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Meditations ... Marcus Aurelius
Table of Contents
Meditations
Marcus
Aurelius
INTRODUCTION
THE
FIRST BOOK
THE
SECOND BOOK
THE
THIRD BOOK
THE
FOURTH BOOK
THE
FIFTH BOOK
THE
SIXTH BOOK
THE
SEVENTH BOOK
THE
EIGHTH BOOK
THE
NINTH BOOK
THE
TENTH BOOK
THE
ELEVENTH BOOK
THE
TWELFTH BOOK
NOTES
GLOSSARY
AudioBook
Meditations
Marcus
Aurelius
Published: 180
Categorie(s):
Non-Fiction, Human Science, Philosophy
INTRODUCTION
MARCUS AURELIUS
ANTONINUS was born on April 26, A.D. 121. His real name was M. Annius Verus,
and he was sprung of a noble family which claimed descent from Numa, second
King of Rome. Thus the most religious of emperors came of the blood of the most
pious of early kings. His father, Annius Verus, had held high office in Rome,
and his grandfather, of the same name, had been thrice Consul. Both his parents
died young, but Marcus held them in loving remembrance. On his father's death
Marcus was adopted by his grandfather, the consular Annius Verus, and there was
deep love between these two. On the very first page of his book Marcus
gratefully declares how of his grandfather he had learned to be gentle and
meek, and to refrain from all anger and passion. The Emperor Hadrian divined
the fine character of the lad, whom he used to call not Verus but Verissimus,
more Truthful than his own name. He advanced Marcus to equestrian rank when six
years of age, and at the age of eight made him a member of the ancient Salian
priesthood. The boy's aunt, Annia Galeria Faustina, was married to Antoninus
Pius, afterwards emperor. Hence it came about that Antoninus, having no son,
adopted Marcus, changing his name to that which he is known by, and betrothed
him to his daughter Faustina. His education was conducted with all care. The
ablest teachers were engaged for him, and he was trained in the strict doctrine
of the Stoic philosophy, which was his great delight. He was taught to dress plainly
and to live simply, to avoid all softness and luxury. His body was trained to
hardihood by wrestling, hunting, and outdoor games; and though his constitution
was weak, he showed great personal courage to encounter the fiercest boars. At
the same time he was kept from the extravagancies of his day. The great
excitement in Rome was the strife of the Factions, as they were called, in the
circus. The racing drivers used to adopt one of four colours—red, blue, white,
or green—and their partisans showed an eagerness in supporting them which
nothing could surpass. Riot and corruption went in the train of the racing
chariots; and from all these things Marcus held severely aloof.
In
140 Marcus was raised to the consulship, and in 145 his betrothal was consummated
by marriage. Two years later Faustina brought him a daughter; and soon after
the tribunate and other imperial honours were conferred upon him.
Antoninus
Pius died in 161, and Marcus assumed the imperial state. He at once associated
with himself L. Ceionius Commodus, whom Antoninus had adopted as a younger son
at the same time with Marcus, giving him the name of Lucius Aurelius Verus.
Henceforth the two are colleagues in the empire, the junior being trained as it
were to succeed. No sooner was Marcus settled upon the throne than wars broke
out on all sides. In the east, Vologeses III. of Parthia began a long-meditated
revolt by destroying a whole Roman Legion and invading Syria (162). Verus was
sent off in hot haste to quell this rising; and he fulfilled his trust by
plunging into drunkenness and debauchery, while the war was left to his
officers. Soon after Marcus had to face a more serious danger at home in the
coalition of several powerful tribes on the northern frontier. Chief among
those were the Marcomanni or Marchmen, the Quadi (mentioned in this book), the
Sarmatians, the Catti, the Jazyges. In Rome itself there was pestilence and
starvation, the one brought from the east by Verus's legions, the other caused
by floods which had destroyed vast quantities of grain. After all had been done
possible to allay famine and to supply pressing needs—Marcus being forced even
to sell the imperial jewels to find money—both emperors set forth to a struggle
which was to continue more or less during the rest of Marcus's reign. During
these wars, in 169, Verus died. We have no means of following the campaigns in
detail; but thus much is certain, that in the end the Romans succeeded in
crushing the barbarian tribes, and effecting a settlement which made the empire
more secure. Marcus was himself commander-in-chief, and victory was due no less
to his own ability than to his wisdom in choice of lieutenants, shown
conspicuously in the case of Pertinax. There were several important battles
fought in these campaigns; and one of them has become celebrated for the legend
of the Thundering Legion. In a battle against the Quadi in 174, the day seemed
to be going in favour of the foe, when on a sudden arose a great storm of
thunder and rain the lightning struck the barbarians with terror, and they
turned to rout. In later days this storm was said to have been sent in answer
to the prayers of a legion which contained many Christians, and the name
Thundering Legion should be given to it on this account. The title of
Thundering Legion is known at an earlier date, so this part of the story at
least cannot be true; but the aid of the storm is acknowledged by one of the
scenes carved on Antonine's Column at Rome, which commemorates these wars.
The
settlement made after these troubles might have been more satisfactory but for
an unexpected rising in the east. Avidius Cassius, an able captain who had won
renown in the Parthian wars, was at this time chief governor of the eastern
provinces. By whatever means induced, he had conceived the project of
proclaiming himself emperor as soon as Marcus, who was then in feeble health,
should die; and a report having been conveyed to him that Marcus was dead,
Cassius did as he had planned. Marcus, on hearing the news, immediately patched
up a peace and returned home to meet this new peril. The emperors great grief
was that he must needs engage in the horrors of civil strife. He praised the
qualities of Cassius, and expressed a heartfelt wish that Cassius might not be
driven to do himself a hurt before he should have the opportunity to grant a
free pardon. But before he could come to the east news had come to Cassius that
the emperor still lived; his followers fell away from him, and he was
assassinated. Marcus now went to the east, and while there the murderers
brought the head of Cassius to him; but the emperor indignantly refused their
gift, nor would he admit the men to his presence.
On
this journey his wife, Faustina, died. At his return the emperor celebrated a
triumph (176). Immediately afterwards he repaired to Germany, and took up once
more the burden of war. His operations were followed by complete success; but
the troubles of late years had been too much for his constitution, at no time
robust, and on March 17, 180, he died in Pannonia.
The
good emperor was not spared domestic troubles. Faustina had borne him several
children, of whom he was passionately fond. Their innocent faces may still be
seen in many a sculpture gallery, recalling with odd effect the dreamy
countenance of their father. But they died one by one, and when Marcus came to
his own end only one of his sons still lived—the weak and worthless Commodus.
On his father's death Commodus, who succeeded him, undid the work of many
campaigns by a hasty and unwise peace; and his reign of twelve years proved him
to be a ferocious and bloodthirsty tyrant. Scandal has made free with the name
of Faustina herself, who is accused not only of unfaithfulness, but of
intriguing with Cassius and egging him on to his fatal rebellion, it must be
admitted that these charges rest on no sure evidence; and the emperor, at all
events, loved her dearly, nor ever felt the slightest qualm of suspicion.
As
a soldier we have seen that Marcus was both capable and successful; as an
administrator he was prudent and conscientious. Although steeped in the
teachings of philosophy, he did not attempt to remodel the world on any
preconceived plan. He trod the path beaten by his predecessors, seeking only to
do his duty as well as he could, and to keep out corruption. He did some unwise
things, it is true. To create a compeer in empire, as he did with Verus, was a
dangerous innovation which could only succeed if one of the two effaced
himself; and under Diocletian this very precedent caused the Roman Empire to
split into halves. He erred in his civil administration by too much
centralising. But the strong point of his reign was the administration of
justice. Marcus sought by-laws to protect the weak, to make the lot of the
slaves less hard, to stand in place of father to the fatherless. Charitable
foundations were endowed for rearing and educating poor children. The provinces
were protected against oppression, and public help was given to cities or
districts which might be visited by calamity. The great blot on his name, and one
hard indeed to explain, is his treatment of the Christians. In his reign Justin
at Rome became a martyr to his faith, and Polycarp at Smyrna, and we know of
many outbreaks of fanaticism in the provinces which caused the death of the
faithful. It is no excuse to plead that he knew nothing about the atrocities
done in his name: it was his duty to know, and if he did not he would have been
the first to confess that he had failed in his duty. But from his own tone in
speaking of the Christians it is clear he knew them only from calumny; and we
hear of no measures taken even to secure that they should have a fair hearing.
In this respect Trajan was better than he.
To
a thoughtful mind such a religion as that of Rome would give small
satisfaction. Its legends were often childish or impossible; its teaching had
little to do with morality. The Roman religion was in fact of the nature of a
bargain: men paid certain sacrifices and rites, and the gods granted their
favour, irrespective of right or wrong. In this case all devout souls were
thrown back upon philosophy, as they had been, though to a less extent, in
Greece. There were under the early empire two rival schools which practically
divided the field between them, Stoicism and Epicureanism. The ideal set before
each was nominally much the same. The Stoics aspired to the repression of all
emotion, and the Epicureans to freedom from all disturbance; yet in the upshot
the one has become a synonym of stubborn endurance, the other for unbridled
licence. With Epicureanism we have nothing to do now; but it will be worth
while to sketch the history and tenets of the Stoic sect. Zeno, the founder of
Stoicism, was born in Cyprus at some date unknown, but his life may be said
roughly to be between the years 350 and 250 B.C. Cyprus has been from time
immemorial a meeting-place of the East and West, and although we cannot grant
any importance to a possible strain of Phoenician blood in him (for the
Phoenicians were no philosophers), yet it is quite likely that through Asia
Minor he may have come in touch with the Far East. He studied under the cynic
Crates, but he did not neglect other philosophical systems. After many years'
study he opened his own school in a colonnade in Athens called the Painted
Porch, or Stoa, which gave the Stoics their name. Next to Zeno, the School of
the Porch owes most to Chrysippus (280—207 b.c.), who organised Stoicism into a
system. Of him it was said, 'But for Chrysippus, there had been no Porch.'
The
Stoics regarded speculation as a means to an end and that end was, as Zeno put
it, to live consistently omologonuenws zhn or as it was later explained, to
live in conformity with nature. This conforming of the life to nature
oralogoumenwz th fusei zhn. was the Stoic idea of Virtue.
This
dictum might easily be taken to mean that virtue consists in yielding to each
natural impulse; but that was very far from the Stoic meaning. In order to live
in accord with nature, it is necessary to know what nature is; and to this end
a threefold division of philosophy is made—into Physics, dealing with the
universe and its laws, the problems of divine government and teleology; Logic,
which trains the mind to discern true from false; and Ethics, which applies the
knowledge thus gained and tested to practical life. The Stoic system of physics
was materialism with an infusion of pantheism. In contradiction to Plato's view
that the Ideas, or Prototypes, of phenomena alone really exist, the Stoics held
that material objects alone existed; but immanent in the material universe was
a spiritual force which acted through them, manifesting itself under many
forms, as fire, aether, spirit, soul, reason, the ruling principle.
The
universe, then, is God, of whom the popular gods are manifestations; while
legends and myths are allegorical. The soul of man is thus an emanation from
the godhead, into whom it will eventually be re-absorbed. The divine ruling
principle makes all things work together for good, but for the good of the
whole. The highest good of man is consciously to work with God for the common
good, and this is the sense in which the Stoic tried to live in accord with
nature. In the individual it is virtue alone which enables him to do this; as
Providence rules the universe, so virtue in the soul must rule man.
In
Logic, the Stoic system is noteworthy for their theory as to the test of truth,
the Criterion. They compared the new-born soul to a sheet of paper ready for
writing. Upon this the senses write their impressions, fantasias and by
experience of a number of these the soul unconsciously conceives general
notions koinai eunoiai or anticipations. prolhyeis When the impression was such
as to be irresistible it was called (katalnptikh fantasia) one that holds fast,
or as they explained it, one proceeding from truth. Ideas and inferences
artificially produced by deduction or the like were tested by this 'holding
perception.' Of the Ethical application I have already spoken. The highest good
was the virtuous life. Virtue alone is happiness, and vice is unhappiness.
Carrying this theory to its extreme, the Stoic said that there could be no
gradations between virtue and vice, though of course each has its special
manifestations. Moreover, nothing is good but virtue, and nothing but vice is
bad. Those outside things which are commonly called good or bad, such as health
and sickness, wealth and poverty, pleasure and pain, are to him indifferent
adiofora. All these things are merely the sphere in which virtue may act. The
ideal Wise Man is sufficient unto himself in all things, autarkhs and knowing
these truths, he will be happy even when stretched upon the rack. It is
probable that no Stoic claimed for himself that he was this Wise Man, but that
each strove after it as an ideal much as the Christian strives after a likeness
to Christ. The exaggeration in this statement was, however, so obvious, that
the later Stoics were driven to make a further subdivision of things
indifferent into what is preferable (prohgmena) and what is undesirable. They
also held that for him who had not attained to the perfect wisdom, certain
actions were proper. (kaqhkonta) These were neither virtuous nor vicious, but,
like the indifferent things, held a middle place. Two points in the Stoic
system deserve special mention. One is a careful distinction between things
which are in our power and things which are not. Desire and dislike, opinion
and affection, are within the power of the will; whereas health, wealth,
honour, and other such are generally not so. The Stoic was called upon to
control his desires and affections, and to guide his opinion; to bring his
whole being under the sway of the will or leading principle, just as the
universe is guided and governed by divine Providence. This is a special
application of the favourite Greek virtue of moderation, (swfrosuum) and has
also its parallel in Christian ethics. The second point is a strong insistence
on the unity of the universe, and on man's duty as part of a great whole.
Public spirit was the most splendid political virtue of the ancient world, and
it is here made cosmopolitan. It is again instructive to note that Christian
sages insisted on the same thing. Christians are taught that they are members
of a worldwide brotherhood, where is neither Greek nor Hebrew, bond nor free
and that they live their lives as fellow-workers with God.
Such
is the system which underlies the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Some
knowledge of it is necessary to the right understanding of the book, but for us
the chief interest lies elsewhere. We do not come to Marcus Aurelius for a
treatise on Stoicism. He is no head of a school to lay down a body of doctrine
for students; he does not even contemplate that others should read what he
writes. His philosophy is not an eager intellectual inquiry, but more what we
should call religious feeling. The uncompromising stiffness of Zeno or
Chrysippus is softened and transformed by passing through a nature reverent and
tolerant, gentle and free from guile; the grim resignation which made life
possible to the Stoic sage becomes in him almost a mood of aspiration. His book
records the innermost thoughts of his heart, set down to ease it, with such
moral maxims and reflections as may help him to bear the burden of duty and the
countless annoyances of a busy life.
It
is instructive to compare the Meditations with another famous book, the
Imitation of Christ. There is the same ideal of self-control in both. It should
be a man's task, says the Imitation, 'to overcome himself, and every day to be
stronger than himself.' 'In withstanding of the passions standeth very peace of
heart.' 'Let us set the axe to the root, that we being purged of our passions
may have a peaceable mind.' To this end there must be continual
self-examination. 'If thou may not continually gather thyself together, namely
sometimes do it, at least once a day, the morning or the evening. In the
morning purpose, in the evening discuss the manner, what thou hast been this
day, in word, work, and thought.' But while the Roman's temper is a modest
self-reliance, the Christian aims at a more passive mood, humbleness and
meekness, and reliance on the presence and personal friendship of God. The
Roman scrutinises his faults with severity, but without the self-contempt which
makes the Christian 'vile in his own sight.' The Christian, like the Roman,
bids 'study to withdraw thine heart from the love of things visible'; but it is
not the busy life of duty he has in mind so much as the contempt of all worldly
things, and the 'cutting away of all lower delectations.' Both rate men's
praise or blame at their real worthlessness; 'Let not thy peace,' says the
Christian, 'be in the mouths of men.' But it is to God's censure the Christian
appeals, the Roman to his own soul. The petty annoyances of injustice or
unkindness are looked on by each with the same magnanimity. 'Why doth a little
thing said or done against thee make thee sorry? It is no new thing; it is not
the first, nor shall it be the last, if thou live long. At best suffer
patiently, if thou canst not suffer joyously.' The Christian should sorrow more
for other men's malice than for our own wrongs; but the Roman is inclined to
wash his hands of the offender. 'Study to be patient in suffering and bearing
other men's defaults and all manner infirmities,' says the Christian; but the
Roman would never have thought to add, 'If all men were perfect, what had we
then to suffer of other men for God?' The virtue of suffering in itself is an
idea which does not meet us in the Meditations. Both alike realise that man is
one of a great community. 'No man is sufficient to himself,' says the
Christian; 'we must bear together, help together, comfort together.' But while
he sees a chief importance in zeal, in exalted emotion that is, and avoidance
of lukewarmness, the Roman thought mainly of the duty to be done as well as
might be, and less of the feeling which should go with the doing of it. To the
saint as to the emperor, the world is a poor thing at best. 'Verily it is a
misery to live upon the earth,' says the Christian; few and evil are the days
of man's life, which passeth away suddenly as a shadow.
But
there is one great difference between the two books we are considering. The
Imitation is addressed to others, the Meditations by the writer to himself. We
learn nothing from the Imitation of the author's own life, except in so far as
he may be assumed to have practised his own preachings; the Meditations reflect
mood by mood the mind of him who wrote them. In their intimacy and frankness
lies their great charm. These notes are not sermons; they are not even confessions.
There is always an air of self-consciousness in confessions; in such
revelations there is always a danger of unctuousness or of vulgarity for the
best of men. St. Augus-tine is not always clear of offence, and John Bunyan
himself exaggerates venial peccadilloes into heinous sins. But Marcus Aurelius
is neither vulgar nor unctuous; he extenuates nothing, but nothing sets down in
malice. He never poses before an audience; he may not be profound, he is always
sincere. And it is a lofty and serene soul which is here disclosed before us.
Vulgar vices seem to have no temptation for him; this is not one tied and bound
with chains which he strives to break. The faults he detects in himself are
often such as most men would have no eyes to see. To serve the divine spirit
which is implanted within him, a man must 'keep himself pure from all violent
passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all manner
of discontent, either in regard of the gods or men': or, as he says elsewhere,
'unspotted by pleasure, undaunted by pain.' Unwavering courtesy and
consideration are his aims. 'Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, thou must
be good;' 'doth any man offend? It is against himself that he doth offend: why
should it trouble thee?' The offender needs pity, not wrath; those who must
needs be corrected, should be treated with tact and gentleness; and one must be
always ready to learn better. 'The best kind of revenge is, not to become like
unto them.' There are so many hints of offence forgiven, that we may believe
the notes followed sharp on the facts. Perhaps he has fallen short of his aim,
and thus seeks to call his principles to mind, and to strengthen himself for
the future. That these sayings are not mere talk is plain from the story of Avidius
Cassius, who would have usurped his imperial throne. Thus the emperor
faithfully carries out his own principle, that evil must be overcome with good.
For each fault in others, Nature (says he) has given us a counteracting virtue;
'as, for example, against the unthankful, it hath given goodness and meekness,
as an antidote.'
One
so gentle towards a foe was sure to be a good friend; and indeed his pages are
full of generous gratitude to those who had served him. In his First Book he
sets down to account all the debts due to his kinsfolk and teachers. To his
grandfather he owed his own gentle spirit, to his father shamefastness and
courage; he learnt of his mother to be religious and bountiful and
single-minded. Rusticus did not work in vain, if he showed his pupil that his
life needed amending. Apollonius taught him simplicity, reasonableness,
gratitude, a love of true liberty. So the list runs on; every one he had
dealings with seems to have given him something good, a sure proof of the
goodness of his nature, which thought no evil.
If
his was that honest and true heart which is the Christian ideal, this is the
more wonderful in that he lacked the faith which makes Christians strong. He
could say, it is true, 'either there is a God, and then all is well; or if all
things go by chance and fortune, yet mayest thou use thine own providence in
those things that concern thee properly; and then art thou well.' Or again, 'We
must needs grant that there is a nature that doth govern the universe.' But his
own part in the scheme of things is so small, that he does not hope for any
personal happiness beyond what a serene soul may win in this mortal life. 'O my
soul, the time I trust will be, when thou shalt be good, simple, more open and
visible, than that body by which it is enclosed;' but this is said of the calm
contentment with human lot which he hopes to attain, not of a time when the
trammels of the body shall be cast off. For the rest, the world and its fame
and wealth, 'all is vanity.' The gods may perhaps have a particular care for
him, but their especial care is for the universe at large: thus much should
suffice. His gods are better than the Stoic gods, who sit aloof from all human
things, untroubled and uncaring, but his personal hope is hardly stronger. On this
point he says little, though there are many allusions to death as the natural
end; doubtless he expected his soul one day to be absorbed into the universal
soul, since nothing comes out of nothing, and nothing can be annihilated. His
mood is one of strenuous weariness; he does his duty as a good soldier, waiting
for the sound of the trumpet which shall sound the retreat; he has not that
cheerful confidence which led Socrates through a life no less noble, to a death
which was to bring him into the company of gods he had worshipped and men whom
he had revered.
But
although Marcus Aurelius may have held intellectually that his soul was
destined to be absorbed, and to lose consciousness of itself, there were times
when he felt, as all who hold it must sometimes feel, how unsatisfying is such
a creed. Then he gropes blindly after something less empty and vain. 'Thou hast
taken ship,' he says, 'thou hast sailed, thou art come to land, go out, if to
another life, there also shalt thou find gods, who are everywhere.' There is
more in this than the assumption of a rival theory for argument's sake. If
worldly things 'be but as a dream, the thought is not far off that there may be
an awakening to what is real. When he speaks of death as a necessary change,
and points out that nothing useful and profitable can be brought about without
change, did he perhaps think of the change in a corn of wheat, which is not
quickened except it die? Nature's marvellous power of recreating out of
Corruption is surely not confined to bodily things. Many of his thoughts sound
like far-off echoes of St. Paul; and it is strange indeed that this most
Christian of emperors has nothing good to say of the Christians. To him they
are only sectaries 'violently and passionately set upon opposition.
Profound
as philosophy these Meditations certainly are not; but Marcus Aurelius was too
sincere not to see the essence of such things as came within his experience.
Ancient religions were for the most part concerned with outward things. Do the
necessary rites, and you propitiate the gods; and these rites were often
trivial, sometimes violated right feeling or even morality. Even when the gods
stood on the side of righteousness, they were concerned with the act more than
with the intent. But Marcus Aurelius knows that what the heart is full of, the
man will do. 'Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are,' he says,
'such will thy mind be in time.' And every page of the book shows us that he
knew thought was sure to issue in act. He drills his soul, as it were, in right
principles, that when the time comes, it may be guided by them. To wait until
the emergency is to be too late. He sees also the true essence of happiness.
'If happiness did consist in pleasure, how came notorious robbers, impure
abominable livers, parricides, and tyrants, in so large a measure to have their
part of pleasures?' He who had all the world's pleasures at command can write
thus 'A happy lot and portion is, good inclinations of the soul, good desires,
good actions.'
By
the irony of fate this man, so gentle and good, so desirous of quiet joys and a
mind free from care, was set at the head of the Roman Empire when great dangers
threatened from east and west. For several years he himself commanded his
armies in chief. In camp before the Quadi he dates the first book of his
Meditations, and shows how he could retire within himself amid the coarse
clangour of arms. The pomps and glories which he despised were all his; what to
most men is an ambition or a dream, to him was a round of weary tasks which
nothing but the stern sense of duty could carry him through. And he did his
work well. His wars were slow and tedious, but successful. With a statesman's
wisdom he foresaw the danger to Rome of the barbarian hordes from the north,
and took measures to meet it. As it was, his settlement gave two centuries of
respite to the Roman Empire; had he fulfilled the plan of pushing the imperial
frontiers to the Elbe, which seems to have been in his mind, much more might
have been accomplished. But death cut short his designs.
Truly
a rare opportunity was given to Marcus Aurelius of showing what the mind can do
in despite of circumstances. Most peaceful of warriors, a magnificent monarch
whose ideal was quiet happiness in home life, bent to obscurity yet born to
greatness, the loving father of children who died young or turned out hateful,
his life was one paradox. That nothing might lack, it was in camp before the
face of the enemy that he passed away and went to his own place.
Translations
THE following is a list of the chief English translations of Marcus Aurelius:
(1) By Meric Casaubon, 1634; (2) Jeremy Collier, 1701; (3) James Thomson, 1747;
(4) R. Graves, 1792; (5) H. McCormac, 1844; (6) George Long, 1862; (7) G. H.
Rendall, 1898; and (8) J. Jackson, 1906. Renan's "Marc-Aurèle"—in his
"History of the Origins of Christianity," which appeared in 1882—is
the most vital and original book to be had relating to the time of Marcus
Aurelius. Pater's "Marius the Epicurean" forms another outside
commentary, which is of service in the imaginative attempt to create again the
period.
Divided
into Numbers or Sections.
ANTONINUS
Book vi. Num. xlviii. Whensoever thou wilt rejoice thyself, think and meditate
upon those good parts and especial gifts, which thou hast observed in any of
them that live with thee:
as
industry in one, in another modesty, in another bountifulness, in another some
other thing. For nothing can so much rejoice thee, as the resemblances and
parallels of several virtues, eminent in the dispositions of them that live
with thee, especially when all at once, as it were, they represent themselves
unto thee. See therefore, that thou have them always in a readiness.
THE FIRST BOOK
I. Of my
grandfather Verus I have learned to be gentle and meek, and to
refrain
from all anger and passion. From the fame and memory of him that begot me I
have learned both shamefastness and manlike behaviour. Of my mother I have
learned to be religious, and bountiful; and to forbear, not only to do, but to
intend any evil; to content myself with a spare diet, and to fly all such
excess as is incidental to great wealth. Of my great-grandfather, both to
frequent public schools and auditories, and to get me good and able teachers at
home; and that I ought not to think much, if upon such occasions, I were at
excessive charges.
II.
Of him that brought me up, not to be fondly addicted to either of
the
two great factions of the coursers in the circus, called Prasini, and Veneti:
nor in the amphitheatre partially to favour any of the gladiators, or fencers,
as either the Parmularii, or the Secutores. Moreover, to endure labour; nor to
need many things; when I have anything to do, to do it myself rather than by
others; not to meddle with many businesses; and not easily to admit of any
slander.
III.
Of Diognetus, not to busy myself about vain things, and not easily
to
believe those things, which are commonly spoken, by such as take upon them to
work wonders, and by sorcerers, or prestidigitators, and impostors; concerning
the power of charms, and their driving out of demons, or evil spirits; and the
like. Not to keep quails for the game; nor to be mad after such things. Not to
be offended with other men's liberty of speech, and to apply myself unto
philosophy. Him also I must thank, that ever I heard first Bacchius, then
Tandasis and Marcianus, and that I did write dialogues in my youth; and that I
took liking to the philosophers' little couch and skins, and such other things,
which by the Grecian discipline are proper to those who profess philosophy.
IV.
To Rusticus I am beholding, that I first entered into the conceit
that
my life wanted some redress and cure. And then, that I did not fall into the
ambition of ordinary sophists, either to write tracts concerning the common
theorems, or to exhort men unto virtue and the study of philosophy by public
orations; as also that I never by way of ostentation did affect to show myself
an active able man, for any kind of bodily exercises. And that I gave over the
study of rhetoric and poetry, and of elegant neat language. That I did not use
to walk about the house in my long robe, nor to do any such things. Moreover I
learned of him to write letters without any affectation, or curiosity; such as
that was, which by him was written to my mother from Sinuessa: and to be easy
and ready to be reconciled, and well pleased again with them that had offended
me, as soon as any of them would be content to seek unto me again. To read with
diligence; not to rest satisfied with a light and superficial knowledge, nor
quickly to assent to things commonly spoken of: whom also I must thank that
ever I lighted upon Epictetus his Hypomnemata, or moral commentaries and
common-factions: which also he gave me of his own.
V.
From Apollonius, true liberty, and unvariable steadfastness, and not
to
regard anything at all, though never so little, but right and reason: and
always, whether in the sharpest pains, or after the loss of a child, or in long
diseases, to be still the same man; who also was a present and visible example
unto me, that it was possible for the same man to be both vehement and remiss:
a man not subject to be vexed, and offended with the incapacity of his scholars
and auditors in his lectures and expositions; and a true pattern of a man who
of all his good gifts and faculties, least esteemed in himself, that his
excellent skill and ability to teach and persuade others the common theorems
and maxims of the Stoic philosophy. Of him also I learned how to receive
favours and kindnesses (as commonly they are accounted:) from friends, so that
I might not become obnoxious unto them, for them, nor more yielding upon
occasion, than in right I ought; and yet so that I should not pass them
neither, as an unsensible and unthankful man.
VI.
Of Sextus, mildness and the pattern of a family governed with
paternal
affection; and a purpose to live according to nature: to be grave without
affectation: to observe carefully the several dispositions of my friends, not
to be offended with idiots, nor unseasonably to set upon those that are carried
with the vulgar opinions, with the theorems, and tenets of philosophers: his
conversation being an example how a man might accommodate himself to all men
and companies; so that though his company were sweeter and more pleasing than
any flatterer's cogging and fawning; yet was it at the same time most respected
and reverenced: who also had a proper happiness and faculty, rationally and
methodically to find out, and set in order all necessary determinations and
instructions for a man's life. A man without ever the least appearance of
anger, or any other passion; able at the same time most exactly to observe the
Stoic Apathia, or unpassionateness, and yet to be most tender-hearted: ever of
good credit; and yet almost without any noise, or rumour: very learned, and yet
making little show.
VII.
From Alexander the Grammarian, to be un-reprovable myself, and not
reproachfully
to reprehend any man for a barbarism, or a solecism, or any false
pronunciation, but dextrously by way of answer, or testimony, or confirmation
of the same matter (taking no notice of the word) to utter it as it should have
been spoken; or by some other such close and indirect admonition, handsomely
and civilly to tell him of it.
VIII.
Of Fronto, to how much envy and fraud and hypocrisy the state of a
tyrannous
king is subject unto, and how they who are commonly called [Eupatridas Gk.],
i.e. nobly born, are in some sort incapable, or void of natural affection.
IX.
Of Alexander the Platonic, not often nor without great necessity to
say,
or to write to any man in a letter, 'I am not at leisure'; nor in this manner
still to put off those duties, which we owe to our friends and acquaintances
(to every one in his kind) under pretence of urgent affairs.
X.
Of Catulus, not to contemn any friend's expostulation, though unjust,
but
to strive to reduce him to his former disposition: freely and heartily to speak
well of all my masters upon any occasion, as it is reported of Domitius, and
Athenodotus: and to love my children with true affection.
XI.
From my brother Severus, to be kind and loving to all them of my
house
and family; by whom also I came to the knowledge of Thrasea and Helvidius, and
Cato, and Dio, and Brutus. He it was also that did put me in the first conceit
and desire of an equal commonwealth, administered by justice and equality; and
of a kingdom wherein should be regarded nothing more than the good and welfare
of the subjects. Of him also, to observe a constant tenor, (not interrupted,
with any other cares and distractions,) in the study and esteem of philosophy:
to be bountiful and liberal in the largest measure; always to hope the best;
and to be confident that my friends love me. In whom I moreover observed open
dealing towards those whom he reproved at any time, and that his friends might
without all doubt or much observation know what he would, or would not, so open
and plain was he.
XII.
From Claudius Maximus, in all things to endeavour to have power
of
myself, and in nothing to be carried about; to be cheerful and courageous in
all sudden chances and accidents, as in sicknesses: to love mildness, and
moderation, and gravity: and to do my business, whatsoever it be, thoroughly,
and without querulousness. Whatsoever he said, all men believed him that as he
spake, so he thought, and whatsoever he did, that he did it with a good intent.
His manner was, never to wonder at anything; never to be in haste, and yet
never slow: nor to be perplexed, or dejected, or at any time unseemly, or
excessively to laugh: nor to be angry, or suspicious, but ever ready to do
good, and to forgive, and to speak truth; and all this, as one that seemed
rather of himself to have been straight and right, than ever to have been
rectified or redressed; neither was there any man that ever thought himself
undervalued by him, or that could find in his heart, to think himself a better
man than he. He would also be very pleasant and gracious.
XIII.
In my father, I observed his meekness; his constancy without
wavering
in those things, which after a due examination and deliberation, he had
determined. How free from all vanity he carried himself in matter of honour and
dignity, (as they are esteemed:) his laboriousness and assiduity, his readiness
to hear any man, that had aught to say tending to any common good: how generally
and impartially he would give every man his due; his skill and knowledge, when
rigour or extremity, or when remissness or moderation was in season; how he did
abstain from all unchaste love of youths; his moderate condescending to other
men's occasions as an ordinary man, neither absolutely requiring of his
friends, that they should wait upon him at his ordinary meals, nor that they
should of necessity accompany him in his journeys; and that whensoever any
business upon some necessary occasions was to be put off and omitted before it
could be ended, he was ever found when he went about it again, the same man
that he was before. His accurate examination of things in consultations, and
patient hearing of others. He would not hastily give over the search of the
matter, as one easy to be satisfied with sudden notions and apprehensions. His
care to preserve his friends; how neither at any time he would carry himself
towards them with disdainful neglect, and grow weary of them; nor yet at any
time be madly fond of them. His contented mind in all things, his cheerful
countenance, his care to foresee things afar off, and to take order for the
least, without any noise or clamour. Moreover how all acclamations and flattery
were repressed by him: how carefully he observed all things necessary to the
government, and kept an account of the common expenses, and how patiently he
did abide that he was reprehended by some for this his strict and rigid kind of
dealing. How he was neither a superstitious worshipper of the gods, nor an
ambitious pleaser of men, or studious of popular applause; but sober in all
things, and everywhere observant of that which was fitting; no affecter of
novelties: in those things which conduced to his ease and convenience, (plenty
whereof his fortune did afford him,) without pride and bragging, yet with all
freedom and liberty: so that as he did freely enjoy them without any anxiety or
affectation when they were present; so when absent, he found no want of them.
Moreover, that he was never commended by any man, as either a learned acute
man, or an obsequious officious man, or a fine orator; but as a ripe mature
man, a perfect sound man; one that could not endure to be flattered; able to
govern both himself and others. Moreover, how much he did honour all true
philosophers, without upbraiding those that were not so; his sociableness, his
gracious and delightful conversation, but never unto satiety; his care of his
body within bounds and measure, not as one that desired to live long, or
over-studious of neatness, and elegancy; and yet not as one that did not regard
it: so that through his own care and providence, he seldom needed any inward
physic, or outward applications: but especially how ingeniously he would yield
to any that had obtained any peculiar faculty, as either eloquence, or the
knowledge of the laws, or of ancient customs, or the like; and how he concurred
with them, in his best care and endeavour that every one of them might in his
kind, for that wherein he excelled, be regarded and esteemed: and although he
did all things carefully after the ancient customs of his forefathers, yet even
of this was he not desirous that men should take notice, that he did imitate
ancient customs. Again, how he was not easily moved and tossed up and down, but
loved to be constant, both in the same places and businesses; and how after his
great fits of headache he would return fresh and vigorous to his wonted
affairs. Again, that secrets he neither had many, nor often, and such only as
concerned public matters: his discretion and moderation, in exhibiting of the
public sights and shows for the pleasure and pastime of the people: in public
buildings. congiaries, and the like. In all these things, having a respect unto
men only as men, and to the equity of the things themselves, and not unto the
glory that might follow. Never wont to use the baths at unseasonable hours; no
builder; never curious, or solicitous, either about his meat, or about the
workmanship, or colour of his clothes, or about anything that belonged to
external beauty. In all his conversation, far from all inhumanity, all
boldness, and incivility, all greediness and impetuosity; never doing anything
with such earnestness, and intention, that a man could say of him, that he did
sweat about it: but contrariwise, all things distinctly, as at leisure; without
trouble; orderly, soundly, and agreeably. A man might have applied that to him,
which is recorded of Socrates, that he knew how to want, and to enjoy those
things, in the want whereof, most men show themselves weak; and in the
fruition, intemperate: but to hold out firm and constant, and to keep within
the compass of true moderation and sobriety in either estate, is proper to a
man, who hath a perfect and invincible soul; such as he showed himself in the
sickness of Maximus.
XIV.
