was written about his words and deeds, but if any of these theories are true, then he is absolutely not worth listening to. If he was playing to circumstances in any such a way, then he was nothing but a hypocrite, and then his principles meant nothing at all.

With Epictetus, I think what made Socrates so special was that he had a very different sense of the nature of the good than most of us. He is the grandfather of all Stoics, because he understood that a man is measured by how well he lives in character, and all other circumstances are relative and subservient to this end. He was not worried about his imprisonment or his death at all, because he did not measure the freedom of the body, his possessions or reputation, even his survival as good in themselves.

Socrates was not defeated at all, if we understand the standards of victory and defeat in the right. Anytus and Meletus could not harm him, because Anytus and Meletus could not touch his soul.

I have a short list of passages from philosophy, theology, and literature that I have committed to memory, and these are my refuge and my strength when I feel I am about to go under. I feel no shame in repeating them over and over. This is one of them, straight from Plato's Apology:

Men of Athens, I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting anyone whom I meet after my manner, and convincing him, saying: O my friend, why do you who are a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens, care so much about laying up the greatest amount of money and honor and reputation, and so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all? Are you not ashamed of this? 

And if the person with whom I am arguing says: Yes, but I do care; I do not depart or let him go at once; I interrogate and examine and cross-examine him, and if I think that he has no virtue, but only says that he has, I reproach him with undervaluing the greater, and overvaluing the less. And this I should say to everyone whom I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens, inasmuch as they are my brethren. For this is the command of God, as I would have you know; and I believe that to this day no greater good has ever happened in the state than my service to the God.

For I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons and your properties, but first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue come money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, my influence is ruinous indeed.

Socrates, and Stoicism, will make no sense whatsoever if we judge them by a power over things, but they make perfect sense if we understand them by a power over oneself. Socrates, and the Stoics, do not need to be rabble-rousers, rulers of men, violent revolutionaries, or captains of industry to find their bliss.

 On Constancy 4

But show me that he who has the inferior principles overpowers him who is superior in principles. You will never show this, nor come near showing it; for this is the law of nature and of God that the superior shall always overpower the inferior. In what? In that in which it is superior.

One body is stronger than another: many are stronger than one: the thief is stronger than he who is not a thief. This is the reason why I also lost my lamp, because in wakefulness the thief was superior to me. But the man bought the lamp at this price: for a lamp he became a thief, a faithless fellow, and like a wild beast. This seemed to him a good bargain. Be it so.

But a man has seized me by the cloak, and is drawing me to the public place: then others bawl out, 'Philosopher, what has been the use of your opinions? see you are dragged to prison, you are going to be beheaded.'

And what system of philosophy could have made it so that, if a stronger man should have laid hold of my cloak, I should not be dragged off; that if ten men should have laid hold of me and cast me into prison, I should not be cast in? Have I learned nothing else then?

I have learned to see that everything which happens, if it be independent of my will, is nothing to me. I may ask if you have not gained by this. Why then do you seek advantage in anything else than in that in which you have learned that advantage is?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

All of this may still seem so terribly odd. It may seem that the Stoic is in a state of delusion and denial, rejecting the reality of external circumstances, or trying to wish the world away. Perhaps Epictetus is really just saying that if we close our eyes and ears firmly enough, the thief who steals my lamp or the tyrant who grabs me by the cloak will just sort of disappear?

But Epictetus is in no way claiming that the lamp and the thief, the cloak and the tyrant, do not exist. Nor is he saying that there is no value in them. The lamp can give me light, the cloak can keep me warm, and the thief and the tyrant are other men like myself, however misguided they may be.

No, it is not that the things external to me are unreal or without value, but rather that I must understand the order of all the good things in Nature, and how different things become inferior or superior in my relationship to them.

I sometimes think of it like a balance sheet. What has been added and subtracted, credited and debited, and for what benefit and at what cost have I acted? The thief is indeed stronger than me in wakefulness, and the ten men are stronger than me in force. They have now gained either a lamp, or my cloak, or my very body. At the same time they have lost their very excellence as men. Does this seem like a good bargain?

Many people in myth and legend have sold their souls, their very identities, for lower benefits, and the lesson, of course, is that they learn far too late that they have sold something greater for something lesser.

There is far greater strength in ruling and possessing myself, because that is something entirely within my power. There is an unconditional guarantee, or an irrevocable warranty. A dependence upon things external to me is far weaker, because they are outside of my power. It is like trading something reliable for something unreliable.

