MEDITATIONS

BY
MARCUS
AURELIUS
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 common-factions:
which also he gave me of his own.
V. From Apollonius, true liberty, and unvariable steadfastness,
and not

to regard anything at all, though never so little, but right and reason:
and always, whether in the sharpest pains, or after the loss of a
child, or in long diseases, to be still the same man; who also was a
present and visible example unto me, that it was possible for the
same man to be both vehement and remiss: a man not subject to be
vexed, and offended with the incapacity of his scholars and auditors
in his lectures and expositions; and a true pattern of a man who of
all his good gifts and faculties, least esteemed in himself, that his
excellent skill and ability to teach and persuade others the common
theorems and maxims of the Stoic philosophy. Of him also I learned
how to receive favours and kindnesses (as commonly they are
accounted from friends, so that I might not become obnoxious unto
them, for them, nor more yielding upon occasion, than in right I
ought; and yet so that I should not pass them neither, as an
unsensible and unthankful man.

VI. Of Sextus, mildness and the pattern of a family governed with

paternal affection; and a purpose to live according to nature: to be

grave without affectation: to observe carefully the several
dispositions of my friends, not to be offended with idiots, nor
unseasonably to set upon those that are carried with the vulgar
opinions, with the theorems, and tenets of philosophers: his
conversation being an example how a man might accomodate
himself to all men and companies; so that though his company were
sweeter and more pleasing than any flatterer's cogging and fawning;
yet was it at the same time most respected and reverenced: who also
had a proper happiness and faculty, rationally and methodically to
find out, and set in order all necessary determinations and
instructions for a man's life. A man without ever the least
appearance of anger, or any other passion; able at the same time
most exactly to observe the Stoic Apathia, or unpassionateness, and
yet to be most tender-hearted: ever of good credit; and yet almost
without any noise, or rumour: very learned, and yet making little
show.

VII. From Alexander the Grammarian, to be un-reprovable myself,

and not

reproachfully to reprehend any man for a barbarism, or a solecism,

or any false pronunciation, but dextrously by way of answer, or
testimony, or confirmation of the same matter (taking no notice of
the Word to utter it as it should have been spoken; or by some other
such close and indirect admonition, handsomely and civilly to tell
him of it.

VIII. Of Fronto, to how much envy and fraud and hypocrisy the
state of a

tyrannous king is subject unto, and how they who are commonly
called [Eupatridas Gk.], i.e. nobly born, are in some sort incapable,
or void of natural affection.

IX. Of Alexander the Platonic, not often nor without great

necessity to

say, or to write to any man in a letter, 'I am not at leisure'; nor in this
manner still to put off those duties, which we owe to our friends
and acquaintances (to every one in his kind) under pretence of
urgent affairs.
X. Of Catulus, not to contemn any friend's expostulation, though
unjust,

but to strive to reduce him to his former disposition: freely and

heartily to speak well of all my masters upon any occasion, as it is
reported of Domitius, and Athenodotus: and to love my children
with true affection.

XI. From my brother Severus, to be kind and loving to all them of

my

house and family; by whom also I came to the knowledge of Thrasea

and Helvidius, and Cato, and Dio, and Brutus. He it was also that
did put me in the first conceit and desire of an equal
commonwealth, administered by justice and equality; and of a
kingdom wherein should be regarded nothing more than the good
and welfare of the subjects. Of him also, to observe a constant tenor,
(not interrupted, with any other cares and distractions,) in the study
and esteem of philosophy: to be bountiful and liberal in the largest
measure; always to hope the best; and to be confident that my
friends love me. In whom I moreover observed open dealing
towards those whom he reproved at any time, and that his friends
might without all doubt or much observation know what he would,
or would not, so open and plain was he.
XII. From Claudius Maximus, in all things to endeavour to have
power

of myself, and in nothing to be carried about; to be cheerful and

courageous in all sudden chances and accidents, as in sicknesses: to
love mildness, and moderation, and gravity: and to do my business,
whatsoever it be, thoroughly, and without querulousness.
Whatsoever he said, all men believed him that as he spake, so he
thought, and whatsoever he did, that he did it with a good intent.
His manner was, never to wonder at anything; never to be in haste,
and yet never slow: nor to be perplexed, or dejected, or at any time
unseemly, or excessively to laugh: nor to be angry, or suspicious,
but ever ready to do good, and to forgive, and to speak truth; and all
this, as one that seemed rather of himself to have been straight and
right, than ever to have been rectified or redressed; neither was
there any man that ever thought himself undervalued by him, or
that could find in his heart, to think himself a better man than he.
He would also be very pleasant and gracious.

XIII. In my father, I observed his meekness; his constancy without

wavering in those things, which after a due examination and

deliberation, he had determined. How free from all vanity he carried
himself in matter of honour and dignity, (as they are esteemed:) his
laboriousness and assiduity, his readiness to hear any man, that had
aught to say tending to any common good: how generally and
impartially he would give every man his due; his skill and
knowledge, when rigour or extremity, or when remissness or
moderation was in season; how he did abstain from all unchaste
love of youths; his moderate condescending to other men's
occasions as an ordinary man, neither absolutely requiring of his
friends, that they should wait upon him at his ordinary meals, nor
that they should of necessity accompany him in his journeys; and
that whensoever any business upon some necessary occasions was
to be put off and omitted before it could be ended, he was ever
found when he went about it again, the same man that he was
before. His accurate examination of things in consultations, and
patient hearing of others. He would not hastily give over the search
of the matter, as one easy to be satisfied with sudden notions and
apprehensions. His care to preserve his friends; how neither at any
time he would carry himself towards them with disdainful neglect,
and grow weary of them; nor yet at any time be madly fond of them.
His contented mind in all things, his cheerful countenance, his care
to foresee things afar off, and to take order for the least, without any
noise or clamour. Moreover how all acclamations and flattery were
repressed by him: how carefully he observed all things necessary to
the government, and kept an account of the common expenses, and
how patiently he did abide that he was reprehended by some for
this his strict and rigid kind of dealing. How he was neither a
superstitious worshipper of the gods, nor an ambitious pleaser of
men, or studious of popular applause; but sober in all things, and
everywhere observant of that which was fitting; no affecter of
novelties: in those things which conduced to his ease and
convenience, (plenty whereof his fortune did afford him,) without
pride and bragging, yet with all freedom and liberty: so that as he
did freely enjoy them without any anxiety or affectation when they
were present; so when absent, he found no want of them. Moreover,
that he was never commended by any man, as either a learned acute
man, or an obsequious officious man, or a fine orator; but as a ripe
mature man, a perfect sound man; one that could not endure to be
flattered; able to govern both himself and others. Moreover, how
much he did honour all true philosophers, without upbraiding those
that were not so; his sociableness, his gracious and delightful
conversation, but never unto satiety; his care of his body within
bounds and measure, not as one that desired to live long, or over-
studious of neatness, and elegancy; and yet not as one that did not
regard it: so that through his own care and providence, he seldom
needed any inward physic, or outward applications: but especially
how ingeniously he would yield to any that had obtained any
peculiar faculty, as either eloquence, or the knowledge of the laws,
or of ancient customs, or the like; and how he concurred with them,
in his best care and endeavour that every one of them might in his
kind, for that wherein he excelled, be regarded and esteemed: and
although he did all things carefully after the ancient customs of his
forefathers, yet even of this was he not desirous that men should
take notice, that he did imitate ancient customs. Again, how he was
not easily moved and tossed up and down, but loved to be constant,
both in the same places and businesses; and how after his great fits
of headache he would return fresh and vigorous to his wonted
affairs. Again, that secrets he neither had many, nor often, and such
only as concerned public matters: his discretion and moderation, in
exhibiting of the public sights and shows for the pleasure and
pastime of the people: in public buildings. congiaries, and the like.
In all these things, having a respect unto men only as men, and to
the equity of the things themselves, and not unto the glory that
might follow. Never wont to use the baths at unseasonable hours;
no builder; never curious, or solicitous, either about his meat, or
about the workmanship, or colour of his clothes, or about anything
that belonged to external beauty. In all his conversation, far from all
inhumanity, all boldness, and incivility, all greediness and
impetuosity; never doing anything with such earnestness, and
intention, that a man could say of him, that he did sweat about it:
but contrariwise, all things distinctly, as at leisure; without trouble;
orderly, soundly, and agreeably. A man might have applied that to
him, which is recorded of Socrates, that he knew how to want, and
to enjoy those things, in the want whereof, most men show
themselves weak; and in the fruition, intemperate: but to hold out
firm and constant, and to keep within the compass of true
moderation and sobriety in either estate, is proper to a man, who
hath a perfect and invincible soul; such as he showed himself in the
sickness of Maximus.

XIV. From the gods I received that I had good grandfathers, and
parents,

a good sister, good masters , good domestics, loving kinsmen,

almost all that I have; and that I never through haste and rashness
transgressed against any of them, notwithstanding that my
disposition was such, as that such a thing (if occasion had been)
might very well have been committed by me, but that It was the
mercy of the gods, to prevent such a concurring of matters and
occasions, as might make me to incur this blame. That I was not long
brought up by the concubine of my father; that I preserved the
flower of my youth. That I took not upon me to be a man before my
time, but rather put it off longer than I needed. That I lived under
the government of my lord and father, who would take away from
me all pride and vainglory, and reduce me to that conceit and
opinion that it was not impossible for a prince to live in the court
without a troop of guards and followers, extraordinary apparel,
such and such torches and statues, and other like particulars of state
and magnificence; but that a man may reduce and contract himself
almost to the state of a private man, and yet for all that not to
become the more base and remiss in those public matters and
affairs, wherein power and authority is requisite. That I have had
such a brother, who by his own example might stir me up to think
of myself; and by his respect and love, delight and please me. That I
have got ingenuous children, and that they were not born distorted,
nor with any other natural deformity. That I was no great proficient
in the study of rhetoric and poetry, and of other faculties, which
perchance I might have dwelt upon, if I had found myself to go on
in them with success. That I did by times prefer those, by whom I
was brought up, to such places and dignities, which they seemed
unto me most to desire; and that I did not put them off with hope
and expectation, that (since that they were yet but young) I would
do the same hereafter. That I ever knew Apollonius and Rusticus,
and Maximus. That I have had occasion often and effectually to
consider and meditate with myself, concerning that life which is
according to nature, what the nature and manner of it is: so that as
for the gods and such suggestions, helps and inspirations, as might
be expected from them, nothing did hinder, but that I might have
begun long before to live according to nature; or that even now that
I was not yet partaker and in present possession of that life, that I
myself (in that I did not observe those inward motions, and
suggestions, yea and almost plain and apparent instructions and
admonitions of the gods,) was the only cause of it. That my body in
such a life, hath been able to hold out so long. That I never had to do
with Benedicta and Theodotus, yea and afterwards when I fell into
some fits of love, I was soon cured. That having been often
displeased with Rusticus, I never did him anything for which
afterwards I had occasion to repent. That it being so that my mother
was to die young, yet she lived with me all her latter years. That as
often as I had a purpose to help and succour any that either were
poor, or fallen into some present necessity, I never was answered by
my officers that there was not ready money enough to do it; and
that I myself never had occasion to require the like succour from any
other. That I have such a wife, so obedient, so loving, so ingenuous.
That I had choice of fit and able men, to whom I might commit the
bringing up of my children. That by dreams I have received help, as
for other things, so in particular, how I might stay my casting of
blood, and cure my dizziness, as that also that happened to thee in
Cajeta, as unto Chryses when he prayed by the seashore. And when
I did first apply myself to philosophy, that I did not fall into the
hands of some sophists, or spent my time either in reading the
manifold volumes of ordinary philosophers, nor in practising myself
in the solution of arguments and fallacies, nor dwelt upon the
studies of the meteors, and other natural curiosities. All these things
without the assistance of the gods, and fortune, could not have been.

XV. In the country of the Quadi at Granua, these. Betimes in the

morning

say to thyself, This day I shalt have to do with an idle curious man,
with an unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man;
an unsociable uncharitable man. All these ill qualities have
happened unto them, through ignorance of that which is truly good
and truly bad. But I that understand the nature of that which is
good, that it only is to be desired, and of that which is bad, that it
only is truly odious and shameful: who know moreover, that this
transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same
blood and seed, but by participation of the same reason, and of the
same divine particle; How can I either be hurt by any of those, since
it is not in their power to make me incur anything that is truly
reproachful? or angry, and ill affected towards him, who by nature
is so near unto me? for we are all born to be fellow-workers, as the
feet, the hands, and the eyelids; as the rows of the upper and under
teeth: for such therefore to be in opposition, is against nature; and
what is it to chafe at, and to be averse from, but to be in opposition?
XVI. Whatsoever I am, is either flesh, or life, or that which we

commonly call the mistress and overruling part of man; reason.

Away with thy books , suffer not thy mind any more to be
distracted, and carried to and fro; for it will not be; but as even now
ready to die, think little of thy flesh: blood, bones, and a skin; a
pretty piece of knit and twisted work, consisting of nerves, veins
and arteries; think no more of it, than so. And as for thy life,
consider what it is; a wind; not one constant wind neither, but every
moment of an hour let out, and sucked in again. The third, is thy
ruling part; and here consider; Thou art an old man; suffer not that
excellent part to be brought in subjection, and to become slavish:
suffer it not to be drawn up and down with unreasonable and
unsociable lusts and motions, as it were with wires and nerves;
suffer it not any more, either to repine at anything now present, or
to fear and fly anything to come, which the destiny hath appointed
thee.

XVII. Whatsoever proceeds from the gods immediately, that any

man will

grant totally depends from their divine providence. As for those

things that are commonly said to happen by fortune, even those
must be conceived to have dependence from nature, or from that
first and general connection, and concatenation of all those things,
which more apparently by the divine providence are administered
and brought to pass. All things flow from thence: and whatsoever it
is that is, is both necessary, and conducing to the whole (part of
which thou art), and whatsoever it is that is requisite and necessary
for the preservation of the general, must of necessity for every
particular nature, be good and behoveful. And as for the whole, it is
preserved, as by the perpetual mutation and conversion of the
simple elements one into another, so also by the mutation, and
alteration of things mixed and compounded. Let these things suffice
thee; let them be always unto thee, as thy general rules and precepts.
As for thy thirst after books, away with it with all speed, that thou
die not murmuring and complaining, but truly meek and well
satisfied, and from thy heart thankful unto the gods.
THE SECOND BOOK

I. Remember how long thou hast already put off these things, and
how

often a certain day and hour as it were, having been set unto thee by
the gods, thou hast neglected it. It is high time for thee to
understand the true nature both of the world, whereof thou art a
part; and of that Lord and Governor of the world, from whom, as a
channel from the spring, thou thyself didst flow: and that there is
but a certain limit of time appointed unto thee, which if thou shalt
not make use of to calm and allay the many distempers of thy soul,
it will pass away and thou with it, and never after return.

II. Let it be thy earnest and incessant care as a Roman and a man
to

perform whatsoever it is that thou art about, with true and

unfeigned gravity, natural affection, freedom and justice: and as for
all other cares, and imaginations, how thou mayest ease thy mind of
them. Which thou shalt do; if thou shalt go about every action as thy
last action, free from all vanity, all passionate and wilful aberration
from reason, and from all hypocrisy, and self-love, and dislike of
those things, which by the fates or appointment of God have
happened unto thee. Thou seest that those things, which for a man
to hold on in a prosperous course, and to live a divine life, are
requisite and necessary, are not many, for the gods will require no
more of any man, that shall but keep and observe these things.
III. Do, soul, do; abuse and contemn thyself; yet a while and the
time

for thee to respect thyself, will be at an end. Every man's happiness

depends from himself, but behold thy life is almost at an end, whiles
affording thyself no respect, thou dost make thy happiness to
consist in the souls, and conceits of other men.

IV. Why should any of these things that happen externally, so

much

distract thee? Give thyself leisure to learn some good thing, and
cease roving and wandering to and fro. Thou must also take heed of
another kind of wandering, for they are idle in their actions, who
toil and labour in this life, and have no certain scope to which to
direct all their motions, and desires.

V. For not observing the state of another man's soul, scarce was
ever

any man known to be unhappy. Tell whosoever they be that intend

not, and guide not by reason and discretion the motions of their
own souls, they must of necessity be unhappy.

VI. These things thou must always have in mind: What is the
nature

of the universe, and what is mine—in particular: This unto that

what relation it hath: what kind of part, of what kind of universe it
is: And that there is nobody that can hinder thee, but that thou
mayest always both do and speak those things which are agreeable
to that nature, whereof thou art a part.

VII. Theophrastus, where he compares sin with sin (as after a

vulgar

sense such things I grant may be compared:) says well and like a
philosopher, that those sins are greater which are committed
through lust, than those which are committed through anger. For he
that is angry seems with a kind of grief and close contraction of
himself, to turn away from reason; but he that sins through lust,
being overcome by pleasure, doth in his very sin bewray a more
impotent, and unmanlike disposition. Well then and like a
philosopher doth he say, that he of the two is the more to be
condemned, that sins with pleasure, than he that sins with grief. For
indeed this latter may seem first to have been wronged, and so in
some manner through grief thereof to have been forced to be angry,
whereas he who through lust doth commit anything, did of himself
merely resolve upon that action.

VIII. Whatsoever thou dost affect, whatsoever thou dost project,

so do,

and so project all, as one who, for aught thou knowest, may at this
very present depart out of this life. And as for death, if there be any
gods, it is no grievous thing to leave the society of men. The gods
will do thee no hurt, thou mayest be sure. But if it be so that there be
no gods, or that they take no care of the world, why should I desire
to live in a world void of gods, and of all divine providence? But
gods there be certainly, and they take care for the world; and as for
those things which be truly evil, as vice and wickedness, such things
they have put in a man's own power, that he might avoid them if he
would: and had there been anything besides that had been truly bad
and evil, they would have had a care of that also, that a man might
have avoided it. But why should that be thought to hurt and
prejudice a man's life in this world, which cannot any ways make
man himself the better, or the worse in his own person? Neither
must we think that the nature of the universe did either through
ignorance pass these things, or if not as ignorant of them, yet as
unable either to prevent, or better to order and dispose them. It
cannot be that she through want either of power or skill, should
have committed such a thing, so as to suffer all things both good
and bad, equally and promiscuously, to happen unto all both good
and bad. As for life therefore, and death, honour and dishonour,
labour and pleasure, riches and poverty, all these things happen
unto men indeed, both good and bad, equally; but as things which
of themselves are neither good nor bad; because of themselves,
neither shameful nor praiseworthy.

IX. Consider how quickly all things are dissolved and resolved:
the

bodies and substances themselves, into the matter and substance of

the world: and their memories into the general age and time of the
world. Consider the nature of all worldly sensible things; of those
especially, which either ensnare by pleasure, or for their
irksomeness are dreadful, or for their outward lustre and show are
in great esteem and request, how vile and contemptible, how base
and corruptible, how destitute of all true life and being they are.

X. It is the part of a man endowed with a good understanding

faculty, to

consider what they themselves are in very deed, from whose bare
conceits and voices, honour and credit do proceed: as also what it is
to die, and how if a man shall consider this by itself alone, to die,
and separate from it in his mind all those things which with it
usually represent themselves unto us, he can conceive of it no
otherwise, than as of a work of nature, and he that fears any work of
nature, is a very child. Now death, it is not only a work of nature,
but also conducing to nature.

XI. Consider with thyself how man, and by what part of his, is
joined

unto God, and how that part of man is affected, when it is said to be
diffused. There is nothing more wretched than that soul, which in a
kind of circuit compasseth all things, searching (as he saith) even the
very depths of the earth; and by all signs and conjectures prying into
the very thoughts of other men's souls; and yet of this, is not
sensible, that it is sufficient for a man to apply himself wholly, and
to confine all his thoughts and cares to the tendance of that spirit
which is within him, and truly and really to serve him. His service
doth consist in this, that a man keep himself pure from all violent
passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all
manner of discontent, either in regard of the gods or men. For
indeed whatsoever proceeds from the gods, deserves respect for
their worth and excellency; and whatsoever proceeds from men, as
they are our kinsmen, should by us be entertained, with love,
always; sometimes, as proceeding from their ignorance, of that
which is truly good and bad, (a blindness no less, than that by which
we are not able to discern between white and black:) with a kind of
pity and compassion also.

XII. If thou shouldst live three thousand, or as many as ten

thousands

of years, yet remember this, that man can part with no life properly,
save with that little part of life, which he now lives: and that which
he lives, is no other, than that which at every instant he parts with.
That then which is longest of duration, and that which is shortest,
come both to one effect. For although in regard of that which is
already past there may be some inequality, yet that time which is
now present and in being, is equal unto all men. And that being it
which we part with whensoever we die, it doth manifestly appear,
that it can be but a moment of time, that we then part with. For as
for that which is either past or to come, a man cannot be said
properly to part with it. For how should a man part with that which
he hath not? These two things therefore thou must remember. First,
that all things in the world from all eternity, by a perpetual
revolution of the same times and things ever continued and
renewed, are of one kind and nature; so that whether for a hundred
or two hundred years only, or for an infinite space of time, a man
see those things which are still the same, it can be no matter of great
moment. And secondly, that that life which any the longest liver, or
the shortest liver parts with, is for length and duration the very
same, for that only which is present, is that, which either of them
can lose, as being that only which they have; for that which he hath
not, no man can truly be said to lose.

XIII. Remember that all is but opinion and conceit, for those
things

are plain and apparent, which were spoken unto Monimus the
Cynic; and as plain and apparent is the use that may be made of
those things, if that which is true and serious in them, be received as
well as that which is sweet and pleasing.
XIV. A man's soul doth wrong and disrespect itself first and
especially,

when as much as in itself lies it becomes an aposteme, and as it were

an excrescency of the world, for to be grieved and displeased with
anything that happens in the world, is direct apostacy from the
nature of the universe; part of which, all particular natures of the
world, are. Secondly, when she either is averse from any man, or led
by contrary desires or affections, tending to his hurt and prejudice;
such as are the souls of them that are angry. Thirdly, when she is
overcome by any pleasure or pain. Fourthly, when she doth
dissemble, and covertly and falsely either doth or saith anything.
Fifthly, when she doth either affect or endeavour anything to no
certain end, but rashly and without due ratiocination and
consideration, how consequent or inconsequent it is to the common
end. For even the least things ought not to be done, without relation
unto the end; and the end of the reasonable creatures is, to follow
and obey him, who is the reason as it were, and the law of this great
city, and ancient commonwealth.

XV. The time of a man's life is as a point; the substance of it ever

flowing, the sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body
tending to corruption. His soul is restless, fortune uncertain, and
fame doubtful; to be brief, as a stream so are all things belonging to
the body; as a dream, or as a smoke, so are all that belong unto the
soul. Our life is a warfare, and a mere pilgrimage. Fame after life is
no better than oblivion. What is it then that will adhere and follow?
Only one thing, philosophy. And philosophy doth consist in this, for
a man to preserve that spirit which is within him, from all manner of
contumelies and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to
do anything either rashly, or feignedly, or hypocritically: wholly to
depend from himself and his own proper actions: all things that
happen unto him to embrace contentedly, as coming from Him from
whom he himself also came; and above all things, with all meekness
and a calm cheerfulness, to expect death, as being nothing else but
the resolution of those elements, of which every creature is
composed. And if the elements themselves suffer nothing by this
their perpetual conversion of one into another, that dissolution, and
alteration, which is so common unto all, why should it be feared by
any? Is not this according to nature? But nothing that is according to
nature can be evil, whilst I was at Carnuntzim.
THE THIRD BOOK

I. A man must not only consider how daily his life wasteth and

decreaseth, but this also, that if he live long, he cannot be certain,

whether his understanding shall continue so able and sufficient, for
either discreet consideration, in matter of businesses; or for
contemplation: it being the thing, whereon true knowledge of things
both divine and human, doth depend. For if once he shall begin to
dote, his respiration, nutrition, his imaginative, and appetitive, and
other natural faculties, may still continue the same: he shall find no
want of them. But how to make that right use of himself that he
should, how to observe exactly in all things that which is right and
just, how to redress and rectify all wrong, or sudden apprehensions
and imaginations, and even of this particular, whether he should
live any longer or no, to consider duly; for all such things, wherein
the best strength and vigour of the mind is most requisite; his power
and ability will be past and gone. Thou must hasten therefore; not
only because thou art every day nearer unto death than other, but
also because that intellective faculty in thee, whereby thou art
enabled to know the true nature of things, and to order all thy
actions by that knowledge, doth daily waste and decay: or, may fail
thee before thou die.

II. This also thou must observe, that whatsoever it is that naturally

doth happen to things natural, hath somewhat in itself that is

pleasing and delightful: as a great loaf when it is baked, some parts
of it cleave as it were, and part asunder, and make the crust of it
rugged and unequal, and yet those parts of it, though in some sort it
be against the art and intention of baking itself, that they are thus
cleft and parted, which should have been and were first made all
even and uniform, they become it well nevertheless, and have a
certain peculiar property, to stir the appetite. So figs are accounted
fairest and ripest then, when they begin to shrink, and wither as it
were. So ripe olives, when they are next to putrefaction, then are
they in their proper beauty. The hanging down of grapes—the brow
of a lion, the froth of a foaming wild boar, and many other like
things, though by themselves considered, they are far from any
beauty, yet because they happen naturally, they both are comely,
and delightful; so that if a man shall with a profound mind and
apprehension, consider all things in the world, even among all those
things which are but mere accessories and natural appendices as it
were, there will scarce appear anything unto him, wherein he will
not find matter of pleasure and delight. So will he behold with as
much pleasure the true rictus of wild beasts, as those which by
skilful painters and other artificers are imitated. So will he be able to
perceive the proper ripeness and beauty of old age, whether in man
or woman: and whatsoever else it is that is beautiful and alluring in
whatsoever is, with chaste and continent eyes he will soon find out
and discern. Those and many other things will he discern, not
credible unto every one, but unto them only who are truly and
familiarly acquainted, both with nature itself, and all natural things.

III. Hippocrates having cured many sicknesses, fell sick himself

and

died. The Chaldeans and Astrologians having foretold the deaths of

divers, were afterwards themselves surprised by the fates.
Alexander and Pompeius, and Caius Caesar, having destroyed so
many towns, and cut off in the field so many thousands both of
horse and foot, yet they themselves at last were fain to part with
their own lives. Heraclitus having written so many natural tracts
concerning the last and general conflagration of the world, died
afterwards all filled with water within, and all bedaubed with dirt
and dung without. Lice killed Democritus; and Socrates, another
sort of vermin, wicked ungodly men. How then stands the case?
Thou hast taken ship, thou hast sailed, thou art come to land, go out,
if to another life, there also shalt thou find gods, who are
everywhere. If all life and sense shall cease, then shalt thou cease
also to be subject to either pains or pleasures; and to serve and tend
this vile cottage; so much the viler, by how much that which
ministers unto it doth excel; the one being a rational substance, and
a spirit, the other nothing but earth and blood.

IV. Spend not the remnant of thy days in thoughts and fancies
concerning

other men, when it is not in relation to some common good, when

by it thou art hindered from some other better work. That is, spend
not thy time in thinking, what such a man doth, and to what end:
what he saith, and what he thinks, and what he is about, and such
other things or curiosities, which make a man to rove and wander
from the care and observation of that part of himself, which is
rational, and overruling. See therefore in the whole series and
connection of thy thoughts, that thou be careful to prevent
whatsoever is idle and impertinent: but especially, whatsoever is
curious and malicious: and thou must use thyself to think only of
such things, of which if a man upon a sudden should ask thee, what
it is that thou art now thinking, thou mayest answer This, and That,
freely and boldly, that so by thy thoughts it may presently appear
that in all thee is sincere, and peaceable; as becometh one that is
made for society, and regards not pleasures, nor gives way to any
voluptuous imaginations at all: free from all contentiousness, envy,
and suspicion, and from whatsoever else thou wouldest blush to
confess thy thoughts were set upon. He that is such, is he surely that
doth not put off to lay hold on that which is best indeed, a very
priest and minister of the gods, well acquainted and in good
correspondence with him especially that is seated and placed within
himself, as in a temple and sacrary: to whom also he keeps and
preserves himself unspotted by pleasure, undaunted by pain; free
from any manner of wrong, or contumely, by himself offered unto
himself: not capable of any evil from others: a wrestler of the best
sort, and for the highest prize, that he may not be cast down by any
passion or affection of his own; deeply dyed and drenched in
righteousness, embracing and accepting with his whole heart
whatsoever either happeneth or is allotted unto him. One who not
often, nor without some great necessity tending to some public
good, mindeth what any other, either speaks, or doth, or purposeth:
for those things only that are in his own power, or that are truly his
own, are the objects of his employments, and his thoughts are ever
taken up with those things, which of the whole universe are by the
fates or Providence destinated and appropriated unto himself.
Those things that are his own, and in his own power, he himself
takes order, for that they be good: and as for those that happen unto
him, he believes them to be so. For that lot and portion which is
assigned to every one, as it is unavoidable and necessary, so is it
always profitable. He remembers besides that whatsoever partakes
of reason, is akin unto him, and that to care for all men generally, is
agreeing to the nature of a man: but as for honour and praise, that
they ought not generally to be admitted and accepted of from all,
but from such only, who live according to nature. As for them that
do not, what manner of men they be at home, or abroad; day or
night, how conditioned themselves with what manner of conditions,
or with men of what conditions they moil and pass away the time
together, he knoweth, and remembers right well, he therefore
regards not such praise and approbation, as proceeding from them,
who cannot like and approve themselves.

V. Do nothing against thy will, nor contrary to the community, nor

without due examination, nor with reluctancy. Affect not to set out
thy thoughts with curious neat language. Be neither a great talker,
nor a great undertaker. Moreover, let thy God that is in thee to rule
over thee, find by thee, that he hath to do with a man; an aged man;
a sociable man; a Roman; a prince; one that hath ordered his life, as
one that expecteth, as it were, nothing but the sound of the trumpet,
sounding a retreat to depart out of this life with all expedition. One
who for his word or actions neither needs an oath, nor any man to
be a witness.
VI. To be cheerful, and to stand in no need, either of other men's
help

or attendance, or of that rest and tranquillity, which thou must be

beholding to others for. Rather like one that is straight of himself, or
hath ever been straight, than one that hath been rectified.

VII. If thou shalt find anything in this mortal life better than

righteousness, than truth, temperance, fortitude, and in general

better than a mind contented both with those things which
according to right and reason she doth, and in those, which without
her will and knowledge happen unto thee by the providence; if I
say, thou canst find out anything better than this, apply thyself unto
it with thy whole heart, and that which is best wheresoever thou
dost find it, enjoy freely. But if nothing thou shalt find worthy to be
preferred to that spirit which is within thee; if nothing better than to
subject unto thee thine own lusts and desires, and not to give way to
any fancies or imaginations before thou hast duly considered of
them, nothing better than to withdraw thyself (to use Socrates his
words) from all sensuality, and submit thyself unto the gods, and to
have care of all men in general: if thou shalt find that all other things
in comparison of this, are but vile, and of little moment; then give
not way to any other thing, which being once though but affected
and inclined unto, it will no more be in thy power without all
distraction as thou oughtest to prefer and to pursue after that good,
which is thine own and thy proper good. For it is not lawful, that
anything that is of another and inferior kind and nature, be it what it
will, as either popular applause, or honour, or riches, or pleasures;
should be suffered to confront and contest as it were, with that
which is rational, and operatively good. For all these things, if once
though but for a while, they begin to please, they presently prevail,
and pervert a man's mind, or turn a man from the right way. Do
thou therefore I say absolutely and freely make choice of that which
is best, and stick unto it. Now, that they say is best, which is most
profitable. If they mean profitable to man as he is a rational man,
stand thou to it, and maintain it; but if they mean profitable, as he is
a creature, only reject it; and from this thy tenet and conclusion keep
off carefully all plausible shows and colours of external appearance,
that thou mayest be able to discern things rightly.

VIII. Never esteem of anything as profitable, which shall ever

constrain

thee either to break thy faith, or to lose thy modesty; to hate any
man, to suspect, to curse, to dissemble, to lust after anything, that
requireth the secret of walls or veils. But he that preferreth before all
things his rational part and spirit, and the sacred mysteries of virtue
which issueth from it, he shall never lament and exclaim, never sigh;
he shall never want either solitude or company: and which is
chiefest of all, he shall live without either desire or fear. And as for
life, whether for a long or short time he shall enjoy his soul thus
compassed about with a body, he is altogether indifferent. For if
even now he were to depart, he is as ready for it, as for any other
action, which may be performed with modesty and decency. For all
his life long, this is his only care, that his mind may always be
occupied in such intentions and objects, as are proper to a rational
sociable creature.

IX. In the mind that is once truly disciplined and purged, thou
canst

not find anything, either foul or impure, or as it were festered:

nothing that is either servile, or affected: no partial tie; no malicious
averseness; nothing obnoxious; nothing concealed. The life of such
an one, death can never surprise as imperfect; as of an actor, that
should die before he had ended, or the play itself were at an end, a
man might speak.

X. Use thine opinative faculty with all honour and respect, for in

her indeed is all: that thy opinion do not beget in thy understanding
anything contrary to either nature, or the proper constitution of a
rational creature. The end and object of a rational constitution is, to
do nothing rashly, to be kindly affected towards men, and in all
things willingly to submit unto the gods. Casting therefore all other
things aside, keep thyself to these few, and remember withal that no
man properly can be said to live more than that which is now
present, which is but a moment of time. Whatsoever is besides either
is already past, or uncertain. The time therefore that any man doth
live, is but a little, and the place where he liveth, is but a very little
corner of the earth, and the greatest fame that can remain of a man
after his death, even that is but little, and that too, such as it is whilst
it is, is by the succession of silly mortal men preserved, who likewise
shall shortly die, and even whiles they live know not what in very
deed they themselves are: and much less can know one, who long
before is dead and gone.

XI. To these ever-present helps and mementoes, let one more be

added,

ever to make a particular description and delineation as it were of

every object that presents itself to thy mind, that thou mayest
wholly and throughly contemplate it, in its own proper nature, bare
and naked; wholly, and severally; divided into its several parts and
quarters: and then by thyself in thy mind, to call both it, and those
things of which it doth consist, and in which it shall be resolved, by
their own proper true names, and appellations. For there is nothing
so effectual to beget true magnanimity, as to be able truly and
methodically to examine and consider all things that happen in this
life, and so to penetrate into their natures, that at the same time, this
also may concur in our apprehensions: what is the true use of it?
and what is the true nature of this universe, to which it is useful?
how much in regard of the universe may it be esteemed? how much
in regard of man, a citizen of the supreme city, of which all other
cities in the world are as it were but houses and families?