From the gods I received that I had good grandfathers, and parents,
a
good sister, good masters, good domestics, loving kinsmen, almost all that I
have; and that I never through haste and rashness transgressed against any of
them, notwithstanding that my disposition was such, as that such a thing (if
occasion had been) might very well have been committed by me, but that It was
the mercy of the gods, to prevent such a concurring of matters and occasions,
as might make me to incur this blame. That I was not long brought up by the
concubine of my father; that I preserved the flower of my youth. That I took
not upon me to be a man before my time, but rather put it off longer than I
needed. That I lived under the government of my lord and father, who would take
away from me all pride and vainglory, and reduce me to that conceit and opinion
that it was not impossible for a prince to live in the court without a troop of
guards and followers, extraordinary apparel, such and such torches and statues,
and other like particulars of state and magnificence; but that a man may reduce
and contract himself almost to the state of a private man, and yet for all that
not to become the more base and remiss in those public matters and affairs,
wherein power and authority is requisite. That I have had such a brother, who
by his own example might stir me up to think of myself; and by his respect and
love, delight and please me. That I have got ingenuous children, and that they
were not born distorted, nor with any other natural deformity. That I was no
great proficient in the study of rhetoric and poetry, and of other faculties,
which perchance I might have dwelt upon, if I had found myself to go on in them
with success. That I did by times prefer those, by whom I was brought up, to
such places and dignities, which they seemed unto me most to desire; and that I
did not put them off with hope and expectation, that (since that they were yet
but young) I would do the same hereafter. That I ever knew Apollonius and
Rusticus, and Maximus. That I have had occasion often and effectually to
consider and meditate with myself, concerning that life which is according to
nature, what the nature and manner of it is: so that as for the gods and such
suggestions, helps and inspirations, as might be expected from them, nothing
did hinder, but that I might have begun long before to live according to
nature; or that even now that I was not yet partaker and in present possession
of that life, that I myself (in that I did not observe those inward motions,
and suggestions, yea and almost plain and apparent instructions and admonitions
of the gods,) was the only cause of it. That my body in such a life, hath been
able to hold out so long. That I never had to do with Benedicta and Theodotus,
yea and afterwards when I fell into some fits of love, I was soon cured. That
having been often displeased with Rusticus, I never did him anything for which
afterwards I had occasion to repent. That it being so that my mother was to die
young, yet she lived with me all her latter years. That as often as I had a
purpose to help and succour any that either were poor, or fallen into some
present necessity, I never was answered by my officers that there was not ready
money enough to do it; and that I myself never had occasion to require the like
succour from any other. That I have such a wife, so obedient, so loving, so
ingenuous. That I had choice of fit and able men, to whom I might commit the
bringing up of my children. That by dreams I have received help, as for other
things, so in particular, how I might stay my casting of blood, and cure my
dizziness, as that also that happened to thee in Cajeta, as unto Chryses when
he prayed by the seashore. And when I did first apply myself to philosophy,
that I did not fall into the hands of some sophists, or spent my time either in
reading the manifold volumes of ordinary philosophers, nor in practising myself
in the solution of arguments and fallacies, nor dwelt upon the studies of the
meteors, and other natural curiosities. All these things without the assistance
of the gods, and fortune, could not have been.
XV.
In the country of the Quadi at Granua, these. Betimes in the morning
say
to thyself, This day I shalt have to do with an idle curious man, with an
unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man; an unsociable
uncharitable man. All these ill qualities have happened unto them, through
ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I that understand the
nature of that which is good, that it only is to be desired, and of that which
is bad, that it only is truly odious and shameful: who know moreover, that this
transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed,
but by participation of the same reason, and of the same divine particle; How
can I either be hurt by any of those, since it is not in their power to make me
incur anything that is truly reproachful? or angry, and ill affected towards
him, who by nature is so near unto me? for we are all born to be
fellow-workers, as the feet, the hands, and the eyelids; as the rows of the
upper and under teeth: for such therefore to be in opposition, is against
nature; and what is it to chafe at, and to be averse from, but to be in
opposition?
XVI.
Whatsoever I am, is either flesh, or life, or that which we
commonly
call the mistress and overruling part of man; reason. Away with thy books,
suffer not thy mind any more to be distracted, and carried to and fro; for it
will not be; but as even now ready to die, think little of thy flesh: blood,
bones, and a skin; a pretty piece of knit and twisted work, consisting of
nerves, veins and arteries; think no more of it, than so. And as for thy life,
consider what it is; a wind; not one constant wind neither, but every moment of
an hour let out, and sucked in again. The third, is thy ruling part; and here
consider; Thou art an old man; suffer not that excellent part to be brought in
subjection, and to become slavish: suffer it not to be drawn up and down with
unreasonable and unsociable lusts and motions, as it were with wires and
nerves; suffer it not any more, either to repine at anything now present, or to
fear and fly anything to come, which the destiny hath appointed thee.
XVII.
Whatsoever proceeds from the gods immediately, that any man will
grant
totally depends from their divine providence. As for those things that are
commonly said to happen by fortune, even those must be conceived to have
dependence from nature, or from that first and general connection, and
concatenation of all those things, which more apparently by the divine
providence are administered and brought to pass. All things flow from thence:
and whatsoever it is that is, is both necessary, and conducing to the whole
(part of which thou art), and whatsoever it is that is requisite and necessary
for the preservation of the general, must of necessity for every particular
nature, be good and behoveful. And as for the whole, it is preserved, as by the
perpetual mutation and conversion of the simple elements one into another, so
also by the mutation, and alteration of things mixed and compounded. Let these
things suffice thee; let them be always unto thee, as thy general rules and
precepts. As for thy thirst after books, away with it with all speed, that thou
die not murmuring and complaining, but truly meek and well satisfied, and from
thy heart thankful unto the gods.
THE SECOND BOOK
I. Remember how
long thou hast already put off these things, and how
often
a certain day and hour as it were, having been set unto thee by the gods, thou
hast neglected it. It is high time for thee to understand the true nature both
of the world, whereof thou art a part; and of that Lord and Governor of the
world, from whom, as a channel from the spring, thou thyself didst flow: and
that there is but a certain limit of time appointed unto thee, which if thou
shalt not make use of to calm and allay the many distempers of thy soul, it
will pass away and thou with it, and never after return.
II.
Let it be thy earnest and incessant care as a Roman and a man to
perform
whatsoever it is that thou art about, with true and unfeigned gravity, natural
affection, freedom and justice: and as for all other cares, and imaginations,
how thou mayest ease thy mind of them. Which thou shalt do; if thou shalt go
about every action as thy last action, free from all vanity, all passionate and
wilful aberration from reason, and from all hypocrisy, and self-love, and
dislike of those things, which by the fates or appointment of God have happened
unto thee. Thou seest that those things, which for a man to hold on in a
prosperous course, and to live a divine life, are requisite and necessary, are
not many, for the gods will require no more of any man, that shall but keep and
observe these things.
III.
Do, soul, do; abuse and contemn thyself; yet a while and the time
for
thee to respect thyself, will be at an end. Every man's happiness depends from
himself, but behold thy life is almost at an end, whiles affording thyself no
respect, thou dost make thy happiness to consist in the souls, and conceits of
other men.
IV.
Why should any of these things that happen externally, so much
distract
thee? Give thyself leisure to learn some good thing, and cease roving and
wandering to and fro. Thou must also take heed of another kind of wandering,
for they are idle in their actions, who toil and labour in this life, and have
no certain scope to which to direct all their motions, and desires.
V.
For not observing the state of another man's soul, scarce was ever
any
man known to be unhappy. Tell whosoever they be that intend not, and guide not
by reason and discretion the motions of their own souls, they must of necessity
be unhappy.
VI.
These things thou must always have in mind: What is the nature
of
the universe, and what is mine—in particular: This unto that what relation it
hath: what kind of part, of what kind of universe it is: And that there is
nobody that can hinder thee, but that thou mayest always both do and speak
those things which are agreeable to that nature, whereof thou art a part.
VII.
Theophrastus, where he compares sin with sin (as after a vulgar
sense
such things I grant may be compared:) says well and like a philosopher, that
those sins are greater which are committed through lust, than those which are
committed through anger. For he that is angry seems with a kind of grief and
close contraction of himself, to turn away from reason; but he that sins
through lust, being overcome by pleasure, doth in his very sin bewray a more
impotent, and unmanlike disposition. Well then and like a philosopher doth he
say, that he of the two is the more to be condemned, that sins with pleasure,
than he that sins with grief. For indeed this latter may seem first to have
been wronged, and so in some manner through grief thereof to have been forced
to be angry, whereas he who through lust doth commit anything, did of himself
merely resolve upon that action.
VIII.
Whatsoever thou dost affect, whatsoever thou dost project, so do,
and
so project all, as one who, for aught thou knowest, may at this very present
depart out of this life. And as for death, if there be any gods, it is no
grievous thing to leave the society of men. The gods will do thee no hurt, thou
mayest be sure. But if it be so that there be no gods, or that they take no
care of the world, why should I desire to live in a world void of gods, and of
all divine providence? But gods there be certainly, and they take care for the
world; and as for those things which be truly evil, as vice and wickedness,
such things they have put in a man's own power, that he might avoid them if he
would: and had there been anything besides that had been truly bad and evil,
they would have had a care of that also, that a man might have avoided it. But
why should that be thought to hurt and prejudice a man's life in this world,
which cannot any ways make man himself the better, or the worse in his own
person? Neither must we think that the nature of the universe did either
through ignorance pass these things, or if not as ignorant of them, yet as
unable either to prevent, or better to order and dispose them. It cannot be
that she through want either of power or skill, should have committed such a
thing, so as to suffer all things both good and bad, equally and promiscuously,
to happen unto all both good and bad. As for life therefore, and death, honour
and dishonour, labour and pleasure, riches and poverty, all these things happen
unto men indeed, both good and bad, equally; but as things which of themselves
are neither good nor bad; because of themselves, neither shameful nor
praiseworthy.
IX.
Consider how quickly all things are dissolved and resolved: the
bodies
and substances themselves, into the matter and substance of the world: and
their memories into the general age and time of the world. Consider the nature
of all worldly sensible things; of those especially, which either ensnare by
pleasure, or for their irksomeness are dreadful, or for their outward lustre
and show are in great esteem and request, how vile and contemptible, how base
and corruptible, how destitute of all true life and being they are.
X.
It is the part of a man endowed with a good understanding faculty, to
consider
what they themselves are in very deed, from whose bare conceits and voices,
honour and credit do proceed: as also what it is to die, and how if a man shall
consider this by itself alone, to die, and separate from it in his mind all
those things which with it usually represent themselves unto us, he can
conceive of it no otherwise, than as of a work of nature, and he that fears any
work of nature, is a very child. Now death, it is not only a work of nature,
but also conducing to nature.
XI.
Consider with thyself how man, and by what part of his, is joined
unto
God, and how that part of man is affected, when it is said to be diffused.
There is nothing more wretched than that soul, which in a kind of circuit
compasseth all things, searching (as he saith) even the very depths of the
earth; and by all signs and conjectures prying into the very thoughts of other
men's souls; and yet of this, is not sensible, that it is sufficient for a man
to apply himself wholly, and to confine all his thoughts and cares to the
tendance of that spirit which is within him, and truly and really to serve him.
His service doth consist in this, that a man keep himself pure from all violent
passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all manner of
discontent, either in regard of the gods or men. For indeed whatsoever proceeds
from the gods, deserves respect for their worth and excellency; and whatsoever
proceeds from men, as they are our kinsmen, should by us be entertained, with
love, always; sometimes, as proceeding from their ignorance, of that which is
truly good and bad, (a blindness no less, than that by which we are not able to
discern between white and black:) with a kind of pity and compassion also.
XII.
If thou shouldst live three thousand, or as many as ten thousands
of
years, yet remember this, that man can part with no life properly, save with
that little part of life, which he now lives: and that which he lives, is no
other, than that which at every instant he parts with. That then which is
longest of duration, and that which is shortest, come both to one effect. For
although in regard of that which is already past there may be some inequality,
yet that time which is now present and in being, is equal unto all men. And
that being it which we part with whensoever we die, it doth manifestly appear,
that it can be but a moment of time, that we then part with. For as for that
which is either past or to come, a man cannot be said properly to part with it.
For how should a man part with that which he hath not? These two things
therefore thou must remember. First, that all things in the world from all
eternity, by a perpetual revolution of the same times and things ever continued
and renewed, are of one kind and nature; so that whether for a hundred or two
hundred years only, or for an infinite space of time, a man see those things
which are still the same, it can be no matter of great moment. And secondly,
that that life which any the longest liver, or the shortest liver parts with,
is for length and duration the very same, for that only which is present, is
that, which either of them can lose, as being that only which they have; for
that which he hath not, no man can truly be said to lose.
XIII.
Remember that all is but opinion and conceit, for those things
are
plain and apparent, which were spoken unto Monimus the Cynic; and as plain and
apparent is the use that may be made of those things, if that which is true and
serious in them, be received as well as that which is sweet and pleasing.
XIV.
A man's soul doth wrong and disrespect itself first and especially,
when
as much as in itself lies it becomes an aposteme, and as it were an excrescency
of the world, for to be grieved and displeased with anything that happens in
the world, is direct apostacy from the nature of the universe; part of which,
all particular natures of the world, are. Secondly, when she either is averse
from any man, or led by contrary desires or affections, tending to his hurt and
prejudice; such as are the souls of them that are angry. Thirdly, when she is
overcome by any pleasure or pain. Fourthly, when she doth dissemble, and
covertly and falsely either doth or saith anything. Fifthly, when she doth
either affect or endeavour anything to no certain end, but rashly and without
due ratiocination and consideration, how consequent or inconsequent it is to
the common end. For even the least things ought not to be done, without
relation unto the end; and the end of the reasonable creatures is, to follow
and obey him, who is the reason as it were, and the law of this great city, and
ancient commonwealth.
XV.
The time of a man's life is as a point; the substance of it ever
flowing,
the sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body tending to corruption.
His soul is restless, fortune uncertain, and fame doubtful; to be brief, as a
stream so are all things belonging to the body; as a dream, or as a smoke, so
are all that belong unto the soul. Our life is a warfare, and a mere
pilgrimage. Fame after life is no better than oblivion. What is it then that
will adhere and follow? Only one thing, philosophy. And philosophy doth consist
in this, for a man to preserve that spirit which is within him, from all manner
of contumelies and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to do
anything either rashly, or feignedly, or hypocritically: wholly to depend from
himself and his own proper actions: all things that happen unto him to embrace
contentedly, as coming from Him from whom he himself also came; and above all
things, with all meekness and a calm cheerfulness, to expect death, as being
nothing else but the resolution of those elements, of which every creature is
composed. And if the elements themselves suffer nothing by this their perpetual
conversion of one into another, that dissolution, and alteration, which is so
common unto all, why should it be feared by any? Is not this according to
nature? But nothing that is according to nature can be evil, whilst I was at
Carnuntzim.
THE THIRD BOOK
I. A man must not
only consider how daily his life wasteth and
decreaseth,
but this also, that if he live long, he cannot be certain, whether his
understanding shall continue so able and sufficient, for either discreet
consideration, in matter of businesses; or for contemplation: it being the
thing, whereon true knowledge of things both divine and human, doth depend. For
if once he shall begin to dote, his respiration, nutrition, his imaginative,
and appetitive, and other natural faculties, may still continue the same: he
shall find no want of them. But how to make that right use of himself that he
should, how to observe exactly in all things that which is right and just, how
to redress and rectify all wrong, or sudden apprehensions and imaginations, and
even of this particular, whether he should live any longer or no, to consider
duly; for all such things, wherein the best strength and vigour of the mind is
most requisite; his power and ability will be past and gone. Thou must hasten
therefore; not only because thou art every day nearer unto death than other,
but also because that intellective faculty in thee, whereby thou art enabled to
know the true nature of things, and to order all thy actions by that knowledge,
doth daily waste and decay: or, may fail thee before thou die.
II.
This also thou must observe, that whatsoever it is that naturally
doth
happen to things natural, hath somewhat in itself that is pleasing and
delightful: as a great loaf when it is baked, some parts of it cleave as it
were, and part asunder, and make the crust of it rugged and unequal, and yet
those parts of it, though in some sort it be against the art and intention of
baking itself, that they are thus cleft and parted, which should have been and
were first made all even and uniform, they become it well nevertheless, and
have a certain peculiar property, to stir the appetite. So figs are accounted
fairest and ripest then, when they begin to shrink, and wither as it were. So
ripe olives, when they are next to putrefaction, then are they in their proper
beauty. The hanging down of grapes—the brow of a lion, the froth of a foaming
wild boar, and many other like things, though by themselves considered, they
are far from any beauty, yet because they happen naturally, they both are
comely, and delightful; so that if a man shall with a profound mind and
apprehension, consider all things in the world, even among all those things
which are but mere accessories and natural appendices as it were, there will
scarce appear anything unto him, wherein he will not find matter of pleasure
and delight. So will he behold with as much pleasure the true rictus of wild
beasts, as those which by skilful painters and other artificers are imitated.
So will he be able to perceive the proper ripeness and beauty of old age,
whether in man or woman: and whatsoever else it is that is beautiful and
alluring in whatsoever is, with chaste and continent eyes he will soon find out
and discern. Those and many other things will he discern, not credible unto
every one, but unto them only who are truly and familiarly acquainted, both
with nature itself, and all natural things.
III.
Hippocrates having cured many sicknesses, fell sick himself and
died.
The Chaldeans and Astrologians having foretold the deaths of divers, were
afterwards themselves surprised by the fates. Alexander and Pompeius, and Caius
Caesar, having destroyed so many towns, and cut off in the field so many
thousands both of horse and foot, yet they themselves at last were fain to part
with their own lives. Heraclitus having written so many natural tracts
concerning the last and general conflagration of the world, died afterwards all
filled with water within, and all bedaubed with dirt and dung without. Lice
killed Democritus; and Socrates, another sort of vermin, wicked ungodly men.
How then stands the case? Thou hast taken ship, thou hast sailed, thou art come
to land, go out, if to another life, there also shalt thou find gods, who are
everywhere. If all life and sense shall cease, then shalt thou cease also to be
subject to either pains or pleasures; and to serve and tend this vile cottage;
so much the viler, by how much that which ministers unto it doth excel; the one
being a rational substance, and a spirit, the other nothing but earth and
blood.
IV.
Spend not the remnant of thy days in thoughts and fancies concerning
other
men, when it is not in relation to some common good, when by it thou art
hindered from some other better work. That is, spend not thy time in thinking,
what such a man doth, and to what end: what he saith, and what he thinks, and
what he is about, and such other things or curiosities, which make a man to
rove and wander from the care and observation of that part of himself, which is
rational, and overruling. See therefore in the whole series and connection of
thy thoughts, that thou be careful to prevent whatsoever is idle and
impertinent: but especially, whatsoever is curious and malicious: and thou must
use thyself to think only of such things, of which if a man upon a sudden should
ask thee, what it is that thou art now thinking, thou mayest answer This, and
That, freely and boldly, that so by thy thoughts it may presently appear that
in all thee is sincere, and peaceable; as becometh one that is made for
society, and regards not pleasures, nor gives way to any voluptuous
imaginations at all: free from all contentiousness, envy, and suspicion, and
from whatsoever else thou wouldest blush to confess thy thoughts were set upon.
He that is such, is he surely that doth not put off to lay hold on that which
is best indeed, a very priest and minister of the gods, well acquainted and in
good correspondence with him especially that is seated and placed within
himself, as in a temple and sacrary: to whom also he keeps and preserves himself
unspotted by pleasure, undaunted by pain; free from any manner of wrong, or
contumely, by himself offered unto himself: not capable of any evil from
others: a wrestler of the best sort, and for the highest prize, that he may not
be cast down by any passion or affection of his own; deeply dyed and drenched
in righteousness, embracing and accepting with his whole heart whatsoever
either happeneth or is allotted unto him. One who not often, nor without some
great necessity tending to some public good, mindeth what any other, either
speaks, or doth, or purposeth: for those things only that are in his own power,
or that are truly his own, are the objects of his employments, and his thoughts
are ever taken up with those things, which of the whole universe are by the
fates or Providence destinated and appropriated unto himself. Those things that
are his own, and in his own power, he himself takes order, for that they be
good: and as for those that happen unto him, he believes them to be so. For
that lot and portion which is assigned to every one, as it is unavoidable and
necessary, so is it always profitable. He remembers besides that whatsoever
partakes of reason, is akin unto him, and that to care for all men generally,
is agreeing to the nature of a man: but as for honour and praise, that they
ought not generally to be admitted and accepted of from all, but from such
only, who live according to nature. As for them that do not, what manner of men
they be at home, or abroad; day or night, how conditioned themselves with what
manner of conditions, or with men of what conditions they moil and pass away
the time together, he knoweth, and remembers right well, he therefore regards
not such praise and approbation, as proceeding from them, who cannot like and
approve themselves.
V.
Do nothing against thy will, nor contrary to the community, nor
without
due examination, nor with reluctancy. Affect not to set out thy thoughts with
curious neat language. Be neither a great talker, nor a great undertaker.
Moreover, let thy God that is in thee to rule over thee, find by thee, that he
hath to do with a man; an aged man; a sociable man; a Roman; a prince; one that
hath ordered his life, as one that expecteth, as it were, nothing but the sound
of the trumpet, sounding a retreat to depart out of this life with all
expedition. One who for his word or actions neither needs an oath, nor any man
to be a witness.
VI.
To be cheerful, and to stand in no need, either of other men's help
or
attendance, or of that rest and tranquillity, which thou must be beholding to
others for. Rather like one that is straight of himself, or hath ever been
straight, than one that hath been rectified.
VII.
If thou shalt find anything in this mortal life better than
righteousness,
than truth, temperance, fortitude, and in general better than a mind contented
both with those things which according to right and reason she doth, and in
those, which without her will and knowledge happen unto thee by the providence;
if I say, thou canst find out anything better than this, apply thyself unto it
with thy whole heart, and that which is best wheresoever thou dost find it,
enjoy freely. But if nothing thou shalt find worthy to be preferred to that
spirit which is within thee; if nothing better than to subject unto thee thine
own lusts and desires, and not to give way to any fancies or imaginations
before thou hast duly considered of them, nothing better than to withdraw
thyself (to use Socrates his words) from all sensuality, and submit thyself
unto the gods, and to have care of all men in general: if thou shalt find that
all other things in comparison of this, are but vile, and of little moment;
then give not way to any other thing, which being once though but affected and
inclined unto, it will no more be in thy power without all distraction as thou
oughtest to prefer and to pursue after that good, which is thine own and thy
proper good. For it is not lawful, that anything that is of another and
inferior kind and nature, be it what it will, as either popular applause, or
honour, or riches, or pleasures; should be suffered to confront and contest as
it were, with that which is rational, and operatively good. For all these
things, if once though but for a while, they begin to please, they presently
prevail, and pervert a man's mind, or turn a man from the right way. Do thou
therefore I say absolutely and freely make choice of that which is best, and
stick unto it. Now, that they say is best, which is most profitable. If they
mean profitable to man as he is a rational man, stand thou to it, and maintain
it; but if they mean profitable, as he is a creature, only reject it; and from
this thy tenet and conclusion keep off carefully all plausible shows and
colours of external appearance, that thou mayest be able to discern things
rightly.
VIII.
Never esteem of anything as profitable, which shall ever constrain
thee
either to break thy faith, or to lose thy modesty; to hate any man, to suspect,
to curse, to dissemble, to lust after anything, that requireth the secret of
walls or veils. But he that preferreth before all things his rational part and
spirit, and the sacred mysteries of virtue which issueth from it, he shall
never lament and exclaim, never sigh; he shall never want either solitude or
company: and which is chiefest of all, he shall live without either desire or
fear. And as for life, whether for a long or short time he shall enjoy his soul
thus compassed about with a body, he is altogether indifferent. For if even now
he were to depart, he is as ready for it, as for any other action, which may be
performed with modesty and decency. For all his life long, this is his only
care, that his mind may always be occupied in such intentions and objects, as
are proper to a rational sociable creature.
IX.
In the mind that is once truly disciplined and purged, thou canst
not
find anything, either foul or impure, or as it were festered: nothing that is
either servile, or affected: no partial tie; no malicious averseness; nothing
obnoxious; nothing concealed. The life of such an one, death can never surprise
as imperfect; as of an actor, that should die before he had ended, or the play
itself were at an end, a man might speak.
X.
Use thine opinative faculty with all honour and respect, for in
her
indeed is all: that thy opinion do not beget in thy understanding anything
contrary to either nature, or the proper constitution of a rational creature.
The end and object of a rational constitution is, to do nothing rashly, to be
kindly affected towards men, and in all things willingly to submit unto the
gods. Casting therefore all other things aside, keep thyself to these few, and
remember withal that no man properly can be said to live more than that which
is now present, which is but a moment of time. Whatsoever is besides either is
already past, or uncertain. The time therefore that any man doth live, is but a
little, and the place where he liveth, is but a very little corner of the
earth, and the greatest fame that can remain of a man after his death, even
that is but little, and that too, such as it is whilst it is, is by the
succession of silly mortal men preserved, who likewise shall shortly die, and
even whiles they live know not what in very deed they themselves are: and much
less can know one, who long before is dead and gone.
XI.
To these ever-present helps and mementoes, let one more be added,
ever
to make a particular description and delineation as it were of every object
that presents itself to thy mind, that thou mayest wholly and throughly
contemplate it, in its own proper nature, bare and naked; wholly, and
severally; divided into its several parts and quarters: and then by thyself in
thy mind, to call both it, and those things of which it doth consist, and in
which it shall be resolved, by their own proper true names, and appellations.
For there is nothing so effectual to beget true magnanimity, as to be able
truly and methodically to examine and consider all things that happen in this
life, and so to penetrate into their natures, that at the same time, this also
may concur in our apprehensions: what is the true use of it? and what is the
true nature of this universe, to which it is useful? how much in regard of the
universe may it be esteemed? how much in regard of man, a citizen of the
supreme city, of which all other cities in the world are as it were but houses
and families?
XII.
What is this, that now my fancy is set upon? of what things doth
it
consist? how long can it last? which of all the virtues is the proper virtue
for this present use? as whether meekness, fortitude, truth, faith, sincerity,
contentation, or any of the rest? Of everything therefore thou must use thyself
to say, This immediately comes from God, this by that fatal connection, and
concatenation of things, or (which almost comes to one) by some coincidental
casualty. And as for this, it proceeds from my neighbour, my kinsman, my
fellow: through his ignorance indeed, because he knows not what is truly
natural unto him: but I know it, and therefore carry myself towards him
according to the natural law of fellowship; that is kindly, and justly. As for
those things that of themselves are altogether indifferent, as in my best
judgment I conceive everything to deserve more or less, so I carry myself
towards it.
XIII.
If thou shalt intend that which is present, following the rule of
right
and reason carefully, solidly, meekly, and shalt not intermix any other
businesses, but shall study this only to preserve thy spirit unpolluted, and
pure, and shall cleave unto him without either hope or fear of anything, in all
things that thou shalt either do or speak, contenting thyself with heroical
truth, thou shalt live happily; and from this, there is no man that can hinder
thee.
XIV.
As physicians and chirurgeons have always their instruments ready
at
hand for all sudden cures; so have thou always thy dogmata in a readiness for
the knowledge of things, both divine and human: and whatsoever thou dost, even
in the smallest things that thou dost, thou must ever remember that mutual
relation, and connection that is between these two things divine, and things
human. For without relation unto God, thou shalt never speed in any worldly
actions; nor on the other side in any divine, without some respect had to
things human.
XV.
Be not deceived; for thou shalt never live to read thy moral
commentaries,
nor the acts of the famous Romans and Grecians; nor those excerpta from several
books; all which thou hadst provided and laid up for thyself against thine old
age. Hasten therefore to an end, and giving over all vain hopes, help thyself
in time if thou carest for thyself, as thou oughtest to do.
XVI.
To steal, to sow, to buy, to be at rest, to see what is to be done
(which
is not seen by the eyes, but by another kind of sight:) what these words mean,
and how many ways to be understood, they do not understand. The body, the soul,
the understanding. As the senses naturally belong to the body, and the desires
and affections to the soul, so do the dogmata to the understanding.
XVII.
To be capable of fancies and imaginations, is common to man and
beast.
To be violently drawn and moved by the lusts and desires of the soul, is proper
to wild beasts and monsters, such as Phalaris and Nero were. To follow reason
for ordinary duties and actions is common to them also, who believe not that
there be any gods, and for their advantage would make no conscience to betray
their own country; and who when once the doors be shut upon them, dare do
anything. If therefore all things else be common to these likewise, it follows,
that for a man to like and embrace all things that happen and are destinated
unto him, and not to trouble and molest that spirit which is seated in the
temple of his own breast, with a multitude of vain fancies and imaginations,
but to keep him propitious and to obey him as a god, never either speaking
anything contrary to truth, or doing anything contrary to justice, is the only
true property of a good man. And such a one, though no man should believe that he
liveth as he doth, either sincerely and conscionably, or cheerful and
contentedly; yet is he neither with any man at all angry for it, nor diverted
by it from the way that leadeth to the end of his life, through which a man
must pass pure, ever ready to depart, and willing of himself without any
compulsion to fit and accommodate himself to his proper lot and portion.
THE FOURTH BOOK
I. That inward
mistress part of man if it be in its own true natural
temper,
is towards all worldly chances and events ever so disposed and affected, that
it will easily turn and apply itself to that which may be, and is within its
own power to compass, when that cannot be which at first it intended. For it
never doth absolutely addict and apply itself to any one object, but whatsoever
it is that it doth now intend and prosecute, it doth prosecute it with
exception and reservation; so that whatsoever it is that falls out contrary to
its first intentions, even that afterwards it makes its proper object. Even as
the fire when it prevails upon those things that are in his way; by which
things indeed a little fire would have been quenched, but a great fire doth
soon turn to its own nature, and so consume whatsoever comes in his way: yea by
those very things it is made greater and greater.
II.
Let nothing be done rashly, and at random, but all things according
to
the most exact and perfect rules of art.
III.
They seek for themselves private retiring
places,
as country villages, the sea-shore, mountains; yea thou thyself art wont to
long much after such places. But all this thou must know proceeds from
simplicity in the highest degree. At what time soever thou wilt, it is in thy
power to retire into thyself, and to be at rest, and free from all businesses.
A man cannot any whither retire better than to his own soul; he especially who
is beforehand provided of such things within, which whensoever he doth withdraw
himself to look in, may presently afford unto him perfect ease and
tranquillity. By tranquillity I understand a decent orderly disposition and
carriage, free from all confusion and tumultuousness. Afford then thyself this
retiring continually, and thereby refresh and renew thyself. Let these precepts
be brief and fundamental, which as soon as thou dost call them to mind, may
suffice thee to purge thy soul throughly, and to send thee away well pleased
with those things whatsoever they be, which now again after this short
withdrawing of thy soul into herself thou dost return unto. For what is it that
thou art offended at? Can it be at the wickedness of men, when thou dost call
to mind this conclusion, that all reasonable creatures are made one for
another? and that it is part of justice to bear with them? and that it is
against their wills that they offend? and how many already, who once likewise
prosecuted their enmities, suspected, hated, and fiercely contended, are now
long ago stretched out, and reduced unto ashes? It is time for thee to make an
end. As for those things which among the common chances of the world happen
unto thee as thy particular lot and portion, canst thou be displeased with any
of them, when thou dost call that our ordinary dilemma to mind, either a
providence, or Democritus his atoms; and with it, whatsoever we brought to
prove that the whole world is as it were one city? And as for thy body, what
canst thou fear, if thou dost consider that thy mind and understanding, when
once it hath recollected itself, and knows its own power, hath in this life and
breath (whether it run smoothly and gently, or whether harshly and rudely), no
interest at all, but is altogether indifferent: and whatsoever else thou hast
heard and assented unto concerning either pain or pleasure? But the care of
thine honour and reputation will perchance distract thee? How can that be, if
thou dost look back, and consider both how quickly all things that are, are
forgotten, and what an immense chaos of eternity was before, and will follow
after all things: and the vanity of praise, and the inconstancy and
variableness of human judgments and opinions, and the narrowness of the place,
wherein it is limited and circumscribed? For the whole earth is but as one
point; and of it, this inhabited part of it, is but a very little part; and of
this part, how many in number, and what manner of men are they, that will
commend thee? What remains then, but that thou often put in practice this kind
of retiring of thyself, to this little part of thyself; and above all things,
keep thyself from distraction, and intend not anything vehemently, but be free
and consider all things, as a man whose proper object is Virtue, as a man whose
true nature is to be kind and sociable, as a citizen, as a mortal creature.
Among other things, which to consider, and look into thou must use to withdraw
thyself, let those two be among the most obvious and at hand. One, that the
things or objects themselves reach not unto the soul, but stand without still
and quiet, and that it is from the opinion only which is within, that all the
tumult and all the trouble doth proceed. The next, that all these things, which
now thou seest, shall within a very little while be changed, and be no more:
and ever call to mind, how many changes and alterations in the world thou
thyself hast already been an eyewitness of in thy time. This world is mere
change, and this life, opinion.
IV.
If to understand and to be reasonable be common unto all men, then
is
that reason, for which we are termed reasonable, common unto all. If reason is
general, then is that reason also, which prescribeth what is to be done and
what not, common unto all. If that, then law. If law, then are we
fellow-citizens. If so, then are we partners in some one commonweal. If so,
then the world is as it were a city. For which other commonweal is it, that all
men can be said to be members of? From this common city it is, that
understanding, reason, and law is derived unto us, for from whence else? For as
that which in me is earthly I have from some common earth; and that which is
moist from some other element is imparted; as my breath and life hath its
proper fountain; and that likewise which is dry and fiery in me: (for there is
nothing which doth not proceed from something; as also there is nothing that
can be reduced unto mere nothing:) so also is there some common beginning from
whence my understanding hath proceeded.
V.
As generation is, so also death, a secret of nature's wisdom: a
mixture
of elements, resolved into the same elements again, a thing surely which no man
ought to be ashamed of: in a series of other fatal events and consequences,
which a rational creature is subject unto, not improper or incongruous, nor
contrary to the natural and proper constitution of man himself.
VI.
Such and such things, from such and such causes, must of necessity
proceed.
He that would not have such things to happen, is as he that would have the
fig-tree grow without any sap or moisture. In sum, remember this, that within a
very little while, both thou and he shall both be dead, and after a little
while more, not so much as your names and memories shall be remaining.
VII.
Let opinion be taken away, and no man will think himself wronged.
If
no man shall think himself wronged, then is there no more any such thing as
wrong. That which makes not man himself the worse, cannot make his life the
worse, neither can it hurt him either inwardly or outwardly. It was expedient
in nature that it should be so, and therefore necessary.
VIII.
Whatsoever doth happen in the world, doth happen justly, and so if
thou
dost well take heed, thou shalt find it. I say not only in right order by a
series of inevitable consequences, but according to justice and as it were by
way of equal distribution, according to the true worth of everything. Continue
then to take notice of it, as thou hast begun, and whatsoever thou dost, do it
not without this proviso, that it be a thing of that nature that a good man (as
the word good is properly taken) may do it. This observe carefully in every
action.
IX.
Conceit no such things, as he that wrongeth thee conceiveth,
or
would have thee to conceive, but look into the matter itself, and see what it
is in very truth.
X.
These two rules, thou must have always in a readiness. First, do
nothing
at all, but what reason proceeding from that regal and supreme part, shall for
the good and benefit of men, suggest unto thee. And secondly, if any man that
is present shall be able to rectify thee or to turn thee from some erroneous
persuasion, that thou be always ready to change thy mind, and this change to
proceed, not from any respect of any pleasure or credit thereon depending, but
always from some probable apparent ground of justice, or of some public good
thereby to be furthered; or from some other such inducement.
XI.
Hast thou reason? I have. Why then makest thou not use of it? For if
thy
reason do her part, what more canst thou require?
XII.
As a part hitherto thou hast had a particular subsistence: and now
shalt
thou vanish away into the common substance of Him, who first begot thee, or
rather thou shalt be resumed again into that original rational substance, out
of which all others have issued, and are propagated. Many small pieces of
frankincense are set upon the same altar, one drops first and is consumed,
another after; and it comes all to one.
XIII.
Within ten days, if so happen, thou shalt be esteemed a god of
them,
who now if thou shalt return to the dogmata and to the honouring of reason,
will esteem of thee no better than of a mere brute, and of an ape.
XIV.
Not as though thou hadst thousands of years to live. Death hangs
over
thee: whilst yet thou livest, whilst thou mayest, be good.
XV.
Now much time and leisure doth he gain, who is not curious to know
what
his neighbour hath said, or hath done, or hath attempted, but only what he doth
himself, that it may be just and holy? or to express it in Agathos' words, Not
to look about upon the evil conditions of others, but to run on straight in the
line, without any loose and extravagant agitation.
