| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Sophist by Plato: opinion, and imagination, in order that when we find them we may find also
that they have communion with not-being, and, having made out the connexion
of them, may thus prove that falsehood exists; and therein we will imprison
the Sophist, if he deserves it, or, if not, we will let him go again and
look for him in another class.
THEAETETUS: Certainly, Stranger, there appears to be truth in what was
said about the Sophist at first, that he was of a class not easily caught,
for he seems to have abundance of defences, which he throws up, and which
must every one of them be stormed before we can reach the man himself. And
even now, we have with difficulty got through his first defence, which is
the not-being of not-being, and lo! here is another; for we have still to
|
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Golden Sayings of Epictetus by Epictetus: money: if reason sufficient to produce a sense of evil be
applied, then the lust is checked, and the mind at once regains
its original authority; whereas if you have recourse to no
remedy, you can no longer look for this return--on the contrary,
the next time it is excited by the corresponding object, the
flame of desire leaps up more quickly than before. By frequent
repetition, the mind in the long run becomes callous; and thus
this mental disease produces confirmed Avarice.
One who has had fever, even when it has left him, is not in
the same condition of health as before, unless indeed his cure is
complete. Something of the same sort is true also of diseases of
The Golden Sayings of Epictetus |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Jungle by Upton Sinclair: sausage department is shut down; and she goes and begs at houses
with a basket, and people give her food. Only she didn't get much
yesterday; it was too cold for her fingers, and today she was crying--"
So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood,
gripping the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that his
head would burst; it was like having weights piled upon him, one after
another, crushing the life out of him. He struggled and fought
within himself--as if in some terrible nightmare, in which a man
suffers an agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry out, but feels
that he is going mad, that his brain is on fire--
Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw would
|