XII. What is this, that now my fancy is set upon? of what things
doth

it consist? how long can it last? which of all the virtues is the proper
virtue for this present use? as whether meekness, fortitude, truth,
faith, sincerity, contentation, or any of the rest? Of everything
therefore thou must use thyself to say, This immediately comes from
God, this by that fatal connection, and concatenation of things, or
(which almost comes to one) by some coincidental casualty. And as
for this, it proceeds from my neighbour, my kinsman, my fellow:
through his ignorance indeed, because he knows not what is truly
natural unto him: but I know it, and therefore carry myself towards
him according to the natural law of fellowship; that is kindly, and
justly. As for those things that of themselves are altogether
indifferent, as in my best judgment I conceive everything to deserve
more or less, so I carry myself towards it.

XIII. If thou shalt intend that which is present, following the rule
of

right and reason carefully, solidly, meekly, and shalt not intermix
any other businesses, but shall study this only to preserve thy spirit
unpolluted, and pure, and shall cleave unto him without either hope
or fear of anything, in all things that thou shalt either do or speak,
contenting thyself with heroical truth, thou shalt live happily; and
from this, there is no man that can hinder thee.

XIV. As physicians and chirurgeons have always their instruments

ready

at hand for all sudden cures; so have thou always thy dogmata in a
readiness for the knowledge of things, both divine and human: and
whatsoever thou dost, even in the smallest things that thou dost,
thou must ever remember that mutual relation, and connection that
is between these two things divine, and things human. For without
relation unto God, thou shalt never speed in any worldly actions;
nor on the other side in any divine, without some respect had to
things human.

XV. Be not deceived; for thou shalt never live to read thy moral

commentaries, nor the acts of the famous Romans and Grecians; nor
those excerpta from several books; all which thou hadst provided
and laid up for thyself against thine old age. Hasten therefore to an
end, and giving over all vain hopes, help thyself in time if thou
carest for thyself, as thou oughtest to do.

XVI. To steal, to sow, to buy, to be at rest, to see what is to be done

(which is not seen by the eyes, but by another kind of sight:) what
these words mean, and how many ways to be understood, they do
not understand. The body, the soul, the understanding. As the
senses naturally belong to the body, and the desires and affections
to the soul, so do the dogmata to the understanding.
XVII. To be capable of fancies and imaginations, is common to
man and

beast. To be violently drawn and moved by the lusts and desires of

the soul, is proper to wild beasts and monsters, such as Phalaris and
Nero were. To follow reason for ordinary duties and actions is
common to them also, who believe not that there be any gods, and
for their advantage would make no conscience to betray their own
country; and who when once the doors be shut upon them, dare do
anything. If therefore all things else be common to these likewise, it
follows, that for a man to like and embrace all things that happen
and are destinated unto him, and not to trouble and molest that
spirit which is seated in the temple of his own breast, with a
multitude of vain fancies and imaginations, but to keep him
propitious and to obey him as a god, never either speaking anything
contrary to truth, or doing anything contrary to justice, is the only
true property of a good man. And such a one, though no man
should believe that he liveth as he doth, either sincerely and
conscionably, or cheerful and contentedly; yet is he neither with any
man at all angry for it, nor diverted by it from the way that leadeth
to the end of his life, through which a man must pass pure, ever
ready to depart, and willing of himself without any compulsion to
fit and accommodate himself to his proper lot and portion.
THE FOURTH BOOK

I. That inward mistress part of man if it be in its own true natural

temper, is towards all worldly chances and events ever so disposed

and affected, that it will easily turn and apply itself to that which
may be, and is within its own power to compass, when that cannot
be which at first it intended. For it never doth absolutely addict and
apply itself to any one object, but whatsoever it is that it doth now
intend and prosecute, it doth prosecute it with exception and
reservation; so that whatsoever it is that falls out contrary to its first
intentions, even that afterwards it makes its proper object. Even as
the fire when it prevails upon those things that are in his way; by
which things indeed a little fire would have been quenched, but a
great fire doth soon turn to its own nature, and so consume
whatsoever comes in his way: yea by those very things it is made
greater and greater.

II. Let nothing be done rashly, and at random, but all things
according

to the most exact and perfect rules of art.

III. They seek for themselves private retiring

places, as country villages, the sea-shore, mountains; yea thou

thyself art wont to long much after such places. But all this thou
must know proceeds from simplicity in the highest degree. At what
time soever thou wilt, it is in thy power to retire into thyself, and to
be at rest, and free from all businesses. A man cannot any whither
retire better than to his own soul; he especially who is beforehand
provided of such things within, which whensoever he doth
withdraw himself to look in, may presently afford unto him perfect
ease and tranquillity. By tranquillity I understand a decent orderly
disposition and carriage, free from all confusion and
tumultuousness. Afford then thyself this retiring continually, and
thereby refresh and renew thyself. Let these precepts be brief and
fundamental, which as soon as thou dost call them to mind, may
suffice thee to purge thy soul throughly, and to send thee away well
pleased with those things whatsoever they be, which now again
after this short withdrawing of thy soul into herself thou dost return
unto. For what is it that thou art offended at? Can it be at the
wickedness of men, when thou dost call to mind this conclusion,
that all reasonable creatures are made one for another? and that it is
part of justice to bear with them? and that it is against their wills
that they offend? and how many already, who once likewise
prosecuted their enmities, suspected, hated, and fiercely contended,
are now long ago stretched out, and reduced unto ashes? It is time
for thee to make an end. As for those things which among the
common chances of the world happen unto thee as thy particular lot
and portion, canst thou be displeased with any of them, when thou
dost call that our ordinary dilemma to mind, either a providence, or
Democritus his atoms; and with it, whatsoever we brought to prove
that the whole world is as it were one city? And as for thy body,
what canst thou fear, if thou dost consider that thy mind and
understanding, when once it hath recollected itself, and knows its
own power, hath in this life and breath (whether it run smoothly
and gently, or whether harshly and rudely), no interest at all, but is
altogether indifferent: and whatsoever else thou hast heard and
assented unto concerning either pain or pleasure? But the care of
thine honour and reputation will perchance distract thee? How can
that be, if thou dost look back, and consider both how quickly all
things that are, are forgotten, and what an immense chaos of
eternity was before, and will follow after all things: and the vanity
of praise, and the inconstancy and variableness of human judgments
and opinions, and the narrowness of the place, wherein it is limited
and circumscribed? For the whole earth is but as one point; and of it,
this inhabited part of it, is but a very little part; and of this part, how
many in number, and what manner of men are they, that will
commend thee? What remains then, but that thou often put in
practice this kind of retiring of thyself, to this little part of thyself;
and above all things, keep thyself from distraction, and intend not
anything vehemently, but be free and consider all things, as a man
whose proper object is Virtue, as a man whose true nature is to be
kind and sociable, as a citizen, as a mortal creature. Among other
things, which to consider, and look into thou must use to withdraw
thyself, let those two be among the most obvious and at hand. One,
that the things or objects themselves reach not unto the soul, but
stand without still and quiet, and that it is from the opinion only
which is within, that all the tumult and all the trouble doth proceed.
The next, that all these things, which now thou seest, shall within a
very little while be changed, and be no more: and ever call to mind,
how many changes and alterations in the world thou thyself hast
already been an eyewitness of in thy time. This world is mere
change, and this life, opinion.

IV. If to understand and to be reasonable be common unto all

men, then

is that reason, for which we are termed reasonable, common unto

all. If reason is general, then is that reason also, which prescribeth
what is to be done and what not, common unto all. If that, then law.
If law, then are we fellow-citizens. If so, then are we partners in
some one commonweal. If so, then the world is as it were a city. For
which other commonweal is it, that all men can be said to be
members of? From this common city it is, that understanding,
reason, and law is derived unto us, for from whence else? For as that
which in me is earthly I have from some common earth; and that
which is moist from some other element is imparted; as my breath
and life hath its proper fountain; and that likewise which is dry and
fiery in me: (for there is nothing which doth not proceed from
something; as also there is nothing that can be reduced unto mere
nothing:) so also is there some common beginning from whence my
understanding hath proceeded.
V. As generation is, so also death, a secret of nature's wisdom: a

mixture of elements, resolved into the same elements again, a thing

surely which no man ought to be ashamed of: in a series of other
fatal events and consequences, which a rational creature is subject
unto, not improper or incongruous, nor contrary to the natural and
proper constitution of man himself.

VI. Such and such things, from such and such causes, must of
necessity

proceed. He that would not have such things to happen, is as he that

would have the fig-tree grow without any sap or moisture. In sum,
remember this, that within a very little while, both thou and he shall
both be dead, and after a little while more, not so much as your
names and memories shall be remaining.

VII. Let opinion be taken away, and no man will think himself
wronged.

If no man shall think himself wronged, then is there no more any

such thing as wrong. That which makes not man himself the worse,
cannot make his life the worse, neither can it hurt him either
inwardly or outwardly. It was expedient in nature that it should be
so, and therefore necessary.
VIII. Whatsoever doth happen in the world, doth happen justly,
and so if

thou dost well take heed, thou shalt find it. I say not only in right
order by a series of inevitable consequences, but according to justice
and as it were by way of equal distribution, according to the true
worth of everything. Continue then to take notice of it, as thou hast
begun, and whatsoever thou dost, do it not without this proviso,
that it be a thing of that nature that a good man (as the word good is
properly taken) may do it. This observe carefully in every action.

IX. Conceit no such things, as he that wrongeth thee conceiveth,

or would have thee to conceive, but look into the matter itself, and
see what it is in very truth.

X. These two rules, thou must have always in a readiness. First, do

nothing at all, but what reason proceeding from that regal and
supreme part, shall for the good and benefit of men, suggest unto
thee. And secondly, if any man that is present shall be able to rectify
thee or to turn thee from some erroneous persuasion, that thou be
always ready to change thy mind, and this change to proceed, not
from any respect of any pleasure or credit thereon depending, but
always from some probable apparent ground of justice, or of some
public good thereby to be furthered; or from some other such
inducement.

XI. Hast thou reason? I have. Why then makest thou not use of it?
For if
thy reason do her part, what more canst thou require?

XII. As a part hitherto thou hast had a particular subsistence: and

now

shalt thou vanish away into the common substance of Him, who
first begot thee, or rather thou shalt be resumed again into that
original rational substance, out of which all others have issued, and
are propagated. Many small pieces of frankincense are set upon the
same altar, one drops first and is consumed, another after; and it
comes all to one.

XIII. Within ten days, if so happen, thou shalt be esteemed a god

of

them, who now if thou shalt return to the dogmata and to the
honouring of reason, will esteem of thee no better than of a mere
brute, and of an ape.

XIV. Not as though thou hadst thousands of years to live. Death

hangs

over thee: whilst yet thou livest, whilst thou mayest, be good.

XV. Now much time and leisure doth he gain, who is not curious
to know
what his neighbour hath said, or hath done, or hath attempted, but
only what he doth himself, that it may be just and holy? or to
express it in Agathos' words, Not to look about upon the evil
conditions of others, but to run on straight in the line, without any
loose and extravagant agitation.

XVI. He who is greedy of credit and reputation after his death,

doth

not consider, that they themselves by whom he is remembered, shall

soon after every one of them be dead; and they likewise that succeed
those; until at last all memory, which hitherto by the succession of
men admiring and soon after dying hath had its course, be quite
extinct. But suppose that both they that shall remember thee, and
thy memory with them should be immortal, what is that to thee? I
will not say to thee after thou art dead; but even to thee living, what
is thy praise? But only for a secret and politic consideration, which
we call oikonomian or dispensation. For as for that, that it is the gift
of nature, whatsoever is commended in thee, what might be
objected from thence, let that now that we are upon another
consideration be omitted as unseasonable. That which is fair and
goodly, whatsoever it be, and in what respect soever it be, that it is
fair and goodly, it is so of itself, and terminates in itself, not
admitting praise as a part or member: that therefore which is
praised, is not thereby made either better or worse. This I
understand even of those things, that are commonly called fair and
good, as those which are commended either for the matter itself, or
for curious workmanship. As for that which is truly good, what can
it stand in need of more than either justice or truth; or more than
either kindness and modesty? Which of all those, either becomes
good or fair, because commended; or dispraised suffers any
damage? Doth the emerald become worse in itself, or more vile if it
be not commended? Doth gold, or ivory, or purple? Is there
anything that doth though never so common, as a knife, a flower, or
a tree?
XVII. If so be that the souls remain after death (say they that will
not

believe it); how is the air from all eternity able to contain them?
How is the earth (say I) ever from that time able to Contain the
bodies of them that are buried? For as here the change and
resolution of dead bodies into another kind of subsistence
(whatsoever it be;) makes place for other dead bodies: so the souls
after death transferred into the air, after they have conversed there a
while, are either by way of transmutation, or transfusion, or
conflagration, received again into that original rational substance,
from which all others do proceed: and so give way to those souls,
who before coupled and associated unto bodies, now begin to
subsist single. This, upon a supposition that the souls after death do
for a while subsist single, may be answered. And here, (besides the
number of bodies, so buried and contained by the earth), we may
further consider the number of several beasts, eaten by us men, and
by other creatures. For notwithstanding that such a multitude of
them is daily consumed, and as it were buried in the bodies of the
eaters, yet is the same place and body able to contain them, by
reason of their conversion, partly into blood, partly into air and fire.
What in these things is the speculation of truth? to divide things into
that which is passive and material; and that which is active and
formal.

XVIII. Not to wander out of the way, but upon every motion and
desire,

to perform that which is just: and ever to be careful to attain to the

true natural apprehension of every fancy, that presents itself.
XIX. Whatsoever is expedient unto thee, O World, is expedient
unto me;

nothing can either be 'unseasonable unto me, or out of date, which

unto thee is seasonable. Whatsoever thy seasons bear, shall ever by
me be esteemed as happy fruit, and increase. O Nature! from thee
are all things, in thee all things subsist, and to thee all tend. Could
he say of Athens, Thou lovely city of Cecrops; and shalt not thou say
of the world, Thou lovely city of God?

XX. They will say commonly, Meddle not with many things, if
thou wilt

live cheerfully. Certainly there is nothing better, than for a man to

confine himself to necessary actions; to such and so many only, as
reason in a creature that knows itself born for society, will command
and enjoin. This will not only procure that cheerfulness, which from
the goodness, but that also, which from the paucity of actions doth
usually proceed. For since it is so, that most of those things, which
we either speak or do, are unnecessary; if a man shall cut them off, it
must needs follow that he shall thereby gain much leisure, and save
much trouble, and therefore at every action a man must privately by
way of admonition suggest unto himself, What? may not this that
now I go about, be of the number of unnecessary actions? Neither
must he use himself to cut off actions only, but thoughts and
imaginations also, that are unnecessary for so will unnecessary
consequent actions the better be prevented and cut off.
XXI. Try also how a good man's life; (of one, who is well pleased
with

those things whatsoever, which among the common changes and

chances of this world fall to his own lot and share; and can live well
contented and fully satisfied in the justice of his own proper present
action, and in the goodness of his disposition for the future:) will
agree with thee. Thou hast had experience of that other kind of life:
make now trial of this also. Trouble not thyself any more henceforth,
reduce thyself unto perfect simplicity. Doth any man offend? It is
against himself that he doth offend: why should it trouble thee?
Hath anything happened unto thee? It is well, whatsoever it be, it is
that which of all the common chances of the world from the very
beginning in the series of all other things that have, or shall happen,
was destinated and appointed unto thee. To comprehend all in a
few words, our life is short; we must endeavour to gain the present
time with best discretion and justice. Use recreation with sobriety.

XXII. Either this world is a kosmoz or comely piece, because all

disposed and governed by certain order: or if it be a mixture, though

confused, yet still it is a comely piece. For is it possible that in thee
there should be any beauty at all, and that in the whole world there
should be nothing but disorder and confusion? and all things in it
too, by natural different properties one from another differenced
and distinguished; and yet all through diffused, and by natural
sympathy, one to another united, as they are?

XXIII. A black or malign disposition, an effeminate disposition;

an

hard inexorable disposition, a wild inhuman disposition, a sheepish

disposition, a childish disposition; a blockish, a false, a scurril, a
fraudulent, a tyrannical: what then? If he be a stranger in the world,
that knows not the things that are in it; why not be a stranger as
well, that wonders at the things that are done in it?

XXIV. He is a true fugitive, that flies from reason, by which men

are

sociable. He blind, who cannot see with the eyes of his

understanding. He poor, that stands in need of another, and hath
not in himself all things needful for this life. He an aposteme of the
world, who by being discontented with those things that happen
unto him in the world, doth as it were apostatise, and separate
himself from common nature's rational administration. For the same
nature it is that brings this unto thee, whatsoever it be, that first
brought thee into the world. He raises sedition in the city, who by
irrational actions withdraws his own soul from that one and
common soul of all rational creatures.

XXV. There is, who without so much as a coat; and there is, who
without

so much as a book, doth put philosophy in practice. I am half naked,

neither have I bread to eat, and yet I depart not from reason, saith
one. But I say; I want the food of good teaching, and instructions,
and yet I depart not from reason.

XXVI. What art and profession soever thou hast learned,

endeavour to
affect it, and comfort thyself in it; and pass the remainder of thy life
as one who from his whole heart commits himself and whatsoever
belongs unto him, unto the gods: and as for men, carry not thyself
either tyrannically or servilely towards any.

XXVII. Consider in my mind, for example's sake, the times of

Vespasian:

thou shalt see but the same things: some marrying, some bringing
up children, some sick, some dying, some fighting, some feasting,
some merchandising, some tilling, some flattering, some boasting,
some suspecting, some undermining, some wishing to die, some
fretting and murmuring at their present estate, some wooing, some
hoarding, some seeking after magistracies, and some after
kingdoms. And is not that their age quite over, and ended? Again,
consider now the times of Trajan. There likewise thou seest the very
self-same things, and that age also is now over and ended. In the
like manner consider other periods, both of times and of whole
nations, and see how many men, after they had with all their might
and main intended and prosecuted some one worldly thing or other
did soon after drop away, and were resolved into the elements. But
especially thou must call to mind them, whom thou thyself in thy
lifetime hast known much distracted about vain things, and in the
meantime neglecting to do that, and closely and unseparably (as
fully satisfied with it) to adhere unto it, which their own proper
constitution did require. And here thou must remember, that thy
carriage in every business must be according to the worth and due
proportion of it, for so shalt thou not easily be tired out and vexed, if
thou shalt not dwell upon small matters longer than is fitting.

XXVIII. Those words which once were common and ordinary, are
now become
obscure and obsolete; and so the names of men once commonly
known and famous, are now become in a manner obscure and
obsolete names. Camillus, Cieso, Volesius, Leonnatus; not long after,
Scipio, Cato, then Augustus, then Adrianus, then Antoninus Pius:
all these in a short time will be out of date, and, as things of another
world as it were, become fabulous. And this I say of them, who once
shined as the wonders of their ages, for as for the rest, no sooner are
they expired, than with them all their fame and memory. And what
is it then that shall always be remembered? all is vanity. What is it
that we must bestow our care and diligence upon? even upon this
only: that our minds and wills be just; that our actions be charitable;
that our speech be never deceitful, or that our understanding be not
subject to error; that our inclination be always set to embrace
whatsoever shall happen unto us, as necessary, as usual, as
ordinary, as flowing from such a beginning, and such a fountain,
from which both thou thyself and all things are. Willingly therefore,
and wholly surrender up thyself unto that fatal concatenation,
yielding up thyself unto the fates, to be disposed of at their pleasure.

XXIX. Whatsoever is now present, and from day to day hath its
existence;

all objects of memories, and the minds and memories themselves,

incessantly consider, all things that are, have their being by change
and alteration. Use thyself therefore often to meditate upon this, that
the nature of the universe delights in nothing more, than in altering
those things that are, and in making others like unto them. So that
we may say, that whatsoever is, is but as it were the seed of that
which shall be. For if thou think that that only is seed, which either
the earth or the womb receiveth, thou art very simple.

XXX. Thou art now ready to die, and yet hast thou not attained to
that perfect simplicity: thou art yet subject to many troubles and
perturbations; not yet free from all fear and suspicion of external
accidents; nor yet either so meekly disposed towards all men, as
thou shouldest; or so affected as one, whose only study and only
wisdom is, to be just in all his actions.

XXXI. Behold and observe, what is the state of their rational part;
and

those that the world doth account wise, see what things they fly and
are afraid of; and what things they hunt after.

XXXII. In another man's mind and understanding thy evil Cannot

subsist,

nor in any proper temper or distemper of the natural constitution of

thy body, which is but as it were the coat or cottage of thy soul.
Wherein then, but in that part of thee, wherein the conceit, and
apprehension of any misery can subsist? Let not that part therefore
admit any such conceit, and then all is well. Though thy body which
is so near it should either be cut or burnt, or suffer any corruption or
putrefaction, yet let that part to which it belongs to judge of these,
be still at rest; that is, let her judge this, that whatsoever it is, that
equally may happen to a wicked man, and to a good man, is neither
good nor evil. For that which happens equally to him that lives
according to nature, and to him that doth not, is neither according to
nature, nor against it; and by consequent, neither good nor bad.
XXXIII. Ever consider and think upon the world as being but one
living

substance, and having but one soul, and how all things in the world,
are terminated into one sensitive power; and are done by one
general motion as it were, and deliberation of that one soul; and
how all things that are, concur in the cause of one another's being,
and by what manner of connection and concatenation all things
happen.

XXXIV. What art thou, that better and divine part excepted, but as

Epictetus said well, a wretched soul, appointed to carry a carcass up

and down?

XXXV. To suffer change can be no hurt; as no benefit it is, by

change to

attain to being. The age and time of the world is as it were a flood
and swift current, consisting of the things that are brought to pass in
the world. For as soon as anything hath appeared, and is passed
away, another succeeds, and that also will presently out of sight.

XXXVI. Whatsoever doth happen in the world, is, in the course of

nature,

as usual and ordinary as a rose in the spring, and fruit in summer.

Of the same nature is sickness and death; slander, and lying in wait,
and whatsoever else ordinarily doth unto fools use to be occasion
either of joy or sorrow. That, whatsoever it is, that comes after, doth
always very naturally, and as it were familiarly, follow upon that
which was before. For thou must consider the things of the world,
not as a loose independent number, consisting merely of necessary
events; but as a discreet connection of things orderly and
harmoniously disposed. There is then to be seen in the things of the
world, not a bare succession, but an admirable correspondence and
affinity.

XXXVII. Let that of Heraclitus never be out of thy mind, that the
death

of earth, is water, and the death of water, is air; and the death of air,
is fire; and so on the contrary. Remember him also who was
ignorant whither the way did lead, and how that reason being the
thing by which all things in the world are administered, and which
men are continually and most inwardly conversant with: yet is the
thing, which ordinarily they are most in opposition with, and how
those things which daily happen among them, cease not daily to be
strange unto them, and that we should not either speak, or do
anything as men in their sleep, by opinion and bare imagination: for
then we think we speak and do, and that we must not be as
children, who follow their father's example; for best reason alleging
their bare successive tradition from our forefathers we have received
it.

XXXVIII. Even as if any of the gods should tell thee, Thou shalt

certainly die to-morrow, or next day, thou wouldst not, except thou
wert extremely base and pusillanimous, take it for a great benefit,
rather to die the next day after, than to-morrow; (for alas, what is
the difference!) so, for the same reason, think it no great matter to
die rather many years after, than the very next day.
XXXIX. Let it be thy perpetual meditation, how many physicians
who

once looked so grim, and so theatrically shrunk their brows upon

their patients, are dead and gone themselves. How many
astrologers, after that in great ostentation they had foretold the
death of some others, how many philosophers after so many
elaborate tracts and volumes concerning either mortality or
immortality; how many brave captains and commanders, after the
death and slaughter of so many; how many kings and tyrants, after
they had with such horror and insolency abused their power upon
men's lives, as though themselves had been immortal; how many,
that I may so speak, whole cities both men and towns: Helice,
Pompeii, Herculaneum, and others innumerable are dead and gone.
Run them over also, whom thou thyself, one after another, hast
known in thy time to drop away. Such and such a one took care of
such and such a one's burial, and soon after was buried himself. So
one, so another: and all things in a short time. For herein lieth all
indeed, ever to look upon all worldly things, as things for their
continuance, that are but for a day: and for their worth, most vile,
and contemptible, as for example, What is man? That which but the
other day when he was conceived was vile snivel; and within few
days shall be either an embalmed carcass, or mere ashes. Thus must
thou according to truth and nature, throughly consider how man's
life is but for a very moment of time, and so depart meek and
contented: even as if a ripe olive falling should praise the ground
that bare her, and give thanks to the tree that begat her.

XL. Thou must be like a promontory of the sea, against which

though

the waves beat continually, yet it both itself stands, and about it are
those swelling waves stilled and quieted.
XLI. Oh, wretched I, to whom this mischance is happened! nay,
happy I,

to whom this thing being happened, I can continue without grief;

neither wounded by that which is present, nor in fear of that which
is to come. For as for this, it might have happened unto any man,
but any man having such a thing befallen him, could not have
continued without grief. Why then should that rather be an
unhappiness, than this a happiness? But however, canst thou, O
man! term that unhappiness, which is no mischance to the nature of
man I Canst thou think that a mischance to the nature of man, which
is not contrary to the end and will of his nature? What then hast
thou learned is the will of man's nature? Doth that then which hath
happened unto thee, hinder thee from being just? or magnanimous?
or temperate? or wise? or circumspect? or true? or modest? or free?
or from anything else of all those things in the present enjoying and
possession whereof the nature of man, (as then enjoying all that is
proper unto her,) is fully satisfied? Now to conclude; upon all
occasion of sorrow remember henceforth to make use of this dogma,
that whatsoever it is that hath happened unto thee, is in very deed
no such thing of itself, as a misfortune; but that to bear it generously,
is certainly great happiness.

XLII. It is but an ordinary coarse one, yet it is a good effectual

remedy against the fear of death, for a man to consider in his mind
the examples of such, who greedily and covetously (as it were) did
for a long time enjoy their lives. What have they got more, than they
whose deaths have been untimely? Are not they themselves dead at
the last? as Cadiciant's, Fabius, Julianus Lepidus, or any other who
in their lifetime having buried many, were at the last buried
themselves. The whole space of any man's life, is but little; and as
little as it is, with what troubles, with what manner of dispositions,
and in the society of how wretched a body must it be passed! Let it
be therefore unto thee altogether as a matter of indifferency. For if
thou shalt look backward; behold, what an infinite chaos of time
doth present itself unto thee; and as infinite a chaos, if thou shalt
look forward. In that which is so infinite, what difference can there
be between that which liveth but three days, and that which liveth
three ages?

XLIII. Let thy course ever be the most compendious way. The most

compendious, is that which is according to nature: that is, in all both

words and deeds, ever to follow that which is most sound and
perfect. For such a resolution will free a man from all trouble, strife,
dissembling, and ostentation.
THE FIFTH BOOK

I. In the morning when thou findest thyself unwilling to rise,

consider

with thyself presently, it is to go about a man's work that I am

stirred up. Am I then yet unwilling to go about that, for which I
myself was born and brought forth into this world? Or was I made
for this, to lay me down, and make much of myself in a warm bed?
'O but this is pleasing.' And was it then for this that thou wert born,
that thou mightest enjoy pleasure? Was it not in very truth for this,
that thou mightest always be busy and in action? Seest thou not how
all things in the world besides, how every tree md plant, how
sparrows and ants, spiders and bees: how all in their kind are intent
as it were orderly to perform whatsoever (towards the preservation
of this orderly universe) naturally doth become and belong unto
thin? And wilt not thou do that, which belongs unto a man to do?
Wilt not thou run to do that, which thy nature doth require? 'But
thou must have some rest.' Yes, thou must. Nature hath of that also,
as well as of eating and drinking, allowed thee a certain stint. But
thou guest beyond thy stint, and beyond that which would suffice,
and in matter of action, there thou comest short of that which thou
mayest. It must needs be therefore, that thou dost not love thyself,
for if thou didst, thou wouldst also love thy nature, and that which
thy nature doth propose unto herself as her end. Others, as many as
take pleasure in their trade and profession, can even pine
themselves at their works, and neglect their bodies and their food
for it; and doest thou less honour thy nature, than an ordinary
mechanic his trade; or a good dancer his art? than a covetous man
his silver, and vainglorious man applause? These to whatsoever
they take an affection, can be content to want their meat and sleep,
to further that every one which he affects: and shall actions tending
to the common good of human society, seem more vile unto thee, or
worthy of less respect and intention?
II. How easy a thing is it for a man to put off from him all
turbulent

adventitious imaginations, and presently to be in perfect rest and

tranquillity!

III. Think thyself fit and worthy to speak, or to do anything that is

according to nature, and let not the reproach, or report of some that
may ensue upon it, ever deter thee. If it be right and honest to be
spoken or done, undervalue not thyself so much, as to be
discouraged from it. As for them, they have their own rational over-
ruling part, and their own proper inclination: which thou must not
stand and look about to take notice of, but go on straight, whither
both thine own particular, and the common nature do lead thee; and
the way of both these, is but one.

IV. I continue my course by actions according to nature, until I

fall and cease, breathing out my last breath into that air, by which
continually breathed in I did live; and falling upon that earth, out of
whose gifts and fruits my father gathered his seed, my mother her
blood, and my nurse her milk, out of which for so many years I have
been provided, both of meat and drink. And lastly, which beareth
me that tread upon it, and beareth with me that so many ways do
abuse it, or so freely make use of it, so many ways to so many ends.
V. No man can admire thee for thy sharp acute language, such is
thy

natural disability that way. Be it so: yet there be many other good
things, for the want of which thou canst not plead the want or
natural ability. Let them be seen in thee, which depend wholly from
thee; sincerity, gravity, laboriousness, contempt of pleasures; be not
querulous, be Content with little, be kind, be free; avoid all
superfluity, all vain prattling; be magnanimous. Doest not thou
perceive, how many things there be, which notwithstanding any
pretence of natural indisposition and unfitness, thou mightest have
performed and exhibited, and yet still thou doest voluntarily
continue drooping downwards? Or wilt thou say that it is through
defect of thy natural constitution, that thou art constrained to
murmur, to be base and wretched to flatter; now to accuse, and now
to please, and pacify thy body: to be vainglorious, to be so giddy-
headed., and unsettled in thy thoughts? nay (witnesses be the Gods)
of all these thou mightest have been rid long ago: only, this thou
must have been contented with, to have borne the blame of one that
is somewhat slow and dull, wherein thou must so exercise thyself,
as one who neither doth much take to heart this his natural defect,
nor yet pleaseth himself in it.

VI. Such there be, who when they have done a good turn to any,
are ready

to set them on the score for it, and to require retaliation. Others there
be, who though they stand not upon retaliation, to require any, yet
they think with themselves nevertheless, that such a one is their
debtor, and they know as their word is what they have done. Others
again there be, who when they have done any such thing, do not so
much as know what they have done; but are like unto the vine,
which beareth her grapes, and when once she hath borne her own
proper fruit, is contented and seeks for no further recompense. As a
horse after a race, and a hunting dog when he hath hunted, and a
bee when she hath made her honey, look not for applause and
commendation; so neither doth that man that rightly doth
understand his own nature when he hath done a good turn: but
from one doth proceed to do another, even as the vine after she hath
once borne fruit in her own proper season, is ready for another time.
Thou therefore must be one of them, who what they do, barely do it
without any further thought, and are in a manner insensible of what
they do. 'Nay but,' will some reply perchance, 'this very thing a
rational man is bound unto, to understand what it is, that he doeth.'
For it is the property, say they, of one that is naturally sociable, to be
sensible, that he doth operate sociably: nay, and to desire, that the
party him self that is sociably dealt with, should be sensible of it too.
I answer, That which thou sayest is true indeed, but the true
meaning of that which is said, thou dost not understand. And
therefore art thou one of those first, whom I mentioned. For they
also are led by a probable appearance of reason. But if thou dost
desire to understand truly what it is that is said, fear not that thou
shalt therefore give over any sociable action.

VII. The form of the Athenians' prayer did run thus: 'O rain, rain,
good

Jupiter, upon all the grounds and fields that belong to the
Athenians.' Either we should not pray at all, or thus absolutely and
freely; and not every one for himself in particular alone.

VIII. As we say commonly, The physician hath prescribed unto

this man,

riding; unto another, cold baths; unto a third, to go barefoot: so it is

alike to say, The nature of the universe hath prescribed unto this
man sickness, or blindness, or some loss, or damage or some such
thing. For as there, when we say of a physician, that he hath
prescribed anything, our meaning is, that he hath appointed this for
that, as subordinate and conducing to health: so here, whatsoever
doth happen unto any, is ordained unto him as a thing subordinate
unto the fates, and therefore do we say of such things, that they do
happen, or fall together; as of square stones, when either in walls, or
pyramids in a certain position they fit one another, and agree as it
were in an harmony, the masons say, that they do (sumbainein) as if
thou shouldest say, fall together: so that in the general, though the
things be divers that make it, yet the consent or harmony itself is but
one. And as the whole world is made up of all the particular bodies
of the world, one perfect and complete body, of the same nature that
particular bodies; so is the destiny of particular causes and events
one general one, of the same nature that particular causes are. What
I now say, even they that are mere idiots are not ignorant of: for they
say commonly (touto eferen autw) that is, This his destiny hath
brought upon him. This therefore is by the fates properly and
particularly brought upon this, as that unto this in particular is by
the physician prescribed. These therefore let us accept of in like
manner, as we do those that are prescribed unto us our physicians.
For them also in themselves shall We find to contain many harsh
things, but we nevertheless, in hope of health, and recovery, accept
of them. Let the fulfilling and accomplishment of those things which
the common nature hath determined, be unto thee as thy health.
Accept then, and be pleased with whatsoever doth happen, though
otherwise harsh and un-pleasing, as tending to that end, to the
health and welfare of the universe, and to Jove's happiness and
prosperity. For this whatsoever it be, should not have been
produced, had it not conduced to the good of the universe. For
neither doth any ordinary particular nature bring anything to pass,
that is not to whatsoever is within the sphere of its own proper
administration and government agreeable and subordinate. For
these two considerations then thou must be well pleased with
anything that doth happen unto thee. First, because that for thee
properly it was brought to pass, and unto thee it was prescribed;
and that from the very beginning by the series and connection of the
first causes, it hath ever had a reference unto thee. And secondly,
because the good success and perfect welfare, and indeed the very
continuance of Him, that is the Administrator of the whole, doth in
a manner depend on it. For the whole (because whole, therefore
entire and perfect) is maimed, and mutilated, if thou shalt cut off
anything at all, whereby the coherence, and contiguity as of parts, so
of causes, is maintained and preserved. Of which certain it is, that
thou doest (as much as lieth in thee) cut off, and in some sort
violently take somewhat away, as often as thou art displeased with
anything that happeneth.

