What, then, are the things that weigh upon us and drive us out of our senses? Why, what else but our judgements? For when a man goes hence abandoning the comrades, the places, and the social relations to which he is accustomed, what else is the burden that is weighing him down but a judgement? Children, indeed, when they cry a little because their nurse has left, forget their troubles as soon as they get a cookie. Would you, therefore, have us resemble children? No, by Zeus! For I claim that we should be influenced in this way, not by a cookie, but by true judgements. And what are these? The things which a man ought to practise all day long, without being devoted to what is not his own, either comrade, or place, or gymnasia, nay, not even to his own body; but he should remember the law and keep that before his eyes. And what is the law of God? To guard what is his own, not to lay claim to what is not his own, but to make use of what is given him, and not to yearn for what has not been given; when something is taken away, to give it up readily and without delay, being grateful for the time in which he had the use of it—all this if you do not wish to be crying for your nurse and your mammy! For what difference does it make what object a man has a weakness for and depends upon? In what respect are you superior to the man who weeps for a maid, if you grieve for a trivial gymnasium, a paltry colonnade, a group of youngsters, and that way of spending your time? Someone else comes and grieves because he is no longer going to drink the water of Dirce. What, is the water of the Marcian aqueduct inferior to that of Dirce? "Nay, but I was accustomed to that water." And you will get accustomed to this in turn. And then, if you become addicted to something of this kind, weep for this too in turn, and try to write a line after the pattern of that of Euripides:

To Nero's baths and Marcian founts once more.

Discourses: Book 2

That we do not practise the application of our judgements about things good and evil

Wherein lies the good?—In moral purpose.—Wherein lies evil?—In moral purpose.—Wherein lies that which is neither good nor evil?—In the things that lie outside the domain of moral purpose.—Well, what of it? Does any one of us remember these statements outside the classroom? Does any one of us when by himself practise answering facts in the way he answers these questions? "So it is day, is it?" "Yes." "What then? Is it night?" "No." "What then? Is the number of the stars even?" "I cannot say." When you are shown money, have you practised giving the proper answer, namely, that it is not a good thing? Have you trained yourself in answers of this kind, or merely to answer sophisms? Why, then, are you surprised to find that in the fields in which you have practised you surpass yourself, but in that in which you have not practised you remain the same? For why is it that the orator, although he knows that he has composed a good speech, has memorized what he has written and is bringing a pleasing voice to his task, is still anxious despite all that? Because he is not satisfied with the mere practice of oratory. What, then, does he want? He wants to be praised by his audience. Now he has trained himself with a view to being able to practise oratory, but he has not trained himself with reference to praise and blame. For when did he ever hear any one say what praise is, what blame is, and what is the nature of each? What kinds of praise are to be sought, and what kinds of blame are to be avoided? And when did he ever go through this course of training in accordance with these principles? Why, then, are you any longer surprised because he surpasses all others in the field in which he has studied, but in that in which he has not practised he is no better than the multitude? He is like a citharoede who knows how to play to the harp, sings well, has a beautiful flowing gown, and still trembles when he comes upon the stage; for all that has gone before he knows, but what a crowd is he does not know, nor what the shouting and the scornful laughter of a crowd are. Nay, he does not even know what this anxiety itself is, whether it is something that we can control, or beyond our powers, whether he can stop it or not. That is why, if he is praised, he goes off the stage all puffed up; but if he is laughed to scorn, that poor windbag of his conceit is pricked and flattens out.

We too experience something of the same kind. What do we admire? Externals. What are we in earnest about? About externals. Are we, then, at a loss to know how it comes about that we are subject to fear and anxiety? Why, what else can possibly happen, when we regard impending events as things evil? We cannot help but be in fear, we cannot help but be in anxiety. And then we say, "O Lord God, how may I escape anxiety?" Fool, have you not hands? Did not God make them for you? Sit down now and pray forsooth that the mucus in your nose may not run! Nay, rather wipe your nose and do not blame God! What then? Has he given you nothing that helps in the present case? Has he not given you endurance, has he not given you magnanimity, has he not given you courage? When you have such serviceable hands as these do you still look for someone to wipe your nose? But these virtues we neither practise nor concern ourselves withal. Why, show me one single man who cares how he does something, who is concerned, not with getting something, but with his own action. Who is there that is concerned with his own action while he is walking around? Who, when he is planning, is concerned with the plan itself, and not with getting what he is planning about? And then if he gets it, he is all set up and says, "Yes, indeed, what a fine plan we made! Did I not tell you, brother, that, if there was anything at all in my views, it was impossible for the plan to fall out otherwise?" But if the plan goes the other way, he is humble and wretched, and cannot even find any explanation of what has happened. Who of us ever called in a seer for a case of this kind? Who of us ever slept in a temple for enlightenment about our action? Who? Show me but one, that I may see him, the man that I have long been looking for, the truly noble and gifted man; be he young or old, only show him!

