Meditations..........................................................................................................................................................1

Marcus Aurelius .......................................................................................................................................1

MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS was born on April 26, A.D. 121. His real name was M. Annius Verus,

and he was sprung of a noble family which claimed descent from Numa, second King of Rome. Thus the

most religious of emperors came of the blood of the most pious of early kings. His father, Annius Verus, had

held high office in Rome, and his grandfather, of the same name, had been thrice Consul. Both his parents

died young, but Marcus held them in loving remembrance. On his father's death Marcus was adopted by his

grandfather, the consular Annius Verus, and there was deep love between these two. On the very first page of

his book Marcus gratefully declares how of his grandfather he had learned to be gentle and meek, and to

refrain from all anger and passion. The Emperor Hadrian divined the fine character of the lad, whom he used

to call not Verus but Verissimus, more Truthful than his own name. He advanced Marcus to equestrian rank

when six years of age, and at the age of eight made him a member of the ancient Salian priesthood. The boy's

aunt, Annia Galeria Faustina, was married to Antoninus Pius, afterwards emperor. Hence it came about that

Antoninus, having no son, adopted Marcus, changing his name to that which he is known by, and betrothed

him to his daughter Faustina. His education was conducted with all care. The ablest teachers were engaged

for him, and he was trained in the strict doctrine of the Stoic philosophy, which was his great delight. He was

taught to dress plainly and to live simply, to avoid all softness and luxury. His body was trained to hardihood

by wrestling, hunting, and outdoor games; and though his constitution was weak, he showed great personal

courage to encounter the fiercest boars. At the same time he was kept from the extravagancies of his day. The

great excitement in Rome was the strife of the Factions, as they were called, in the circus. The racing drivers

used to adopt one of four coloursred, blue, white, or greenand their partisans showed an eagerness in

supporting them which nothing could surpass. Riot and corruption went in the train of the racing chariots; and

In 140 Marcus was raised to the consulship, and in 145 his betrothal was consummated by marriage. Two

years later Faustina brought him a daughter; and soon after the tribunate and other imperial honours were

Antoninus Pius died in 161, and Marcus assumed the imperial state. He at once associated with himself L.

Ceionius Commodus, whom Antoninus had adopted as a younger son at the same time with Marcus, giving

him the name of Lucius Aurelius Verus. Henceforth the two are colleagues in the empire, the junior being

trained as it were to succeed. No sooner was Marcus settled upon the throne than wars broke out on all sides.

In the east, Vologeses III. of Parthia began a longmeditated revolt by destroying a whole Roman Legion and

invading Syria (162). Verus was sent off in hot haste to quell this rising; and he fulfilled his trust by plunging

into drunkenness and debauchery, while the war was left to his officers. Soon after Marcus had to face a more

serious danger at home in the coalition of several powerful tribes on the northern frontier. Chief among those

were the Marcomanni or Marchmen, the Quadi (mentioned in this book), the Sarmatians, the Catti, the

Jazyges. In Rome itself there was pestilence and starvation, the one brought from the east by Verus's legions,

the other caused by floods which had destroyed vast quantities of grain. After all had been done possible to

allay famine and to supply pressing needsMarcus being forced even to sell the imperial jewels to find

moneyboth emperors set forth to a struggle which was to continue more or less during the rest of Marcus's

reign. During these wars, in 169, Verus died. We have no means of following the campaigns in detail; but

thus much is certain, that in the end the Romans succeeded in crushing the barbarian tribes, and effecting a

settlement which made the empire more secure. Marcus was himself comananderinchief, and victory was

due no less to his own ability than to his wisdom in choice of lieutenants, shown conspicuously in the case of

Pertinax. There were several important battles fought in these campaigns; and one of them has become

celebrated for the legend of the Thundering Legion. In a battle against the Quadi in 174, the day seemed to he

going in favour of the foe, when on a sudden arose a great storm of thunder and rain the lightning struck the

barbarians with terror, and they turned to rout. In later days this storm was said to have been sent in answer to

the prayers of a legion which contained many Christians, and the name Thundering Legion should he given to

it on this account. The title of Thundering Legion is known at an earlier date, so this part of the story at least

cannot be true; but the aid of the storm is acknowledged by one of the scenes carved on Antonine's Column at

The settlement made after these troubles might have been more satisfactory but for an unexpected rising in

the east. Avidius Cassius, an able captain who had won renown in the Parthian wars, was at this time chief

governor of the eastern provinces. By whatever means induced, he had conceived the project of proclaiming

himself emperor as soon as Marcus, who was then in feeble health, should die; and a report having been

conveyed to him that Marcus was dead, Cassius did as he had planned. Marcus, on hearing the news,

immediately patched up a peace and returned home to meet this new peril. The emperors great grief was that

he must needs engage in the horrors of civil strife. He praised the qualities of Cassius, and expressed a

heartfelt wish that Cassius might not be driven to do himself a hurt before he should have the opportunity to

grant a free pardon. But before he could come to the east news had come to Cassius that the emperor still

lived; his followers fell away from him, and he was assassinated. Marcus now went to the east, and while

there the murderers brought the head of Cassius to him; but the emperor indignantly refused their gift, nor

On this journey his wife, Faustina, died. At his return the emperor celebrated a triumph (176). Immediately

afterwards he repaired to Germany, and took up once more the burden of war. His operations were followed

by complete success; but the troubles of late years had been too much for his constitution, at no time robust,

The good emperor was not spared domestic troubles. Faustina had borne him several children, of whom he

was passionately fond. Their innocent faces may still be seen in many a sculpture gallery, recalling with odd

effect the dreamy countenance of their father. But they died one by one, and when Marcus came to his own

end only one of his sons still livedthe weak and worthless Commodus. On his father's death Commodus,

who succeeded him, undid the work of many campaigns by a hasty and unwise peace; and his reign of twelve

years proved him to be a ferocious and bloodthirsty tyrant. Scandal has made free with the name of Faustina

herself, who is accused not only of unfaithfulness, but of intriguing with Cassius and egging him on to his

fatal rebellion, it must be admitted that these charges rest on no sure evidence; and the emperor, at all events,

As a soldier we have seen that Marcus was both capable and successful; as an administrator he was prudent

and conscientious. Although steeped in the teachings of philosophy, he did not attempt to remodel the world

on any preconceived plan. He trod the path beaten by his predecessors, seeking only to do his duty as well as

he could, and to keep out corruption. He did some unwise things, it is true. To create a compeer in empire, as

he did with Verus, was a dangerous innovation which could only succeed if one of the two effaced himself;

and under Diocletian this very precedent caused the Roman Empire to split into halves. He erred in his civil

administration by too much centralising. But the strong point of his reign was the administration of justice.

Marcus sought bylaws to protect the weak, to make the lot of the slaves less hard, to stand in place of father

to the fatherless. Charitable foundations were endowed for rearing and educating poor children. The

provinces were protected against oppression, and public help was given to cities or districts which might be

visited by calamity. The great blot on his name, and one hard indeed to explain, is his treatment of the

Christians. In his reign Justin at Rome became a martyr to his faith, and Polycarp at Smyrna, and we know of

many outbreaks of fanaticism in the provinces which caused the death of the faithful. It is no excuse to plead

that he knew nothing about the atrocities done in his name: it was his duty to know, and if he did not he

would have been the first to confess that he had failed in his duty. But from his own tone in speaking of the

Christians it is clear he knew them only from calumny; and we hear of no measures taken even to secure that

To a thoughtful mind such a religion as that of Rome would give small satisfaction. Its legends were often

childish or impossible; its teaching had little to do with morality. The Roman religion was in fact of the

nature of a bargain: men paid certain sacrifices and rites, and the gods granted their favour, irrespective of

right or wrong. In this case all devout souls were thrown back upon philosophy, as they had been, though to a

less extent, in Greece. There were under the early empire two rival schools which practically divided the field

between them, Stoicism and Epicureanism. The ideal set before each was nominally much the same. The

Stoics aspired to the repression of all emotion, and the Epicureans to freedom from all disturbance; yet in the

upshot the one has become a synonym of stubborn endurance, the other for unbridled licence. With

Epicureanism we have nothing to do now; but it will be worth while to sketch the history and tenets of the

Stoic sect. Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, was born in Cyprus at some date unknown, but his life may be said

roughly to be between the years 350 and 250 B.C. Cyprus has been from time immemorial a meetingplace

of the East and West, and although we cannot grant any importance to a possible strain of Phoenician blood

in him (for the Phoenicians were no philosophers), yet it is quite likely that through Asia Minor he may have

come in touch with the Far East. He studied under the cynic Crates, but he did not neglect other philosophical

systems. After many years' study he opened his own school in a colonnade in Athens called the Painted

Porch, or Stoa, which gave the Stoics their name. Next to Zeno, the School of the Porch owes most to

Chrysippus (280207 b.c.), who organised Stoicism into a system. Of him it was said, 'But for Chrysippus,

The Stoics regarded speculation as a means to an end and that end was, as Zeno put it, to live consistently

omologonuenws zhn or as it was later explained, to live in conformity with nature. This conforming of the

This dictum might easily be taken to mean that virtue consists in yielding to each natural impulse; but that

was very far from the Stoic meaning. In order to live in accord with nature, it is necessary to know what

nature is; and to this end a threefold division of philosophy is madeinto Physics, dealing with the universe

and its laws, the problems of divine government and teleology; Logic, which trains the mind to discern true

from false; and Ethics, which applies the knowledge thus gained and tested to practical life. The Stoic system

of physics was materialism with an infusion of pantheism. In contradiction to Plato's view that the Ideas, or