IX. Be not discontented, be not disheartened, be not out of hope, if

often it succeed not so well with thee punctually and precisely to do

all things according to the right dogmata, but being once cast off,
return unto them again: and as for those many and more frequent
occurrences, either of worldly distractions, or human infirmities,
which as a man thou canst not but in some measure be subject unto,
be not thou discontented with them; but however, love and affect
that only which thou dust return unto: a philosopher's life, and
proper occupation after the most exact manner. And when thou
dust return to thy philosophy, return not unto it as the manner of
some is, after play and liberty as it were, to their schoolmasters and
pedagogues; but as they that have sore eyes to their sponge and egg:
or as another to his cataplasm; or as others to their fomentations: so
shalt not thou make it a matter of ostentation at all to obey reason
but of ease and comfort. And remember that philosophy requireth
nothing of thee, but what thy nature requireth, and wouldest thou
thyself desire anything that is not according to nature? for which of
these sayest thou; that which is according to nature or against it, is
of itself more kind and pleasing? Is it not for that respect especially,
that pleasure itself is to so many men's hurt and overthrow, most
prevalent, because esteemed commonly most kind, and natural? But
consider well whether magnanimity rather, and true liberty, and
true simplicity, and equanimity, and holiness; whether these be not
most kind and natural? And prudency itself, what more kind and
amiable than it, when thou shalt truly consider with thyself, what it
is through all the proper objects of thy rational intellectual faculty
currently to go on without any fall or stumble? As for the things of
the world, their true nature is in a manner so involved with
obscurity, that unto many philosophers, and those no mean ones,
they seemed altogether incomprehensible, and the Stoics
themselves, though they judge them not altogether
incomprehensible, yet scarce and not without much difficulty,
comprehensible, so that all assent of ours is fallible, for who is he
that is infallible in his conclusions? From the nature of things, pass
now unto their subjects and matter: how temporary, how vile are
they I such as may be in the power and possession of some
abominable loose liver, of some common strumpet, of some
notorious oppressor and extortioner. Pass from thence to the
dispositions of them that thou doest ordinarily converse with, how
hardly do we bear, even with the most loving and amiable! that I
may not say, how hard it is for us to bear even with our own selves,
in such obscurity, and impurity of things: in such and so continual a
flux both of the substances and time; both of the motions
themselves, and things moved; what it is that we can fasten upon;
either to honour, and respect especially; or seriously, and studiously
to seek after; I cannot so much as conceive For indeed they are
things contrary.

X. Thou must comfort thyself in the expectation of thy natural

dissolution, and in the meantime not grieve at the delay; but rest
contented in those two things. First, that nothing shall happen unto
thee, which is not according to the nature of the universe. Secondly,
that it is in thy power, to do nothing against thine own proper God,
and inward spirit. For it is not in any man's power to constrain thee
to transgress against him.

XI. What is the use that now at this present I make of my soul?
Thus

from time to time and upon all occasions thou must put this
question to thyself; what is now that part of mine which they call the
rational mistress part, employed about? Whose soul do I now
properly possess? a child's? or a youth's? a woman's? or a tyrant's?
some brute, or some wild beast's soul?

XII. What those things are in themselves, which by the greatest

part are

esteemed good, thou mayest gather even from this. For if a man
shall hear things mentioned as good, which are really good indeed,
such as are prudence, temperance, justice, fortitude, after so much
heard and conceived, he cannot endure to hear of any more, for the
word good is properly spoken of them. But as for those which by
the vulgar are esteemed good, if he shall hear them mentioned as
good, he doth hearken for more. He is well contented to hear, that
what is spoken by the comedian, is but familiarly and popularly
spoken, so that even the vulgar apprehend the difference. For why
is it else, that this offends not and needs not to be excused, when
virtues are styled good: but that which is spoken in commendation
of wealth, pleasure, or honour, we entertain it only as merrily and
pleasantly spoken? Proceed therefore, and inquire further, whether
it may not be that those things also which being mentioned upon the
stage were merrily, and with great applause of the multitude,
scoffed at with this jest, that they that possessed them had not in all
the world of their own, (such was their affluence and plenty) so
much as a place where to avoid their excrements. Whether, I say,
those ought not also in very deed to be much respected, and
esteemed of, as the only things that are truly good.

XIII. All that I consist of, is either form or matter. No corruption

can

reduce either of these unto nothing: for neither did I of nothing

become a subsistent creature. Every part of mine then will by
mutation be disposed into a certain part of the whole world, and
that in time into another part; and so in infinitum; by which kind of
mutation, I also became what I am, and so did they that begot me,
and they before them, and so upwards in infinitum. For so we may
be allowed to speak, though the age and government of the world,
be to some certain periods of time limited, and confined.

XIV. Reason, and rational power, are faculties which content

themselves

with themselves, and their own proper operations. And as for their
first inclination and motion, that they take from themselves. But
their progress is right to the end and object, which is in their way, as
it were, and lieth just before them: that is, which is feasible and
possible, whether it be that which at the first they proposed to
themselves, or no. For which reason also such actions are termed
katorqwseiz to intimate the directness of the way, by which they are
achieved. Nothing must be thought to belong to a man, which doth
not belong unto him as he is a man. These, the event of purposes,
are not things required in a man. The nature of man doth not profess
any such things. The final ends and consummations of actions are
nothing at all to a man's nature. The end therefore of a man, or the
summum bonum whereby that end is fulfilled, cannot consist in the
consummation of actions purposed and intended. Again,
concerning these outward worldly things, were it so that any of
them did properly belong unto man, then would it not belong unto
man, to condemn them and to stand in opposition with them.
Neither would he be praiseworthy that can live without them; or he
good, (if these were good indeed) who of his own accord doth
deprive himself of any of them. But we see contrariwise, that the
more a man doth withdraw himself from these wherein external
pomp and greatness doth consist, or any other like these; or the
better he doth bear with the loss of these, the better he is accounted.
XV. Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are, such will
thy

mind be in time. For the soul doth as it were receive its tincture from
the fancies, and imaginations. Dye it therefore and thoroughly soak
it with the assiduity of these cogitations. As for example.
Wheresoever thou mayest live, there it is in thy power to live well
and happy. But thou mayest live at the Court, there then also
mayest thou live well and happy. Again, that which everything is
made for, he is also made unto that, and cannot but naturally incline
unto it. That which anything doth naturally incline unto, therein is
his end. Wherein the end of everything doth consist, therein also
doth his good and benefit consist. Society therefore is the proper
good of a rational creature. For that we are made for society, it hath
long since been demonstrated. Or can any man make any question
of this, that whatsoever is naturally worse and inferior, is ordinarily
subordinated to that which is better? and that those things that are
best, are made one for another? And those things that have souls,
are better than those that have none? and of those that have, those
best that have rational souls?

XVI. To desire things impossible is the part of a mad man. But it is

a

thing impossible, that wicked man should not commit some such
things. Neither doth anything happen to any man, which in the
ordinary course of nature as natural unto him doth not happen.
Again, the same things happen unto others also. And truly, if either
he that is ignorant that such a thing hath happened unto him, or he
that is ambitious to be commended for his magnanimity, can be
patient, and is not grieved: is it not a grievous thing, that either
ignorance, or a vain desire to please and to be commended, should
be more powerful and effectual than true prudence? As for the
things themselves, they touch not the soul, neither can they have
any access unto it: neither can they of themselves any ways either
affect it, or move it. For she herself alone can affect and move
herself, and according as the dogmata and opinions are, which she
doth vouchsafe herself; so are those things which, as accessories,
have any co-existence with her.

XVII. After one consideration, man is nearest unto us; as we are

bound

to do them good, and to bear with them. But as he may oppose any
of our true proper actions, so man is unto me but as a thing
indifferent: even as the sun, or the wind, or some wild beast. By
some of these it may be, that some operation or other of mine, may
be hindered; however, of my mind and resolution itself, there can be
no let or impediment, by reason of that ordinary constant both
exception (or reservation wherewith it inclineth) and ready
conversion of objects; from that which may not be, to that which
may be, which in the prosecution of its inclinations, as occasion
serves, it doth observe. For by these the mind doth turn and convert
any impediment whatsoever, to be her aim and purpose. So that
what before was the impediment, is now the principal object of her
working; and that which before was in her way, is now her readiest
way.

XVIII. Honour that which is chiefest and most powerful in the

world, and

that is it, which makes use of all things, and governs all things. So
also in thyself; honour that which is chiefest, and most powerful;
and is of one kind and nature with that which we now spake of. For
it is the very same, which being in thee, turneth all other things to its
own use, and by whom also thy life is governed.
XIX. That which doth not hurt the city itself; cannot hurt any
citizen.

This rule thou must remember to apply and make use of upon every
conceit and apprehension of wrong. If the whole city be not hurt by
this, neither am I certainly. And if the whole be not, why should I
make it my private grievance? consider rather what it is wherein he
is overseen that is thought to have done the wrong. Again, often
meditate how swiftly all things that subsist, and all things that are
done in the world, are carried away, and as it were conveyed out of
sight: for both the substance themselves, we see as a flood, are in a
continual flux; and all actions in a perpetual change; and the causes
themselves, subject to a thousand alterations, neither is there
anything almost, that may ever be said to be now settled and
constant. Next unto this, and which follows upon it, consider both
the infiniteness of the time already past, and the immense vastness
of that which is to come, wherein all things are to be resolved and
annihilated. Art not thou then a very fool, who for these things, art
either puffed up with pride, or distracted with cares, or canst find in
thy heart to make such moans as for a thing that would trouble thee
for a very long time? Consider the whole universe whereof thou art
but a very little part, and the whole age of the world together,
whereof but a short and very momentary portion is allotted unto
thee, and all the fates and destinies together, of which how much is
it that comes to thy part and share! Again: another doth trespass
against me. Let him look to that. He is master of his own disposition,
and of his own operation. I for my part am in the meantime in
possession of as much, as the common nature would have me to
possess: and that which mine own nature would have me do, I do.

XX. Let not that chief commanding part of thy soul be ever subject
to

any variation through any corporal either pain or pleasure, neither

suffer it to be mixed with these, but let it both circumscribe itself,
and confine those affections to their own proper parts and members.
But if at any time they do reflect and rebound upon the mind and
understanding (as in an united and compacted body it must needs;)
then must thou not go about to resist sense and feeling, it being
natural. However let not thy understanding to this natural sense
and feeling, which whether unto our flesh pleasant or painful, is
unto us nothing properly, add an opinion of either good or bad and
all is well.

XXI. To live with the Gods. He liveth with the Gods, who at all
times

affords unto them the spectacle of a soul, both contented and well
pleased with whatsoever is afforded, or allotted unto her; and
performing whatsoever is pleasing to that Spirit, whom (being part
of himself) Jove hath appointed to every man as his overseer and
governor.

XXII. Be not angry neither with him whose breath, neither with
him whose

arm holes, are offensive. What can he do? such is his breath
naturally, and such are his arm holes; and from such, such an effect,
and such a smell must of necessity proceed. 'O, but the man (sayest
thou) hath understanding in him, and might of himself know, that
he by standing near, cannot choose but offend.' And thou also (God
bless thee!) hast understanding. Let thy reasonable faculty, work
upon his reasonable faculty; show him his fault, admonish him. If he
hearken unto thee, thou hast cured him, and there will be no more
occasion of anger.
XXIII. 'Where there shall neither roarer be, nor harlot.' Why so? As

thou dost purpose to live, when thou hast retired thyself to some
such place, where neither roarer nor harlot is: so mayest thou here.
And if they will not suffer thee, then mayest thou leave thy life
rather than thy calling, but so as one that doth not think himself
anyways wronged. Only as one would say, Here is a smoke; I will
out of it. And what a great matter is this! Now till some such thing
force me out, I will continue free; neither shall any man hinder me to
do what I will, and my will shall ever be by the proper nature of a
reasonable and sociable creature, regulated and directed.

XXIV. That rational essence by which the universe is governed, is

for

community and society; and therefore hath it both made the things
that are worse, for the best, and hath allied and knit together those
which are best, as it were in an harmony. Seest thou not how it hath
sub-ordinated, and co-ordinated? and how it hath distributed unto
everything according to its worth? and those which have the pre-
eminency and superiority above all, hath it united together, into a
mutual consent and agreement.

XXV. How hast thou carried thyself hitherto towards the Gods?
towards

thy parents? towards thy brethren? towards thy wife? towards thy
children? towards thy masters? thy foster-fathers? thy friends? thy
domestics? thy servants? Is it so with thee, that hitherto thou hast
neither by word or deed wronged any of them? Remember withal
through how many things thou hast already passed, and how many
thou hast been able to endure; so that now the legend of thy life is
full, and thy charge is accomplished. Again, how many truly good
things have certainly by thee been discerned? how many pleasures,
how many pains hast thou passed over with contempt? how many
things eternally glorious hast thou despised? towards how many
perverse unreasonable men hast thou carried thyself kindly, and
discreetly?

XXVI. Why should imprudent unlearned souls trouble that which

is

both learned, and prudent? And which is that that is so? she that
understandeth the beginning and the end, and hath the true
knowledge of that rational essence, that passeth through all things
subsisting, and through all ages being ever the same, disposing and
dispensing as it were this universe by certain periods of time.

XXVII. Within a very little while, thou wilt be either ashes, or a

sceletum; and a name perchance; and perchance, not so much as a

name. And what is that but an empty sound, and a rebounding
echo? Those things which in this life are dearest unto us, and of
most account they are in themselves but vain, putrid, contemptible.
The most weighty and serious, if rightly esteemed, but as puppies,
biting one another: or untoward children, now laughing and then
crying. As for faith, and modesty, and justice, and truth, they long
since, as one of the poets hath it, have abandoned this spacious
earth, and retired themselves unto heaven. What is it then that doth
keep thee here, if things sensible be so mutable and unsettled? and
the senses so obscure, and so fallible? and our souls nothing but an
exhalation of blood? and to be in credit among such, be but vanity?
What is it that thou dost stay for? an extinction, or a translation;
either of them with a propitious and contented mind. But still that
time come, what will content thee? what else, but to worship and
praise the Gods; and to do good unto men. To bear with them, and
to forbear to do them any wrong. And for all external things
belonging either to this thy wretched body, or life, to remember that
they are neither thine, nor in thy power.

XXVIII. Thou mayest always speed, if thou wilt but make choice
of the

right way; if in the course both of thine opinions and actions, thou
wilt observe a true method. These two things be common to the
souls, as of God, so of men, and of every reasonable creature, first
that in their own proper work they cannot be hindered by anything:
and secondly, that their happiness doth consist in a disposition to,
and in the practice of righteousness; and that in these their desire is
terminated.

XXIX. If this neither be my wicked act, nor an act anyways

depending

from any wickedness of mine, and that by it the public is not hurt;
what doth it concern me? And wherein can the public be hurt? For
thou must not altogether be carried by conceit and common opinion:
as for help thou must afford that unto them after thy best ability,
and as occasion shall require, though they sustain damage, but in
these middle or worldly things; but however do not thou conceive
that they are truly hurt thereby: for that is not right. But as that old
foster-father in the comedy, being now to take his leave doth with a
great deal of ceremony, require his foster-child's rhombus, or rattle-
top, remembering nevertheless that it is but a rhombus; so here also
do thou likewise. For indeed what is all this pleading and public
bawling for at the courts? O man, hast thou forgotten what those
things are! yea but they are things that others much care for, and
highly esteem of. Wilt thou therefore be a fool too? Once I was; let
that suffice.
XXX. Let death surprise rue when it will, and where it will, I may
be a

happy man, nevertheless.

For he is a happy man, who in his lifetime dealeth unto himself a

happy lot and portion. A happy lot and portion is, good inclinations
of the soul, good desires, good actions.
THE SIXTH BOOK

I. The matter itself, of which the universe doth consist, is of itself

very tractable and pliable. That rational essence that doth govern it,
hath in itself no cause to do evil. It hath no evil in itself; neither can
it do anything that is evil: neither can anything be hurt by it. And all
things are done and determined according to its will and prescript.

II. Be it all one unto thee, whether half frozen or well warm;
whether

only slumbering, or after a full sleep; whether discommended or

commended thou do thy duty: or whether dying or doing somewhat
else; for that also 'to die,' must among the rest be reckoned as one of
the duties and actions of our lives.

III. Look in, let not either the proper quality, or the true worth of

anything pass thee, before thou hast fully apprehended it.

IV. All substances come soon to their change, and either they shall

be resolved by way of exhalation (if so be that all things shall be

reunited into one substance), or as others maintain, they shall be
scattered and dispersed. As for that Rational Essence by which all
things are governed, as it best understandeth itself, both its own
disposition, and what it doth, and what matter it hath to do with
and accordingly doth all things; so we that do not, no wonder, if we
wonder at many things, the reasons whereof we cannot
comprehend.

V. The best kind of revenge is, not to become like unto them.

VI. Let this be thy only joy, and thy only comfort, from one
sociable

kind action without intermission to pass unto another, God being

ever in thy mind.

VII. The rational commanding part, as it alone can stir up and turn

itself; so it maketh both itself to be, and everything that happeneth,

to appear unto itself, as it will itself.

VIII. According to the nature of the universe all things particular

are

determined, not according to any other nature, either about

compassing and containing; or within, dispersed and contained; or
without, depending. Either this universe is a mere confused mass,
and an intricate context of things, which shall in time be scattered
and dispersed again: or it is an union consisting of order, and
administered by Providence. If the first, why should I desire to
continue any longer in this fortuit confusión and commixtion? or
why should I take care for anything else, but that as soon as may be
I may be earth again? And why should I trouble myself any more
whilst I seek to please the Gods? Whatsoever I do, dispersion is my
end, and will come upon me whether I will or no. But if the latter be,
then am not I religious in vain; then will I be quiet and patient, and
put my trust in Him, who is the Governor of all.

IX. Whensoever by some present hard occurrences thou art

constrained to

be in some sort troubled and vexed, return unto thyself as soon as

may be, and be not out of tune longer than thou must needs. For so
shalt thou be the better able to keep thy part another time, and to
maintain the harmony, if thou dost use thyself to this continually
once out, presently to have recourse unto it, and to begin again.

X. If it were that thou hadst at one time both a stepmother, and

a natural mother living, thou wouldst honour and respect her also;
nevertheless to thine own natural mother would thy refuge, and
recourse be continually. So let the court and thy philosophy be unto
thee. Have recourse unto it often, and comfort thyself in her, by
whom it is that those other things are made tolerable unto thee, and
thou also in those things not intolerable unto others.
XI. How marvellous useful it is for a man to represent unto
himself

meats, and all such things that are for the mouth, under a right
apprehension and imagination! as for example: This is the carcass of
a fish; this of a bird; and this of a hog. And again more generally;
This phalernum, this excellent highly commended wine, is but the
bare juice of an ordinary grape. This purple robe, but sheep's hairs,
dyed with the blood of a shellfish. So for coitus, it is but the attrition
of an ordinary base entrail, and the excretion of a little vile snivel,
with a certain kind of convulsion: according to Hippocrates his
opinion. How excellent useful are these lively fancies and
representations of things, thus penetrating and passing through the
objects, to make their true nature known and apparent! This must
thou use all thy life long, and upon all occasions: and then
especially, when matters are apprehended as of great worth and
respect, thy art and care must be to uncover them, and to behold
their vileness, and to take away from them all those serious
circumstances and expressions, under which they made so grave a
show. For outward pomp and appearance is a great juggler; and
then especially art thou most in danger to be beguiled by it, when
(to a man's thinking) thou most seemest to be employed about
matters of moment.

XII. See what Crates pronounceth concerning Xenocrates himself.

XIII. Those things which the common sort of people do admire,

are most

of them such things as are very general and may be comprehended

under things merely natural, or naturally affected and qualified: as
stones, wood, figs, vines, olives. Those that be admired by them that
are more moderate and restrained, are comprehended under things
animated: as flocks and herds. Those that are yet more gentle and
curious, their admiration is commonly confined to reasonable
creatures only; not in general as they are reasonable, but as they are
capable of art, or of some craft and subtile invention: or perchance
barely to reasonable creatures; as they that delight in the possession
of many slaves. But he that honours a reasonable soul in general, as
it is reasonable and naturally sociable, doth little regard anything
else: and above all things is careful to preserve his own, in the
continual habit and exercise both of reason and sociableness: and
thereby doth co-operate with him, of whose nature he doth also
participate; God.

XIV. Some things hasten to be, and others to be no more. And

even

whatsoever now is, some part thereof hath already perished.

Perpetual fluxes and alterations renew the world, as the perpetual
course of time doth make the age of the world (of itself infinite) to
appear always fresh and new. In such a flux and course of all things,
what of these things that hasten so fast away should any man
regard, since among all there is not any that a man may fasten and
fix upon? as if a man would settle his affection upon some ordinary
sparrow living by him, who is no sooner seen, than out of sight. For
we must not think otherwise of our lives, than as a mere exhalation
of blood, or of an ordinary respiration of air. For what in our
common apprehension is, to breathe in the air and to breathe it out
again, which we do daily: so much is it and no more, at once to
breathe out all thy respirative faculty into that common air from
whence but lately (as being but from yesterday, and to-day), thou
didst first breathe it in, and with it, life.

XV. Not vegetative spiration, it is not surely (which plants have)

that
in this life should be so dear unto us; nor sensitive respiration, the
proper life of beasts, both tame and wild; nor this our imaginative
faculty; nor that we are subject to be led and carried up and down
by the strength of our sensual appetites; or that we can gather, and
live together; or that we can feed: for that in effect is no better, than
that we can void the excrements of our food. What is it then that
should be dear unto us? to hear a clattering noise? if not that, then
neither to be applauded by the tongues of men. For the praises of
many tongues, is in effect no better than the clattering of so many
tongues. If then neither applause, what is there remaining that
should be dear unto thee? This I think: that in all thy motions and
actions thou be moved, and restrained according to thine own true
natural constitution and Construction only. And to this even
ordinary arts and professions do lead us. For it is that which every
art doth aim at, that whatsoever it is, that is by art effected and
prepared, may be fit for that work that it is prepared for. This is the
end that he that dresseth the vine, and he that takes upon him either
to tame colts, or to train up dogs, doth aim at. What else doth the
education of children, and all learned professions tend unto?
Certainly then it is that, which should be dear unto us also. If in this
particular it go well with thee, care not for the obtaining of other
things. But is it so, that thou canst not but respect other things also?
Then canst not thou truly be free? then canst thou not have self-
content: then wilt thou ever be subject to passions. For it is not
possible, but that thou must be envious, and jealous, and suspicious
of them whom thou knowest can bereave thee of such things; and
again, a secret underminer of them, whom thou seest in present
possession of that which is dear unto thee. To be short, he must of
necessity be full of confusion within himself, and often accuse the
Gods, whosoever stands in need of these things. But if thou shalt
honour and respect thy mind only, that will make thee acceptable
towards thyself, towards thy friends very tractable; and
conformable and concordant with the Gods; that is, accepting with
praises whatsoever they shall think good to appoint and allot unto
thee.
XVI. Under, above, and about, are the motions of the elements;
but

the motion of virtue, is none of those motions, but is somewhat

more excellent and divine. Whose way (to speed and prosper in it)
must be through a way, that is not easily comprehended.

XVII. Who can choose but wonder at them? They will not speak
well of

them that are at the same time with them, and live with them; yet
they themselves are very ambitious, that they that shall follow,
whom they have never seen, nor shall ever see, should speak well of
them. As if a man should grieve that he hath not been commended
by them, that lived before him.

XVIII. Do not ever conceive anything impossible to man, which

by thee

cannot, or not without much difficulty be effected; but whatsoever

in general thou canst Conceive possible and proper unto any man,
think that very possible unto thee also.

XIX. Suppose that at the palestra somebody hath all to-torn thee
with

his nails, and hath broken thy head. Well, thou art wounded. Yet
thou dost not exclaim; thou art not offended with him. Thou dost
not suspect him for it afterwards, as one that watcheth to do thee a
mischief. Yea even then, though thou dost thy best to save thyself
from him, yet not from him as an enemy. It is not by way of any
suspicious indignation, but by way of gentle and friendly
declination. Keep the same mind and disposition in other parts of
thy life also. For many things there be, which we must conceit and
apprehend, as though we had had to do with an antagonist at the
palestra. For as I said, it is very possible for us to avoid and decline,
though we neither suspect, nor hate.

XX. If anybody shall reprove me, and shall make it apparent unto
me,

that in any either opinion or action of mine I do err, I will most

gladly retract. For it is the truth that I seek after, by which I am sure
that never any man was hurt; and as sure, that he is hurt that
continueth in any error, or ignorance whatsoever.

XXI. I for my part will do what belongs unto me; as for other
things,

whether things unsensible or things irrational; or if rational, yet

deceived and ignorant of the true way, they shall not trouble or
distract me. For as for those creatures which are not endued with
reason and all other things and-matters of the world whatsoever I
freely, and generously, as one endued with reason, of things that
have none, make use of them. And as for men, towards them as
naturally partakers of the same reason, my care is to carry myself
sociably. But whatsoever it is that thou art about, remember to call
upon the Gods. And as for the time how long thou shalt live to do
these things, let it be altogether indifferent unto thee, for even three
such hours are sufficient.
XXII. Alexander of Macedon, and he that dressed his mules, when
once

dead both came to one. For either they were both resumed into
those original rational essences from whence all things in the world
are propagated; or both after one fashion were scattered into atoms.

XXIII Consider how many different things, whether they concern

our

bodies, or our souls, in a moment of time come to pass in every one

of us, and so thou wilt not wonder if many more things or rather all
things that are done, can at one time subsist, and coexist in that both
one and general, which we call the world.

XXIV. if any should put this question unto thee, how this word
Antoninus

is written, wouldst thou not presently fix thine intention upon it,
and utter out in order every letter of it? And if any shall begin to
gainsay thee, and quarrel with thee about it; wilt thou quarrel with
him again, or rather go on meekly as thou hast begun, until thou
hast numbered out every letter? Here then likewise remember, that
every duty that belongs unto a man doth consist of some certain
letters or numbers as it were, to which without any noise or tumult
keeping thyself thou must orderly proceed to thy proposed end,
forbearing to quarrel with him that would quarrel and fall out with
thee.
XXV. Is it not a cruel thing to forbid men to affect those things,
which

they conceive to agree best with their own natures, and to tend most
to their own proper good and behoof? But thou after a sort deniest
them this liberty, as often as thou art angry with them for their sins.
For surely they are led unto those sins whatsoever they be, as to
their proper good and commodity. But it is not so (thou wilt object
perchance). Thou therefore teach them better, and make it appear
unto them: but be not thou angry with them.

XXVI. Death is a cessation from the impression of the senses, the

tyranny of the passions, the errors of the mind, and the servitude of
the body.

XXVII. If in this kind of life thy body be able to hold out, it is a

shame that thy soul should faint first, and give over, take heed, lest
of a philosopher thou become a mere Caesar in time, and receive a
new tincture from the court. For it may happen if thou dost not take
heed. Keep thyself therefore, truly simple, good, sincere, grave, free
from all ostentation, a lover of that which is just, religious, kind,
tender-hearted, strong and vigorous to undergo anything that
becomes thee. Endeavour to continue such, as philosophy (hadst
thou wholly and constantly applied thyself unto it) would have
made, and secured thee. Worship the Gods, procure the welfare of
men, this life is short. Charitable actions, and a holy disposition, is
the only fruit of this earthly life.
XXVIII. Do all things as becometh the disciple of Antoninus Pius.

Remember his resolute constancy in things that were done by him

according to reason, his equability in all things, his sanctity; the
cheerfulness of his countenance, his sweetness, and how free he was
from all vainglory; how careful to come to the true and exact
knowledge of matters in hand, and how he would by no means give
over till he did fully, and plainly understand the whole state of the
business; and how patiently, and without any contestation he would
bear with them, that did unjustly condemn him: how he would
never be over-hasty in anything, nor give ear to slanders and false
accusations, but examine and observe with best diligence the several
actions and dispositions of men. Again, how he was no backbiter,
nor easily frightened, nor suspicious, and in his language free from
all affectation and curiosity: and how easily he would content
himself with few things, as lodging, bedding, clothing, and ordinary
nourishment, and attendance. How able to endure labour, how
patient; able through his spare diet to continue from morning to
evening without any necessity of withdrawing before his
accustomed hours to the necessities of nature: his uniformity and
constancy in matter of friendship. How he would bear with them
that with all boldness and liberty opposed his opinions; and even
rejoice if any man could better advise him: and lastly, how religious
he was without superstition. All these things of him remember, that
whensoever thy last hour shall come upon thee, it may find thee, as
it did him, ready for it in the possession of a good conscience.

XXIX. Stir up thy mind, and recall thy wits again from thy natural

dreams, and visions, and when thou art perfectly awoken, and canst
perceive that they were but dreams that troubled thee, as one newly
awakened out of another kind of sleep look upon these worldly
things with the same mind as thou didst upon those, that thou
sawest in thy sleep.

XXX. I consist of body and soul. Unto my body all things are

indifferent, for of itself it cannot affect one thing more than another
with apprehension of any difference; as for my mind, all things
which are not within the verge of her own operation, are indifferent
unto her, and for her own operations, those altogether depend of
her; neither does she busy herself about any, but those that are
present; for as for future and past operations, those also are now at
this present indifferent unto her.

XXXI. As long as the foot doth that which belongeth unto it to do,
and

the hand that which belongs unto it, their labour, whatsoever it be,
is not unnatural. So a man as long as he doth that which is proper
unto a man, his labour cannot be against nature; and if it be not
against nature, then neither is it hurtful unto him. But if it were so
that happiness did consist in pleasure: how came notorious robbers,
impure abominable livers, parricides, and tyrants, in so large a
measure to have their part of pleasures?

XXXII. Dost thou not see, how even those that profess mechanic
arts,

though in some respect they be no better than mere idiots, yet they
stick close to the course of their trade, neither can they find in their
heart to decline from it: and is it not a grievous thing that an
architect, or a physician shall respect the course and mysteries of
their profession, more than a man the proper course and condition
of his own nature, reason, which is common to him and to the
Gods?

XXXIII. Asia, Europe; what are they, but as corners of the whole
world;

of which the whole sea, is but as one drop; and the great Mount
Athos, but as a clod, as all present time is but as one point of
eternity. All, petty things; all things that are soon altered, soon
perished. And all things come from one beginning; either all
severally and particularly deliberated and resolved upon, by the
general ruler and governor of all; or all by necessary consequence.
So that the dreadful hiatus of a gaping lion, and all poison, and all
hurtful things, are but (as the thorn and the mire) the necessary
consequences of goodly fair things. Think not of these therefore, as
things contrary to those which thou dost much honour, and respect;
but consider in thy mind the true fountain of all.

XXXIV He that seeth the things that are now, hath Seen all that
either

was ever, or ever shall be, for all things are of one kind; and all like
one unto another. Meditate often upon the connection of all things
in the world; and upon the mutual relation that they have one unto
another. For all things are after a sort folded and involved one
within another, and by these means all agree well together. For one
thing is consequent unto another, by local motion, by natural
conspiration and agreement, and by substantial union, or, reduction
of all substances into one.
XXXV. Fit and accommodate thyself to that estate and to those

occurrences, which by the destinies have been annexed unto thee;

and love those men whom thy fate it is to live with; but love them
truly. An instrument, a tool, an utensil, whatsoever it be, if it be fit
for the purpose it was made for, it is as it should be though he
perchance that made and fitted it, be out of sight and gone. But in
things natural, that power which hath framed and fitted them, is
and abideth within them still: for which reason she ought also the
more to be respected, and we are the more obliged (if we may live
and pass our time according to her purpose and intention) to think
that all is well with us, and according to our own minds. After this
manner also, and in this respect it is, that he that is all in all doth
enjoy his happiness.

XXXVI. What things soever are not within the proper power and

jurisdiction of thine own will either to compass or avoid, if thou

shalt propose unto thyself any of those things as either good, or evil;
it must needs be that according as thou shalt either fall into that
which thou dost think evil, or miss of that which thou dost think
good, so wilt thou be ready both to complain of the Gods, and to
hate those men, who either shall be so indeed, or shall by thee be
suspected as the cause either of thy missing of the one, or falling
into the other. And indeed we must needs commit many evils, if we
incline to any of these things, more or less, with an opinion of any
difference. But if we mind and fancy those things only, as good and
bad, which wholly depend of our own wills, there is no more
occasion why we should either murmur against the Gods, or be at
enmity with any man.
XXXVII. We all work to one effect, some willingly, and with a
rational

apprehension of what we do: others without any such knowledge.

As I think Heraclitus in a place speaketh of them that sleep, that
even they do work in their kind, and do confer to the general
operations of the world. One man therefore doth co-operate after
one sort, and another after another sort; but even he that doth
murmur, and to his power doth resist and hinder; even he as much
as any doth co-operate. For of such also did the world stand in need.
Now do thou consider among which of these thou wilt rank thyself.
For as for him who is the Administrator of all, he will make good
use of thee whether thou wilt or no, and make thee (as a part and
member of the whole) so to co-operate with him, that whatsoever
thou doest, shall turn to the furtherance of his own counsels, and
resolutions. But be not thou for shame such a part of the whole, as
that vile and ridiculous verse (which Chrysippus in a place doth
mention) is a part of the comedy.

