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Love that only which happens to thee and is spun with the thread of |
thy destiny. For what is more suitable? |
In everything which happens keep before thy eyes those to whom the |
same things happened, and how they were vexed, and treated them as |
strange things, and found fault with them: and now where are they? |
Nowhere. Why then dost thou too choose to act in the same way? And |
why dost thou not leave these agitations which are foreign to nature, |
to those who cause them and those who are moved by them? And why art |
thou not altogether intent upon the right way of making use of the |
things which happen to thee? For then thou wilt use them well, and |
they will be a material for thee to work on. Only attend to thyself, |
and resolve to be a good man in every act which thou doest: and remember... |
Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever bubble |
up, if thou wilt ever dig. |
The body ought to be compact, and to show no irregularity either in |
motion or attitude. For what the mind shows in the face by maintaining |
in it the expression of intelligence and propriety, that ought to |
be required also in the whole body. But all of these things should |
be observed without affectation. |
The art of life is more like the wrestler's art than the dancer's, |
in respect of this, that it should stand ready and firm to meet onsets |
which are sudden and unexpected. |
Constantly observe who those are whose approbation thou wishest to |
have, and what ruling principles they possess. For then thou wilt |
neither blame those who offend involuntarily, nor wilt thou want their |
approbation, if thou lookest to the sources of their opinions and |
appetites. |
Every soul, the philosopher says, is involuntarily deprived of truth; |
consequently in the same way it is deprived of justice and temperance |
and benevolence and everything of the kind. It is most necessary to |
bear this constantly in mind, for thus thou wilt be more gentle towards |
all. |
In every pain let this thought be present, that there is no dishonour |
in it, nor does it make the governing intelligence worse, for it does |
not damage the intelligence either so far as the intelligence is rational |
or so far as it is social. Indeed in the case of most pains let this |
remark of Epicurus aid thee, that pain is neither intolerable nor |
everlasting, if thou bearest in mind that it has its limits, and if |
thou addest nothing to it in imagination: and remember this too, that |
we do not perceive that many things which are disagreeable to us are |
the same as pain, such as excessive drowsiness, and the being scorched |
by heat, and the having no appetite. When then thou art discontented |
about any of these things, say to thyself, that thou art yielding |
to pain. |
Take care not to feel towards the inhuman, as they feel towards men. |
How do we know if Telauges was not superior in character to Socrates? |
For it is not enough that Socrates died a more noble death, and disputed |
more skilfully with the sophists, and passed the night in the cold |
with more endurance, and that when he was bid to arrest Leon of Salamis, |
he considered it more noble to refuse, and that he walked in a swaggering |
way in the streets- though as to this fact one may have great doubts |
if it was true. But we ought to inquire, what kind of a soul it was |
that Socrates possessed, and if he was able to be content with being |
just towards men and pious towards the gods, neither idly vexed on |
account of men's villainy, nor yet making himself a slave to any man's |
ignorance, nor receiving as strange anything that fell to his share |
out of the universal, nor enduring it as intolerable, nor allowing |
his understanding to sympathize with the affects of the miserable |
flesh. |
Nature has not so mingled the intelligence with the composition of |
the body, as not to have allowed thee the power of circumscribing |
thyself and of bringing under subjection to thyself all that is thy |
own; for it is very possible to be a divine man and to be recognised |
as such by no one. Always bear this in mind; and another thing too, |
that very little indeed is necessary for living a happy life. And |
because thou hast despaired of becoming a dialectician and skilled |
in the knowledge of nature, do not for this reason renounce the hope |
of being both free and modest and social and obedient to God. |
It is in thy power to live free from all compulsion in the greatest |
tranquility of mind, even if all the world cry out against thee as |
much as they choose, and even if wild beasts tear in pieces the members |
of this kneaded matter which has grown around thee. For what hinders |
the mind in the midst of all this from maintaining itself in tranquility |
and in a just judgement of all surrounding things and in a ready use |
of the objects which are presented to it, so that the judgement may |
say to the thing which falls under its observation: This thou art |
in substance (reality), though in men's opinion thou mayest appear |
to be of a different kind; and the use shall say to that which falls |
under the hand: Thou art the thing that I was seeking; for to me that |
which presents itself is always a material for virtue both rational |
and political, and in a word, for the exercise of art, which belongs |
to man or God. For everything which happens has a relationship either |
to God or man, and is neither new nor difficult to handle, but usual |
and apt matter to work on. |
The perfection of moral character consists in this, in passing every |
day as the last, and in being neither violently excited nor torpid |
nor playing the hypocrite. |
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