Prototypes, of phenomena alone really exist, the Stoics held that material objects alone existed; but immanent

in the material universe was a spiritual force which acted through them, manifesting itself under many forms,

The universe, then, is God, of whom the popular gods are manifestations; while legends and myths are

allegorical. The soul of man is thus an emanation from the godhead, into whom it will eventually be

reabsorbed. The divine ruling principle makes all things work together for good, but for the good of the

whole. The highest good of man is consciously to work with God for the common good, and this is the sense

in which the Stoic tried to live in accord with nature. In the individual it is virtue alone which enables him to

In Logic, the Stoic system is noteworthy for their theory as to the test of truth, the Criterion. They compared

the newborn soul to a sheet of paper ready for writing. Upon this the senses write their impressions,

fantasias and by experience of a number of these the soul unconsciously conceives general notions koinai

eunoiai or anticipations. prolhyeis When the impression was such as to be irresistible it was called

(katalnptikh fantasia) one that holds fast, or as they explained it, one proceeding from truth. Ideas and

inferences artificially produced by deduction or the like were tested by this 'holding perception.' Of the

Ethical application I have already spoken. The highest good was the virtuous life. Virtue alone is happiness,

and vice is unhappiness. Carrying this theory to its extreme, the Stoic said that there could be no gradations

between virtue and vice, though of course each has its special manifestations. Moreover, nothing is good but

virtue, and nothing but vice is bad. Those outside things which are commonly called good or bad, such as

health and sickness, wealth and poverty, pleasure and pain, are to him indifferent adiofora. All these things

are merely the sphere in which virtue may act. The ideal Wise Man is sufficient unto himself in all things,

autarkhs and knowing these truths, he will be happy even when stretched upon the rack. It is probable that no

Stoic claimed for himself that he was this Wise Man, but that each strove after it as an ideal much as the

Christian strives after a likeness to Christ. The exaggeration in this statement was, however, so obvious, that

the later Stoics were driven to make a further subdivision of things indifferent into what is preferable

(prohgmena) and what is undesirable. They also held that for him who had not attained to the perfect wisdom,

certain actions were proper. (kaqhkonta) These were neither virtuous nor vicious, but, like the indifferent

things, held a middle place. Two points in the Stoic system deserve special mention. One is a careful

distinction between things which are in our power and things which are not. Desire and dislike, opinion and

affection, are within the power of the will; whereas health, wealth, honour, and other such are general1y not

so. The Stoic was called upon to control his desires and affections, and to guide his opinion; to bring his

whole being under the sway of the will or leading principle, just as the universe is guided and governed by

divine Providence. This is a special application of the favourite Greek virtue of moderation, (swfrosuum) and

has also its parallel in Christian ethics. The second point is a strong insistence on the unity of the universe,

and on man's duty as part of a great whole. Public spirit was the most splendid political virtue of the ancient

world, and it is here made cosmopolitan. It is again instructive to note that Christian sages insisted on the

same thing. Christians are taught that they are members of a worldwide brotherhood, where is neither Greek

nor Hebrew, bond nor free and that they live their lives as fellowworkers with God.

Such is the system which underlies the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Some knowledge of it is necessary to

the right understanding of the book, but for us the chief interest lies elsewhere. We do not come to Marcus

Aurelius for a treatise on Stoicism. He is no head of a school to lay down a body of doctrine for students; he

does not even contemplate that others should read what he writes. His philosophy is not an eager intellectual

inquiry, but more what we should call religious feeling. The uncompromising stiffness of Zeno or Chrysippus

is softened and transformed by passing through a nature reverent and tolerant, gentle and free from guile; the

grim resignation which made life possible to the Stoic sage becomes in him almost a mood of aspiration. His

book records the innermost thoughts of his heart, set down to ease it, with such moral maxims and reflections

as may help him to bear the burden of duty and the countless annoyances of a busy life.

It is instructive to compare the Meditations with another famous book, the Imitation of Christ. There is the

same ideal of selfcontrol in both. It should be a man's task, says the Imitation, 'to overcome himself, and

every day to be stronger than himself.' 'In withstanding of the passions standeth very peace of heart.' 'Let us

set the axe to the root, that we being purged of our passions may have a peaceable mind.' To this end there

must be continual selfexamination. 'If thou may not continually gather thyself together, namely sometimes

do it, at least once a day, the morning or the evening. In the morning purpose, in the evening discuss the

manner, what thou hast been this day, in word, work, and thought.' But while the Roman's temper is a modest

selfreliance, the Christian aims at a more passive mood, humbleness and meekness, and reliance on the

presence and personal friendship of God. The Roman scrutinises his faults with severity, but without the

selfcontempt which makes the Christian 'vile in his own sight.' The Christian, like the Roman, bids 'study to

withdraw thine heart from the love of things visible'; but it is not the busy life of duty he has in mind so much

as the contempt of all worldly things, and the 'cutting away of all lower delectations.' Both rate men's praise

or blame at their real worthlessness; 'Let not thy peace,' says the Christian, 'be in the mouths of men.' But it is

to God's censure the Christian appeals, the Roman to his own soul. The petty annoyances of injustice or

unkindness are looked on by each with the same magnanimity. 'Why doth a little thing said or done against

thee make thee sorry? It is no new thing; it is not the first, nor shall it be the last, if thou live long. At best

suffer patiently, if thou canst not suffer joyously.' The Christian should sorrow more for other men's malice

than for our own wrongs; but the Roman is inclined to wash his hands of the offender. 'Study to be patient in

suffering and bearing other men's defaults and all manner infirmities,' says the Christian; but the Roman

would never have thought to add, 'If all men were perfect, what had we then to suffer of other men for God?'

The virtue of suffering in itself is an idea which does not meet us in the Meditations. Both alike realise that

man is one of a great community. 'No man is sufficient to himself,' says the Christian; 'we must bear together,

help together, comfort together.' But while he sees a chief importance in zeal, in exalted emotion that is, and

avoidance of lukewarmness, the Roman thought mainly of the duty to be done as well as might be, and less of

the feeling which should go with the doing of it. To the saint as to the emperor, the world is a poor thing at

best. 'Verily it is a misery to live upon the earth,' says the Christian; few and evil are the days of man's life,

But there is one great difference between the two books we are considering. The Imitation is addressed to

others, the Meditations by the writer to himself. We learn nothing from the Imitation of the author's own life,

except in so far as he may be assumed to have practised his own preachings; the Meditations reflect mood by

mood the mind of him who wrote them. In their intimacy and frankness lies their great charm. These notes

are not sermons; they are not even confessions. There is always an air of selfconsciousness in confessions;

in such revelations there is always a danger of unctuousness or of vulgarity for the best of men. St.

Augustine is not always clear of offence, and John Bunyan himself exaggerates venial peccadilloes into

heinous sins. But Marcus Aurelius is neither vulgar nor unctuous; he extenuates nothing, but nothing sets

down in malice. He never poses before an audience; he may not be profound, he is always sincere. And it is a

lofty and serene soul which is here disclosed before us. Vulgar vices seem to have no temptation for him; this

is not one tied and bound with chains which he strives to break. The faults he detects in himself are often

such as most men would have no eyes to see. To serve the divine spirit which is implanted within him, a man

must 'keep himself pure from all violent passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all

manner of discontent, either in regard of the gods or men': or, as he says elsewhere, 'unspotted by pleasure,

undaunted by pain.' Unwavering courtesy and consideration are his aims. 'Whatsoever any man either doth or

saith, thou must be good;' 'doth any man offend? It is against himself that he doth offend: why should it

trouble thee?' The offender needs pity, not wrath; those who must needs be corrected, should be treated with

tact and gentleness; and one must be always ready to learn better. 'The best kind of revenge is, not to become

like unto them.' There are so many hints of offence forgiven, that we may believe the notes followed sharp on

the facts. Perhaps he has fallen short of his aim, and thus seeks to call his principles to mind, and to

strengthen himself for the future. That these sayings are not mere talk is plain from the story of Avidius

Cassius, who would have usurped his imperial throne. Thus the emperor faithfully carries out his own

principle, that evil must be overcome with good. For each fault in others, Nature (says he) has given us a

counteracting virtue; 'as, for example, against the unthankful, it hath given goodness and meekness, as an

One so gentle towards a foe was sure to be a good friend; and indeed his pages are full of generous gratitude

to those who had served him. In his First Book he sets down to account all the debts due to his kinsfolk and

teachers. To his grandfather he owed his own gentle spirit, to his father shamefastness and courage; he learnt

of his mother to be religious and bountiful and singleminded. Rusticus did not work in vain, if he showed

his pupil that his life needed amending. Apollonius taught him simplicity, reasonableness, gratitude, a love of

true liberty. So the list runs on; every one he had dealings with seems to have given him something good, a

If his was that honest and true heart which is the Christian ideal, this is the more wonderful in that he lacked

the faith which makes Christians strong. He could say, it is true, 'either there is a God, and then all is well; or

if all things go by chance and fortune, yet mayest thou use thine own providence in those things that concern

thee properly; and then art thou well.' Or again, 'We must needs grant that there is a nature that doth govern

the universe.' But his own part in the scheme of things is so small, that he does not hope for any personal

happiness beyond what a serene soul may win in this mortal life. '0 my soul, the time I trust will be, when

thou shalt be good, simple, more open and visible, than that body by which it is enclosed;' but this is said of

the calm contentment with human lot which he hopes to attain, not of a time when the trammels of the body

shall be cast off. For the rest, the world and its fame and wealth, 'all is vanity.' The gods may perhaps have a

particular care for him, but their especial care is for the universe at large: thus much should suffice. His gods

are better than the Stoic gods, who sit aloof from all human things, untroubled and uncaring, but his personal

hope is hardly stronger. On this point he says little, though there are many allusions to death as the natural

end; doubtless he expected his soul one day to be absorbed into the universal soul, since nothing comes out of

nothing, and nothing can be annihilated. His mood is one of strenuous weariness; he does his duty as a good

soldier, waiting for the sound of the trumpet which shall sound the retreat; he has not that cheerful confidence

which led Socrates through a life no less noble, to a death which was to bring him into the company of gods

But although Marcus Aurelius may have held intellectually that his soul was destined to be absorbed, and to

lose consciousness of itself, there were times when he felt, as all who hold it must sometimes feel, how

unsatisfying is such a creed. Then he gropes blindly after something less empty and vain. 'Thou hast taken

ship,' he says, 'thou hast sailed, thou art come to land, go out, if to another life, there also shalt thou find gods,

who are everywhere.' There is more in this than the assumption of a rival theory for argument's sake. If

worldly things 'be but as a dream, the thought is not far off that there may be an awakening to what is real.

