From this reverie I was roused by a sudden transition—to a picture of a well-trained youth going forth to a conflict worthy of his mettle. And now, I thought, we shall have something more like the ideal of my first lecture, a Hercules or Diogenes, going about to help and heal. But perhaps Epictetus drew a distinction between a Diogenes and mere well-trained youths, mere beginners in philosophy. At all events, what followed was only a kind of catechism to prepare us against adversity, and especially against official oppression. “Whenever,” said he, “you are in the act of going into the judgment hall of one in authority, remember that there is also Another from above, taking note of what is going on, and that you must please Him rather than the authority on earth.” This catechism he threw into the form of a dialogue between the youth and God—whom he called “Another.” “_Another._ Exile, prison, bonds, death, and disgrace—what used you to call these things in the Schools? “_Pupil._ I? Things indifferent. “_Another._ Well, then, what do you call them now? Can it be that _they_ have changed? “_Pupil._ They have not. “_Another._ You, then—have _you_ changed? “_Pupil._ I have not. “_Another._ Say, then, what are ‘things indifferent’? “_Pupil._ The things outside choice. “_Another._ Say also the next words. “_Pupil._ Things indifferent are nothing to me. “_Another._ Say also about things good. What things used you to think good? “_Pupil._ Right choice, right use of phenomena. “_Another._ And what the end and object? “_Pupil._ To follow thee. “_Another._ Do you say the same things still? “_Pupil._ I say the same things still. “_Another._ Go your way, then, and be of good cheer, and remember these things, and you will see how a young and well-trained champion towers above the untrained.” I wanted to hear him explain why he spoke of “_Another_,” instead of Zeus, or God. It struck me that he meant to suggest to us that in this visible world, whenever we say “_this_,” we must also say, in our minds, “_another_,” to remind ourselves of the invisible counterpart. “Especially must we say ‘_Another_’”—this, I thought, was his meaning—“when we speak about rulers. Visible rulers are mostly bad. We must prevent them from encroaching on the place that should be filled in our hearts by the Other, the invisible Ruler.” Instead of this explanation, however, he concluded his lecture by warning us against insincerity, or “speaking from the lips,” and against trying to be on both sides, when we ought to choose between two contending sides. This he called “trimming.” And here it was—while addressing an imaginary “trimmer”—that he used the word “Jew.”