Letter 159: Only the rational soul is truly ours; everything else belongs to Fortune's current.

Since there are many things from which one might make a tragedy of Fortune's games, as she constantly reshapes our affairs as she wishes and allows nothing to remain fixed in its form, I will leave those matters aside when writing to a man who long ago condemned earthly things and conquers Fortune by the very things he ignores, refusing to admire anything of hers. I will remind you only of this: nothing is so much our own as we ourselves. And what are we? Not this fluid body, surely, not the noise of money, nor anything that gives Fortune her strength, but a rational soul, bound to the body for whatever reasons. Those who have learned to think as they should have cast everything besides the soul away as an alien burden, believing none of it tends toward their true being. They make nothing an obstacle to the mind: not bodily injury, not loss of money, not a difficult season. Returning into themselves, they are free, and they fear one loss only: to fall away from virtue, to be ranked as slaves through desire for money and concern for the body, to subject the better shamefully to the worse, and to admire violent men who are rich in everything except themselves. So one man, treating the body as something alien, spoke that free word: "Pound, pound the pouch of Anaxarchus; you will never pound Anaxarchus himself." Another, after voluntarily throwing away his possessions, said, "Crates frees Crates." These and things like them belong to a truly noble soul, one that masters its pleasures and does not change along with circumstances. Remember then, as Epictetus thinks, that you are an actor in whatever drama the playwright chooses; and Plato too thinks somewhere that the wise person is happy even if everything not in his control goes badly. When what depends on us is well, there is surely little concern for external things; those are carried by another current.

Ἠλίαι ἐπισκόπωι Πολλῶν ὄντων εἰπεῖν ἐξ ὧν ἄν τις τὰ τῆς τύχης τραγῳδήσειε παίγνια, μεταποιούσης ἀεὶ πρὸς τὸ δοκοῦν τὰ ἡμέτερα καὶ μηδὲν ἑστάναι συγχωρού σης ἐπὶ τοῦ σχήματος, ταῦτα μὲν σιωπήσω πρὸς ἄνδρα πάλαι κατεγνωκότα τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς καὶ τὴν τύχην νικῶντα δι' ὧν ὑπερορᾷ, μηδὲν ἐκείνης θαυμάζειν ἐθέλων· τοσοῦτον δὲ μόνον ὑπομνήσω, ὡς οὐδὲν οὕτως ἡμέτερον ὡς ἡμεῖς ἑαυτῶν. τί δὲ ἡμεῖς; οὐ σῶμα δήπου τοῦτό γε τὸ ῥευστόν, οὐδὲ χρημάτων ὕθλος, οὐδ' ὅσα τὴν ἰσχὺν παρασκευάζει τῇ τύχῃ, ἀλλὰ ψυχὴ λογικὴ δι' οὕστινας δὴ λόγους πεπεδημένη τῷ σώματι. ὅθεν οἱ φρονεῖν ἐγνωκότες τὰ δέοντα πᾶν ὁτιοῦν παρὰ ταύτην ἀπεσκευάζοντο ὥσπερ ἄχθος ἀλλότριον, μηδὲν πρὸς ἰδίαν οὐσίαν ταῦτα τείνειν ἡγούμενοι, καὶ οὐδὲν ἐποιοῦντο τῆς γνώμης ἐμπόδιον, οὐ σώματος αἰκισμόν, οὐ χρημάτων ἀποβολήν, οὐ καιροῦ δυσκολίαν, ἀλλ' εἰς ἑαυτοὺς ἀνατρέχοντες ἐλεύθεροί τε ἦσαν καὶ μίαν ηὐλαβοῦντο ζημίαν τῆς ἀρετῆς ἐκπεσεῖν καὶ χρημάτων πόθῳ καὶ φειδοῖ τοῦ σώματος ἐν ἀνδραπόδου λόγῳ τετάχθαι, τὸ κρεῖττον ἀναξίως ὑποβαλόντες τῷ χείρονι καὶ θαυμάζοντες ἄνδρας ὑβριστὰς πάντα μᾶλλον πλουτοῦντας ἤπερ αὐτούς. ὅθεν ὁ μὲν ὡς ἀλλοτρίῳ κεχρημένος τῷ σώματι τὴν ἐλευθέραν ἐκείνην φωνὴν "πτίσσε" λέγων "πτίσσε τὸν Ἀναξάρχου θύλακον, αὐτὸν γὰρ Ἀνάξαρχον οὔποτε πτίσσεις"· ὁ δὲ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἐκβολὴν αὐθαί ρετον ποιησάμενος "Κράτης" ἔλεγε "Κράτητα ἐλευθεροῖ". ταῦτα καὶ τὰ τοι αῦτα γενναίας ὄντως ψυχῆς, ἥτις ἑαυτῆς ἐστὶ πατοῦσα τὰς ἡδονὰς καὶ τοῖς καιροῖς οὐκ οἶδε συμμετατίθεσθαι. μέμνησο τοίνυν, ὡς Ἐπικτήτῳ δοκεῖ, ὅτι ὑποκριτὴς εἶ δράματος οὗ ἂν ἐθέλῃ ὁ ποιητής· καὶ Πλάτωνι δέ που δοκεῖ, ὡς ὁ σοφὸς εὐδαίμων, κἂν πάντα δὴ τὰ μὴ ἐπὶ τούτῳ πράττῃ κακῶς. ἡνίκα γὰρ τὰ ἐφ' ἡμῖν εὐπραγῇ, τῶν ἔξωθεν δήπουθεν ὀλίγη φροντίς. ἑτέρῳ γὰρ ἐκεῖνα φέρεται ῥεύματι.