When he speaks of death as a necessary change, and points out that nothing useful and profitable can be

brought about without change, did he perhaps think of the change in a corn of wheat, which is not quickened

except it die? Nature's marvellous power of recreating out of Corruption is surely not confined to bodily

things. Many of his thoughts sound like faroff echoes of St. Paul; and it is strange indeed that this most

Christian of emperors has nothing good to say of the Christians. To him they are only sectaries 'violently and

Profound as philosophy these Meditations certainly are not; but Marcus Aurelius was too sincere not to see

the essence of such things as came within his experience. Ancient religions were for the most part concerned

with outward things. Do the necessary rites, and you propitiate the gods; and these rites were often trivial,

sometimes violated right feeling or even morality. Even when the gods stood on the side of righteousness,

they were concerned with the act more than with the intent. But Marcus Aurelius knows that what the heart is

full of, the man will do. 'Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are,' he says, 'such will thy mind be in

time.' And every page of the book shows us that he knew thought was sure to issue in act. He drills his soul,

as it were, in right principles, that when the time comes, it may be guided by them. To wait until the

emergency is to be too late. He sees also the true essence of happiness. 'If happiness did consist in pleasure,

how came notorious robbers, impure abominable livers, parricides, and tyrants, in so large a measure to have

their part of pleasures?' He who had all the world's pleasures at command can write thus 'A happy lot and

By the irony of fate this man, so gentle and good, so desirous of quiet joys and a mind free from care, was set

at the head of the Roman Empire when great dangers threatened from east and west. For several years he

himself commanded his armies in chief. In camp before the Quadi he dates the first book of his Meditations,

and shows how he could retire within himself amid the coarse clangour of arms. The pomps and glories

which he despised were all his; what to most men is an ambition or a dream, to him was a round of weary

tasks which nothing but the stern sense of duty could carry him through. And he did his work well. His wars

were slow and tedious, but successful. With a statesman's wisdom he foresaw the danger to Rome of the

barbarian hordes from the north, and took measures to meet it. As it was, his settlement gave two centuries of

respite to the Roman Empire; had he fulfilled the plan of pushing the imperial frontiers to the Elbe, which

seems to have been in his mind, much more might have been accomplished. But death cut short his designs.

Truly a rare opportunity was given to Marcus Aurelius of showing what the mind can do in despite of

circumstances. Most peaceful of warriors, a magnificent monarch whose ideal was quiet happiness in home

life, bent to obscurity yet born to greatness, the loving father of children who died young or turned out

hateful, his life was one paradox. That nothing might lack, it was in camp before the face of the enemy that

Translations THE following is a list of the chief English translations of Marcus Aurelius: (1) By Meric

Casaubon, 1634; (2) Jeremy Collier, 1701; (3) James Thomson, 1747; (4) R. Graves, 1792; (5) H.

McCormac, 1844; (6) George Long, 1862; (7) G. H. Rendall, 1898; and (8) J. Jackson, 1906. Renan's

"MarcAur�le"in his "History of the Origins of Christianity," which appeared in 1882is the most vital

and original book to be had relating to the time of Marcus Aurelius. Pater's "Marius the Epicurean" forms

another outside commentary, which is of service in the imaginative attempt to create again the period.

Wherein Antoninus recordeth, What and of whom, whether Parents, Friends, or Masters; by their good

ANTONINUS Book vi. Num. xlviii. Whensoever thou wilt rejoice thyself, think and meditate upon those

good parts and especial gifts, which thou hast observed in any of them that live with thee:

as industry in one, in another modesty, in another bountifulness, in another some other thing. For nothing can

so much rejoice thee, as the resemblances and parallels of several virtues, eminent in the dispositions of them

that live with thee, especially when all at once, as it were, they represent themselves unto thee. See therefore,

I. Of my grandfather Verus I have learned to be gentle and meek, and to refrain from all anger and passion.

From the fame and memory of him that begot me I have learned both shamefastness and manlike behaviour.

Of my mother I have learned to be religious, and bountiful; and to forbear, not only to do, but to intend any

evil; to content myself with a spare diet, and to fly all such excess as is incidental to great wealth. Of my

greatgrandfather, both to frequent public schools and auditories, and to get me good and able teachers at

home; and that I ought not to think much, if upon such occasions, I were at excessive charges.

II. Of him that brought me up, not to be fondly addicted to either of the two great factions of the coursers in

the circus, called Prasini, and Veneti: nor in the amphitheatre partially to favour any of the gladiators, or

fencers, as either the Parmularii, or the Secutores. Moreover, to endure labour; nor to need many things; when

I have anything to do, to do it myself rather than by others; not to meddle with many businesses; and not

easily to admit of any slander. III. Of Diognetus, not to busy myself about vain things, and not easily to

believe those things, which are commonly spoken, by such as take upon them to work wonders, and by

sorcerers, or prestidigitators, and impostors; concerning the power of charms, and their driving out of

demons, or evil spirits; and the like. Not to keep quails for the game; nor to be mad after such things. Not to

be offended with other men's liberty of speech, and to apply myself unto philosophy. Him also I must thank,

that ever I heard first Bacchius, then Tandasis and Marcianus, and that I did write dialogues in my youth; and

that I took liking to the philosophers' little couch and skins, and such other things, which by the Grecian

IV. To Rusticus I am beholding, that I first entered into the conceit that my life wanted some redress and

cure. And then, that I did not fall into the ambition of ordinary sophists, either to write tracts concerning the

common theorems, or to exhort men unto virtue and the study of philosophy by public orations; as also that I

never by way of ostentation did affect to show myself an active able man, for any kind of bodily exercises.

And that I gave over the study of rhetoric and poetry, and of elegant neat language. That I did not use to walk

about the house in my long robe, nor to do any such things. Moreover I learned of him to write letters without

any affectation, or curiosity; such as that was, which by him was written to my mother from Sinuessa: and to

be easy and ready to be reconciled, and well pleased again with them that had offended me, as soon as any of

them would be content to seek unto me again. To read with diligence; not to rest satisfied with a light and

superficial knowledge, nor quickly to assent to things commonly spoken of: whom also I must thank that ever

I lighted upon Epictetus his Hypomnemata, or moral commentaries and commonefactions: which also he

V. From Apollonius, true liberty, and unvariable steadfastness, and not to regard anything at all, though never

so little, but right and reason: and always, whether in the sharpest pains, or after the loss of a child, or in long

diseases, to be still the same man; who also was a present and visible example unto me, that it was possible

for the same man to be both vehement and remiss: a man not subject to be vexed, and offended with the

incapacity of his scholars and auditors in his lectures and expositions; and a true pattern of a man who of all

his good gifts and faculties, least esteemed in himself, that his excellent skill and ability to teach and persuade

others the common theorems and maxims of the Stoic philosophy. Of him also I learned how to receive

favours and kindnesses (as commonly they are accounted:) from friends, so that I might not become

obnoxious unto them, for them, nor more yielding upon occasion, than in right I ought; and yet so that I

VI. Of Sextus, mildness and the pattern of a family governed with paternal affection; and a purpose to live

according to nature: to be grave without affectation: to observe carefully the several dispositions of my

friends, not to be offended with idiots, nor unseasonably to set upon those that are carried with the vulgar

opinions, with the theorems, and tenets of philosophers: his conversation being an example how a man might

accommodate himself to all men and companies; so that though his company were sweeter and more pleasing

than any flatterer's cogging and fawning; yet was it at the same time most respected and reverenced: who also

had a proper happiness and faculty, rationally and methodically to find out, and set in order all necessary

determinations and instructions for a man's life. A man without ever the least appearance of anger, or any

other passion; able at the same time most exactly to observe the Stoic Apathia, or unpassionateness, and yet

to be most tenderhearted: ever of good credit; and yet almost without any noise, or rumour: very learned,

Vii. From Alexander the Grammarian, to be unreprovable myself, and not reproachfully to reprehend any

man for a barbarism, or a solecism, or any false pronunciation, but dextrously by way of answer, or

testimony, or confirmation of the same matter (taking no notice of the word) to utter it as it should have been

spoken; or by some other such close and indirect admonition, handsomely and civilly to tell him of it. VIII.