Why, then, do we wonder any longer that, although in material things we are thoroughly experienced, nevertheless in our actions we are dejected, unseemly, worthless, cowardly, unwilling to stand the strain, utter failures one and all? For we have not troubled ourselves about these matters in time past, nor do we even now practise them. Yet if we were afraid, not of death or exile, but of fear itself, then we should practise how not to encounter those things that appear evil to us. But as it is, we are fiery and fluent in the schoolroom, and if some trivial question about one of these points comes up, we are able to pursue the logical consequences; yet drag us into practical application, and you will find us miserable shipwrecked mariners. Let a disturbing thought come to us and you will find out what we have been practising and for what we have been training! As a result, because of our lack of practice, we are ever going out of our way to heap up terrors and to make them out greater than they actually are. For example, whenever I go to sea, on gazing down into the deep or looking around upon the expanse of waters and seeing no land, I am beside myself, fancying that if I am wrecked I shall have to swallow this whole expanse of waters; but it does not occur to me that three pints are enough. What is it, then, that disturbs me? The expanse of sea? No, but my judgement. Again, when there is an earthquake, I fancy that the whole city is going to fall upon me; what, is not a little stone enough to knock my brains out?

Behold how tragedy arises, when everyday events befall fools!

"When, then, shall I see Athens once more and the Acropolis?" Poor man, are you not satisfied with what you are seeing every day? Have you anything finer or greater to look at than the sun, the moon, the stars, the whole earth, the sea? And if you really understand Him that governs the universe, and bear Him about within you, do you yet yearn for bits of stone and a pretty rock? When, therefore, you are about to leave the sun and the moon, what will you do? Will you sit and cry as little children cry? What was it you did at school? What was it you heard and learned? Why did you record yourself as a philosopher when you might have recorded the truth in these words: "I studied a few introductions, and did some reading in Chrysippus, but I did not even get past the door of a philosopher? Since what part have I in that business in which Socrates, who died so nobly, and so nobly lived, had a part? Or in that in which Diogenes had a part?" Can you imagine one of these men crying or fretting because he is not going to see such-and-such a man, or such-and-such a woman, or to live in Athens or in Corinth, but, if it so happen, in Susa or in Ecbatana? What, does he who is at liberty to leave the banquet when he will, and to play the game no longer, keep on annoying himself by staying? Does he not stay, like children, only as long as he is entertained? Such a man would be likely, forsooth, to endure going into exile for life or the exile of death, if this were his sentence.

Are you not willing, at this late date, like children, to be weaned and to partake of more solid food, and not to cry for mammies and nurses—old wives' lamentations? "But if I leave, I shall cause those women sorrow?" You cause them sorrow? Not at all, but it will be the same thing that causes sorrow to you yourself—bad judgement. What, then, can you do? Get rid of that judgement, and, if they do well, they will themselves get rid of their judgement; otherwise, they will come to grief and have only themselves to thank for it. Man, do something desperate, as the expression goes, now if never before, to achieve peace, freedom, and mindedness. Lift up your neck at last like a man escaped from bondage, be bold to look towards God and say, "Use me henceforward for whatever Thou wilt; I am of one mind with Thee; I am Thine; I crave exemption from nothing that seems good in Thy sight; where Thou wilt, lead me; in what raiment Thou wilt, clothe me. Wouldst Thou have me to hold office, or remain in private life; to remain here or go into exile; to be poor or be rich? I will defend all these Thy acts before men; I will show what the true nature of each thing is." Nay, you will not; sit rather in the house as girls do and wait for your mammy until she feeds you! If Heracles had sat about at home, what would he have amounted to? He would have been Eurystheus and no Heracles. Come, how many acquaintances and friends did he have with him as he went up and down through the whole world? Nay, he had no dearer friend than God. That is why he was believed to be a son of God, and was. It was therefore in obedience to His will that he went about clearing away wickedness and lawlessness. But you are no Heracles, you say, and you cannot clear away the wickedness of other men, nay, nor are you even a Theseus, to clear away the ills of Attica merely. Very well, clear away your own then. From just here, from out your own mind, cast not Procrustes and Sciron, but grief, fear, desire, envy, joy at others' ills; cast out greed, effeminacy, incontinency. These things you cannot cast out in any other way than by looking to God alone, being specially devoted to Him only, and consecrated to His commands. But if you wish anything else, with lamentation and groaning you will follow that which is stronger than you are, ever seeking outside yourself for peace, and never able to be at peace. For you seek peace where it is not, and neglect to seek it where it is.

Discourses: Book 2 16 : 4

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