No More Learning

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.