A Stoic Breviary

. . . None but ignorant and undisciplined people tax others with their misfortunes. The young proficient blames himself; but he who is a philosopher indeed, blames neither others nor himself.

Comment: 

The connection of this with what went before is so close, that if a conjunction were added, and we read thus, for none but ignorant and undisciplined people tax other with their misfortunes, it would give a very good reason why we should never lay our troubles, or fears, or disorders, or any other calamity we fancy ourselves in, to anything, or anybody’s charge, but our own: since this way of proceeding, he says, comes from want of being taught better. And then to this character of the ignorant and undisciplined, he adds those of one who is a beginner only in philosophy, and one who has attained to a mastery in it. 

The perfect philosopher never thinks anything, that befalls him, evil; or charges anybody with being the occasion of his misfortunes; because he lives up to the dictates of nature and reason, and is never disappointed in his pursuits and desires, nor ever overtaken with his fears. 

He that is but raw and unfinished, does indeed sometimes miss of his desires, and fall into the mischiefs he would flee from, because the brutish inclinations move too strongly in him at such times. And when this happens, the first elements he learned, which taught him to distinguish things in and out of our power, teach him too, that he himself, and none but he, is the true cause of all his disappointments, and all his disasters. And the occasion of them all was his mistaking the things without us, and placing a man’s proper good and evil in them.

But you will say, perhaps, since this young philosopher knows, that our own proper good and evil depends upon our own power and choice (and the accusing himself implies that he knows thus much), how comes it to pass, that he takes wrong measures, and renders himself liable to this blame? 

Probably, because the knowledge of good and evil is the first step to be made toward virtue, this being the proper act of reason: but the brutish appetites do not always presently submit to reason, nor suffer themselves to be easily reduced and tempered by it; and especially, where it happens, as it does very often, that reason is negligent and sluggish, and the irrational part active, and perpetually in motion, by which means the passions gather strength, and usurp and absolute dominion. This was the case of her in the play:

Remorse and sense of guilt pull back my soul, But stronger passion does her powers control; With rage transported, I push boldly on, And see the precipice I cannot shun. 

So that for some time it is pretty tolerable, if reason can work upon the passions, and either draw them by force, or charm and win them over some softer way: for, when this is done, then the knowledge of the intelligent part is more clear and instructive, and proceeds without any distraction at all. 

No wonder therefore, if men but little trained in philosophy make some false steps while their passions are not yet totally subdued, and their reason does not operate in its full strength. And when they do so, they accuse themselves only, as having admitted that distinction of things in and out of our own power, though as yet they seem to have but an imperfect notion of it. 

But they that are ignorant, and absolutely untaught, must needs commit a world of errors, both because of that violent agitation which their passions are continually in, and of the ignorance of their rational part, which has not yet learned to distinguish real good and evil, from what is so in appearance only: nor does it take them off from brutality, not so much as in thought only. By brutality I mean such low and mean notions, as persuade us, that our body is properly ourselves, and our nature; or, which is yet worse, when we think our riches so, as the covetous do. 

Now while we continue thus ignorant, there are several accounts to be given for our doing amiss: we do it, because we think all our good and evil consist in things without us; and, not being at all sensible, what is properly the happiness or unhappiness of human nature, or whence it proceeds, we fall foul upon other people; and fancy, that they, who obstruct or deprive us of those external advantages we so eagerly pursue, or that bring upon us any of the calamities we would avoid, are the real causes of all our misery. 

. . . Now Epictetus, it is true, has drawn his argument from that which is generally esteemed the most formidable evil that we are capable of suffering: but however, since most of us, when we lie under the present smart of any calamity, straightaway imagine it worse than death (for what can be more usual, than for people in pain, and very often in no great extremity of it neither, to wish for death to deliver them from it, and when reduced to poverty, to tell us, they had much rather be dead than live in want?) upon this account, we may apply Epictetus’ argument to these instances also. 

As to pain, what degree of it is there so violent, which men, nay even those of low and vulgar spirits, are not content to go through, to cure a dangerous disease? They do not only endure, but choose and pay for it: they thank their physicians for putting them to torture, and look upon cutting and burning, as acts of the greatest tenderness and friendship. 

