Things themselves are indifferent; but the use of them is not
indifferent. How then shall a man preserve firmness and
tranquillity, and at the same time be careful and neither rash nor
negligent? If he imitates those who play at dice. The counters are
indifferent; the dice are indifferent. How do I know what the cast
will be? But to use carefully and dexterously the cast of the dice,
this is my business. Thus in life also the chief business is this:
distinguish and separate things, and say, "Externals are not in my
power: will is in my power. Where shall I seek the good and the bad?
Within, in the things which are my own." But in what does not belong
to you call nothing either good or bad, or profit or damage or
anything of the kind.
"What then? Should we use such things carelessly?" In no way: for
this on the other hand is bad for the faculty of the will, and
consequently against nature; but we should act carefully because the
use is not indifferent and we should also act with firmness and
freedom from perturbations because the material is indifferent. For
where the material is not indifferent, there no man can hinder me
nor compel me. Where I can be hindered and compelled the obtaining
of those things is not in my power, nor is it good or bad; but the use
is either bad or good, and the use is in my power. But it is difficult
to mingle and to bring together these two things, the carefulness of
him who is affected by the matter and the firmness of him who has no
regard for it; but it is not impossible; and if it is, happiness is
impossible. But we should act as we do in the case of a voyage. What
can I do? I can choose the master of the ship, the sailors, the day,
the opportunity. Then comes a storm. What more have I to care for? for
my part is done. The business belongs to another- the master. But
the ship is sinking- what then have I to do? I do the only things that
I can, not to be drowned full of fear, nor screaming, nor blaming God,
but knowing that what has been produced must also perish: for I am not
an immortal being, but a man, a part of the whole, as an hour is a
part of the day: I must be present like the hour, and past like the
hour. What difference, then, does it make to me how I pass away,
whether by being suffocated or by a fever, for I must pass through
some such means?
This is just what you will see those doing who play at ball
skillfully. No one cares about the ball being good or bad, but about
throwing and catching it. In this therefore is the skill, this the
art, the quickness, the judgement, so that if I spread out my lap I
may not be able to catch it, and another, if I throw, may catch the
ball. But if with perturbation and fear we receive or throw the
ball, what kind of play is it then, and wherein shall a man be steady,
and how shall a man see the order in the game? But one will say,
"Throw"; or, "Do not throw"; and another will say, "You have thrown
once." This is quarreling, not play.
Socrates, then, knew how to play at ball. How?" By using
pleasantry in the court where he was tried. "Tell me," he says,
"Anytus, how do you say that I do not believe in God. The Demons,