Only an understanding of my own human nature, as a being made to rule himself by reason and choice, will allow me to see how my own self-reliance, my responsibility for myself, is superior to any circumstances. I have not been truly 'dragged off' or 'cast in' if you take my cloak, imprison me, or behead me, because weaker things cannot defeat stronger things.

It all rests in seeing where and how something is stronger or superior. The thief and the tyrant have made a bad deal.

On Constancy 5

Then sitting in prison I say: 'The man who cries out in this way neither hears what words mean, nor understands what is said, nor does he care at all to know what philosophers say or what they do. Let him alone.'

But now he says to the prisoner, 'Come out from your prison.' If you have no further need of me in prison, I come out: if you should have need of me again, I will enter the prison.

‘How long will you act thus?' So long as reason requires me to be with the body: but when reason does not require this, take away the body, and fare you well. Only we must not do it inconsiderately, nor weakly, nor for any slight reason; for, on the other hand, God does not wish it to be done, and he has need of such a world and such inhabitants in it. But if he sounds the signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates, we must obey him who gives the signal, as if he were a general.

 'Well, then, ought we to say such things to the many?' Why should we? Is it not enough for a man to be persuaded himself? When children come clapping their hands and crying out, 'Today is the good Saturnalia,' do we say, 'The Saturnalia are not good?' By no means, but we clap our hands also. Do you also then, when you are not able to make a man change his mind, be assured that he is a child, and clap your hands with him, and if you do not choose to do this, keep silent.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

As Epictetus mentioned in the previous section, the man who thinks and lives like a philosopher will most likely be mocked and ridiculed. I must understand that this is because others might not understand a very different measure of the good, and they assume that the accumulation of power and influence is in itself desirable.

There is no need to be angry, and no need to engage in conflict. I can continue to live in a way I know to be right and leave these people be.

The tyrant, the one who craves the control of others, may put me in prison, or he may let me out of it. Perhaps he enjoys the display of force at one moment, and the appearance of mercy at another.

But note that he cares for the impression, not the content. I can continue to live well, wherever he may put me, because I can make good use of any and every circumstance. I've lost track of the number of times Dorothy Day was arrested or jailed.

I must always see the good in my circumstances as relative. I should neither desire them for their own sake, nor reject them for their own sake. Whenever they can help me to live well, I must employ them with courage. Whenever they hinder me from excellence, I must be willing to put them aside. This will include my property, my reputation, and even my body itself. 

 Again, there can be no place for resentment here, which I increasingly find is one of the greatest obstacles to the Stoic Turn. Whether it be the Roman Saturnalia or our modern version of Christmas, people will often use holidays as a means for greed and gratification.

As soon as I hold a grudge about this, I clearly am not doing it right. If I cannot convince others with reason and kindness, I should hold to my own values, and not force them upon others. As soon as I condemn and coerce, I'm embracing the very lust for control over others that I'm trying to avoid.

On Constancy 6

A man must keep this in mind; and when he is called to any such difficulty, he should know that the time is come for showing if he has been instructed. For he who is come into a difficulty is like a young man from a school who has practiced the resolution of syllogisms; and if any person proposes to him an easy syllogism, he says, 'Rather propose to me a syllogism which is skillfully complicated that I may exercise myself on it.'

Even athletes are dissatisfied with slight young men, and say 'he cannot lift me.' 'This is a youth of noble disposition.'

But when the time of trial is come, one of you must weep and say, 'I wish that I had learned more.' A little more of what? If you did not learn these things in order to show them in practice, why did you learn them?

I think that there is some one among you who are sitting here, who is suffering like a woman in labor, and saying, 'Oh, that such a difficulty does not present itself to me as that which has come to this man; oh, that I should be wasting my life in a corner, when I might be crowned at Olympia. When will any one announce to me such a contest?'

Such ought to be the disposition of all of you. Even among the gladiators of Caesar there are some who complain grievously that they are not brought forward and matched, and they offer up prayers to God and address themselves to their superintendents entreating that they might fight.

And will no one among you show himself such? I would willingly take a voyage for this purpose and see what my athlete is doing, how he is studying his subject. 'I do not choose such a subject,' he says. Why, is it in your power to take what subject you choose? There has been given to you such a body as you have, such parents, such brethren, such a country, such a place in your country: then you come to me and say, 'Change my subject.' Have you not abilities which enable you to manage the subject which has been given to you?