XXXVIII. Doth either the sun take upon him to do that which
belongs to

the rain? or his son Aesculapius that, which unto the earth doth
properly belong? How is it with every one of the stars in particular?
Though they all differ one from another, and have their several
charges and functions by themselves, do they not all nevertheless
concur and co- operate to one end?
XXXIX. If so be that the Gods have deliberated in particular of
those

things that should happen unto me, I must stand to their

deliberation, as discrete and wise. For that a God should be an
imprudent God, is a thing hard even to conceive: and why should
they resolve to do me hurt? for what profit either unto them or the
universe (which they specially take care for) could arise from it? But
if so be that they have not deliberated of me in particular, certainly
they have of the whole in general, and those things which in
consequence and coherence of this general deliberation happen unto
me in particular, I am bound to embrace and accept of. But if so be
that they have not deliberated at all (which indeed is very irreligious
for any man to believe: for then let us neither sacrifice, nor pray, nor
respect our oaths, neither let us any more use any of those things,
which we persuaded of the presence and secret conversation of the
Gods among us, daily use and practise:) but, I say, if so be that they
have not indeed either in general, or particular deliberated of any of
those things, that happen unto us in this world; yet God be thanked,
that of those things that concern myself, it is lawful for me to
deliberate myself, and all my deliberation is but concerning that
which may be to me most profitable. Now that unto every one is
most profitable, which is according to his own constitution and
nature. And my nature is, to be rational in all my actions and as a
good, and natural member of a city and commonwealth, towards
my fellow members ever to be sociably and kindly disposed and
affected. My city and country as I am Antoninus, is Rome; as a man,
the whole world. Those things therefore that are expedient and
profitable to those cities, are the only things that are good and
expedient for me.

XL. Whatsoever in any kind doth happen to any one, is expedient

to the

whole. And thus much to content us might suffice, that it is

expedient for the whole in general. But yet this also shalt thou
generally perceive, if thou dost diligently take heed, that whatsoever
doth happen to any one man or men.... And now I am content that
the word expedient, should more generally be understood of those
things which we otherwise call middle things, or things indifferent;
as health, wealth, and the like.

XLI. As the ordinary shows of the theatre and of other such places,

when thou art presented with them, affect thee; as the same things
still seen, and in the same fashion, make the sight ingrateful and
tedious; so must all the things that we see all our life long affect us.
For all things, above and below, are still the same, and from the
same causes. When then will there be an end?

XLII. Let the several deaths of men of all sorts, and of all sorts of

professions, and of all sort of nations, be a perpetual object of thy

thoughts,... so that thou mayst even come down to Philistio,
Phoebus, and Origanion. Pass now to other generations. Thither
shall we after many changes, where so many brave orators are;
where so many grave philosophers; Heraclitus, Pythagoras,
Socrates. Where so many heroes of the old times; and then so many
brave captains of the latter times; and so many kings. After all these,
where Eudoxus, Hipparchus, Archimedes; where so many other
sharp, generous, industrious, subtile, peremptory dispositions; and
among others, even they, that have been the greatest scoffers and
deriders of the frailty and brevity of this our human life; as
Menippus, and others, as many as there have been such as he. Of all
these consider, that they long since are all dead, and gone. And
what do they suffer by it! Nay they that have not so much as a name
remaining, what are they the worse for it? One thing there is, and
that only, which is worth our while in this world, and ought by us
much to be esteemed; and that is, according to truth and
righteousness, meekly and lovingly to converse with false, and
unrighteous men.

XLIII. When thou wilt comfort and cheer thyself, call to mind the

several gifts and virtues of them, whom thou dost daily converse
with; as for example, the industry of the one; the modesty of
another; the liberality of a third; of another some other thing. For
nothing can so much rejoice thee, as the resemblances and parallels
of several virtues, visible and eminent in the dispositions of those
who live with thee; especially when, all at once, as near as may be,
they represent themselves unto thee. And therefore thou must have
them always in a readiness.

XLIV. Dost thou grieve that thou dost weigh but so many pounds,
and not

three hundred rather? Just as much reason hast thou to grieve that
thou must live but so many years, and not longer. For as for bulk
and substance thou dost content thyself with that proportion of it
that is allotted unto thee, so shouldst thou for time.

XLV. Let us do our best endeavours to persuade them; but

however, if

reason and justice lead thee to it, do it, though they be never so
much against it. But if any shall by force withstand thee, and hinder
thee in it, convert thy virtuous inclination from one object unto
another, from justice to contented equanimity, and cheerful
patience: so that what in the one is thy hindrance, thou mayst make
use of it for the exercise of another virtue: and remember that it was
with due exception, and reservation, that thou didst at first incline
and desire. For thou didst not set thy mind upon things impossible.
Upon what then? that all thy desires might ever be moderated with
this due kind of reservation. And this thou hast, and mayst always
obtain, whether the thing desired be in thy power or no. And what
do I care for more, if that for which I was born and brought forth
into the world (to rule all my desires with reason and discretion)
may be?

XLVI. The ambitious supposeth another man's act, praise and

applause, to

be his own happiness; the voluptuous his own sense and feeling; but
he that is wise, his own action.

XLVII. It is in thy power absolutely to exclude all manner of

conceit

and opinion, as concerning this matter; and by the same means, to

exclude all grief and sorrow from thy soul. For as for the things and
objects themselves, they of themselves have no such power,
whereby to beget and force upon us any opinion at all.

XLVIII. Use thyself when any man speaks unto thee, so to hearken
unto

him, as that in the interim thou give not way to any other thoughts;
that so thou mayst (as far as is possible) seem fixed and fastened to
his very soul, whosoever he be that speaks unto thee.
XLIX. That which is not good for the bee-hive, cannot be good for
the

bee.

L. Will either passengers, or patients, find fault and complain,

either

the one if they be well carried, or the others if well cured? Do they
take care for any more than this; the one, that their shipmaster may
bring them safe to land, and the other, that their physician may
effect their recovery?

LI. How many of them who came into the world at the same time
when I

did, are already gone out of it?

LII. To them that are sick of the jaundice, honey seems bitter; and
to

them that are bitten by a mad dog, the water terrible; and to
children, a little ball seems a fine thing. And why then should I be
angry? or do I think that error and false opinion is less powerful to
make men transgress, than either choler, being immoderate and
excessive, to cause the jaundice; or poison, to cause rage?
LIII. No man can hinder thee to live as thy nature doth require.
Nothing

can happen unto thee, but what the common good of nature doth
require.

LIV. What manner of men they be whom they seek to please, and
what to

get, and by what actions: how soon time will cover and bury all
things, and how many it hath already buried!
THE SEVENTH BOOK

I. What is wickedness? It is that which many time and often thou

hast

already seen and known in the world. And so oft as anything doth
happen that might otherwise trouble thee, let this memento
presently come to thy mind, that it is that which thou hast already
often Seen and known. Generally, above and below, thou shalt find
but the same things. The very same things whereof ancient stories,
middle age stories, and fresh stories are full whereof towns are full,
and houses full. There is nothing that is new. All things that are, are
both usual and of little continuance.

II. What fear is there that thy dogmata, or philosophical

resolutions

and conclusions, should become dead in thee, and lose their proper
power and efficacy to make thee live happy, as long as those proper
and correlative fancies, and representations of things on which they
mutually depend (which continually to stir up and revive is in thy
power,) are still kept fresh and alive? It is in my power concerning
this thing that is happened, what soever it be, to conceit that which
is right and true. If it be, why then am I troubled? Those things that
are without my understanding, are nothing to it at all: and that is it
only, which doth properly concern me. Be always in this mind, and
thou wilt be right.

III. That which most men would think themselves most happy for,
and
would prefer before all things, if the Gods would grant it unto them
after their deaths, thou mayst whilst thou livest grant unto thyself;
to live again. See the things of the world again, as thou hast already
seen them. For what is it else to live again? Public shows and
solemnities with much pomp and vanity, stage plays, flocks and
herds; conflicts and contentions: a bone thrown to a company of
hungry curs; a bait for greedy fishes; the painfulness, and continual
burden-bearing of wretched ants, the running to and fro of terrified
mice: little puppets drawn up and down with wires and nerves:
these be the objects of the world among all these thou must stand
steadfast, meekly affected, and free from all manner of indignation;
with this right ratiocination and apprehension; that as the worth is
of those things which a man doth affect, so is in very deed every
man's worth more or less.

IV. Word after word, every one by itself, must the things that are

spoken be conceived and understood; and so the things that are

done, purpose after purpose, every one by itself likewise. And as in
matter of purposes and actions, we must presently see what is the
proper use and relation of every one; so of words must we be as
ready, to consider of every one what is the true meaning, and
signification of it according to truth and nature, however it be taken
in common use.

V. Is my reason, and understanding sufficient for this, or no? If it

be

sufficient, without any private applause, or public ostentation as of

an instrument, which by nature I am provided of, I will make use of
it for the work in hand, as of an instrument, which by nature I am
provided of. if it be not, and that otherwise it belong not unto me
particularly as a private duty, I will either give it over, and leave it
to some other that can better effect it: or I will endeavour it; but with
the help of some other, who with the joint help of my reason, is able
to bring somewhat to pass, that will now be seasonable and useful
for the common good. For whatsoever I do either by myself, or with
some other, the only thing that I must intend, is, that it be good and
expedient for the public. For as for praise, consider how many who
once were much commended, are now already quite forgotten, yea
they that commended them, how even they themselves are long
since dead and gone. Be not therefore ashamed, whensoever thou
must use the help of others. For whatsoever it be that lieth upon
thee to effect, thou must propose it unto thyself, as the scaling of
walls is unto a soldier. And what if thou through either lameness or
some other impediment art not able to reach unto the top of the
battlements alone, which with the help of another thou mayst; wilt
thou therefore give it over, or go about it with less courage and
alacrity, because thou canst not effect it all alone?

VI. Let not things future trouble thee. For if necessity so require
that

they come to pass, thou shalt (whensoever that is) be provided for
them with the same reason, by which whatsoever is now present, is
made both tolerable and acceptable unto thee. All things are linked
and knitted together, and the knot is sacred, neither is there
anything in the world, that is not kind and natural in regard of any
other thing, or, that hath not some kind of reference and natural
correspondence with whatsoever is in the world besides. For all
things are ranked together, and by that decency of its due place and
order that each particular doth observe, they all concur together to
the making of one and the same ["Kosmos" ed] or world: as if you
said, a comely piece, or an orderly composition. For all things
throughout, there is but one and the same order; and through all
things, one and the same God, the same substance and the same
law. There is one common reason, and one common truth, that
belongs unto all reasonable creatures, for neither is there save one
perfection of all creatures that are of the same kind, and partakers of
the same reason.

VII. Whatsoever is material, doth soon vanish away into the

common

substance of the whole; and whatsoever is formal, or, whatsoever

doth animate that which is material, is soon resumed into the
common reason of the whole; and the fame and memory of
anything, is soon swallowed up by the general age and duration of
the whole.

VIII. To a reasonable creature, the same action is both according

to nature, and according to reason.

IX. Straight of itself, not made straight.

X. As several members in one body united, so are reasonable

creatures

in a body divided and dispersed, all made and prepared for one
common operation. And this thou shalt apprehend the better, if
thou shalt use thyself often to say to thyself, I am meloz, or a
member of the mass and body of reasonable substances. But if thou
shalt say I am meroz, or a part, thou dost not yet love men from thy
heart. The joy that thou takest in the exercise of bounty, is not yet
grounded upon a due ratiocination and right apprehension of the
nature of things. Thou dost exercise it as yet upon this ground
barely, as a thing convenient and fitting; not, as doing good to
thyself, when thou dost good unto others.

XI. Of things that are external, happen what will to that which can

suffer by external accidents. Those things that suffer let them

complain themselves, if they will; as for me, as long as I conceive no
such thing, that that which is happened is evil, I have no hurt; and it
is in my power not to conceive any such thing.

XII. Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, thou must be good;
not for

any man's sake, but for thine own nature's sake; as if either gold, or
the emerald, or purple, should ever be saying to themselves,
Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, I must still be an emerald,
and I must keep my colour.

XIII. This may ever be my comfort and security: my

understanding, that

ruleth over all, will not of itself bring trouble and vexation upon
itself. This I say; it will not put itself in any fear, it will not lead itself
into any concupiscence. If it be in the power of any other to compel
it to fear, or to grieve, it is free for him to use his power. But sure if
itself do not of itself, through some false opinion or supposition
incline itself to any such disposition; there is no fear. For as for the
body, why should I make the grief of my body, to be the grief of my
mind? If that itself can either fear or complain, let it. But as for the
soul, which indeed, can only be truly sensible of either fear or grief;
to which only it belongs according to its different imaginations and
opinions, to admit of either of these, or of their contraries; thou
mayst look to that thyself, that it suffer nothing. Induce her not to
any such opinion or persuasion. The understanding is of itself
sufficient unto itself, and needs not (if itself doth not bring itself to
need) any other thing besides itself, and by consequent as it needs
nothing, so neither can it be troubled or hindered by anything, if
itself doth not trouble and hinder itself.

XIV. What is rv&nfLovia, or happiness: but a7~o~ &d~wv, or, a

good

da~rnon, or spirit? What then dost thou do here, O opinion? By the

Gods I adjure thee, that thou get thee gone, as thou earnest: for I
need thee not. Thou earnest indeed unto me according to thy
ancient wonted manner. It is that, that all men have ever been
subject unto. That thou camest therefore I am not angry with thee,
only begone, now that I have found thee what thou art.

XV. Is any man so foolish as to fear change, to which all things

that

once were not owe their being? And what is it, that is more pleasing
and more familiar to the nature of the universe? How couldst thou
thyself use thy ordinary hot baths, should not the wood that heateth
them first be changed? How couldst thou receive any nourishment
from those things that thou hast eaten, if they should not be
changed? Can anything else almost (that is useful and profitable) be
brought to pass without change? How then dost not thou perceive,
that for thee also, by death, to come to change, is a thing of the very
same nature, and as necessary for the nature of the universe?

XVI. Through the substance of the universe, as through a torrent

pass

all particular bodies, being all of the same nature, and all joint
workers with the universe itself as in one of our bodies so many
members among themselves. How many such as Chrysippus, how
many such as Socrates, how many such as Epictetus, hath the age of
the world long since swallowed up and devoured? Let this, be it
either men or businesses, that thou hast occasion to think of, to the
end that thy thoughts be not distracted and thy mind too earnestly
set upon anything, upon every such occasion presently come to thy
mind. Of all my thoughts and cares, one only thing shall be the
object, that I myself do nothing which to the proper constitution of
man, (either in regard of the thing itself, or in regard of the manner,
or of the time of doing,) is contrary. The time when thou shalt have
forgotten all things, is at hand. And that time also is at hand, when
thou thyself shalt be forgotten by all. Whilst thou art, apply thyself
to that especially which unto man as he is a mart, is most proper
and agreeable, and that is, for a man even to love them that
transgress against him. This shall be, if at the same time that any
such thing doth happen, thou call to mind, that they are thy
kinsmen; that it is through ignorance and against their wills that
they sin; and that within a very short while after, both thou and he
shall be no more. But above all things, that he hath not done thee
any hurt; for that by him thy mind and understanding is not made
worse or more vile than it was before.
XVII. The nature of the universe, of the common substance of all
things

as it were of so much wax hath now perchance formed a horse; and

then, destroying that figure, hath new tempered and fashioned the
matter of it into the form and substance of a tree: then that again
into the form and substance of a man: and then that again into some
other. Now every one of these doth subsist but for a very little
while. As for dissolution, if it be no grievous thing to the chest or
trunk, to be joined together; why should it be more grievous to be
put asunder?

XVIII. An angry countenance is much against nature, and it is

oftentimes

the proper countenance of them that are at the point of death. But
were it so, that all anger and passion were so thoroughly quenched
in thee, that it were altogether impossible to kindle it any more, yet
herein must not thou rest satisfied, but further endeavour by good
consequence of true ratiocination, perfectly to conceive and
understand, that all anger and passion is against reason. For if thou
shalt not be sensible of thine innocence; if that also shall be gone
from thee, the comfort of a good conscience, that thou doest all
things according to reason: what shouldest thou live any longer for?
All things that now thou seest, are but for a moment. That nature, by
which all things in the world are administered, will soon bring
change and alteration upon them, and then of their substances make
other things like unto them: and then soon after others again of the
matter and substance of these: that so by these means, the world
may still appear fresh and new.
XIX. Whensoever any man doth trespass against other, presently
consider

with thyself what it was that he did suppose to be good, what to be

evil, when he did trespass. For this when thou knowest, thou wilt
pity him thou wilt have no occasion either to wonder, or to be
angry. For either thou thyself dust yet live in that error and
ignorance, as that thou dust suppose either that very thing that he
doth, or some other like worldly thing, to be good; and so thou art
bound to pardon him if he have done that which thou in the like
case wouldst have done thyself. Or if so be that thou dost not any
more suppose the same things to be good or evil, that he doth; how
canst thou but be gentle unto him that is in an error?

XX. Fancy not to thyself things future, as though they were present

but of those that are present, take some aside, that thou takest most
benefit of, and consider of them particularly, how wonderfully thou
wouldst want them, if they were not present. But take heed withal,
lest that whilst thou dust settle thy contentment in things present,
thou grow in time so to overprize them, as that the want of them
(whensoever it shall so fall out) should be a trouble and a vexation
unto thee. Wind up thyself into thyself. Such is the nature of thy
reasonable commanding part, as that if it exercise justice, and have
by that means tranquillity within itself, it doth rest fully satisfied
with itself without any other thing.

XXI. Wipe off all opinion stay the force and violence of
unreasonable

lusts and affections: circumscribe the present time examine

whatsoever it be that is happened, either to thyself or to another:
divide all present objects, either in that which is formal or material
think of the last hour. That which thy neighbour hath committed,
where the guilt of it lieth, there let it rest. Examine in order
whatsoever is spoken. Let thy mind penetrate both into the effects,
and into the causes. Rejoice thyself with true simplicity, and
modesty; and that all middle things between virtue and vice are
indifferent unto thee. Finally, love mankind; obey God.

XXII. All things (saith he) are by certain order and appointment.
And

what if the elements only.

It will suffice to remember, that all things in general are by certain

order and appointment: or if it be but few. And as concerning death,
that either dispersion, or the atoms, or annihilation, or extinction, or
translation will ensue. And as concerning pain, that that which is
intolerable is soon ended by death; and that which holds long must
needs be tolerable; and that the mind in the meantime (which is all
in all) may by way of interclusion, or interception, by stopping all
manner of commerce and sympathy with the body, still retain its
own tranquillity. Thy understanding is not made worse by it. As for
those parts that suffer, let them, if they can, declare their grief
themselves. As for praise and commendation, view their mind and
understanding, what estate they are in; what kind of things they fly,
and what things they seek after: and that as in the seaside,
whatsoever was before to be seen, is by the continual succession of
new heaps of sand cast up one upon another, soon hid and covered;
so in this life, all former things by those which immediately succeed.

XXIII. Out of Plato. 'He then whose mind is endowed with true

magnanimity, who hath accustomed himself to the contemplation

both of all times, and of all things in general; can this mortal life
(thinkest thou) seem any great matter unto him? It is not possible,
answered he. Then neither will such a one account death a grievous
thing? By no means.'

XXIV. Out of Antisthenes. 'It is a princely thing to do well, and to

be

ill-spoken of. It is a shameful thing that the face should be subject

unto the mind, to be put into what shape it will, and to be dressed
by it as it will; and that the mind should not bestow so much care
upon herself, as to fashion herself, and to dress herself as best
becometh her.'

XXV. Out of several poets and comics. 'It will but little avail thee,

to turn thine anger and indignation upon the things themselves that
have fallen across unto thee. For as for them, they are not sensible of
it, &c. Thou shalt but make thyself a laughing-stock; both unto the
Gods and men, &c. Our life is reaped like a ripe ear of corn; one is
yet standing and another is down, &c. But if so be that I and my
children be neglected by the gods, there is some reason even for
that, &c. As long as right and equity is of my side, &c. Not to lament
with them, not to tremble, &c.'

XXVI. Out of Plato. 'My answer, full of justice and equity, should
be

this: Thy speech is not right, O man! if thou supposest that he that is
of any worth at all, should apprehend either life or death, as a
matter of great hazard and danger; and should not make this rather
his only care, to examine his own actions, whether just or unjust:
whether actions of a good, or of a wicked man, &c. For thus in very
truth stands the case, O ye men of Athens. What place or station
soever a man either hath chosen to himself, judging it best for
himself; or is by lawful authority put and settled in, therein do I
think (all appearance of danger notwithstanding) that he should
continue, as one who feareth neither death, nor anything else, so
much as he feareth to commit anything that is vicious and shameful,
&c. But, O noble sir, consider I pray, whether true generosity and
true happiness, do not consist in somewhat else rather, than in the
preservation either of our, or other men's lives. For it is not the part
of a man that is a man indeed, to desire to live long or to make much
of his life whilst he liveth: but rather (he that is such) will in these
things wholly refer himself unto the Gods, and believing that which
every woman can tell him, that no man can escape death; the only
thing that he takes thought and care for is this, that what time he
liveth, he may live as well and as virtuously as he can possibly, &c.
To look about, and with the eyes to follow the course of the stars
and planets as though thou wouldst run with them; and to mind
perpetually the several changes of the elements one into another.
For such fancies and imaginations, help much to purge away the
dross and filth of this our earthly life,' &c. That also is a fine passage
of Plato's, where he speaketh of worldly things in these words:
'Thou must also as from some higher place look down, as it were,
upon the things of this world, as flocks, armies, husbandmen's
labours, marriages, divorces, generations, deaths: the tumults of
courts and places of judicatures; desert places; the several nations of
barbarians, public festivals, mournings, fairs, markets.' How all
things upon earth are pell-mell; and how miraculously things
contrary one to another, concur to the beauty and perfection of this
universe.
XXVII. To look back upon things of former ages, as upon the
manifold

changes and conversions of several monarchies and

commonwealths. We may also foresee things future, for they shall
all be of the same kind; neither is it possible that they should leave
the tune, or break the concert that is now begun, as it were, by these
things that are now done and brought to pass in the world. It comes
all to one therefore, whether a man be a spectator of the things of
this life but forty years, or whether he see them ten thousand years
together: for what shall he see more? 'And as for those parts that
came from the earth, they shall return unto the earth again; and
those that came from heaven, they also shall return unto those
heavenly places.' Whether it be a mere dissolution and unbinding of
the manifold intricacies and entanglements of the confused atoms;
or some such dispersion of the simple and incorruptible elements...
'With meats and drinks and divers charms, they seek to divert the
channel, that they might not die. Yet must we needs endure that
blast of wind that cometh from above, though we toil and labour
never so much.'

XXVIII. He hath a stronger body, and is a better wrestler than I.

What

then? Is he more bountiful? is he more modest? Doth he bear all

adverse chances with more equanimity: or with his neighbour's
offences with more meekness and gentleness than I?

XXIX. Where the matter may be effected agreeably to that reason,

which

both unto the Gods and men is common, there can be no just cause
of grief or sorrow. For where the fruit and benefit of an action well
begun and prosecuted according to the proper constitution of man
may be reaped and obtained, or is sure and certain, it is against
reason that any damage should there be suspected. In all places, and
at all times, it is in thy power religiously to embrace whatsoever by
God's appointment is happened unto thee, and justly to converse
with those men, whom thou hast to do with, and accurately to
examine every fancy that presents itself, that nothing may slip and
steal in, before thou hast rightly apprehended the true nature of it.

XXX. Look not about upon other men's minds and

understandings; but look

right on forwards whither nature, both that of the universe, in those

things that happen unto thee; and thine in particular, in those things
that are done by thee: doth lead, and direct thee. Now every one is
bound to do that, which is consequent and agreeable to that end
which by his true natural constitution he was ordained unto. As for
all other things, they are ordained for the use of reasonable
creatures: as in all things we see that that which is worse and
inferior, is made for that which is better. Reasonable creatures, they
are ordained one for another. That therefore which is chief in every
man's constitution, is, that he intend the common good. The second
is, that he yield not to any lusts and motions of the flesh. For it is the
part and privilege of the reasonable and intellective faculty, that she
can so bound herself, as that neither the sensitive, nor the appetitive
faculties, may not anyways prevail upon her. For both these are
brutish. And therefore over both she challengeth mastery, and
cannot anyways endure, if in her right temper, to be subject unto
either. And this indeed most justly. For by nature she was ordained
to command all in the body. The third thing proper to man by his
constitution, is, to avoid all rashness and precipitancy; and not to be
subject to error. To these things then, let the mind apply herself and
go straight on, without any distraction about other things, and she
hath her end, and by consequent her happiness.
XXXI. As one who had lived, and were now to die by right,
whatsoever is

yet remaining, bestow that wholly as a gracious overplus upon a

virtuous life. Love and affect that only, whatsoever it be that
happeneth, and is by the fates appointed unto thee. For what can be
more reasonable? And as anything doth happen unto thee by way of
cross, or calamity, call to mind presently and set before thine eyes,
the examples of some other men, to whom the self-same thing did
once happen likewise. Well, what did they? They grieved; they
wondered; they complained. And where are they now? All dead
and gone. Wilt thou also be like one of them? Or rather leaving to
men of the world (whose life both in regard of themselves, and them
that they converse with, is nothing but mere mutability; or men of as
fickle minds, as fickle bodies; ever changing and soon changed
themselves) let it be thine only care and study, how to make a right
use of all such accidents. For there is good use to be made of them,
and they will prove fit matter for thee to work upon, if it shall be
both thy care and thy desire, that whatsoever thou doest, thou
thyself mayst like and approve thyself for it. And both these, see,
that thou remember well, according as the diversity of the matter of
the action that thou art about shall require. Look within; within is
the fountain of all good. Such a fountain, where springing waters
can never fail, so thou dig still deeper and deeper.

XXXII. Thou must use thyself also to keep thy body fixed and
steady;

free from all loose fluctuant either motion, or posture. And as upon
thy face and looks, thy mind hath easily power over them to keep
them to that which is grave and decent; so let it challenge the same
power over the whole body also. But so observe all things in this
kind, as that it be without any manner of affectation.
XXXIII. The art of true living in this world is more like a
wrestler's,

than a dancer's practice. For in this they both agree, to teach a man
whatsoever falls upon him, that he may be ready for it, and that
nothing may cast him down.

XXXIV. Thou must continually ponder and consider with thyself,

what

manner of men they be, and for their minds and understandings
what is their present estate, whose good word and testimony thou
dost desire. For then neither wilt thou see cause to complain of them
that offend against their wills; or find any want of their applause, if
once thou dost but penetrate into the true force and ground both of
their opinions, and of their desires. 'No soul (saith he) is willingly
bereft of the truth,' and by consequent, neither of justice, or
temperance, or kindness, and mildness; nor of anything that is of the
same kind. It is most needful that thou shouldst always remember
this. For so shalt thou be far more gentle and moderate towards all
men.

XXXV. What pain soever thou art in, let this presently come to thy
mind,

that it is not a thing whereof thou needest to be ashamed, neither is

it a thing whereby thy understanding, that hath the government of
all, can be made worse. For neither in regard of the substance of it,
nor in regard of the end of it (which is, to intend the common good)
can it alter and corrupt it. This also of Epicurus mayst thou in most
pains find some help of, that it is 'neither intolerable, nor eternal;' so
thou keep thyself to the true bounds and limits of reason and give
not way to opinion. This also thou must consider, that many things
there be, which oftentimes unsensibly trouble and vex thee, as not
armed against them with patience, because they go not ordinarily
under the name of pains, which in very deed are of the same nature
as pain; as to slumber unquietly, to suffer heat, to want appetite:
when therefore any of these things make thee discontented, check
thyself with these words: Now hath pain given thee the foil; thy
courage hath failed thee.

XXXVI. Take heed lest at any time thou stand so affected, though
towards

unnatural evil men, as ordinary men are commonly one towards

another.

XXXVII. How know we whether Socrates were so eminent indeed,

and of so

extraordinary a disposition? For that he died more gloriously, that

he disputed with the Sophists more subtilty; that he watched in the
frost more assiduously; that being commanded to fetch innocent
Salaminius, he refused to do it more generously; all this will not
serve. Nor that he walked in the streets, with much gravity and
majesty, as was objected unto him by his adversaries: which
nevertheless a man may well doubt of, whether it were so or no, or,
which above all the rest, if so be that it were true, a man would well
consider of, whether commendable, or dis-commendable. The thing
therefore that we must inquire into, is this; what manner of soul
Socrates had: whether his disposition was such; as that all that he
stood upon, and sought after in this world, was barely this, that he
might ever carry himself justly towards men, and holily towards the
Gods. Neither vexing himself to no purpose at the wickedness of
others, nor yet ever condescending to any man's evil fact, or evil
intentions, through either fear, or engagement of friendship.
Whether of those things that happened unto him by God's
appointment, he neither did wonder at any when it did happen, or
thought it intolerable in the trial of it. And lastly, whether he never
did suffer his mind to sympathise with the senses, and affections of
the body. For we must not think that Nature hath so mixed and
tempered it with the body, as that she hath not power to
circumscribe herself, and by herself to intend her own ends and
occasions.

XXXVIII. For it is a thing very possible, that a man should be a

very

divine man, and yet be altogether unknown. This thou must ever be
mindful of, as of this also, that a man's true happiness doth consist
in very few things. And that although thou dost despair, that thou
shalt ever be a good either logician, or naturalist, yet thou art never
the further off by it from being either liberal, or modest, or
charitable, or obedient unto God.

XXXIX. Free from all compulsion in all cheerfulness and alacrity

thou

mayst run out thy time, though men should exclaim against thee
never so much, and the wild beasts should pull in sunder the poor
members of thy pampered mass of flesh. For what in either of these
or the like cases should hinder the mind to retain her own rest and
tranquillity, consisting both in the right judgment of those things
that happen unto her, and in the ready use of all present matters and
occasions? So that her judgment may say, to that which is befallen
her by way of cross: this thou art in very deed, and according to thy
true nature: notwithstanding that in the judgment of opinion thou
dust appear otherwise: and her discretion to the present object; thou
art that, which I sought for. For whatsoever it be, that is now
present, shall ever be embraced by me as a fit and seasonable object,
both for my reasonable faculty, and for my sociable, or charitable
inclination to work upon. And that which is principal in this matter,
is that it may be referred either unto the praise of God, or to the
good of men. For either unto God or man, whatsoever it is that doth
happen in the world hath in the ordinary course of nature its proper
reference; neither is there anything, that in regard of nature is either
new, or reluctant and intractable, but all things both usual and easy.

XL. Then hath a man attained to the estate of perfection in his life
and

conversation, when he so spends every day, as if it were his last day:

never hot and vehement in his affections, nor yet so cold and stupid
as one that had no sense; and free from all manner of dissimulation.

XLI. Can the Gods, who are immortal, for the continuance of so
many ages

bear without indignation with such and so many sinners, as have

ever been, yea not only so, but also take such care for them, that
they want nothing; and dust thou so grievously take on, as one that
could bear with them no longer; thou that art but for a moment of
time? yea thou that art one of those sinners thyself? A very
ridiculous thing it is, that any man should dispense with vice and
wickedness in himself, which is in his power to restrain; and should
go about to suppress it in others, which is altogether impossible.
XLII. What object soever, our reasonable and sociable faculty doth
meet

with, that affords nothing either for the satisfaction of reason, or for
the practice of charity, she worthily doth think unworthy of herself.

XLIII. When thou hast done well, and another is benefited by thy
action,

must thou like a very fool look for a third thing besides, as that it
may appear unto others also that thou hast done well, or that thou
mayest in time, receive one good turn for another? No man useth to
be weary of that which is beneficial unto him. But every action
according to nature, is beneficial. Be not weary then of doing that
which is beneficial unto thee, whilst it is so unto others.

XLIV. The nature of the universe did once certainly before it was

created, whatsoever it hath done since, deliberate and so resolve

upon the creation of the world. Now since that time, whatsoever it
is, that is and happens in the world, is either but a consequent of
that one and first deliberation: or if so be that this ruling rational
part of the world, takes any thought and care of things particular,
they are surely his reasonable and principal creatures, that are the
proper object of his particular care and providence. This often
thought upon, will much conduce to thy tranquillity.
THE EIGHTH BOOK

I. This also, among other things, may serve to keep thee from
vainglory;

if thou shalt consider, that thou art now altogether incapable of the
commendation of one, who all his life long, or from his youth at
least, hath lived a philosopher's life. For both unto others, and to
thyself especially, it is well known, that thou hast done many things
contrary to that perfection of life. Thou hast therefore been
confounded in thy course, and henceforth it will be hard for thee to
recover the title and credit of a philosopher. And to it also is thy
calling and profession repugnant. If therefore thou dost truly
understand, what it is that is of moment indeed; as for thy fame and
credit, take no thought or care for that: let it suffice thee if all the rest
of thy life, be it more or less, thou shalt live as thy nature requireth,
or according to the true and natural end of thy making. Take pains
therefore to know what it is that thy nature requireth, and let
nothing else distract thee. Thou hast already had sufficient
experience, that of those many things that hitherto thou hast erred
and wandered about, thou couldst not find happiness in any of
them. Not in syllogisms, and logical subtilties, not in wealth, not in
honour and reputation, not in pleasure. In none of all these. Wherein
then is it to be found? In the practice of those things, which the
nature of man, as he is a man, doth require. How then shall he do
those things? if his dogmata, or moral tenets and opinions (from
which all motions and actions do proceed), be right and true. Which
be those dogmata? Those that concern that which is good or evil, as
that there is nothing truly good and beneficial unto man, but that
which makes him just, temperate, courageous, liberal; and that there
is nothing truly evil and hurtful unto man, but that which causeth
the contrary effects.
II. Upon every action that thou art about, put this question to
thyself;

How will this when it is done agree with me? Shall I have no
occasion to repent of it? Yet a very little while and I am dead and
gone; and all things are at end. What then do I care for more than
this, that my present action whatsoever it be, may be the proper
action of one that is reasonable; whose end is, the common good;
who in all things is ruled and governed by the same law of right and
reason, by which God Himself is.

III. Alexander, Caius, Pompeius; what are these to Diogenes,

Heraclitus,

and Socrates? These penetrated into the true nature of things; into
all causes, and all subjects: and upon these did they exercise their
power and authority. But as for those, as the extent of their error
was, so far did their slavery extend.

IV. What they have done, they will still do, although thou
shouldst hang

thyself. First; let it not trouble thee. For all things both good and
evil: come to pass according to the nature and general condition of
the universe, and within a very little while, all things will be at an
end; no man will be remembered: as now of Africanus (for example)
and Augustus it is already come to pass. Then secondly; fix thy
mind upon the thing itself; look into it, and remembering thyself,
that thou art bound nevertheless to be a good man, and what it is
that thy nature requireth of thee as thou art a man, be not diverted
from what thou art about, and speak that which seemeth unto thee
most just: only speak it kindly, modestly, and without hypocrisy.
V. That which the nature of the universe doth busy herself about,
is;

that which is here, to transfer it thither, to change it, and thence

again to take it away, and to carry it to another place. So that thou
needest not fear any new thing. For all things are usual and
ordinary; and all things are disposed by equality.