Of Fronto, to how much envy and fraud and hypocrisy the state of a tyrannous king is subject unto, and how

they who are commonly called [Eupatridas Gk.], i.e. nobly born, are in some sort incapable, or void of natural

IX. Of Alexander the Platonic, not often nor without great necessity to say, or to write to any man in a letter,

'I am not at leisure'; nor in this manner still to put off those duties, which we owe to our friends and

X. Of Catulus, not to contemn any friend's expostulation, though unjust, but to strive to reduce him to his

former disposition: freely and heartily to speak well of all my masters upon any occasion, as it is reported of

XI. From my brother Severus, to be kind and loving to all them of my house and family; by whom also I

came to the knowledge of Thrasea and Helvidius, and Cato, and Dio, and Brutus. He it was also that did put

me in the first conceit and desire of an equal commonwealth, administered by justice and equality; and of a

kingdom wherein should be regarded nothing more than the good and welfare of the subjects. Of him also, to

observe a constant tenor, (not interrupted, with any other cares and distractions,) in the study and esteem of

philosophy: to be bountiful and liberal in the largest measure; always to hope the best; and to be confident

that my friends love me. In whom I moreover observed open dealing towards those whom he reproved at any

time, and that his friends might without all doubt or much observation know what he would, or would not, so

XII. From Claudius Maximus, in all things to endeavour to have power of myself, and in nothing to be

carried about; to be cheerful and courageous in all sudden chances and accidents, as in sicknesses: to love

mildness, and moderation, and gravity: and to do my business, whatsoever it be, thoroughly, and without

querulousness. Whatsoever he said, all men believed him that as he spake, so he thought, and whatsoever he

did, that he did it with a good intent. His manner was, never to wonder at anything; never to be in haste, and

yet never slow: nor to be perplexed, or dejected, or at any time unseemly, or excessively to laugh: nor to be

angry, or suspicious, but ever ready to do good, and to forgive, and to speak truth; and all this, as one that

seemed rather of himself to have been straight and right, than ever to have been rectified or redressed; neither

was there any man that ever thought himself undervalued by him, or that could find in his heart, to think

XIII. In my father, I observed his meekness; his constancy without wavering in those things, which after a

due examination and deliberation, he had determined. How free from all vanity he carried himself in matter

of honour and dignity, (as they are esteemed:) his laboriousness and assiduity, his readiness to hear any man,

that had aught to say tending to any common good: how generally and impartially he would give every man

his due; his skill and knowledge, when rigour or extremity, or when remissness or moderation was in season;

how he did abstain from all unchaste love of youths; his moderate condescending to other men's occasions as

an ordinary man, neither absolutely requiring of his friends, that they should wait upon him at his ordinary

meals, nor that they should of necessity accompany him in his journeys; and that whensoever any business

upon some necessary occasions was to be put off and omitted before it could be ended, he was ever found

when he went about it again, the same man that he was before. His accurate examination of things in

consultations, and patient hearing of others. He would not hastily give over the search of the matter, as one

easy to be satisfied with sudden notions and apprehensions. His care to preserve his friends; how neither at

any time he would carry himself towards them with disdainful neglect, and grow weary of them; nor yet at

any time be madly fond of them. His contented mind in all things, his cheerful countenance, his care to

foresee things afar off, and to take order for the least, without any noise or clamour. Moreover how all

acclamations and flattery were repressed by him: how carefully he observed all things necessary to the

government, and kept an account of the common expenses, and how patiently he did abide that he was

reprehended by some for this his strict and rigid kind of dealing. How he was neither a superstitious

worshipper of the gods, nor an ambitious pleaser of men, or studious of popular applause; but sober in all

things, and everywhere observant of that which was fitting; no affecter of novelties: in those things which

conduced to his ease and convenience, (plenty whereof his fortune did afford him,) without pride and

bragging, yet with all freedom and liberty: so that as he did freely enjoy them without any anxiety or

affectation when they were present; so when absent, he found no want of them. Moreover, that he was never

commended by any man, as either a learned acute man, or an obsequious officious man, or a fine orator; but

as a ripe mature man, a perfect sound man; one that could not endure to be flattered; able to govern both

himself and others. Moreover, how much he did honour all true philosophers, without upbraiding those that

were not so; his sociableness, his gracious and delightful conversation, but never unto satiety; his care of his

body within bounds and measure, not as one that desired to live long, or overstudious of neatness, and

elegancy; and yet not as one that did not regard it: so that through his own care and providence, he seldom

needed any inward physic, or outward applications: but especially how ingeniously he would yield to any that

had obtained any peculiar faculty, as either eloquence, or the knowledge of the laws, or of ancient customs, or

the like; and how he concurred with them, in his best care and endeavour that every one of them might in his

kind, for that wherein he excelled, be regarded and esteemed: and although he did all things carefully after

the ancient customs of his forefathers, yet even of this was he not desirous that men should take notice, that

he did imitate ancient customs. Again, how he was not easily moved and tossed up and down, but loved to be

constant, both in the same places and businesses; and how after his great fits of headache he would return

fresh and vigorous to his wonted affairs. Again, that secrets he neither had many, nor often, and such only as

concerned public matters: his discretion and moderation, in exhibiting of the public sights and shows for the

pleasure and pastime of the people: in public buildings. congiaries, and the like. In all these things, having a

respect unto men only as men, and to the equity of the things themselves, and not unto the glory that might

follow. Never wont to use the baths at unseasonable hours; no builder; never curious, or solicitous, either

about his meat, or about the workmanship, or colour of his clothes, or about anything that belonged to

external beauty. In all his conversation, far from all inhumanity, all boldness, and incivility, all greediness

and impetuosity; never doing anything with such earnestness, and intention, that a man could say of him, that

he did sweat about it: but contrariwise, all things distinctly, as at leisure; without trouble; orderly, soundly,

and agreeably. A man might have applied that to him, which is recorded of Socrates, that he knew how to

want, and to enjoy those things, in the want whereof, most men show themselves weak; and in the fruition,

intemperate: but to hold out firm and constant, and to keep within the compass of true moderation and

sobriety in either estate, is proper to a man, who hath a perfect and invincible soul; such as he showed himself

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

domestics, loving kinsmen, almost all that I have; and that I never through haste and rashness transgressed

against any of them, notwithstanding that my disposition was such, as that such a thing (if occasion had been)

might very well have been committed by me, but that It was the mercy of the gods, to prevent such a

concurring of matters and occasions, as might make me to incur this blame. That I was not long brought up

by the concubine of my father; that I preserved the flower of my youth. That I took not upon me to be a man

before my time, but rather put it off longer than I needed. That I lived under the government of my lord and

father, who would take away from me all pride and vainglory, and reduce me to that conceit and opinion that

it was not impossible for a prince to live in the court without a troop of guards and followers, extraordinary

apparel, such and such torches and statues, and other like particulars of state and magnificence; but that a

man may reduce and contract himself almost to the state of a private man, and yet for all that not to become

the more base and remiss in those public matters and affairs, wherein power and authority is requisite. That I

have had such a brother, who by his own example might stir me up to think of myself; and by his respect and

love, delight and please me. That I have got ingenuous children, and that they were not born distorted, nor

with any other natural deformity. That I was no great proficient in the study of rhetoric and poetry, and of

other faculties, which perchance I might have dwelt upon, if I had found myself to go on in them with

success. That I did by times prefer those, by whom I was brought up, to such places and dignities, which they

seemed unto me most to desire; and that I did not put them off with hope and expectation, that (since that

they were yet but young) I would do the same hereafter. That I ever knew Apollonius and Rusticus, and

Maximus. That I have had occasion often and effectually to consider and meditate with myself, concerning

that life which is according to nature, what the nature and manner of it is: so that as for the gods and such

suggestions, helps and inspirations, as might be expected from them, nothing did hinder, but that I might have

begun long before to live according to nature; or that even now that I was not yet partaker and in present

possession of that life, that I myself (in that I did not observe those inward motions, and suggestions, yea and

almost plain and apparent instructions and admonitions of the gods,) was the only cause of it. That my body

in such a life, hath been able to hold out so long. That I never had to do with Benedicta and Theodotus, yea

and afterwards when I fell into some fits of love, I was soon cured. That having been often displeased with

Rusticus, I never did him anything for which afterwards I had occasion to repent. That it being so that my

mother was to die young, yet she lived with me all her latter years. That as often as I had a purpose to help

and succour any that either were poor, or fallen into some present necessity, I never was answered by my

officers that there was not ready money enough to do it; and that I myself never had occasion to require the

like succour from any other. That I have such a wife, so obedient, so loving, so ingenuous. That I had choice

of fit and able men, to whom I might commit the bringing up of my children. That by dreams I have received

help, as for other things, so in particular, how I might stay my casting of blood, and cure my dizziness, as that

also that happened to thee in Cajeta, as unto Chryses when he prayed by the seashore. And when I did first

apply myself to philosophy, that I did not fall into the hands of some sophists, or spent my time either in

reading the manifold volumes of ordinary philosophers, nor in practising myself in the solution of arguments

and fallacies, nor dwelt upon the studies of the meteors, and other natural curiosities. All these things without

XV. In the country of the Quadi at Granua, these. Betimes in the morning say to thyself, This day I shalt have

to do with an idle curious man, with an unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man; an

unsociable uncharitable man. All these ill qualities have happened unto them, through ignorance of that

which is truly good and truly bad. But I that understand the nature of that which is good, that it only is to be

desired, and of that which is bad, that it only is truly odious and shameful: who know moreover, that this

transgressor, whosoever he be, is my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed, but by participation of the

same reason, and of the same divine particle; How can I either be hurt by any of those, since it is not in their

power to make me incur anything that is truly reproachful? or angry, and ill affected towards him, who by

nature is so near unto me? for we are all born to be fellowworkers, as the feet, the hands, and the eyelids; as

the rows of the upper and under teeth: for such therefore to be in opposition, is against nature; and what is it

to chafe at, and to be averse from, but to be in opposition? XVI. Whatsoever I am, is either flesh, or life, or

that which we commonly call the mistress and overruling part of man; reason. Away with thy books, suffer

not thy mind any more to be distracted, and carried to and fro; for it will not be; but as even now ready to die,

think little of thy flesh: blood, bones, and a skin; a pretty piece of knit and twisted work, consisting of nerves,

veins and arteries; think no more of it, than so. And as for thy life, consider what it is; a wind; not one

constant wind neither, but every moment of an hour let out, and sucked in again. The third, is thy ruling part;

and here consider; Thou art an old man; suffer not that excellent part to be brought in subjection, and to

become slavish: suffer it not to be drawn up and down with unreasonable and unsociable lusts and motions,

as it were with wires and nerves; suffer it not any more, either to repine at anything now present, or to fear

XVII. Whatsoever proceeds from the gods immediately, that any man will grant totally depends from their

divine providence. As for those things that are commonly said to happen by fortune, even those must be

conceived to have dependence from nature, or from that first and general connection, and concatenation of all

those things, which more apparently by the divine providence are administered and brought to pass. All

things flow from thence: and whatsoever it is that is, is both necessary, and conducing to the whole (part of

which thou art), and whatsoever it is that is requisite and necessary for the preservation of the general, must

of necessity for every particular nature, be good and behoveful. And as for the whole, it is preserved, as by

the perpetual mutation and conversion of the simple elements one into another, so also by the mutation, and

alteration of things mixed and compounded. Let these things suffice thee; let them be always unto thee, as thy

general rules and precepts. As for thy thirst after books, away with it with all speed, that thou die not

murmuring and complaining, but truly meek and well satisfied, and from thy heart thankful unto the gods.