'It is your business to propose; it is mine to exercise myself well.' However, you do not say so, but you say, 'Do not propose to me such a tropic, but such: do not urge against me such an objection, but such.'

There will be a time, perhaps, when tragic actors will suppose that they are masks and buskins and the long cloak. I say, these things, man, are your material and subject? Utter something that we may know whether you are a tragic actor or a buffoon; for both of you have all the rest in common. If any one then should take away the tragic actor's buskins and his mask, and introduce him on the stage as a phantom, is the tragic actor lost, or does he still remain? If he has voice, he still remains.

 —Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

The practice of constancy proceeds from the ability and willingness to confront difficulty, and this in turn proceeds only from a correct understanding of the human good. If I define myself by the content of my choices and actions, I am capable of constancy. If I define myself by the conditions of all the things around me, constancy becomes impossible. I cannot say that I am measured only by my character, while also insisting that my character is determined by the waxing and waning of fortune.

Such moral courage should not be confused with the drive to conquer, to consume, or to possess. That is nothing but another form of dependence upon externals.

Such moral courage should also not be confused with the cold and heartless satisfaction of exercising brute strength. We should not equate mere toughness with the conviction of character.

A sign that constancy is lacking is when we wish to bargain with our circumstances. Instead of freely accepting the challenges life has given us, we wish to change the terms of the challenge, so as to better suit our preferences.

I have found myself guilty of this many times. If only this hadn't happened, or I had never met this person, or I had made a different decision in the past, I would be able to bear the challenge I am facing. It would then, of course, hardly be a challenge, because it would be a new circumstance of my own devising.

No, I must accept what is presented to me, not begrudgingly, but with the joy and confidence of someone who rests upon his own convictions.

Children will sometimes have the habit of changing the rules of a game even as it is being played, so as to bring them to an easier victory. Yet this is hardly a victory, because I have not risen to the occasion, but lowered the occasion to suit me.

If I remove all the trappings, all the appearances, all the props and costumes, and only I remain, can I still be said to be truly constant?

On Constancy 7

An example of another kind. 'Assume the governorship of a province.'

I assume it, and when I have assumed it, I show how an instructed man behaves.

‘Lay aside the laticlave and, clothing yourself in rags, come forward in this character.'

"What then, have I not the power of displaying a good voice? How, then, do you now appear? As a witness summoned by God.

‘Come forward, you, and bear testimony for me, for you are worthy to be brought forward as a witness by me: is anything external to the will good or bad? do I hurt any man? have I made every man's interest dependent on any man except himself?'

What testimony do you give for God?

‘I am in a wretched condition, Master, and I am unfortunate; no man cares for me, no man gives me anything; all blame me, all speak ill of me.'

Is this the evidence that you are going to give, and disgrace his summons, who has conferred so much honor on you, and thought you worthy of being called to bear such testimony?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

Consider all the desirable, high profile professions of our world, in politics, business, law, medicine, academics, or entertainment. Now remove all the trappings that go with them. What is left?

It need not simply be the the big things, like the obscene salaries, the media exposure, or all the finery and luxury. The small benefits count very much as well, the little daily posturing and posing we all seem to crave.

Remove all these things, scrape away the externals, and what sort of inner character reveals itself? Such an exercise can be deeply uncomfortable for any of us. What am I serving, and to what am I bearing witness? Do I pursue my own virtue, or do I depend upon my surroundings to prop me up? Do I treat my fellows with love and justice or with contempt and abuse? Do I see others as ends in themselves, or merely as means to my own end?

I often notice how often we complain about our circumstances instead of simply doing right, and then I catch myself in the bitter irony of it all, the fact that I am complaining about complaining. That's just another form of passing the buck, so I try my hardest to worry only about myself, about that which is within my power.

I hardly think that a man serves God by the color of his robes or his place at the table. Whether or not he knows it, he serves God simply by living according to the nature with which he was made.

On Constancy 8

 But suppose that he who has the power has declared, 'I judge you to be impious and profane.' What has happened to you? 'I have been judged to be impious and profane?' Nothing else? 'Nothing else.'

But if the same person had passed judgment on an hypothetical syllogism, and had made a declaration, 'the conclusion that, if it is day, it is light, I declare to be false,' what has happened to the hypothetical syllogism? who is judged in this case? who has been condemned? the hypothetical syllogism, or the man who has been deceived by it?

Does he, then, who has the power of making any declaration about you know what is pious or impious? Has he studied it, and has he learned it? Where? From whom?