VI. Every particular nature hath content, when in its own proper
course

it speeds. A reasonable nature doth then speed, when first in matter

of fancies and imaginations, it gives no consent to that which is
either false uncertain. Secondly, when in all its motions and
resolutions it takes its level at the common good only, and that it
desireth nothing, and flieth from nothing, bet what is in its own
power to compass or avoid. And lastly, when it willingly and gladly
embraceth, whatsoever is dealt and appointed unto it by the
common nature. For it is part of it; even as the nature of any one
leaf, is part of the common nature of all plants and trees. But that the
nature of a leaf, is part of a nature both unreasonable and
unsensible, and which in its proper end may be hindered; or, which
is servile and slavish: whereas the nature of man is part of a
common nature which cannot be hindered, and which is both
reasonable and just. From whence also it is, that accord ing to the
worth of everything, she doth make such equal distribution of all
things, as of duration, substance form, operation, and of events and
accidents. But herein consider not whether thou shalt find this
equality in everything absolutely and by itself; but whether in all the
particulars of some one thing taken together, and compared with all
the particulars of some other thing, and them together likewise.
VII. Thou hast no time nor opportunity to read. What then? Hast
thou

not time and opportunity to exercise thyself, not to wrong thyself; to

strive against all carnal pleasures and pains, and to aet the upper
hand of them; to contemn honour and vainglory; and not only, not
to be angry with them, whom towards thee thou doest find
unsensible and unthankful; but also to have a care of them still, and
of their welfare?

VIII. Forbear henceforth to complain of the trouble of a courtly

life,

either in public before others, or in private by thyself.

IX. Repentance is an inward and self-reprehension for the neglect

or

omission of somewhat that was profitable. Now whatsoever is good,

is also profitable, and it is the part of an honest virtuous man to set
by it, and to make reckoning of it accordingly. But never did any
honest virtuous man repent of the neglect or omission of any carnal
pleasure: no carnal pleasure then is either good or profitable.

X. This, what is it in itself, and by itself, according to its proper

constitution? What is the substance of it? What is the matter, or
proper use? What is the form or efficient cause? What is it for in this
world, and how long will it abide? Thus must thou examine all
things, that present themselves unto thee.

XI. When thou art hard to be stirred up and awaked out of thy
sleep,

admonish thyself and call to mind, that, to perform actions tending

to the common good is that which thine own proper constitution,
and that which the nature of man do require. But to sleep, is
common to unreasonable creatures also. And what more proper and
natural, yea what more kind and pleasing, than that which is
according to nature?

XII. As every fancy and imagination presents itself unto thee,

consider

(if it be possible) the true nature, and the proper qualities of it, and
reason with thyself about it.

XIII. At thy first encounter with any one, say presently to thyself:

This man, what are his opinions concerning that which is good or
evil? as concerning pain, pleasure, and the causes of both;
concerning honour, and dishonour, concerning life and death? thus
and thus. Now if it be no wonder that a man should have such and
such opinions, how can it be a wonder that he should do such and
such things? I will remember then, that he cannot but do as he doth,
holding those opinions that he doth. Remember, that as it is a shame
for any man to wonder that a fig tree should bear figs, so also to
wonder that the world should bear anything, whatsoever it is which
in the ordinary course of nature it may bear. To a physician also and
to a pilot it is a shame either for the one to wonder, that such and
such a one should have an ague; or for the other, that the winds
should prove Contrary.

XIV. Remember, that to change thy mind upon occasion, and to

follow him

that is able to rectify thee, is equally ingenuous, as to find out at the

first, what is right and just, without help. For of thee nothing is
required, ti, is beyond the extent of thine own deliberation and jun.
merit, and of thine own understanding.

XV. If it were thine act and in thine own power, wouldest thou do

it? If it were not, whom dost tin accuse? the atoms, or the Gods? For
to do either, the part of a mad man. Thou must therefore blame
nobody, but if it be in thy power, redress what is amiss; if it be not,
to what end is it to complain? For nothing should be done but to
some certain end.

XVI. Whatsoever dieth and falleth, however and wheresoever it

die

and fall, it cannot fall out of the world, here it have its abode and
change, here also shall it have its dissolution into its proper
elements. The same are the world's elements, and the elements of
which thou dost consist. And they when they are changed, they
murmur not; why shouldest thou?

XVII. Whatsoever is, was made for something: as a horse, a vine.

Why

wonderest thou? The sun itself will say of itself, I was made for
something; and so hath every god its proper function. What then
were then made for? to disport and delight thyself? See how even
common sense and reason cannot brook it.

XVIII. Nature hath its end as well in the end and final
consummation of

anything that is, as in the begin-nine and continuation of it.

XIX. As one that tosseth up a ball. And what is a ball the better, if

the motion of it be upwards; or the worse if it be downwards; or if it

chance to fall upon the ground? So for the bubble; if it continue,
what it the better? and if it dissolve, what is it the worse And so is it
of a candle too. And so must thou reason with thyself, both in
matter of fame, and in matter of death. For as for the body itself, (the
subject of death) wouldest thou know the vileness of it? Turn it
about that thou mayest behold it the worst sides upwards as well, as
in its more ordinary pleasant shape; how doth it look, when it is old
and withered? when sick and pained? when in the act of lust, and
fornication? And as for fame. This life is short. Both he that praiseth,
and he that is praised; he that remembers, and he that is
remembered, will soon be dust and ashes. Besides, it is but in one
corner of this part of the world that thou art praised; and yet in this
corner, thou hast not the joint praises of all men; no nor scarce of
any one constantly. And yet the whole earth itself, what is it but as
one point, in regard of the whole world?

XX. That which must be the subject of thy consideration, is either

the

matter itself, or the dogma, or the operation, or the true sense and
signification.

XXI. Most justly have these things happened unto thee: why dost
not

thou amend? O but thou hadst rather become good to-morrow, than
to be so to-day.

XXII. Shall I do it? I will; so the end of my action be to do good

unto

men. Doth anything by way of cross or adversity happen unto me? I

accept it, with reference unto the Gods, and their providence; the
fountain of all things, from which whatsoever comes to pass, doth
hang and depend.
XXIII. By one action judge of the rest: this bathing which usually
takes

up so much of our time, what is it? Oil, sweat, filth; or the sordes of
the body: an excrementitious viscosity, the excrements of oil and
other ointments used about the body, and mixed with the sordes of
the body: all base and loathsome. And such almost is every part of
our life; and every worldly object.

XXIV. Lucilla buried Verus; then was Lucilla herself buried by

others.

So Secunda Maximus, then Secunda herself. So Epitynchanus,

Diotimus; then Epitynchanus himself. So Antoninus Pius, Faustina
his wife; then Antoninus himself. This is the course of the world.
First Celer, Adrianus; then Adrianus himself. And those austere
ones; those that foretold other men's deaths; those that were so
proud and stately, where are they now? Those austere ones I mean,
such as were Charax, and Demetrius the Platonic, and Eudaemon,
and others like unto those. They were all but for one day; all dead
and gone long since. Some of them no sooner dead, than forgotten.
Others soon turned into fables. Of others, even that which was
fabulous, is now long since forgotten. This thereafter thou must
remember, that whatsoever thou art compounded of, shall soon be
dispersed, and that thy life and breath, or thy soul, shall either be no
more or shall ranslated (sp.), and appointed to some certain place
and station.

XXV. The true joy of a man, is to do that which properly belongs

unto a

man. That which is most proper unto a man, is, first, to be kindly
affected towards them that are of the same kind and nature as he is
himself to contemn all sensual motions and appetites, to discern
rightly all plausible fancies and imaginations, to contemplate the
nature of the universe; both it, and things that are done in it. In
which kind of contemplation three several relations are to be
observed The first, to the apparent secondary cause. The Second to
the first original cause, God, from whom originally proceeds
whatsoever doth happen in the world. The third and last, to them
that we live and converse with: what use may be made of it, to their
use and benefit.

XXVI. If pain be an evil, either it is in regard of the body; (and that

cannot be, because the body of itself is altogether insensible:) or in

regard of the soul But it is in the power of the soul, to preserve her
own peace and tranquillity, and not to suppose that pain is evil. For
all judgment and deliberation; all prosecution, or aversation is from
within, whither the sense of evil (except it be let in by opinion)
cannot penetrate.

XXVII. Wipe off all idle fancies, and say unto thyself incessantly;
Now

if I will, it is in my power to keep out of this my soul all wickedness,

all lust, and concupiscences, all trouble and confusion. But on the
contrary to behold and consider all things according to their true
nature, and to carry myself towards everything according to its true
worth. Remember then this thy power that nature hath given thee.
XXVIII. Whether thou speak in the Senate or whether thou speak
to any

particular, let thy speech In always grave and modest. But thou
must not openly and vulgarly observe that sound and exact form of
speaking, concerning that which is truly good and truly civil; the
vanity of the world, and of worldly men: which otherwise truth and
reason doth prescribe.

XXIX. Augustus his court; his wife, his daughter, his nephews, his

sons-in-law his sister, Agrippa, his kinsmen, his domestics, his

friends; Areus, Maecenas, his slayers of beasts for sacrifice and
divination: there thou hast the death of a whole court together.
Proceed now on to the rest that have been since that of Augustus.
Hath death dwelt with them otherwise, though so many and so
stately whilst they lived, than it doth use to deal with any one
particular man? Consider now the death of a whole kindred and
family, as of that of the Pompeys, as that also that useth to be
written upon some monuments, HE WAS THE LAST OF HIS OWN
KINDRED. O what care did his predecessors take, that they might
leave a successor, yet behold at last one or other must of necessity be
THE LAST. Here again therefore consider the death of a whole
kindred.

XXX. Contract thy whole life to the measure and proportion of one
single

action. And if in every particular action thou dost perform what is

fitting to the utmost of thy power, let it suffice thee. And who can
hinder thee, but that thou mayest perform what is fitting? But there
may be some outward let and impediment. Not any, that can hinder
thee, but that whatsoever thou dost, thou may do it, justly,
temperately, and with the praise of God. Yea, but there may be
somewhat, whereby some operation or other of thine may be
hindered. And then, with that very thing that doth hinder, thou
mayest he well pleased, and so by this gentle and equanimious
conversion of thy mind unto that which may be, instead of that
which at first thou didst intend, in the room of that former action
there succeedeth another, which agrees as well with this contraction
of thy life, that we now speak of.

XXXI. Receive temporal blessings without ostentation, when they

are sent

and thou shalt be able to part with them with all readiness and
facility when they are taken from thee again.

XXXII. If ever thou sawest either a hand, or a foot, or a head lying

by

itself, in some place or other, as cut off from the rest of the body,
such must thou conceive him to make himself, as much as in him
lieth, that either is offended with anything that is happened,
(whatsoever it be) and as it were divides himself from it: or that
commits anything against the natural law of mutual
correspondence, and society among men: or, he that, commits any
act of uncharitableness. Whosoever thou art, thou art such, thou art
cast forth I know not whither out of the general unity, which is
according to nature. Thou went born indeed a part, but now thou
hast cut thyself off. However, herein is matter of joy and exultation,
that thou mayst be united again. God hath not granted it unto any
other part, that once separated and cut off, it might be reunited, and
come together again. But, behold, that GOODNESS how great and
immense it is! which hath so much esteemed MAN. As at first he
was so made, that he needed not, except he would himself, have
divided himself from the whole; so once divided and cut off, IT hath
so provided and ordered it, that if he would himself, he might
return, and grow together again, and be admitted into its former
rank and place of a part, as he was before.

XXXIII. As almost all her other faculties and properties the nature
of

the universe hath imparted unto every reasonable creature, so this

in particular we have received from her, that as whatsoever doth
oppose itself unto her, and doth withstand her in her purposes and
intentions, she doth, though against its will and intention, bring it
about to herself, to serve herself of it in the execution of her own
destinated ends; and so by this though not intended co-operation of
it with herself makes it part of herself whether it will or no. So may
every reasonable creature, what crosses and impediments soever it
meets with in the course of this mortal life, it may use them as fit
and proper objects, to the furtherance of whatsoever it intended and
absolutely proposed unto itself as its natural end and happiness.

XXXIV. Let not the general representation unto thyself of the

wretchedness of this our mortal life, trouble thee. Let not thy mind
wander up and down, and heap together in her thoughts the many
troubles and grievous calamities which thou art as subject unto as
any other. But as everything in particular doth happen, put this
question unto thyself, and say: What is it that in this present matter,
seems unto thee so intolerable? For thou wilt be ashamed to confess
it. Then upon this presently call to mind, that neither that which is
future, nor that which is past can hurt thee; but that only which is
present. (And that also is much lessened, if thou dost lightly
circumscribe it:) and then check thy mind if for so little a while, (a
mere instant), it cannot hold out with patience.
XXXV. What? are either Panthea or Pergamus abiding to this day
by their

masters' tombs? or either Chabrias or Diotimus by that of Adrianus?

O foolery! For what if they did, would their masters be sensible of
It? or if sensible, would they be glad of it? or if glad, were these
immortal? Was not it appointed unto them also (both men and
women,) to become old in time, and then to die? And these once
dead, what would become of these former? And when all is done,
what is all this for, but for a mere bag of blood and corruption?

XXXVI. If thou beest quick-sighted, be so in matter of judgment,

and

best discretion, saith he.

XXXVII. In the whole constitution of man, I see not any virtue

contrary

to justice, whereby it may be resisted and opposed. But one whereby

pleasure and voluptuousness may be resisted and opposed, I see:
continence.

XXXVIII. If thou canst but withdraw conceit and opinion

concerning that
which may seem hurtful and offensive, thou thyself art as safe, as
safe may be. Thou thyself? and who is that? Thy reason. 'Yea, but I
am not reason.' Well, be it so. However, let not thy reason or
understanding admit of grief, and if there be anything in thee that is
grieved, let that, (whatsoever it be,) conceive its own grief, if it can.

XXXIX. That which is a hindrance of the senses, is an evil to the

sensitive nature. That which is a hindrance of the appetitive and

prosecutive faculty, is an evil to the sensitive nature. As of the
sensitive, so of the vegetative constitution, whatsoever is a
hindrance unto it, is also in that respect an evil unto the same. And
so likewise, whatsoever is a hindrance unto the mind and
understanding, must needs be the proper evil of the reasonable
nature. Now apply all those things unto thyself. Do either pain or
pleasure seize on thee? Let the senses look to that. Hast thou met
with Some obstacle or other in thy purpose and intention? If thou
didst propose without due reservation and exception now hath thy
reasonable part received a blow indeed But if in general thou didst
propose unto thyself what soever might be, thou art not thereby
either hurt, nor properly hindered. For in those things that properly
belong unto the mind, she cannot be hindered by any man. It is not
fire, nor iron; nor the power of a tyrant nor the power of a
slandering tongue; nor anything else that can penetrate into her.

XL. If once round and solid, there is no fear that ever it will
change.
XLI. Why should I grieve myself; who never did willingly grieve
any

other! One thing rejoices one and another thing another. As for me,
this is my joy, if my understanding be right and sound, as neither
averse from any man, nor refusing any of those things which as a
man I am subject unto; if I can look upon all things in the world
meekly and kindly; accept all things and carry myself towards
everything according to to true worth of the thing itself.

XLII. This time that is now present, bestow thou upon thyself.
They that

rather hunt for fame after death, do not consider, that those men
that shall be hereafter, will be even such, as these whom now they
can so hardly bear with. And besides they also will be mortal men.
But to consider the thing in itself, if so many with so many voices,
shall make such and such a sound, or shall have such and such an
opinion concerning thee, what is it to thee?

XLIII. Take me and throw me where thou wilt: I am indifferent.

For there

also I shall have that spirit which is within me propitious; that is

well pleased and fully contented both in that constant disposition,
and with those particular actions, which to its own proper
constitution are suitable and agreeable.

XLIV. Is this then a thing of that worth, that for it my soul should
suffer, and become worse than it was? as either basely dejected, or
disordinately affected, or confounded within itself, or terrified?
What can there be, that thou shouldest so much esteem?

XLV. Nothing can happen unto thee, which is not incidental unto
thee, as

thou art a man. As nothing can happen either to an ox, a vine, or to a

stone, which is not incidental unto them; unto every one in his own
kind. If therefore nothing can happen unto anything, which is not
both usual and natural; why art thou displeased? Sure the common
nature of all would not bring anything upon any, that were
intolerable. If therefore it be a thing external that causes thy grief,
know, that it is not that properly that doth cause it, but thine own
conceit and opinion concerning the thing: which thou mayest rid
thyself of, when thou wilt. But if it be somewhat that is amiss in
thine own disposition, that doth grieve thee, mayest thou not rectify
thy moral tenets and opinions. But if it grieve thee, that thou doest
not perform that which seemeth unto thee right and just, why doest
not thou choose rather to perform it than to grieve? But somewhat
that is stronger than thyself doth hinder thee. Let it not grieve thee
then, if it be not thy fault that the thing is not performed. 'Yea but it
is a thing of that nature, as that thy life is not worth the while,
except it may be performed.' If it be so, upon condition that thou be
kindly and lovingly disposed towards all men, thou mayest be gone.
For even then, as much as at any time, art thou in a very good estate
of performance, when thou doest die in charity with those, that are
an obstacle unto thy performance.

XLVI. Remember that thy mind is of that nature as that it

becometh
altogether unconquerable, when once recollected in herself, she
seeks no other content than this, that she cannot be forced: yea
though it so fall out, that it be even against reason itself, that it cloth
bandy. How much less when by the help of reason she is able to
judge of things with discretion? And therefore let thy chief fort and
place of defence be, a mind free from passions. A stronger place,
(whereunto to make his refuge, and so to become impregnable) and
better fortified than this, hath no man. He that seeth not this is
unlearned. He that seeth it, and betaketh not himself to this place of
refuge, is unhappy.

XLVII. Keep thyself to the first bare and naked apprehensions of

things,

as they present themselves unto thee, and add not unto them. It is
reported unto thee, that such a one speaketh ill of thee. Well; that he
speaketh ill of thee, so much is reported. But that thou art hurt
thereby, is not reported: that is the addition of opinion, which thou
must exclude. I see that my child is sick. That he is sick, I see, but
that he is in danger of his life also, I see it not. Thus thou must use to
keep thyself to the first motions and apprehensions of things, as
they present themselves outwardly; and add not unto them from
within thyself through mere conceit and opinion. Or rather add unto
them: hut as one that understandeth the true nature of all things that
happen in the world.

XLVIII. Is the cucumber bitter? set it away. Brambles are in the

way?

avoid them. Let this suffice. Add not presently speaking unto
thyself, What serve these things for in the world? For, this, one that
is acquainted with the mysteries of nature, will laugh at thee for it;
as a carpenter would or a shoemaker, if meeting in either of their
shops with some shavings, or small remnants of their work, thou
shouldest blame them for it. And yet those men, it is not for want of
a place where to throw them that they keep them in their shops for a
while: but the nature of the universe hath no such out-place; but
herein doth consist the wonder of her art and skill, that she having
once circumscribed herself within some certain bounds and limits,
whatsoever is within her that seems either corrupted, or old, or
unprofitable, she can change it into herself, and of these very things
can make new things; so that she needeth not to seek elsewhere out
of herself either for a new supply of matter and substance, or for a
place where to throw out whatsoever is irrecoverably putrid and
corrupt. Thus she, as for place, so for matter and art, is herself
sufficient unto herself.

XLIX. Not to be slack and negligent; or loose, and wanton in thy

actions; nor contentious, and troublesome in thy conversation; nor

to rove and wander in thy fancies and imaginations. Not basely to
contract thy soul; nor boisterously to sally out with it, or furiously to
launch out as it were, nor ever to want employment.

L. 'They kill me, they cut my flesh; they persecute my person with

curses.' What then? May not thy mind for all this continue pure,
prudent, temperate, just? As a fountain of sweet and clear water,
though she be cursed by some stander by, yet do her springs
nevertheless still run as sweet and clear as before; yea though either
dirt or dung be thrown in, yet is it no sooner thrown, than
dispersed, and she cleared. She cannot be dyed or infected by it.
What then must I do, that I may have within myself an overflowing
fountain, and not a well? Beget thyself by continual pains and
endeavours to true liberty with charity, and true simplicity and
modesty.
LI. He that knoweth not what the world is, knoweth not where he
himself

is. And he that knoweth not what the world was made for, cannot
possibly know either what are the qualities, or what is the nature of
the world. Now he that in either of these is to seek, for what he
himself was made is ignorant also. What then dost thou think of that
man, who proposeth unto himself, as a matter of great moment, the
noise and applause of men, who both where they are, and what they
are themselves, are altogether ignorant? Dost thou desire to be
commended of that man, who thrice in one hour perchance, doth
himself curse himself? Dost thou desire to please him, who pleaseth
not himself? or dost thou think that he pleaseth himself, who doth
use to repent himself almost of everything that he doth?

LII. Not only now henceforth to have a common breath, or to hold

correspondency of breath, with that air, that compasseth us about;

but to have a common mind, or to hold correspondency of mind
also with that rational substance, which compasseth all things. For,
that also is of itself, and of its own nature (if a man can but draw it
in as he should) everywhere diffused; and passeth through all
things, no less than the air doth, if a man can but suck it in.

LIII. Wickedness in general doth not hurt the world. Particular

wickedness doth not hurt any other: only unto him it is hurtful,
whosoever he be that offends, unto whom in great favour and
mercy it is granted, that whensoever he himself shall but first desire
it, he may be presently delivered of it. Unto my free-will my
neighbour's free-will, whoever he be, (as his life, or his bode), is
altogether indifferent. For though we are all made one for another,
yet have our minds and understandings each of them their own
proper and limited jurisdiction. For else another man's wickedness
might be my evil which God would not have, that it might not be in
another man's power to make me unhappy: which nothing now can
do but mine own wickedness.

LIV. The sun seemeth to be shed abroad. And indeed it is diffused

but

not effused. For that diffusion of it is a [-r~Jo-tc] or an extension. For

therefore are the beams of it called [~i-~m'~] from the word
[~KTEIVEO-Oa,,] to be stretched out and extended. Now what a
sunbeam is, thou mayest know if thou observe the light of the sun,
when through some narrow hole it pierceth into some room that is
dark. For it is always in a direct line. And as by any solid body, that
it meets with in the way that is not penetrable by air, it is divided
and abrupted, and yet neither slides off, or falls down, but stayeth
there nevertheless: such must the diffusion in the mind be; not an
effusion, but an extension. What obstacles and impediments soever
she meeteth within her way, she must not violently, and by way of
an impetuous onset light upon them; neither must she fall down;
but she must stand, and give light unto that which doth admit of it.
For as for that which doth not, it is its own fault and loss, if it
bereave itself of her light.

LV. He that feareth death, either feareth that he shall have no

sense at
all, or that his senses will not be the same. Whereas, he should
rather comfort himself, that either no sense at all, and so no sense of
evil; or if any sense, then another life, and so no death properly.

LVI. All men are made one for another: either then teach them
better, or

bear with them.

LVII. The motion of the mind is not as the motion of a dart. For

the mind when it is wary and cautelous, and by way of diligent

circumspection turneth herself many ways, may then as well be said
to go straight on to the object, as when it useth no such
circumspection.

LVIII. To pierce and penetrate into the estate of every one's

understanding that thou hast to do with: as also to make the estate

of thine own open, and penetrable to any other.
THE NINTH BOOK

I. He that is unjust, is also impious. For the nature of the universe,

having made all reasonable creatures one for another, to the end
that they should do one another good; more or less according to the
several persons and occasions but in nowise hurt one another: it is
manifest that he that doth transgress against this her will, is guilty of
impiety towards the most ancient and venerable of all the deities.
For the nature of the universe, is the nature the common parent of
all, and therefore piously to be observed of all things that are, and
that which now is, to whatsoever first was, and gave it its being,
hath relation of blood and kindred. She is also called truth and is the
first cause of all truths. He therefore that willingly and wittingly
doth lie, is impious in that he doth receive, and so commit injustice:
but he that against his will, in that he disagreeth from the nature of
the universe, and in that striving with the nature of the world he
doth in his particular, violate the general order of the world. For he
doth no better than strive and war against it, who contrary to his
own nature applieth himself to that which is contrary to truth. For
nature had before furnished him with instincts and opportunities
sufficient for the attainment of it; which he having hitherto
neglected, is not now able to discern that which is false from that
which is true. He also that pursues after pleasures, as that which is
truly good and flies from pains, as that which is truly evil: is
impious. For such a one must of necessity oftentimes accuse that
common nature, as distributing many things both unto the evil, and
unto the good, not according to the deserts of either: as unto the bad
oftentimes pleasures, and the causes of pleasures; so unto the good,
pains, and the occasions of pains. Again, he that feareth pains and
crosses in this world, feareth some of those things which some time
or other must needs happen in the world. And that we have already
showed to be impious. And he that pursueth after pleasures, will
not spare, to compass his desires, to do that which is unjust, and that
is manifestly impious. Now those things which unto nature are
equally indifferent (for she had not created both, both pain and
pleasure, if both had not been unto her equally indifferent): they
that will live according to nature, must in those things (as being of
the same mind and disposition that she is) be as equally indifferent.
Whosoever therefore in either matter of pleasure and pain; death
and life; honour and dishonour, (which things nature in the
administration of the world, indifferently doth make use of), is not
as indifferent, it is apparent that he is impious. When I say that
common nature doth indifferently make use of them, my meaning
is, that they happen indifferently in the ordinary course of things,
which by a necessary consequence, whether as principal or
accessory, come to pass in the world, according to that first and
ancient deliberation of Providence, by which she from some certain
beginning, did resolve upon the creation of such a world, conceiving
then in her womb as it were some certain rational generative seeds
and faculties of things future, whether subjects, changes,
successions; both such and such, and just so many.

II. It were indeed more happy and comfortable, for a man to

depart out

of this world, having lived all his life long clear from all falsehood,
dissimulation, voluptuousness, and pride. But if this cannot be, yet
it is some comfort for a man joyfully to depart as weary, and out of
love with those; rather than to desire to live, and to continue long in
those wicked courses. Hath not yet experience taught thee to fly
from the plague? For a far greater plague is the corruption of the
mind, than any certain change and distemper of the common air can
be. This is a plague of creatures, as they are living creatures; but that
of men as they are men or reasonable.
III. Thou must not in matter of death carry thyself scornfully, but
as

one that is well pleased with it, as being one of those things that
nature hath appointed. For what thou dost conceive of these, of a
boy to become a young man, to wax old, to grow, to ripen, to get
teeth, or a beard, or grey hairs to beget, to bear, or to be delivered; or
what other action soever it be, that is natural unto man according to
the several seasons of his life; such a thing is it also to be dissolved.
It is therefore the part of a wise man, in matter of death, not in any
wise to carry himself either violently, or proudly but patiently to
wait for it, as one of nature's operations: that with the same mind as
now thou dost expect when that which yet is but an embryo in thy
wife's belly shall come forth, thou mayst expect also when thy soul
shall fall off from that outward coat or skin: wherein as a child in the
belly it lieth involved and shut up. But thou desirest a more
popular, and though not so direct and philosophical, yet a very
powerful and penetrative recipe against the fear of death, nothing
can make they more willing to part with thy life, than if thou shalt
consider, both what the subjects themselves are that thou shalt part
with, and what manner of disposition thou shalt no more have to do
with. True it is, that, offended with them thou must not be by no
means, but take care of them, and meekly bear with them However,
this thou mayst remember, that whensoever it happens that thou
depart, it shall not be from men that held the same opinions that
thou dost. For that indeed, (if it were so) is the only thing that might
make thee averse from death, and willing to continue here, if it were
thy hap to live with men that had obtained the same belief that thou
hast. But now, what a toil it is for thee to live with men of different
opinions, thou seest: so that thou hast rather occasion to say, Hasten,
I thee pray, O Death; lest I also in time forget myself.
IV. He that sinneth, sinneth unto himself. He that is unjust, hurts

himself, in that he makes himself worse than he was before. Not he

only that committeth, but he also that omitteth something, is
oftentimes unjust.

V. If my present apprehension of the object be right, and my

present

action charitable, and this, towards whatsoever doth proceed from

God, be my present disposition, to be well pleased with it, it
sufficeth.

VI. To wipe away fancy, to use deliberation, to quench

concupiscence, to

keep the mind free to herself.

VII. Of all unreasonable creatures, there is but one unreasonable

soul;

and of all that are reasonable, but one reasonable soul, divided
betwixt them all. As of all earthly things there is but one earth, and
but one light that we see by; and but one air that we breathe in, as
many as either breathe or see. Now whatsoever partakes of some
common thing, naturally affects and inclines unto that whereof it is
part, being of one kind and nature with it. Whatsoever is earthly,
presseth downwards to the common earth. Whatsoever is liquid,
would flow together. And whatsoever is airy, would be together
likewise. So that without some obstacle, and some kind of violence,
they cannot well be kept asunder. Whatsoever is fiery, doth not only
by reason of the elementary fire tend upwards; but here also is so
ready to join, and to burn together, that whatsoever doth want
sufficient moisture to make resistance, is easily set on fire.
Whatsoever therefore is partaker of that reasonable common nature,
naturally doth as much and more long after his own kind. For by
how much in its own nature it excels all other things, by so much
more is it desirous to be joined and united unto that, which is of its
own nature. As for unreasonable creatures then, they had not long
been, but presently begun among them swarms, and flocks, and
broods of young ones, and a kind of mutual love and affection. For
though but unreasonable, yet a kind of soul these had, and therefore
was that natural desire of union more strong and intense in them, as
in creatures of a more excellent nature, than either in plants, or
stones, or trees. But among reasonable creatures, begun
commonwealths, friendships, families, public meetings, and even in
their wars, conventions, and truces. Now among them that were yet
of a more excellent nature, as the stars and planets, though by their
nature far distant one from another, yet even among them began
some mutual correspondency and unity. So proper is it to excellency
in a high degree to affect unity, as that even in things so far distant,
it could operate unto a mutual sympathy. But now behold, what is
now come to pass. Those creatures that are reasonable, are now the
only creatures that have forgotten their natural affection and
inclination of one towards another. Among them alone of all other
things that are of one kind, there is not to be found a general
disposition to flow together. But though they fly from nature, yet
are they stopt in their course, and apprehended. Do they what they
can, nature doth prevail. And so shalt thou confess, if thou dost
observe it. For sooner mayst thou find a thing earthly, where no
earthly thing is, than find a man that naturally can live by himself
alone.

VIII. Man, God, the world, every one in their kind, bear some
fruits.
All things have their proper time to bear. Though by custom, the
word itself is in a manner become proper unto the vine, and the like,
yet is it so nevertheless, as we have said. As for reason, that beareth
both common fruit for the use of others; and peculiar, which itself
doth enjoy. Reason is of a diffusive nature, what itself is in itself, it
begets in others, and so doth multiply.

IX. Either teach them better if it be in thy power; or if it be not,

remember that for this use, to bear with them patiently, was
mildness and goodness granted unto thee. The Gods themselves are
good unto such; yea and in some things, (as in matter of health, of
wealth, of honour,) are content often to further their endeavours: so
good and gracious are they. And mightest thou not be so too? or, tell
me, what doth hinder thee?

X. Labour not as one to whom it is appointed to be wretched, nor

as one

that either would be pitied, or admired; but let this be thine only
care and desire; so always and in all things to prosecute or to
forbear, as the law of charity, or mutual society doth require.

XI. This day I did come out of all my trouble. Nay I have cast out
all

my trouble; it should rather be for that which troubled thee,

whatsoever it was, was not without anywhere that thou shouldest
come out of it, but within in thine own opinions, from whence it
must be cast out, before thou canst truly and constantly be at ease.
XII. All those things, for matter of experience are usual and
ordinary;

for their continuance but for a day; and for their matter, most base
and filthy. As they were in the days of those whom we have buried,
so are they now also, and no otherwise.

XIII. The things themselves that affect us, they stand without
doors,

neither knowing anything themselves nor able to utter anything

unto others concerning themselves. What then is it, that passeth
verdict on them? The understanding.

XIV. As virtue and wickedness consist not in passion, but in

action; so

neither doth the true good or evil of a reasonable charitable man

consist in passion, but in operation and action.

XV. To the stone that is cast up, when it comes down it is no hurt
unto

it; as neither benefit, when it doth ascend.

XVI. Sift their minds and understandings, and behold what men
they be,

whom thou dost stand in fear of what they shall judge of thee, what
they themselves judge of themselves.

XVII. All things that are in the world, are always in the estate

of alteration. Thou also art in a perpetual change, yea and under

corruption too, in some part: and so is the whole world.

XVIII. it is not thine, but another man's sin. Why should it trouble

thee? Let him look to it, whose sin it is.

XIX. Of an operation and of a purpose there is an ending, or of an

action and of a purpose we say commonly, that it is at an end: from

opinion also there is an absolute cessation, which is as it were the
death of it. In all this there is no hurt. Apply this now to a man's age,
as first, a child; then a youth, then a young man, then an old man;
every change from one age to another is a kind of death And all this
while here no matter of grief yet. Pass now unto that life first, that
which thou livedst under thy grandfather, then under thy mother,
then under thy father. And thus when through the whole course of
thy life hitherto thou hast found and observed many alterations,
many changes, many kinds of endings and cessations, put this
question to thyself What matter of grief or sorrow dost thou find in
any of these? Or what doest thou suffer through any of these? If in
none of these, then neither in the ending and consummation of thy
whole life, which is also but a cessation and change.

XX. As occasion shall require, either to thine own understanding,

or to

that of the universe, or to his, whom thou hast now to do with, let
thy refuge be with all speed. To thine own, that it resolve upon
nothing against justice. To that of the universe, that thou mayest
remember, part of whom thou art. Of his, that thou mayest consider
whether in the estate of ignorance, or of knowledge. And then also
must thou call to mind, that he is thy kinsman.

XXI. As thou thyself, whoever thou art, were made for the
perfection and

consummation, being a member of it, of a common society; so must

every action of thine tend to the perfection and consummation of a
life that is truly sociable. What action soever of thine therefore that
either immediately or afar off, hath not reference to the common
good, that is an exorbitant and disorderly action; yea it is seditious;
as one among the people who from such and such a consent and
unity, should factiously divide and separate himself.

XXII. Children's anger, mere babels; wretched souls bearing up

dead
bodies, that they may not have their fall so soon: even as it is in that
common dirge song.

XXIII. Go to the quality of the cause from which the effect doth

proceed. Behold it by itself bare and naked, separated from all that
is material. Then consider the utmost bounds of time that that cause,
thus and thus qualified, can subsist and abide.