I. Remember how long thou hast already put off these things, and how often a certain day and hour as it were,

having been set unto thee by the gods, thou hast neglected it. It is high time for thee to understand the true

nature both of the world, whereof thou art a part; and of that Lord and Governor of the world, from whom, as

a channel from the spring, thou thyself didst flow: and that there is but a certain limit of time appointed unto

thee, which if thou shalt not make use of to calm and allay the many distempers of thy soul, it will pass away

II. Let it be thy earnest and incessant care as a Roman and a man to perform whatsoever it is that thou art

about, with true and unfeigned gravity, natural affection, freedom and justice: and as for all other cares, and

imaginations, how thou mayest ease thy mind of them. Which thou shalt do; if thou shalt go about every

action as thy last action, free from all vanity, all passionate and wilful aberration from reason, and from all

hypocrisy, and selflove, and dislike of those things, which by the fates or appointment of God have

happened unto thee. Thou seest that those things, which for a man to hold on in a prosperous course, and to

live a divine life, are requisite and necessary, are not many, for the gods will require no more of any man, that

III. Do, soul, do; abuse and contemn thyself; yet a while and the time for thee to respect thyself, will be at an

end. Every man's happiness depends from himself, but behold thy life is almost at an end, whiles affording

thyself no respect, thou dost make thy happiness to consist in the souls, and conceits of other men. IV Why

should any of these things that happen externally, so much distract thee? Give thyself leisure to learn some

good thing, and cease roving and wandering to and fro. Thou must also take heed of another kind of

wandering, for they are idle in their actions, who toil and labour in this life, and have no certain scope to

which to direct all their motions, and desires. V. For not observing the state of another man's soul, scarce was

ever any man known to be unhappy. tell whosoever they be that intend not, and guide not by reason and

VI. These things thou must always have in mind: What is the nature of the universe, and what is minein

particular: This unto that what relation it hath: what kind of part, of what kind of universe it is: And that there

is nobody that can hinder thee, but that thou mayest always both do and speak those things which are

agreeable to that nature, whereof thou art a part. VII. Theophrastus, where he compares sin with sin (as after a

vulgar sense such things I grant may be compared:) says well and like a philosopher, that those sins are

greater which are committed through lust, than those which are committed through anger. For he that is angry

seems with a kind of grief and close contraction of himself, to turn away from reason; but he that sins through

lust, being overcome by pleasure, doth in his very sin bewray a more impotent, and unmanlike disposition.

Well then and like a philosopher doth he say, that he of the two is the more to be condemned, that sins with

pleasure, than he that sins with grief. For indeed this latter may seem first to have been wronged, and so in

some manner through grief thereof to have been forced to be angry, whereas he who through lust doth

VIII. Whatsoever thou dost affect, whatsoever thou dost project, so do, and so project all, as one who, for

aught thou knowest, may at this very present depart out of this life. And as for death, if there be any gods, it is

no grievous thing to leave the society of men. The gods will do thee no hurt, thou mayest be sure. But if it be

so that there be no gods, or that they take no care of the world, why should I desire to live in a world void of

gods, and of all divine providence? But gods there be certainly, and they take care for the world; and as for

those things which be truly evil, as vice and. wickedness, such things they have put in a man s own power,

that he might avoid them if he would: and had there been anything besides that had been truly bad and evil,

they would have had a care of that also, that a man might have avoided it. But why should that be thought to

hurt and prejudice a man's life in this world, which cannot any ways make man himself the better, or the

worse in his own person? Neither must we think that the nature of the universe did either through ignorance

pass these things, or if not as ignorant of them, yet as unable either to prevent, or better to order and dispose

them. It cannot be that she through want either of power or skill, should have committed such a thing, so as to

suffer all things both good and bad, equally and promiscuously, to happen unto all both good and bad. As for

life therefore, and death, honour and dishonour, labour and pleasure, riches and poverty, all these things

happen unto men indeed, both good and bad, equally; but as things which of themselves are neither good nor

IX. Consider how quickly all things are dissolved and resolved: the bodies and substances themselves, into

the matter and substance of the world: and their memories into the general age and time of the world.

Consider the nature of all worldly sensible things; of those especially, which either ensnare by pleasure, or for

their irksomeness are dreadful, or for their outward lustre and show are in great esteem and request, how vile

and contemptible, how base and corruptible, how destitute of all true life and being they are.

X. It is the part of a man endowed with a good understanding faculty, to consider what they themselves are in

very deed, from whose bare conceits and voices, honour and credit do proceed: as also what it is to die, and

how if a man shall consider this by itself alone, to die, and separate from it in his mind all those things which

with it usually represent themselves unto us, he can conceive of it no otherwise, than as of a work of nature,

and he that fears any work of nature, is a very child. Now death, it is not only a work of nature, but also

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

affected, when it is said to be diffused. There is nothing more wretched than that soul, which in a kind of

circuit compasseth all things, searching (as he saith) even the very depths of the earth; and by all signs and

conjectures prying into the very thoughts of other men's souls; and yet of this, is not sensible, that it is

sufficient for a man to apply himself wholly, and to confine all his thoughts and cares to the tendance of that

spirit which is within him, and truly and really to serve him. His service doth consist in this, that a man keep

himself pure from all violent passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all manner of

discontent, either in regard of the gods or men. For indeed whatsoever proceeds from the gods, deserves

respect for their worth and excellency; and whatsoever proceeds from men, as they are our kinsmen, should

by us be entertained, with love, always; sometimes, as proceeding from their ignorance, of that which is truly

good and bad, (a blindness no less, than that by which we are not able to discern between white and black:)

XII. If thou shouldst live three thousand, or as many as ten thousands of years, yet remember this, that man

can part with no life properly, save with that little part of life, which he now lives: and that which he lives, is

no other, than that which at every instant he parts with. That then which is longest of duration, and that which

is shortest, come both to one effect. For although in regard of that which is already past there may be some

inequality, yet that time which is now present and in being, is equal unto all men. And that being it which we

part with whensoever we die, it doth manifestly appear, that it can be but a moment of time, that we then part

with. For as for that which is either past or to come, a man cannot be said properly to part with it. For how

should a man part with that which he hath not? These two things therefore thou must remember. First, that all

things in the world from all eternity, by a perpetual revolution of the same times and things ever continued

and renewed, are of one kind and nature; so that whether for a hundred or two hundred years only, or for an

infinite space of time, a man see those things which are still the same, it can be no matter of great moment.

And secondly, that that life which any the longest liver, or the shortest liver parts with, is for length and

duration the very same, for that only which is present, is that, which either of them can lose, as being that

only which they have; for that which he hath not, no man can truly be said to lose.

XIII. Remember that all is but opinion and conceit, for those things are plain and apparent, which were

spoken unto Monimus the Cynic; and as plain and apparent is the use that may be made of those things, if

that which is true and serious in them, be received as well as that which is sweet and pleasing.