Then is it the fact that a musician pays no regard to him who declares that the lowest chord in the lyre is the highest; nor yet a geometrician, if he declares that the lines from the center of a circle to the circumference are not equal; and shall he who is really instructed pay any regard to the uninstructed man when he pronounces judgment on what is pious and what is impious, on what is just and unjust? Oh, the signal wrong done by the instructed. Did they learn this here?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

My mother, who should probably know best, has always said that I have a sensitive soul, so it comes as no surprise that I am easily moved by the judgments of others.

I remember being deeply hurt when a person I considered my closest friend described me, thinking I was out of earshot, as "someone we all know will never amount to anything." That rubbed me the wrong way for years and years.

A part of learning to practice constancy is not to let us be so easily swayed by the judgments of others. This does not mean that we don't listen to others, or have no concern for their thinking, but rather that we do not allow ourselves to be determined and ruled by their thinking.

Epictetus is of great assistance here, because he reminds us that we should consider not only the judgment itself, but the wisdom and merit of the one doing the judging. I would hardly listen to someone ignorant of medicine about my health, or someone who can't balance a checkbook on my finances.

Accordingly, I should pay little mind when the irreverent man says I am impious or profane, and the reverent or respectful man, for that matter, would hardly speak in such a manner to begin with.

I am right to consider then, with no malice or resentment, that a person who considers success to the accumulation of wealth and honors can hardly be a good judge of my own success.

Look not only at what has been said, but at the merit and authority of the source.

I might pursue such thinking one step further. Is it not right for me to consider a poor judgment from an ignorant and spiteful man to be more of a compliment than an insult? And in reverse, as a warning to myself, might not praise from such a man be a warning that I'm getting something awfully wrong?

I should be careful who I listen to, and why I listen to them.

On Constancy 9

Will you not leave the small arguments about these matters to others, to lazy fellows, that they may sit in a corner and receive their sorry pay, or grumble that no one gives them anything; and will you not come forward and make use of what you have learned?

For it is not these small arguments that are wanted now: the writings of the Stoics are full of them.

What then is the thing which is wanted? A man who shall apply them, one who by his acts shall bear testimony to his words. Assume, I, entreat you, this character, that we may no longer use in the schools the examples of the ancients but may have some example of our own.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

Like Seneca, Epictetus has little patience for professional philosophers or academics here. I always insist, time and time again, that philosophy and the love of learning receive their poor reputation not from those who desire wisdom, but from those who see their education as a tool for their own selfish profit.

None of us need any more posturing, we need no more preening and fine tales, we need no more obsession with what Epictetus calls the "small arguments".

Of course the details matter, but when we obsess with details to pursue our own vanity, we've taken the wrong path.

I admire someone who will act, not merely pontificate. If you show me you are charged with love, with justice, with compassion and with character, I will follow you to the absolute end. But do not attempt to deceive me with all the games. I've been around the block often enough, and I can see a charlatan from a mile away.

Constancy requires action, not musings. It requires, conviction, not speculation. It requires what is actual, not what is hypothetical. I need to catch myself quite regularly, and remind myself that the trappings of vanity will be the end of me, because vanity is a dependence upon everything outside of me.

As soon as I entered graduate school, I was told that everything depended upon getting what they call a 'tenure-track' job. This meant spending many years worried about getting the right teaching evaluations, which of course meant trying to be popular with the students. Most importantly it meant getting published in all the right journals, which meant impressing our superiors.

Pardon my French, but the whole process was an exercise in kissing ass.

Now does anyone see a problem here? Epictetus certainly did, because like any proper Stoic, or even any proper philosopher, he did not think that his value depended upon the estimation of his popularity.

I am learning to be more constant, simply by no longer caring for these illusions. I look forward to a day when I might make my work about care and service for others, and not about the care and service of myself.

On Constancy 10

To whom then does the contemplation of these matters belong? To him who has leisure, for man is an animal that loves contemplation.

But it is shameful to contemplate these things as runaway slaves do; we should sit, as in a theater, free from distraction, and listen at one time to the tragic actor, at another time to the lute-player; and not do as slaves do.

As soon as the slave has taken his station he praises the actor and at the same time looks round: then if any one calls out his master's name, the slave is immediately frightened and disturbed. It is shameful for philosophers thus to contemplate the works of nature.