Now, though this makes it pretty plain, that men, who are well pleased to purchase life so dear, must needs be of the opinion, that no pain is so terrible to human nature as death; yet the principal use I would make of this observation is, to show, that men can really suffer with great patience and resolution, can harden themselves against what they count very dreadful, and meet it with a composed countenance, when once they are persuaded, that enduring it will be for their advantage. 

What prodigious instances of patience were the Lacedaemonian youths, who endured scourgings so barbarous, as almost to expire under the rod, and all this, merely for a little ostentation and vainglory? Now this, it is evident, they did not out of any compulsion, but freely and cheerfully; for they offered themselves to the trial, of their own accord. 

And the reason why they held out so obstinately was, not that their sense of pain was less quick and tender than that of other people (though more hardened too than people who indulge themselves in effeminacy and ease), but because they thought it their glory and their virtue, to suffer manfully and resolutely. 

For the same reason, Epictetus would tell you, that poverty is no such formidable thing neither: because he can produce the example of Crates the Theban to the contrary; who, when he disposed of all he was worth to the public, and said, 

Let others keep, or mourn lost, store, Crates’ own hands make Crates poor. 

That moment put an end to his slavery; and his freedom commenced, from the time he had disburdened himself of his wealth. 

Now the manifest consequence of all this is, that nothing of this kind is terrible and insupportable in its own nature, as we fondly imagine. So far from it, that there may be some cases, when such things are much more eligible, and better for us: I mean, when they are converted to higher and more excellent purposes for our own selves; by tending to the advantage and improvement of the reasonable soul. 

The only expedient, to retain an even temper in the midst of these accidents, is to possess our minds with just notions of them. And the regulating of these notions is in our own power: consequently, the preventing of those disorders, that proceed from the want of such a regulation, is in our own power too. 

And one great advantage to persons thus disposed will be, the learning how to manage those things that are not at our disposal, as though they were. For if it be not in my power to prevent defamation or disgrace, the loss of my goods or my estate, affronts and violent insults upon my person, yet thus much is in my power, to possess myself with right apprehensions of these things; to consider them, not only as not evil, but sometimes the instruments and occasion of great good. 

Now such an opinion as this, makes it almost the same thing to a man, as if they did not happen at all; or, which is all one, makes him think himself never the worse, but sometimes the better for them, when they do. And I take it for granted, that every wise man will allow it more for our (that is, for the soul’s) honor and advantage, to have behaved ourselves gallantly under afflictions, than never to have been afflicted at all: and the greater still in proportion, is the honor and advantage gained by them. 

For, as to bodies that are able to bear it, the most violent motions exercise them best, and make greatest improvements of health, and strength, and activity; so the mind too must be put upon sharp trials sometimes, to qualify it for suffering gallantly, when any accident gives us an occasion. 

And this may be accomplished these two way: by getting a right notion of them, and by being well prepared against them. And this is to be done, partly, by accustoming the body to hardship, which indeed is of general use, and has enabled even ignorant and ill men to slight blows, and other pains, which we commonly think intolerable; and partly by fixing the mind in a provident forecast, and distant expectation of them. And all these things we may certainly do, if we please. 

A man, when he gets drunk, is led by a beardless lad, tripping, knowing not where he steps, having his soul moist. 

The dry soul is the wisest and best. 

IMAGE: Jan Steen, The Drunken Couple (c. 1660) 

That which gives men disquiet, and makes their lives miserable, is not the nature of things as they really are, but the notions and opinions, which they form to themselves concerning them. 

Thus, even death, which we look upon as the most perplexing and dreadful, has, in truth, nothing of terror in it: for if it had, Socrates must needs have feared it, as much as we. But our opinion that it is evil, is the only thing that makes it so.  

Therefore, whenever we meet with obstructions and perplexities, or fall into troubles and disorders, let us be just, and not lay the blame where it is not due; but impute it all to our own selves, and our prejudicate opinions. . . . 

Comment: 

We were told before, what means would be proper and effectual, for preserving an even and composed temper of mind, in the midst of all those hardships which frequently attend our best actions: that this might be accomplished by the power of premeditation; by representing these inconveniences, are sure to happen; and when we had made the worst of it, convincing ourselves, that such actions were worth our undertaking, even with all those encumbrances. 