XVI.
He who is greedy of credit and reputation after his death, doth
not
consider, that they themselves by whom he is remembered, shall soon after every
one of them be dead; and they likewise that succeed those; until at last all
memory, which hitherto by the succession of men admiring and soon after dying
hath had its course, be quite extinct. But suppose that both they that shall
remember thee, and thy memory with them should be immortal, what is that to
thee? I will not say to thee after thou art dead; but even to thee living, what
is thy praise? But only for a secret and politic consideration, which we call
oikonomian or dispensation. For as for that, that it is the gift of nature,
whatsoever is commended in thee, what might be objected from thence, let that
now that we are upon another consideration be omitted as unseasonable. That
which is fair and goodly, whatsoever it be, and in what respect soever it be,
that it is fair and goodly, it is so of itself, and terminates in itself, not
admitting praise as a part or member: that therefore which is praised, is not
thereby made either better or worse. This I understand even of those things,
that are commonly called fair and good, as those which are commended either for
the matter itself, or for curious workmanship. As for that which is truly good,
what can it stand in need of more than either justice or truth; or more than
either kindness and modesty? Which of all those, either becomes good or fair,
because commended; or dispraised suffers any damage? Doth the emerald become
worse in itself, or more vile if it be not commended? Doth gold, or ivory, or
purple? Is there anything that doth though never so common, as a knife, a
flower, or a tree?
XVII.
If so be that the souls remain after death (say they that will not
believe
it); how is the air from all eternity able to contain them? How is the earth
(say I) ever from that time able to Contain the bodies of them that are buried?
For as here the change and resolution of dead bodies into another kind of
subsistence (whatsoever it be;) makes place for other dead bodies: so the souls
after death transferred into the air, after they have conversed there a while,
are either by way of transmutation, or transfusion, or conflagration, received
again into that original rational substance, from which all others do proceed:
and so give way to those souls, who before coupled and associated unto bodies,
now begin to subsist single. This, upon a supposition that the souls after
death do for a while subsist single, may be answered. And here, (besides the
number of bodies, so buried and contained by the earth), we may further
consider the number of several beasts, eaten by us men, and by other creatures.
For notwithstanding that such a multitude of them is daily consumed, and as it
were buried in the bodies of the eaters, yet is the same place and body able to
contain them, by reason of their conversion, partly into blood, partly into air
and fire. What in these things is the speculation of truth? to divide things into
that which is passive and material; and that which is active and formal.
XVIII.
Not to wander out of the way, but upon every motion and desire,
to
perform that which is just: and ever to be careful to attain to the true
natural apprehension of every fancy, that presents itself.
XIX.
Whatsoever is expedient unto thee, O World, is expedient unto me;
nothing
can either be 'unseasonable unto me, or out of date, which unto thee is
seasonable. Whatsoever thy seasons bear, shall ever by me be esteemed as happy
fruit, and increase. O Nature! from thee are all things, in thee all things
subsist, and to thee all tend. Could he say of Athens, Thou lovely city of
Cecrops; and shalt not thou say of the world, Thou lovely city of God?
XX.
They will say commonly, Meddle not with many things, if thou wilt
live
cheerfully. Certainly there is nothing better, than for a man to confine
himself to necessary actions; to such and so many only, as reason in a creature
that knows itself born for society, will command and enjoin. This will not only
procure that cheerfulness, which from the goodness, but that also, which from
the paucity of actions doth usually proceed. For since it is so, that most of
those things, which we either speak or do, are unnecessary; if a man shall cut
them off, it must needs follow that he shall thereby gain much leisure, and
save much trouble, and therefore at every action a man must privately by way of
admonition suggest unto himself, What? may not this that now I go about, be of
the number of unnecessary actions? Neither must he use himself to cut off
actions only, but thoughts and imaginations also, that are unnecessary for so
will unnecessary consequent actions the better be prevented and cut off.
XXI.
Try also how a good man's life; (of one, who is well pleased with
those
things whatsoever, which among the common changes and chances of this world
fall to his own lot and share; and can live well contented and fully satisfied
in the justice of his own proper present action, and in the goodness of his
disposition for the future:) will agree with thee. Thou hast had experience of
that other kind of life: make now trial of this also. Trouble not thyself any
more henceforth, reduce thyself unto perfect simplicity. Doth any man offend?
It is against himself that he doth offend: why should it trouble thee? Hath
anything happened unto thee? It is well, whatsoever it be, it is that which of
all the common chances of the world from the very beginning in the series of
all other things that have, or shall happen, was destinated and appointed unto
thee. To comprehend all in a few words, our life is short; we must endeavour to
gain the present time with best discretion and justice. Use recreation with
sobriety.
XXII.
Either this world is a kosmoz or comely piece, because all
disposed
and governed by certain order: or if it be a mixture, though confused, yet
still it is a comely piece. For is it possible that in thee there should be any
beauty at all, and that in the whole world there should be nothing but disorder
and confusion? and all things in it too, by natural different properties one
from another differenced and distinguished; and yet all through diffused, and
by natural sympathy, one to another united, as they are?
XXIII.
A black or malign disposition, an effeminate disposition; an
hard
inexorable disposition, a wild inhuman disposition, a sheepish disposition, a
childish disposition; a blockish, a false, a scurril, a fraudulent, a
tyrannical: what then? If he be a stranger in the world, that knows not the
things that are in it; why not be a stranger as well, that wonders at the
things that are done in it?
XXIV.
He is a true fugitive, that flies from reason, by which men are
sociable.
He blind, who cannot see with the eyes of his understanding. He poor, that
stands in need of another, and hath not in himself all things needful for this
life. He an aposteme of the world, who by being discontented with those things
that happen unto him in the world, doth as it were apostatise, and separate
himself from common nature's rational administration. For the same nature it is
that brings this unto thee, whatsoever it be, that first brought thee into the
world. He raises sedition in the city, who by irrational actions withdraws his
own soul from that one and common soul of all rational creatures.
XXV.
There is, who without so much as a coat; and there is, who without
so
much as a book, doth put philosophy in practice. I am half naked, neither have
I bread to eat, and yet I depart not from reason, saith one. But I say; I want
the food of good teaching, and instructions, and yet I depart not from reason.
XXVI.
What art and profession soever thou hast learned, endeavour to
affect
it, and comfort thyself in it; and pass the remainder of thy life as one who
from his whole heart commits himself and whatsoever belongs unto him, unto the
gods: and as for men, carry not thyself either tyrannically or servilely
towards any.
XXVII.
Consider in my mind, for example's sake, the times of Vespasian:
thou
shalt see but the same things: some marrying, some bringing up children, some
sick, some dying, some fighting, some feasting, some merchandising, some
tilling, some flattering, some boasting, some suspecting, some undermining,
some wishing to die, some fretting and murmuring at their present estate, some
wooing, some hoarding, some seeking after magistracies, and some after
kingdoms. And is not that their age quite over, and ended? Again, consider now
the times of Trajan. There likewise thou seest the very self-same things, and
that age also is now over and ended. In the like manner consider other periods,
both of times and of whole nations, and see how many men, after they had with
all their might and main intended and prosecuted some one worldly thing or
other did soon after drop away, and were resolved into the elements. But
especially thou must call to mind them, whom thou thyself in thy lifetime hast
known much distracted about vain things, and in the meantime neglecting to do
that, and closely and unseparably (as fully satisfied with it) to adhere unto
it, which their own proper constitution did require. And here thou must
remember, that thy carriage in every business must be according to the worth
and due proportion of it, for so shalt thou not easily be tired out and vexed,
if thou shalt not dwell upon small matters longer than is fitting.
XXVIII.
Those words which once were common and ordinary, are now become
obscure
and obsolete; and so the names of men once commonly known and famous, are now
become in a manner obscure and obsolete names. Camillus, Cieso, Volesius,
Leonnatus; not long after, Scipio, Cato, then Augustus, then Adrianus, then
Antoninus Pius: all these in a short time will be out of date, and, as things
of another world as it were, become fabulous. And this I say of them, who once
shined as the wonders of their ages, for as for the rest, no sooner are they
expired, than with them all their fame and memory. And what is it then that
shall always be remembered? all is vanity. What is it that we must bestow our
care and diligence upon? even upon this only: that our minds and wills be just;
that our actions be charitable; that our speech be never deceitful, or that our
understanding be not subject to error; that our inclination be always set to
embrace whatsoever shall happen unto us, as necessary, as usual, as ordinary,
as flowing from such a beginning, and such a fountain, from which both thou
thyself and all things are. Willingly therefore, and wholly surrender up
thyself unto that fatal concatenation, yielding up thyself unto the fates, to
be disposed of at their pleasure.
XXIX.
Whatsoever is now present, and from day to day hath its existence;
all
objects of memories, and the minds and memories themselves, incessantly
consider, all things that are, have their being by change and alteration. Use
thyself therefore often to meditate upon this, that the nature of the universe
delights in nothing more, than in altering those things that are, and in making
others like unto them. So that we may say, that whatsoever is, is but as it
were the seed of that which shall be. For if thou think that that only is seed,
which either the earth or the womb receiveth, thou art very simple.
XXX.
Thou art now ready to die, and yet hast thou not attained to
that
perfect simplicity: thou art yet subject to many troubles and perturbations;
not yet free from all fear and suspicion of external accidents; nor yet either
so meekly disposed towards all men, as thou shouldest; or so affected as one,
whose only study and only wisdom is, to be just in all his actions.
XXXI.
Behold and observe, what is the state of their rational part; and
those
that the world doth account wise, see what things they fly and are afraid of;
and what things they hunt after.
XXXII.
In another man's mind and understanding thy evil Cannot subsist,
nor
in any proper temper or distemper of the natural constitution of thy body,
which is but as it were the coat or cottage of thy soul. Wherein then, but in
that part of thee, wherein the conceit, and apprehension of any misery can
subsist? Let not that part therefore admit any such conceit, and then all is
well. Though thy body which is so near it should either be cut or burnt, or suffer
any corruption or putrefaction, yet let that part to which it belongs to judge
of these, be still at rest; that is, let her judge this, that whatsoever it is,
that equally may happen to a wicked man, and to a good man, is neither good nor
evil. For that which happens equally to him that lives according to nature, and
to him that doth not, is neither according to nature, nor against it; and by
consequent, neither good nor bad.
XXXIII.
Ever consider and think upon the world as being but one living
substance,
and having but one soul, and how all things in the world, are terminated into
one sensitive power; and are done by one general motion as it were, and
deliberation of that one soul; and how all things that are, concur in the cause
of one another's being, and by what manner of connection and concatenation all
things happen.
XXXIV.
What art thou, that better and divine part excepted, but as
Epictetus
said well, a wretched soul, appointed to carry a carcass up and down?
XXXV.
To suffer change can be no hurt; as no benefit it is, by change to
attain
to being. The age and time of the world is as it were a flood and swift
current, consisting of the things that are brought to pass in the world. For as
soon as anything hath appeared, and is passed away, another succeeds, and that
also will presently out of sight.
XXXVI.
Whatsoever doth happen in the world, is, in the course of nature,
as
usual and ordinary as a rose in the spring, and fruit in summer. Of the same
nature is sickness and death; slander, and lying in wait, and whatsoever else
ordinarily doth unto fools use to be occasion either of joy or sorrow. That,
whatsoever it is, that comes after, doth always very naturally, and as it were
familiarly, follow upon that which was before. For thou must consider the
things of the world, not as a loose independent number, consisting merely of
necessary events; but as a discreet connection of things orderly and
harmoniously disposed. There is then to be seen in the things of the world, not
a bare succession, but an admirable correspondence and affinity.
XXXVII.
Let that of Heraclitus never be out of thy mind, that the death
of
earth, is water, and the death of water, is air; and the death of air, is fire;
and so on the contrary. Remember him also who was ignorant whither the way did
lead, and how that reason being the thing by which all things in the world are
administered, and which men are continually and most inwardly conversant with:
yet is the thing, which ordinarily they are most in opposition with, and how
those things which daily happen among them, cease not daily to be strange unto
them, and that we should not either speak, or do anything as men in their
sleep, by opinion and bare imagination: for then we think we speak and do, and
that we must not be as children, who follow their father's example; for best
reason alleging their bare successive tradition from our forefathers we have
received it.
XXXVIII.
Even as if any of the gods should tell thee, Thou shalt
certainly
die to-morrow, or next day, thou wouldst not, except thou wert extremely base
and pusillanimous, take it for a great benefit, rather to die the next day
after, than to-morrow; (for alas, what is the difference!) so, for the same
reason, think it no great matter to die rather many years after, than the very
next day.
XXXIX.
Let it be thy perpetual meditation, how many physicians who
once
looked so grim, and so theatrically shrunk their brows upon their patients, are
dead and gone themselves. How many astrologers, after that in great ostentation
they had foretold the death of some others, how many philosophers after so many
elaborate tracts and volumes concerning either mortality or immortality; how
many brave captains and commanders, after the death and slaughter of so many;
how many kings and tyrants, after they had with such horror and insolency
abused their power upon men's lives, as though themselves had been immortal;
how many, that I may so speak, whole cities both men and towns: Helice, Pompeii,
Herculaneum, and others innumerable are dead and gone. Run them over also, whom
thou thyself, one after another, hast known in thy time to drop away. Such and
such a one took care of such and such a one's burial, and soon after was buried
himself. So one, so another: and all things in a short time. For herein lieth
all indeed, ever to look upon all worldly things, as things for their
continuance, that are but for a day: and for their worth, most vile, and
contemptible, as for example, What is man? That which but the other day when he
was conceived was vile snivel; and within few days shall be either an embalmed
carcass, or mere ashes. Thus must thou according to truth and nature, throughly
consider how man's life is but for a very moment of time, and so depart meek
and contented: even as if a ripe olive falling should praise the ground that
bare her, and give thanks to the tree that begat her.
XL.
Thou must be like a promontory of the sea, against which though
the
waves beat continually, yet it both itself stands, and about it are those
swelling waves stilled and quieted.
XLI.
Oh, wretched I, to whom this mischance is happened! nay, happy I,
to
whom this thing being happened, I can continue without grief; neither wounded
by that which is present, nor in fear of that which is to come. For as for
this, it might have happened unto any man, but any man having such a thing
befallen him, could not have continued without grief. Why then should that
rather be an unhappiness, than this a happiness? But however, canst thou, O
man! term that unhappiness, which is no mischance to the nature of man I Canst
thou think that a mischance to the nature of man, which is not contrary to the
end and will of his nature? What then hast thou learned is the will of man's
nature? Doth that then which hath happened unto thee, hinder thee from being
just? or magnanimous? or temperate? or wise? or circumspect? or true? or
modest? or free? or from anything else of all those things in the present
enjoying and possession whereof the nature of man, (as then enjoying all that
is proper unto her,) is fully satisfied? Now to conclude; upon all occasion of
sorrow remember henceforth to make use of this dogma, that whatsoever it is
that hath happened unto thee, is in very deed no such thing of itself, as a
misfortune; but that to bear it generously, is certainly great happiness.
XLII.
It is but an ordinary coarse one, yet it is a good effectual
remedy
against the fear of death, for a man to consider in his mind the examples of
such, who greedily and covetously (as it were) did for a long time enjoy their
lives. What have they got more, than they whose deaths have been untimely? Are
not they themselves dead at the last? as Cadiciant's, Fabius, Julianus Lepidus,
or any other who in their lifetime having buried many, were at the last buried
themselves. The whole space of any man's life, is but little; and as little as
it is, with what troubles, with what manner of dispositions, and in the society
of how wretched a body must it be passed! Let it be therefore unto thee
altogether as a matter of indifferency. For if thou shalt look backward;
behold, what an infinite chaos of time doth present itself unto thee; and as
infinite a chaos, if thou shalt look forward. In that which is so infinite,
what difference can there be between that which liveth but three days, and that
which liveth three ages?
XLIII.
Let thy course ever be the most compendious way. The most
compendious,
is that which is according to nature: that is, in all both words and deeds,
ever to follow that which is most sound and perfect. For such a resolution will
free a man from all trouble, strife, dissembling, and ostentation.
THE FIFTH BOOK
I. In the morning
when thou findest thyself unwilling to rise, consider
with
thyself presently, it is to go about a man's work that I am stirred up. Am I
then yet unwilling to go about that, for which I myself was born and brought
forth into this world? Or was I made for this, to lay me down, and make much of
myself in a warm bed? 'O but this is pleasing.' And was it then for this that
thou wert born, that thou mightest enjoy pleasure? Was it not in very truth for
this, that thou mightest always be busy and in action? Seest thou not how all
things in the world besides, how every tree md plant, how sparrows and ants,
spiders and bees: how all in their kind are intent as it were orderly to
perform whatsoever (towards the preservation of this orderly universe)
naturally doth become and belong unto thin? And wilt not thou do that, which
belongs unto a man to do? Wilt not thou run to do that, which thy nature doth
require? 'But thou must have some rest.' Yes, thou must. Nature hath of that
also, as well as of eating and drinking, allowed thee a certain stint. But thou
guest beyond thy stint, and beyond that which would suffice, and in matter of
action, there thou comest short of that which thou mayest. It must needs be
therefore, that thou dost not love thyself, for if thou didst, thou wouldst
also love thy nature, and that which thy nature doth propose unto herself as
her end. Others, as many as take pleasure in their trade and profession, can
even pine themselves at their works, and neglect their bodies and their food
for it; and doest thou less honour thy nature, than an ordinary mechanic his
trade; or a good dancer his art? than a covetous man his silver, and
vainglorious man applause? These to whatsoever they take an affection, can be
content to want their meat and sleep, to further that every one which he
affects: and shall actions tending to the common good of human society, seem
more vile unto thee, or worthy of less respect and intention?
II.
How easy a thing is it for a man to put off from him all turbulent
adventitious
imaginations, and presently to be in perfect rest and tranquillity!
III.
Think thyself fit and worthy to speak, or to do anything that is
according
to nature, and let not the reproach, or report of some that may ensue upon it,
ever deter thee. If it be right and honest to be spoken or done, undervalue not
thyself so much, as to be discouraged from it. As for them, they have their own
rational over-ruling part, and their own proper inclination: which thou must
not stand and look about to take notice of, but go on straight, whither both
thine own particular, and the common nature do lead thee; and the way of both
these, is but one.
IV.
I continue my course by actions according to nature, until I
fall
and cease, breathing out my last breath into that air, by which continually
breathed in I did live; and falling upon that earth, out of whose gifts and
fruits my father gathered his seed, my mother her blood, and my nurse her milk,
out of which for so many years I have been provided, both of meat and drink.
And lastly, which beareth me that tread upon it, and beareth with me that so
many ways do abuse it, or so freely make use of it, so many ways to so many
ends.
V.
No man can admire thee for thy sharp acute language, such is thy
natural
disability that way. Be it so: yet there be many other good things, for the
want of which thou canst not plead the want or natural ability. Let them be
seen in thee, which depend wholly from thee; sincerity, gravity, laboriousness,
contempt of pleasures; be not querulous, be Content with little, be kind, be free;
avoid all superfluity, all vain prattling; be magnanimous. Doest not thou
perceive, how many things there be, which notwithstanding any pretence of
natural indisposition and unfitness, thou mightest have performed and
exhibited, and yet still thou doest voluntarily continue drooping downwards? Or
wilt thou say that it is through defect of thy natural constitution, that thou
art constrained to murmur, to be base and wretched to flatter; now to accuse,
and now to please, and pacify thy body: to be vainglorious, to be so
giddy-headed., and unsettled in thy thoughts? nay (witnesses be the Gods) of
all these thou mightest have been rid long ago: only, this thou must have been
contented with, to have borne the blame of one that is somewhat slow and dull,
wherein thou must so exercise thyself, as one who neither doth much take to
heart this his natural defect, nor yet pleaseth himself in it.
VI.
Such there be, who when they have done a good turn to any, are ready
to
set them on the score for it, and to require retaliation. Others there be, who
though they stand not upon retaliation, to require any, yet they think with
themselves nevertheless, that such a one is their debtor, and they know as
their word is what they have done. Others again there be, who when they have
done any such thing, do not so much as know what they have done; but are like
unto the vine, which beareth her grapes, and when once she hath borne her own
proper fruit, is contented and seeks for no further recompense. As a horse
after a race, and a hunting dog when he hath hunted, and a bee when she hath
made her honey, look not for applause and commendation; so neither doth that
man that rightly doth understand his own nature when he hath done a good turn:
but from one doth proceed to do another, even as the vine after she hath once
borne fruit in her own proper season, is ready for another time. Thou therefore
must be one of them, who what they do, barely do it without any further
thought, and are in a manner insensible of what they do. 'Nay but,' will some
reply perchance, 'this very thing a rational man is bound unto, to understand
what it is, that he doeth.' For it is the property, say they, of one that is
naturally sociable, to be sensible, that he doth operate sociably: nay, and to
desire, that the party him self that is sociably dealt with, should be sensible
of it too. I answer, That which thou sayest is true indeed, but the true
meaning of that which is said, thou dost not understand. And therefore art thou
one of those first, whom I mentioned. For they also are led by a probable
appearance of reason. But if thou dost desire to understand truly what it is
that is said, fear not that thou shalt therefore give over any sociable action.
VII.
The form of the Athenians' prayer did run thus: 'O rain, rain, good
Jupiter,
upon all the grounds and fields that belong to the Athenians.' Either we should
not pray at all, or thus absolutely and freely; and not every one for himself
in particular alone.
VIII.
As we say commonly, The physician hath prescribed unto this man,
riding;
unto another, cold baths; unto a third, to go barefoot: so it is alike to say,
The nature of the universe hath prescribed unto this man sickness, or
blindness, or some loss, or damage or some such thing. For as there, when we
say of a physician, that he hath prescribed anything, our meaning is, that he
hath appointed this for that, as subordinate and conducing to health: so here,
whatsoever doth happen unto any, is ordained unto him as a thing subordinate unto
the fates, and therefore do we say of such things, that they do happen, or fall
together; as of square stones, when either in walls, or pyramids in a certain
position they fit one another, and agree as it were in an harmony, the masons
say, that they do (sumbainein) as if thou shouldest say, fall together: so that
in the general, though the things be divers that make it, yet the consent or
harmony itself is but one. And as the whole world is made up of all the
particular bodies of the world, one perfect and complete body, of the same
nature that particular bodies; so is the destiny of particular causes and
events one general one, of the same nature that particular causes are. What I
now say, even they that are mere idiots are not ignorant of: for they say commonly
(touto eferen autw) that is, This his destiny hath brought upon him. This
therefore is by the fates properly and particularly brought upon this, as that
unto this in particular is by the physician prescribed. These therefore let us
accept of in like manner, as we do those that are prescribed unto us our
physicians. For them also in themselves shall We find to contain many harsh
things, but we nevertheless, in hope of health, and recovery, accept of them.
Let the fulfilling and accomplishment of those things which the common nature
hath determined, be unto thee as thy health. Accept then, and be pleased with
whatsoever doth happen, though otherwise harsh and un-pleasing, as tending to
that end, to the health and welfare of the universe, and to Jove's happiness
and prosperity. For this whatsoever it be, should not have been produced, had
it not conduced to the good of the universe. For neither doth any ordinary
particular nature bring anything to pass, that is not to whatsoever is within
the sphere of its own proper administration and government agreeable and
subordinate. For these two considerations then thou must be well pleased with
anything that doth happen unto thee. First, because that for thee properly it
was brought to pass, and unto thee it was prescribed; and that from the very
beginning by the series and connection of the first causes, it hath ever had a
reference unto thee. And secondly, because the good success and perfect
welfare, and indeed the very continuance of Him, that is the Administrator of
the whole, doth in a manner depend on it. For the whole (because whole,
therefore entire and perfect) is maimed, and mutilated, if thou shalt cut off
anything at all, whereby the coherence, and contiguity as of parts, so of
causes, is maintained and preserved. Of which certain it is, that thou doest
(as much as lieth in thee) cut off, and in some sort violently take somewhat
away, as often as thou art displeased with anything that happeneth.
IX.
Be not discontented, be not disheartened, be not out of hope, if
often
it succeed not so well with thee punctually and precisely to do all things
according to the right dogmata, but being once cast off, return unto them
again: and as for those many and more frequent occurrences, either of worldly
distractions, or human infirmities, which as a man thou canst not but in some
measure be subject unto, be not thou discontented with them; but however, love
and affect that only which thou dust return unto: a philosopher's life, and
proper occupation after the most exact manner. And when thou dust return to thy
philosophy, return not unto it as the manner of some is, after play and liberty
as it were, to their schoolmasters and pedagogues; but as they that have sore
eyes to their sponge and egg: or as another to his cataplasm; or as others to
their fomentations: so shalt not thou make it a matter of ostentation at all to
obey reason but of ease and comfort. And remember that philosophy requireth
nothing of thee, but what thy nature requireth, and wouldest thou thyself
desire anything that is not according to nature? for which of these sayest
thou; that which is according to nature or against it, is of itself more kind
and pleasing? Is it not for that respect especially, that pleasure itself is to
so many men's hurt and overthrow, most prevalent, because esteemed commonly
most kind, and natural? But consider well whether magnanimity rather, and true
liberty, and true simplicity, and equanimity, and holiness; whether these be
not most kind and natural? And prudency itself, what more kind and amiable than
it, when thou shalt truly consider with thyself, what it is through all the
proper objects of thy rational intellectual faculty currently to go on without
any fall or stumble? As for the things of the world, their true nature is in a
manner so involved with obscurity, that unto many philosophers, and those no
mean ones, they seemed altogether incomprehensible, and the Stoics themselves,
though they judge them not altogether incomprehensible, yet scarce and not
without much difficulty, comprehensible, so that all assent of ours is
fallible, for who is he that is infallible in his conclusions? From the nature
of things, pass now unto their subjects and matter: how temporary, how vile are
they I such as may be in the power and possession of some abominable loose
liver, of some common strumpet, of some notorious oppressor and extortioner.
Pass from thence to the dispositions of them that thou doest ordinarily
converse with, how hardly do we bear, even with the most loving and amiable!
that I may not say, how hard it is for us to bear even with our own selves, in
such obscurity, and impurity of things: in such and so continual a flux both of
the substances and time; both of the motions themselves, and things moved; what
it is that we can fasten upon; either to honour, and respect especially; or
seriously, and studiously to seek after; I cannot so much as conceive For
indeed they are things contrary.
X.
Thou must comfort thyself in the expectation of thy natural
dissolution,
and in the meantime not grieve at the delay; but rest contented in those two
things. First, that nothing shall happen unto thee, which is not according to
the nature of the universe. Secondly, that it is in thy power, to do nothing
against thine own proper God, and inward spirit. For it is not in any man's
power to constrain thee to transgress against him.
XI.
What is the use that now at this present I make of my soul? Thus
from
time to time and upon all occasions thou must put this question to thyself;
what is now that part of mine which they call the rational mistress part,
employed about? Whose soul do I now properly possess? a child's? or a youth's?
a woman's? or a tyrant's? some brute, or some wild beast's soul?
XII.
What those things are in themselves, which by the greatest part are
esteemed
good, thou mayest gather even from this. For if a man shall hear things
mentioned as good, which are really good indeed, such as are prudence,
temperance, justice, fortitude, after so much heard and conceived, he cannot
endure to hear of any more, for the word good is properly spoken of them. But
as for those which by the vulgar are esteemed good, if he shall hear them
mentioned as good, he doth hearken for more. He is well contented to hear, that
what is spoken by the comedian, is but familiarly and popularly spoken, so that
even the vulgar apprehend the difference. For why is it else, that this offends
not and needs not to be excused, when virtues are styled good: but that which
is spoken in commendation of wealth, pleasure, or honour, we entertain it only
as merrily and pleasantly spoken? Proceed therefore, and inquire further,
whether it may not be that those things also which being mentioned upon the
stage were merrily, and with great applause of the multitude, scoffed at with
this jest, that they that possessed them had not in all the world of their own,
(such was their affluence and plenty) so much as a place where to avoid their
excrements. Whether, I say, those ought not also in very deed to be much
respected, and esteemed of, as the only things that are truly good.
XIII.
All that I consist of, is either form or matter. No corruption can
reduce
either of these unto nothing: for neither did I of nothing become a subsistent
creature. Every part of mine then will by mutation be disposed into a certain
part of the whole world, and that in time into another part; and so in
infinitum; by which kind of mutation, I also became what I am, and so did they
that begot me, and they before them, and so upwards in infinitum. For so we may
be allowed to speak, though the age and government of the world, be to some
certain periods of time limited, and confined.
XIV.
Reason, and rational power, are faculties which content themselves
with
themselves, and their own proper operations. And as for their first inclination
and motion, that they take from themselves. But their progress is right to the
end and object, which is in their way, as it were, and lieth just before them:
that is, which is feasible and possible, whether it be that which at the first
they proposed to themselves, or no. For which reason also such actions are
termed katorqwseiz to intimate the directness of the way, by which they are
achieved. Nothing must be thought to belong to a man, which doth not belong
unto him as he is a man. These, the event of purposes, are not things required
in a man. The nature of man doth not profess any such things. The final ends
and consummations of actions are nothing at all to a man's nature. The end
therefore of a man, or the summum bonum whereby that end is fulfilled, cannot
consist in the consummation of actions purposed and intended. Again, concerning
these outward worldly things, were it so that any of them did properly belong
unto man, then would it not belong unto man, to condemn them and to stand in
opposition with them. Neither would he be praiseworthy that can live without
them; or he good, (if these were good indeed) who of his own accord doth
deprive himself of any of them. But we see contrariwise, that the more a man
doth withdraw himself from these wherein external pomp and greatness doth
consist, or any other like these; or the better he doth bear with the loss of
these, the better he is accounted.
XV.
Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are, such will thy
mind
be in time. For the soul doth as it were receive its tincture from the fancies,
and imaginations. Dye it therefore and thoroughly soak it with the assiduity of
these cogitations. As for example. Wheresoever thou mayest live, there it is in
thy power to live well and happy. But thou mayest live at the Court, there then
also mayest thou live well and happy. Again, that which everything is made for,
he is also made unto that, and cannot but naturally incline unto it. That which
anything doth naturally incline unto, therein is his end. Wherein the end of
everything doth consist, therein also doth his good and benefit consist.
Society therefore is the proper good of a rational creature. For that we are
made for society, it hath long since been demonstrated. Or can any man make any
question of this, that whatsoever is naturally worse and inferior, is
ordinarily subordinated to that which is better? and that those things that are
best, are made one for another? And those things that have souls, are better
than those that have none? and of those that have, those best that have
rational souls?
XVI.
To desire things impossible is the part of a mad man. But it is a
thing
impossible, that wicked man should not commit some such things. Neither doth
anything happen to any man, which in the ordinary course of nature as natural
unto him doth not happen. Again, the same things happen unto others also. And
truly, if either he that is ignorant that such a thing hath happened unto him,
or he that is ambitious to be commended for his magnanimity, can be patient,
and is not grieved: is it not a grievous thing, that either ignorance, or a
vain desire to please and to be commended, should be more powerful and
effectual than true prudence? As for the things themselves, they touch not the
soul, neither can they have any access unto it: neither can they of themselves
any ways either affect it, or move it. For she herself alone can affect and
move herself, and according as the dogmata and opinions are, which she doth
vouchsafe herself; so are those things which, as accessories, have any
co-existence with her.
XVII.
After one consideration, man is nearest unto us; as we are bound
to
do them good, and to bear with them. But as he may oppose any of our true
proper actions, so man is unto me but as a thing indifferent: even as the sun,
or the wind, or some wild beast. By some of these it may be, that some
operation or other of mine, may be hindered; however, of my mind and resolution
itself, there can be no let or impediment, by reason of that ordinary constant
both exception (or reservation wherewith it inclineth) and ready conversion of
objects; from that which may not be, to that which may be, which in the
prosecution of its inclinations, as occasion serves, it doth observe. For by
these the mind doth turn and convert any impediment whatsoever, to be her aim
and purpose. So that what before was the impediment, is now the principal
object of her working; and that which before was in her way, is now her
readiest way.
XVIII.
Honour that which is chiefest and most powerful in the world, and
that
is it, which makes use of all things, and governs all things. So also in
thyself; honour that which is chiefest, and most powerful; and is of one kind
and nature with that which we now spake of. For it is the very same, which
being in thee, turneth all other things to its own use, and by whom also thy
life is governed.
XIX.
That which doth not hurt the city itself; cannot hurt any citizen.
This
rule thou must remember to apply and make use of upon every conceit and
apprehension of wrong. If the whole city be not hurt by this, neither am I
certainly. And if the whole be not, why should I make it my private grievance?
consider rather what it is wherein he is overseen that is thought to have done
the wrong. Again, often meditate how swiftly all things that subsist, and all
things that are done in the world, are carried away, and as it were conveyed
out of sight: for both the substance themselves, we see as a flood, are in a
continual flux; and all actions in a perpetual change; and the causes
themselves, subject to a thousand alterations, neither is there anything
almost, that may ever be said to be now settled and constant. Next unto this,
and which follows upon it, consider both the infiniteness of the time already
past, and the immense vastness of that which is to come, wherein all things are
to be resolved and annihilated. Art not thou then a very fool, who for these
things, art either puffed up with pride, or distracted with cares, or canst
find in thy heart to make such moans as for a thing that would trouble thee for
a very long time? Consider the whole universe whereof thou art but a very
little part, and the whole age of the world together, whereof but a short and
very momentary portion is allotted unto thee, and all the fates and destinies
together, of which how much is it that comes to thy part and share! Again:
another doth trespass against me. Let him look to that. He is master of his own
disposition, and of his own operation. I for my part am in the meantime in
possession of as much, as the common nature would have me to possess: and that
which mine own nature would have me do, I do.
XX.
Let not that chief commanding part of thy soul be ever subject to
any
variation through any corporal either pain or pleasure, neither suffer it to be
mixed with these, but let it both circumscribe itself, and confine those
affections to their own proper parts and members. But if at any time they do
reflect and rebound upon the mind and understanding (as in an united and
compacted body it must needs;) then must thou not go about to resist sense and
feeling, it being natural. However let not thy understanding to this natural
sense and feeling, which whether unto our flesh pleasant or painful, is unto us
nothing properly, add an opinion of either good or bad and all is well.
XXI.
To live with the Gods. He liveth with the Gods, who at all times
affords
unto them the spectacle of a soul, both contented and well pleased with
whatsoever is afforded, or allotted unto her; and performing whatsoever is
pleasing to that Spirit, whom (being part of himself) Jove hath appointed to
every man as his overseer and governor.
XXII.
Be not angry neither with him whose breath, neither with him whose
arm
holes, are offensive. What can he do? such is his breath naturally, and such
are his arm holes; and from such, such an effect, and such a smell must of
necessity proceed. 'O, but the man (sayest thou) hath understanding in him, and
might of himself know, that he by standing near, cannot choose but offend.' And
thou also (God bless thee!) hast understanding. Let thy reasonable faculty,
work upon his reasonable faculty; show him his fault, admonish him. If he
hearken unto thee, thou hast cured him, and there will be no more occasion of
anger.
XXIII.
'Where there shall neither roarer be, nor harlot.' Why so? As
thou
dost purpose to live, when thou hast retired thyself to some such place, where neither
roarer nor harlot is: so mayest thou here. And if they will not suffer thee,
then mayest thou leave thy life rather than thy calling, but so as one that
doth not think himself anyways wronged. Only as one would say, Here is a smoke;
I will out of it. And what a great matter is this! Now till some such thing
force me out, I will continue free; neither shall any man hinder me to do what
I will, and my will shall ever be by the proper nature of a reasonable and
sociable creature, regulated and directed.
XXIV.
That rational essence by which the universe is governed, is for
community
and society; and therefore hath it both made the things that are worse, for the
best, and hath allied and knit together those which are best, as it were in an
harmony. Seest thou not how it hath sub-ordinated, and co-ordinated? and how it
hath distributed unto everything according to its worth? and those which have
the pre-eminency and superiority above all, hath it united together, into a
mutual consent and agreement.
XXV.
How hast thou carried thyself hitherto towards the Gods? towards
thy
parents? towards thy brethren? towards thy wife? towards thy children? towards
thy masters? thy foster-fathers? thy friends? thy domestics? thy servants? Is
it so with thee, that hitherto thou hast neither by word or deed wronged any of
them? Remember withal through how many things thou hast already passed, and how
many thou hast been able to endure; so that now the legend of thy life is full,
and thy charge is accomplished. Again, how many truly good things have
certainly by thee been discerned? how many pleasures, how many pains hast thou
passed over with contempt? how many things eternally glorious hast thou
despised? towards how many perverse unreasonable men hast thou carried thyself
kindly, and discreetly?