For what is a master? Man is not the master of man; but death is, and life and pleasure and pain; for if he comes without these things, bring Caesar to me and you will see how firm I am. But when he shall come with these things, thundering and lightning, and when I am afraid of them, what do I do then except to recognize my master like the runaway slave?

But so long as I have any respite from these terrors, as a runaway slave stands in the theater, so do I: I bathe, I drink, I sing; but all this I do with terror and uneasiness. But if I shall release myself from my masters, that is from those things by means of which masters are formidable, what further trouble have I, what master have I still?

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

We pride ourselves, and rightly so, as a society that has abolished the brutal institution of slavery, where one man is nothing more than the property of another. We are also right, I think, to continue fighting against such servitude beyond our shores, as well as unmasking other forms of slavery, which simply take on different names, on our own doorstep.

Remember that our author, Epictetus, was himself a slave. He understood quite well what it meant not to be free in his body, though he was a philosopher who showed us what it meant to be free in his soul.

I believe that distinction to be a crucial one, and I continue to raise eyebrows when I claim that while most of us are not slaves in our bodies, many of us are slaves in our souls.

It is entirely right and proper, according to his very nature, for man to have freedom and leisure. He should not have to look over his shoulder, afraid of the power of his master. He should never feel the need to run from anyone or from anything.

That master need not be another person, because we freely choose to become slaves to any of the things around us. We sell ourselves to money, to fame, to pleasure, to our very love of living and our fear of dying. We are in constant need of retaining the things we desire, and in constant terror of losing them.

Even if we try to run away from such a dependence, we never seem to escape its hold, and I believe this is because we are still thinking like consumers, and not like philosophers.

You and I may live in a world with the greatest political freedoms, and the greatest physical luxuries, ever known to mankind.

We also run the grave risk of being the most morally enslaved people, because we so easily surrender the freedom of ruling ourselves to false idols and to mere trinkets.

On Constancy 11

What then, ought we to publish these things to all men?' No, but we ought to accommodate ourselves to the ignorant and to say:

"This man recommends to me that which he thinks good for himself: I excuse him.'

For Socrates also excused the jailer, who had the charge of him in prison and was weeping when Socrates was going to drink the poison, and said, 'How generously he laments over us.'

Does he then say to the jailer that for this reason we have sent away the women? No, but he says it to his friends who were able to hear it; and he treats the jailer as a child.

—Epictetus, Discourses 1.29 (tr Long)

If we wish to practice constancy, and if we wish to live a truly philosophical life, we will find ourselves among many people who either do not understand us, or who even downright hate us.

Excuse them, and forgive them.

I once stared into the face of a person who had cheated on a lover. I suggested remorse and reconciliation. There was absolutely no recognition in her eyes. She had no idea that she had even done anything wrong, and she had no sense that her beloved had been hurt.

Now I could berate and scold, but that would do no good. I could only speak words of encouragement, and excuse her.

I once caught a Catholic priest sodomizing a boy in a bathroom stall. He knew I had seen what he had done, and before I made it back upstairs to my office, I was called in for a lecture from the Rector. I was told that I had seen nothing, I would say nothing, and I would apparently forget all of it.

I had seen, I did say, and I never forgot. None of that made any difference, because folks of that sort take care of their own. I could only be a poor witness, and excuse them.

To excuse others for their wrongs, or for their ignorance, is not to leave the guilty unpunished. Look at your jailer, at the man who abuses you, and do not act with hatred or vengeance. Otherwise, you are no better than he is.

Believe me, from my own experience, that man who has done wrong has already hurt himself far more than you can ever hurt him. And even if you wish to hurt him, that reflects very poorly on you, and hardly upon him.

To love your neighbor means to desire good for him, not to desire evil for him. Ask him to pay his proper debt, but never seek to destroy him. I see people on the news saying that they wish the same pain upon the criminal that was suffered by the victim. I find that shameless.

Do not worry if you are hated for being constant. You have lived by Nature. Another has lived by vice. You have been the better man. Always demand justice, but never demand vengeance.

On Anxiety 1

When I see a man anxious, I say, 'what does this man want? If he did not want something which is not in his power, how could he be anxious?'

For this reason a lute player when he is singing by himself has no anxiety, but when he enters the theater, he is anxious even if he has a good voice and plays well on the lute; for he not only wishes to sing well, but also to obtain applause: but this is not in his power. Accordingly, where he has skill, there he has confidence.

