“Then as we are men, it may be inherent in ours. Trust me, my son, it is better to correct ourselves, than to find fault with our neighbors.”
“But is it not allowed to do both? Can we help seeing the errors of the world in which we live, and seeing, can we help being angry at them?”
“Certainly not the seeing them, but I hope, very possibly, the being angry with them. He that loses temper with the folly of others, shows that he has folly himself. In which case they have as much right to complain of his, as he of theirs. And have I not been trying to show you, that when you are wise you will be independent of all that you cannot command within yourself? You say you are not so now. I admit it, but when you are wise you will be so. And till you are wise, you have surely no title to quarrel with another’s ignorance.”
“I can never be independent of my friends,” returned Theon. “I must ever feel the injustice done to them, though I might be regardless of that which affected merely myself.”
“Why so? What would enable you to disregard that done to yourself?”
“Conscious innocence. Pride, if you will. Contempt of the folly and ignorance of my judges.”
“Well, and are you less conscious of the innocence of your friend? If you are, where is your indignation? And if you are not, have you less pride for him than for yourself? Do you respect that folly and ignorance in his judges that you despise in your own?”
“I believe it will not stand argument,” said Theon. “But you must forgive me if, when I contemplate Epicurus, I feel indignant at the slander which dares to breathe upon his purity.”
“And do you think you were yourself an object of indignation, when you spoke of him as a monster of vice!”
“Yes, I feel I was.”