XXVI.
Why should imprudent unlearned souls trouble that which is
both
learned, and prudent? And which is that that is so? she that understandeth the
beginning and the end, and hath the true knowledge of that rational essence,
that passeth through all things subsisting, and through all ages being ever the
same, disposing and dispensing as it were this universe by certain periods of
time.
XXVII.
Within a very little while, thou wilt be either ashes, or a
sceletum;
and a name perchance; and perchance, not so much as a name. And what is that
but an empty sound, and a rebounding echo? Those things which in this life are
dearest unto us, and of most account, they are in themselves but vain, putrid,
contemptible. The most weighty and serious, if rightly esteemed, but as
puppies, biting one another: or untoward children, now laughing and then
crying. As for faith, and modesty, and justice, and truth, they long since, as
one of the poets hath it, have abandoned this spacious earth, and retired
themselves unto heaven. What is it then that doth keep thee here, if things
sensible be so mutable and unsettled? and the senses so obscure, and so
fallible? and our souls nothing but an exhalation of blood? and to be in credit
among such, be but vanity? What is it that thou dost stay for? an extinction,
or a translation; either of them with a propitious and contented mind. But
still that time come, what will content thee? what else, but to worship and
praise the Gods; and to do good unto men. To bear with them, and to forbear to
do them any wrong. And for all external things belonging either to this thy
wretched body, or life, to remember that they are neither thine, nor in thy
power.
XXVIII.
Thou mayest always speed, if thou wilt but make choice of the
right
way; if in the course both of thine opinions and actions, thou wilt observe a
true method. These two things be common to the souls, as of God, so of men, and
of every reasonable creature, first that in their own proper work they cannot
be hindered by anything: and secondly, that their happiness doth consist in a
disposition to, and in the practice of righteousness; and that in these their
desire is terminated.
XXIX.
If this neither be my wicked act, nor an act anyways depending
from
any wickedness of mine, and that by it the public is not hurt; what doth it
concern me? And wherein can the public be hurt? For thou must not altogether be
carried by conceit and common opinion: as for help thou must afford that unto
them after thy best ability, and as occasion shall require, though they sustain
damage, but in these middle or worldly things; but however do not thou conceive
that they are truly hurt thereby: for that is not right. But as that old
foster-father in the comedy, being now to take his leave doth with a great deal
of ceremony, require his foster-child's rhombus, or rattle-top, remembering
nevertheless that it is but a rhombus; so here also do thou likewise. For
indeed what is all this pleading and public bawling for at the courts? O man,
hast thou forgotten what those things are! yea but they are things that others
much care for, and highly esteem of. Wilt thou therefore be a fool too? Once I
was; let that suffice.
XXX.
Let death surprise rue when it will, and where it will, I may be a
happy
man, nevertheless.
For
he is a happy man, who in his lifetime dealeth unto himself a happy lot and
portion. A happy lot and portion is, good inclinations of the soul, good
desires, good actions.
THE SIXTH BOOK
I. The matter
itself, of which the universe doth consist, is of itself
very
tractable and pliable. That rational essence that doth govern it, hath in
itself no cause to do evil. It hath no evil in itself; neither can it do
anything that is evil: neither can anything be hurt by it. And all things are
done and determined according to its will and prescript.
II.
Be it all one unto thee, whether half frozen or well warm; whether
only
slumbering, or after a full sleep; whether discommended or commended thou do
thy duty: or whether dying or doing somewhat else; for that also 'to die,' must
among the rest be reckoned as one of the duties and actions of our lives.
III.
Look in, let not either the proper quality, or the true worth of
anything
pass thee, before thou hast fully apprehended it.
IV.
All substances come soon to their change, and either they shall
be
resolved by way of exhalation (if so be that all things shall be reunited into
one substance), or as others maintain, they shall be scattered and dispersed.
As for that Rational Essence by which all things are governed, as it best
understandeth itself, both its own disposition, and what it doth, and what
matter it hath to do with and accordingly doth all things; so we that do not,
no wonder, if we wonder at many things, the reasons whereof we cannot
comprehend.
V.
The best kind of revenge is, not to become like unto them.
VI.
Let this be thy only joy, and thy only comfort, from one sociable
kind
action without intermission to pass unto another, God being ever in thy mind.
VII.
The rational commanding part, as it alone can stir up and turn
itself;
so it maketh both itself to be, and everything that happeneth, to appear unto
itself, as it will itself.
VIII.
According to the nature of the universe all things particular are
determined,
not according to any other nature, either about compassing and containing; or
within, dispersed and contained; or without, depending. Either this universe is
a mere confused mass, and an intricate context of things, which shall in time
be scattered and dispersed again: or it is an union consisting of order, and
administered by Providence. If the first, why should I desire to continue any
longer in this fortuit confusion and commixtion? or why should I take care for
anything else, but that as soon as may be I may be earth again? And why should
I trouble myself any more whilst I seek to please the Gods? Whatsoever I do,
dispersion is my end, and will come upon me whether I will or no. But if the
latter be, then am not I religious in vain; then will I be quiet and patient,
and put my trust in Him, who is the Governor of all.
IX.
Whensoever by some present hard occurrences thou art constrained to
be
in some sort troubled and vexed, return unto thyself as soon as may be, and be
not out of tune longer than thou must needs. For so shalt thou be the better
able to keep thy part another time, and to maintain the harmony, if thou dost
use thyself to this continually; once out, presently to have recourse unto it,
and to begin again.
X.
If it were that thou hadst at one time both a stepmother, and
a
natural mother living, thou wouldst honour and respect her also; nevertheless
to thine own natural mother would thy refuge, and recourse be continually. So
let the court and thy philosophy be unto thee. Have recourse unto it often, and
comfort thyself in her, by whom it is that those other things are made
tolerable unto thee, and thou also in those things not intolerable unto others.
XI.
How marvellous useful it is for a man to represent unto himself
meats,
and all such things that are for the mouth, under a right apprehension and
imagination! as for example: This is the carcass of a fish; this of a bird; and
this of a hog. And again more generally; This phalernum, this excellent highly
commended wine, is but the bare juice of an ordinary grape. This purple robe,
but sheep's hairs, dyed with the blood of a shellfish. So for coitus, it is but
the attrition of an ordinary base entrail, and the excretion of a little vile
snivel, with a certain kind of convulsion: according to Hippocrates his
opinion. How excellent useful are these lively fancies and representations of
things, thus penetrating and passing through the objects, to make their true
nature known and apparent! This must thou use all thy life long, and upon all
occasions: and then especially, when matters are apprehended as of great worth
and respect, thy art and care must be to uncover them, and to behold their vileness,
and to take away from them all those serious circumstances and expressions,
under which they made so grave a show. For outward pomp and appearance is a
great juggler; and then especially art thou most in danger to be beguiled by
it, when (to a man's thinking) thou most seemest to be employed about matters
of moment.
XII.
See what Crates pronounceth concerning Xenocrates himself.
XIII.
Those things which the common sort of people do admire, are most
of
them such things as are very general, and may be comprehended under things
merely natural, or naturally affected and qualified: as stones, wood, figs,
vines, olives. Those that be admired by them that are more moderate and
restrained, are comprehended under things animated: as flocks and herds. Those
that are yet more gentle and curious, their admiration is commonly confined to
reasonable creatures only; not in general as they are reasonable, but as they
are capable of art, or of some craft and subtile invention: or perchance barely
to reasonable creatures; as they that delight in the possession of many slaves.
But he that honours a reasonable soul in general, as it is reasonable and
naturally sociable, doth little regard anything else: and above all things is
careful to preserve his own, in the continual habit and exercise both of reason
and sociableness: and thereby doth co-operate with him, of whose nature he doth
also participate; God.
XIV.
Some things hasten to be, and others to be no more. And even
whatsoever
now is, some part thereof hath already perished. Perpetual fluxes and
alterations renew the world, as the perpetual course of time doth make the age
of the world (of itself infinite) to appear always fresh and new. In such a
flux and course of all things, what of these things that hasten so fast away
should any man regard, since among all there is not any that a man may fasten
and fix upon? as if a man would settle his affection upon some ordinary sparrow
living by him, who is no sooner seen, than out of sight. For we must not think
otherwise of our lives, than as a mere exhalation of blood, or of an ordinary
respiration of air. For what in our common apprehension is, to breathe in the
air and to breathe it out again, which we do daily: so much is it and no more,
at once to breathe out all thy respirative faculty into that common air from
whence but lately (as being but from yesterday, and to-day), thou didst first
breathe it in, and with it, life.
XV.
Not vegetative spiration, it is not surely (which plants have) that
in
this life should be so dear unto us; nor sensitive respiration, the proper life
of beasts, both tame and wild; nor this our imaginative faculty; nor that we
are subject to be led and carried up and down by the strength of our sensual
appetites; or that we can gather, and live together; or that we can feed: for
that in effect is no better, than that we can void the excrements of our food.
What is it then that should be dear unto us? to hear a clattering noise? if not
that, then neither to be applauded by the tongues of men. For the praises of
many tongues, is in effect no better than the clattering of so many tongues. If
then neither applause, what is there remaining that should be dear unto thee?
This I think: that in all thy motions and actions thou be moved, and restrained
according to thine own true natural constitution and Construction only. And to
this even ordinary arts and professions do lead us. For it is that which every
art doth aim at, that whatsoever it is, that is by art effected and prepared, may
be fit for that work that it is prepared for. This is the end that he that
dresseth the vine, and he that takes upon him either to tame colts, or to train
up dogs, doth aim at. What else doth the education of children, and all learned
professions tend unto? Certainly then it is that, which should be dear unto us
also. If in this particular it go well with thee, care not for the obtaining of
other things. But is it so, that thou canst not but respect other things also?
Then canst not thou truly be free? then canst thou not have self-content: then
wilt thou ever be subject to passions. For it is not possible, but that thou
must be envious, and jealous, and suspicious of them whom thou knowest can
bereave thee of such things; and again, a secret underminer of them, whom thou
seest in present possession of that which is dear unto thee. To be short, he
must of necessity be full of confusion within himself, and often accuse the
Gods, whosoever stands in need of these things. But if thou shalt honour and
respect thy mind only, that will make thee acceptable towards thyself, towards
thy friends very tractable; and conformable and concordant with the Gods; that
is, accepting with praises whatsoever they shall think good to appoint and
allot unto thee.
XVI.
Under, above, and about, are the motions of the elements; but
the
motion of virtue, is none of those motions, but is somewhat more excellent and
divine. Whose way (to speed and prosper in it) must be through a way, that is
not easily comprehended.
XVII.
Who can choose but wonder at them? They will not speak well of
them
that are at the same time with them, and live with them; yet they themselves
are very ambitious, that they that shall follow, whom they have never seen, nor
shall ever see, should speak well of them. As if a man should grieve that he
hath not been commended by them, that lived before him.
XVIII.
Do not ever conceive anything impossible to man, which by thee
cannot,
or not without much difficulty be effected; but whatsoever in general thou
canst Conceive possible and proper unto any man, think that very possible unto
thee also.
XIX.
Suppose that at the palestra somebody hath all to-torn thee with
his
nails, and hath broken thy head. Well, thou art wounded. Yet thou dost not
exclaim; thou art not offended with him. Thou dost not suspect him for it
afterwards, as one that watcheth to do thee a mischief. Yea even then, though
thou dost thy best to save thyself from him, yet not from him as an enemy. It
is not by way of any suspicious indignation, but by way of gentle and friendly
declination. Keep the same mind and disposition in other parts of thy life
also. For many things there be, which we must conceit and apprehend, as though
we had had to do with an antagonist at the palestra. For as I said, it is very
possible for us to avoid and decline, though we neither suspect, nor hate.
XX.
If anybody shall reprove me, and shall make it apparent unto me,
that
in any either opinion or action of mine I do err, I will most gladly retract.
For it is the truth that I seek after, by which I am sure that never any man
was hurt; and as sure, that he is hurt that continueth in any error, or
ignorance whatsoever.
XXI.
I for my part will do what belongs unto me; as for other things,
whether
things unsensible or things irrational; or if rational, yet deceived and
ignorant of the true way, they shall not trouble or distract me. For as for
those creatures which are not endued with reason and all other things
and-matters of the world whatsoever I freely, and generously, as one endued
with reason, of things that have none, make use of them. And as for men,
towards them as naturally partakers of the same reason, my care is to carry
myself sociably. But whatsoever it is that thou art about, remember to call
upon the Gods. And as for the time how long thou shalt live to do these things,
let it be altogether indifferent unto thee, for even three such hours are
sufficient.
XXII.
Alexander of Macedon, and he that dressed his mules, when once
dead
both came to one. For either they were both resumed into those original
rational essences from whence all things in the world are propagated; or both
after one fashion were scattered into atoms.
XXIII
Consider how many different things, whether they concern our
bodies,
or our souls, in a moment of time come to pass in every one of us, and so thou
wilt not wonder if many more things or rather all things that are done, can at
one time subsist, and coexist in that both one and general, which we call the
world.
XXIV.
if any should put this question unto thee, how this word Antoninus
is
written, wouldst thou not presently fix thine intention upon it, and utter out
in order every letter of it? And if any shall begin to gainsay thee, and
quarrel with thee about it; wilt thou quarrel with him again, or rather go on
meekly as thou hast begun, until thou hast numbered out every letter? Here then
likewise remember, that every duty that belongs unto a man doth consist of some
certain letters or numbers as it were, to which without any noise or tumult
keeping thyself thou must orderly proceed to thy proposed end, forbearing to
quarrel with him that would quarrel and fall out with thee.
XXV.
Is it not a cruel thing to forbid men to affect those things, which
they
conceive to agree best with their own natures, and to tend most to their own
proper good and behoof? But thou after a sort deniest them this liberty, as
often as thou art angry with them for their sins. For surely they are led unto
those sins whatsoever they be, as to their proper good and commodity. But it is
not so (thou wilt object perchance). Thou therefore teach them better, and make
it appear unto them: but be not thou angry with them.
XXVI.
Death is a cessation from the impression of the senses, the
tyranny
of the passions, the errors of the mind, and the servitude of the body.
XXVII.
If in this kind of life thy body be able to hold out, it is a
shame
that thy soul should faint first, and give over, take heed, lest of a
philosopher thou become a mere Caesar in time, and receive a new tincture from
the court. For it may happen if thou dost not take heed. Keep thyself
therefore, truly simple, good, sincere, grave, free from all ostentation, a
lover of that which is just, religious, kind, tender-hearted, strong and
vigorous to undergo anything that becomes thee. Endeavour to continue such, as
philosophy (hadst thou wholly and constantly applied thyself unto it) would
have made, and secured thee. Worship the Gods, procure the welfare of men, this
life is short. Charitable actions, and a holy disposition, is the only fruit of
this earthly life.
XXVIII.
Do all things as becometh the disciple of Antoninus Pius.
Remember
his resolute constancy in things that were done by him according to reason, his
equability in all things, his sanctity; the cheerfulness of his countenance,
his sweetness, and how free he was from all vainglory; how careful to come to
the true and exact knowledge of matters in hand, and how he would by no means
give over till he did fully, and plainly understand the whole state of the
business; and how patiently, and without any contestation he would bear with
them, that did unjustly condemn him: how he would never be over-hasty in anything,
nor give ear to slanders and false accusations, but examine and observe with
best diligence the several actions and dispositions of men. Again, how he was
no backbiter, nor easily frightened, nor suspicious, and in his language free
from all affectation and curiosity: and how easily he would content himself
with few things, as lodging, bedding, clothing, and ordinary nourishment, and
attendance. How able to endure labour, how patient; able through his spare diet
to continue from morning to evening without any necessity of withdrawing before
his accustomed hours to the necessities of nature: his uniformity and constancy
in matter of friendship. How he would bear with them that with all boldness and
liberty opposed his opinions; and even rejoice if any man could better advise
him: and lastly, how religious he was without superstition. All these things of
him remember, that whensoever thy last hour shall come upon thee, it may find
thee, as it did him, ready for it in the possession of a good conscience.
XXIX.
Stir up thy mind, and recall thy wits again from thy natural
dreams,
and visions, and when thou art perfectly awoken, and canst perceive that they
were but dreams that troubled thee, as one newly awakened out of another kind
of sleep look upon these worldly things with the same mind as thou didst upon
those, that thou sawest in thy sleep.
XXX.
I consist of body and soul. Unto my body all things are
indifferent,
for of itself it cannot affect one thing more than another with apprehension of
any difference; as for my mind, all things which are not within the verge of
her own operation, are indifferent unto her, and for her own operations, those
altogether depend of her; neither does she busy herself about any, but those
that are present; for as for future and past operations, those also are now at
this present indifferent unto her.
XXXI.
As long as the foot doth that which belongeth unto it to do, and
the
hand that which belongs unto it, their labour, whatsoever it be, is not unnatural.
So a man as long as he doth that which is proper unto a man, his labour cannot
be against nature; and if it be not against nature, then neither is it hurtful
unto him. But if it were so that happiness did consist in pleasure: how came
notorious robbers, impure abominable livers, parricides, and tyrants, in so
large a measure to have their part of pleasures?
XXXII.
Dost thou not see, how even those that profess mechanic arts,
though
in some respect they be no better than mere idiots, yet they stick close to the
course of their trade, neither can they find in their heart to decline from it:
and is it not a grievous thing that an architect, or a physician shall respect
the course and mysteries of their profession, more than a man the proper course
and condition of his own nature, reason, which is common to him and to the
Gods?
XXXIII.
Asia, Europe; what are they, but as corners of the whole world;
of
which the whole sea, is but as one drop; and the great Mount Athos, but as a
clod, as all present time is but as one point of eternity. All, petty things;
all things that are soon altered, soon perished. And all things come from one
beginning; either all severally and particularly deliberated and resolved upon,
by the general ruler and governor of all; or all by necessary consequence. So
that the dreadful hiatus of a gaping lion, and all poison, and all hurtful
things, are but (as the thorn and the mire) the necessary consequences of
goodly fair things. Think not of these therefore, as things contrary to those
which thou dost much honour, and respect; but consider in thy mind the true
fountain of all.
XXXIV
He that seeth the things that are now, hath Seen all that either
was
ever, or ever shall be, for all things are of one kind; and all like one unto
another. Meditate often upon the connection of all things in the world; and
upon the mutual relation that they have one unto another. For all things are
after a sort folded and involved one within another, and by these means all
agree well together. For one thing is consequent unto another, by local motion,
by natural conspiration and agreement, and by substantial union, or, reduction
of all substances into one.
XXXV.
Fit and accommodate thyself to that estate and to those
occurrences,
which by the destinies have been annexed unto thee; and love those men whom thy
fate it is to live with; but love them truly. An instrument, a tool, an
utensil, whatsoever it be, if it be fit for the purpose it was made for, it is
as it should be though he perchance that made and fitted it, be out of sight
and gone. But in things natural, that power which hath framed and fitted them,
is and abideth within them still: for which reason she ought also the more to
be respected, and we are the more obliged (if we may live and pass our time
according to her purpose and intention) to think that all is well with us, and
according to our own minds. After this manner also, and in this respect it is,
that he that is all in all doth enjoy his happiness.
XXXVI.
What things soever are not within the proper power and
jurisdiction
of thine own will either to compass or avoid, if thou shalt propose unto
thyself any of those things as either good, or evil; it must needs be that
according as thou shalt either fall into that which thou dost think evil, or
miss of that which thou dost think good, so wilt thou be ready both to complain
of the Gods, and to hate those men, who either shall be so indeed, or shall by
thee be suspected as the cause either of thy missing of the one, or falling
into the other. And indeed we must needs commit many evils, if we incline to
any of these things, more or less, with an opinion of any difference. But if we
mind and fancy those things only, as good and bad, which wholly depend of our
own wills, there is no more occasion why we should either murmur against the
Gods, or be at enmity with any man.
XXXVII.
We all work to one effect, some willingly, and with a rational
apprehension
of what we do: others without any such knowledge. As I think Heraclitus in a
place speaketh of them that sleep, that even they do work in their kind, and do
confer to the general operations of the world. One man therefore doth
co-operate after one sort, and another after another sort; but even he that
doth murmur, and to his power doth resist and hinder; even he as much as any
doth co-operate. For of such also did the world stand in need. Now do thou
consider among which of these thou wilt rank thyself. For as for him who is the
Administrator of all, he will make good use of thee whether thou wilt or no,
and make thee (as a part and member of the whole) so to co-operate with him,
that whatsoever thou doest, shall turn to the furtherance of his own counsels,
and resolutions. But be not thou for shame such a part of the whole, as that
vile and ridiculous verse (which Chrysippus in a place doth mention) is a part
of the comedy.
XXXVIII.
Doth either the sun take upon him to do that which belongs to
the
rain? or his son Aesculapius that, which unto the earth doth properly belong?
How is it with every one of the stars in particular? Though they all differ one
from another, and have their several charges and functions by themselves, do
they not all nevertheless concur and co- operate to one end?
XXXIX.
If so be that the Gods have deliberated in particular of those
things
that should happen unto me, I must stand to their deliberation, as discrete and
wise. For that a God should be an imprudent God, is a thing hard even to
conceive: and why should they resolve to do me hurt? for what profit either
unto them or the universe (which they specially take care for) could arise from
it? But if so be that they have not deliberated of me in particular, certainly
they have of the whole in general, and those things which in consequence and
coherence of this general deliberation happen unto me in particular, I am bound
to embrace and accept of. But if so be that they have not deliberated at all
(which indeed is very irreligious for any man to believe: for then let us
neither sacrifice, nor pray, nor respect our oaths, neither let us any more use
any of those things, which we persuaded of the presence and secret conversation
of the Gods among us, daily use and practise:) but, I say, if so be that they
have not indeed either in general, or particular deliberated of any of those
things, that happen unto us in this world; yet God be thanked, that of those
things that concern myself, it is lawful for me to deliberate myself, and all
my deliberation is but concerning that which may be to me most profitable. Now
that unto every one is most profitable, which is according to his own
constitution and nature. And my nature is, to be rational in all my actions and
as a good, and natural member of a city and commonwealth, towards my fellow
members ever to be sociably and kindly disposed and affected. My city and
country as I am Antoninus, is Rome; as a man, the whole world. Those things
therefore that are expedient and profitable to those cities, are the only
things that are good and expedient for me.
XL.
Whatsoever in any kind doth happen to any one, is expedient to the
whole.
And thus much to content us might suffice, that it is expedient for the whole
in general. But yet this also shalt thou generally perceive, if thou dost
diligently take heed, that whatsoever doth happen to any one man or men… . And
now I am content that the word expedient, should more generally be understood
of those things which we otherwise call middle things, or things indifferent;
as health, wealth, and the like.
XLI.
As the ordinary shows of the theatre and of other such places,
when
thou art presented with them, affect thee; as the same things still seen, and
in the same fashion, make the sight ingrateful and tedious; so must all the
things that we see all our life long affect us. For all things, above and
below, are still the same, and from the same causes. When then will there be an
end?
XLII.
Let the several deaths of men of all sorts, and of all sorts of
professions,
and of all sort of nations, be a perpetual object of thy thoughts,… so that
thou mayst even come down to Philistio, Phoebus, and Origanion. Pass now to
other generations. Thither shall we after many changes, where so many brave
orators are; where so many grave philosophers; Heraclitus, Pythagoras,
Socrates. Where so many heroes of the old times; and then so many brave
captains of the latter times; and so many kings. After all these, where
Eudoxus, Hipparchus, Archimedes; where so many other sharp, generous, industrious,
subtile, peremptory dispositions; and among others, even they, that have been
the greatest scoffers and deriders of the frailty and brevity of this our human
life; as Menippus, and others, as many as there have been such as he. Of all
these consider, that they long since are all dead, and gone. And what do they
suffer by it! Nay they that have not so much as a name remaining, what are they
the worse for it? One thing there is, and that only, which is worth our while
in this world, and ought by us much to be esteemed; and that is, according to
truth and righteousness, meekly and lovingly to converse with false, and
unrighteous men.
XLIII.
When thou wilt comfort and cheer thyself, call to mind the
several
gifts and virtues of them, whom thou dost daily converse with; as for example,
the industry of the one; the modesty of another; the liberality of a third; of
another some other thing. For nothing can so much rejoice thee, as the
resemblances and parallels of several virtues, visible and eminent in the
dispositions of those who live with thee; especially when, all at once, as near
as may be, they represent themselves unto thee. And therefore thou must have
them always in a readiness.
XLIV.
Dost thou grieve that thou dost weigh but so many pounds, and not
three
hundred rather? Just as much reason hast thou to grieve that thou must live but
so many years, and not longer. For as for bulk and substance thou dost content
thyself with that proportion of it that is allotted unto thee, so shouldst thou
for time.
XLV.
Let us do our best endeavours to persuade them; but however, if
reason
and justice lead thee to it, do it, though they be never so much against it.
But if any shall by force withstand thee, and hinder thee in it, convert thy virtuous
inclination from one object unto another, from justice to contented equanimity,
and cheerful patience: so that what in the one is thy hindrance, thou mayst
make use of it for the exercise of another virtue: and remember that it was
with due exception, and reservation, that thou didst at first incline and
desire. For thou didst not set thy mind upon things impossible. Upon what then?
that all thy desires might ever be moderated with this due kind of reservation.
And this thou hast, and mayst always obtain, whether the thing desired be in
thy power or no. And what do I care for more, if that for which I was born and
brought forth into the world (to rule all my desires with reason and
discretion) may be?
XLVI.
The ambitious supposeth another man's act, praise and applause, to
be
his own happiness; the voluptuous his own sense and feeling; but he that is
wise, his own action.
XLVII.
It is in thy power absolutely to exclude all manner of conceit
and
opinion, as concerning this matter; and by the same means, to exclude all grief
and sorrow from thy soul. For as for the things and objects themselves, they of
themselves have no such power, whereby to beget and force upon us any opinion
at all.
XLVIII.
Use thyself when any man speaks unto thee, so to hearken unto
him,
as that in the interim thou give not way to any other thoughts; that so thou
mayst (as far as is possible) seem fixed and fastened to his very soul,
whosoever he be that speaks unto thee.
XLIX.
That which is not good for the bee-hive, cannot be good for the
bee.
L.
Will either passengers, or patients, find fault and complain, either
the
one if they be well carried, or the others if well cured? Do they take care for
any more than this; the one, that their shipmaster may bring them safe to land,
and the other, that their physician may effect their recovery?
LI.
How many of them who came into the world at the same time when I
did,
are already gone out of it?
LII.
To them that are sick of the jaundice, honey seems bitter; and to
them
that are bitten by a mad dog, the water terrible; and to children, a little
ball seems a fine thing. And why then should I be angry? or do I think that
error and false opinion is less powerful to make men transgress, than either
choler, being immoderate and excessive, to cause the jaundice; or poison, to
cause rage?
LIII.
No man can hinder thee to live as thy nature doth require. Nothing
can
happen unto thee, but what the common good of nature doth require.
LIV.
What manner of men they be whom they seek to please, and what to
get,
and by what actions: how soon time will cover and bury all things, and how many
it hath already buried!
THE SEVENTH BOOK
I. What is
wickedness? It is that which many time and often thou hast
already
seen and known in the world. And so oft as anything doth happen that might
otherwise trouble thee, let this memento presently come to thy mind, that it is
that which thou hast already often Seen and known. Generally, above and below,
thou shalt find but the same things. The very same things whereof ancient
stories, middle age stories, and fresh stories are full whereof towns are full,
and houses full. There is nothing that is new. All things that are, are both
usual and of little continuance.
II.
What fear is there that thy dogmata, or philosophical resolutions
and
conclusions, should become dead in thee, and lose their proper power and
efficacy to make thee live happy, as long as those proper and correlative
fancies, and representations of things on which they mutually depend (which
continually to stir up and revive is in thy power,) are still kept fresh and
alive? It is in my power concerning this thing that is happened, what soever it
be, to conceit that which is right and true. If it be, why then am I troubled?
Those things that are without my understanding, are nothing to it at all: and
that is it only, which doth properly concern me. Be always in this mind, and
thou wilt be right.
III.
That which most men would think themselves most happy for, and
would
prefer before all things, if the Gods would grant it unto them after their
deaths, thou mayst whilst thou livest grant unto thyself; to live again. See
the things of the world again, as thou hast already seen them. For what is it
else to live again? Public shows and solemnities with much pomp and vanity,
stage plays, flocks and herds; conflicts and contentions: a bone thrown to a
company of hungry curs; a bait for greedy fishes; the painfulness, and
continual burden-bearing of wretched ants, the running to and fro of terrified
mice: little puppets drawn up and down with wires and nerves: these be the
objects of the world among all these thou must stand steadfast, meekly
affected, and free from all manner of indignation; with this right
ratiocination and apprehension; that as the worth is of those things which a
man doth affect, so is in very deed every man's worth more or less.
IV.
Word after word, every one by itself, must the things that are
spoken
be conceived and understood; and so the things that are done, purpose after
purpose, every one by itself likewise. And as in matter of purposes and
actions, we must presently see what is the proper use and relation of every
one; so of words must we be as ready, to consider of every one what is the true
meaning, and signification of it according to truth and nature, however it be
taken in common use.
V.
Is my reason, and understanding sufficient for this, or no? If it be
sufficient,
without any private applause, or public ostentation as of an instrument, which
by nature I am provided of, I will make use of it for the work in hand, as of
an instrument, which by nature I am provided of. if it be not, and that
otherwise it belong not unto me particularly as a private duty, I will either
give it over, and leave it to some other that can better effect it: or I will
endeavour it; but with the help of some other, who with the joint help of my
reason, is able to bring somewhat to pass, that will now be seasonable and useful
for the common good. For whatsoever I do either by myself, or with some other,
the only thing that I must intend, is, that it be good and expedient for the
public. For as for praise, consider how many who once were much commended, are
now already quite forgotten, yea they that commended them, how even they
themselves are long since dead and gone. Be not therefore ashamed, whensoever
thou must use the help of others. For whatsoever it be that lieth upon thee to
effect, thou must propose it unto thyself, as the scaling of walls is unto a
soldier. And what if thou through either lameness or some other impediment art
not able to reach unto the top of the battlements alone, which with the help of
another thou mayst; wilt thou therefore give it over, or go about it with less
courage and alacrity, because thou canst not effect it all alone?
VI.
Let not things future trouble thee. For if necessity so require that
they
come to pass, thou shalt (whensoever that is) be provided for them with the
same reason, by which whatsoever is now present, is made both tolerable and
acceptable unto thee. All things are linked and knitted together, and the knot
is sacred, neither is there anything in the world, that is not kind and natural
in regard of any other thing, or, that hath not some kind of reference and
natural correspondence with whatsoever is in the world besides. For all things
are ranked together, and by that decency of its due place and order that each
particular doth observe, they all concur together to the making of one and the
same ["Kosmos" ed] or world: as if you said, a comely piece, or an
orderly composition. For all things throughout, there is but one and the same
order; and through all things, one and the same God, the same substance and the
same law. There is one common reason, and one common truth, that belongs unto
all reasonable creatures, for neither is there save one perfection of all
creatures that are of the same kind, and partakers of the same reason.
VII.
Whatsoever is material, doth soon vanish away into the common
substance
of the whole; and whatsoever is formal, or, whatsoever doth animate that which
is material, is soon resumed into the common reason of the whole; and the fame
and memory of anything, is soon swallowed up by the general age and duration of
the whole.
VIII.
To a reasonable creature, the same action is both according
to
nature, and according to reason.
IX.
Straight of itself, not made straight.
X.
As several members in one body united, so are reasonable creatures
in
a body divided and dispersed, all made and prepared for one common operation.
And this thou shalt apprehend the better, if thou shalt use thyself often to
say to thyself, I am meloz, or a member of the mass and body of reasonable
substances. But if thou shalt say I am meroz, or a part, thou dost not yet love
men from thy heart. The joy that thou takest in the exercise of bounty, is not
yet grounded upon a due ratiocination and right apprehension of the nature of
things. Thou dost exercise it as yet upon this ground barely, as a thing
convenient and fitting; not, as doing good to thyself, when thou dost good unto
others.
XI.
Of things that are external, happen what will to that which can
suffer
by external accidents. Those things that suffer let them complain themselves,
if they will; as for me, as long as I conceive no such thing, that that which
is happened is evil, I have no hurt; and it is in my power not to conceive any
such thing.
XII.
Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, thou must be good; not for
any
man's sake, but for thine own nature's sake; as if either gold, or the emerald,
or purple, should ever be saying to themselves, Whatsoever any man either doth
or saith, I must still be an emerald, and I must keep my colour.
XIII.
This may ever be my comfort and security: my understanding, that
ruleth
over all, will not of itself bring trouble and vexation upon itself. This I
say; it will not put itself in any fear, it will not lead itself into any
concupiscence. If it be in the power of any other to compel it to fear, or to
grieve, it is free for him to use his power. But sure if itself do not of
itself, through some false opinion or supposition incline itself to any such
disposition; there is no fear. For as for the body, why should I make the grief
of my body, to be the grief of my mind? If that itself can either fear or
complain, let it. But as for the soul, which indeed, can only be truly sensible
of either fear or grief; to which only it belongs according to its different
imaginations and opinions, to admit of either of these, or of their contraries;
thou mayst look to that thyself, that it suffer nothing. Induce her not to any
such opinion or persuasion. The understanding is of itself sufficient unto
itself, and needs not (if itself doth not bring itself to need) any other thing
besides itself, and by consequent as it needs nothing, so neither can it be
troubled or hindered by anything, if itself doth not trouble and hinder itself.
XIV.
What is rv&nfLovia, or happiness: but a7~o~ &d~wv, or, a good
da~rnon,
or spirit? What then dost thou do here, O opinion? By the Gods I adjure thee,
that thou get thee gone, as thou earnest: for I need thee not. Thou earnest
indeed unto me according to thy ancient wonted manner. It is that, that all men
have ever been subject unto. That thou camest therefore I am not angry with
thee, only begone, now that I have found thee what thou art.
XV.
Is any man so foolish as to fear change, to which all things that
once
were not owe their being? And what is it, that is more pleasing and more
familiar to the nature of the universe? How couldst thou thyself use thy
ordinary hot baths, should not the wood that heateth them first be changed? How
couldst thou receive any nourishment from those things that thou hast eaten, if
they should not be changed? Can anything else almost (that is useful and
profitable) be brought to pass without change? How then dost not thou perceive,
that for thee also, by death, to come to change, is a thing of the very same
nature, and as necessary for the nature of the universe?
XVI.
Through the substance of the universe, as through a torrent pass
all
particular bodies, being all of the same nature, and all joint workers with the
universe itself as in one of our bodies so many members among themselves. How
many such as Chrysippus, how many such as Socrates, how many such as Epictetus,
hath the age of the world long since swallowed up and devoured? Let this, be it
either men or businesses, that thou hast occasion to think of, to the end that
thy thoughts be not distracted and thy mind too earnestly set upon anything,
upon every such occasion presently come to thy mind. Of all my thoughts and
cares, one only thing shall be the object, that I myself do nothing which to
the proper constitution of man, (either in regard of the thing itself, or in
regard of the manner, or of the time of doing,) is contrary. The time when thou
shalt have forgotten all things, is at hand. And that time also is at hand,
when thou thyself shalt be forgotten by all. Whilst thou art, apply thyself to
that especially which unto man as he is a mart, is most proper and agreeable,
and that is, for a man even to love them that transgress against him. This shall
be, if at the same time that any such thing doth happen, thou call to mind,
that they are thy kinsmen; that it is through ignorance and against their wills
that they sin; and that within a very short while after, both thou and he shall
be no more. But above all things, that he hath not done thee any hurt; for that
by him thy mind and understanding is not made worse or more vile than it was
before.
XVII.
The nature of the universe, of the common substance of all things
as
it were of so much wax hath now perchance formed a horse; and then, destroying
that figure, hath new tempered and fashioned the matter of it into the form and
substance of a tree: then that again into the form and substance of a man: and
then that again into some other. Now every one of these doth subsist but for a
very little while. As for dissolution, if it be no grievous thing to the chest
or trunk, to be joined together; why should it be more grievous to be put
asunder?
XVIII.
