No More Learning

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.