Bring any single person who knows nothing of music, and the musician does not care for him. But in the matter where a man knows nothing and has not been practiced, there he is anxious. What matter is this? He knows not what a crowd is or what the praise of a crowd is. However he has learned to strike the lowest chord and the highest; but what the praise of the many is, and what power it has in life he neither knows nor has he thought about it. Hence he must of necessity tremble and grow pale.

—Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 (trans Long)

 Anxiety, like any form of worry or fear, can sometimes be an instinctive response, and it can sometimes be the result of a deliberate choice, but in any case, the ability and willingness to manage our own judgments is the key to facing anxiety.

Begin simply with one of the first principles of Stoicism. If what I want is within my power, then I need never worry about gaining or losing it. If what I want is outside of my power, I will indeed worry, because I will have pursued unreliable things.

This has nothing to do, of course, with simply taking the easy route, or resting upon my laurels. To measure my life by what is within my power is hardly easy, and it is grounded in my actions, not my circumstances. I become anxious because I am surrendering myself.

Only a casting off of such dependence can lead me to a judgment with no anxiety. If I have power over what is truly good for me, I hardly need to be anxious.

The example of a musician is a wonderful one. We often perform our tasks very well in private, until we are suddenly faced with an audience. Now the only difference is in the perception of what needs to be done. Is it my responsibility to act with excellence, or to impress the spectators? If I can be confident in the former, I need hardly worry about the latter.

In my college years, I learned to distinguish between those who loved to play music for the sake of beauty itself, and those who loved to perform music to impress others. I almost always noticed that the first dedicated themselves to skill, while the second dedicated themselves to appearances. As in music, so in life, and our anxiety about what others may think will come and go depending upon which sort of persons we are.

On Anxiety 2

 I cannot then say that a man is not a lute player when I see him afraid, but I can say something else, and not one thing, but many. And first of all I call him a stranger and say, 'This man does not know in what part of the world he is, but though he has been here so long, he is ignorant of the laws of the State and the customs, and what is permitted and what is not; and he has never employed any lawyer to tell him and to explain the laws.'

But a man does not write a will, if he does not does not know how it ought to be written, or he employs a person who does know; nor does he rashly seal a bond or write a security. But he uses his desire without a lawyer's advice, and aversion, and pursuit, and attempt and purpose.

'How do you mean without a lawyer?' He does not know that he wills what is not allowed, and does not will that which is of necessity; and he does not know either what is his own or what is or what is another man's; but if he did know, he could never be impeded, he would never be hindered, he would not be anxious.

'How so?' Is any man then afraid about things which are not evil? 'No.'

"Is he afraid about things which are evils, but still so far within his power that they may not happen? 'Certainly he is not.'

If, then, the things which are independent of the will are neither good nor bad, and all things which do depend on the will are within our power, and no man can either take them from us or give them to us, if we do not choose, where is room left for anxiety?

But we are anxious about our poor body, our little property, about the will of Caesar; but not anxious about things internal. Are we anxious about not forming a false opinion? No, for this is in my power. About not exerting our movements contrary to nature? No, not even about this.

When then you see a man pale, as the physician says, judging from the complexion, this man's spleen is disordered, that man's liver; so also say, this man's desire and aversion are disordered, he is not in the right way, he is in a fever. For nothing else changes the color, or causes trembling or chattering of the teeth, or causes a man to sink in his knees and shift from foot to foot.

—Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 (trans Long)

What Epictetus has to say here may seem unnecessarily harsh, but we must understand it within the context of a judgment that is meant to be helpful, not a judgment that is meant to be dismissive. The fact remains that only an ignorance of what is good and right makes us anxious, fearful, or worried.

Thankfully, Epictetus employs an analogy here. I would surely have to clock out early if my happiness literally depended upon the advice of most of the lawyers we see in our times. No, the analogy is about knowing what we are doing, how we should do it, and why we should be doing it.

One would hardly form a contract, write a will, or engage in a financial transaction without knowing the specifics of the law, or at least seeking the guidance of those who know it.

Likewise, one would hardly commit to the most basic standards of life, the measures of right and wrong, without knowing the good, or seeking the guidance of those who know it.

Consult the lawyer when you need success in matters of business, but consult the true philosopher when you need success in matters of character. 

Better yet, be that true philosopher yourself. No formal training is necessary, only a good will, an open and critical mind, and regular dedication and practice. Your own life experiences are enough to be your school. There will also be no student loans.

If I were to understand the law, and be able to make it my own, I would be in no fear of losing what is rightly my own. Similarly, if I were to understand the moral good, and be able to make it my own, I would be in no fear of losing what is rightly my own.

