Meditations

Marcus Aurelius

 

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Table of Contents

Introduction *

MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS THE ROMAN EMPEROR *

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 *

 

 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 comanander-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 he 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 he 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 general1y 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.

'0 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-Aurčle"--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.

 

MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS THE ROMAN EMPEROR

 

HIS FIRST BOOK

 

concerning HIMSELF:

 

Wherein Antoninus recordeth, What and of whom, whether Parents, Friends,

or Masters; by their good examples, or good advice and counsel,

he had learned:

 

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 commone-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 impolluted, 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 bath 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 he 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 merchan-dising, 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 tetrically 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, 0 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:

'0 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 bath 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 whihch 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, bath in itself no cause to do evil.

It bath no evil in itsell; 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 he no more.

And even whatsoever now is, some part thereof bath 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.

 

Ill.  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 con tentions:

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 bath 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 jnterclusion, 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 Iiveth:

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, mournmgs, 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 pre-cipitancy; 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 subtilly; 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 accor-ing 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 dotb 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 unsensibIe, 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

rn everything abu;oluteiy 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 profltable, 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 efflcient 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 he 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.

]3ut 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, arid of thine own understanding.

 

XV.  If it were thine act and in thine own power, wi:

wouldcst 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 excre-mentitious 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 he no more or shall ranslated,

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 he 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 con templation 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 WASS 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 he 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 bath 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 be 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 bath 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 bccome impregnable)

and better fortified than this, bath 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 he 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 dif-fusive 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 tbee.

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 happincss,

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 contemn plative 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.