Now that rule proceeded upon the work of our own minds; but here is another, fetched from the nature of the things themselves, and the consideration of those difficulties and dangers which use to give us disturbance. 

And here he changes his method, and confirms what he says, not by some slight and trivial instances, as he did before, but by death the greatest and most confounding one to human nature, that can be. For if the argument holds good in this case, it must needs be a great deal stronger with regard to all the rest, since those, by our own confession, are less dismal and affrighting. 

To this purpose then he tells us, that those things which we apprehend to be evil, and which for that reason discompose our spirits, because we think ourselves miserable under them, are really neither evil themselves, nor the true causes of any evil to us: quite contrary; that all our troubles and perplexities are entirely owing to the opinions, which we ourselves have entertained and cherished concerning them. 

For proof of this determination, he produces that, which, of all the things that we apprehend as evil, is confessedly the greatest and most terrible, and shows, that even death, nay a violent and untimely death, is yet no evil. The argument he uses is short indeed, but very full and conclusive; the method and consequence whereof lies thus. 

Whatever is evil in its own nature, must needs appear so to all mankind; more especially to those, whose apprehensions are most improved, and most suitable to the real nature of things. Thus all things naturally hot or cold, or beautiful, or the like, appear such to all people in their right senses. But death does not appear evil to all people, nor are they universally agreed in this notion of it. 

For Socrates did not think it so; he chose to undergo it, when it was in his power to have declined it; he endured it with all the calmness and composure imaginable; he spent that whole day in which he died, with his friends, demonstrating to them the existence and immortality of the soul, and the efficacy of a philosophical life, in order to virtue and reformation. 

From all which premises, this conclusion evidently follows: that death is not in its own nature evil, and consequently, that our fears and troubles concerning it do not come from the thing itself, but from a disquieting persuasion of it being evil, with which we possess and disorder our own minds. 

And such a persuasion there may very well be, though there be no ground for it in the nature of the thing. For honey is not bitter, and yet men in the jaundice, who have their palates vitiated, from a constant bitterness occasioned by the overflowing of the gall, are prejudiced against it, as if it were so. 

Now, as the only way to bring these persons to discern tastes as they really are, is to carry off that redundance of choler, which corrupts their palate: so in this case, we must remove the distemper of the mind, correct our notions of things, and make a right judgment of what is really good and evil to us, by just distinctions between things that are, and thing that are not, in our own power; what is properly ours, and what belongs not to us. 

For, according to this rule, if death be none of the things in our power, it cannot be evil; and though it should be granted such, with regard to the body; yet if it does not extend to the soul, nor do any harm to that, it cannot be evil to us. 

Plato indeed, or Socrates as he is introduced by Plato, goes a great deal farther, and boldly affirms, that it is good, and much to be preferred before this life that we lead in the body; and this, not only to some persons, and in some circumstances, as men may be better or worse, but in general, and without exception to all. 

For thus Socrates expresses himself in his Phaedo: it may possibly surprise you, and seem a strange paradox, that this should be the only accident, which is good at all times, and without any reserve; but yet so it is. 

In all other cases, nothing happens to a man, which, as his circumstances may alter, he might not at another time better be without: but no time, no circumstance whatsoever, can render it more for a man’s advantage to live that to die. 

That the majority of us are mastered by Pleasure can perhaps be explained: it is because we are under her spell and witchery that we stay in her company, whereas accepting servitude to Pain is altogether irrational and strange. For although suffering pain and agony from the severest of all tortures, we nevertheless remain in it and do not accept the word of reason that frees and delivers us from our distress. 

And yet what more abject creature is there than a man who is held in thrall to Pain? What sight is there so shameful? For it seems to me that his condition actually affects his body also, and makes it shrunken and scowling and distorted in appearance. 

But this yielding to the mind's disturbance, and not only that but also the devising of certain external signs of it, such as black raiment, wringing the hands, sitting in a dejected posture, so that by all these the mind is in a certain sense compelled never to get away from its pain and distress, but to be always conscious of being in pain, although one knows perfectly well that there will be some relief from this and that there will not be found always and ever some cause for the suffering—is this not utterly silly? 