XXIV. Infinite are the troubles and miseries, that thou hast already

been put to, by reason of this only, because that for all happiness it
did not suffice thee, or, that thou didst not account it sufficient
happiness, that thy understanding did operate according to its
natural constitution.

XXV. When any shall either impeach thee with false accusations,
or

hatefully reproach thee, or shall use any such carriage towards thee,
get thee presently to their minds and understandings, and look in
them, and behold what manner of men they be. Thou shalt see, that
there is no such occasion why it should trouble thee, what such as
they are think of thee. Yet must thou love them still, for by nature
they are thy friends. And the Gods themselves, in those things that
they seek from them as matters of great moment, are well content,
all manner of ways, as by dreams and oracles, to help them as well
as others.
XXVI. Up and down, from one age to another, go the ordinary
things of

the world; being still the same. And either of everything in

particular before it come to pass, the mind of the universe doth
consider with itself and deliberate: and if so, then submit for shame
unto the determination of such an excellent understanding: or once
for all it did resolve upon all things in general; and since that
whatsoever happens, happens by a necessary consequence, and all
things indivisibly in a manner and inseparably hold one of another.
In sum, either there is a God, and then all is well; or if all things go
by chance and fortune, yet mayest thou use thine own providence in
those things that concern thee properly; and then art thou well.

XXVII. Within a while the earth shall cover us all, and then she
herself

shall have her change. And then the course will be, from one period
of eternity unto another, and so a perpetual eternity. Now can any
man that shall consider with himself in his mind the several rollings
or successions of so many changes and alterations, and the swiftness
of all these rulings; can he otherwise but contemn in his heart and
despise all worldly things? The cause of the universe is as it were a
strong torrent it carrieth all away.
XXVIII. And these your professed politicians, the only true
practical

philosophers of the world, (as they think of themselves) so full of

affected gravity, or such professed lovers of virtue and honesty,
what wretches be they in very deed; how vile and contemptible in
themselves? O man! what ado doest thou keep? Do what thy nature
doth now require. Resolve upon it, if thou mayest: and take no
thought, whether anybody shall know it or no. Yea, but sayest thou,
I must not expect a Plato's commonwealth. If they profit though
never so little, I must be content; and think much even of that little
progress. Doth then any of them forsake their former false opinions
that I should think they profit? For without a change of opinions,
alas! what is all that ostentation, but mere wretchedness of slavish
minds, that groan privately, and yet would make a show of
obedience to reason, and truth? Go too now and tell me of
Alexander and Philippus, and Demetrius Phalereus. Whether they
understood what the common nature requireth, and could rule
themselves or no, they know best themselves. But if they kept a life,
and swaggered; I (God be thanked) am not bound to imitate them.
The effect of true philosophy is, unaffected simplicity and modesty.
Persuade me not to ostentation and vainglory.

XXIX. From some high place as it were to look down, and to

behold

here flocks, and there sacrifices, without number; and all kind of
navigation; some in a rough and stormy sea, and some in a calm: the
general differences, or different estates of things, some, that are now
first upon being; the several and mutual relations of those things
that are together; and some other things that are at their last. Their
lives also, who were long ago, and theirs who shall be hereafter, and
the present estate and life of those many nations of barbarians that
are now in the world, thou must likewise consider in thy mind. And
how many there be, who never so much as heard of thy name, how
many that will soon forget it; how many who but even now did
commend thee, within a very little while perchance will speak ill of
thee. So that neither fame, nor honour, nor anything else that this
world doth afford, is worth the while. The sum then of all;
whatsoever doth happen unto thee, whereof God is the cause, to
accept it contentedly: whatsoever thou doest, whereof thou thyself
art the cause, to do it justly: which will be, if both in thy resolution
and in thy action thou have no further end, than to do good unto
others, as being that, which by thy natural constitution, as a man,
thou art bound unto.

XXX. Many of those things that trouble and straiten thee, it is in

thy

power to cut off, as wholly depending from mere conceit and

opinion; and then thou shalt have room enough.

XXXI. To comprehend the whole world together in thy mind, and

the whole

Course of this present age to represent it unto thyself, and to fix thy
thoughts upon the sudden change of every particular object. How
short the time is from the generation of anything, unto the
dissolution of the same; but how immense and infinite both that
which was before the generation, and that which after the
generation of it shall be. All things that thou seest, will soon be
perished, and they that see their corruptions, will soon vanish away
themselves. He that dieth a hundred years old, and he that dieth
young, shall come all to one.
XXXII. What are their minds and understandings; and what the
things that

they apply themselves unto: what do they love, and what do they
hate for? Fancy to thyself the estate of their souls openly to be seen.
When they think they hurt them shrewdly, whom they speak ill of;
and when they think they do them a very good turn, whom they
commend and extol: O how full are they then of conceit, and
opinion!

XXXIII. Loss and corruption, is in very deed nothing else but

change and

alteration; and that is it, which the nature of the universe doth most
delight in, by which, and according to which, whatsoever is done, is
well done. For that was the estate of worldly things from the
beginning, and so shall it ever be. Or wouldest thou rather say, that
all things in the world have gone ill from the beginning for so many
ages, and shall ever go ill? And then among so many deities, could
no divine power be found all this while, that could rectify the things
of the world? Or is the world, to incessant woes and miseries, for
ever condemned?

XXXIV. How base and putrid, every common matter is! Water,
dust, and

from the mixture of these bones, and all that loathsome stuff that
our bodies do consist of: so subject to be infected, and corrupted.
And again those other things that are so much prized and admired,
as marble stones, what are they, but as it were the kernels of the
earth? gold and silver, what are they, but as the more gross faeces of
the earth? Thy most royal apparel, for matter, it is but as it were the
hair of a silly sheep, and for colour, the very blood of a shell-fish; of
this nature are all other things. Thy life itself, is some such thing too;
a mere exhalation of blood: and it also, apt to be changed into some
other common thing.

XXXV. Will this querulousness, this murmuring, this complaining

and

dissembling never be at an end? What then is it, that troubleth thee?

Doth any new thing happen unto thee? What doest thou so wonder
at? At the cause, or the matter? Behold either by itself, is either of
that weight and moment indeed? And besides these, there is not
anything. But thy duty towards the Gods also, it is time thou
shouldst acquit thyself of it with more goodness and simplicity.

XXXVI. It is all one to see these things for a hundred of years

together

or but for three years.

XXXVII. If he have sinned, his is the harm, not mine. But

perchance he

hath not.

XXXVIII. Either all things by the providence of reason happen

unto every
particular, as a part of one general body; and then it is against
reason that a part should complain of anything that happens for the
good of the whole; or if, according to Epicurus, atoms be the cause
of all things and that life be nothing else but an accidentary
confusion of things, and death nothing else, but a mere dispersion
and so of all other things: what doest thou trouble thyself for?

XXXIX. Sayest thou unto that rational part, Thou art dead;
corruption

hath taken hold on thee? Doth it then also void excrements? Doth it
like either oxen, or sheep, graze or feed; that it also should be
mortal, as well as the body?

XL. Either the Gods can do nothing for us at all, or they can still
and

allay all the distractions and distempers of thy mind. If they can do
nothing, why doest thou pray? If they can, why wouldst not thou
rather pray, that they will grant unto thee, that thou mayst neither
fear, nor lust after any of those worldly things which cause these
distractions and distempers of it? Why not rather, that thou mayst
not at either their absence or presence, be grieved and discontented:
than either that thou mayst obtain them, or that thou mayst avoid
them? For certainly it must needs be, that if the Gods can help us in
anything, they may in this kind also. But thou wilt say perchance, 'In
those things the Gods have given me my liberty: and it is in mine
own power to do what I will.' But if thou mayst use this liberty,
rather to set thy mind at true liberty, than wilfully with baseness
and servility of mind to affect those things, which either to compass
or to avoid is not in thy power, wert not thou better? And as for the
Gods, who hath told thee, that they may not help us up even in
those things that they have put in our own power? whether it be so
or no, thou shalt soon perceive, if thou wilt but try thyself and pray.
One prayeth that he may compass his desire, to lie with such or such
a one, pray thou that thou mayst not lust to lie with her. Another
how he may be rid of such a one; pray thou that thou mayst so
patiently bear with him, as that thou have no such need to be rid of
him. Another, that he may not lose his child. Pray thou that thou
mayst not fear to lose him. To this end and purpose, let all thy
prayer be, and see what will be the event.

XLI. 'In my sickness' (saith Epicurus of himself:) 'my discourses

were

not concerning the nature of my disease, neither was that, to them

that came to visit me, the subject of my talk; but in the consideration
and contemplation of that, which was of especial weight and
moment, was all my time bestowed and spent, and among others in
this very thing, how my mind, by a natural and unavoidable
sympathy partaking in some sort with the present indisposition of
my body, might nevertheless keep herself free from trouble, and in
present possession of her own proper happiness. Neither did I leave
the ordering of my body to the physicians altogether to do with me
what they would, as though I expected any great matter from them,
or as though I thought it a matter of such great consequence, by
their means to recover my health: for my present estate, methought,
liked me very well, and gave me good content.' Whether therefore in
sickness (if thou chance to sicken) or in what other kind of extremity
soever, endeavour thou also to be in thy mind so affected, as he doth
report of himself: not to depart from thy philosophy for anything
that can befall thee, nor to give ear to the discourses of silly people,
and mere naturalists.
XLII. It is common to all trades and professions to mind and
intend that

only, which now they are about, and the instrument whereby they
work.

XLIII. When at any time thou art offended with any one's
impudency, put

presently this question to thyself: 'What? Is it then possible, that

there should not be any impudent men in the world! Certainly it is
not possible.' Desire not then that which is impossible. For this one,
(thou must think) whosoever he be, is one of those impudent ones,
that the world cannot be without. So of the subtile and crafty, so of
the perfidious, so of every one that offendeth, must thou ever be
ready to reason with thyself. For whilst in general thou dost thus
reason with thyself, that the kind of them must needs be in the
world, thou wilt be the better able to use meekness towards every
particular. This also thou shalt find of very good use, upon every
such occasion, presently to consider with thyself, what proper virtue
nature hath furnished man with, against such a vice, or to encounter
with a disposition vicious in this kind. As for example, against the
unthankful, it hath given goodness and meekness, as an antidote,
and so against another vicious in another kind some other peculiar
faculty. And generally, is it not in thy power to instruct him better,
that is in an error? For whosoever sinneth, doth in that decline from
his purposed end, and is certainly deceived, And again, what art
thou the worse for his sin? For thou shalt not find that any one of
these, against whom thou art incensed, hath in very deed done
anything whereby thy mind (the only true subject of thy hurt and
evil) can be made worse than it was. And what a matter of either
grief or wonder is this, if he that is unlearned, do the deeds of one
that is unlearned? Should not thou rather blame thyself, who, when
upon very good grounds of reason, thou mightst have thought it
very probable, that such a thing would by such a one be committed,
didst not only not foresee it, but moreover dost wonder at it, that
such a thing should be. But then especially, when thou dost find
fault with either an unthankful, or a false man, must thou reflect
upon thyself. For without all question, thou thyself art much in
fault, if either of one that were of such a disposition, thou didst
expect that he should be true unto thee: or when unto any thou
didst a good turn, thou didst not there bound thy thoughts, as one
that had obtained his end; nor didst not think that from the action
itself thou hadst received a full reward of the good that thou hadst
done. For what wouldst thou have more? Unto him that is a man,
thou hast done a good turn: doth not that suffice thee? What thy
nature required, that hast thou done. Must thou be rewarded for it?
As if either the eye for that it seeth, or the feet that they go, should
require satisfaction. For as these being by nature appointed for such
an use, can challenge no more, than that they may work according
to their natural constitution: so man being born to do good unto
others whensoever he doth a real good unto any by helping them
out of error; or though but in middle things, as in matter of wealth,
life, preferment, and the like, doth help to further their desires he
doth that for which he was made, and therefore can require no
more.
THE TENTH BOOK

I. O my soul, the time I trust will be, when thou shalt be good,
simple,

single, more open and visible, than that body by which it is

enclosed. Thou wilt one day be sensible of their happiness, whose
end is love, and their affections dead to all worldly things. Thou
shalt one day be full, and in want of no external thing: not seeking
pleasure from anything, either living or insensible, that this world
can afford; neither wanting time for the continuation of thy
pleasure, nor place and opportunity, nor the favour either of the
weather or of men. When thou shalt have content in thy present
estate, and all things present shall add to thy content: when thou
shalt persuade thyself, that thou hast all things; all for thy good, and
all by the providence of the Gods: and of things future also shalt be
as confident, that all will do well, as tending to the maintenance and
preservation in some sort, of his perfect welfare and happiness, who
is perfection of life, of goodness, and beauty; who begets all things,
and containeth all things in himself, and in himself doth recollect all
things from all places that are dissolved, that of them he may beget
others again like unto them. Such one day shall be thy disposition,
that thou shalt be able, both in regard of the Gods, and in regard of
men, so to fit and order thy conversation, as neither to complain of
them at any time, for anything that they do; nor to do anything
thyself, for which thou mayest justly be condemned.

II. As one who is altogether governed by nature, let it be thy care

to

observe what it is that thy nature in general doth require. That done,
if thou find not that thy nature, as thou art a living sensible creature,
will be the worse for it, thou mayest proceed. Next then thou must
examine, what thy nature as thou art a living sensible creature, doth
require. And that, whatsoever it be, thou mayest admit of and do it,
if thy nature as thou art a reasonable living creature, will not be the
worse for it. Now whatsoever is reasonable, is also sociable, Keep
thyself to these rules, and trouble not thyself about idle things.

III. Whatsoever doth happen unto thee, thou art naturally by thy
natural

constitution either able, or not able to bear. If thou beest able, be not
offended, but bear it according to thy natural constitution, or as
nature hath enabled thee. If thou beest not able, be not offended. For
it will soon make an end of thee, and itself, (whatsoever it be) at the
same time end with thee. But remember, that whatsoever by the
strength of opinion, grounded upon a certain apprehension of both
true profit and duty, thou canst conceive tolerable; that thou art able
to bear that by thy natural constitution.

IV. Him that offends, to teach with love and meek ness, and to
show him

his error. But if thou canst not, then to blame thyself; or rather not
thyself neither, if thy will and endeavours have not been wanting.

V. Whatsoever it be that happens unto thee, it is that which from

all

time was appointed unto thee. For by the same coherence of causes,
by which thy substance from all eternity was appointed to be, was
also whatsoever should happen unto it, destinated and appointed.
VI. Either with Epicurus, we must fondly imagine the atoms to be
the

cause of all things, or we must needs grant a nature. Let this then be
thy first ground, that thou art part of that universe, which is
governed by nature. Then secondly, that to those parts that are of
the same kind and nature as thou art, thou hast relation of kindred.
For of these, if I shall always be mindful, first as I am a part, I shall
never be displeased with anything, that falls to my particular share
of the common chances of the world. For nothing that is behoveful
unto the whole, can be truly hurtful to that which is part of it. For
this being the common privilege of all natures, that they contain
nothing in themselves that is hurtful unto them; it cannot be that the
nature of the universe (whose privilege beyond other particular
natures, is, that she cannot against her will by any higher external
cause be constrained,) should beget anything and cherish it in her
bosom that should tend to her own hurt and prejudice. As then I
bear in mind that I am a part of such an universe, I shall not be
displeased with anything that happens. And as I have relation of
kindred to those parts that are of the same kind and nature that I
am, so I shall be careful to do nothing that is prejudicial to the
community, but in all my deliberations shall they that are of my
kind ever be; and the common good, that, which all my intentions
and resolutions shall drive unto, as that which is contrary unto it, I
shall by all means endeavour to prevent and avoid. These things
once so fixed and concluded, as thou wouldst think him a happy
citizen, whose constant study and practice were for the good and
benefit of his fellow citizens, and the carriage of the city such
towards him, that he were well pleased with it; so must it needs be
with thee, that thou shalt live a happy life.
VII. All parts of the world, (all things I mean that are contained

within the whole world), must of necessity at some time or other

come to corruption. Alteration I should say, to speak truly and
properly; but that I may be the better understood, I am content at
this time to use that more common word. Now say I, if so be that
this be both hurtful unto them, and yet unavoidable, would not,
thinkest thou, the whole itself be in a sweet case, all the parts of it
being subject to alteration, yea and by their making itself fitted for
corruption, as consisting of things different and contrary? And did
nature then either of herself thus project and purpose the affliction
and misery of her parts, and therefore of purpose so made them, not
only that haply they might, but of necessity that they should fall into
evil; or did not she know what she did, when she made them? For
either of these two to say, is equally absurd. But to let pass nature in
general, and to reason of things particular according to their own
particular natures; how absurd and ridiculous is it, first to say that
all parts of the whole are, by their proper natural constitution,
subject to alteration; and then when any such thing doth happen, as
when one doth fall sick and dieth, to take on and wonder as though
some strange thing had happened? Though this besides might move
not so grievously to take on when any such thing doth happen, that
whatsoever is dissolved, it is dissolved into those things, whereof it
was compounded. For every dissolution is either a mere dispersion,
of the elements into those elements again whereof everything did
consist, or a change, of that which is more solid into earth; and of
that which is pure and subtile or spiritual, into air. So that by this
means nothing is lost, but all resumed again into those rational
generative seeds of the universe; and this universe, either after a
certain period of time to lie consumed by fire, or by continual
changes to be renewed, and so for ever to endure. Now that solid
and spiritual that we speak of, thou must not conceive it to be that
very same, which at first was, when thou wert born. For alas! all this
that now thou art in either kind, either for matter of substance, or of
life, hath but two or three days ago partly from meats eaten, and
partly from air breathed in, received all its influx, being the same
then in no other respect, than a running river, maintained by the
perpetual influx and new supply of waters, is the same. That
therefore which thou hast since received, not that which came from
thy mother, is that which comes to change and corruption. But
suppose that that for the general substance, and more solid part of
it, should still cleave unto thee never so close, yet what is that to the
proper qualities and affections of it, by which persons are
distinguished, which certainly are quite different?

VIII. Now that thou hast taken these names upon thee of good,
modest,

true; of emfrwn, sumfrwn, uperfrwn; take heed lest at any times by

doing anything that is contrary, thou be but improperly so called,
and lose thy right to these appellations. Or if thou do, return unto
them again with all possible speed. And remember, that the word
emfrwn notes unto thee an intent and intelligent consideration of
every object that presents itself unto thee, without distraction. And
the word emfrwn a ready and contented acceptation of whatsoever
by the appointment of the common nature, happens unto thee. And
the word sumfrwn, a super-extension, or a transcendent, and
outreaching disposition of thy mind, whereby it passeth by all
bodily pains and pleasures, honour and credit, death and
whatsoever is of the same nature, as matters of absolute
indifferency, and in no wise to be stood upon by a wise man. These
then if inviolably thou shalt observe, and shalt not be ambitious to
be so called by others, both thou thyself shalt become a new man,
and thou shalt begin a new life. For to continue such as hitherto
thou hast been, to undergo those distractions and distempers as
thou must needs for such a life as hitherto thou hast lived, is the part
of one that is very foolish, and is overfond of his life. Whom a man
might compare to one of those half-eaten wretches, matched in the
amphitheatre with wild beasts; who as full as they are all the body
over with wounds and blood, desire for a great favour, that they
may be reserved till the next day, then also, and in the same estate to
be exposed to the same nails and teeth as before. Away therefore,
ship thyself; and from the troubles and distractions of thy former life
convey thyself as it were unto these few names; and if thou canst
abide in them, or be constant in the practice and possession of them,
continue there as glad and joyful as one that were translated unto
some such place of bliss and happiness as that which by Hesiod and
Plato is called the Islands of the Blessed, by others called the Elysian
Fields. And whensoever thou findest thyself; that thou art in danger
of a relapse, and that thou art not able to master and overcome those
difficulties and temptations that present themselves in thy present
station: get thee into any private corner, where thou mayst be better
able. Or if that will not serve forsake even thy life rather. But so that
it be not in passion but in a plain voluntary modest way: this being
the only commendable action of thy whole life that thus thou art
departed, or this having been the main work and business of thy
whole life, that thou mightest thus depart. Now for the better
remembrance of those names that we have spoken of, thou shalt
find it a very good help, to remember the Gods as often as may be:
and that, the thing which they require at our hands of as many of us,
as are by nature reasonable creation is not that with fair words, and
outward show of piety and devotion we should flatter them, but
that we should become like unto them: and that as all other natural
creatures, the fig tree for example; the dog the bee: both do, all of
them, and apply themselves unto that which by their natural
constitution, is proper unto them; so man likewise should do that,
which by his nature, as he is a man, belongs unto him.

IX. Toys and fooleries at home, wars abroad: sometimes terror,

sometimes

torpor, or stupid sloth: this is thy daily slavery. By little and little, if
thou doest not better look to it, those sacred dogmata will be blotted
out of thy mind. How many things be there, which when as a mere
naturalist, thou hast barely considered of according to their nature,
thou doest let pass without any further use? Whereas thou shouldst
in all things so join action and contemplation, that thou mightest
both at the same time attend all present occasions, to perform
everything duly and carefully and yet so intend the contemplative
part too, that no part of that delight and pleasure, which the
contemplative knowledge of everything according to its true nature
doth of itself afford, might be lost. Or, that the true and
contemnplative knowledge of everything according to its own
nature, might of itself, (action being subject to many lets and
impediments) afford unto thee sufficient pleasure and happiness.
Not apparent indeed, but not concealed. And when shalt thou attain
to the happiness of true simplicity, and unaffected gravity? When
shalt thou rejoice in the certain knowledge of every particular object
according to its true nature: as what the matter and substance of it
is; what use it is for in the world: how long it can subsist: what
things it doth consist of: who they be that are capable of it, and who
they that can give it, and take it away?

X. As the spider, when it hath caught the fly that it hunted after, is

not little proud, nor meanly conceited of herself: as he likewise that

hath caught an hare, or hath taken a fish with his net: as another for
the taking of a boar, and another of a bear: so may they be proud,
and applaud themselves for their valiant acts against the Sarmatai,
or northern nations lately defeated. For these also, these famous
soldiers and warlike men, if thou dost look into their minds and
opinions, what do they for the most part but hunt after prey?

XI. To find out, and set to thyself some certain way and method of

contemplation, whereby thou mayest clearly discern and represent

unto thyself, the mutual change of all things, the one into the other.
Bear it in thy mind evermore, and see that thou be throughly well
exercised in this particular. For there is not anything more effectual
to beget true magnanimity.
XII. He hath got loose from the bonds of his body, and perceiving
that

within a very little while he must of necessity bid the world

farewell, and leave all these things behind him, he wholly applied
himself, as to righteousness in all his actions, so to the common
nature in all things that should happen unto him. And contenting
himself with these two things, to do all things justly, and
whatsoever God doth send to like well of it: what others shall either
say or think of him, or shall do against him, he doth not so much as
trouble his thoughts with it. To go on straight, whither right and
reason directed him, and by so doing to follow God, was the only
thing that he did mind, that, his only business and occupation.

XIII. What use is there of suspicion at all? or, why should

thoughts

of mistrust, and suspicion concerning that which is future, trouble

thy mind at all? What now is to be done, if thou mayest search and
inquiry into that, what needs thou care for more? And if thou art
well able to perceive it alone, let no man divert thee from it. But if
alone thou doest not so well perceive it, suspend thine action, and
take advice from the best. And if there be anything else that doth
hinder thee, go on with prudence and discretion, according to the
present occasion and opportunity, still proposing that unto thyself,
which thou doest conceive most right and just. For to hit that aright,
and to speed in the prosecution of it, must needs be happiness, since
it is that only which we can truly and properly be said to miss of, or
miscarry in.
XIV. What is that that is slow, and yet quick? merry, and yet
grave? He

that in all things doth follow reason for his guide.

XV. In the morning as soon as thou art awaked, when thy

judgment, before

either thy affections, or external objects have wrought upon it, is yet
most free and impartial: put this question to thyself, whether if that
which is right and just be done, the doing of it by thyself, or by
others when thou art not able thyself; be a thing material or no. For
sure it is not. And as for these that keep such a life, and stand so
much upon the praises, or dispraises of other men, hast thou
forgotten what manner of men they be? that such and such upon
their beds, and such at their board: what their ordinary actions are:
what they pursue after, and what they fly from: what thefts and
rapines they commit, if not with their hands and feet, yet with that
more precious part of theirs, their minds: which (would it but admit
of them) might enjoy faith, modesty, truth, justice, a good spirit.

XVI. Give what thou wilt, and take away what thou wilt, saith he
that is

well taught and truly modest, to Him that gives, and takes away.
And it is not out of a stout and peremptory resolution, that he saith
it, but in mere love, and humble submission.

XVII. So live as indifferent to the world and all worldly objects, as

one who liveth by himself alone upon some desert hill. For whether
here, or there, if the whole world be but as one town, it matters not
much for the place. Let them behold and see a man, that is a man
indeed, living according to the true nature of man. If they cannot
bear with me, let them kill me. For better were it to die, than so to
live as they would have thee.

XVIII. Make it not any longer a matter of dispute or discourse,

what are

the signs and proprieties of a good man, but really and actually to
be such.

XIX. Ever to represent unto thyself; and to set before thee, both the

general age and time of the world, and the whole substance of it.
And how all things particular in respect of these are for their
substance, as one of the least seeds that is: and for their duration, as
the turning of the pestle in the mortar once about. Then to fix thy
mind upon every particular object of the world, and to conceive it,
(as it is indeed,) as already being in the state of dissolution, and of
change; tending to some kind of either putrefaction or dispersion; or
whatsoever else it is, that is the death as it were of everything in his
own kind.

XX. Consider them through all actions and occupations, of their

lives:

as when they eat, and when they sleep: when they are in the act of
necessary exoneration, and when in the act of lust. Again, when
they either are in their greatest exultation; and in the middle of all
their pomp and glory; or being angry and displeased, in great state
and majesty, as from an higher place, they chide and rebuke. How
base and slavish, but a little while ago, they were fain to be, that
they might come to this; and within a very little while what will be
their estate, when death hath once seized upon them.

XXI. That is best for every one, that the common nature of all doth
send

unto every one, and then is it best, when she doth send it.

XXII. The earth, saith the poet, doth often long after the rain. So is

the glorious sky often as desirous to fall upon the earth, which
argues a mutual kind of love between them. And so (say I) doth the
world bear a certain affection of love to whatsoever shall come to
pass With thine affections shall mine concur, O world. The same
(and no other) shall the object of my longing be which is of thine.
Now that the world doth love it is true indeed so is it as commonly
said, and acknowledged ledged, when, according to the Greek
phrase, imitated by the Latins, of things that used to be, we say
commonly, that they love to be.

XXIII. Either thou dost Continue in this kind of life and that is it,

which so long thou hast been used unto and therefore tolerable: or
thou doest retire, or leave the world, and that of thine own accord,
and then thou hast thy mind: or thy life is cut off; and then mayst
thou rejoice that thou hast ended thy charge. One of these must
needs be. Be therefore of good comfort.

XXIV Let it always appear and be manifest unto thee that

solitariness,

and desert places, by many philosophers so much esteemed of and

affected, are of themselves but thus and thus; and that all things are
them to them that live in towns, and converse with others as they
are the same nature everywhere to be seen and observed: to them
that have retired themselves to the top of mountains, and to desert
havens, or what other desert and inhabited places soever. For
anywhere it thou wilt mayest thou quickly find and apply that to
thyself; which Plato saith of his philosopher, in a place: as private
and retired, saith he, as if he were shut up and enclosed about in
some shepherd's lodge, on the top of a hill. There by thyself to put
these questions to thyself or to enter in these considerations: What is
my chief and principal part, which hath power over the rest? What
is now the present estate of it, as I use it; and what is it, that I
employ it about? Is it now void of reason ir no? Is it free, and
separated; or so affixed, so congealed and grown together as it were
with the flesh, that it is swayed by the motions and inclinations of
it?

XXV. He that runs away from his master is a fugitive. But the law
is

every man's master. He therefore that forsakes the law, is a fugitive.

So is he, whosoever he be, that is either sorry, angry, or afraid, or for
anything that either hath been, is, or shall be by his appointment,
who is the Lord and Governor of the universe. For he truly and
properly is Nomoz, or the law, as the only nemwn (sp.), or
distributor and dispenser of all things that happen unto any one in
his lifetime—Whatsoever then is either sorry, angry, or afraid, is a
fugitive.

XXVI. From man is the seed, that once cast into the womb man
hath no

more to do with it. Another cause succeedeth, and undertakes the

work, and in time brings a child (that wonderful effect from such a
beginning!) to perfection. Again, man lets food down through his
throat; and that once down, he hath no more to do with it. Another
cause succeedeth and distributeth this food into the senses, and the
affections: into life, and into strength; and doth with it those other
many and marvellous things, that belong unto man. These things
therefore that are so secretly and invisibly wrought and brought to
pass, thou must use to behold and contemplate; and not the things
themselves only, but the power also by which they are effected; that
thou mayst behold it, though not with the eyes of the body, yet as
plainly and visibly as thou canst see and discern the outward
efficient cause of the depression and elevation of anything.

XXVII. Ever to mind and consider with thyself; how all things that
now

are, have been heretofore much after the same sort, and after the
same fashion that now they are: and so to think of those things
which shall be hereafter also. Moreover, whole dramata, and
uniform scenes, or scenes that comprehend the lives and actions of
men of one calling and profession, as many as either in thine own
experience thou hast known, or by reading of ancient histories; (as
the whole court of Adrianus, the whole court of Antoninus Pius, the
whole court of Philippus, that of Alexander, that of Croesus): to set
them all before thine eyes. For thou shalt find that they are all but
after one sort and fashion: only that the actors were others.
XXVIII. As a pig that cries and flings when his throat is cut, fancy
to

thyself every one to be, that grieves for any worldly thing and takes
on. Such a one is he also, who upon his bed alone, doth bewail the
miseries of this our mortal life. And remember this, that Unto
reasonable creatures only it is granted that they may willingly and
freely submit unto Providence: but absolutely to submit, is a
necessity imposed upon all creatures equally.

XXIX. Whatsoever it is that thou goest about, consider of it by

thyself,

and ask thyself, What? because I shall do this no more when I am

dead, should therefore death seem grievous unto me?

XXX. When thou art offended with any man's transgression,

presently

reflect upon thyself; and consider what thou thyself art guilty of in
the same kind. As that thou also perchance dost think it a happiness
either to be rich, or to live in pleasure, or to be praised and
commended, and so of the rest in particular. For this if thou shalt
call to mind, thou shalt soon forget thine anger; especially when at
the same time this also shall concur in thy thoughts, that he was
constrained by his error and ignorance so to do: for how can he
choose as long as he is of that opinion? Do thou therefore if thou
canst, take away that from him, that forceth him to do as he doth.
XXXI. When thou seest Satyro, think of Socraticus and Eutyches,
or

Hymen, and when Euphrates, think of Eutychio, and Sylvanus,

when Alciphron, of Tropaeophorus, when Xenophon, of Crito, or
Severus. And when thou doest look upon thyself, fancy unto thyself
some one or other of the Caesars; and so for every one, some one or
other that hath been for estate and profession answerable unto him.
Then let this come to thy mind at the same time; and where now are
they all? Nowhere or anywhere? For so shalt thou at all time be able
to perceive how all worldly things are but as the smoke, that
vanisheth away: or, indeed, mere nothing. Especially when thou
shalt call to mind this also, that whatsoever is once changed, shall
never be again as long as the world endureth. And thou then, how
long shalt thou endure? And why doth it not suffice thee, if
virtuously, and as becometh thee, thou mayest pass that portion of
time, how little soever it be, that is allotted unto thee?

XXXII. What a subject, and what a course of life is it, that thou
doest

so much desire to be rid of. For all these things, what are they, but fit
objects for an understanding, that beholdeth everything according
to its true nature, to exercise itself upon? Be patient, therefore, until
that (as a strong stomach that turns all things into his own nature;
and as a great fire that turneth in flame and light, whatsoever thou
doest cast into it) thou have made these things also familiar, and as
it were natural unto thee.
XXXIII. Let it not be in any man's power, to say truly of thee, that

thou art not truly simple, or sincere and open, or not good. Let him
be deceived whosoever he be that shall have any such opinion of
thee. For all this doth depend of thee. For who is it that should
hinder thee from being either truly simple or good? Do thou only
resolve rather not to live than not to be such. For indeed neither
doth it stand with reason that he should live that is not such. What
then is it that may upon this present occasion according to best
reason and discretion, either be said or done? For whatsoever it be,
it is in thy power either to do it, or to say it, and therefore seek not
any pretences, as though thou wert hindered. Thou wilt never cease
groaning and complaining, until such time as that, what pleasure is
unto the voluptuous, be unto thee, to do in everything that presents
itself, whatsoever may be done conformably and agreeably to the
proper constitution of man, or, to man as he is a man. For thou must
account that pleasure, whatsoever it be, that thou mayest do
according to thine own nature. And to do this, every place will fit
thee. Unto the cylindrus, or roller, it is not granted to move
everywhere according to its own proper motion, as neither unto the
water, nor unto the fire, nor unto any other thing, that either is
merely natural, or natural and sensitive; but not rational for many
things there be that can hinder their operations. But of the mind and
understanding this is the proper privilege, that according to its own
nature, and as it will itself, it can pass through every obstacle that it
finds, and keep straight on forwards. Setting therefore before thine
eyes this happiness and felicity of thy mind, whereby it is able to
pass through all things, and is capable of all motions, whether as the
fire, upwards; or as the stone downwards, or as the cylindrus
through that which is sloping: content thyself with it, and seek not
after any other thing. For all other kind of hindrances that are not
hindrances of thy mind either they are proper to the body, or merely
proceed from the opinion, reason not making that resistance that it
should, but basely, and cowardly suffering itself to be foiled; and of
themselves can neither wound, nor do any hurt at all. Else must he
of necessity, whosoever he be that meets with any of them, become
worse than he was before. For so is it in all other subjects, that that is
thought hurtful unto them, whereby they are made worse. But here
contrariwise, man (if he make that good use of them that he should)
is rather the better and the more praiseworthy for any of those kind
of hindrances, than otherwise. But generally remember that nothing
can hurt a natural citizen, that is not hurtful unto the city itself, nor
anything hurt the city, that is not hurtful unto the law itself. But
none of these casualties, or external hindrances, do hurt the law
itself; or, are contrary to that course of justice and equity, by which
public societies are maintained: neither therefore do they hurt either
city or citizen.