An angry countenance is much against nature, and it is oftentimes
the
proper countenance of them that are at the point of death. But were it so, that
all anger and passion were so thoroughly quenched in thee, that it were
altogether impossible to kindle it any more, yet herein must not thou rest
satisfied, but further endeavour by good consequence of true ratiocination,
perfectly to conceive and understand, that all anger and passion is against
reason. For if thou shalt not be sensible of thine innocence; if that also
shall be gone from thee, the comfort of a good conscience, that thou doest all
things according to reason: what shouldest thou live any longer for? All things
that now thou seest, are but for a moment. That nature, by which all things in
the world are administered, will soon bring change and alteration upon them,
and then of their substances make other things like unto them: and then soon
after others again of the matter and substance of these: that so by these
means, the world may still appear fresh and new.
XIX.
Whensoever any man doth trespass against other, presently consider
with
thyself what it was that he did suppose to be good, what to be evil, when he
did trespass. For this when thou knowest, thou wilt pity him thou wilt have no
occasion either to wonder, or to be angry. For either thou thyself dust yet
live in that error and ignorance, as that thou dust suppose either that very
thing that he doth, or some other like worldly thing, to be good; and so thou
art bound to pardon him if he have done that which thou in the like case wouldst
have done thyself. Or if so be that thou dost not any more suppose the same
things to be good or evil, that he doth; how canst thou but be gentle unto him
that is in an error?
XX.
Fancy not to thyself things future, as though they were present
but
of those that are present, take some aside, that thou takest most benefit of,
and consider of them particularly, how wonderfully thou wouldst want them, if
they were not present. But take heed withal, lest that whilst thou dust settle
thy contentment in things present, thou grow in time so to overprize them, as
that the want of them (whensoever it shall so fall out) should be a trouble and
a vexation unto thee. Wind up thyself into thyself. Such is the nature of thy
reasonable commanding part, as that if it exercise justice, and have by that
means tranquillity within itself, it doth rest fully satisfied with itself
without any other thing.
XXI.
Wipe off all opinion stay the force and violence of unreasonable
lusts
and affections: circumscribe the present time examine whatsoever it be that is
happened, either to thyself or to another: divide all present objects, either
in that which is formal or material think of the last hour. That which thy
neighbour hath committed, where the guilt of it lieth, there let it rest.
Examine in order whatsoever is spoken. Let thy mind penetrate both into the
effects, and into the causes. Rejoice thyself with true simplicity, and
modesty; and that all middle things between virtue and vice are indifferent unto
thee. Finally, love mankind; obey God.
XXII.
All things (saith he) are by certain order and appointment. And
what
if the elements only.
It
will suffice to remember, that all things in general are by certain order and
appointment: or if it be but few. And as concerning death, that either
dispersion, or the atoms, or annihilation, or extinction, or translation will
ensue. And as concerning pain, that that which is intolerable is soon ended by
death; and that which holds long must needs be tolerable; and that the mind in
the meantime (which is all in all) may by way of interclusion, or interception,
by stopping all manner of commerce and sympathy with the body, still retain its
own tranquillity. Thy understanding is not made worse by it. As for those parts
that suffer, let them, if they can, declare their grief themselves. As for
praise and commendation, view their mind and understanding, what estate they
are in; what kind of things they fly, and what things they seek after: and that
as in the seaside, whatsoever was before to be seen, is by the continual
succession of new heaps of sand cast up one upon another, soon hid and covered;
so in this life, all former things by those which immediately succeed.
XXIII.
Out of Plato. 'He then whose mind is endowed with true
magnanimity,
who hath accustomed himself to the contemplation both of all times, and of all
things in general; can this mortal life (thinkest thou) seem any great matter
unto him? It is not possible, answered he. Then neither will such a one account
death a grievous thing? By no means.'
XXIV.
Out of Antisthenes. 'It is a princely thing to do well, and to be
ill-spoken
of. It is a shameful thing that the face should be subject unto the mind, to be
put into what shape it will, and to be dressed by it as it will; and that the
mind should not bestow so much care upon herself, as to fashion herself, and to
dress herself as best becometh her.'
XXV.
Out of several poets and comics. 'It will but little avail thee,
to
turn thine anger and indignation upon the things themselves that have fallen
across unto thee. For as for them, they are not sensible of it, &c. Thou
shalt but make thyself a laughing-stock; both unto the Gods and men, &c.
Our life is reaped like a ripe ear of corn; one is yet standing and another is
down, &c. But if so be that I and my children be neglected by the gods,
there is some reason even for that, &c. As long as right and equity is of
my side, &c. Not to lament with them, not to tremble, &c.'
XXVI.
Out of Plato. 'My answer, full of justice and equity, should be
this:
Thy speech is not right, O man! if thou supposest that he that is of any worth
at all, should apprehend either life or death, as a matter of great hazard and
danger; and should not make this rather his only care, to examine his own
actions, whether just or unjust: whether actions of a good, or of a wicked man,
&c. For thus in very truth stands the case, O ye men of Athens. What place
or station soever a man either hath chosen to himself, judging it best for
himself; or is by lawful authority put and settled in, therein do I think (all
appearance of danger notwithstanding) that he should continue, as one who
feareth neither death, nor anything else, so much as he feareth to commit
anything that is vicious and shameful, &c. But, O noble sir, consider I
pray, whether true generosity and true happiness, do not consist in somewhat
else rather, than in the preservation either of our, or other men's lives. For
it is not the part of a man that is a man indeed, to desire to live long or to
make much of his life whilst he liveth: but rather (he that is such) will in
these things wholly refer himself unto the Gods, and believing that which every
woman can tell him, that no man can escape death; the only thing that he takes
thought and care for is this, that what time he liveth, he may live as well and
as virtuously as he can possibly, &c. To look about, and with the eyes to
follow the course of the stars and planets as though thou wouldst run with
them; and to mind perpetually the several changes of the elements one into
another. For such fancies and imaginations, help much to purge away the dross
and filth of this our earthly life,' &c. That also is a fine passage of
Plato's, where he speaketh of worldly things in these words: 'Thou must also as
from some higher place look down, as it were, upon the things of this world, as
flocks, armies, husbandmen's labours, marriages, divorces, generations, deaths:
the tumults of courts and places of judicatures; desert places; the several
nations of barbarians, public festivals, mournings, fairs, markets.' How all
things upon earth are pell-mell; and how miraculously things contrary one to
another, concur to the beauty and perfection of this universe.
XXVII.
To look back upon things of former ages, as upon the manifold
changes
and conversions of several monarchies and commonwealths. We may also foresee
things future, for they shall all be of the same kind; neither is it possible
that they should leave the tune, or break the concert that is now begun, as it
were, by these things that are now done and brought to pass in the world. It
comes all to one therefore, whether a man be a spectator of the things of this
life but forty years, or whether he see them ten thousand years together: for
what shall he see more? 'And as for those parts that came from the earth, they
shall return unto the earth again; and those that came from heaven, they also
shall return unto those heavenly places.' Whether it be a mere dissolution and
unbinding of the manifold intricacies and entanglements of the confused atoms;
or some such dispersion of the simple and incorruptible elements… 'With meats
and drinks and divers charms, they seek to divert the channel, that they might
not die. Yet must we needs endure that blast of wind that cometh from above,
though we toil and labour never so much.'
XXVIII.
He hath a stronger body, and is a better wrestler than I. What
then?
Is he more bountiful? is he more modest? Doth he bear all adverse chances with
more equanimity: or with his neighbour's offences with more meekness and
gentleness than I?
XXIX.
Where the matter may be effected agreeably to that reason, which
both
unto the Gods and men is common, there can be no just cause of grief or sorrow.
For where the fruit and benefit of an action well begun and prosecuted
according to the proper constitution of man may be reaped and obtained, or is
sure and certain, it is against reason that any damage should there be
suspected. In all places, and at all times, it is in thy power religiously to
embrace whatsoever by God's appointment is happened unto thee, and justly to
converse with those men, whom thou hast to do with, and accurately to examine
every fancy that presents itself, that nothing may slip and steal in, before
thou hast rightly apprehended the true nature of it.
XXX.
Look not about upon other men's minds and understandings; but look
right
on forwards whither nature, both that of the universe, in those things that
happen unto thee; and thine in particular, in those things that are done by
thee: doth lead, and direct thee. Now every one is bound to do that, which is
consequent and agreeable to that end which by his true natural constitution he
was ordained unto. As for all other things, they are ordained for the use of
reasonable creatures: as in all things we see that that which is worse and
inferior, is made for that which is better. Reasonable creatures, they are
ordained one for another. That therefore which is chief in every man's
constitution, is, that he intend the common good. The second is, that he yield
not to any lusts and motions of the flesh. For it is the part and privilege of
the reasonable and intellective faculty, that she can so bound herself, as that
neither the sensitive, nor the appetitive faculties, may not anyways prevail
upon her. For both these are brutish. And therefore over both she challengeth
mastery, and cannot anyways endure, if in her right temper, to be subject unto
either. And this indeed most justly. For by nature she was ordained to command
all in the body. The third thing proper to man by his constitution, is, to
avoid all rashness and precipitancy; and not to be subject to error. To these
things then, let the mind apply herself and go straight on, without any
distraction about other things, and she hath her end, and by consequent her
happiness.
XXXI.
As one who had lived, and were now to die by right, whatsoever is
yet
remaining, bestow that wholly as a gracious overplus upon a virtuous life. Love
and affect that only, whatsoever it be that happeneth, and is by the fates
appointed unto thee. For what can be more reasonable? And as anything doth
happen unto thee by way of cross, or calamity, call to mind presently and set
before thine eyes, the examples of some other men, to whom the self-same thing
did once happen likewise. Well, what did they? They grieved; they wondered;
they complained. And where are they now? All dead and gone. Wilt thou also be
like one of them? Or rather leaving to men of the world (whose life both in
regard of themselves, and them that they converse with, is nothing but mere
mutability; or men of as fickle minds, as fickle bodies; ever changing and soon
changed themselves) let it be thine only care and study, how to make a right
use of all such accidents. For there is good use to be made of them, and they
will prove fit matter for thee to work upon, if it shall be both thy care and
thy desire, that whatsoever thou doest, thou thyself mayst like and approve
thyself for it. And both these, see, that thou remember well, according as the
diversity of the matter of the action that thou art about shall require. Look
within; within is the fountain of all good. Such a fountain, where springing
waters can never fail, so thou dig still deeper and deeper.
XXXII.
Thou must use thyself also to keep thy body fixed and steady;
free
from all loose fluctuant either motion, or posture. And as upon thy face and
looks, thy mind hath easily power over them to keep them to that which is grave
and decent; so let it challenge the same power over the whole body also. But so
observe all things in this kind, as that it be without any manner of
affectation.
XXXIII.
The art of true living in this world is more like a wrestler's,
than
a dancer's practice. For in this they both agree, to teach a man whatsoever
falls upon him, that he may be ready for it, and that nothing may cast him
down.
XXXIV.
Thou must continually ponder and consider with thyself, what
manner
of men they be, and for their minds and understandings what is their present
estate, whose good word and testimony thou dost desire. For then neither wilt
thou see cause to complain of them that offend against their wills; or find any
want of their applause, if once thou dost but penetrate into the true force and
ground both of their opinions, and of their desires. 'No soul (saith he) is
willingly bereft of the truth,' and by consequent, neither of justice, or
temperance, or kindness, and mildness; nor of anything that is of the same
kind. It is most needful that thou shouldst always remember this. For so shalt
thou be far more gentle and moderate towards all men.
XXXV.
What pain soever thou art in, let this presently come to thy mind,
that
it is not a thing whereof thou needest to be ashamed, neither is it a thing
whereby thy understanding, that hath the government of all, can be made worse.
For neither in regard of the substance of it, nor in regard of the end of it
(which is, to intend the common good) can it alter and corrupt it. This also of
Epicurus mayst thou in most pains find some help of, that it is 'neither
intolerable, nor eternal;' so thou keep thyself to the true bounds and limits
of reason and give not way to opinion. This also thou must consider, that many
things there be, which oftentimes unsensibly trouble and vex thee, as not armed
against them with patience, because they go not ordinarily under the name of
pains, which in very deed are of the same nature as pain; as to slumber
unquietly, to suffer heat, to want appetite: when therefore any of these things
make thee discontented, check thyself with these words: Now hath pain given
thee the foil; thy courage hath failed thee.
XXXVI.
Take heed lest at any time thou stand so affected, though towards
unnatural
evil men, as ordinary men are commonly one towards another.
XXXVII.
How know we whether Socrates were so eminent indeed, and of so
extraordinary
a disposition? For that he died more gloriously, that he disputed with the
Sophists more subtilty; that he watched in the frost more assiduously; that
being commanded to fetch innocent Salaminius, he refused to do it more
generously; all this will not serve. Nor that he walked in the streets, with
much gravity and majesty, as was objected unto him by his adversaries: which
nevertheless a man may well doubt of, whether it were so or no, or, which above
all the rest, if so be that it were true, a man would well consider of, whether
commendable, or dis-commendable. The thing therefore that we must inquire into,
is this; what manner of soul Socrates had: whether his disposition was such; as
that all that he stood upon, and sought after in this world, was barely this,
that he might ever carry himself justly towards men, and holily towards the
Gods. Neither vexing himself to no purpose at the wickedness of others, nor yet
ever condescending to any man's evil fact, or evil intentions, through either
fear, or engagement of friendship. Whether of those things that happened unto
him by God's appointment, he neither did wonder at any when it did happen, or
thought it intolerable in the trial of it. And lastly, whether he never did
suffer his mind to sympathise with the senses, and affections of the body. For
we must not think that Nature hath so mixed and tempered it with the body, as
that she hath not power to circumscribe herself, and by herself to intend her
own ends and occasions.
XXXVIII.
For it is a thing very possible, that a man should be a very
divine
man, and yet be altogether unknown. This thou must ever be mindful of, as of
this also, that a man's true happiness doth consist in very few things. And
that although thou dost despair, that thou shalt ever be a good either
logician, or naturalist, yet thou art never the further off by it from being either
liberal, or modest, or charitable, or obedient unto God.
XXXIX.
Free from all compulsion in all cheerfulness and alacrity thou
mayst
run out thy time, though men should exclaim against thee never so much, and the
wild beasts should pull in sunder the poor members of thy pampered mass of
flesh. For what in either of these or the like cases should hinder the mind to
retain her own rest and tranquillity, consisting both in the right judgment of
those things that happen unto her, and in the ready use of all present matters
and occasions? So that her judgment may say, to that which is befallen her by
way of cross: this thou art in very deed, and according to thy true nature:
notwithstanding that in the judgment of opinion thou dust appear otherwise: and
her discretion to the present object; thou art that, which I sought for. For
whatsoever it be, that is now present, shall ever be embraced by me as a fit
and seasonable object, both for my reasonable faculty, and for my sociable, or
charitable inclination to work upon. And that which is principal in this
matter, is that it may be referred either unto the praise of God, or to the
good of men. For either unto God or man, whatsoever it is that doth happen in
the world hath in the ordinary course of nature its proper reference; neither
is there anything, that in regard of nature is either new, or reluctant and
intractable, but all things both usual and easy.
XL.
Then hath a man attained to the estate of perfection in his life and
conversation,
when he so spends every day, as if it were his last day: never hot and vehement
in his affections, nor yet so cold and stupid as one that had no sense; and
free from all manner of dissimulation.
XLI.
Can the Gods, who are immortal, for the continuance of so many ages
bear
without indignation with such and so many sinners, as have ever been, yea not
only so, but also take such care for them, that they want nothing; and dust
thou so grievously take on, as one that could bear with them no longer; thou
that art but for a moment of time? yea thou that art one of those sinners
thyself? A very ridiculous thing it is, that any man should dispense with vice
and wickedness in himself, which is in his power to restrain; and should go
about to suppress it in others, which is altogether impossible.
XLII.
What object soever, our reasonable and sociable faculty doth meet
with,
that affords nothing either for the satisfaction of reason, or for the practice
of charity, she worthily doth think unworthy of herself.
XLIII.
When thou hast done well, and another is benefited by thy action,
must
thou like a very fool look for a third thing besides, as that it may appear
unto others also that thou hast done well, or that thou mayest in time, receive
one good turn for another? No man useth to be weary of that which is beneficial
unto him. But every action according to nature, is beneficial. Be not weary
then of doing that which is beneficial unto thee, whilst it is so unto others.
XLIV.
The nature of the universe did once certainly before it was
created,
whatsoever it hath done since, deliberate and so resolve upon the creation of
the world. Now since that time, whatsoever it is, that is and happens in the
world, is either but a consequent of that one and first deliberation: or if so
be that this ruling rational part of the world, takes any thought and care of
things particular, they are surely his reasonable and principal creatures, that
are the proper object of his particular care and providence. This often thought
upon, will much conduce to thy tranquillity.
THE EIGHTH BOOK
I. This also,
among other things, may serve to keep thee from vainglory;
if
thou shalt consider, that thou art now altogether incapable of the commendation
of one, who all his life long, or from his youth at least, hath lived a
philosopher's life. For both unto others, and to thyself especially, it is well
known, that thou hast done many things contrary to that perfection of life.
Thou hast therefore been confounded in thy course, and henceforth it will be
hard for thee to recover the title and credit of a philosopher. And to it also
is thy calling and profession repugnant. If therefore thou dost truly
understand, what it is that is of moment indeed; as for thy fame and credit,
take no thought or care for that: let it suffice thee if all the rest of thy
life, be it more or less, thou shalt live as thy nature requireth, or according
to the true and natural end of thy making. Take pains therefore to know what it
is that thy nature requireth, and let nothing else distract thee. Thou hast
already had sufficient experience, that of those many things that hitherto thou
hast erred and wandered about, thou couldst not find happiness in any of them.
Not in syllogisms, and logical subtilties, not in wealth, not in honour and
reputation, not in pleasure. In none of all these. Wherein then is it to be
found? In the practice of those things, which the nature of man, as he is a
man, doth require. How then shall he do those things? if his dogmata, or moral
tenets and opinions (from which all motions and actions do proceed), be right
and true. Which be those dogmata? Those that concern that which is good or
evil, as that there is nothing truly good and beneficial unto man, but that
which makes him just, temperate, courageous, liberal; and that there is nothing
truly evil and hurtful unto man, but that which causeth the contrary effects.
II.
Upon every action that thou art about, put this question to thyself;
How
will this when it is done agree with me? Shall I have no occasion to repent of
it? Yet a very little while and I am dead and gone; and all things are at end.
What then do I care for more than this, that my present action whatsoever it
be, may be the proper action of one that is reasonable; whose end is, the
common good; who in all things is ruled and governed by the same law of right
and reason, by which God Himself is.
III.
Alexander, Caius, Pompeius; what are these to Diogenes, Heraclitus,
and
Socrates? These penetrated into the true nature of things; into all causes, and
all subjects: and upon these did they exercise their power and authority. But
as for those, as the extent of their error was, so far did their slavery
extend.
IV.
What they have done, they will still do, although thou shouldst hang
thyself.
First; let it not trouble thee. For all things both good and evil: come to pass
according to the nature and general condition of the universe, and within a
very little while, all things will be at an end; no man will be remembered: as
now of Africanus (for example) and Augustus it is already come to pass. Then
secondly; fix thy mind upon the thing itself; look into it, and remembering
thyself, that thou art bound nevertheless to be a good man, and what it is that
thy nature requireth of thee as thou art a man, be not diverted from what thou
art about, and speak that which seemeth unto thee most just: only speak it
kindly, modestly, and without hypocrisy.
V.
That which the nature of the universe doth busy herself about, is;
that
which is here, to transfer it thither, to change it, and thence again to take
it away, and to carry it to another place. So that thou needest not fear any
new thing. For all things are usual and ordinary; and all things are disposed
by equality.
VI.
Every particular nature hath content, when in its own proper course
it
speeds. A reasonable nature doth then speed, when first in matter of fancies
and imaginations, it gives no consent to that which is either false uncertain.
Secondly, when in all its motions and resolutions it takes its level at the
common good only, and that it desireth nothing, and flieth from nothing, bet
what is in its own power to compass or avoid. And lastly, when it willingly and
gladly embraceth, whatsoever is dealt and appointed unto it by the common
nature. For it is part of it; even as the nature of any one leaf, is part of
the common nature of all plants and trees. But that the nature of a leaf, is
part of a nature both unreasonable and unsensible, and which in its proper end
may be hindered; or, which is servile and slavish: whereas the nature of man is
part of a common nature which cannot be hindered, and which is both reasonable
and just. From whence also it is, that accord ing to the worth of everything,
she doth make such equal distribution of all things, as of duration, substance
form, operation, and of events and accidents. But herein consider not whether
thou shalt find this equality in everything absolutely and by itself; but
whether in all the particulars of some one thing taken together, and compared
with all the particulars of some other thing, and them together likewise.
VII.
Thou hast no time nor opportunity to read. What then? Hast thou
not
time and opportunity to exercise thyself, not to wrong thyself; to strive
against all carnal pleasures and pains, and to aet the upper hand of them; to
contemn honour and vainglory; and not only, not to be angry with them, whom
towards thee thou doest find unsensible and unthankful; but also to have a care
of them still, and of their welfare?
VIII.
Forbear henceforth to complain of the trouble of a courtly life,
either
in public before others, or in private by thyself.
IX.
Repentance is an inward and self-reprehension for the neglect or
omission
of somewhat that was profitable. Now whatsoever is good, is also profitable,
and it is the part of an honest virtuous man to set by it, and to make
reckoning of it accordingly. But never did any honest virtuous man repent of
the neglect or omission of any carnal pleasure: no carnal pleasure then is
either good or profitable.
X.
This, what is it in itself, and by itself, according to its proper
constitution?
What is the substance of it? What is the matter, or proper use? What is the
form or efficient cause? What is it for in this world, and how long will it
abide? Thus must thou examine all things, that present themselves unto thee.
XI.
When thou art hard to be stirred up and awaked out of thy sleep,
admonish
thyself and call to mind, that, to perform actions tending to the common good
is that which thine own proper constitution, and that which the nature of man
do require. But to sleep, is common to unreasonable creatures also. And what
more proper and natural, yea what more kind and pleasing, than that which is
according to nature?
XII.
As every fancy and imagination presents itself unto thee, consider
(if
it be possible) the true nature, and the proper qualities of it, and reason
with thyself about it.
XIII.
At thy first encounter with any one, say presently to thyself:
This
man, what are his opinions concerning that which is good or evil? as concerning
pain, pleasure, and the causes of both; concerning honour, and dishonour,
concerning life and death? thus and thus. Now if it be no wonder that a man
should have such and such opinions, how can it be a wonder that he should do
such and such things? I will remember then, that he cannot but do as he doth,
holding those opinions that he doth. Remember, that as it is a shame for any
man to wonder that a fig tree should bear figs, so also to wonder that the
world should bear anything, whatsoever it is which in the ordinary course of
nature it may bear. To a physician also and to a pilot it is a shame either for
the one to wonder, that such and such a one should have an ague; or for the
other, that the winds should prove Contrary.
XIV.
Remember, that to change thy mind upon occasion, and to follow him
that
is able to rectify thee, is equally ingenuous, as to find out at the first,
what is right and just, without help. For of thee nothing is required, ti, is
beyond the extent of thine own deliberation and jun. merit, and of thine own
understanding.
XV.
If it were thine act and in thine own power, wouldest thou do
it?
If it were not, whom dost tin accuse? the atoms, or the Gods? For to do either,
the part of a mad man. Thou must therefore blame nobody, but if it be in thy
power, redress what is amiss; if it be not, to what end is it to complain? For
nothing should be done but to some certain end.
XVI.
Whatsoever dieth and falleth, however and wheresoever it die
and
fall, it cannot fall out of the world, here it have its abode and change, here
also shall it have its dissolution into its proper elements. The same are the
world's elements, and the elements of which thou dost consist. And they when
they are changed, they murmur not; why shouldest thou?
XVII.
Whatsoever is, was made for something: as a horse, a vine. Why
wonderest
thou? The sun itself will say of itself, I was made for something; and so hath
every god its proper function. What then were then made for? to disport and
delight thyself? See how even common sense and reason cannot brook it.
XVIII.
Nature hath its end as well in the end and final consummation of
anything
that is, as in the begin-nine and continuation of it.
XIX.
As one that tosseth up a ball. And what is a ball the better, if
the
motion of it be upwards; or the worse if it be downwards; or if it chance to
fall upon the ground? So for the bubble; if it continue, what it the better?
and if it dissolve, what is it the worse And so is it of a candle too. And so
must thou reason with thyself, both in matter of fame, and in matter of death.
For as for the body itself, (the subject of death) wouldest thou know the
vileness of it? Turn it about that thou mayest behold it the worst sides
upwards as well, as in its more ordinary pleasant shape; how doth it look, when
it is old and withered? when sick and pained? when in the act of lust, and
fornication? And as for fame. This life is short. Both he that praiseth, and he
that is praised; he that remembers, and he that is remembered, will soon be
dust and ashes. Besides, it is but in one corner of this part of the world that
thou art praised; and yet in this corner, thou hast not the joint praises of
all men; no nor scarce of any one constantly. And yet the whole earth itself,
what is it but as one point, in regard of the whole world?
XX.
That which must be the subject of thy consideration, is either the
matter
itself, or the dogma, or the operation, or the true sense and signification.
XXI.
Most justly have these things happened unto thee: why dost not
thou
amend? O but thou hadst rather become good to-morrow, than to be so to-day.
XXII.
Shall I do it? I will; so the end of my action be to do good unto
men.
Doth anything by way of cross or adversity happen unto me? I accept it, with
reference unto the Gods, and their providence; the fountain of all things, from
which whatsoever comes to pass, doth hang and depend.
XXIII.
By one action judge of the rest: this bathing which usually takes
up
so much of our time, what is it? Oil, sweat, filth; or the sordes of the body:
an excrementitious viscosity, the excrements of oil and other ointments used
about the body, and mixed with the sordes of the body: all base and loathsome.
And such almost is every part of our life; and every worldly object.
XXIV.
Lucilla buried Verus; then was Lucilla herself buried by others.
So
Secunda Maximus, then Secunda herself. So Epitynchanus, Diotimus; then
Epitynchanus himself. So Antoninus Pius, Faustina his wife; then Antoninus
himself. This is the course of the world. First Celer, Adrianus; then Adrianus
himself. And those austere ones; those that foretold other men's deaths; those
that were so proud and stately, where are they now? Those austere ones I mean,
such as were Charax, and Demetrius the Platonic, and Eudaemon, and others like
unto those. They were all but for one day; all dead and gone long since. Some
of them no sooner dead, than forgotten. Others soon turned into fables. Of
others, even that which was fabulous, is now long since forgotten. This
thereafter thou must remember, that whatsoever thou art compounded of, shall
soon be dispersed, and that thy life and breath, or thy soul, shall either be
no more or shall ranslated (sp.), and appointed to some certain place and
station.
XXV.
The true joy of a man, is to do that which properly belongs unto a
man.
That which is most proper unto a man, is, first, to be kindly affected towards
them that are of the same kind and nature as he is himself to contemn all
sensual motions and appetites, to discern rightly all plausible fancies and
imaginations, to contemplate the nature of the universe; both it, and things
that are done in it. In which kind of contemplation three several relations are
to be observed The first, to the apparent secondary cause. The Second to the
first original cause, God, from whom originally proceeds whatsoever doth happen
in the world. The third and last, to them that we live and converse with: what
use may be made of it, to their use and benefit.
XXVI.
If pain be an evil, either it is in regard of the body; (and that
cannot
be, because the body of itself is altogether insensible:) or in regard of the
soul But it is in the power of the soul, to preserve her own peace and
tranquillity, and not to suppose that pain is evil. For all judgment and
deliberation; all prosecution, or aversation is from within, whither the sense
of evil (except it be let in by opinion) cannot penetrate.
XXVII.
Wipe off all idle fancies, and say unto thyself incessantly; Now
if
I will, it is in my power to keep out of this my soul all wickedness, all lust,
and concupiscences, all trouble and confusion. But on the contrary to behold
and consider all things according to their true nature, and to carry myself
towards everything according to its true worth. Remember then this thy power
that nature hath given thee.
XXVIII.
Whether thou speak in the Senate or whether thou speak to any
particular,
let thy speech In always grave and modest. But thou must not openly and
vulgarly observe that sound and exact form of speaking, concerning that which
is truly good and truly civil; the vanity of the world, and of worldly men:
which otherwise truth and reason doth prescribe.
XXIX.
Augustus his court; his wife, his daughter, his nephews, his
sons-in-law
his sister, Agrippa, his kinsmen, his domestics, his friends; Areus, Maecenas,
his slayers of beasts for sacrifice and divination: there thou hast the death
of a whole court together. Proceed now on to the rest that have been since that
of Augustus. Hath death dwelt with them otherwise, though so many and so stately
whilst they lived, than it doth use to deal with any one particular man?
Consider now the death of a whole kindred and family, as of that of the
Pompeys, as that also that useth to be written upon some monuments, HE WAS THE
LAST OF HIS OWN KINDRED. O what care did his predecessors take, that they might
leave a successor, yet behold at last one or other must of necessity be THE
LAST. Here again therefore consider the death of a whole kindred.
XXX.
Contract thy whole life to the measure and proportion of one single
action.
And if in every particular action thou dost perform what is fitting to the
utmost of thy power, let it suffice thee. And who can hinder thee, but that
thou mayest perform what is fitting? But there may be some outward let and impediment.
Not any, that can hinder thee, but that whatsoever thou dost, thou may do it,
justly, temperately, and with the praise of God. Yea, but there may be
somewhat, whereby some operation or other of thine may be hindered. And then,
with that very thing that doth hinder, thou mayest he well pleased, and so by
this gentle and equanimious conversion of thy mind unto that which may be,
instead of that which at first thou didst intend, in the room of that former
action there succeedeth another, which agrees as well with this contraction of
thy life, that we now speak of.
XXXI.
Receive temporal blessings without ostentation, when they are sent
and
thou shalt be able to part with them with all readiness and facility when they
are taken from thee again.
XXXII.
If ever thou sawest either a hand, or a foot, or a head lying by
itself,
in some place or other, as cut off from the rest of the body, such must thou
conceive him to make himself, as much as in him lieth, that either is offended
with anything that is happened, (whatsoever it be) and as it were divides
himself from it: or that commits anything against the natural law of mutual
correspondence, and society among men: or, he that, commits any act of
uncharitableness. Whosoever thou art, thou art such, thou art cast forth I know
not whither out of the general unity, which is according to nature. Thou went
born indeed a part, but now thou hast cut thyself off. However, herein is
matter of joy and exultation, that thou mayst be united again. God hath not
granted it unto any other part, that once separated and cut off, it might be
reunited, and come together again. But, behold, that GOODNESS how great and
immense it is! which hath so much esteemed MAN. As at first he was so made,
that he needed not, except he would himself, have divided himself from the
whole; so once divided and cut off, IT hath so provided and ordered it, that if
he would himself, he might return, and grow together again, and be admitted
into its former rank and place of a part, as he was before.
XXXIII.
As almost all her other faculties and properties the nature of
the
universe hath imparted unto every reasonable creature, so this in particular we
have received from her, that as whatsoever doth oppose itself unto her, and
doth withstand her in her purposes and intentions, she doth, though against its
will and intention, bring it about to herself, to serve herself of it in the
execution of her own destinated ends; and so by this though not intended
co-operation of it with herself makes it part of herself whether it will or no.
So may every reasonable creature, what crosses and impediments soever it meets
with in the course of this mortal life, it may use them as fit and proper
objects, to the furtherance of whatsoever it intended and absolutely proposed
unto itself as its natural end and happiness.
XXXIV.
Let not the general representation unto thyself of the
wretchedness
of this our mortal life, trouble thee. Let not thy mind wander up and down, and
heap together in her thoughts the many troubles and grievous calamities which
thou art as subject unto as any other. But as everything in particular doth
happen, put this question unto thyself, and say: What is it that in this
present matter, seems unto thee so intolerable? For thou wilt be ashamed to
confess it. Then upon this presently call to mind, that neither that which is
future, nor that which is past can hurt thee; but that only which is present.
(And that also is much lessened, if thou dost lightly circumscribe it:) and
then check thy mind if for so little a while, (a mere instant), it cannot hold
out with patience.
XXXV.
What? are either Panthea or Pergamus abiding to this day by their
masters'
tombs? or either Chabrias or Diotimus by that of Adrianus? O foolery! For what
if they did, would their masters be sensible of It? or if sensible, would they
be glad of it? or if glad, were these immortal? Was not it appointed unto them
also (both men and women,) to become old in time, and then to die? And these once
dead, what would become of these former? And when all is done, what is all this
for, but for a mere bag of blood and corruption?
XXXVI.
If thou beest quick-sighted, be so in matter of judgment, and
best
discretion, saith he.
XXXVII.
In the whole constitution of man, I see not any virtue contrary
to
justice, whereby it may be resisted and opposed. But one whereby pleasure and
voluptuousness may be resisted and opposed, I see: continence.
XXXVIII.
If thou canst but withdraw conceit and opinion concerning that
which
may seem hurtful and offensive, thou thyself art as safe, as safe may be. Thou
thyself? and who is that? Thy reason. 'Yea, but I am not reason.' Well, be it
so. However, let not thy reason or understanding admit of grief, and if there
be anything in thee that is grieved, let that, (whatsoever it be,) conceive its
own grief, if it can.
XXXIX.
That which is a hindrance of the senses, is an evil to the
sensitive
nature. That which is a hindrance of the appetitive and prosecutive faculty, is
an evil to the sensitive nature. As of the sensitive, so of the vegetative
constitution, whatsoever is a hindrance unto it, is also in that respect an
evil unto the same. And so likewise, whatsoever is a hindrance unto the mind
and understanding, must needs be the proper evil of the reasonable nature. Now
apply all those things unto thyself. Do either pain or pleasure seize on thee?
Let the senses look to that. Hast thou met with Some obstacle or other in thy
purpose and intention? If thou didst propose without due reservation and
exception now hath thy reasonable part received a blow indeed But if in general
thou didst propose unto thyself what soever might be, thou art not thereby
either hurt, nor properly hindered. For in those things that properly belong
unto the mind, she cannot be hindered by any man. It is not fire, nor iron; nor
the power of a tyrant nor the power of a slandering tongue; nor anything else
that can penetrate into her.
XL.
If once round and solid, there is no fear that ever it will change.
XLI.
Why should I grieve myself; who never did willingly grieve any
other!
One thing rejoices one and another thing another. As for me, this is my joy, if
my understanding be right and sound, as neither averse from any man, nor
refusing any of those things which as a man I am subject unto; if I can look
upon all things in the world meekly and kindly; accept all things and carry
myself towards everything according to to true worth of the thing itself.
XLII.
This time that is now present, bestow thou upon thyself. They that
rather
hunt for fame after death, do not consider, that those men that shall be
hereafter, will be even such, as these whom now they can so hardly bear with.
And besides they also will be mortal men. But to consider the thing in itself,
if so many with so many voices, shall make such and such a sound, or shall have
such and such an opinion concerning thee, what is it to thee?
XLIII.
Take me and throw me where thou wilt: I am indifferent. For there
also
I shall have that spirit which is within me propitious; that is well pleased
and fully contented both in that constant disposition, and with those
particular actions, which to its own proper constitution are suitable and
agreeable.
XLIV.
Is this then a thing of that worth, that for it my soul should
suffer,
and become worse than it was? as either basely dejected, or disordinately
affected, or confounded within itself, or terrified? What can there be, that
thou shouldest so much esteem?
XLV.
Nothing can happen unto thee, which is not incidental unto thee, as
thou
art a man. As nothing can happen either to an ox, a vine, or to a stone, which
is not incidental unto them; unto every one in his own kind. If therefore
nothing can happen unto anything, which is not both usual and natural; why art
thou displeased? Sure the common nature of all would not bring anything upon
any, that were intolerable. If therefore it be a thing external that causes thy
grief, know, that it is not that properly that doth cause it, but thine own
conceit and opinion concerning the thing: which thou mayest rid thyself of,
when thou wilt. But if it be somewhat that is amiss in thine own disposition,
that doth grieve thee, mayest thou not rectify thy moral tenets and opinions.
But if it grieve thee, that thou doest not perform that which seemeth unto thee
right and just, why doest not thou choose rather to perform it than to grieve?
But somewhat that is stronger than thyself doth hinder thee. Let it not grieve
thee then, if it be not thy fault that the thing is not performed. 'Yea but it
is a thing of that nature, as that thy life is not worth the while, except it
may be performed.' If it be so, upon condition that thou be kindly and lovingly
disposed towards all men, thou mayest be gone. For even then, as much as at any
time, art thou in a very good estate of performance, when thou doest die in
charity with those, that are an obstacle unto thy performance.
