The citadel of choice

If you find anything in human life better than justice, truth, self-control, courage—in short, better than your own mind's satisfaction with itself for enabling you to act according to right reason, and for accepting whatever condition falls to you without your own choosing—if you see anything better than that, turn to it with your whole soul, and enjoy the best thing you've found. But if nothing appears better than the god planted in you, which has subjected all your appetites to itself, examines every impression closely, and, as Socrates said, has pulled itself free from the pull of the senses, submitted itself to the gods, and cares for humankind—if you find everything else smaller and of less worth than this, give way to nothing else. Because once you swerve and lean toward something else, you'll no longer be able, without inner conflict, to give first place to that good which is properly yours and your own. It isn't right for anything of a different kind—popular praise, power, the enjoyment of pleasure—to compete with what is rationally and practically good. All these things, even though they may seem for a moment to fit in alongside the better things, suddenly gain the upper hand and sweep us away. So, I say, simply and freely choose the better and hold fast to it. 'But what is useful is the better.' Well then—if it's useful to you as a rational being, hold to it; but if it's useful only to you as an animal, say so plainly, and keep your judgment without arrogance—only be sure your inquiry follows a sound method.

Never rate anything as being to your advantage if it forces you to break a promise, abandon self-respect, hate anyone, feel suspicion, curse, play the hypocrite, or desire something that needs walls and curtains. Someone who has put his own intelligence and guiding spirit and the honoring of its excellence above everything else plays no tragic role, doesn't groan, and needs neither solitude nor crowds. Above all, he'll live without either chasing after or fleeing from death. Whether his soul stays wrapped in the body a long time or a short time doesn't concern him at all—for even if he must leave immediately, he'll go as readily as he would do anything else that can be done with decency and order, taking care throughout life of only one thing: that his thoughts never stray from what is fitting for an intelligent being and a member of a political community.

In the mind of someone who is disciplined and purified you'll find no rot, no corruption, no wound festering under the skin. His life isn't left unfinished when fate overtakes him, the way you might say of an actor who leaves the stage before finishing the play. And there's nothing servile in him, nothing put-on, nothing too tightly bound to outside things, and nothing cut off from them either—nothing worth blaming, nothing looking for a place to hide.

Respect the faculty that forms judgment. On this faculty everything depends—whether your ruling part ever comes to hold any judgment out of step with nature and with the constitution of a rational being. This faculty is what promises freedom from rash conclusions, goodwill toward others, and obedience to the gods.

So set everything else aside, and hold on to just these few things. And remember besides that each person lives only this present moment, an indivisible point in time—everything else of his life is either already past or is uncertain. Short, then, is the time each of us lives, and small the corner of the earth we live in; short too is the longest fame that outlasts us, and even that survives only through a chain of small, short-lived human beings who don't even know themselves, let alone someone who died long ago.

To the aids already mentioned, add this one: form for yourself a clear definition or description of whatever presents itself to you, so you can see distinctly what kind of thing it is at bottom, stripped bare, in its entirety. Tell yourself its proper name, and the names of the elements it's made of and will dissolve back into. Nothing lifts the mind so much as the ability to examine methodically and honestly everything that comes before you in life, and always to view things in a way that takes in at once what kind of universe this is, what use each thing serves within it, what value it has in relation to the whole and in relation to man, who is a citizen of the highest city—of which all other cities are like households. What is this thing, what is it made of, how long does it naturally last, what virtue do I need in dealing with it—gentleness, courage, honesty, loyalty, simplicity, self-sufficiency, and the rest? So on every occasion you should say: this comes from god; and this comes by the allotment and spinning of fate's thread, by such coincidence and chance; and this comes from someone of the same origin, a kinsman and partner, though one who doesn't know what is in keeping with his own nature. But I know it—so I treat him according to the natural law of fellowship, with kindness and justice. At the same time, in matters that are neither good nor bad, I try to judge the worth of each thing accurately.

If you work at what's in front of you, following right reason seriously, energetically, calmly, without letting anything distract you, keeping the divine part of you pure as though you might have to hand it back at any moment—if you hold to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, content with your present activity carried out in keeping with nature, and with a heroic honesty in every word you speak—you'll live a happy life. And there is no one who can stop you from this.

Just as doctors keep their instruments and scalpels ready for cases that suddenly call for their skill, so you should keep your principles ready for understanding things divine and human, and for doing anything at all, even the smallest task, while remembering the bond that ties the divine and the human together. You'll never do a human task well without also relating it to things divine—nor the reverse.

Stop wandering aimlessly—you won't get around to reading your own notes, or the histories of the old Romans and Greeks, or the extracts from books you were saving for old age. Hurry, then, toward the goal you have set before you, throw away empty hopes, and come to your own rescue, if you care at all for yourself, while it's still in your power.

People don't realize how much is bound up in words like stealing, sowing, buying, keeping still, and seeing what needs doing. This last isn't done with the eyes, but with another kind of sight.

Body, soul, mind: to the body belong sensations, to the soul appetites, to the mind principles. Taking in impressions of things through appearances belongs even to animals; being jerked around on the strings of desire belongs to wild beasts and to men who've turned themselves into women, and to a Phalaris or a Nero; having a mind that guides toward what seems fitting belongs even to those who don't believe in the gods, who betray their country, and who do their filthy deeds behind locked doors. So if all the rest is shared with those I've named, what's left as distinctive to the good man is this: to welcome and accept what happens, and the thread that is spun for him; not to stain the divinity seated in his breast, nor disturb it with a swarm of images, but to keep it calm, following it obediently as a god, never saying anything against truth, never doing anything against justice. And if everyone refuses to believe he lives a simple, modest, contented life, he isn't angry at any of them for it, nor does he turn aside from the road that leads to life's end—the end to which a person should come pure, calm, ready to depart, and reconciled to his lot without being forced to it.