Now the lawyers make a pretty penny from their knowledge, and the true philosophers might make no financial profit at all from their knowledge, but that shows us exactly where the analogy crumbles. We gain what we desire, and we must therefore be careful of what we desire. The profit of greed and the profit of character hang in the balance here.

The only thing good for man is that which is within his power, his will and action, and all indifferent externals depend upon the merit of his will and action. Where, pray tell, is there anything to lose? We only lose when we care about all the wrong things.

Just as I can be sick in my body, I can also just as well be sick in my soul. And just as the sickness in my body is from a deficiency or excess, so too the sickness in my soul is from a deficiency or excess.

Ignorance of the good is the cancer of the soul. Anxiety is the symptom of that cancer.

On Anxiety 3

For this reason when Zeno was going to meet Antigonus, he was not anxious, for Antigonus had no power over any of the things which Zeno admired; and Zeno did not care for those things over which Antigonus had power. But Antigonus was anxious when he was going to meet Zeno, for he wished to please Zeno; but this was a thing external. But Zeno did not want to please Antigonus; for no man who is skilled in any art wishes to please one who has no such skill.

—Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 (trans Long)

Zeno of Citium, the founder of Stoicism, was well known for his modesty, simplicity, and humility. It is often said that his specific flavor of philosophy differed from that of the Cynics, specifically that of his teacher, Crates of Thebes, in his rejection of their shamelessness.

Antigonus, King of Macedonia, and a descendant of one of Alexander's generals, was a great admirer of the philosophers, and of Zeno in particular. The story has it that whenever the king visited Athens, he always made certain to attend Zeno's lectures, and he repeatedly invited the philosopher to his court.

I often imagine what must have happened when Antigonus spoke with Zeno, or when Alexander spoke with Diogenes. We know only the tales told about these meetings, but what makes these encounters so wonderful is the odd pairing of a the king and a philosopher. Diogenes apparently told Alexander to step out of his light, and Zeno apparently declined an offer to move to Macedon.

As egalitarian as we think we are, we still nervously scrape and bow to the rich, powerful, and famous. It seems only natural to pay homage to those we think are greater than ourselves, and we are anxious to please our supposed betters. It seems that for Zeno or Diogenes the roles were wonderfully reversed. Epictetus tells us that Zeno was not anxious to meet Antigonus, but that Antigonus was quite anxious to meet Zeno.

We can only understand this if we consider the measure of their power. Antigonus had great power of externals, and admired Zeno for his wisdom. Because, like so many rulers of men, he saw the world through his circumstances, he wished to impress the philosopher. This made him anxious.

Zeno had no power over any externals, but he had power over himself. Because, like so many great philosophers, he saw the world through his character, he had no reason impress a king. This gave him no anxiety at all.

I still sometimes see the great worldly successes of some of my peers, and I will still feel jealous. I feel anxious because I did not become what they did. Then I need think only of Zeno, or of Diogenes. I need not measure myself by such standards. I can be blessed only with the satisfaction of myself, while I see others grappling for influence and importance.

I once felt very nervous, because I was about to be scolded by a powerful superior. I had, like any impetuous young would-be philosopher, done something to upset correct sensibilities. I recall the moment well, because I had a sudden realization that I had no reason to be fearful or concerned at all.

I immediately knew that I ruled myself, and I needed to care for nothing more. The beautiful irony was that the man who had power over all the externals was the fellow that squirmed and stuttered in worry during our conversation. I told him I would follow my conscience, and he could do as he pleased.

I haven't always managed to do something that well, but it remains a reminder that any one of us can be like Zeno, or like Diogenes. We need not be anxious about the Antigonus, or the Alexander, in our lives.

On Anxiety 4

 Should I try to please you? Why? I suppose, you know the measure by which one man is estimated by another. Have you taken pains to learn what is a good man and what is a bad man, and how a man becomes one or the other? Why, then, are you not good yourself?

'How,' he replies,' am I not good?' Because no good man laments or roans or weeps, no good man is pale and trembles, or says ''How will he receive me, how will he listen to me?' Slave, just as it pleases him.

Why do you care about what belongs to others? Is it now his fault if he receives badly what proceeds from you? 'Certainly.' And is it possible that a fault should be one man's, and the evil in another? 'No.' Why then are you anxious about that which belongs to others? 'Your question is reasonable; but I am anxious how I shall speak to him.'