XIV. A man's soul doth wrong and disrespect itself first and especially, when as much as in itself lies it

becomes an aposteme, and as it were an excrescency of the world, for to be grieved and displeased with

anything that happens in the world, is direct apostacy from the nature of the universe; part of which, all

particular natures of the world, are. Secondly, when she either is averse from any man, or led by contrary

desires or affections, tending to his hurt and prejudice; such as are the souls of them that are angry. Thirdly,

when she is overcome by any pleasure or pain. Fourthly, when she doth dissemble, and covertly and falsely

either doth or saith anything. Fifthly, when she doth either affect or endeavour anything to no certain end, but

rashly and without due ratiocination and consideration, how consequent or inconsequent it is to the common

end. For even the least things ought not to be done, without relation unto the end; and the end of the

reasonable creatures is, to follow and obey him, who is the reason as it were, and the law of this great city,

and ancient commonwealth. XV. The time of a man's life is as a point; the substance of it ever flowing, the

sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body tending to corruption. His soul is restless, fortune

uncertain, and fame doubtful; to be brief, as a stream so are all things belonging to the body; as a dream, or as

a smoke, so are all that belong unto the soul. Our life is a warfare, and a mere pilgrimage. Fame after life is

no better than oblivion. What is it then that will adhere and follow? Only one thing, philosophy. And

philosophy doth consist in this, for a man to preserve that spirit which is within him, from all manner of

contumelies and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to do anything either rashly, or feignedly, or

hypocritically: wholly to depend from himself and his own proper actions: all things that happen unto him to

embrace contentedly, as coming from Him from whom he himself also came; and above all things, with all

meekness and a calm cheerfulness, to expect death, as being nothing else but the resolution of those elements,

of which every creature is composed. And if the elements themselves suffer nothing by this their perpetual

conversion of one into another, that dissolution, and alteration, which is so common unto all, why should it be

feared by any? Is not this according to nature? But nothing that is according to nature can be evil. whilst I

I. A man must not only consider how daily his life wasteth and decreaseth, but this also, that if he live long,

he cannot be certain, whether his understanding shall continue so able and sufficient, for either discreet

consideration, in matter of businesses; or for contemplation: it being the thing, whereon true knowledge of

things both divine and human, doth depend. For if once he shall begin to dote, his respiration, nutrition, his

imaginative, and appetitive, and other natural faculties, may still continue the same: he shall find no want of

them. But how to make that right use of himself that he should, how to observe exactly in all things that

which is right and just, how to redress and rectify all wrong, or sudden apprehensions and imaginations, and

even of this particular, whether he should live any longer or no, to consider duly; for all such things, wherein

the best strength and vigour of the mind is most requisite; his power and ability will be past and gone. Thou

must hasten therefore; not only because thou art every day nearer unto death than other, but also because that

intellective faculty in thee, whereby thou art enabled to know the true nature of things, and to order all thy

actions by that knowledge, doth daily waste and decay: or, may fail thee before thou die.

II. This also thou must observe, that whatsoever it is that naturally doth happen to things natural, hath

somewhat in itself that is pleasing and delightful: as a great loaf when it is baked, some parts of it cleave as it

were, and part asunder, and make the crust of it rugged and unequal, and yet those parts of it, though in some

sort it be against the art and intention of baking itself, that they are thus cleft and parted, which should have

been and were first made all even and uniform, they become it well nevertheless, and have a certain peculiar

property, to stir the appetite. So figs are accounted fairest and ripest then, when they begin to shrink, and

wither as it were. So ripe olives, when they are next to putrefaction, then are they in their proper beauty. The

hanging down of grapesthe brow of a lion, the froth of a foaming wild boar, and many other like things,

though by themselves considered, they are far from any beauty, yet because they happen naturally, they both

are comely, and delightful; so that if a man shall with a profound mind and apprehension, consider all things

in the world, even among all those things which are but mere accessories and natural appendices as it were,

there will scarce appear anything unto him, wherein he will not find matter of pleasure and delight. So will he

behold with as much pleasure the true rictus of wild beasts, as those which by skilful painters and other

artificers are imitated. So will he be able to perceive the proper ripeness and beauty of old age, whether in

man or woman: and whatsoever else it is that is beautiful and alluring in whatsoever is, with chaste and

continent eyes he will soon find out and discern. Those and many other things will he discern, not credible

unto every one, but unto them only who are truly and familiarly acquainted, both with nature itself, and all

III. Hippocrates having cured many sicknesses, fell sick himself and died. The Chaldeans and Astrologians

having foretold the deaths of divers, were afterwards themselves surprised by the fates. Alexander and

Pompeius, and Caius Caesar, having destroyed so many towns, and cut off in the field so many thousands

both of horse and foot, yet they themselves at last were fain to part with their own lives. Heraclitus having

written so many natural tracts concerning the last and general conflagration of the world, died afterwards all

filled with water within, and all bedaubed with dirt and dung without. Lice killed Democritus; and Socrates,

another sort of vermin, wicked ungodly men. How then stands the case? Thou hast taken ship, thou hast

sailed, thou art come to land, go out, if to another life, there also shalt thou find gods, who are everywhere. If

all life and sense shall cease, then shalt thou cease also to be subject to either pains or pleasures ; and to serve

and tend this vile cottage; so much the viler, by how much that which ministers unto it doth excel ; the one

being a rational substance, and a spirit, the other nothing but earth and blood.

IV. Spend not the remnant of thy days in thoughts and fancies concerning other men, when it is not in relation

to some common good, when by it thou art hindered from some other better work. That is, spend not thy time

in thinking, what such a man doth, and to what end: what he saith, and what he thinks, and what he is about,

and such other things or curiosities, which make a man to rove and wander from the care and observation of

that part of himself, which is rational, and overruling. See therefore in the whole series and connection of thy

thoughts, that thou be careful to prevent whatsoever is idle and impertinent: but especially, whatsoever is

curious and malicious: and thou must use thyself to think only of such things, of which if a man upon a

sudden should ask thee, what it is that thou art now thinking, thou mayest answer This, and That, freely and

boldly, that so by thy thoughts it may presently appear that in all thee is sincere, and peaceable; as becometh

one that is made for society, and regards not pleasures, nor gives way to any voluptuous imaginations at all:

free from all contentiousness, envy, and suspicion, and from whatsoever else thou wouldest blush to confess

thy thoughts were set upon. He that is such, is he surely that doth not put off to lay hold on that which is best

indeed, a very priest and minister of the gods, well acquainted and in good correspondence with him

especially that is seated and placed within himself, as in a temple and sacrary: to whom also he keeps and

preserves himself unspotted by pleasure, undaunted by pain; free from any manner of wrong, or contumely,

by himself offered unto himself: not capable of any evil from others: a wrestler of the best sort, and for the

highest prize, that he may not be cast down by any passion or affection of his own; deeply dyed and drenched

in righteousness, embracing and accepting with his whole heart whatsoever either happeneth or is allotted

unto him. One who not often, nor without some great necessity tending to some public good, mindeth what

any other, either speaks, or doth, or purposeth: for those things only that are in his own power, or that are

truly his own, are the objects of his employments, and his thoughts are ever taken up with those things, which

of the whole universe are by the fates or Providence destinated and appropriated unto himself. Those things

that are his own, and in his own power, he himself takes order, for that they be good: and as for those that

happen unto him, he believes them to be so. For that lot and portion which is assigned to every one, as it is

unavoidable and necessary, so is it always profitable. He remembers besides that whatsoever partakes of

reason, is akin unto him, and that to care for all men generally, is agreeing to the nature of a man: but as for

honour and praise, that they ought not generally to be admitted and accepted of from all, but from such only,

who live according to nature. As for them that do not, what manner of men they be at home, or abroad; day or

night, how conditioned themselves with what manner of conditions, or with men of what conditions they moil

and pass away the time together, he knoweth, and remembers right well, he therefore regards not such praise

and approbation, as proceeding from them, who cannot like and approve themselves.

V. Do nothing against thy will, nor contrary to the community, nor without due examination, nor with

reluctancy. Affect not to set out thy thoughts with curious neat language. Be neither a great talker, nor a great

undertaker. Moreover, let thy God that is in thee to rule over thee, find by thee, that he hath to do with a man;

an aged man; a sociable man; a Roman; a prince; one that hath ordered his life, as one that expecteth, as it

were, nothing but the sound of the trumpet, sounding a retreat to depart out of this life with all expedition.

One who for his word or actions neither needs an oath, nor any man to be a witness.

VI. To be cheerful, and to stand in no need, either of other men's help or attendance, or of that rest and

tranquillity, which thou must be beholding to others for. Rather like one that is straight of himself, or hath

ever been straight, than one that hath been rectified. VII. If thou shalt find anything in this mortal life better

than righteousness, than truth, temperance, fortitude, and in general better than a mind contented both with

those things which according to right and reason she doth, and in those, which without her will and

knowledge happen unto thee by the providence; if I say, thou canst find out anything better than this, apply

thyself unto it with thy whole heart, and that which is best wheresoever thou dost find it, enjoy freely. But if

nothing thou shalt find worthy to be preferred to that spirit which is within thee; if nothing better than to

subject unto thee thine own lusts and desires, and not to give way to any fancies or imaginations before thou

hast duly considered of them, nothing better than to withdraw thyself (to use Socrates his words) from all

sensuality, and submit thyself unto the gods, and to have care of all men in general: if thou shalt find that all

other things in comparison of this, are but vile, and of little moment; then give not way to any other thing,

which being once though but affected and inclined unto, it will no more be in thy power without all

distraction as thou oughtest to prefer and to pursue after that good, which is thine own and thy proper good.

For it is not lawful, that anything that is of another and inferior kind and nature, be it what it will, as either

popular applause, or honour, or riches, or pleasures; should be suffered to confront and contest as it were,

with that which is rational, and operatively good. For all these things, if once though but for a while, they

begin to please, they presently prevail, and pervert a man's mind, or turn a man from the right way. Do thou

therefore I say absolutely and freely make choice of that which is best, and stick unto it. Now, that they say is

best, which is most profitable. If they mean profitable to man as he is a rational man, stand thou to it, and

maintain it; but if they mean profitable, as he is a creature, only reject it; and from this thy tenet and

conclusion keep off carefully all plausible shows and colours of external appearance, that thou mayest be able

to discern things rightly. VIII. Never esteem of anything as profitable, which shall ever constrain thee either

to break thy faith, or to lose thy modesty; to hate any man, to suspect, to curse, to dissemble, to lust after

anything, that requireth the secret of walls or veils. But he that preferreth before all things his rational part

and spirit, and the sacred mysteries of virtue which issueth from it, he shall never lament and exclaim, never

sigh; he shall never want either solitude or company: and which is chiefest of all, he shall live without either

desire or fear. And as for life, whether for a long or short time he shall enjoy his soul thus compassed about

with a body, he is altogether indifferent. For if even now he were to depart, he is as ready for it, as for any

other action, which may be performed with modesty and decency. For all his life long, this is his only care,

that his mind may always be occupied in such intentions and objects, as are proper to a rational sociable

IX. In the mind that is once truly disciplined and purged, thou canst not find anything, either foul or impure,

or as it were festered: nothing that is either servile, or affected: no partial tie; no malicious averseness;

nothing obnoxious; nothing concealed. The life of such an one, death can never surprise as imperfect; as of an

actor, that should die before he had ended, or the play itself were at an end, a man might speak.