XXXIV. As he that is bitten by a mad dog, is afraid of everything

almost

that he seeth: so unto him, whom the dogmata have once bitten, or
in whom true knowledge hath made an impression, everything
almost that he sees or reads be it never so short or ordinary, doth
afford a good memento; to put him out of all grief and fear, as that
of the poet, 'The winds blow upon the trees, and their leaves fall
upon the ground. Then do the trees begin to bud again, and by the
spring-time they put forth new branches. So is the generation of
men; some come into the world, and others go out of it.' Of these
leaves then thy children are. And they also that applaud thee so
gravely, or, that applaud thy speeches, with that their usual
acclamation, axiopistwz, O wisely spoken I and speak well of thee,
as on the other side, they that stick not to curse thee, they that
privately and secretly dispraise and deride thee, they also are but
leaves. And they also that shall follow, in whose memories the
names of men famous after death, is preserved, they are but leaves
neither. For even so is it of all these worldly things. Their spring
comes, and they are put forth. Then blows the wind, and they go
down. And then in lieu of them grow others out of the wood or
common matter of all things, like unto them. But, to endure but for a
while, is common unto all. Why then shouldest thou so earnestly
either seek after these things, or fly from them, as though they
should endure for ever? Yet a little while, and thine eyes will be
closed up, and for him that carries thee to thy grave shall another
mourn within a while after.
XXXV. A good eye must be good to see whatsoever is to be seen,
and not

green things only. For that is proper to sore eyes. So must a good
ear, and a good smell be ready for whatsoever is either to be heard,
or smelt: and a good stomach as indifferent to all kinds of food, as a
millstone is, to whatsoever she was made for to grind. As ready
therefore must a sound understanding be for whatsoever shall
happen. But he that saith, O that my children might live! and, O that
all men might commend me for whatsoever I do! is an eye that seeks
after green things; or as teeth, after that which is tender.

XXXVI. There is not any man that is so happy in his death, but
that some

of those that are by him when he dies, will be ready to rejoice at his
supposed calamity. Is it one that was virtuous and wise indeed? will
there not some one or other be found, who thus will say to himself;
'Well now at last shall I be at rest from this pedagogue. He did not
indeed otherwise trouble us much: but I know well enough that in
his heart, he did much condemn us.' Thus will they speak of the
virtuous. But as for us, alas I how many things be there, for which
there be many that glad would be to be rid of us. This therefore if
thou shalt think of whensoever thou diest, thou shalt die the more
willingly, when thou shalt think with thyself; I am now to depart
from that world, wherein those that have been my nearest friends
and acquaintances, they whom I have so much suffered for, so often
prayed for, and for whom I have taken such care, even they would
have me die, hoping that after my death they shall live happier, than
they did before. What then should any man desire to continue here
any longer? Nevertheless, whensoever thou diest, thou must not be
less kind and loving unto them for it; but as before, see them,
continue to be their friend, to wish them well, and meekly, and
gently to carry thyself towards them, but yet so that on the other
side, it make thee not the more unwilling to die. But as it fareth with
them that die an easy quick death, whose soul is soon separated
from their bodies, so must thy separation from them be. To these
had nature joined and annexed me: now she parts us; I am ready to
depart, as from friends and kinsmen, but yet without either
reluctancy or compulsion. For this also is according to Nature.

XXXVII. Use thyself; as often, as thou seest any man do anything,

presently (if it be possible) to say unto thyself, What is this man's

end in this his action? But begin this course with thyself first of all,
and diligently examine thyself concerning whatsoever thou doest.

XXXVIII. Remember, that that which sets a man at work, and hath
power

over the affections to draw them either one way, or the other way, is
not any external thing properly, but that which is hidden within
every man's dogmata, and opinions: That, that is rhetoric; that is life;
that (to speak true) is man himself. As for thy body, which as a
vessel, or a case, compasseth thee about, and the many and curious
instruments that it hath annexed unto it, let them not trouble thy
thoughts. For of themselves they are but as a carpenter's axe, but
that they are born with us, and naturally sticking unto us. But
otherwise, without the inward cause that hath power to move them,
and to restrain them, those parts are of themselves of no more use
unto us, than the shuttle is of itself to the weaver, or the pen to the
writer, or the whip to the coachman.
THE ELEVENTH BOOK

I. The natural properties, and privileges of a reasonable soul are:

That

she seeth herself; that she can order, and compose herself: that she
makes herself as she will herself: that she reaps her own fruits
whatsoever, whereas plants, trees, unreasonable creatures, what
fruit soever (be it either fruit properly, or analogically only) they
bear, they bear them unto others, and not to themselves. Again;
whensoever, and wheresoever, sooner or later, her life doth end, she
hath her own end nevertheless. For it is not with her, as with
dancers and players, who if they be interrupted in any part of their
action, the whole action must needs be imperfect: but she in what
part of time or action soever she be surprised, can make that which
she hath in her hand whatsoever it be, complete and full, so that she
may depart with that comfort, 'I have lived; neither want I anything
of that which properly did belong unto me.' Again, she compasseth
the whole world, and penetrateth into the vanity, and mere outside
(wanting substance and solidity) of it, and stretcheth herself unto
the infiniteness of eternity; and the revolution or restoration of all
things after a certain period of time, to the same state and place as
before, she fetcheth about, and doth comprehend in herself; and
considers withal, and sees clearly this, that neither they that shall
follow us, shall see any new thing, that we have not seen, nor they
that went before, anything more than we: but that he that is once
come to forty (if he have any wit at all) can in a manner (for that
they are all of one kind) see all things, both past and future. As
proper is it, and natural to the soul of man to love her neighbour, to
be true and modest; and to regard nothing so much as herself:
which is also the property of the law: whereby by the way it
appears, that sound reason and justice comes all to one, and
therefore that justice is the chief thing, that reasonable creatures
ought to propose unto themselves as their end.
II. A pleasant song or dance; the Pancratiast's exercise, sports that

thou art wont to be much taken with, thou shalt easily contemn; if
the harmonious voice thou shalt divide into so many particular
sounds whereof it doth consist, and of every one in particular shall
ask thyself; whether this or that sound is it, that doth so conquer
thee. For thou wilt be ashamed of it. And so for shame, if
accordingly thou shalt consider it, every particular motion and
posture by itself: and so for the wrestler's exercise too. Generally
then, whatsoever it be, besides virtue, and those things that proceed
from virtue that thou art subject to be much affected with,
remember presently thus to divide it, and by this kind of division, in
each particular to attain unto the contempt of the whole. This thou
must transfer and apply to thy whole life also.

III. That soul which is ever ready, even now presently (if need be)
from

the body, whether by way of extinction, or dispersion, or

continuation in another place and estate to be separated, how
blessed and happy is it! But this readiness of it, it must proceed, not
from an obstinate and peremptory resolution of the mind, violently
and passionately set upon Opposition, as Christians are wont; but
from a peculiar judgment; with discretion and gravity, so that others
may be persuaded also and drawn to the like example, but without
any noise and passionate exclamations.

IV. Have I done anything charitably? then am I benefited by it.

See
that this upon all occasions may present itself unto thy mind, and
never cease to think of it. What is thy profession? to be good. And
how should this be well brought to pass, but by certain theorems
and doctrines; some Concerning the nature of the universe, and
some Concerning the proper and particular constitution of man?

V. Tragedies were at first brought in and instituted, to put men in

mind

of worldly chances and casualties: that these things in the ordinary

course of nature did so happen: that men that were much pleased
and delighted by such accidents upon this stage, would not by the
same things in a greater stage be grieved and afflicted: for here you
see what is the end of all such things; and that even they that cry out
so mournfully to Cithaeron, must bear them for all their cries and
exclamations, as well as others. And in very truth many good things
are spoken by these poets; as that (for example) is an excellent
passage: 'But if so be that I and my two children be neglected by the
Gods, they have some reason even for that,' &c. And again, 'It will
but little avail thee to storm and rage against the things themselves,'
&c. Again, 'To reap one's life, as a ripe ear of corn;' and whatsoever
else is to be found in them, that is of the same kind. After the
tragedy, the ancient comedy was brought in, which had the liberty
to inveigh against personal vices; being therefore through this her
freedom and liberty of speech of very good use and effect, to
restrain men from pride and arrogancy. To which end it was, that
Diogenes took also the same liberty. After these, what were either
the Middle, or New Comedy admitted for, but merely, (Or for the
most part at least) for the delight and pleasure of curious and
excellent imitation? 'It will steal away; look to it,' &c. Why, no man
denies, but that these also have some good things whereof that may
be one: but the whole drift and foundation of that kind of dramatical
poetry, what is it else, but as we have said?
VI. How clearly doth it appear unto thee, that no other course of
thy

life could fit a true philosopher's practice better, than this very
course, that thou art now already in?

VII. A branch cut off from the continuity of that which was next
unto

it, must needs be cut off from the whole tree: so a man that is
divided from another man, is divided from the whole society. A
branch is cut off by another, but he that hates and is averse, cuts
himself off from his neighbour, and knows not that at the same time
he divides himself from the whole body, or corporation. But herein
is the gift and mercy of God, the Author of this society, in that, once
cut off we may grow together and become part of the whole again.
But if this happen often the misery is that the further a man is run in
this division, the harder he is to be reunited and restored again: and
however the branch which, once cut of afterwards was graffed in,
gardeners can tell you is not like that which sprouted together at
first, and still continued in the unity of the body.

VIII. To grow together like fellow branches in matter of good

correspondence and affection; but not in matter of opinions. They

that shall oppose thee in thy right courses, as it is not in their power
to divert thee from thy good action, so neither let it be to divert thee
from thy good affection towards them. But be it thy care to keep
thyself constant in both; both in a right judgment and action, and in
true meekness towards them, that either shall do their endeavour to
hinder thee, or at least will be displeased with thee for what thou
hast done. For to fail in either (either in the one to give over for fear,
or in the other to forsake thy natural affection towards him, who by
nature is both thy friend and thy kinsman) is equally base, and
much savouring of the disposition of a cowardly fugitive soldier.

IX. It is not possible that any nature should be inferior unto art,

since that all arts imitate nature. If this be so; that the most perfect
and general nature of all natures should in her operation come short
of the skill of arts, is most improbable. Now common is it to all arts,
to make that which is worse for the better's sake. Much more then
doth the common nature do the same. Hence is the first ground of
justice. From justice all other virtues have their existence. For justice
cannot be preserved, if either we settle our minds and affections
upon worldly things; or be apt to be deceived, or rash, and
inconstant.

X. The things themselves (which either to get or to avoid thou art

put

to so much trouble) come not unto thee themselves; but thou in a

manner goest unto them. Let then thine own judgment and opinion
concerning those things be at rest; and as for the things themselves,
they stand still and quiet, without any noise or stir at all; and so
shall all pursuing and flying cease.

XI. Then is the soul as Empedocles doth liken it, like unto a
sphere or

globe, when she is all of one form and figure: when she neither
greedily stretcheth out herself unto anything, nor basely contracts
herself, or lies flat and dejected; but shineth all with light, whereby
she does see and behold the true nature, both that of the universe,
and her own in particular.

XII. Will any contemn me? let him look to that, upon what
grounds he

does it: my care shall be that I may never be found either doing or
speaking anything that doth truly deserve contempt. Will any hate
me? let him look to that. I for my part will be kind and loving unto
all, and even unto him that hates me, whom-soever he be, will I be
ready to show his error, not by way of exprobation or ostentation of
my patience, but ingenuously and meekly: such as was that famous
Phocion, if so be that he did not dissemble. For it is inwardly that
these things must be: that the Gods who look inwardly, and not
upon the outward appearance, may behold a man truly free from all
indignation and grief. For what hurt can it be unto thee whatsoever
any man else doth, as long as thou mayest do that which is proper
and suitable to thine own nature? Wilt not thou (a man wholly
appointed to be both what, and as the common good shall require)
accept of that which is now seasonable to the nature of the universe?

XIII. They contemn one another, and yet they seek to please one
another:

and whilest they seek to surpass one another in worldly pomp and
greatness, they most debase and prostitute themselves in their better
part one to another.
XIV. How rotten and insincere is he, that saith, I am resolved to
carry

myself hereafter towards you with all ingenuity and simplicity. O

man, what doest thou mean! what needs this profession of thine?
the thing itself will show it. It ought to be written upon thy
forehead. No sooner thy voice is heard, than thy countenance must
be able to show what is in thy mind: even as he that is loved knows
presently by the looks of his sweetheart what is in her mind. Such
must he be for all the world, that is truly simple and good, as he
whose arm-holes are offensive, that whosoever stands by, as soon as
ever he comes near him, may as it were smell him whether he will
or no. But the affectation of simplicity is nowise laudable. There is
nothing more shameful than perfidious friendship. Above all things,
that must be avoided. However true goodness, simplicity, and
kindness cannot so be hidden, but that as we have already said in
the very eyes and countenance they will show themselves.

XV. To live happily is an inward power of the soul, when she is

affected

with indifferency, towards those things that are by their nature

indifferent. To be thus affected she must consider all worldly objects
both divided and whole: remembering withal that no object can of
itself beget any opinion in us, neither can come to us, but stands
without still and quiet; but that we ourselves beget, and as it were
print in ourselves opinions concerning them. Now it is in our
power, not to print them; and if they creep in and lurk in some
corner, it is in our power to wipe them off. Remembering moreover,
that this care and circumspection of thine, is to continue but for a
while, and then thy life will be at an end. And what should hinder,
but that thou mayest do well with all these things? For if they be
according to nature, rejoice in them, and let them be pleasing and
acceptable unto thee. But if they be against nature, seek thou that
which is according to thine own nature, and whether it be for thy
credit or no, use all possible speed for the attainment of it: for no
man ought to be blamed, for seeking his own good and happiness.
XVI. Of everything thou must consider from whence it came, of
what

things it doth consist, and into what it will be changed: what will be
the nature of it, or what it will be like unto when it is changed; and
that it can suffer no hurt by this change. And as for other men's
either foolishness or wickedness, that it may not trouble and grieve
thee; first generally thus; What reference have I unto these? and that
we are all born for one another's good: then more particularly after
another consideration; as a ram is first in a flock of sheep, and a bull
in a herd of cattle, so am I born to rule over them. Begin yet higher,
even from this: if atoms be not the beginning of all things, than
which to believe nothing can be more absurd, then must we needs
grant that there is a nature, that doth govern the universe. If such a
nature, then are all worse things made for the better's sake; and all
better for one another's sake. Secondly, what manner of men they
be, at board, and upon their beds, and so forth. But above all things,
how they are forced by their opinions that they hold, to do what
they do; and even those things that they do, with what pride and
self-conceit they do them. Thirdly, that if they do these things
rightly, thou hast no reason to be grieved. But if not rightly, it must
needs be that they do them against their wills, and through mere
ignorance. For as, according to Plato's opinion, no soul doth
willingly err, so by consequent neither doth it anything otherwise
than it ought, but against her will. Therefore are they grieved,
whensoever they hear themselves charged, either of injustice, or
unconscionableness, or covetousness, or in general, of any injurious
kind of dealing towards their neighbours. Fourthly, that thou thyself
doest transgress in many things, and art even such another as they
are. And though perchance thou doest forbear the very act of some
sins, yet hast thou in thyself an habitual disposition to them, but that
either through fear, or vainglory, or some such other ambitious
foolish respect, thou art restrained. Fifthly, that whether they have
sinned or no, thou doest not understand perfectly. For many things
are done by way of discreet policy; and generally a man must know
many things first, before he be able truly and judiciously to judge of
another man's action. Sixthly, that whensoever thou doest take on
grievously, or makest great woe, little doest thou remember then
that a man's life is but for a moment of time, and that within a while
we shall all be in our graves. Seventhly, that it is not the sins and
transgressions themselves that trouble us properly; for they have
their existence in their minds and understandings only, that commit
them; but our own opinions concerning those sins. Remove then,
and be content to part with that conceit of thine, that it is a grievous
thing, and thou hast removed thine anger. But how should I remove
it? How? reasoning with thyself that it is not shameful. For if that
which is shameful, be not the only true evil that is, thou also wilt be
driven whilest thou doest follow the common instinct of nature, to
avoid that which is evil, to commit many unjust things, and to
become a thief, and anything, that will make to the attainment of thy
intended worldly ends. Eighthly, how many things may and do
oftentimes follow upon such fits of anger and grief; far more
grievous in themselves, than those very things which we are so
grieved or angry for. Ninthly, that meekness is a thing
unconquerable, if it be true and natural, and not affected or
hypocritical. For how shall even the most fierce and malicious that
thou shalt conceive, be able to hold on against thee, if thou shalt still
continue meek and loving unto him; and that even at that time,
when he is about to do thee wrong, thou shalt be well disposed, and
in good temper, with all meekness to teach him, and to instruct him
better? As for example; My son, we were not born for this, to hurt
and annoy one another; it will be thy hurt not mine, my son: and so
to show him forcibly and fully, that it is so in very deed: and that
neither bees do it one to another, nor any other creatures that are
naturally sociable. But this thou must do, not scoffingly, not by way
of exprobation, but tenderly without any harshness of words.
Neither must thou do it by way of exercise, or ostentation, that they
that are by and hear thee, may admire thee: but so always that
nobody be privy to it, but himself alone: yea, though there be more
present at the same time. These nine particular heads, as so many
gifts from the Muses, see that thou remember well: and begin one
day, whilest thou art yet alive, to be a man indeed. But on the other
side thou must take heed, as much to flatter them, as to be angry
with them: for both are equally uncharitable, and equally hurtful.
And in thy passions, take it presently to thy consideration, that to be
angry is not the part of a man, but that to be meek and gentle, as it
savours of more humanity, so of more manhood. That in this, there
is strength and nerves, or vigour and fortitude: whereof anger and
indignation is altogether void. For the nearer everything is unto
unpassionateness, the nearer it is unto power. And as grief doth
proceed from weakness, so doth anger. For both, both he that is
angry and that grieveth, have received a wound, and cowardly have
as it were yielded themselves unto their affections. If thou wilt have
a tenth also, receive this tenth gift from Hercules the guide and
leader of the Muses: that is a mad man's part, to look that there
should be no wicked men in the world, because it is impossible.
Now for a man to brook well enough, that there should be wicked
men in the world, but not to endure that any should transgress
against himself, is against all equity, and indeed tyrannical.

XVII. Four several dispositions or inclinations there be of the

mind and

understanding, which to be aware of, thou must carefully observe:

and whensoever thou doest discover them, thou must rectify them,
saying to thyself concerning every one of them, This imagination is
not necessary; this is uncharitable: this thou shalt speak as another
man's slave, or instrument; than which nothing can be more
senseless and absurd: for the fourth, thou shalt sharply check and
upbraid thyself; for that thou doest suffer that more divine part in
thee, to become subject and obnoxious to that more ignoble part of
thy body, and the gross lusts and concupiscences thereof.

XVIII. What portion soever, either of air or fire there be in thee,

although by nature it tend upwards, submitting nevertheless to the

ordinance of the universe, it abides here below in this mixed body.
So whatsoever is in thee, either earthy, or humid, although by
nature it tend downwards, yet is it against its nature both raised
upwards, and standing, or consistent. So obedient are even the
elements themselves to the universe, abiding patiently wheresoever
(though against their nature) they are placed, until the sound as it
were of their retreat, and separation. Is it not a grievous thing then,
that thy reasonable part only should be disobedient, and should not
endure to keep its place: yea though it be nothing enjoined that is
contrary unto it, but that only which is according to its nature? For
we cannot say of it when it is disobedient, as we say of the fire, or
air, that it tends upwards towards its proper element, for then goes
it the quite contrary way. For the motion of the mind to any
injustice, or incontinency, or to sorrow, or to fear, is nothing else but
a separation from nature. Also when the mind is grieved for
anything that is happened by the divine providence, then doth it
likewise forsake its own place. For it was ordained unto holiness
and godliness, which specially consist in an humble submission to
God and His providence in all things; as well as unto justice: these
also being part of those duties, which as naturally sociable, we are
bound unto; and without which we cannot happily converse one
with another: yea and the very ground and fountain indeed of all
just actions.

XIX. He that hath not one and the self-same general end always as
long

as he liveth, cannot possibly be one and the self-same man always.

But this will not suffice except thou add also what ought to be this
general end. For as the general conceit and apprehension of all those
things which upon no certain ground are by the greater part of men
deemed good, cannot be uniform and agreeable, but that only which
is limited and restrained by some certain proprieties and conditions,
as of community: that nothing be conceived good, which is not
commonly and publicly good: so must the end also that we propose
unto ourselves, be common and sociable. For he that doth direct all
his own private motions and purposes to that end, all his actions
will be agreeable and uniform; and by that means will be still the
same man.
XX. Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse,
and the

great fright and terror that this was put into.

XXI. Socrates was wont to call the common conceits and opinions
of men,

the common bugbears of the world: the proper terror of silly

children.

XXII. The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont to

appoint

seats and forms for their strangers in the shadow, they themselves
were content to sit anywhere.

XXIII. What Socrates answered unto Perdiccas, why he did not

come unto

him, Lest of all deaths I should die the worst kind of death, said he:
that is, not able to requite the good that hath been done unto me.
XXIV. In the ancient mystical letters of the Ephesians, there was
an

item, that a man should always have in his mind some one or other
of the ancient worthies.

XXV. The Pythagoreans were wont betimes in the morning the

first thing

they did, to look up unto the heavens, to put themselves in mind of

them who constantly and invariably did perform their task: as also
to put themselves in mind of orderliness, or good order, and of
purity, and of naked simplicity. For no star or planet hath any cover
before it.

XXVI. How Socrates looked, when he was fain to gird himself

with a

skin, Xanthippe his wife having taken away his clothes, and carried
them abroad with her, and what he said to his fellows and friends,
who were ashamed; and out of respect to him, did retire themselves
when they saw him thus decked.

XXVII. In matter of writing or reading thou must needs be taught

before

thou can do either: much more in matter of life. 'For thou art born a
mere slave, to thy senses and brutish affections;' destitute without
teaching of all true knowledge and sound reason.
XXVIII. 'My heart smiled within me.' 'They will accuse even
virtue

herself; with heinous and opprobrious words.'

XXIX. As they that long after figs in winter when they cannot be
had; so

are they that long after children, before they be granted them.

XXX. 'As often as a father kisseth his child, he should say secretly

with himself' (said Epictetus,) 'tomorrow perchance shall he die.' But

these words be ominous. No words ominous (said he) that signify
anything that is natural: in very truth and deed not more ominous
than this, 'to cut down grapes when they are ripe.' Green grapes,
ripe grapes, dried grapes, or raisins: so many changes and
mutations of one thing, not into that which was not absolutely, but
rather so many several changes and mutations, not into that which
hath no being at all, but into that which is not yet in being.

XXXI. 'Of the free will there is no thief or robber:' out of Epictetus;

Whose is this also: that we should find a certain art and method of
assenting; and that we should always observe with great care and
heed the inclinations of our minds, that they may always be with
their due restraint and reservation, always charitable, and according
to the true worth of every present object. And as for earnest longing,
that we should altogether avoid it: and to use averseness in those
things only, that wholly depend of our own wills. It is not about
ordinary petty matters, believe it, that all our strife and contention
is, but whether, with the vulgar, we should be mad, or by the help of
philosophy wise and sober, said he. XXXII. Socrates said, 'What will
you have? the souls of reasonable, or unreasonable creatures? Of
reasonable. But what? Of those whose reason is sound and perfect?
or of those whose reason is vitiated and corrupted? Of those whose
reason is sound and perfect. Why then labour ye not for such?
Because we have them already. What then do ye so strive and
contend between you?'
THE TWELFTH BOOK

I. Whatsoever thou doest hereafter aspire unto, thou mayest even

now

enjoy and possess, if thou doest not envy thyself thine own
happiness. And that will be, if thou shalt forget all that is past, and
for the future, refer thyself wholly to the Divine Providence, and
shalt bend and apply all thy present thoughts and intentions to
holiness and righteousness. To holiness, in accepting willingly
whatsoever is sent by the Divine Providence, as being that which the
nature of the universe hath appointed unto thee, which also hath
appointed thee for that, whatsoever it be. To righteousness, in
speaking the truth freely, and without ambiguity; and in doing all
things justly and discreetly. Now in this good course let not other
men's either wickedness, or opinion, or voice hinder thee: no, nor
the sense of this thy pampered mass of flesh: for let that which
suffers, look to itself. If therefore whensoever the time of thy
departing shall come, thou shalt readily leave all things, and shalt
respect thy mind only, and that divine part of thine, and this shall be
thine only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease to live,
but thou shalt never begin to live according to nature: then shalt
thou be a man indeed, worthy of that world, from which thou hadst
thy beginning; then shalt thou cease to be a stranger in thy country,
and to wonder at those things that happen daily, as things strange
and unexpected, and anxiously to depend of divers things that are
not in thy power.

II. God beholds our minds and understandings, bare and naked
from these

material vessels, and outsides, and all earthly dross. For with His
simple and pure understanding, He pierceth into our inmost and
purest parts , which from His, as it were by a water pipe and
channel, first flowed and issued. This if thou also shalt use to do,
thou shalt rid thyself of that manifold luggage, wherewith thou art
round about encumbered. For he that does regard neither his body,
nor his clothing, nor his dwelling, nor any such external furniture,
must needs gain unto himself great rest and ease. Three things there
be in all, which thou doest consist of; thy body, thy life, and thy
mind. Of these the two former, are so far forth thine, as that thou art
bound to take care for them. But the third alone is that which is
properly thine. If then thou shalt separate from thyself, that is from
thy mind, whatsoever other men either do or say, or whatsoever
thou thyself hast heretofore either done or said; and all troublesome
thoughts concerning the future, and whatsoever, (as either
belonging to thy body or life:) is without the jurisdiction of thine
own will, and whatsoever in the ordinary course of human chances
and accidents doth happen unto thee; so that thy mind (keeping
herself loose and free from all outward coincidental entanglements;
always in a readiness to depart:) shall live by herself, and to herself,
doing that which is just, accepting whatsoever doth happen, and
speaking the truth always; if, I say, thou shalt separate from thy
mind, whatsoever by sympathy might adhere unto it, and all time
both past and future, and shalt make thyself in all points and
respects, like unto Empedocles his allegorical sphere, 'all round and
circular,' &c., and shalt think of no longer life than that which is now
present: then shalt thou be truly able to pass the remainder of thy
days without troubles and distractions; nobly and generously
disposed, and in good favour and correspondency, with that spirit
which is within thee.

III. I have often wondered how it should come to pass, that every
man

loving himself best, should more regard other men's opinions

concerning himself than his own. For if any God or grave master
standing by, should command any of us to think nothing by himself
but what he should presently speak out; no man were able to
endure it, though but for one day. Thus do we fear more what our
neighbours will think of us, than what we ourselves.

IV. how come it to pass that the Gods having ordered all other
things

so well and so lovingly, should be overseen in this one only thing,

that whereas then hath been some very good men that have made
many covenants as it were with God and by many holy actions and
outward services contracted a kind of familiarity with Him; that
these men when once they are dead, should never be restored to life,
but be extinct for ever. But this thou mayest be sure of, that this (if it
be so indeed) would never have been so ordered by the Gods, had it
been fit otherwise. For certainly it was possible, had it been more
just so and had it been according to nature, the nature of the
universe would easily have borne it. But now because it is not so, (if
so be that it be not so indeed) be therefore confident that it was not
fit it should be so for thou seest thyself, that now seeking after this
matter, how freely thou doest argue and contest with God. But were
not the Gods both just and good in the highest degree, thou durst
not thus reason with them. Now if just and good, it could not be that
in the creation of the world, they should either unjustly or
unreasonably oversee anything.

V. Use thyself even unto those things that thou doest at first
despair

of. For the left hand we see, which for the most part lieth idle
because not used; yet doth it hold the bridle with more strength
than the right, because it hath been used unto it.
VI. Let these be the objects of thy ordinary meditation: to
consider,

what manner of men both for soul and body we ought to be,
whensoever death shall surprise us: the shortness of this our mortal
life: the immense vastness of the time that hath been before, and will
he after us: the frailty of every worldly material object: all these
things to consider, and behold clearly in themselves, all
disguisement of external outside being removed and taken away.
Again, to consider the efficient causes of all things: the proper ends
and references of all actions: what pain is in itself; what pleasure,
what death: what fame or honour, how every man is the true and
proper ground of his own rest and tranquillity, and that no man can
truly be hindered by any other: that all is but conceit and opinion.
As for the use of thy dogmata, thou must carry thyself in the
practice of them, rather like unto a pancratiastes, or one that at the
same time both fights and wrestles with hands and feet, than a
gladiator. For this, if he lose his sword that he fights with, he is
gone: whereas the other hath still his hand free which he may easily
turn and manage at his will.

VII. All worldly things thou must behold and consider, dividing
them

into matter, form, and reference, or their proper end.

VIII. How happy is man in this his power that hath been granted
unto
him: that he needs not do anything but what God shall approve, and
that he may embrace contentedly, whatsoever God doth send unto
him?

IX. Whatsoever doth happen in the ordinary course and

consequence of

natural events, neither the Gods, (for it is not possible, that they
either wittingly or unwittingly should do anything amiss) nor men,
(for it is through ignorance, and therefore against their wills that
they do anything amiss) must be accused. None then must be
accused.

X. How ridiculous and strange is he, that wonders at anything that

happens in this life in the ordinary course of nature!

XI. Either fate, (and that either an absolute necessity, and

unavoidable

decree; or a placable and flexible Providence) or all is a mere casual

confusion, void of all order and government. If an absolute and
unavoidable necessity, why doest thou resist? If a placable and
exorable Providence, make thyself worthy of the divine help and
assistance. If all be a mere confusion without any moderator, or
governor, then hast thou reason to congratulate thyself; that in such
a general flood of confusion thou thyself hast obtained a reasonable
faculty, whereby thou mayest govern thine own life and actions. But
if thou beest carried away with the flood, it must be thy body
perchance, or thy life, or some other thing that belongs unto them
that is carried away: thy mind and understanding cannot. Or should
it be so, that the light of a candle indeed is still bright and lightsome
until it be put out: and should truth, and righteousness, and
temperance cease to shine in thee whilest thou thyself hast any
being?

XII. At the conceit and apprehension that such and such a one
hath

sinned, thus reason with thyself; What do I know whether this be a

sin indeed, as it seems to be? But if it be, what do I know but that he
himself hath already condemned himself for it? And that is all one
as if a man should scratch and tear his own face, an object of
compassion rather than of anger. Again, that he that would not have
a vicious man to sin, is like unto him that would not have moisture
in the fig, nor children to welp nor a horse to neigh, nor anything
else that in the course of nature is necessary. For what shall he do
that hath such an habit? If thou therefore beest powerful and
eloquent, remedy it if thou canst.

XIII. If it be not fitting, do it not. If it be not true, speak it not.

Ever maintain thine own purpose and resolution free from all
compulsion and necessity.

XIV. Of everything that presents itself unto thee, to consider what

the
true nature of it is, and to unfold it, as it were, by dividing it into
that which is formal: that which is material: the true use or end of it,
and the just time that it is appointed to last.

XV. It is high time for thee, to understand that there is somewhat

in

thee, better and more divine than either thy passions, or thy sensual
appetites and affections. What is now the object of my mind, is it
fear, or suspicion, or lust, or any such thing? To do nothing rashly
without some certain end; let that be thy first care. The next, to have
no other end than the common good. For, alas! yet a little while, and
thou art no more: no more will any, either of those things that now
thou seest, or of those men that now are living, be any more. For all
things are by nature appointed soon to be changed, turned, and
corrupted, that other things might succeed in their room.

XVI. Remember that all is but opinion, and all opinion depends of
the

mind. Take thine opinion away, and then as a ship that hath stricken
in within the arms and mouth of the harbour, a present calm; all
things safe and steady: a bay, not capable of any storms and
tempests: as the poet hath it.

XVII. No operation whatsoever it he, ceasing for a while, can be

truly

said to suffer any evil, because it is at an end. Neither can he that is

the author of that operation; for this very respect, because his
operation is at an end, be said to suffer any evil. Likewise then,
neither can the whole body of all our actions (which is our life) if in
time it cease, be said to suffer any evil for this very reason, because
it is at an end; nor he truly be said to have been ill affected, that did
put a period to this series of actions. Now this time or certain
period, depends of the determination of nature: sometimes of
particular nature, as when a man dieth old; but of nature in general,
however; the parts whereof thus changing one after another, the
whole world still continues fresh and new. Now that is ever best
and most seasonable, which is for the good of the whole. Thus it
appears that death of itself can neither be hurtful to any in
particular, because it is not a shameful thing (for neither is it a thing
that depends of our own will, nor of itself contrary to the common
good) and generally, as it is both expedient and seasonable to the
whole, that in that respect it must needs be good. It is that also,
which is brought unto us by the order and appointment of the
Divine Providence; so that he whose will and mind in these things
runs along with the Divine ordinance, and by this concurrence of his
will and mind with the Divine Providence, is led and driven along,
as it were by God Himself; may truly be termed and esteemed the
*OEo~p7poc*, or divinely led and inspired.

XVIII. These three things thou must have always in a readiness:

first

concerning thine own actions, whether thou doest nothing either

idly, or otherwise, than justice and equity do require: and
concerning those things that happen unto thee externally, that either
they happen unto thee by chance, or by providence; of which two to
accuse either, is equally against reason. Secondly, what like unto our
bodies are whilest yet rude and imperfect, until they be animated:
and from their animation, until their expiration: of what things they
are compounded, and into what things they shall be dissolved.
Thirdly, how vain all things will appear unto thee when, from on
high as it were, looking down thou shalt contemplate all things
upon earth, and the wonderful mutability, that they are subject
unto: considering withal, the infinite both greatness and variety of
things aerial and things celestial that are round about it. And that as
often as thou shalt behold them, thou shalt still see the same: as the
same things, so the same shortness of continuance of all those
things. And, behold, these be the things that we are so proud and
puffed up for.

XIX. Cast away from thee opinion, and thou art safe. And what is
it that

hinders thee from casting of it away? When thou art grieved at

anything, hast thou forgotten that all things happen according to the
nature of the universe; and that him only it concerns, who is in fault;
and moreover, that what is now done, is that which from ever hath
been done in the world, and will ever be done, and is now done
everywhere: how nearly all men are allied one to another by a
kindred not of blood, nor of seed, but of the same mind. Thou hast
also forgotten that every man's mind partakes of the Deity, and
issueth from thence; and that no man can properly call anything his
own, no not his son, nor his body, nor his life; for that they all
proceed from that One who is the giver of all things: that all things
are but opinion; that no man lives properly, but that very instant of
time which is now present. And therefore that no man whensoever
he dieth can properly be said to lose any more, than an instant of
time.