XLVI.
Remember that thy mind is of that nature as that it becometh
altogether
unconquerable, when once recollected in herself, she seeks no other content
than this, that she cannot be forced: yea though it so fall out, that it be
even against reason itself, that it cloth bandy. How much less when by the help
of reason she is able to judge of things with discretion? And therefore let thy
chief fort and place of defence be, a mind free from passions. A stronger
place, (whereunto to make his refuge, and so to become impregnable) and better
fortified than this, hath no man. He that seeth not this is unlearned. He that
seeth it, and betaketh not himself to this place of refuge, is unhappy.
XLVII.
Keep thyself to the first bare and naked apprehensions of things,
as
they present themselves unto thee, and add not unto them. It is reported unto
thee, that such a one speaketh ill of thee. Well; that he speaketh ill of thee,
so much is reported. But that thou art hurt thereby, is not reported: that is
the addition of opinion, which thou must exclude. I see that my child is sick.
That he is sick, I see, but that he is in danger of his life also, I see it
not. Thus thou must use to keep thyself to the first motions and apprehensions
of things, as they present themselves outwardly; and add not unto them from
within thyself through mere conceit and opinion. Or rather add unto them: hut
as one that understandeth the true nature of all things that happen in the
world.
XLVIII.
Is the cucumber bitter? set it away. Brambles are in the way?
avoid
them. Let this suffice. Add not presently speaking unto thyself, What serve
these things for in the world? For, this, one that is acquainted with the
mysteries of nature, will laugh at thee for it; as a carpenter would or a
shoemaker, if meeting in either of their shops with some shavings, or small
remnants of their work, thou shouldest blame them for it. And yet those men, it
is not for want of a place where to throw them that they keep them in their
shops for a while: but the nature of the universe hath no such out-place; but
herein doth consist the wonder of her art and skill, that she having once
circumscribed herself within some certain bounds and limits, whatsoever is
within her that seems either corrupted, or old, or unprofitable, she can change
it into herself, and of these very things can make new things; so that she
needeth not to seek elsewhere out of herself either for a new supply of matter
and substance, or for a place where to throw out whatsoever is irrecoverably
putrid and corrupt. Thus she, as for place, so for matter and art, is herself
sufficient unto herself.
XLIX.
Not to be slack and negligent; or loose, and wanton in thy
actions;
nor contentious, and troublesome in thy conversation; nor to rove and wander in
thy fancies and imaginations. Not basely to contract thy soul; nor boisterously
to sally out with it, or furiously to launch out as it were, nor ever to want
employment.
L.
'They kill me, they cut my flesh; they persecute my person with
curses.'
What then? May not thy mind for all this continue pure, prudent, temperate,
just? As a fountain of sweet and clear water, though she be cursed by some
stander by, yet do her springs nevertheless still run as sweet and clear as
before; yea though either dirt or dung be thrown in, yet is it no sooner
thrown, than dispersed, and she cleared. She cannot be dyed or infected by it.
What then must I do, that I may have within myself an overflowing fountain, and
not a well? Beget thyself by continual pains and endeavours to true liberty
with charity, and true simplicity and modesty.
LI.
He that knoweth not what the world is, knoweth not where he himself
is.
And he that knoweth not what the world was made for, cannot possibly know
either what are the qualities, or what is the nature of the world. Now he that
in either of these is to seek, for what he himself was made is ignorant also.
What then dost thou think of that man, who proposeth unto himself, as a matter
of great moment, the noise and applause of men, who both where they are, and
what they are themselves, are altogether ignorant? Dost thou desire to be
commended of that man, who thrice in one hour perchance, doth himself curse
himself? Dost thou desire to please him, who pleaseth not himself? or dost thou
think that he pleaseth himself, who doth use to repent himself almost of
everything that he doth?
LII.
Not only now henceforth to have a common breath, or to hold
correspondency
of breath, with that air, that compasseth us about; but to have a common mind,
or to hold correspondency of mind also with that rational substance, which
compasseth all things. For, that also is of itself, and of its own nature (if a
man can but draw it in as he should) everywhere diffused; and passeth through
all things, no less than the air doth, if a man can but suck it in.
LIII.
Wickedness in general doth not hurt the world. Particular
wickedness
doth not hurt any other: only unto him it is hurtful, whosoever he be that
offends, unto whom in great favour and mercy it is granted, that whensoever he
himself shall but first desire it, he may be presently delivered of it. Unto my
free-will my neighbour's free-will, whoever he be, (as his life, or his bode),
is altogether indifferent. For though we are all made one for another, yet have
our minds and understandings each of them their own proper and limited
jurisdiction. For else another man's wickedness might be my evil which God
would not have, that it might not be in another man's power to make me unhappy:
which nothing now can do but mine own wickedness.
LIV.
The sun seemeth to be shed abroad. And indeed it is diffused but
not
effused. For that diffusion of it is a [-r~Jo-tc] or an extension. For
therefore are the beams of it called [~i-~m'~] from the word [~KTEIVEO-Oa,,] to
be stretched out and extended. Now what a sunbeam is, thou mayest know if thou
observe the light of the sun, when through some narrow hole it pierceth into
some room that is dark. For it is always in a direct line. And as by any solid
body, that it meets with in the way that is not penetrable by air, it is
divided and abrupted, and yet neither slides off, or falls down, but stayeth
there nevertheless: such must the diffusion in the mind be; not an effusion,
but an extension. What obstacles and impediments soever she meeteth within her
way, she must not violently, and by way of an impetuous onset light upon them;
neither must she fall down; but she must stand, and give light unto that which
doth admit of it. For as for that which doth not, it is its own fault and loss,
if it bereave itself of her light.
LV.
He that feareth death, either feareth that he shall have no sense at
all,
or that his senses will not be the same. Whereas, he should rather comfort
himself, that either no sense at all, and so no sense of evil; or if any sense,
then another life, and so no death properly.
LVI.
All men are made one for another: either then teach them better, or
bear
with them.
LVII.
The motion of the mind is not as the motion of a dart. For
the
mind when it is wary and cautelous, and by way of diligent circumspection
turneth herself many ways, may then as well be said to go straight on to the
object, as when it useth no such circumspection.
LVIII.
To pierce and penetrate into the estate of every one's
understanding
that thou hast to do with: as also to make the estate of thine own open, and
penetrable to any other.
THE NINTH BOOK
I. He that is
unjust, is also impious. For the nature of the universe,
having
made all reasonable creatures one for another, to the end that they should do
one another good; more or less according to the several persons and occasions
but in nowise hurt one another: it is manifest that he that doth transgress
against this her will, is guilty of impiety towards the most ancient and
venerable of all the deities. For the nature of the universe, is the nature the
common parent of all, and therefore piously to be observed of all things that
are, and that which now is, to whatsoever first was, and gave it its being,
hath relation of blood and kindred. She is also called truth and is the first
cause of all truths. He therefore that willingly and wittingly doth lie, is
impious in that he doth receive, and so commit injustice: but he that against
his will, in that he disagreeth from the nature of the universe, and in that
striving with the nature of the world he doth in his particular, violate the
general order of the world. For he doth no better than strive and war against
it, who contrary to his own nature applieth himself to that which is contrary
to truth. For nature had before furnished him with instincts and opportunities
sufficient for the attainment of it; which he having hitherto neglected, is not
now able to discern that which is false from that which is true. He also that pursues
after pleasures, as that which is truly good and flies from pains, as that
which is truly evil: is impious. For such a one must of necessity oftentimes
accuse that common nature, as distributing many things both unto the evil, and
unto the good, not according to the deserts of either: as unto the bad
oftentimes pleasures, and the causes of pleasures; so unto the good, pains, and
the occasions of pains. Again, he that feareth pains and crosses in this world,
feareth some of those things which some time or other must needs happen in the
world. And that we have already showed to be impious. And he that pursueth
after pleasures, will not spare, to compass his desires, to do that which is
unjust, and that is manifestly impious. Now those things which unto nature are
equally indifferent (for she had not created both, both pain and pleasure, if
both had not been unto her equally indifferent): they that will live according
to nature, must in those things (as being of the same mind and disposition that
she is) be as equally indifferent. Whosoever therefore in either matter of
pleasure and pain; death and life; honour and dishonour, (which things nature
in the administration of the world, indifferently doth make use of), is not as
indifferent, it is apparent that he is impious. When I say that common nature
doth indifferently make use of them, my meaning is, that they happen
indifferently in the ordinary course of things, which by a necessary
consequence, whether as principal or accessory, come to pass in the world,
according to that first and ancient deliberation of Providence, by which she
from some certain beginning, did resolve upon the creation of such a world,
conceiving then in her womb as it were some certain rational generative seeds
and faculties of things future, whether subjects, changes, successions; both
such and such, and just so many.
II.
It were indeed more happy and comfortable, for a man to depart out
of
this world, having lived all his life long clear from all falsehood,
dissimulation, voluptuousness, and pride. But if this cannot be, yet it is some
comfort for a man joyfully to depart as weary, and out of love with those;
rather than to desire to live, and to continue long in those wicked courses.
Hath not yet experience taught thee to fly from the plague? For a far greater
plague is the corruption of the mind, than any certain change and distemper of
the common air can be. This is a plague of creatures, as they are living
creatures; but that of men as they are men or reasonable.
III.
Thou must not in matter of death carry thyself scornfully, but as
one
that is well pleased with it, as being one of those things that nature hath
appointed. For what thou dost conceive of these, of a boy to become a young
man, to wax old, to grow, to ripen, to get teeth, or a beard, or grey hairs to
beget, to bear, or to be delivered; or what other action soever it be, that is
natural unto man according to the several seasons of his life; such a thing is
it also to be dissolved. It is therefore the part of a wise man, in matter of
death, not in any wise to carry himself either violently, or proudly but
patiently to wait for it, as one of nature's operations: that with the same
mind as now thou dost expect when that which yet is but an embryo in thy wife's
belly shall come forth, thou mayst expect also when thy soul shall fall off
from that outward coat or skin: wherein as a child in the belly it lieth
involved and shut up. But thou desirest a more popular, and though not so
direct and philosophical, yet a very powerful and penetrative recipe against
the fear of death, nothing can make they more willing to part with thy life,
than if thou shalt consider, both what the subjects themselves are that thou
shalt part with, and what manner of disposition thou shalt no more have to do
with. True it is, that, offended with them thou must not be by no means, but
take care of them, and meekly bear with them However, this thou mayst remember,
that whensoever it happens that thou depart, it shall not be from men that held
the same opinions that thou dost. For that indeed, (if it were so) is the only
thing that might make thee averse from death, and willing to continue here, if
it were thy hap to live with men that had obtained the same belief that thou
hast. But now, what a toil it is for thee to live with men of different
opinions, thou seest: so that thou hast rather occasion to say, Hasten, I thee
pray, O Death; lest I also in time forget myself.
IV.
He that sinneth, sinneth unto himself. He that is unjust, hurts
himself,
in that he makes himself worse than he was before. Not he only that committeth,
but he also that omitteth something, is oftentimes unjust.
V.
If my present apprehension of the object be right, and my present
action
charitable, and this, towards whatsoever doth proceed from God, be my present
disposition, to be well pleased with it, it sufficeth.
VI.
To wipe away fancy, to use deliberation, to quench concupiscence, to
keep
the mind free to herself.
VII.
Of all unreasonable creatures, there is but one unreasonable soul;
and
of all that are reasonable, but one reasonable soul, divided betwixt them all.
As of all earthly things there is but one earth, and but one light that we see
by; and but one air that we breathe in, as many as either breathe or see. Now
whatsoever partakes of some common thing, naturally affects and inclines unto
that whereof it is part, being of one kind and nature with it. Whatsoever is
earthly, presseth downwards to the common earth. Whatsoever is liquid, would
flow together. And whatsoever is airy, would be together likewise. So that
without some obstacle, and some kind of violence, they cannot well be kept
asunder. Whatsoever is fiery, doth not only by reason of the elementary fire
tend upwards; but here also is so ready to join, and to burn together, that
whatsoever doth want sufficient moisture to make resistance, is easily set on
fire. Whatsoever therefore is partaker of that reasonable common nature,
naturally doth as much and more long after his own kind. For by how much in its
own nature it excels all other things, by so much more is it desirous to be
joined and united unto that, which is of its own nature. As for unreasonable
creatures then, they had not long been, but presently begun among them swarms, and
flocks, and broods of young ones, and a kind of mutual love and affection. For
though but unreasonable, yet a kind of soul these had, and therefore was that
natural desire of union more strong and intense in them, as in creatures of a
more excellent nature, than either in plants, or stones, or trees. But among
reasonable creatures, begun commonwealths, friendships, families, public
meetings, and even in their wars, conventions, and truces. Now among them that
were yet of a more excellent nature, as the stars and planets, though by their
nature far distant one from another, yet even among them began some mutual
correspondency and unity. So proper is it to excellency in a high degree to
affect unity, as that even in things so far distant, it could operate unto a
mutual sympathy. But now behold, what is now come to pass. Those creatures that
are reasonable, are now the only creatures that have forgotten their natural
affection and inclination of one towards another. Among them alone of all other
things that are of one kind, there is not to be found a general disposition to
flow together. But though they fly from nature, yet are they stopt in their
course, and apprehended. Do they what they can, nature doth prevail. And so
shalt thou confess, if thou dost observe it. For sooner mayst thou find a thing
earthly, where no earthly thing is, than find a man that naturally can live by
himself alone.
VIII.
Man, God, the world, every one in their kind, bear some fruits.
All
things have their proper time to bear. Though by custom, the word itself is in
a manner become proper unto the vine, and the like, yet is it so nevertheless,
as we have said. As for reason, that beareth both common fruit for the use of
others; and peculiar, which itself doth enjoy. Reason is of a diffusive nature,
what itself is in itself, it begets in others, and so doth multiply.
IX.
Either teach them better if it be in thy power; or if it be not,
remember
that for this use, to bear with them patiently, was mildness and goodness
granted unto thee. The Gods themselves are good unto such; yea and in some
things, (as in matter of health, of wealth, of honour,) are content often to
further their endeavours: so good and gracious are they. And mightest thou not
be so too? or, tell me, what doth hinder thee?
X.
Labour not as one to whom it is appointed to be wretched, nor as one
that
either would be pitied, or admired; but let this be thine only care and desire;
so always and in all things to prosecute or to forbear, as the law of charity,
or mutual society doth require.
XI.
This day I did come out of all my trouble. Nay I have cast out all
my
trouble; it should rather be for that which troubled thee, whatsoever it was,
was not without anywhere that thou shouldest come out of it, but within in
thine own opinions, from whence it must be cast out, before thou canst truly
and constantly be at ease.
XII.
All those things, for matter of experience are usual and ordinary;
for
their continuance but for a day; and for their matter, most base and filthy. As
they were in the days of those whom we have buried, so are they now also, and
no otherwise.
XIII.
The things themselves that affect us, they stand without doors,
neither
knowing anything themselves nor able to utter anything unto others concerning
themselves. What then is it, that passeth verdict on them? The understanding.
XIV.
As virtue and wickedness consist not in passion, but in action; so
neither
doth the true good or evil of a reasonable charitable man consist in passion,
but in operation and action.
XV.
To the stone that is cast up, when it comes down it is no hurt unto
it;
as neither benefit, when it doth ascend.
XVI.
Sift their minds and understandings, and behold what men they be,
whom
thou dost stand in fear of what they shall judge of thee, what they themselves
judge of themselves.
XVII.
All things that are in the world, are always in the estate
of
alteration. Thou also art in a perpetual change, yea and under corruption too,
in some part: and so is the whole world.
XVIII.
it is not thine, but another man's sin. Why should it trouble
thee?
Let him look to it, whose sin it is.
XIX.
Of an operation and of a purpose there is an ending, or of an
action
and of a purpose we say commonly, that it is at an end: from opinion also there
is an absolute cessation, which is as it were the death of it. In all this
there is no hurt. Apply this now to a man's age, as first, a child; then a
youth, then a young man, then an old man; every change from one age to another
is a kind of death And all this while here no matter of grief yet. Pass now
unto that life first, that which thou livedst under thy grandfather, then under
thy mother, then under thy father. And thus when through the whole course of
thy life hitherto thou hast found and observed many alterations, many changes,
many kinds of endings and cessations, put this question to thyself What matter
of grief or sorrow dost thou find in any of these? Or what doest thou suffer
through any of these? If in none of these, then neither in the ending and
consummation of thy whole life, which is also but a cessation and change.
XX.
As occasion shall require, either to thine own understanding, or to
that
of the universe, or to his, whom thou hast now to do with, let thy refuge be
with all speed. To thine own, that it resolve upon nothing against justice. To
that of the universe, that thou mayest remember, part of whom thou art. Of his,
that thou mayest consider whether in the estate of ignorance, or of knowledge.
And then also must thou call to mind, that he is thy kinsman.
XXI.
As thou thyself, whoever thou art, were made for the perfection and
consummation,
being a member of it, of a common society; so must every action of thine tend
to the perfection and consummation of a life that is truly sociable. What
action soever of thine therefore that either immediately or afar off, hath not
reference to the common good, that is an exorbitant and disorderly action; yea
it is seditious; as one among the people who from such and such a consent and
unity, should factiously divide and separate himself.
XXII.
Children's anger, mere babels; wretched souls bearing up dead
bodies,
that they may not have their fall so soon: even as it is in that common dirge
song.
XXIII.
Go to the quality of the cause from which the effect doth
proceed.
Behold it by itself bare and naked, separated from all that is material. Then
consider the utmost bounds of time that that cause, thus and thus qualified,
can subsist and abide.
XXIV.
Infinite are the troubles and miseries, that thou hast already
been
put to, by reason of this only, because that for all happiness it did not
suffice thee, or, that thou didst not account it sufficient happiness, that thy
understanding did operate according to its natural constitution.
XXV.
When any shall either impeach thee with false accusations, or
hatefully
reproach thee, or shall use any such carriage towards thee, get thee presently
to their minds and understandings, and look in them, and behold what manner of
men they be. Thou shalt see, that there is no such occasion why it should
trouble thee, what such as they are think of thee. Yet must thou love them
still, for by nature they are thy friends. And the Gods themselves, in those
things that they seek from them as matters of great moment, are well content,
all manner of ways, as by dreams and oracles, to help them as well as others.
XXVI.
Up and down, from one age to another, go the ordinary things of
the
world; being still the same. And either of everything in particular before it
come to pass, the mind of the universe doth consider with itself and
deliberate: and if so, then submit for shame unto the determination of such an
excellent understanding: or once for all it did resolve upon all things in
general; and since that whatsoever happens, happens by a necessary consequence,
and all things indivisibly in a manner and inseparably hold one of another. In
sum, either there is a God, and then all is well; or if all things go by chance
and fortune, yet mayest thou use thine own providence in those things that
concern thee properly; and then art thou well.
XXVII.
Within a while the earth shall cover us all, and then she herself
shall
have her change. And then the course will be, from one period of eternity unto
another, and so a perpetual eternity. Now can any man that shall consider with
himself in his mind the several rollings or successions of so many changes and
alterations, and the swiftness of all these rulings; can he otherwise but
contemn in his heart and despise all worldly things? The cause of the universe
is as it were a strong torrent, it carrieth all away.
XXVIII.
And these your professed politicians, the only true practical
philosophers
of the world, (as they think of themselves) so full of affected gravity, or
such professed lovers of virtue and honesty, what wretches be they in very
deed; how vile and contemptible in themselves? O man! what ado doest thou keep?
Do what thy nature doth now require. Resolve upon it, if thou mayest: and take
no thought, whether anybody shall know it or no. Yea, but sayest thou, I must
not expect a Plato's commonwealth. If they profit though never so little, I
must be content; and think much even of that little progress. Doth then any of
them forsake their former false opinions that I should think they profit? For
without a change of opinions, alas! what is all that ostentation, but mere
wretchedness of slavish minds, that groan privately, and yet would make a show
of obedience to reason, and truth? Go too now and tell me of Alexander and
Philippus, and Demetrius Phalereus. Whether they understood what the common
nature requireth, and could rule themselves or no, they know best themselves.
But if they kept a life, and swaggered; I (God be thanked) am not bound to
imitate them. The effect of true philosophy is, unaffected simplicity and
modesty. Persuade me not to ostentation and vainglory.
XXIX.
From some high place as it were to look down, and to behold
here
flocks, and there sacrifices, without number; and all kind of navigation; some
in a rough and stormy sea, and some in a calm: the general differences, or
different estates of things, some, that are now first upon being; the several
and mutual relations of those things that are together; and some other things
that are at their last. Their lives also, who were long ago, and theirs who
shall be hereafter, and the present estate and life of those many nations of
barbarians that are now in the world, thou must likewise consider in thy mind.
And how many there be, who never so much as heard of thy name, how many that
will soon forget it; how many who but even now did commend thee, within a very
little while perchance will speak ill of thee. So that neither fame, nor
honour, nor anything else that this world doth afford, is worth the while. The
sum then of all; whatsoever doth happen unto thee, whereof God is the cause, to
accept it contentedly: whatsoever thou doest, whereof thou thyself art the
cause, to do it justly: which will be, if both in thy resolution and in thy
action thou have no further end, than to do good unto others, as being that,
which by thy natural constitution, as a man, thou art bound unto.
XXX.
Many of those things that trouble and straiten thee, it is in thy
power
to cut off, as wholly depending from mere conceit and opinion; and then thou
shalt have room enough.
XXXI.
To comprehend the whole world together in thy mind, and the whole
course
of this present age to represent it unto thyself, and to fix thy thoughts upon
the sudden change of every particular object. How short the time is from the
generation of anything, unto the dissolution of the same; but how immense and
infinite both that which was before the generation, and that which after the
generation of it shall be. All things that thou seest, will soon be perished,
and they that see their corruptions, will soon vanish away themselves. He that
dieth a hundred years old, and he that dieth young, shall come all to one.
XXXII.
What are their minds and understandings; and what the things that
they
apply themselves unto: what do they love, and what do they hate for? Fancy to
thyself the estate of their souls openly to be seen. When they think they hurt
them shrewdly, whom they speak ill of; and when they think they do them a very
good turn, whom they commend and extol: O how full are they then of conceit,
and opinion!
XXXIII.
Loss and corruption, is in very deed nothing else but change and
alteration;
and that is it, which the nature of the universe doth most delight in, by
which, and according to which, whatsoever is done, is well done. For that was
the estate of worldly things from the beginning, and so shall it ever be. Or
wouldest thou rather say, that all things in the world have gone ill from the
beginning for so many ages, and shall ever go ill? And then among so many
deities, could no divine power be found all this while, that could rectify the
things of the world? Or is the world, to incessant woes and miseries, for ever
condemned?
XXXIV.
How base and putrid, every common matter is! Water, dust, and
from
the mixture of these bones, and all that loathsome stuff that our bodies do
consist of: so subject to be infected, and corrupted. And again those other
things that are so much prized and admired, as marble stones, what are they,
but as it were the kernels of the earth? gold and silver, what are they, but as
the more gross faeces of the earth? Thy most royal apparel, for matter, it is
but as it were the hair of a silly sheep, and for colour, the very blood of a
shell-fish; of this nature are all other things. Thy life itself, is some such
thing too; a mere exhalation of blood: and it also, apt to be changed into some
other common thing.
XXXV.
Will this querulousness, this murmuring, this complaining and
dissembling
never be at an end? What then is it, that troubleth thee? Doth any new thing
happen unto thee? What doest thou so wonder at? At the cause, or the matter?
Behold either by itself, is either of that weight and moment indeed? And
besides these, there is not anything. But thy duty towards the Gods also, it is
time thou shouldst acquit thyself of it with more goodness and simplicity.
XXXVI.
It is all one to see these things for a hundred of years together
or
but for three years.
XXXVII.
If he have sinned, his is the harm, not mine. But perchance he
hath
not.
XXXVIII.
Either all things by the providence of reason happen unto every
particular,
as a part of one general body; and then it is against reason that a part should
complain of anything that happens for the good of the whole; or if, according
to Epicurus, atoms be the cause of all things and that life be nothing else but
an accidentary confusion of things, and death nothing else, but a mere
dispersion and so of all other things: what doest thou trouble thyself for?
XXXIX.
Sayest thou unto that rational part, Thou art dead; corruption
hath
taken hold on thee? Doth it then also void excrements? Doth it like either
oxen, or sheep, graze or feed; that it also should be mortal, as well as the
body?
XL.
Either the Gods can do nothing for us at all, or they can still and
allay
all the distractions and distempers of thy mind. If they can do nothing, why
doest thou pray? If they can, why wouldst not thou rather pray, that they will
grant unto thee, that thou mayst neither fear, nor lust after any of those
worldly things which cause these distractions and distempers of it? Why not
rather, that thou mayst not at either their absence or presence, be grieved and
discontented: than either that thou mayst obtain them, or that thou mayst avoid
them? For certainly it must needs be, that if the Gods can help us in anything,
they may in this kind also. But thou wilt say perchance, 'In those things the
Gods have given me my liberty: and it is in mine own power to do what I will.'
But if thou mayst use this liberty, rather to set thy mind at true liberty,
than wilfully with baseness and servility of mind to affect those things, which
either to compass or to avoid is not in thy power, wert not thou better? And as
for the Gods, who hath told thee, that they may not help us up even in those
things that they have put in our own power? whether it be so or no, thou shalt
soon perceive, if thou wilt but try thyself and pray. One prayeth that he may
compass his desire, to lie with such or such a one, pray thou that thou mayst
not lust to lie with her. Another how he may be rid of such a one; pray thou
that thou mayst so patiently bear with him, as that thou have no such need to
be rid of him. Another, that he may not lose his child. Pray thou that thou
mayst not fear to lose him. To this end and purpose, let all thy prayer be, and
see what will be the event.
XLI.
'In my sickness' (saith Epicurus of himself:) 'my discourses were
not
concerning the nature of my disease, neither was that, to them that came to
visit me, the subject of my talk; but in the consideration and contemplation of
that, which was of especial weight and moment, was all my time bestowed and
spent, and among others in this very thing, how my mind, by a natural and
unavoidable sympathy partaking in some sort with the present indisposition of
my body, might nevertheless keep herself free from trouble, and in present
possession of her own proper happiness. Neither did I leave the ordering of my
body to the physicians altogether to do with me what they would, as though I
expected any great matter from them, or as though I thought it a matter of such
great consequence, by their means to recover my health: for my present estate,
methought, liked me very well, and gave me good content.' Whether therefore in
sickness (if thou chance to sicken) or in what other kind of extremity soever,
endeavour thou also to be in thy mind so affected, as he doth report of
himself: not to depart from thy philosophy for anything that can befall thee,
nor to give ear to the discourses of silly people, and mere naturalists.
XLII.
It is common to all trades and professions to mind and intend that
only,
which now they are about, and the instrument whereby they work.
XLIII.
When at any time thou art offended with any one's impudency, put
presently
this question to thyself: 'What? Is it then possible, that there should not be
any impudent men in the world! Certainly it is not possible.' Desire not then
that which is impossible. For this one, (thou must think) whosoever he be, is
one of those impudent ones, that the world cannot be without. So of the subtile
and crafty, so of the perfidious, so of every one that offendeth, must thou
ever be ready to reason with thyself. For whilst in general thou dost thus
reason with thyself, that the kind of them must needs be in the world, thou
wilt be the better able to use meekness towards every particular. This also
thou shalt find of very good use, upon every such occasion, presently to
consider with thyself, what proper virtue nature hath furnished man with,
against such a vice, or to encounter with a disposition vicious in this kind.
As for example, against the unthankful, it hath given goodness and meekness, as
an antidote, and so against another vicious in another kind some other peculiar
faculty. And generally, is it not in thy power to instruct him better, that is
in an error? For whosoever sinneth, doth in that decline from his purposed end,
and is certainly deceived, And again, what art thou the worse for his sin? For
thou shalt not find that any one of these, against whom thou art incensed, hath
in very deed done anything whereby thy mind (the only true subject of thy hurt
and evil) can be made worse than it was. And what a matter of either grief or
wonder is this, if he that is unlearned, do the deeds of one that is unlearned?
Should not thou rather blame thyself, who, when upon very good grounds of
reason, thou mightst have thought it very probable, that such a thing would by
such a one be committed, didst not only not foresee it, but moreover dost
wonder at it, that such a thing should be. But then especially, when thou dost
find fault with either an unthankful, or a false man, must thou reflect upon
thyself. For without all question, thou thyself art much in fault, if either of
one that were of such a disposition, thou didst expect that he should be true
unto thee: or when unto any thou didst a good turn, thou didst not there bound
thy thoughts, as one that had obtained his end; nor didst not think that from
the action itself thou hadst received a full reward of the good that thou hadst
done. For what wouldst thou have more? Unto him that is a man, thou hast done a
good turn: doth not that suffice thee? What thy nature required, that hast thou
done. Must thou be rewarded for it? As if either the eye for that it seeth, or
the feet that they go, should require satisfaction. For as these being by
nature appointed for such an use, can challenge no more, than that they may
work according to their natural constitution: so man being born to do good unto
others whensoever he doth a real good unto any by helping them out of error; or
though but in middle things, as in matter of wealth, life, preferment, and the
like, doth help to further their desires he doth that for which he was made,
and therefore can require no more.
THE TENTH BOOK
I. O my soul, the
time I trust will be, when thou shalt be good, simple,
single,
more open and visible, than that body by which it is enclosed. Thou wilt one
day be sensible of their happiness, whose end is love, and their affections
dead to all worldly things. Thou shalt one day be full, and in want of no
external thing: not seeking pleasure from anything, either living or
insensible, that this world can afford; neither wanting time for the
continuation of thy pleasure, nor place and opportunity, nor the favour either
of the weather or of men. When thou shalt have content in thy present estate,
and all things present shall add to thy content: when thou shalt persuade
thyself, that thou hast all things; all for thy good, and all by the providence
of the Gods: and of things future also shalt be as confident, that all will do
well, as tending to the maintenance and preservation in some sort, of his
perfect welfare and happiness, who is perfection of life, of goodness, and
beauty; who begets all things, and containeth all things in himself, and in
himself doth recollect all things from all places that are dissolved, that of
them he may beget others again like unto them. Such one day shall be thy
disposition, that thou shalt be able, both in regard of the Gods, and in regard
of men, so to fit and order thy conversation, as neither to complain of them at
any time, for anything that they do; nor to do anything thyself, for which thou
mayest justly be condemned.
II.
As one who is altogether governed by nature, let it be thy care to
observe
what it is that thy nature in general doth require. That done, if thou find not
that thy nature, as thou art a living sensible creature, will be the worse for
it, thou mayest proceed. Next then thou must examine, what thy nature as thou
art a living sensible creature, doth require. And that, whatsoever it be, thou
mayest admit of and do it, if thy nature as thou art a reasonable living
creature, will not be the worse for it. Now whatsoever is reasonable, is also
sociable, Keep thyself to these rules, and trouble not thyself about idle
things.
III.
Whatsoever doth happen unto thee, thou art naturally by thy natural
constitution
either able, or not able to bear. If thou beest able, be not offended, but bear
it according to thy natural constitution, or as nature hath enabled thee. If
thou beest not able, be not offended. For it will soon make an end of thee, and
itself, (whatsoever it be) at the same time end with thee. But remember, that
whatsoever by the strength of opinion, grounded upon a certain apprehension of
both true profit and duty, thou canst conceive tolerable; that thou art able to
bear that by thy natural constitution.
IV.
Him that offends, to teach with love and meek ness, and to show him
his
error. But if thou canst not, then to blame thyself; or rather not thyself
neither, if thy will and endeavours have not been wanting.
V.
Whatsoever it be that happens unto thee, it is that which from all
time
was appointed unto thee. For by the same coherence of causes, by which thy
substance from all eternity was appointed to be, was also whatsoever should
happen unto it, destinated and appointed.
VI.
Either with Epicurus, we must fondly imagine the atoms to be the
cause
of all things, or we must needs grant a nature. Let this then be thy first
ground, that thou art part of that universe, which is governed by nature. Then
secondly, that to those parts that are of the same kind and nature as thou art,
thou hast relation of kindred. For of these, if I shall always be mindful,
first as I am a part, I shall never be displeased with anything, that falls to
my particular share of the common chances of the world. For nothing that is
behoveful unto the whole, can be truly hurtful to that which is part of it. For
this being the common privilege of all natures, that they contain nothing in
themselves that is hurtful unto them; it cannot be that the nature of the
universe (whose privilege beyond other particular natures, is, that she cannot
against her will by any higher external cause be constrained,) should beget
anything and cherish it in her bosom that should tend to her own hurt and
prejudice. As then I bear in mind that I am a part of such an universe, I shall
not be displeased with anything that happens. And as I have relation of kindred
to those parts that are of the same kind and nature that I am, so I shall be
careful to do nothing that is prejudicial to the community, but in all my
deliberations shall they that are of my kind ever be; and the common good,
that, which all my intentions and resolutions shall drive unto, as that which
is contrary unto it, I shall by all means endeavour to prevent and avoid. These
things once so fixed and concluded, as thou wouldst think him a happy citizen,
whose constant study and practice were for the good and benefit of his fellow
citizens, and the carriage of the city such towards him, that he were well
pleased with it; so must it needs be with thee, that thou shalt live a happy
life.
VII.
All parts of the world, (all things I mean that are contained
within
the whole world), must of necessity at some time or other come to corruption.
Alteration I should say, to speak truly and properly; but that I may be the
better understood, I am content at this time to use that more common word. Now
say I, if so be that this be both hurtful unto them, and yet unavoidable, would
not, thinkest thou, the whole itself be in a sweet case, all the parts of it
being subject to alteration, yea and by their making itself fitted for
corruption, as consisting of things different and contrary? And did nature then
either of herself thus project and purpose the affliction and misery of her
parts, and therefore of purpose so made them, not only that haply they might,
but of necessity that they should fall into evil; or did not she know what she
did, when she made them? For either of these two to say, is equally absurd. But
to let pass nature in general, and to reason of things particular according to
their own particular natures; how absurd and ridiculous is it, first to say
that all parts of the whole are, by their proper natural constitution, subject
to alteration; and then when any such thing doth happen, as when one doth fall
sick and dieth, to take on and wonder as though some strange thing had
happened? Though this besides might move not so grievously to take on when any
such thing doth happen, that whatsoever is dissolved, it is dissolved into
those things, whereof it was compounded. For every dissolution is either a mere
dispersion, of the elements into those elements again whereof everything did
consist, or a change, of that which is more solid into earth; and of that which
is pure and subtile or spiritual, into air. So that by this means nothing is
lost, but all resumed again into those rational generative seeds of the
universe; and this universe, either after a certain period of time to lie
consumed by fire, or by continual changes to be renewed, and so for ever to
endure. Now that solid and spiritual that we speak of, thou must not conceive
it to be that very same, which at first was, when thou wert born. For alas! all
this that now thou art in either kind, either for matter of substance, or of
life, hath but two or three days ago partly from meats eaten, and partly from
air breathed in, received all its influx, being the same then in no other
respect, than a running river, maintained by the perpetual influx and new
supply of waters, is the same. That therefore which thou hast since received,
not that which came from thy mother, is that which comes to change and
corruption. But suppose that that for the general substance, and more solid
part of it, should still cleave unto thee never so close, yet what is that to
the proper qualities and affections of it, by which persons are distinguished,
which certainly are quite different?
VIII.
Now that thou hast taken these names upon thee of good, modest,
true;
of emfrwn, sumfrwn, uperfrwn; take heed lest at any times by doing anything
that is contrary, thou be but improperly so called, and lose thy right to these
appellations. Or if thou do, return unto them again with all possible speed.