X. Use thine opinative faculty with all honour and respect, for in her indeed is all: that thy opinion do not

beget in thy understanding anything contrary to either nature, or the proper constitution of a rational creature.

The end and object of a rational constitution is, to do nothing rashly, to be kindly affected towards men, and

in all things willingly to submit unto the gods. Casting therefore all other things aside, keep thyself to these

few, and remember withal that no man properly can be said to live more than that which is now present,

which is but a moment of time. Whatsoever is besides either is already past, or uncertain. The time therefore

that any man doth live, is but a little, and the place where he liveth, is but a very little corner of the earth, and

the greatest fame that can remain of a man after his death, even that is but little, and that too, such as it is

whilst it is, is by the succession of silly mortal men preserved, who likewise shall shortly die, and even whiles

they live know not what in very deed they themselves are: and much less can know one, who long before is

XI. To these everpresent helps and mementoes, let one more be added, ever to make a particular description

and delineation as it were of every object that presents itself to thy mind, that thou mayest wholly and

throughly contemplate it, in its own proper nature, bare and naked; wholly, and severally; divided into its

several parts and quarters: and then by thyself in thy mind, to call both it, and those things of which it doth

consist, and in which it shall be resolved, by their own proper true names, and appellations. For there is

nothing so effectual to beget true magnanimity, as to be able truly and methodically to examine and consider

all things that happen in this life, and so to penetrate into their natures, that at the same time, this also may

concur in our apprehensions: what is the true use of it? and what is the true nature of this universe, to which it

is useful? how much in regard of the universe may it be esteemed? how much in regard of man, a citizen of

the supreme city, of which all other cities in the world are as it were but houses and families?

XII. What is this, that now my fancy is set upon ? of what things doth it consist? how long can it last? which

of all the virtues is the proper virtue for this present use? as whether meekness, fortitude, truth, faith,

sincerity, contentation, or any of the rest? Of everything therefore thou must use thyself to say, This

immediately comes from God, this by that fatal connection, and concatenation of things, or (which almost

comes to one) by some coincidental casualty. And as for this, it proceeds from my neighbour, my kinsman,

my fellow: through his ignorance indeed, because he knows not what is truly natural unto him: but I know it,

and therefore carry myself towards him according to the natural law of fellowship; that is kindly, and justly.

As for those things that of themselves are altogether indifferent, as in my best judgment I conceive everything

XIII. If thou shalt intend that which is present, following the rule of right and reason carefully, solidly,

meekly, and shalt not intermix any other businesses, but shall study this only to preserve thy spirit

impolluted, and pure, and shall cleave unto him without either hope or fear of anything, in all things that thou

shalt either do or speak, contenting thyself with heroical truth, thou shalt live happily; and from this, there is

XIV. As physicians and chirurgeons have always their instruments ready at hand for all sudden cures; so have

thou always thy dogmata in a readiness for the knowledge of things, both divine and human: and whatsoever

thou dost, even in the smallest things that thou dost, thou must ever remember that mutual relation, and

connection that is between these two things divine, and things human. For without relation unto God, thou

shalt never speed in any worldly actions; nor on the other side in any divine, without some respect had to

XV. Be not deceived; for thou shalt never live to read thy moral commentaries, nor the acts of the famous

Romans and Grecians; nor those excerpta from several books; all which thou hadst provided and laid up for

thyself against thine old age. Hasten therefore to an end, and giving over all vain hopes, help thyself in time if

thou carest for thyself, as thou oughtest to do. XVI. To steal, to sow, to buy, to be at rest, to see what is to be

done (which is not seen by the eyes, but by another kind of sight:) what these words mean, and how many

ways to be understood, they do not understand. The body, the soul, the understanding. As the senses naturally

belong to the body, and the desires and affections to the soul, so do the dogmata to the understanding.

XVII. To be capable of fancies and imaginations, is common to man and beast. To be violently drawn and

moved by the lusts and desires of the soul, is proper to wild beasts and monsters, such as Phalaris and Nero

were. To follow reason for ordinary duties and actions is common to them also, who believe not that there be

any gods, and for their advantage would make no conscience to betray their own country; and who when once

the doors be shut upon them, dare do anything. If therefore all things else be common to these likewise, it

follows, that for a man to like and embrace all things that happen and are destinated unto him, and not to

trouble and molest that spirit which is seated in the temple of his own breast, with a multitude of vain fancies

and imaginations, but to keep him propitious and to obey him as a god, never either speaking anything

contrary to truth, or doing anything contrary to justice, is the only true property of a good man. And such a

one, though no man should believe that he liveth as he doth, either sincerely and conscionably, or cheerful

and contentedly; yet is he neither with any man at all angry for it, nor diverted by it from the way that leadeth

to the end of his life, through which a man must pass pure, ever ready to depart, and willing of himself

without any compulsion to fit and accommodate himself to his proper lot and portion.

I. That inward mistress part of man if it be in its own true natural temper, is towards all worldly chances and

events ever so disposed and affected, that it will easily turn and apply itself to that which may be, and is

within its own power to compass, when that cannot be which at first it intended. For it never doth absolutely

addict and apply itself to any one object, but whatsoever it is that it doth now intend and prosecute, it doth

prosecute it with exception and reservation; so that whatsoever it is that falls out contrary to its first

intentions, even that afterwards it makes its proper object. Even as the fire when it prevails upon those things

that are in his way; by which things indeed a little fire would have been quenched, but a great fire doth soon

turn to its own nature, and so consume whatsoever comes in his way: yea by those very things it is made

greater and greater. II. Let nothing be done rashly, and at random, but all things according to the most exact

and perfect rules of art. III. They seek for themselves private retiring places, as country villages, the

seashore, mountains; yea thou thyself art wont to long much after such places. But all this thou must know

proceeds from simplicity in the highest degree. At what time soever thou wilt, it is in thy power to retire into

thyself, and to be at rest, and free from all businesses. A man cannot any whither retire better than to his own

soul; he especially who is beforehand provided of such things within, which whensoever he doth withdraw

himself to look in, may presently afford unto him perfect ease and tranquillity. By tranquillity I understand a

decent orderly disposition and carriage, free from all confusion and tumultuousness. Afford then thyself this

retiring continually, and thereby refresh and renew thyself. Let these precepts be brief and fundamental,

which as soon as thou dost call them to mind, may suffice thee to purge thy soul throughly, and to send thee

away well pleased with those things whatsoever they be, which now again after this short withdrawing of thy

soul into herself thou dost return unto. For what is it that thou art offended at? Can it be at the wickedness of

men, when thou dost call to mind this conclusion, that all reasonable creatures are made one for another? and

that it is part of justice to bear with them? and that it is against their wills that they offend? and how many

already, who once likewise prosecuted their enmities, suspected, hated, and fiercely contended, are now long

ago stretched out, and reduced unto ashes? It is time for thee to make an end. As for those things which

among the common chances of the world happen unto thee as thy particular lot and portion, canst thou be

displeased with any of them, when thou dost call that our ordinary dilemma to mind, either a providence, or

Democritus his atoms; and with it, whatsoever we brought to prove that the whole world is as it were one

city? And as for thy body, what canst thou fear, if thou dost consider that thy mind and understanding, when

once it hath recollected itself, and knows its own power, hath in this life and breath (whether it run smoothly

and gently, or whether harshly and rudely), no interest at all, but is altogether indifferent: and whatsoever else

thou hast heard and assented unto concerning either pain or pleasure? But the care of thine honour and

reputation will perchance distract thee? How can that be, if thou dost look back, and consider both how

quickly all things that are, are forgotten, and what an immense chaos of eternity was before, and will follow

after all things: and the vanity of praise, and the inconstancy and variableness of human judgments and

opinions, and the narrowness of the place, wherein it is limited and circumscribed? For the whole earth is but

as one point; and of it, this inhabited part of it, is but a very little part; and of this part, how many in number,

and what manner of men are they, that will commend thee? What remains then, but that thou often put in

practice this kind of retiring of thyself, to this little part of thyself; and above all things, keep thyself from

distraction, and intend not anything vehemently, but be free and consider all things, as a man whose proper

object is Virtue, as a man whose true nature is to be kind and sociable, as a citizen, as a mortal creature.

