In Their Own Words

“Of things some are in our power, and others are not. In our power are opinion, movement towards a thing, desire, aversion; and in a word, whatever are our own acts: not in our power are the body, property, reputation, offices, and in a word, whatever are not our own acts.”

These are the very first words of Epictetus’s handbook, and everything else in Stoicism grows from them. What is ours is what happens inside us: our judgments, our choices, what we move toward and what we turn away from. Almost everything outside us, even our own bodies, is only partly ours at best.

“I must die. Must I then die lamenting? I must be put in chains. Must I then also lament? I must go into exile. Does any man then hinder me from going with smiles and cheerfulness and contentment?”

Here is the principle at its most extreme. Epictetus cannot choose whether he dies, is imprisoned, or is sent away. But no one can force him to meet those things in misery. The event belongs to the world. The attitude belongs to him.

“Men are disturbed not by the things which happen, but by the opinions about the things: for example, death is nothing terrible, for if it were, it would have seemed so to Socrates; for the opinion about death, that it is terrible, is the terrible thing.”

This is the most famous sentence in all of Stoicism, and the foundation of modern cognitive therapy. Socrates faced his own execution calmly. The event was the same one others dread. What was different was his judgment about it.

“Take away thy opinion, and then there is taken away the complaint, ‘I have been harmed.’ Take away the complaint, ‘I have been harmed,’ and the harm is taken away.”

Marcus shows the chain of events inside us. Something happens. We form the opinion that we have been harmed. Then we feel harmed. Break the chain at the opinion, and the feeling of injury loses its grip.

“If thou art pained by any external thing, it is not this thing that disturbs thee, but thy own judgement about it. And it is in thy power to wipe out this judgement now.”

Notice the word “now.” Marcus does not say we must wait for time to heal us. The judgment is ours, so we can begin to change it this very moment.

“Seek not that the things which happen should happen as you wish; but wish the things which happen to be as they are, and you will have a tranquil flow of life.”

Most of our frustration comes from demanding that life go our way. Epictetus suggests turning the wish around: instead of wanting events to match our wishes, we let our wishes match events. This is not giving up. It is refusing to waste strength fighting what has already happened.

“Be like the promontory against which the waves continually break, but it stands firm and tames the fury of the water around it.”

A promontory is a rocky point of land reaching into the sea. The waves keep coming, and nothing can stop them. But the rock does not have to be moved by them. In time, the water grows calm around it.

“We are made for co-operation, like feet, like hands, like eyelids, like the rows of the upper and lower teeth. To act against one another then is contrary to nature.”

Marcus wrote this at the start of a day he expected to be full of difficult people. His answer to them was not anger but a reminder: we are parts of one body, built to work together.

“That which is not good for the swarm, neither is it good for the bee.”

What harms the community cannot truly be good for any one of its members. A Stoic does not seek private gain at the expense of others.

“He is like a vine which has produced grapes, and seeks for nothing more after it has once produced its proper fruit.”

Marcus describes the best kind of person: one who does good the way a vine bears grapes, simply because it is their nature, without keeping score or expecting thanks. Next season, the vine bears fruit again.

“Straightway then practise saying to every harsh appearance, You are an appearance, and in no manner what you appear to be.”

An “appearance” is a first impression, the thought that pops up before we have looked at it. Epictetus teaches us to speak to it, to name it for what it is: only an impression, not yet the truth.

“Appearance, wait for me a little: let me see who you are, and what you are about: let me put you to the test.”

Here the practice becomes a small conversation. Instead of being swept away by a tempting or frightening thought, we ask it to wait while we examine it, the way a guard checks a visitor at the gate.

“Make for thyself a definition or description of the thing which is presented to thee, so as to see distinctly what kind of a thing it is in its substance, in its nudity, in its complete entirety, and tell thyself its proper name.”

Marcus strips things bare to see them as they are. A worry described plainly and given its proper name is usually smaller than the worry left vague and unnamed. This is the same “notice and name” practice described on our meditation page.

“If thou findest in human life anything better than justice, truth, temperance, fortitude, and, in a word, anything better than thy own mind’s self-satisfaction in the things which it enables thee to do according to right reason … turn to it with all thy soul.”

Marcus issues a challenge to himself: if you can find anything better than justice, truth, self-control, and courage, go after it. His quiet point is that you will not. Everything else, wealth, fame, and comfort included, is less.

“Whatever any one does or says, I must be good, just as if the gold, or the emerald, or the purple were always saying this, Whatever any one does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour.”

An emerald does not stop being green because someone insults it. Our goodness does not have to depend on how others behave. It is our own color, and we can keep it.

“No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a good man ought to be, but be such.”

Perhaps the shortest summary of Stoicism there is. Enough discussion. Do it.

“Begin the morning by saying to thyself, I shall meet with the busy-body, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unsocial.”

The morning preparation. Marcus is not being gloomy. He is getting ready, so difficult people do not catch him by surprise. The very next lines, quoted under principle 4, remind him that these people are still his kin, made to work alongside him.

“Men seek retreats for themselves, houses in the country, sea-shores, and mountains … But this is altogether a mark of the most common sort of men, for it is in thy power whenever thou shalt choose to retire into thyself.”

The emperor could have gone anywhere, yet he says the best retreat is always available, right where we are: a few quiet minutes turned inward. This is the Stoic doorway to meditation.

“Hold every hour in your grasp.”

Seneca’s very first letter is about time: the one possession we cannot get back. Holding each hour means living it on purpose rather than letting it slip away unnoticed.

“Since it is possible that thou mayest depart from life this very moment, regulate every act and thought accordingly.”

Remembering that life is short is not meant to frighten. It clears away the trivial. If this could be your last hour, the grudge and the petty worry suddenly look very small.

“Look down from above on the countless herds of men and their countless solemnities, and the infinitely varied voyagings in storms and calms.”

The “view from above.” Marcus imagines rising high over the earth and seeing all of human life at once: its ceremonies, its journeys, its storms and calms. From that height, our own troubles take their proper size.