1. The master-argument seems to start from propositions such as these:[1] There being a mutual contradiction among these three propositions—(1) “Every past event is necessarily true,” and (2) “An impossibility cannot follow a possibility,” and (3) “Things are possible which neither are nor will be true,” Diodorus, perceiving this contradiction, made use of the force of the first two in order to prove that nothing is possible which neither is nor will be true. And, again, one will hold these two, (3) that a thing is possible which neither is nor will be true, and (2) that an impossibility cannot follow from a possibility; but by no means that every past thing is necessarily true, and thus those of the school of Cleanthes appear to think, whom Antipater strongly defended. But some hold the other two, (3) that a thing is possible that neither is nor will be true, and (1) that every past event is necessarily true; but maintain that an impossibility may follow from a possibility. But all three it is impossible to hold at once, because of their mutual contradiction.
2. Now, if any one inquire of me, And which of these dost thou hold? I shall answer him that I do not know, but I have received this account, that Diodorus holds certain of them, and I think the followers of Panthoides and Cleanthes certain others, and those of Chrysippus yet others. And thyself? Nay, it is no affair of mine to try my own thoughts, and to compare and estimate statements, and to form some opinion of my own upon the matter.[2] And thus I differ no whit from the grammarians. Who was Hector’s father? Priam. And his brothers? Alexander and Deiphobus. And their mother, who was she? Hecuba. That is the account I have received. From whom? From Homer; and I think Hellanicus has written of them, and maybe others too. And I; what better have I to say about the master-argument? But if I am a vain man, and especially at a banquet, I shall amaze all the company by recounting those who have written on it;—for Chrysippus wrote on it wonderfully in his first book “On Possibilities;” and Cleanthes wrote a separate treatise on it, and so did Archedemus. And Antipater wrote too, not only in his book “On Possibilities,” but also separately in those on the master-argument. Have you not read the work? No! Then read it. And what good will it do him to read it? He will become yet more of a babbler and a nuisance than he is now, for what else hath the reading of it done for you? What opinion have you formed for yourself on the matter? Nay, but you will tell us all about Helen, and Priam, and the island of Calypso, that never existed, nor ever will.
3. And in Homer, indeed, it is no great matter if you have simply mastered the account, and formed no opinion of your own. But in ethics this is even much more often the case than in other matters. Tell me concerning good and evil things! Listen to him, then, with his—
“Me to Ciconia brought the wind from Troy.” —Od. ix, 39.
Of things some are good, some evil, and some indifferent. Now the good things are the virtues, and those that have the nature of virtue, and the evil things the vices, and those that have the nature of vice; and the indifferent things[3] are between these, as wealth, health, life, death, pleasure, affliction. And how do you know this? Because Hellanicus affirms it in his history of the Egyptians; for as well say this as that Diogenes has it in his Ethics, or Chrysippus, or Cleanthes. But have you tested any of their sayings, and formed an opinion for yourself? Show me how you are wont to bear a storm at sea. Do you remember the difference between good and evil when the sail clatters, and some vexatious man comes to you as you are shrieking, and says—
——“Tell me, by the Gods, what you were lately saying, Is it any vice to be shipwrecked? Hath it anything of the nature of vice?”
Would you not lay hold of a stick and shake it in his face: Let us alone, man; we are perishing, and you come to mock us! And do you remember the difference if you are accused of something and Cæsar sends for you? If one should come to you when you enter, pale and trembling, and should say, “Why do you tremble, man? what is your business concerned with? Doth Cæsar there within dispense virtue and vice to those who go in to him? Why, you will say; must you too mock me in my calamities?
——“Nevertheless, tell me, O Philosopher, why you tremble—is it not merely death that you are in danger of, or imprisonment, or bodily suffering, or exile, or disgrace? What else? Is it any vice? or anything of the nature of vice?”
And you will reply somewhat to this effect: Let me alone, man; my own evils are enough for me.
And truly you say well, for your own evils are enough for you; which are meanness, cowardice, and your false pretenses when you sat in the school of philosophy. Why did you deck yourself in others’ glory? Why did you call yourself a Stoic?