Cannot you then speak to him as you choose? 'But I fear that I may be disconcerted?' If you are going to write the name of Dion, are you afraid that you would be disconcerted? 'By no means.' Why? is it not because you have practiced writing the name? 'Certainly.'

Well, if you were going to read the name, would you not feel the same? and why? Because every art has a certain strength and confidence in the things which belong to it. Have you then not practiced speaking? and what else did you learn in the school?

Syllogisms and sophistical propositions? For what purpose? Was it not for the purpose of discoursing skillfully? And is not discoursing skillfully the same as discoursing seasonably and cautiously and with intelligence, and also without making mistakes and without hindrance, and besides all this with confidence? 'Yes.'

—Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 (trans Long)

Many of us are familiar with that instinctive nervous feeling when we walk into a room full of people. What must we do to appear worthy of respect? We must not forget that the good man need not worry about the way he appears. He looks to the content of his soul, and does not rely upon the estimation of others. Another good man will surely recognize him simply by his character, and a bad man's opinion will already be disordered.

Anxiety is countered by confidence, not one of show or bravado, but a peace of mind that comes from the knowledge and practice of what is right and good. The man who tries to impress may seem strong, because he asserts his will and wins people over. He is, in fact, rather weak, because his very sense of identity depends upon being recognized.

I knew a fellow a few years back who was the typical lady's man. Rich, handsome, and charming, he always had a woman at his side. But he had an interesting quirk, one that he came to recognize in himself when it caused him great loss. Whoever he was with, he would still feel the need to pay his full attention to another woman. He eventually realized that he always wanted something that he didn't already have. So it is with any grasping person, and so it is with the seeker of attention and fame, because he fills what is empty within him from what is outside of him.

What we fear about our relations with others is what they make think of us, when all we need to be concerned about is whether we have done well to them, The rest will inevitably take care of itself.

On Anxiety 5

When, then, you are mounted on a horse and go into a plain, are you anxious at being matched against a man who is on foot, and anxious in a matter in which you are practiced, and he is not? 'Yes, but that person has power to kill me.’

Speak the truth then, unhappy man, and do not brag, nor claim to be a philosopher, nor refuse to acknowledge your masters, but so long as you present this handle in your body, follow every man who is stronger than yourself.

Socrates used to practice speaking, he who talked as he did to the tyrants, to the jurors, he who talked in his prison. "Diogenes had practiced speaking, he who spoke as he did to Alexander, to the pirates, to the person who bought him. These men were confident in the things that they practiced.

But do you walk off to your own affairs and never leave them: go and sit in a corner, and weave syllogisms, and propose them to another. There is not in you the man who can rule a state.

—Epictetus, Discourses 2.13 (trans Long)

I often think that the virtue of courage is deeply misunderstood. We readily confuse it with mere brute force, strength, or toughness. We ridicule those who seem to have difficulty facing their obstacles, advise them to "get over it", and parade our own power over our circumstances.

The truly brave man does not put others down, he does not admire his own power, and he most certainly is not brave because he rules his circumstances. No man rules his circumstances, though he may be deceived into thinking so when the wind happens to blow his way. I suspect we sometimes confuse the brave man with the bully, who is, in my experience, the weakest man on the inside, though he puffs himself up on the outside.

A man is not courageous because he has power over others, but because he has power over himself. I need not be handsome, rich, influential, or physically strong to be that sort of man. A brave man faces his fear and anxiety by understanding that he can always trust in his ability to rule himself, and he cares little for all that is beyond this.

I will not mock or ridicule those who are self-important, but I can certainly try to be like Socrates or Diogenes. These were men who spoke their minds equally to anyone and everyone, were committed to what was true, and smiled at the circumstances of the world that faced them.

Socrates was an honest and brave man, because he acted in exactly the same way to his enemies and to his friends. Diogenes was not intimidated by his captors, not because he was a tough guy, but because he knew they could do no true harm to him, and he joked that no master owned him, but he owned the master.

A man is never a coward because he feels fear or anxiety, but he is a coward if he allows his concerns to rule him. These concerns are illusions, because they arise from depending upon conditions that do not define our nature and our happiness. Let us not dismiss others, but rather help one another to make that necessary judgment.

They say that no one can love another if he does not love himself, and similarly that no one can rule another if he cannot rule himself.

Let us not be deceived by philosophers who spout moving rhetoric and impressive logical proofs. The measure of whether they are real philosophers is if they act with conviction and integrity.