And remember, that the word emfrwn notes unto thee an intent and intelligent
consideration of every object that presents itself unto thee, without
distraction. And the word emfrwn a ready and contented acceptation of
whatsoever by the appointment of the common nature, happens unto thee. And the
word sumfrwn, a super-extension, or a transcendent, and outreaching disposition
of thy mind, whereby it passeth by all bodily pains and pleasures, honour and
credit, death and whatsoever is of the same nature, as matters of absolute
indifferency, and in no wise to be stood upon by a wise man. These then if
inviolably thou shalt observe, and shalt not be ambitious to be so called by
others, both thou thyself shalt become a new man, and thou shalt begin a new
life. For to continue such as hitherto thou hast been, to undergo those
distractions and distempers as thou must needs for such a life as hitherto thou
hast lived, is the part of one that is very foolish, and is overfond of his
life. Whom a man might compare to one of those half-eaten wretches, matched in
the amphitheatre with wild beasts; who as full as they are all the body over
with wounds and blood, desire for a great favour, that they may be reserved
till the next day, then also, and in the same estate to be exposed to the same
nails and teeth as before. Away therefore, ship thyself; and from the troubles
and distractions of thy former life convey thyself as it were unto these few
names; and if thou canst abide in them, or be constant in the practice and
possession of them, continue there as glad and joyful as one that were
translated unto some such place of bliss and happiness as that which by Hesiod
and Plato is called the Islands of the Blessed, by others called the Elysian
Fields. And whensoever thou findest thyself; that thou art in danger of a
relapse, and that thou art not able to master and overcome those difficulties
and temptations that present themselves in thy present station: get thee into
any private corner, where thou mayst be better able. Or if that will not serve
forsake even thy life rather. But so that it be not in passion but in a plain
voluntary modest way: this being the only commendable action of thy whole life
that thus thou art departed, or this having been the main work and business of
thy whole life, that thou mightest thus depart. Now for the better remembrance
of those names that we have spoken of, thou shalt find it a very good help, to
remember the Gods as often as may be: and that, the thing which they require at
our hands of as many of us, as are by nature reasonable creation is not that
with fair words, and outward show of piety and devotion we should flatter them,
but that we should become like unto them: and that as all other natural
creatures, the fig tree for example; the dog the bee: both do, all of them, and
apply themselves unto that which by their natural constitution, is proper unto
them; so man likewise should do that, which by his nature, as he is a man,
belongs unto him.
IX.
Toys and fooleries at home, wars abroad: sometimes terror, sometimes
torpor,
or stupid sloth: this is thy daily slavery. By little and little, if thou doest
not better look to it, those sacred dogmata will be blotted out of thy mind.
How many things be there, which when as a mere naturalist, thou hast barely
considered of according to their nature, thou doest let pass without any
further use? Whereas thou shouldst in all things so join action and
contemplation, that thou mightest both at the same time attend all present
occasions, to perform everything duly and carefully and yet so intend the
contemplative part too, that no part of that delight and pleasure, which the
contemplative knowledge of everything according to its true nature doth of
itself afford, might be lost. Or, that the true and contemnplative knowledge of
everything according to its own nature, might of itself, (action being subject
to many lets and impediments) afford unto thee sufficient pleasure and
happiness. Not apparent indeed, but not concealed. And when shalt thou attain
to the happiness of true simplicity, and unaffected gravity? When shalt thou
rejoice in the certain knowledge of every particular object according to its
true nature: as what the matter and substance of it is; what use it is for in
the world: how long it can subsist: what things it doth consist of: who they be
that are capable of it, and who they that can give it, and take it away?
X.
As the spider, when it hath caught the fly that it hunted after, is
not
little proud, nor meanly conceited of herself: as he likewise that hath caught
an hare, or hath taken a fish with his net: as another for the taking of a
boar, and another of a bear: so may they be proud, and applaud themselves for
their valiant acts against the Sarmatai, or northern nations lately defeated.
For these also, these famous soldiers and warlike men, if thou dost look into
their minds and opinions, what do they for the most part but hunt after prey?
XI.
To find out, and set to thyself some certain way and method of
contemplation,
whereby thou mayest clearly discern and represent unto thyself, the mutual
change of all things, the one into the other. Bear it in thy mind evermore, and
see that thou be throughly well exercised in this particular. For there is not
anything more effectual to beget true magnanimity.
XII.
He hath got loose from the bonds of his body, and perceiving that
within
a very little while he must of necessity bid the world farewell, and leave all
these things behind him, he wholly applied himself, as to righteousness in all
his actions, so to the common nature in all things that should happen unto him.
And contenting himself with these two things, to do all things justly, and whatsoever
God doth send to like well of it: what others shall either say or think of him,
or shall do against him, he doth not so much as trouble his thoughts with it.
To go on straight, whither right and reason directed him, and by so doing to
follow God, was the only thing that he did mind, that, his only business and
occupation.
XIII.
What use is there of suspicion at all? or, why should thoughts
of
mistrust, and suspicion concerning that which is future, trouble thy mind at
all? What now is to be done, if thou mayest search and inquiry into that, what
needs thou care for more? And if thou art well able to perceive it alone, let
no man divert thee from it. But if alone thou doest not so well perceive it,
suspend thine action, and take advice from the best. And if there be anything
else that doth hinder thee, go on with prudence and discretion, according to
the present occasion and opportunity, still proposing that unto thyself, which
thou doest conceive most right and just. For to hit that aright, and to speed
in the prosecution of it, must needs be happiness, since it is that only which
we can truly and properly be said to miss of, or miscarry in.
XIV.
What is that that is slow, and yet quick? merry, and yet grave? He
that
in all things doth follow reason for his guide.
XV.
In the morning as soon as thou art awaked, when thy judgment, before
either
thy affections, or external objects have wrought upon it, is yet most free and
impartial: put this question to thyself, whether if that which is right and
just be done, the doing of it by thyself, or by others when thou art not able
thyself; be a thing material or no. For sure it is not. And as for these that
keep such a life, and stand so much upon the praises, or dispraises of other
men, hast thou forgotten what manner of men they be? that such and such upon
their beds, and such at their board: what their ordinary actions are: what they
pursue after, and what they fly from: what thefts and rapines they commit, if
not with their hands and feet, yet with that more precious part of theirs,
their minds: which (would it but admit of them) might enjoy faith, modesty,
truth, justice, a good spirit.
XVI.
Give what thou wilt, and take away what thou wilt, saith he that is
well
taught and truly modest, to Him that gives, and takes away. And it is not out
of a stout and peremptory resolution, that he saith it, but in mere love, and
humble submission.
XVII.
So live as indifferent to the world and all worldly objects, as
one
who liveth by himself alone upon some desert hill. For whether here, or there,
if the whole world be but as one town, it matters not much for the place. Let
them behold and see a man, that is a man indeed, living according to the true
nature of man. If they cannot bear with me, let them kill me. For better were
it to die, than so to live as they would have thee.
XVIII.
Make it not any longer a matter of dispute or discourse, what are
the
signs and proprieties of a good man, but really and actually to be such.
XIX.
Ever to represent unto thyself; and to set before thee, both the
general
age and time of the world, and the whole substance of it. And how all things
particular in respect of these are for their substance, as one of the least
seeds that is: and for their duration, as the turning of the pestle in the
mortar once about. Then to fix thy mind upon every particular object of the
world, and to conceive it, (as it is indeed,) as already being in the state of
dissolution, and of change; tending to some kind of either putrefaction or
dispersion; or whatsoever else it is, that is the death as it were of
everything in his own kind.
XX.
Consider them through all actions and occupations, of their lives:
as
when they eat, and when they sleep: when they are in the act of necessary
exoneration, and when in the act of lust. Again, when they either are in their
greatest exultation; and in the middle of all their pomp and glory; or being
angry and displeased, in great state and majesty, as from an higher place, they
chide and rebuke. How base and slavish, but a little while ago, they were fain
to be, that they might come to this; and within a very little while what will
be their estate, when death hath once seized upon them.
XXI.
That is best for every one, that the common nature of all doth send
unto
every one, and then is it best, when she doth send it.
XXII.
The earth, saith the poet, doth often long after the rain. So is
the
glorious sky often as desirous to fall upon the earth, which argues a mutual
kind of love between them. And so (say I) doth the world bear a certain
affection of love to whatsoever shall come to pass With thine affections shall
mine concur, O world. The same (and no other) shall the object of my longing be
which is of thine. Now that the world doth love it is true indeed so is it as
commonly said, and acknowledged ledged, when, according to the Greek phrase,
imitated by the Latins, of things that used to be, we say commonly, that they
love to be.
XXIII.
Either thou dost Continue in this kind of life and that is it,
which
so long thou hast been used unto and therefore tolerable: or thou doest retire,
or leave the world, and that of thine own accord, and then thou hast thy mind:
or thy life is cut off; and then mayst thou rejoice that thou hast ended thy
charge. One of these must needs be. Be therefore of good comfort.
XXIV
Let it always appear and be manifest unto thee that solitariness,
and
desert places, by many philosophers so much esteemed of and affected, are of themselves
but thus and thus; and that all things are them to them that live in towns, and
converse with others as they are the same nature everywhere to be seen and
observed: to them that have retired themselves to the top of mountains, and to
desert havens, or what other desert and inhabited places soever. For anywhere
it thou wilt mayest thou quickly find and apply that to thyself; which Plato
saith of his philosopher, in a place: as private and retired, saith he, as if
he were shut up and enclosed about in some shepherd's lodge, on the top of a
hill. There by thyself to put these questions to thyself or to enter in these
considerations: What is my chief and principal part, which hath power over the
rest? What is now the present estate of it, as I use it; and what is it, that I
employ it about? Is it now void of reason ir no? Is it free, and separated; or
so affixed, so congealed and grown together as it were with the flesh, that it
is swayed by the motions and inclinations of it?
XXV.
He that runs away from his master is a fugitive. But the law is
every
man's master. He therefore that forsakes the law, is a fugitive. So is he,
whosoever he be, that is either sorry, angry, or afraid, or for anything that
either hath been, is, or shall be by his appointment, who is the Lord and
Governor of the universe. For he truly and properly is Nomoz, or the law, as
the only nemwn (sp.), or distributor and dispenser of all things that happen
unto any one in his lifetime—Whatsoever then is either sorry, angry, or afraid,
is a fugitive.
XXVI.
From man is the seed, that once cast into the womb man hath no
more
to do with it. Another cause succeedeth, and undertakes the work, and in time
brings a child (that wonderful effect from such a beginning!) to perfection.
Again, man lets food down through his throat; and that once down, he hath no
more to do with it. Another cause succeedeth and distributeth this food into
the senses, and the affections: into life, and into strength; and doth with it
those other many and marvellous things, that belong unto man. These things
therefore that are so secretly and invisibly wrought and brought to pass, thou
must use to behold and contemplate; and not the things themselves only, but the
power also by which they are effected; that thou mayst behold it, though not
with the eyes of the body, yet as plainly and visibly as thou canst see and
discern the outward efficient cause of the depression and elevation of
anything.
XXVII.
Ever to mind and consider with thyself; how all things that now
are,
have been heretofore much after the same sort, and after the same fashion that
now they are: and so to think of those things which shall be hereafter also.
Moreover, whole dramata, and uniform scenes, or scenes that comprehend the
lives and actions of men of one calling and profession, as many as either in
thine own experience thou hast known, or by reading of ancient histories; (as
the whole court of Adrianus, the whole court of Antoninus Pius, the whole court
of Philippus, that of Alexander, that of Croesus): to set them all before thine
eyes. For thou shalt find that they are all but after one sort and fashion:
only that the actors were others.
XXVIII.
As a pig that cries and flings when his throat is cut, fancy to
thyself
every one to be, that grieves for any worldly thing and takes on. Such a one is
he also, who upon his bed alone, doth bewail the miseries of this our mortal
life. And remember this, that Unto reasonable creatures only it is granted that
they may willingly and freely submit unto Providence: but absolutely to submit,
is a necessity imposed upon all creatures equally.
XXIX.
Whatsoever it is that thou goest about, consider of it by thyself,
and
ask thyself, What? because I shall do this no more when I am dead, should
therefore death seem grievous unto me?
XXX.
When thou art offended with any man's transgression, presently
reflect
upon thyself; and consider what thou thyself art guilty of in the same kind. As
that thou also perchance dost think it a happiness either to be rich, or to
live in pleasure, or to be praised and commended, and so of the rest in
particular. For this if thou shalt call to mind, thou shalt soon forget thine
anger; especially when at the same time this also shall concur in thy thoughts,
that he was constrained by his error and ignorance so to do: for how can he
choose as long as he is of that opinion? Do thou therefore if thou canst, take
away that from him, that forceth him to do as he doth.
XXXI.
When thou seest Satyro, think of Socraticus and Eutyches, or
Hymen,
and when Euphrates, think of Eutychio, and Sylvanus, when Alciphron, of
Tropaeophorus, when Xenophon, of Crito, or Severus. And when thou doest look
upon thyself, fancy unto thyself some one or other of the Caesars; and so for
every one, some one or other that hath been for estate and profession
answerable unto him. Then let this come to thy mind at the same time; and where
now are they all? Nowhere or anywhere? For so shalt thou at all time be able to
perceive how all worldly things are but as the smoke, that vanisheth away: or,
indeed, mere nothing. Especially when thou shalt call to mind this also, that
whatsoever is once changed, shall never be again as long as the world endureth.
And thou then, how long shalt thou endure? And why doth it not suffice thee, if
virtuously, and as becometh thee, thou mayest pass that portion of time, how
little soever it be, that is allotted unto thee?
XXXII.
What a subject, and what a course of life is it, that thou doest
so
much desire to be rid of. For all these things, what are they, but fit objects
for an understanding, that beholdeth everything according to its true nature,
to exercise itself upon? Be patient, therefore, until that (as a strong stomach
that turns all things into his own nature; and as a great fire that turneth in
flame and light, whatsoever thou doest cast into it) thou have made these
things also familiar, and as it were natural unto thee.
XXXIII.
Let it not be in any man's power, to say truly of thee, that
thou
art not truly simple, or sincere and open, or not good. Let him be deceived
whosoever he be that shall have any such opinion of thee. For all this doth
depend of thee. For who is it that should hinder thee from being either truly
simple or good? Do thou only resolve rather not to live, than not to be such.
For indeed neither doth it stand with reason that he should live that is not
such. What then is it that may upon this present occasion according to best
reason and discretion, either be said or done? For whatsoever it be, it is in
thy power either to do it, or to say it, and therefore seek not any pretences,
as though thou wert hindered. Thou wilt never cease groaning and complaining,
until such time as that, what pleasure is unto the voluptuous, be unto thee, to
do in everything that presents itself, whatsoever may be done conformably and
agreeably to the proper constitution of man, or, to man as he is a man. For
thou must account that pleasure, whatsoever it be, that thou mayest do according
to thine own nature. And to do this, every place will fit thee. Unto the
cylindrus, or roller, it is not granted to move everywhere according to its own
proper motion, as neither unto the water, nor unto the fire, nor unto any other
thing, that either is merely natural, or natural and sensitive; but not
rational for many things there be that can hinder their operations. But of the
mind and understanding this is the proper privilege, that according to its own
nature, and as it will itself, it can pass through every obstacle that it
finds, and keep straight on forwards. Setting therefore before thine eyes this
happiness and felicity of thy mind, whereby it is able to pass through all
things, and is capable of all motions, whether as the fire, upwards; or as the
stone downwards, or as the cylindrus through that which is sloping: content
thyself with it, and seek not after any other thing. For all other kind of
hindrances that are not hindrances of thy mind either they are proper to the
body, or merely proceed from the opinion, reason not making that resistance
that it should, but basely, and cowardly suffering itself to be foiled; and of
themselves can neither wound, nor do any hurt at all. Else must he of
necessity, whosoever he be that meets with any of them, become worse than he
was before. For so is it in all other subjects, that that is thought hurtful
unto them, whereby they are made worse. But here contrariwise, man (if he make
that good use of them that he should) is rather the better and the more praiseworthy
for any of those kind of hindrances, than otherwise. But generally remember
that nothing can hurt a natural citizen, that is not hurtful unto the city
itself, nor anything hurt the city, that is not hurtful unto the law itself.
But none of these casualties, or external hindrances, do hurt the law itself;
or, are contrary to that course of justice and equity, by which public
societies are maintained: neither therefore do they hurt either city or
citizen.
XXXIV.
As he that is bitten by a mad dog, is afraid of everything almost
that
he seeth: so unto him, whom the dogmata have once bitten, or in whom true
knowledge hath made an impression, everything almost that he sees or reads be
it never so short or ordinary, doth afford a good memento; to put him out of
all grief and fear, as that of the poet, 'The winds blow upon the trees, and
their leaves fall upon the ground. Then do the trees begin to bud again, and by
the spring-time they put forth new branches. So is the generation of men; some
come into the world, and others go out of it.' Of these leaves then thy
children are. And they also that applaud thee so gravely, or, that applaud thy
speeches, with that their usual acclamation, axiopistwz, O wisely spoken I and
speak well of thee, as on the other side, they that stick not to curse thee,
they that privately and secretly dispraise and deride thee, they also are but
leaves. And they also that shall follow, in whose memories the names of men
famous after death, is preserved, they are but leaves neither. For even so is
it of all these worldly things. Their spring comes, and they are put forth.
Then blows the wind, and they go down. And then in lieu of them grow others out
of the wood or common matter of all things, like unto them. But, to endure but
for a while, is common unto all. Why then shouldest thou so earnestly either
seek after these things, or fly from them, as though they should endure for
ever? Yet a little while, and thine eyes will be closed up, and for him that
carries thee to thy grave shall another mourn within a while after.
XXXV.
A good eye must be good to see whatsoever is to be seen, and not
green
things only. For that is proper to sore eyes. So must a good ear, and a good
smell be ready for whatsoever is either to be heard, or smelt: and a good
stomach as indifferent to all kinds of food, as a millstone is, to whatsoever
she was made for to grind. As ready therefore must a sound understanding be for
whatsoever shall happen. But he that saith, O that my children might live! and,
O that all men might commend me for whatsoever I do! is an eye that seeks after
green things; or as teeth, after that which is tender.
XXXVI.
There is not any man that is so happy in his death, but that some
of
those that are by him when he dies, will be ready to rejoice at his supposed
calamity. Is it one that was virtuous and wise indeed? will there not some one
or other be found, who thus will say to himself; 'Well now at last shall I be
at rest from this pedagogue. He did not indeed otherwise trouble us much: but I
know well enough that in his heart, he did much condemn us.' Thus will they
speak of the virtuous. But as for us, alas I how many things be there, for
which there be many that glad would be to be rid of us. This therefore if thou
shalt think of whensoever thou diest, thou shalt die the more willingly, when
thou shalt think with thyself; I am now to depart from that world, wherein
those that have been my nearest friends and acquaintances, they whom I have so
much suffered for, so often prayed for, and for whom I have taken such care,
even they would have me die, hoping that after my death they shall live
happier, than they did before. What then should any man desire to continue here
any longer? Nevertheless, whensoever thou diest, thou must not be less kind and
loving unto them for it; but as before, see them, continue to be their friend,
to wish them well, and meekly, and gently to carry thyself towards them, but
yet so that on the other side, it make thee not the more unwilling to die. But
as it fareth with them that die an easy quick death, whose soul is soon
separated from their bodies, so must thy separation from them be. To these had
nature joined and annexed me: now she parts us; I am ready to depart, as from
friends and kinsmen, but yet without either reluctancy or compulsion. For this
also is according to Nature.
XXXVII.
Use thyself; as often, as thou seest any man do anything,
presently
(if it be possible) to say unto thyself, What is this man's end in this his
action? But begin this course with thyself first of all, and diligently examine
thyself concerning whatsoever thou doest.
XXXVIII.
Remember, that that which sets a man at work, and hath power
over
the affections to draw them either one way, or the other way, is not any
external thing properly, but that which is hidden within every man's dogmata,
and opinions: That, that is rhetoric; that is life; that (to speak true) is man
himself. As for thy body, which as a vessel, or a case, compasseth thee about,
and the many and curious instruments that it hath annexed unto it, let them not
trouble thy thoughts. For of themselves they are but as a carpenter's axe, but
that they are born with us, and naturally sticking unto us. But otherwise,
without the inward cause that hath power to move them, and to restrain them,
those parts are of themselves of no more use unto us, than the shuttle is of
itself to the weaver, or the pen to the writer, or the whip to the coachman.
THE ELEVENTH BOOK
I. The natural
properties, and privileges of a reasonable soul are: That
she
seeth herself; that she can order, and compose herself: that she makes herself
as she will herself: that she reaps her own fruits whatsoever, whereas plants,
trees, unreasonable creatures, what fruit soever (be it either fruit properly,
or analogically only) they bear, they bear them unto others, and not to
themselves. Again; whensoever, and wheresoever, sooner or later, her life doth
end, she hath her own end nevertheless. For it is not with her, as with dancers
and players, who if they be interrupted in any part of their action, the whole
action must needs be imperfect: but she in what part of time or action soever
she be surprised, can make that which she hath in her hand whatsoever it be,
complete and full, so that she may depart with that comfort, 'I have lived;
neither want I anything of that which properly did belong unto me.' Again, she
compasseth the whole world, and penetrateth into the vanity, and mere outside
(wanting substance and solidity) of it, and stretcheth herself unto the
infiniteness of eternity; and the revolution or restoration of all things after
a certain period of time, to the same state and place as before, she fetcheth
about, and doth comprehend in herself; and considers withal, and sees clearly
this, that neither they that shall follow us, shall see any new thing, that we
have not seen, nor they that went before, anything more than we: but that he
that is once come to forty (if he have any wit at all) can in a manner (for
that they are all of one kind) see all things, both past and future. As proper
is it, and natural to the soul of man to love her neighbour, to be true and
modest; and to regard nothing so much as herself: which is also the property of
the law: whereby by the way it appears, that sound reason and justice comes all
to one, and therefore that justice is the chief thing, that reasonable
creatures ought to propose unto themselves as their end.
II.
A pleasant song or dance; the Pancratiast's exercise, sports that
thou
art wont to be much taken with, thou shalt easily contemn; if the harmonious
voice thou shalt divide into so many particular sounds whereof it doth consist,
and of every one in particular shall ask thyself; whether this or that sound is
it, that doth so conquer thee. For thou wilt be ashamed of it. And so for
shame, if accordingly thou shalt consider it, every particular motion and
posture by itself: and so for the wrestler's exercise too. Generally then,
whatsoever it be, besides virtue, and those things that proceed from virtue
that thou art subject to be much affected with, remember presently thus to
divide it, and by this kind of division, in each particular to attain unto the
contempt of the whole. This thou must transfer and apply to thy whole life also.
III.
That soul which is ever ready, even now presently (if need be) from
the
body, whether by way of extinction, or dispersion, or continuation in another
place and estate to be separated, how blessed and happy is it! But this
readiness of it, it must proceed, not from an obstinate and peremptory
resolution of the mind, violently and passionately set upon Opposition, as
Christians are wont; but from a peculiar judgment; with discretion and gravity,
so that others may be persuaded also and drawn to the like example, but without
any noise and passionate exclamations.
IV.
Have I done anything charitably? then am I benefited by it. See
that
this upon all occasions may present itself unto thy mind, and never cease to
think of it. What is thy profession? to be good. And how should this be well
brought to pass, but by certain theorems and doctrines; some Concerning the
nature of the universe, and some Concerning the proper and particular
constitution of man?
V.
Tragedies were at first brought in and instituted, to put men in mind
of
worldly chances and casualties: that these things in the ordinary course of
nature did so happen: that men that were much pleased and delighted by such
accidents upon this stage, would not by the same things in a greater stage be
grieved and afflicted: for here you see what is the end of all such things; and
that even they that cry out so mournfully to Cithaeron, must bear them for all
their cries and exclamations, as well as others. And in very truth many good
things are spoken by these poets; as that (for example) is an excellent
passage: 'But if so be that I and my two children be neglected by the Gods,
they have some reason even for that,' &c. And again, 'It will but little
avail thee to storm and rage against the things themselves,' &c. Again, 'To
reap one's life, as a ripe ear of corn;' and whatsoever else is to be found in
them, that is of the same kind. After the tragedy, the ancient comedy was
brought in, which had the liberty to inveigh against personal vices; being
therefore through this her freedom and liberty of speech of very good use and
effect, to restrain men from pride and arrogancy. To which end it was, that
Diogenes took also the same liberty. After these, what were either the Middle,
or New Comedy admitted for, but merely, (Or for the most part at least) for the
delight and pleasure of curious and excellent imitation? 'It will steal away;
look to it,' &c. Why, no man denies, but that these also have some good
things whereof that may be one: but the whole drift and foundation of that kind
of dramatical poetry, what is it else, but as we have said?
VI.
How clearly doth it appear unto thee, that no other course of thy
life
could fit a true philosopher's practice better, than this very course, that thou
art now already in?
VII.
A branch cut off from the continuity of that which was next unto
it,
must needs be cut off from the whole tree: so a man that is divided from
another man, is divided from the whole society. A branch is cut off by another,
but he that hates and is averse, cuts himself off from his neighbour, and knows
not that at the same time he divides himself from the whole body, or
corporation. But herein is the gift and mercy of God, the Author of this
society, in that, once cut off we may grow together and become part of the
whole again. But if this happen often the misery is that the further a man is
run in this division, the harder he is to be reunited and restored again: and
however the branch which, once cut of afterwards was graffed in, gardeners can
tell you is not like that which sprouted together at first, and still continued
in the unity of the body.
VIII.
To grow together like fellow branches in matter of good
correspondence
and affection; but not in matter of opinions. They that shall oppose thee in
thy right courses, as it is not in their power to divert thee from thy good
action, so neither let it be to divert thee from thy good affection towards
them. But be it thy care to keep thyself constant in both; both in a right
judgment and action, and in true meekness towards them, that either shall do
their endeavour to hinder thee, or at least will be displeased with thee for
what thou hast done. For to fail in either (either in the one to give over for
fear, or in the other to forsake thy natural affection towards him, who by
nature is both thy friend and thy kinsman) is equally base, and much savouring
of the disposition of a cowardly fugitive soldier.
IX.
It is not possible that any nature should be inferior unto art,
since
that all arts imitate nature. If this be so; that the most perfect and general
nature of all natures should in her operation come short of the skill of arts,
is most improbable. Now common is it to all arts, to make that which is worse
for the better's sake. Much more then doth the common nature do the same. Hence
is the first ground of justice. From justice all other virtues have their
existence. For justice cannot be preserved, if either we settle our minds and
affections upon worldly things; or be apt to be deceived, or rash, and
inconstant.
X.
The things themselves (which either to get or to avoid thou art put
to
so much trouble) come not unto thee themselves; but thou in a manner goest unto
them. Let then thine own judgment and opinion concerning those things be at
rest; and as for the things themselves, they stand still and quiet, without any
noise or stir at all; and so shall all pursuing and flying cease.
XI.
Then is the soul as Empedocles doth liken it, like unto a sphere or
globe,
when she is all of one form and figure: when she neither greedily stretcheth
out herself unto anything, nor basely contracts herself, or lies flat and
dejected; but shineth all with light, whereby she does see and behold the true
nature, both that of the universe, and her own in particular.
XII.
Will any contemn me? let him look to that, upon what grounds he
does
it: my care shall be that I may never be found either doing or speaking
anything that doth truly deserve contempt. Will any hate me? let him look to
that. I for my part will be kind and loving unto all, and even unto him that
hates me, whom-soever he be, will I be ready to show his error, not by way of
exprobation or ostentation of my patience, but ingenuously and meekly: such as
was that famous Phocion, if so be that he did not dissemble. For it is inwardly
that these things must be: that the Gods who look inwardly, and not upon the
outward appearance, may behold a man truly free from all indignation and grief.
For what hurt can it be unto thee whatsoever any man else doth, as long as thou
mayest do that which is proper and suitable to thine own nature? Wilt not thou
(a man wholly appointed to be both what, and as the common good shall require)
accept of that which is now seasonable to the nature of the universe?
XIII.
They contemn one another, and yet they seek to please one another:
and
whilest they seek to surpass one another in worldly pomp and greatness, they
most debase and prostitute themselves in their better part one to another.
XIV.
How rotten and insincere is he, that saith, I am resolved to carry
myself
hereafter towards you with all ingenuity and simplicity. O man, what doest thou
mean! what needs this profession of thine? the thing itself will show it. It
ought to be written upon thy forehead. No sooner thy voice is heard, than thy
countenance must be able to show what is in thy mind: even as he that is loved
knows presently by the looks of his sweetheart what is in her mind. Such must
he be for all the world, that is truly simple and good, as he whose arm-holes
are offensive, that whosoever stands by, as soon as ever he comes near him, may
as it were smell him whether he will or no. But the affectation of simplicity
is nowise laudable. There is nothing more shameful than perfidious friendship.
Above all things, that must be avoided. However true goodness, simplicity, and
kindness cannot so be hidden, but that as we have already said in the very eyes
and countenance they will show themselves.
XV.
To live happily is an inward power of the soul, when she is affected
with
indifferency, towards those things that are by their nature indifferent. To be
thus affected she must consider all worldly objects both divided and whole:
remembering withal that no object can of itself beget any opinion in us,
neither can come to us, but stands without still and quiet; but that we
ourselves beget, and as it were print in ourselves opinions concerning them.
Now it is in our power, not to print them; and if they creep in and lurk in
some corner, it is in our power to wipe them off. Remembering moreover, that
this care and circumspection of thine, is to continue but for a while, and then
thy life will be at an end. And what should hinder, but that thou mayest do
well with all these things? For if they be according to nature, rejoice in
them, and let them be pleasing and acceptable unto thee. But if they be against
nature, seek thou that which is according to thine own nature, and whether it
be for thy credit or no, use all possible speed for the attainment of it: for
no man ought to be blamed, for seeking his own good and happiness.
XVI.
Of everything thou must consider from whence it came, of what
things
it doth consist, and into what it will be changed: what will be the nature of
it, or what it will be like unto when it is changed; and that it can suffer no
hurt by this change. And as for other men's either foolishness or wickedness,
that it may not trouble and grieve thee; first generally thus; What reference
have I unto these? and that we are all born for one another's good: then more
particularly after another consideration; as a ram is first in a flock of
sheep, and a bull in a herd of cattle, so am I born to rule over them. Begin
yet higher, even from this: if atoms be not the beginning of all things, than
which to believe nothing can be more absurd, then must we needs grant that
there is a nature, that doth govern the universe. If such a nature, then are
all worse things made for the better's sake; and all better for one another's
sake. Secondly, what manner of men they be, at board, and upon their beds, and
so forth. But above all things, how they are forced by their opinions that they
hold, to do what they do; and even those things that they do, with what pride and
self-conceit they do them. Thirdly, that if they do these things rightly, thou
hast no reason to be grieved. But if not rightly, it must needs be that they do
them against their wills, and through mere ignorance. For as, according to
Plato's opinion, no soul doth willingly err, so by consequent neither doth it
anything otherwise than it ought, but against her will. Therefore are they
grieved, whensoever they hear themselves charged, either of injustice, or
unconscionableness, or covetousness, or in general, of any injurious kind of
dealing towards their neighbours. Fourthly, that thou thyself doest transgress
in many things, and art even such another as they are. And though perchance
thou doest forbear the very act of some sins, yet hast thou in thyself an
habitual disposition to them, but that either through fear, or vainglory, or
some such other ambitious foolish respect, thou art restrained. Fifthly, that
whether they have sinned or no, thou doest not understand perfectly. For many
things are done by way of discreet policy; and generally a man must know many
things first, before he be able truly and judiciously to judge of another man's
action. Sixthly, that whensoever thou doest take on grievously, or makest great
woe, little doest thou remember then that a man's life is but for a moment of
time, and that within a while we shall all be in our graves. Seventhly, that it
is not the sins and transgressions themselves that trouble us properly; for
they have their existence in their minds and understandings only, that commit
them; but our own opinions concerning those sins. Remove then, and be content
to part with that conceit of thine, that it is a grievous thing, and thou hast
removed thine anger. But how should I remove it? How? reasoning with thyself
that it is not shameful. For if that which is shameful, be not the only true
evil that is, thou also wilt be driven whilest thou doest follow the common
instinct of nature, to avoid that which is evil, to commit many unjust things,
and to become a thief, and anything, that will make to the attainment of thy
intended worldly ends. Eighthly, how many things may and do oftentimes follow
upon such fits of anger and grief; far more grievous in themselves, than those
very things which we are so grieved or angry for. Ninthly, that meekness is a
thing unconquerable, if it be true and natural, and not affected or
hypocritical. For how shall even the most fierce and malicious that thou shalt
conceive, be able to hold on against thee, if thou shalt still continue meek
and loving unto him; and that even at that time, when he is about to do thee
wrong, thou shalt be well disposed, and in good temper, with all meekness to
teach him, and to instruct him better? As for example; My son, we were not born
for this, to hurt and annoy one another; it will be thy hurt not mine, my son:
and so to show him forcibly and fully, that it is so in very deed: and that
neither bees do it one to another, nor any other creatures that are naturally
sociable. But this thou must do, not scoffingly, not by way of exprobation, but
tenderly without any harshness of words. Neither must thou do it by way of
exercise, or ostentation, that they that are by and hear thee, may admire thee:
but so always that nobody be privy to it, but himself alone: yea, though there
be more present at the same time. These nine particular heads, as so many gifts
from the Muses, see that thou remember well: and begin one day, whilest thou
art yet alive, to be a man indeed. But on the other side thou must take heed,
as much to flatter them, as to be angry with them: for both are equally
uncharitable, and equally hurtful. And in thy passions, take it presently to
thy consideration, that to be angry is not the part of a man, but that to be
meek and gentle, as it savours of more humanity, so of more manhood. That in
this, there is strength and nerves, or vigour and fortitude: whereof anger and
indignation is altogether void. For the nearer everything is unto
unpassionateness, the nearer it is unto power. And as grief doth proceed from
weakness, so doth anger. For both, both he that is angry and that grieveth,
have received a wound, and cowardly have as it were yielded themselves unto
their affections. If thou wilt have a tenth also, receive this tenth gift from
Hercules the guide and leader of the Muses: that is a mad man's part, to look
that there should be no wicked men in the world, because it is impossible. Now
for a man to brook well enough, that there should be wicked men in the world,
but not to endure that any should transgress against himself, is against all
equity, and indeed tyrannical.
XVII.
Four several dispositions or inclinations there be of the mind and
understanding,
which to be aware of, thou must carefully observe: and whensoever thou doest
discover them, thou must rectify them, saying to thyself concerning every one
of them, This imagination is not necessary; this is uncharitable: this thou
shalt speak as another man's slave, or instrument; than which nothing can be
more senseless and absurd: for the fourth, thou shalt sharply check and upbraid
thyself; for that thou doest suffer that more divine part in thee, to become
subject and obnoxious to that more ignoble part of thy body, and the gross
lusts and concupiscences thereof.
XVIII.
What portion soever, either of air or fire there be in thee,
although
by nature it tend upwards, submitting nevertheless to the ordinance of the
universe, it abides here below in this mixed body. So whatsoever is in thee,
either earthy, or humid, although by nature it tend downwards, yet is it
against its nature both raised upwards, and standing, or consistent. So
obedient are even the elements themselves to the universe, abiding patiently
wheresoever (though against their nature) they are placed, until the sound as
it were of their retreat, and separation. Is it not a grievous thing then, that
thy reasonable part only should be disobedient, and should not endure to keep
its place: yea though it be nothing enjoined that is contrary unto it, but that
only which is according to its nature? For we cannot say of it when it is
disobedient, as we say of the fire, or air, that it tends upwards towards its
proper element, for then goes it the quite contrary way. For the motion of the
mind to any injustice, or incontinency, or to sorrow, or to fear, is nothing
else but a separation from nature. Also when the mind is grieved for anything
that is happened by the divine providence, then doth it likewise forsake its
own place. For it was ordained unto holiness and godliness, which specially consist
in an humble submission to God and His providence in all things; as well as
unto justice: these also being part of those duties, which as naturally
sociable, we are bound unto; and without which we cannot happily converse one
with another: yea and the very ground and fountain indeed of all just actions.
XIX.
He that hath not one and the self-same general end always as long
as
he liveth, cannot possibly be one and the self-same man always. But this will
not suffice except thou add also what ought to be this general end. For as the
general conceit and apprehension of all those things which upon no certain
ground are by the greater part of men deemed good, cannot be uniform and
agreeable, but that only which is limited and restrained by some certain
proprieties and conditions, as of community: that nothing be conceived good,
which is not commonly and publicly good: so must the end also that we propose
unto ourselves, be common and sociable. For he that doth direct all his own
private motions and purposes to that end, all his actions will be agreeable and
uniform; and by that means will be still the same man.
XX.
Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse, and the
great
fright and terror that this was put into.
XXI.
Socrates was wont to call the common conceits and opinions of men,
the
common bugbears of the world: the proper terror of silly children.
XXII.
The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont to appoint
seats
and forms for their strangers in the shadow, they themselves were content to
sit anywhere.
XXIII.
What Socrates answered unto Perdiccas, why he did not come unto
him,
Lest of all deaths I should die the worst kind of death, said he: that is, not
able to requite the good that hath been done unto me.