XX. Let thy thoughts ever run upon them, who once for some one
thing or

other, were moved with extraordinary indignation; who were once

in the highest pitch of either honour, or calamity; or mutual hatred
and enmity; or of any other fortune or condition whatsoever. Then
consider what's now become of all those things. All is turned to
smoke; all to ashes, and a mere fable; and perchance not so much as
a fable. As also whatsoever is of this nature, as Fabius Catulinus in
the field; Lucius Lupus, and Stertinius, at Baiae Tiberius at Caprem:
and Velius Rufus, and all such examples of vehement prosecution in
worldly matters; let these also run in thy mind at the same time; and
how vile every object of such earnest and vehement prosecution is;
and how much more agreeable to true philosophy it is, for a man to
carry himself in every matter that offers itself; justly, and
moderately, as one that followeth the Gods with all simplicity. For,
for a man to be proud and high conceited, that he is not proud and
high conceited, is of all kind of pride and presumption, the most
intolerable.

XXI. To them that ask thee, Where hast thou seen the Gods, or
how

knowest thou certainly that there be Gods, that thou art so devout in
their worship? I answer first of all, that even to the very eye, they
are in some manner visible and apparent. Secondly, neither have I
ever seen mine own soul, and yet I respect and honour it. So then for
the Gods, by the daily experience that I have of their power and
providence towards myself and others, I know certainly that they
are, and therefore worship them.

XXII. Herein doth consist happiness of life, for a man to know

thoroughly the true nature of everything; what is the matter, and

what is the form of it: with all his heart and soul, ever to do that
which is just, and to speak the truth. What then remaineth but to
enjoy thy life in a course and coherence of good actions, one upon
another immediately succeeding, and never interrupted, though for
never so little a while?
XXIII. There is but one light of the sun, though it be intercepted
by

walls and mountains, and other thousand objects. There is but one
common substance of the whole world, though it be concluded and
restrained into several different bodies, in number infinite. There is
but one common soul, though divided into innumerable particular
essences and natures. So is there but one common intellectual soul,
though it seem to be divided. And as for all other parts of those
generals which we have mentioned, as either sensitive souls or
subjects, these of themselves (as naturally irrational) have no
common mutual reference one unto another, though many of them
contain a mind, or reasonable faculty in them, whereby they are
ruled and governed. But of every reasonable mind, this the
particular nature, that it hath reference to whatsoever is of her own
kind, and desireth to be united: neither can this common affection,
or mutual unity and correspondency, be here intercepted or
divided, or confined to particulars as those other common things
are.

XXIV. What doest thou desire? To live long. What? To enjoy the

operations of a sensitive soul; or of the appetitive faculty? or

wouldst thou grow, and then decrease again? Wouldst thou long be
able to talk, to think and reason with thyself? Which of all these
seems unto thee a worthy object of thy desire? Now if of all these
thou doest find that they be but little worth in themselves, proceed
on unto the last, which is, in all things to follow God and reason. But
for a man to grieve that by death he shall be deprived of any of these
things, is both against God and reason.
XXV. What a small portion of vast and infinite eternity it is, that is

allowed unto every one of us, and how soon it vanisheth into the
general age of the world: of the common substance, and of the
common soul also what a small portion is allotted unto us: and in
what a little clod of the whole earth (as it were) it is that thou doest
crawl. After thou shalt rightly have considered these things with
thyself; fancy not anything else in the world any more to be of any
weight and moment but this, to do that only which thine own
nature doth require; and to conform thyself to that which the
common nature doth afford.

XXVI. What is the present estate of my understanding? For herein

lieth

all indeed. As for all other things, they are without the compass of
mine own will: and if without the compass of my will, then are they
as dead things unto me, and as it were mere smoke.

XXVII. To stir up a man to the contempt of death this among other

things, is of good power and efficacy, that even they who esteemed
pleasure to be happiness, and pain misery, did nevertheless many of
them contemn death as much as any. And can death be terrible to
him, to whom that only seems good, which in the ordinary course of
nature is seasonable? to him, to whom, whether his actions be many
or few, so they be all good, is all one; and who whether he behold
the things of the world being always the same either for many years,
or for few years only, is altogether indifferent? O man! as a citizen
thou hast lived, and conversed in this great city the world. Whether
just for so many years, or no, what is it unto thee? Thou hast lived
(thou mayest be sure) as long as the laws and orders of the city
required; which may be the common comfort of all. Why then
should it be grievous unto thee, if (not a tyrant, nor an unjust judge,
but) the same nature that brought thee in, doth now send thee out of
the world? As if the praetor should fairly dismiss him from the
stage, whom he had taken in to act a while. Oh, but the play is not
yet at an end, there are but three acts yet acted of it? Thou hast well
said: for in matter of life, three acts is the whole play. Now to set a
certain time to every man's acting, belongs unto him only, who as
first he was of thy composition, so is now the cause of thy
dissolution. As for thyself; thou hast to do with neither. Go thy ways
then well pleased and contented: for so is He that dismisseth thee.

APPENDIX

CORRESPONDENCE OF M. AURELIUS ANTONINUS AND M.

CORNELIUS FRONTO'

M. CORNELIUS FRONTO(1) was a Roman by descent, but of

provincial birth, being native to Cirta, in Numidia. Thence he
migrated to Rome in the reign of Hadrian, and became the most
famous rhetorician of his day. As a pleader and orator he was
counted by his contemporaries hardly inferior to Tully himself, and
as a teacher his aid was sought for the noblest youths of Rome. To
him was entrusted the education of M.

Aurelius and of his colleague L. Verus in their boyhood; and he was

rewarded for his efforts by a seat in the Senate and the consular rank
(A.D. 143). By the exercise of his profession he became wealthy; and
if he speaks of his means as not great,(2) he must be comparing his
wealth with the grandees of Rome, not with the ordinary citizen.
Before the present century nothing was known of the works of
Fronto, except a grammatical treatise; but in 1815 Cardinal Mai
published a number of letters and some short essays of Fronto,
which he had discovered in a palimpsest at Milan. Other parts of the
same MS. he found later in the Vatican, the whole being collected

1 References are made to the edition of Naber, Leipzig

(Trübner), 1867.

2 Ad Verum imp. Aur. Caes., ii, 7. and edited in the year

1823.

We now possess parts of his correspondence with Antoninus Pius,

with M. Aurelius, with L. Verus, and with certain of his friends, and
also several rhetorical and historical fragments. Though none of the
more ambitious works of Fronto have survived, there are enough to
give proof of his powers. Never was a great literary reputation less
deserved. It would be hard to conceive of anything more vapid than
the style and conception of these letters; clearly the man was a
pedant without imagination or taste. Such indeed was the age he
lived in, and it is no marvel that he was like to his age. But there
must have been more in him than mere pedantry; there was indeed
a heart in the man, which Marcus found, and he found also a tongue
which could speak the truth. Fronto's letters are by no means free
from exaggeration and laudation, but they do not show that
loathsome flattery which filled the Roman court. He really admires
what he praises, and his way of saying so is not unlike what often
passes for criticism at the present day. He is not afraid to reprove
what he thinks amiss; and the astonishment of Marcus at this will
prove, if proof were needed, that he was not used to plain dealing.
"How happy I am," he writes, "that my friend Marcus Cornelius, so
distinguished as an orator and so noble as a man, thinks me worth
praising and blaming."(1) In another place he deems himself blest
because Pronto had taught him to speak the truth(2) although the
context shows him to be speaking of expression, it is still a point in
favour of Pronto. A sincere heart is better than literary taste; and if
Fronto had not done his duty by the young prince, it is not easy to
understand the friendship which remained between them up to the
last.
 1 Ad M. Caes iii. 17

2 Ad M. Caes iii. 12

An example of the frankness which was between them is given by a

difference they had over the case of Herodes Atticus. Herodes was a
Greek rhetorician who had a school at Rome, and Marcus Aurelius
was among his pupils. Both Marcus and the Emperor Antoninus
had a high opinion of Herodes; and all we know goes to prove he
was a man of high character and princely generosity. When quite
young he was made administrator of the free cities in Asia, nor is it
surprising to find that he made bitter enemies there; indeed, a just
ruler was sure to make enemies. The end of it was that an Athenian
deputation, headed by the orators Theodotus and Demostratus,
made serious accusations against his honour. There is no need to
discuss the merits of the case here; suffice it to say, Herodes
succeeded in defending himself to the satisfaction of the emperor.
Pronto appears to have taken the delegates' part, and to have
accepted a brief for the prosecution, urged to some extent by
personal considerations; and in this cause Marcus Aurelius writes to
Fronto as follows 'AURELIUS CAESAR to his friend FRONTO,
greeting.(1) 'I know you have often told me you were anxious to
find how you might best please me. Now is the time; now you can
increase my love towards you, if it can be increased. A trial is at
hand, in which people seem likely not only to hear your speech with
pleasure, but to see your indignation with impatience. I see no one
who dares give you a hint in the matter; for those who are less
friendly, prefer to see you act with some inconsistency; and those
who are more friendly, fear to seem too friendly to your opponent if
they should dissuade you from your accusation; then again, in case
you have prepared something neat for the occasion, they cannot
endure to rob you of your harangue by silencing you. Therefore,
whether you think me a rash counsellor, or a bold boy, or too kind
to your opponent, not because I think it better, I will offer my
counsel with some caution. But why have I said, offer my counsel?
No, I demand it from you; I demand it boldly, and if I succeed, I
promise to remain under your obligation. What? you will say if I am
attackt, shall I not pay tit for tat? Ah, but you will get greater glory,
if even when attackt you answer nothing. Indeed, if he begins it,
answer as you will and you will have fair excuse; but I have
demanded of him that he shall not begin, and I think I have
succeeded. I love each of you according to your merits and I know
that lie was educated in the house of P. Calvisius, my grandfather,
and that I was educated by you; therefore I am full of anxiety that
this most disagreeable business shall be managed as honourably as
possible. I trust you may approve my advice, for my intention you
will approve. At least I prefer to write unwisely rather than to be
silent unkindly.'

1 Ad M. Caes ii., 2.

Fronto replied, thanking the prince for his advice, and promising
that he will confine himself to the facts of the case. But he points out
that the charges brought against Herodes were such, that they can
hardly be made agreeable; amongst them being spoliation, violence,
and murder. However, he is willing even to let some of these drop if
it be the prince's pleasure. To this Marcus returned the following
answer:—(1) 'This one thing, my dearest Fronto, is enough to make
me truly grateful to you, that so far from rejecting my counsel, you
have even approved it. As to the question you raise in your kind
letter, my opinion is this: all that concerns the case which you are
supporting must be clearly brought forward; what concerns your
own feelings, though you may have had just provocation, should be
left unsaid.' The story does credit to both. Fronto shows no loss of
temper at the interference, nor shrinks from stating his case with
frankness; and Marcus, with forbearance remarkable in a prince,
does not command that his friend be left unmolested, but merely
stipulates for a fair trial on the merits of the case.

Another example may be given from a letter of Fronto's (2) Here is

something else quarrelsome and querulous. I have sometimes found
fault with you in your absence somewhat seriously in the company
of a few of my most intimate friends: at times, for example, when
you mixt in society with a more solemn look than was fitting, or
would read books in the theatre or in a banquet; nor did I absent
myself from theatre or banquet when you did (3). Then I used to call
you a hard man, no good company, even disagreeable, sometimes,
when anger got the better of me. But did any one else in the same
banquet speak against you, I could not endure to hear it with
equanimity. Thus it was easier for me to say something to your
disadvantage myself, than to hear others do it; just as I could more
easily bear to chastise my daughter Gratia, than to see her chastised
by another.'

1. Ad. M. Caes., iii. 5.

2. iv. 12.

3 The text is obscure

The affection between them is clear from every page of the

correspondence. A few instances are now given, which were written
at different periods To MY MASTER.(1) 'This is how I have past the
last few days. My sister was suddenly seized with an internal pain,
so violent that I was horrified at her looks; my mother in her
trepidation on that account accidentally bruised her side on a corner
of the wall; she and we were greatly troubled about that blow. For
myself; on going to rest I found a scorpion in my bed; but I did not
lie down upon him, I killed him first. If you are getting on better,
that is a consolation. My mother is easier now, thanks be to God.
Good-bye, best and sweetest master. My lady sends you greeting.'

(2)'What words can I find to fit my had luck, or how shall I upbraid
as it deserves the hard constraint which is laid upon me? It ties me
fast here, troubled my heart is, and beset by such anxiety; nor does it
allow me to make haste to my Fronto, my life and delight, to be near
him at such a moment of ill-health in particular, to hold his hands,
to chafe gently that identical foot, so far as may be done without
discomfort, to attend him in the bath, to support his steps with my
arm.'

(3)'This morning I did not write to you, because I heard you were
better, and because I was myself engaged in other business, and I
cannot ever endure to write anything to you unless with mind at
ease and untroubled and free. So if we are all right, let me know:
what I desire, you know, and how properly I desire it, I know.
Farewell, my master, always in every chance first in my mind, as
you deserve to be. My master, see I am not asleep, and I compel
myself to sleep, that you may not be angry with me. You gather I am
writing this late at night.'
 1 Ad M. Caes., v. 8.

2 i. 2.

3 iii. 21.

(1)'What spirit do you suppose is in me, when I remember how long

it is since I have seen you, and why I have not seen you 1 and it may
be I shall not see you for a few days yet, while you are strengthening
yourself; as you must. So while you lie on the sick-bed, my spirit
also will lie low anti, whenas,(2) by God's mercy you shall stand
upright, my spirit too will stand firm, which is now burning with
the strongest desire for you. Farewell, soul of your prince, your (3)O
my dear Fronto, most distinguished Consul! I yield, you have
conquered: all who have ever loved before, you have conquered out
and out in love's contest. Receive the victor's wreath; and the herald
shall proclaim your victory aloud before your own tribunal: "M.
Cornelius Fronto, Consul, wins, and is crowned victor in the Open
International Love-race."(4) But beaten though I may be, I shall
neither slacken nor relax my own zeal. Well, you shall love me more
than any man loves any other man; but I, who possess a faculty of
loving less strong, shall love you more than any one else loves you;
more indeed than you love yourself. Gratia and I will have to fight
for it; I doubt I shall not get the better of her. For, as Plautus says,
her love is like rain, whose big drops not only penetrate the dress,
but drench to the very marrow.'

Marcus Aurelius seems to have been about eighteen years of age

when the correspondence begins, Fronto being some thirty years
older.(5) The systematic education of the young prince seems to
have been finisht, and Pronto now acts more as his adviser than his
tutor. He recommends the prince to use simplicity in his public
speeches, and to avoid affectation.(6) Marcus devotes his attention
to the old authors who then had a great vogue at Rome: Ennius,
Plautus, Nawius, and such orators as Cato and Gracchus.(7) Pronto
urges on him the study of Cicero, whose letters, he says, are all
worth reading.

1 Ad M. Caes., iii. 19.

 2 The writer sometimes uses archaisms such as quom, which I
render 'whenas'.

3 Ad M. Caes., ii. 2.

4 The writer parodies the proclamation at the Greek games; the

words also are Greek.

5 From internal evidence: the letters are not arranged in order

of time. See Naher's Prolegomena, p. xx. foil.

6 Ad M. Caes., iii. x.

7 Ad M. Caes ii. 10,; iii. 18,; ii. 4.

When he wishes to compliment Marcus he declares one or other of

his letters has the true Tullian ring. Marcus gives his nights to
reading when he ought to be sleeping. He exercises himself in verse
composition and on rhetorical themes.

'It is very nice of you,' he writes to Fronto,(1) 'to ask for my

hexameters; I would have sent them at once if I had them by me.
The fact is my secretary, Anicetus-you know who I mean-did not
pack up any of my compositions for me to take away with me. He
knows my weakness; he was afraid that if I got hold of them I
might, as usual, make smoke of them. However, there was no fear
for the hexameters. I must confess the truth to my master: I love
them. I study at night, since the day is taken up with the theatre. I
am weary of an evening, and sleepy in the daylight, and so I don't
do much. Yet I have made extracts from sixty books, five volumes of
them, in these latter days. But when you read remember that the
"sixty" includes plays of Novius, and farces, and some little speeches
of Scipio; don't be too much startled at the number. You remember
your Polemon; but I pray you do not remember Horace, who has
died with Pollio as far as I am concerned.(2) Farewell, my dearest
and most affectionate friend, most distinguished consul and my
beloved master, whom I have not seen these two years. Those who
say two months, count the days. Shall I ever see you again?'
Sometimes Fronto sends him a theme to work up, as thus: 'M.
Lucilius tribune of the people violently throws into prison a free
Roman citizen, against the opinion of his colleagues who demand
his release. For this act he is branded by the censor. Analyse the
case, and then take both sides in turn, attacking and defending.'(3)
Or again: 'A Roman consul, doffing his state robe, dons the gauntlet
and kills a lion amongst the young men at the Quinquatrus in full
view of the people of Rome. Denunciation before the censors.'(4)
The prince has a fair knowledge of Greek, and quotes from Homer,
Plato, Euripides, but for some reason Fronto dissuaded him from
this study.(5) His Meditations are written in Greek. He continued
his literary studies throughout his life, and after he became emperor
we still find him asking his adviser for copies of Cicero's Letters, by
which he hopes to improve his vocabulary.(6) Pronto Helps him
with a supply of similes, which, it seems, he did not think of readily.
It is to be feared that the fount of Marcus's eloquence was pumped
up by artificial means.

1 Ad M. Caes., ii. 10.

2 He implies, as in i. 6, that he has ceased to study Horace.

3 Pollio was a grammarian, who taught Marcus.

4 Ad M. Caes., v. 27,; V. 22.

5 Ep. Gracae, 6.

6 Ad Anton. Imp., II. 4.

Some idea of his literary style may be gathered from the letter which
follows:(1) 'I heard Polemo declaim the other day, to say something
of things sublunary. If you ask what I thought of him, listen. He
seems to me an industrious farmer, endowed with the greatest skill,
who has cultivated a large estate for corn and vines only, and
indeed with a rich return of fine crops. But yet in that land of his
there is no Pompeian fig or Arician vegetable, no Tarentine rose, or
pleasing coppice, or thick grove, or shady plane tree; all is for use
rather than for pleasure, such as one ought rather to commend, but
cares not to love.
A pretty bold idea, is it not, and rash judgment, to pass censure on a
man of such reputation? But whenas I remember that I am writing
to you, I think I am less bold than you would have me.

'In that point I am wholly undecided.

'There's an unpremeditated hendecasyllable for you. So before I

begin to poetize, i'll take an easy with you. Farewell, my heart's
desire, your Verus's best beloved, most distinguisht consul, master
most sweet. Farewell I ever pray, sweetest soul.

What a letter do you think you have written me I could make bold
to say, that never did she who bore me and nurst me, write anything
SO delightful, so honey-sweet. And this does not come of your fine
style and eloquence: otherwise not my mother only, but all who
breathe.'

1 Ad M. Caes, ii. 5.

To the pupil, never was anything on earth so fine as his master's

eloquence; on this theme Marcus fairly bubbles over with
enthusiasm.

(1)'Well, if the ancient Greeks ever wrote anything like this, let those
who know decide it: for me, if I dare say so, I never read any
invective of Cato's so fine as your encomtum. O if my Lord(2) could
be sufficiently praised, sufficiently praised he would have been
undoubtedly by you! This kind of thing is not done nowadays.(3) It
were easier to match Pheidias, easier to match Apelles, easier in a
word to match Demosthenes himself, or Cato himself; than to match
this finisht and perfect work. Never have I read anything more
refined, anything more after the ancient type, anything more
delicious, anything more Latin. O happy you, to be endowed with
eloquence so great! O happy I, to be tinder the charge of such a
master! O arguments,(4) O arrangement, O elegance, O wit, O
beauty, O words, O brilliancy, O subtilty, O grace, O treatment, O
everything! Mischief take me, if you ought not to have a rod put in
your hand one day, a diadem on your brow, a tribunal raised for
you; then the herald would summon us all-why do I say "us"?
Would summnon all, those scholars and orators: one by one you
would beckon them forward with your rod and admonish them.
Hitherto I have had no fear of this admonition; many things help me
to enter within your school. I write this in the utmost haste; for
whenas I am sending you so kindly a letter from my Lord, what
needs a longer letter of mine? Farewell then, glory of Roman
eloquence, boast of your friends, magnifico, most delightful man,
most distinguished consul, master most sweet.

'After this you will take care not to tell so many fibs of me,
especially in the Senate. A monstrous fine speech this is! O if 1 could
kiss your head at every heading of it! You have looked down on all
with a vengeance. This oration once read, in vain shall we study, in
vain shall we toil, in vain strain every nerve. Farewell always, most
sweet master.

1 Ad M. Caes., ii. 3.

2 The Emperor Antoninus Pius is spoken of as dominus vieus.

3 This sentence is written in Greek.

4 Several of these words are Greek, and the meaning is not

quite clear.

Sometimes Fronto descends from the heights of eloquence to offer

practical advice; as when he suggests how Marcus should deal with
his suite. It is more difficult, he admits, to keep courtiers in harmony
than to tame lions with a lute; but if it is to be done, it must be by
eradicating jealousy. 'Do not let your friends,' says Fronto,'(1) 'envy
each other, or think that what you give to another is filched from
them.

Keep away envy from your suite, and you will find your friends
kindly and harmonious.'

Here and there we meet with allusions to his daily life, which we
could wish to be more frequent. He goes to the theatre or the law-
courts,(2) or takes part in court ceremony, but his heart is always
with his books The vintage season, with its religious rites, was
always spent by Antoninus Pius in the country. The following
letters give sonic notion of a day's occupation at that time:(3) 'MY
DEAREST MASTER,—I am well. To-day I studied from the ninth
hour of the night to the second hour of day, after taking food. I then
put on my slippers, and from time second to the third hour had a
most enjoyable walk up and down before my chamber. Then booted
and cloaked-for so we were commanded to appear-I went to wait
upon my lord the emperor. We went a-hunting, did doughty deeds,
heard a rumour that boars had been caught, but there was nothing
to see. However, we climbed a pretty steep hill, and in the afternoon
returned home. I went straight to my books. Off with the boots,
down with the cloak; I spent a couple of hours in bed. I read Cato's
speech on the Property of Pulchra, and another in which he
impeaches a tribune. Ho, ho! I hear you cry to your man, Off with
you as fast as you can, and bring me these speeches from the library
of Apollo. No use to send: I have those books with me too. You must
get round the Tiberian librarian; you will have to spend something
on the matter; and when I return to town, I shall expect to go shares
with him. Well, after reading these speeches I wrote a wretched
trifle, destined for drowning or burning. No, indeed my attempt at
writing did not come off at all to-day; the composition of a hunter or
a vintager, whose shouts are echoing through my chamber, hateful
and wearisome as the law-courts. What have I said? Yes, it was
rightly said, for my master is an orator. I think I have caught cold,
whether from walking in slippers or from writing badly, I do not
know. I am always annoyed with phlegm, but to-day I seem to
snivel more than usual. Well, I will pour oil on my head and go off
to sleep. I don't mean to put one drop in my lamp to-day, so weary
am I from riding and sneezing. Farewell, dearest and most beloved
master, whom I miss, I may say, more than Rome it~dL'

1 Ad M Caes., iv. 1.

2 ii. 14

3 iv. 5,6.

'MY BELOVED MASTER -I am well. I slept a little more than usual

for my slight cold, which seems to be well again. So I spent the time
from the eleventh hour of the night to the third of the day partly in
reading in Cato's Agriculture, partly in writing, not quite so badly as
yesterday indeed. Then, after waiting upon my father, I soothed my
throat with honey-water, ejecting it without swallowing: I might say
gargle, but I won't, though I think the word is found in Novius and
elsewhere. After attending to my throat I went to my father, and
stood by his side as he sacrificed. Then to luncheon. What do you
think I had to eat? A bit of bread so big, while I watched others
gobbling boiled beans, onions, and fish full of roe. Then we set to
work at gathering the grapes, with plenty of sweat and shouting,
and, as the quotation runs, "A few high-hanging clusters did we
leave survivors of the vintage." After the sixth hour we returned
home. I did a little work, and poor work at that. Then I had a long
gossip with my dear mother sitting on the bed. My conversation
was: What do you think my friend Fronto is doing just now? She
said: And what do you think of my friend Gratia?'(1) My turn now:
And what of our little Gratia,(2) the sparrowkin? After this kind of
talk, and an argument as to which of you loved the other most, the
gong sounded, the signal that my father had gone to the bath. We
supped, after ablutions in the oil-cellar-I mean we supped after
ablutions, not after ablutions in the oil-cellar; and listened with
enjoyment to the rustics gibing. After returning, before turning on
my side to snore, I do my task and give an account of the day to my
delightful master, whom if I could long for a little more, I should not
mind growing a trifle thinner. Farewell, Fronto, wherever you are,
honey-sweet, my darling, my delight. Why do I want you? I can
love you while far away.'

One anecdote puts Marcus before us in a new light:(3)

1 Fronto's wife.

2 Fronto's daughter

3 Ad M. Caes ii. 12.

'When my father returned home from the vineyards, I mounted my

horse as usual, and rode on ahead some little way. Well, there on the
road was a herd of sheep, standing all crowded together as though
the place were a desert, with four dogs and two shepherds, but
nothing else. Then one shepherd said to another shepherd, on seeing
a number of horsemen: 'I say,' says he, 'look you at those horsemen;
they do a deal of robbery.' When I heard this, I clap spurs to my
horse, and ride straight for the sheep. In consternation the sheep
scatter; hither and thither they are fleeting and bleating. A shepherd
throws his fork, and the fork falls on the horseman who came next
to me. We make our escape.' We like Marcus none the worse for this
spice of mischief.

Another letter(1) describes a visit to a country town, and shows the

antiquarian spirit of the writer 'M. CAESAR to his MASTER M.
FRONTO, greeting.

'After I entered the carriage, after I took leave of you, we made a

journey comfortable enough, but we had a few drops of rain to wet
us. But before coming to the country-house, we broke our journey at
Anagnia, a mile or so from the highroad. Then we inspected that
ancient town, a miniature it is, but has in it many antiquities,
temples, and religious ceremonies quite out of the way. There is not
a corner without its shrine, or fane, or temple; besides, many books
written on linen, which belongs to things sacred. Then on the gate as
we came out was written twice, as follows: "Priest don the fell."(2) I
asked one of the inhabitants what that word was. He said it was the
word in the Hernican dialect for the victim's skin, which the priest
puts over his conical cap when he enters the city. I found out many
other things which I desired to know, but the only thing I do not
desire is that you should be absent from me; that is my chief anxiety.
Now for yourself, when you left that place, did you go to Aurelia or
to Campania? Be sure to write to me, and say whether you have
opened the vintage, or carried a host of books to the country-house;
this also, whether you miss me; I am foolish to ask it, whenas you
tell it me of yourself. Now if you miss me and if you love me, send
me your letters often, which is a comfort and consolation to me.
Indeed I should prefer ten times to read your letters than all the
vines of Gaurus or the Marsians; for these Signian vines have grapes
too rank and fruit too sharp in the taste, but I prefer wine to must
for drinking. Besides, those grapes are nicer to eat dried than fresh-
ripe; I vow I would rather tread them under foot than put my teeth
in them. But I pray they may be gracious and forgiving, and grant
me free pardon for these jests of mine. Farewell, best friend, dearest,
most learned, sweetest master. When you see the must ferment in
the vat, remember that just so in my heart the longing for you is
gushing and flowing and bubbling. Good-bye.'
 1 Ad Verum. Imp ii. 1, s. fin.

2 Santentum

Making all allowances for conventional exaggerations, it is clear

from the correspondence that there was deep love between Marcus
and his preceptor. The letters cover several years in succession, but
soon after the birth of Marcus's daughter, Faustina, there is a large
gap. It does not follow that the letters ceased entirely, because we
know part of the collection is lost; but there was probably less
intercourse between Marcus and Fronto after Marcus took to the
study of philosophy under the guidance of Rusticus.

When Marcus succeeded to the throne in 161, the letters begin again,
with slightly increased formality on Fronto's part, and they go on for
some four years, when Fronto, who has been continually
complaining of ill-health, appears to have died. One letter of the
later period gives some interesting particulars of the emperor's
public life, which are worth quoting. Fronto speaks of Marcus's
victories and eloquence in the usual strain of high praise, and then
continues.(1) 'The army when you took it in hand was sunk in
luxury and revelry, and corrupted with long inactivity. At Antiochia
the soldiers had been Wont to applaud at the stage plays, knew
more of the gardens at the nearest restaurant than of the battlefield.
Horses were hairy from lack of grooming, horsemen smooth
because their hairs had been pulled out by the roots(2) a rare thing it
was to see a soldier with hair on arm or leg. Moreover, they were
better drest than armed; so much so, that Laelianus Pontius, a strict
man of the old discipline, broke the cuirasses of some of them with
his finger-tips, and observed cushions on the horses' backs. At his
direction the tufts were cut through, and out of the horsemen's
saddles came what appeared to be feathers pluckt from geese. Few
of the men could vault on horseback, the rest clambered up with
difficulty by aid of heel and knee and leg not many could throw a
lance hurtling, most did it without force or power, as though they
were things of wool-dicing was common in the camp, sleep lasted
all night, or if they kept watch it was over the winecup. By what
regulations to restrain such soldiers as these, and to turn them to
honesty and industry, did you not learn from Hannibal's sternness,
the discipline of Africanus, the acts of Metellus recorded in history.
 1 Ad Verum. imp., ii. I, s.fin.

2 A common mark of the effeminate at Rome.

After the preceptorial letters cease the others are concerned with
domestic events, health and sickness, visits or introductions, birth or
death. Thus the empperor writes to his old friend, who had shown
some diffidence in seeking an interview:(1)

'To MY MASTER.

'I have a serious grievance against you, my dear master , yet indeed
my grief is more than my grievance, because after so long a time I
neither embraced you nor spoke to you, though you visited the
palace, and the moment after I had left the prince my brother. I
reproached my brother severely for not recalling me; nor durst he
deny the fault.' Fronto again writes on one occasion: 'I have seen
your daughter. It was like seeing you and Faustina in infancy, so
much that is charming her face has taken from each of yours.' Or
again, at a later date:(2) I have seen your chicks, most delightful
sight that ever I saw in my life, so like you that nothing is more like
than the likeness.... By the mercy of Heaven they have a healthy
colour and strong lungs. One held a piece of white bread, like a little
prince, the other a common piece, like a true philosophers son.'

1 Ad Verum. Imp. Aur. Caes., i. 3.

2 AdAnt. Imp i., 3.

Marcus, we know, was devoted to his children. They were delicate

in health, in spite of Fronto's assurance, and only one son survived
the father. We find echoes of this affection now and again in the
letters. 'We have summer heat here still,' writes Marcus, 'but since
my little girls are pretty well, if I may say so, it is like the bracing
climate of spring to us.'(1) When little Faustina came back from the
valley of the shadow of death, her father at once writes to inform
Fronto.(2) The sympathy he asks he also gives, and as old age brings
more and more infirmity, Marcus becomes even more solicitous for
his beloved teacher. The poor old man suffered a heavy blow in the
death of his grandson, on which Marcus writes:(3) 'I have just heard
of your misfortune. Feeling grieved as I do when one of your joints
gives you pain, what do you think I feel, dear master, when you
have pain of mind?' The old man's reply, in spite of a certain self-
consciousness, is full of pathos. He recounts with pride the events of
a long and upright life, in which he has wronged no man, and lived
in harmony with his friends and family. His affectations fall away
from him, as the cry of pain is forced from his heart:—

(4)'Many such sorrows has fortune visited me with all my life long.
To pass by my other afflictions, I have lost five children under the
most pitiful conditions possible: for the five I lost one by one when
each was my only child, suffering these blows of bereavement in
such a manner that each child was born to one already bereaved.
Thus I ever lost my children without solace, and got them amidst
fresh grief.....'

The letter continues with reflections on the nature of death, 'more to

be rejoiced at than bewailed, the younger one dies,' and an
arraignment of Providence not without dignity, wrung from him as
it were by this last culminating misfortune. It concludes with a
summing-up of his life in protest against the blow which has fallen
on his grey head.

1 Ad M. Caes., v. 19

2 iv. 11

3 De Nepote Amissa

4 De Nepote Amissa 2

'Through my long life I have committed nothing which might bring

dishonour, or disgrace, or shame: no deed of avarice or treachery
have I done in all my day's: nay, but much generosity, much
kindness, much truth and faithfulness have I shown, often at the
risk of my own life. I have lived in amity with my good brother,
whom I rejoice to see in possession of the highest office by your
father's goodness, and by your friendship at peace and perfect rest.
The offices which I have myself obtained I never strove for by any
underhand means. I have cultivated my mind rather than my body;
the pursuit of learning I have preferred to increasing my wealth. I
preferred to be poor rather than bound by any' man's obligation,
even to want rather than to beg. I have never been extravagant in
spending money, I have earned it sometimes because I must. I have
scrupulously spoken the truth, and have been glad to hear it spoken
to me. I have thought it better to be neglected than to fawn, to be
dumb than to feign, to be seldom a friend than to be often a flatterer.
1 have sought little, deserved not little. So far as I could, I have
assisted each according to my means. I have given help readily to
the deserving, fearlessly to the undeserving. No one by proving to
be ungrateful has made me more slow to bestow promptly all
benefits I could give, nor have I ever been harsh to ingratitude. (A
fragmentary passage follows, in which he appears to speak of his
desire for a peaceful end, and the desolation of his house.) I have
suffered long and painful sickness, my beloved Marcus. Then I was
visited by pitiful misfortunes: my wife I have lost, my grandson I
have lost in Germany:(1) woe is me! I have lost my Decimanus. If I
were made of iron, at this tine I could write no more.' It is
noteworthy that in his meditations Marcus Aurelius mentions
Fronto only once.(2) All his literary studies, his oratory and criticism
(such as it was) is forgotten; and, says he, 'Fronto taught me not to
expect natural affection from the highly-born.' Fronto really said
more than this: that 'affection' is not a Roman quality, nor has it a
Latin name.(3) Roman or not Roman, Marcus found affection in
Fronto; and if he outgrew his master's intellectual training, he never
lost touch with the true heart of the man it is that which Fronto's
name brings up to his remembrance, not dissertations on compound
verbs or fatuous criticisms of style.

1 In the war against the Catti.

2 Book I., 8.

3 Ad Verum, ii. 7