For instance, either the death of a relative, or the illness of one of them, or of oneself, may occur, and besides these, loss of reputation, a financial reverse, complete or partial failure in some undertaking, pressure of affairs, danger, and all the countless other misfortunes which occur in life (and one of these is practically sure always to be present); and finally, if after all a time does come when no trouble confronts one, yet all the same, the constant expectation of such things and the knowledge that they may occur will lay hold upon the mind of those who are of that temperament. 

Therefore, one should not seek a special consolation for each of these troubles—for the task would be endless, and life is full of painful things—but one should tear that morbid state out of his soul completely, get a firm hold on the truth that the intelligent man ought not to feel pain about anything whatever, and be a free man henceforth. 

Then there will be release from dread of all that causes distress. For in fact there is nothing that in itself should cause fear; it is only false opinion and weakness on our part that make it so. 

The great majority, for instance, whenever any one of the things happen which are commonly regarded as untoward, keep continually recalling that thing, distressing though the recollection is, their state of mind being something like that of children, who are bent on touching the fire, for example, although they suffer great pain in doing so: yet if you give them permission they will do it again. 

So, just as when men go forth to war it is no use for them to march out without their armor and then merely hope to dodge each flying missile, for it is impossible to guard against them all; but the soldier needs a stout breastplate and his full panoply too, so that, even if a missile does strike him, it may not penetrate—in the same way those also who have marched out into life cannot possibly dodge or so guard themselves as not to be struck by any of Fortune's shafts, thousands of which are flying against each man; but what they need is a stout heart, preferably invulnerable and yielding before no blow; or if that may not be, at least one that is not easily wounded or by any ordinary blow; for otherwise it must often be stabbed and receive a thousand wounds. 

Why, those who have feet which are tender and not calloused at all by use, and then attempt to walk with them bare, will never find a road so smooth that their feet will not be gashed or in pain, but any little thing hurts them; whereas for feet hardened by practice not even the roughest road causes trouble.

Therefore, since there are so many distressing things, beginning with those due of the body, what should anyone expect, or how is it possible, for anyone who pays attention to each of them and easily gives way, to avoid being the most unhappy man alive, ever praying the gods that this or that may not happen? 

It is just as if a man should go out in a rain without any covering, and should trust merely to prayers for avoiding each single drop⁠ (and yet much thicker than the raindrops are the afflictions which Fortune sends); or exactly as if a man sailing a boat, instead of giving his attention to the steering-oars and meeting skillfully each oncoming wave, should pray that none might strike the ship. 

Just think, you misguided man—even if everything else turns out as your heart wishes, yet what assurance have you of living even till the morrow, and not being suddenly, in the midst of everything, torn away from your fancied blessings? 

Consequently, this is the first thing about which you should be in painful anxiety and fear—the uncertainty of everything. Yet if you have the wisdom to reflect that absolutely no man is master of his life, but that all those who have been thought blessed and exceedingly fortunate are dead, and that this goal awaits you at any moment, even if you live to the ripest old age, you will consider it great nonsense and utter simplicity to imagine that anything at all which happens is terrible or great or marvelous, except this one achievement of living at least one day free from painful fretting, fear, and similar emotions.  The story goes that the famous Jason anointed himself with a certain potent salve⁠ which he got from Medea, and it was after that, I fancy, that no harm came to him from either the dragon or the bulls which belched out fire. This, therefore, is the potent thing of which we should acquire possession, getting it from Medea, that is, from Meditation or Intelligence,⁠ and then with our intelligence look with scorn thenceforth upon all things. Otherwise everything will be fire for us and everything sleepless dragons. 

And yet every man who suffers pain and distress of spirit says that what has happened to himself is a most terrible thing and most worth grieving over, just as every person who carries a load imagines that what he is carrying is very heavy. But this really indicates a weak and sickly body, for another and stronger man will take and carry the same load easily. 

IMAGE: Francisco Ribalta, The Soul in Pain (c. 1610) 

The soul that companies with Virtue is like an ever-flowing source. It is a pure, clear, and wholesome draught; sweet, rich, and generous of its store; that injures not, neither destroys.