XXIV.
In the ancient mystical letters of the Ephesians, there was an
item,
that a man should always have in his mind some one or other of the ancient
worthies.
XXV.
The Pythagoreans were wont betimes in the morning the first thing
they
did, to look up unto the heavens, to put themselves in mind of them who
constantly and invariably did perform their task: as also to put themselves in
mind of orderliness, or good order, and of purity, and of naked simplicity. For
no star or planet hath any cover before it.
XXVI.
How Socrates looked, when he was fain to gird himself with a
skin,
Xanthippe his wife having taken away his clothes, and carried them abroad with
her, and what he said to his fellows and friends, who were ashamed; and out of
respect to him, did retire themselves when they saw him thus decked.
XXVII.
In matter of writing or reading thou must needs be taught before
thou
can do either: much more in matter of life. 'For thou art born a mere slave, to
thy senses and brutish affections;' destitute without teaching of all true
knowledge and sound reason.
XXVIII.
'My heart smiled within me.' 'They will accuse even virtue
herself;
with heinous and opprobrious words.'
XXIX.
As they that long after figs in winter when they cannot be had; so
are
they that long after children, before they be granted them.
XXX.
'As often as a father kisseth his child, he should say secretly
with
himself' (said Epictetus,) 'tomorrow perchance shall he die.' But these words
be ominous. No words ominous (said he) that signify anything that is natural:
in very truth and deed not more ominous than this, 'to cut down grapes when
they are ripe.' Green grapes, ripe grapes, dried grapes, or raisins: so many
changes and mutations of one thing, not into that which was not absolutely, but
rather so many several changes and mutations, not into that which hath no being
at all, but into that which is not yet in being.
XXXI.
'Of the free will there is no thief or robber:' out of Epictetus;
Whose
is this also: that we should find a certain art and method of assenting; and
that we should always observe with great care and heed the inclinations of our
minds, that they may always be with their due restraint and reservation, always
charitable, and according to the true worth of every present object. And as for
earnest longing, that we should altogether avoid it: and to use averseness in
those things only, that wholly depend of our own wills. It is not about
ordinary petty matters, believe it, that all our strife and contention is, but
whether, with the vulgar, we should be mad, or by the help of philosophy wise
and sober, said he. XXXII. Socrates said, 'What will you have? the souls of
reasonable, or unreasonable creatures? Of reasonable. But what? Of those whose
reason is sound and perfect? or of those whose reason is vitiated and
corrupted? Of those whose reason is sound and perfect. Why then labour ye not
for such? Because we have them already. What then do ye so strive and contend
between you?'
THE TWELFTH BOOK
I. Whatsoever
thou doest hereafter aspire unto, thou mayest even now
enjoy
and possess, if thou doest not envy thyself thine own happiness. And that will
be, if thou shalt forget all that is past, and for the future, refer thyself
wholly to the Divine Providence, and shalt bend and apply all thy present
thoughts and intentions to holiness and righteousness. To holiness, in
accepting willingly whatsoever is sent by the Divine Providence, as being that
which the nature of the universe hath appointed unto thee, which also hath
appointed thee for that, whatsoever it be. To righteousness, in speaking the
truth freely, and without ambiguity; and in doing all things justly and
discreetly. Now in this good course, let not other men's either wickedness, or
opinion, or voice hinder thee: no, nor the sense of this thy pampered mass of
flesh: for let that which suffers, look to itself. If therefore whensoever the
time of thy departing shall come, thou shalt readily leave all things, and shalt
respect thy mind only, and that divine part of thine, and this shall be thine
only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease to live, but thou shalt
never begin to live according to nature: then shalt thou be a man indeed,
worthy of that world, from which thou hadst thy beginning; then shalt thou
cease to be a stranger in thy country, and to wonder at those things that
happen daily, as things strange and unexpected, and anxiously to depend of
divers things that are not in thy power.
II.
God beholds our minds and understandings, bare and naked from these
material
vessels, and outsides, and all earthly dross. For with His simple and pure
understanding, He pierceth into our inmost and purest parts, which from His, as
it were by a water pipe and channel, first flowed and issued. This if thou also
shalt use to do, thou shalt rid thyself of that manifold luggage, wherewith
thou art round about encumbered. For he that does regard neither his body, nor
his clothing, nor his dwelling, nor any such external furniture, must needs
gain unto himself great rest and ease. Three things there be in all, which thou
doest consist of; thy body, thy life, and thy mind. Of these the two former,
are so far forth thine, as that thou art bound to take care for them. But the
third alone is that which is properly thine. If then thou shalt separate from
thyself, that is from thy mind, whatsoever other men either do or say, or
whatsoever thou thyself hast heretofore either done or said; and all
troublesome thoughts concerning the future, and whatsoever, (as either
belonging to thy body or life:) is without the jurisdiction of thine own will,
and whatsoever in the ordinary course of human chances and accidents doth
happen unto thee; so that thy mind (keeping herself loose and free from all
outward coincidental entanglements; always in a readiness to depart:) shall
live by herself, and to herself, doing that which is just, accepting whatsoever
doth happen, and speaking the truth always; if, I say, thou shalt separate from
thy mind, whatsoever by sympathy might adhere unto it, and all time both past
and future, and shalt make thyself in all points and respects, like unto
Empedocles his allegorical sphere, 'all round and circular,' &c., and shalt
think of no longer life than that which is now present: then shalt thou be
truly able to pass the remainder of thy days without troubles and distractions;
nobly and generously disposed, and in good favour and correspondency, with that
spirit which is within thee.
III.
I have often wondered how it should come to pass, that every man
loving
himself best, should more regard other men's opinions concerning himself than
his own. For if any God or grave master standing by, should command any of us
to think nothing by himself but what he should presently speak out; no man were
able to endure it, though but for one day. Thus do we fear more what our
neighbours will think of us, than what we ourselves.
IV.
how come it to pass that the Gods having ordered all other things
so
well and so lovingly, should be overseen in this one only thing, that whereas
then hath been some very good men that have made many covenants as it were with
God and by many holy actions and outward services contracted a kind of
familiarity with Him; that these men when once they are dead, should never be
restored to life, but be extinct for ever. But this thou mayest be sure of,
that this (if it be so indeed) would never have been so ordered by the Gods,
had it been fit otherwise. For certainly it was possible, had it been more just
so and had it been according to nature, the nature of the universe would easily
have borne it. But now because it is not so, (if so be that it be not so
indeed) be therefore confident that it was not fit it should be so for thou seest
thyself, that now seeking after this matter, how freely thou doest argue and
contest with God. But were not the Gods both just and good in the highest
degree, thou durst not thus reason with them. Now if just and good, it could
not be that in the creation of the world, they should either unjustly or
unreasonably oversee anything.
V.
Use thyself even unto those things that thou doest at first despair
of.
For the left hand we see, which for the most part lieth idle because not used;
yet doth it hold the bridle with more strength than the right, because it hath
been used unto it.
VI.
Let these be the objects of thy ordinary meditation: to consider,
what
manner of men both for soul and body we ought to be, whensoever death shall
surprise us: the shortness of this our mortal life: the immense vastness of the
time that hath been before, and will he after us: the frailty of every worldly
material object: all these things to consider, and behold clearly in
themselves, all disguisement of external outside being removed and taken away.
Again, to consider the efficient causes of all things: the proper ends and
references of all actions: what pain is in itself; what pleasure, what death:
what fame or honour, how every man is the true and proper ground of his own
rest and tranquillity, and that no man can truly be hindered by any other: that
all is but conceit and opinion. As for the use of thy dogmata, thou must carry
thyself in the practice of them, rather like unto a pancratiastes, or one that
at the same time both fights and wrestles with hands and feet, than a
gladiator. For this, if he lose his sword that he fights with, he is gone:
whereas the other hath still his hand free, which he may easily turn and manage
at his will.
VII.
All worldly things thou must behold and consider, dividing them
into
matter, form, and reference, or their proper end.
VIII.
How happy is man in this his power that hath been granted unto
him:
that he needs not do anything but what God shall approve, and that he may
embrace contentedly, whatsoever God doth send unto him?
IX.
Whatsoever doth happen in the ordinary course and consequence of
natural
events, neither the Gods, (for it is not possible, that they either wittingly
or unwittingly should do anything amiss) nor men, (for it is through ignorance,
and therefore against their wills that they do anything amiss) must be accused.
None then must be accused.
X.
How ridiculous and strange is he, that wonders at anything that
happens
in this life in the ordinary course of nature!
XI.
Either fate, (and that either an absolute necessity, and unavoidable
decree;
or a placable and flexible Providence) or all is a mere casual confusion, void
of all order and government. If an absolute and unavoidable necessity, why
doest thou resist? If a placable and exorable Providence, make thyself worthy
of the divine help and assistance. If all be a mere confusion without any
moderator, or governor, then hast thou reason to congratulate thyself; that in
such a general flood of confusion thou thyself hast obtained a reasonable
faculty, whereby thou mayest govern thine own life and actions. But if thou
beest carried away with the flood, it must be thy body perchance, or thy life,
or some other thing that belongs unto them that is carried away: thy mind and
understanding cannot. Or should it be so, that the light of a candle indeed is
still bright and lightsome until it be put out: and should truth, and
righteousness, and temperance cease to shine in thee whilest thou thyself hast
any being?
XII.
At the conceit and apprehension that such and such a one hath
sinned,
thus reason with thyself; What do I know whether this be a sin indeed, as it
seems to be? But if it be, what do I know but that he himself hath already
condemned himself for it? And that is all one as if a man should scratch and
tear his own face, an object of compassion rather than of anger. Again, that he
that would not have a vicious man to sin, is like unto him that would not have
moisture in the fig, nor children to welp nor a horse to neigh, nor anything
else that in the course of nature is necessary. For what shall he do that hath
such an habit? If thou therefore beest powerful and eloquent, remedy it if thou
canst.
XIII.
If it be not fitting, do it not. If it be not true, speak it not.
Ever
maintain thine own purpose and resolution free from all compulsion and
necessity.
XIV.
Of everything that presents itself unto thee, to consider what the
true
nature of it is, and to unfold it, as it were, by dividing it into that which
is formal: that which is material: the true use or end of it, and the just time
that it is appointed to last.
XV.
It is high time for thee, to understand that there is somewhat in
thee,
better and more divine than either thy passions, or thy sensual appetites and
affections. What is now the object of my mind, is it fear, or suspicion, or
lust, or any such thing? To do nothing rashly without some certain end; let
that be thy first care. The next, to have no other end than the common good.
For, alas! yet a little while, and thou art no more: no more will any, either
of those things that now thou seest, or of those men that now are living, be
any more. For all things are by nature appointed soon to be changed, turned,
and corrupted, that other things might succeed in their room.
XVI.
Remember that all is but opinion, and all opinion depends of the
mind.
Take thine opinion away, and then as a ship that hath stricken in within the
arms and mouth of the harbour, a present calm; all things safe and steady: a
bay, not capable of any storms and tempests: as the poet hath it.
XVII.
No operation whatsoever it he, ceasing for a while, can be truly
said
to suffer any evil, because it is at an end. Neither can he that is the author
of that operation; for this very respect, because his operation is at an end,
be said to suffer any evil. Likewise then, neither can the whole body of all
our actions (which is our life) if in time it cease, be said to suffer any evil
for this very reason, because it is at an end; nor he truly be said to have
been ill affected, that did put a period to this series of actions. Now this
time or certain period, depends of the determination of nature: sometimes of
particular nature, as when a man dieth old; but of nature in general, however;
the parts whereof thus changing one after another, the whole world still
continues fresh and new. Now that is ever best and most seasonable, which is
for the good of the whole. Thus it appears that death of itself can neither be
hurtful to any in particular, because it is not a shameful thing (for neither
is it a thing that depends of our own will, nor of itself contrary to the
common good) and generally, as it is both expedient and seasonable to the
whole, that in that respect it must needs be good. It is that also, which is
brought unto us by the order and appointment of the Divine Providence; so that
he whose will and mind in these things runs along with the Divine ordinance,
and by this concurrence of his will and mind with the Divine Providence, is led
and driven along, as it were by God Himself; may truly be termed and esteemed
the *OEo~p7poc*, or divinely led and inspired.
XVIII.
These three things thou must have always in a readiness: first
concerning
thine own actions, whether thou doest nothing either idly, or otherwise, than
justice and equity do require: and concerning those things that happen unto
thee externally, that either they happen unto thee by chance, or by providence;
of which two to accuse either, is equally against reason. Secondly, what like
unto our bodies are whilest yet rude and imperfect, until they be animated: and
from their animation, until their expiration: of what things they are
compounded, and into what things they shall be dissolved. Thirdly, how vain all
things will appear unto thee when, from on high as it were, looking down thou
shalt contemplate all things upon earth, and the wonderful mutability, that
they are subject unto: considering withal, the infinite both greatness and
variety of things aerial and things celestial that are round about it. And that
as often as thou shalt behold them, thou shalt still see the same: as the same
things, so the same shortness of continuance of all those things. And, behold,
these be the things that we are so proud and puffed up for.
XIX.
Cast away from thee opinion, and thou art safe. And what is it that
hinders
thee from casting of it away? When thou art grieved at anything, hast thou
forgotten that all things happen according to the nature of the universe; and
that him only it concerns, who is in fault; and moreover, that what is now
done, is that which from ever hath been done in the world, and will ever be
done, and is now done everywhere: how nearly all men are allied one to another
by a kindred not of blood, nor of seed, but of the same mind. Thou hast also
forgotten that every man's mind partakes of the Deity, and issueth from thence;
and that no man can properly call anything his own, no not his son, nor his
body, nor his life; for that they all proceed from that One who is the giver of
all things: that all things are but opinion; that no man lives properly, but
that very instant of time which is now present. And therefore that no man
whensoever he dieth can properly be said to lose any more, than an instant of
time.
XX.
Let thy thoughts ever run upon them, who once for some one thing or
other,
were moved with extraordinary indignation; who were once in the highest pitch
of either honour, or calamity; or mutual hatred and enmity; or of any other
fortune or condition whatsoever. Then consider what's now become of all those
things. All is turned to smoke; all to ashes, and a mere fable; and perchance
not so much as a fable. As also whatsoever is of this nature, as Fabius
Catulinus in the field; Lucius Lupus, and Stertinius, at Baiae Tiberius at
Caprem: and Velius Rufus, and all such examples of vehement prosecution in
worldly matters; let these also run in thy mind at the same time; and how vile
every object of such earnest and vehement prosecution is; and how much more
agreeable to true philosophy it is, for a man to carry himself in every matter
that offers itself; justly, and moderately, as one that followeth the Gods with
all simplicity. For, for a man to be proud and high conceited, that he is not
proud and high conceited, is of all kind of pride and presumption, the most
intolerable.
XXI.
To them that ask thee, Where hast thou seen the Gods, or how
knowest
thou certainly that there be Gods, that thou art so devout in their worship? I
answer first of all, that even to the very eye, they are in some manner visible
and apparent. Secondly, neither have I ever seen mine own soul, and yet I
respect and honour it. So then for the Gods, by the daily experience that I
have of their power and providence towards myself and others, I know certainly
that they are, and therefore worship them.
XXII.
Herein doth consist happiness of life, for a man to know
thoroughly
the true nature of everything; what is the matter, and what is the form of it:
with all his heart and soul, ever to do that which is just, and to speak the
truth. What then remaineth but to enjoy thy life in a course and coherence of
good actions, one upon another immediately succeeding, and never interrupted,
though for never so little a while?
XXIII.
There is but one light of the sun, though it be intercepted by
walls
and mountains, and other thousand objects. There is but one common substance of
the whole world, though it be concluded and restrained into several different
bodies, in number infinite. There is but one common soul, though divided into
innumerable particular essences and natures. So is there but one common
intellectual soul, though it seem to be divided. And as for all other parts of
those generals which we have mentioned, as either sensitive souls or subjects,
these of themselves (as naturally irrational) have no common mutual reference
one unto another, though many of them contain a mind, or reasonable faculty in
them, whereby they are ruled and governed. But of every reasonable mind, this
the particular nature, that it hath reference to whatsoever is of her own kind,
and desireth to be united: neither can this common affection, or mutual unity
and correspondency, be here intercepted or divided, or confined to particulars
as those other common things are.
XXIV.
What doest thou desire? To live long. What? To enjoy the
operations
of a sensitive soul; or of the appetitive faculty? or wouldst thou grow, and
then decrease again? Wouldst thou long be able to talk, to think and reason
with thyself? Which of all these seems unto thee a worthy object of thy desire?
Now if of all these thou doest find that they be but little worth in
themselves, proceed on unto the last, which is, in all things to follow God and
reason. But for a man to grieve that by death he shall be deprived of any of
these things, is both against God and reason.
XXV.
What a small portion of vast and infinite eternity it is, that is
allowed
unto every one of us, and how soon it vanisheth into the general age of the
world: of the common substance, and of the common soul also what a small
portion is allotted unto us: and in what a little clod of the whole earth (as
it were) it is that thou doest crawl. After thou shalt rightly have considered
these things with thyself; fancy not anything else in the world any more to be
of any weight and moment but this, to do that only which thine own nature doth
require; and to conform thyself to that which the common nature doth afford.
XXVI.
What is the present estate of my understanding? For herein lieth
all
indeed. As for all other things, they are without the compass of mine own will:
and if without the compass of my will, then are they as dead things unto me,
and as it were mere smoke.
XXVII.
To stir up a man to the contempt of death this among other
things,
is of good power and efficacy, that even they who esteemed pleasure to be
happiness, and pain misery, did nevertheless many of them contemn death as much
as any. And can death be terrible to him, to whom that only seems good, which
in the ordinary course of nature is seasonable? to him, to whom, whether his
actions be many or few, so they be all good, is all one; and who whether he behold
the things of the world being always the same either for many years, or for few
years only, is altogether indifferent? O man! as a citizen thou hast lived, and
conversed in this great city the world. Whether just for so many years, or no,
what is it unto thee? Thou hast lived (thou mayest be sure) as long as the laws
and orders of the city required; which may be the common comfort of all. Why
then should it be grievous unto thee, if (not a tyrant, nor an unjust judge,
but) the same nature that brought thee in, doth now send thee out of the world?
As if the praetor should fairly dismiss him from the stage, whom he had taken
in to act a while. Oh, but the play is not yet at an end, there are but three
acts yet acted of it? Thou hast well said: for in matter of life, three acts is
the whole play. Now to set a certain time to every man's acting, belongs unto
him only, who as first he was of thy composition, so is now the cause of thy
dissolution. As for thyself; thou hast to do with neither. Go thy ways then well
pleased and contented: for so is He that dismisseth thee.
NOTES
THIS being
neither a critical edition of the text nor an emended edition of Casaubon's
translation, it has not been thought necessary to add full notes. Casaubon's
own notes have been omitted, because for the most part they are discursive, and
not necessary to an understanding of what is written. In those which here
follow, certain emendations of his are mentioned, which he proposes in his
notes, and follows in the translation. In addition, one or two corrections are
made where he has mistaken the Greek, and the translation might be misleading.
Those which do not come under these two heads will explain themselves.
The
text itself has been prepared by a comparison of the editions of 1634 and 1635.
It should be borne in mind that Casaubon's is often rather a paraphrase than a
close translation; and it did not seem worth while to notice every variation or
amplification of the original. In the original editions all that Casauhon
conceives as understood, but not expressed, is enclosed in square brackets.
These brackets are here omitted, as they interfere with the comfort of the
reader; and so have some of the alternative renderings suggested by the
translator. In a few cases, Latin words in the text have been replaced by
English.
Numbers
in brackets refer to the Teubner text of Stich, but the divisions of the text
are left unaltered. For some of the references identified I am indebted to Mr.
G. H. Rendall's Marcus Aurelius.
BOOK
II "Both to frequent" (4). Gr. to mh, C. conjectures to me. The text
is probably right: "I did not frequent public lectures, and I was taught
at home."
VI
Idiots… . philosophers (9). The reading is doubtful, but the meaning seems to
be: "simple and unlearned men"
XII
"Claudius Maximus" (15). The reading of the Palatine MS. (now lost)
was paraklhsiz Maximon, which C. supposes to conceal the letters kl as an
abbreviation of Claudius.
XIII
"Patient hearing… He would not" (16). C. translates his conjectural
reading epimonon ollan. on proapsth Stich suggests a reading with much the same
sense: … ..epimonon all antoi "Strict and rigid dealing" (16).
C. translates tonvn (Pal. MS.) as though from tonoz, in the sense of
"strain." "rigour." The reading of other MSS. tonvn is
preferable.
XIII
"Congiaries" (13). dianomais, "doles."
XIV
"Cajeta" (17). The passage is certainly corrupt. C. spies a reference
to Chryses praying by the sea-shore in the Illiad, and supposes M. Aurelius to
have done the like. None of the emendations suggested is satisfactory. At § XV.
Book II. is usually reckoned to begin. BOOK II III. "Do, soul" (6).
If the received reading be right, it must be sarcastic; but there are several
variants which show how unsatisfactory it is. C. translates "en gar o bioz
ekasty so par eanty", which I do not understand. The sense required is:
"Do not violence to thyself, for thou hast not long to use self-respect.
Life is not (v. 1. so long for each, and this life for thee is all but
done."
X.
"honour and credit do proceed" (12). The verb has dropt out of the
text, but C. has supplied one of the required meaning.
XI.
"Consider," etc. (52). This verb is not in the Greek, which means:
"(And reason also shows) how man, etc."
BOOK
IV XV. "Agathos" (18): This is probably not a proper name, but the
text seems to be unsound. The meaning may be "the good man ought"
XVI.
oikonomian (16) is a "practical benefit," a secondary end. XXXIX.
"For herein lieth all… ." (~3). C. translates his conjecture olan for
ola.
BOOK
V XIV. katorqwseiz (15): Acts of "rightness" or
"straightness." XXIII. "Roarer" (28): Gr.
"tragedian." Ed. 1 has whoremonger,' ed. 2 corrects to
"harlot," but omits to alter' the word at its second occurrence.
XXV.
"Thou hast… them" (33): A quotation from Homer, Odyssey, iv. 690.
XXVII.
"One of the poets" (33): Hesiod, Op. et Dies, 197.
XXIX
and XXX. (36). The Greek appears to contain quotations from sources not known,
and the translation is a paraphrase. (One or two alterations are here made on
the authority of the second edition.) BOOK VI XIII. "Affected and
qualified" (i4): exis, the power of cohesion shown in things inanimate;
fusiz, power of growth seen in plants and the like.
XVII.
"Wonder at them" (18): i.e. mankind.
XXXVII.
"Chrysippus" (42): C. refers to a passage of Plutarch De Communibus
Notitiis (c. xiv.), where Chrysippus is represented as saying that a coarse
phrase may be vile in itself, yet have due place in a comedy as contributing to
a certain effect.
XL.
"Man or men… " There is no hiatus in the Greek, which means:
"Whatever (is beneficial) for a man is so for other men also."
XLII.
There is no hiatus in the Greek.
BOOK
VII IX. C. translates his conjecture mh for h. The Greek means "straight,
or rectified," with a play on the literal and metaphorical meaning of
ortoz.
XIV.
endaimonia. contains the word daimwn in composition. XXII. The text is corrupt,
but the words "or if it be but few" should be "that is little
enough."
XXIII.
"Plato": Republic, vi. p. 486 A.
XXV.
"It will," etc. Euripides, Belerophon, frag. 287 (Nauck).
"Lives,"
etc. Euripides, Hypsipyle, frag. 757 (Nauck). "As long," etc.
Aristophanes, Acharne, 66 i.
"Plato"
Apology, p. 28 B.
"For
thus" Apology, p. 28 F.
XXVI.
"But, O noble sir," etc. Plato, Gorgias, 512 D. XXVII. "And as
for those parts," etc. A quotation from Euripides, Chryssipus, frag. 839
(Nauck).
"With
meats," etc. From Euripides, Supplices, 1110. XXXIII. "They
both," i.e. life and wrestling.
"Says
he" (63): Plato, quoted by Epictetus, Arr. i. 28, 2 and 22.
XXXVII.
"How know we," etc. The Greek means: "how know we whether
Telauges were not nobler in character than Sophocles?" The allusion is
unknown.
XXVII.
"Frost" The word is written by Casaubon as a proper name,
"Pagus.'
"The
hardihood of Socrates was famous"; see Plato, Siymposium, p. 220.
BOOK
X XXII. The Greek means, "paltry breath bearing up corpses, so that the
tale of Dead Man's Land is clearer."
XXII.
"The poet" (21): Euripides, frag. 898 (Nauck); compare Aeschylus,
Danaides, frag. 44.
XXIV.
"Plato" (23): Theaetetus, p. 174 D.
XXXIV.
"The poet" (34): Homer, Iliad, vi. 147.
XXXIV.
"Wood": A translation of ulh, "matter."
XXXVIII.
"Rhetoric" (38): Rather "the gift of speech"; or perhaps
the "decree" of the reasoning faculty.
BOOK
XI V. "Cithaeron" (6): Oedipus utters this cry after discovering that
he has fulfilled his awful doom, he was exposed on Cithaeron as an infant to
die, and the cry implies that he wishes he had died there. Sophocles, Oedipus
Tyrannus, 1391.
V.
"New Comedy… ," etc. C. has here strayed from the Greek rather
widely. Translate: "and understand to what end the New Comedy was adopted,
which by small degrees degenerated into a mere show of skill in mimicry."
C. writes Comedia Vetus, Media, Nova. XII. "Phocion" (13): When about
to be put to death he charged his son to bear no malice against the Athenians.
XXVIII.
"My heart," etc. (31): From Homer, Odyssey ix. 413. "They
will" From Hesiod, Opera et Dies, 184.
"Epictetus"
Arr. i. II, 37.
XXX.
"Cut down grapes" (35): Correct "ears of corn."
"Epictetus"(36): Arr. 3, 22, 105.
GLOSSARY
This Glossary
includes all proper names (excepting a few which are insignificant or unknown)
and all obsolete or obscure words. ADRIANUS, or Hadrian (76-138 A. D.), 14th
Roman Emperor.
Agrippa,
M. Vipsanius (63-12 B.C.), a distinguished soldier under Augustus.
Alexander
the Great, King of Macedonia, and Conqueror of the East, 356-323 B.C.
Antisthenes
of Athens, founder of the sect of Cynic philosophers, and an opponent of Plato,
5th century B.C Antoninus Pius, 15th Roman Emperor, 138-161 AD. one of the best
princes that ever mounted a throne.
Apathia:
the Stoic ideal was calmness in all circumstance an insensibility to pain, and
absence of all exaltation at, pleasure or good fortune.
Apelles,
a famous painter of antiquity.
Apollonius
of Alexandria, called Dyscolus, or the 'ill-tempered,' a great grammarian.
Aposteme,
tumour, excrescence.
Archimedes
of Syracuse 287-212 B.C., the most famous mathematician of antiquity.
Athos,
a mountain promontory at the N. of the Aegean Sea.
Augustus,
first Roman Emperor (ruled 31 B.C.-14 AD.).
Avoid,
void.
BACCHIUS:
there Were several persons of this name, and the one meant is perhaps the
musician.
Brutus
(1) the liberator of the Roman people from their kings, and (2) the murderer of
Caesar.
Both
names were household words.
Caesar,
Caius, Julius, the Dictator and Conqueror.
Caieta,
a town in Latium.
Camillus,
a famous dictator in the early days of the Roman Republic.
Carnuntum,
a town on the Danube in Upper Pannonia.
Cato,
called of Utica, a Stoic who died by his own hand after the battle of Thapsus,
46 B.C. His name was proverbial for virtue and courage.
Cautelous,
cautious.
Cecrops,
first legendary King of Athens.
Charax,
perhaps the priestly historian of that name, whose date is unknown, except that
it must be later than Nero.
Chirurgeon,
surgeon.
Chrysippus,
280-207 B.C., a Stoic philosopher, and the founder of Stoicism as a systematic
philosophy.
Circus,
the Circus Maximus at Rome, where games were held. There were four companies
who contracted to provide horses, drivers, etc. These were called Factiones,
and each had its distinguishing colour: russata (red), albata (white), veneta
(blue), prasina (green). There was high rivalry between them, and riots and
bloodshed not infrequently.
Cithaeron,
a mountain range N. of Attica.
Comedy,
ancient; a term applied to the Attic comedy of Aristophanes and his time, which
criticised persons and politics, like a modern comic journal, such as Punck.
See New Comedy.
Compendious,
short.
Conceit,
opinion.
Contentation,
contentment.
Crates,
a Cynic philosopher of the 4th century B.C.
Croesus,
King of Lydia, proverbial for wealth; he reigned 560-546 B.C.
Cynics,
a school of philosophers, founded by Antisthenes. Their texts were a kind of
caricature of Socraticism. Nothing was good but virtue, nothing bad but vice.
The Cynics repudiated all civil and social claims, and attempted to return to
what they called a state of nature. Many of them were very disgusting in their
manners.
DEMETRIUS
of Phalerum, an Athenian orator, statesman, philosopher, and poet. Born 345
B.C.
Democritus
of Abdera (460-361 B.C.), celebrated as the 'laughing philosopher,' whose
constant thought was 'What fools these mortals be.' He invented the Atomic
Theory.
Dio
of Syracuse, a disciple of Plato, and afterwards tyrant of Syracuse. Murdered
353 B.C.
Diogenes,
the Cynic, born about 412 B.C., renowned for his rudeness and hardihood.
Diognetus,
a painter.
Dispense
with, put up with.
Dogmata,
pithy sayings, or philosophical rules of life.
EMPEDOCLES
of Agrigentum, fl. 5th century B.C., a philosopher, who first laid down that
there were "four elements." He believed in the transmigration of
souls, and the indestructibility of matter.
Epictetus,
a famous Stoic philosopher. He was of Phrygia, at first a slave, then freedman,
lame, poor, and contented. The work called Encheiridion was compiled by a pupil
from his discourses.
Epicureans,
a sect of philosophers founded by Epicurus, who "combined the physics of
Democritus," i.e. the atomic theory, "with the ethics of
Aristippus."
They
proposed to live for happiness, but the word did not bear that coarse and
vulgar sense originally which it soon took.
Epicurus
of Samos, 342-270 B.C.
Lived
at Athens in his "gardens," an urbane and kindly, if somewhat
useless, life. His character was simple and temperate, and had none of the vice
or indulgence which was afterwards associated with the name of Epicurean.
Eudoxus
of Cnidus, a famous astronomer and physician of the 4th century B. C.
FATAL,
fated.
Fortuit,
chance (adj.).
Fronto,
M. Cornelius, a rhetorician and pleader, made consul in 143 A.D. A number of
his letters to M, Aur. and others are extant.
GRANUA,
a tributary of the Danube.
HELICE,
ancient capital city of Achaia, swallowed up by an earthquake, 373 B.C.
Helvidius
Priscus, son-in-law of Thrasea Paetus, a noble man and a lover of liberty. He
was banished by Nero, and put to death by Vespasian.
Heraclitus
of Ephesus, who lived in the 6th century B.C. He wrote on philosophy and
natural science.
Herculaneum,
near Mount Vesuvius, buried by the eruption of 79 AD.
Hercules,
p. 167, should be Apollo. See Muses.
Hiatus,
gap.
Hipparchus
of Bithynia, an astronomer of the 2nd century B.C., "The true father of
astronomy."
Hippocrates
of Cos, about 460-357 B.C. One of the most famous physicians of antiquity.
IDIOT,
means merely the non-proficient in anything, the "layman," he who was
not technically trained in any art, craft, or calling.
LEONNATUS,
a distinguished general under Alexander the Great.
Lucilla,
daughter of M. Aurelius, and wife of Verus, whom she survived.
MAECENAS,
a trusted adviser of Augustus, and a munificent patron of wits and literary
men.
Maximus,
Claudius, a Stoic philosopher.
Menippus,
a Cynic philosopher.
Meteores,
ta metewrologika, "high philosophy," used specially of astronomy and
natural philosophy, which were bound up with other speculations.
Middle
Comedy, something midway between the Old and New Comedy. See Comedy, Ancient,
and New Comedy.
Middle
things, Book 7, XXV. The Stoics divided all things into virtue, vice, and
indifferent things; but as "indifferent" they regarded most of those
things which the world regards as good or bad, such as wealth or poverty. Of
these, some were "to be desired," some "to be rejected."
Muses,
the nine deities who presided over various kinds of poesy, music, etc. Their
leader was Apollo, one of whose titles is Musegetes, the Leader of the Muses.
NERVES,
strings.
New
Comedy, the Attic Comedy of Menander and his school, which criticised not
persons but manners, like a modern comic opera. See Comedy, Ancient.
PALESTRA,
wrestling school.
Pancratiast,
competitor in the pancratium, a combined contest which comprised boxing and
wrestling.
Parmularii,
gladiators armed with a small round shield (parma).
Pheidias,
the most famous sculptor of antiquity.
Philippus,
founder of the Macedonian supremacy, and father of Alexander the Great.
Phocion,
an Athenian general and statesman, a noble and high-minded man, 4th century
B.C.
He
was called by Demosthenes, "the pruner of my periods."
He
was put to death by the State in 317, on a false suspicion, and left a message
for his son "to bear no grudge against the Athenians."
Pine,
torment.
Plato
of Athens, 429-347 B.C. He used the dialectic method invented by his master
Socrates.
He
was, perhaps, as much poet as philosopher. He is generally identified with the
Theory of Ideas, that things are what they are by participation with our
eternal Idea. His "Commonwealth" was a kind of Utopia.
Platonics,
followers of Plato.
Pompeii,
near Mount Vesuvius, buried in the eruption of 79 A. D.
Pompeius,
C. Pompeius Magnus, a very successful general at the end of the Roman Republic
(106-48 B.C.).
Prestidigitator,
juggler.
Pythagoras
of Samos, a philosopher, scientist, and moralist of the 6th century B.C.
QUADI,
a tribe of S. Germany.
M.
Aurelius carried on war against them, and part of this book was written in the
field.
RICTUS,
gape, jaws.
Rusticus,
Q. Junius, or Stoic philosopher, twice made consul by M. Aurelius.
SACRARY,
shrine.
Salaminius,
Book 7, XXXVII. Leon of Sala-mis. Socrates was ordered by the Thirty Tyrants to
fetch him before them, and Socrates, at his own peril, refused.
Sarmatae,
a tribe dwelling in Poland.
Sceletum,
skeleton.
Sceptics,
a school of philosophy founded by Pyrrho (4th contury B.C.). He advocated
"suspension of judgment," and taught the relativity of knowledge and
impossibility of proof. The school is not unlike the Agnostic school.
Scipio,
the name of two great soldiers, P. Corn. Scipio Africanus, conqueror of
Hannibal, and P.
Corn.
Sc. Afr. Minor, who came into the family by adoption, who destroyed Carthage.
Secutoriani
(a word coined by C.), the Sececutores, light-armed gladiators, who were pitted
against others with net and trident.
Sextus
of Chaeronea, a Stoic philosopher, nephew of Plutarch.
Silly,
simple, common.
Sinuessa,
a town in Latium.
Socrates,
an Athenian philosopher (469-399 B.C.), founder of the dialectic method. Put to
death on a trumped-up charge by his countrymen.
Stint,
limit (without implying niggardliness).
Stoics,
a philosophic system founded by Zeno (4th century B.C.), and systematised by
Chrysippus (3rd century B.C.). Their physical theory was a pantheistic
materialism, their summum bonum "to live according to nature." Their
wise man needs nothing, he is sufficient to himself; virtue is good, vice bad,
external things indifferent.
THEOPHRASTUS,
a philosopher, pupil of Aristotle, and his successor as president of the
Lyceum. He wrote a large number of works on philosophy and natural history.
Died 287 B.C.
Thrasea,
P. Thrasea Pactus, a senator and Stoic philosopher, a noble and courageous man.
He was condemned to death by Nero.
Tiberius,
2nd Roman Emperor (14-31 AD.). He spent the latter part of his life at Capreae
(Capri), off Naples, in luxury or debauchery, neglecting his imperial duties.
To-torn,
torn to pieces.
Trajan,
13th Roman Emperor, 52-117 A.D.
VERUS,
Lucius Aurelius, colleague of M. Aurelius in the Empire.
He
married Lucilla, daughter of M. A., and died 169 A.D.
Vespasian,
9th Roman Emperor XENOCRATES of Chalcedon, 396-314 B.C., a philosopher, and
president of the Academy.
https://librivox.org/the-meditations-of-marcus-aurelius/
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