Stoic Sext for Wednesday, March 18, 2026


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The Enchiridion of Epictetus
XLVIII

The condition and characteristic of a vulgar person is that he never looks for either help or harm from himself, but only from externals. The condition and characteristic of a philosopher is that he looks to himself for all help or harm. The marks of a proficient are that he censures no one, praises no one, blames no one, accuses no one; says nothing concerning himself as being anybody or knowing anything. When he is in any instance hindered or restrained, he accuses himself; and if he is praised, he smiles to himself at the person who praises him; and if he is censured, he makes no defense. But he goes about with the caution of a convalescent, careful of interference with anything that is doing well but not yet quite secure. He restrains desire; he transfers his aversion to those things only which thwart the proper use of our own will; he employs his energies moderately in all directions; if he appears stupid or ignorant, he does not care; and, in a word, he keeps watch over himself as over an enemy and one in ambush.

The Enchiridion of Epictetus - translated by Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Examination of Conscience
If this is your last Hour you plan to follow today, the now is a good time for the Examination of Conscience.
Also do this if it is the first Hour you are following today you forgot to do yesterday's Examination of Conscience - now is a good time to do that, as it is better late than never.
Examination of Conscience can be done in the form of a journal - but that is not the only way to do it. You can do it mentally -- as long as you can make sure, without any external actions, that you are in fact doing it. Also - for practice sake, it can be done in dialogue with a mentor. But doing it with a mentor is only recommended for practice sake - and may not even be available to everyone at all.
Above all -- remember that the Examination of Conscience done here is the Stoic version of the concept and none other.
The Old Stoic
Riches I hold in light esteem,
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream,
That vanished with the morn:
And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, “Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty!”
Yes, as my swift days near their goal:
’Tis all that I implore;
In life and death a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.
Poem by Emily Brontë, - obtained from poets.org

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