Among other things, which to consider, and look into thou must use to withdraw thyself, let those two be

among the most obvious and at hand. One, that the things or objects themselves reach not unto the soul, but

stand without still and quiet, and that it is from the opinion only which is within, that all the tumult and all the

trouble doth proceed. The next, that all these things, which now thou seest, shall within a very little while be

changed, and be no more: and ever call to mind, how many changes and alterations in the world thou thyself

hast already been an eyewitness of in thy time. This world is mere change, and this life, opinion. IV. If to

understand and to be reasonable be common unto all men, then is that reason, for which we are termed

reasonable, common unto all. If reason is general, then is that reason also, which prescribeth what is to be

done and what not, common unto all. If that, then law. If law, then are we fellowcitizens. If so, then are we

partners in some one commonweal. If so, then the world is as it were a city. For which other commonweal is

it, that all men can be said to be members of? From this common city it is, that understanding, reason, and

law is derived unto us, for from whence else? For as that which in me is earthly I have from some common

earth; and that which is moist from some other element is imparted; as my breath and life hath its proper

fountain; and that likewise which is dry and fiery in me: (for there is nothing which doth not proceed from

something; as also there is nothing that can be reduced unto mere nothing:) so also is there some common

V. As generation is, so also death, a secret of nature's wisdom: a mixture of elements, resolved into the same

elements again, a thing surely which no man ought to be ashamed of: in a series of other fatal events and

consequences, which a rational creature is subject unto, not improper or incongruous, nor contrary to the

VI. Such and such things, from such and such causes, must of necessity proceed. He that would not have such

things to happen, is as he that would have the figtree grow without any sap or moisture. In sum, remember

this, that within a very little while, both thou and he shall both be dead, and after a little while more, not so

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

wronged, then is there no more any such thing as wrong. That which makes not man himself the worse,

cannot make his life the worse, neither can it hurt him either inwardly or outwardly. It was expedient in

nature that it should be so, and therefore necessary. VIII. Whatsoever doth happen in the world, doth happen

justly, and so if thou dost well take heed, thou shalt find it. I say not only in right order by a series of

inevitable consequences, but according to justice and as it were by way of equal distribution, according to the

true worth of everything. Continue then to take notice of it, as thou hast begun, and whatsoever thou dost, do

it not without this proviso, that it be a thing of that nature that a good man (as the word good is properly

taken) may do it. This observe carefully in every action. IX. Conceit no such things, as he that wrongeth thee

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

These two rules, thou must have always in a readiness. First, do nothing at all, but what reason proceeding

from that regal and supreme part, shall for the good and benefit of men, suggest unto thee. And secondly, if

any man that is present shall be able to rectify thee or to turn thee from some erroneous persuasion, that thou

be always ready to change thy mind, and this change to proceed, not from any respect of any pleasure or

credit thereon depending, but always from some probable apparent ground of justice, or of some public good

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

XII. As a part hitherto thou hast had a particular subsistence: and now shalt thou vanish away into the

common substance of Him, who first begot thee, or rather thou shalt be resumed again into that original

rational substance, out of which all others have issued, and are propagated. Many small pieces of

frankincense are set upon the same altar, one drops first and is consumed, another after; and it comes all to

one. XIII. Within ten days, if so happen, thou shalt be esteemed a god of them, who now if thou shalt return

to the dogmata and to the honouring of reason, will esteem of thee no better than of a mere brute, and of an

ape. XIV. Not as though thou hadst thousands of years to live. Death hangs over thee: whilst yet thou livest,

XV. Now much time and leisure doth he gain, who is not curious to know what his neighbour hath said, or

hath done, or hath attempted, but only what he doth himself, that it may be just and holy? or to express it in

Agathos' words, Not to look about upon the evil conditions of others, but to run on straight in the line,

XVI. He who is greedy of credit and reputation after his death, doth not consider, that they themselves by

whom he is remembered, shall soon after every one of them be dead; and they likewise that succeed those;

until at last all memory, which hitherto by the succession of men admiring and soon after dying hath had its

course, be quite extinct. But suppose that both they that shall remember thee, and thy memory with them

should be immortal, what is that to thee? I will not say to thee after thou art dead; but even to thee living,

what is thy praise? But only for a secret and politic consideration, which we call oikonomian or dispensation.

For as for that, that it is the gift of nature, whatsoever is commended in thee, what might be objected from

thence, let that now that we are upon another consideration be omitted as unseasonable. That which is fair

and goodly, whatsoever it be, and in what respect soever it be, that it is fair and goodly, it is so of itself, and

terminates in itself, not admitting praise as a part or member: that therefore which is praised, is not thereby

made either better or worse. This I understand even of those things, that are commonly called fair and good,

as those which are commended either for the matter itself, or for curious workmanship. As for that which is

truly good, what can it stand in need of more than either justice or truth ; or more than either kindness and

modesty? Which of all those, either becomes good or fair, because commended; or dispraised suffers any

damage? Doth the emerald become worse in itself, or more vile if it be not commended? Doth gold, or ivory,

or purple? Is there anything that doth though never so common, as a knife, a flower, or a tree?

XVII. If so be that the souls remain after death (say they that will not believe it); how is the air from all

eternity able to contain them? How is the earth (say I) ever from that time able to Contain the bodies of them

that are buried? For as here the change and resolution of dead bodies into another kind of subsistence

(whatsoever it be;) makes place for other dead bodies : so the souls after death transferred into the air, after

they have conversed there a while, are either by way of transmutation, or transfusion, or conflagration,

received again into that original rational substance, from which all others do proceed: and so give way to

those souls, who before coupled and associated unto bodies, now begin to subsist single. This, upon a

supposition that the souls after death do for a while subsist single, may be answered. And here, (besides the

number of bodies, so buried and contained by the earth), we may further consider the number of several

beasts, eaten by us men, and by other creatures. For notwithstanding that such a multitude of them is daily

consumed, and as it were buried in the bodies of the eaters, yet is the same place and body able to contain

them, by reason of their conversion, partly into blood, partly into air and fire. What in these things is the

speculation of truth? to divide things into that which is passive and material; and that which is active and

XVIII. Not to wander out of the way, but upon every motion and desire, to perform that which is just: and

ever to be careful to attain to the true natural apprehension of every fancy, that presents itself.

XIX. Whatsoever is expedient unto thee, O World, is expedient unto me; nothing can either be 'unseasonable

unto me, or out of date, which unto thee is seasonable. Whatsoever thy seasons bear, shall ever by me be

esteemed as happy fruit, and increase. O Nature! from thee are all things, in thee all things subsist, and to thee

all tend. Could he say of Athens, Thou lovely city of Cecrops; and shalt not thou say of the world, Thou

XX. They will say commonly, Meddle not with many things, if thou wilt live cheerfully. Certainly there is

nothing better, than for a man to confine himself to necessary actions; to such and so many only, as reason in

a creature that knows itself born for society, will command and enjoin. This will not only procure that

cheerfulness, which from the goodness, but that also, which from the paucity of actions doth usually proceed.

For since it is so, that most of those things, which we either speak or do, are unnecessary; if a man shall cut

them off, it must needs follow that he shall thereby gain much leisure, and save much trouble, and therefore

at every action a man must privately by way of admonition suggest unto himself, What? may not this that

now I go about, be of the number of unnecessary actions? Neither must he use himself to cut off actions only,

but thoughts and imaginations also, that are unnecessary for so will unnecessary consequent actions the better

XXI. Try also how a good man's life; (of one, who is well pleased with those things whatsoever, which

among the common changes and chances of this world fall to his own lot and share; and can live well

contented and fully satisfied in the justice of his own proper present action, and in the goodness of his

disposition for the future:) will agree with thee. Thou hast had experience of that other kind of life : make

now trial of this also. Trouble not thyself any more henceforth, reduce thyself unto perfect simplicity. Doth

any man offend? It is against himself that he doth offend: why should it trouble thee? Hath anything

happened unto thee ? It is well, whatsoever it be, it is that which of all the common chances of the world from

the very beginning in the series of all other things that have, or shall happen, was destinated and appointed

unto thee. To comprehend all in a few words, our life is short; we must endeavour to gain the present time

with best discretion and justice. Use recreation with sobriety. XXII. Either this world is a kosmoz or comely

piece, because all disposed and governed by certain order: or if it be a mixture, though confused, yet still it is

a comely piece. For is it possible that in thee there should be any beauty at all, and that in the whole world

there should be nothing but disorder and confusion? and all things in it too, by natural different properties one

from another differenced and distinguished; and yet all through diffused, and by natural sympathy, one to

XXIII. A black or malign disposition, an effeminate disposition; an hard inexorable disposition, a wild

inhuman disposition, a sheepish disposition, a childish disposition; a blockish, a false, a scurril, a fraudulent,

a tyrannical: what then? If he be a stranger in the world, that knows not the things that are in it; why not he a

XXIV. He is a true fugitive, that flies from reason, by which men are sociable. He blind, who cannot see with

the eyes of his understanding. He poor, that stands in need of another, and hath not in himself all things

needful for this life. He an aposteme of the world, who by being discontented with those things that happen

unto him in the world, doth as it were apostatise, and separate himself from common nature's rational

administration. For the same nature it is that brings this unto thee, whatsoever it be, that first brought thee

into the world. He raises sedition in the city, who by irrational actions withdraws his own soul from that one

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

philosophy in practice. I am half naked, neither have I bread to eat, and yet I depart not from reason, saith

one. But I say; I want the food of good teaching, and instructions, and yet I depart not from reason. XXVI.

What art and profession soever thou hast learned, endeavour to affect it, and comfort thyself in it; and pass

the remainder of thy life as one who from his whole heart commits himself and whatsoever belongs unto him,

unto the gods: and as for men, carry not thyself either tyrannically or servilely towards any. XXVII. Consider

in my mind, for example's sake, the times of Vespasian: thou shalt see but the same things: some marrying,

some bringing up children, some sick, some dying, some fighting, some feasting, some merchandising,

some tilling, some flattering, some boasting, some suspecting, some undermining, some wishing to die, some

fretting and murmuring at their present estate, some wooing, some hoarding, some seeking after magistracies,

and some after kingdoms. And is not that their age quite over, and ended? Again, consider now the times of

Trajan. There likewise thou seest the very selfsame things, and that age also is now over and ended. In the

like manner consider other periods, both of times and of whole nations, and see how many men, after they

had with all their might and main intended and prosecuted some one worldly thing or other did soon after

drop away, and were resolved into the elements. But especially thou must call to mind them, whom thou

thyself in thy lifetime hast known much distracted about vain things, and in the meantime neglecting to do

that, and closely and unseparably (as fully satisfied with it) to adhere unto it, which their own proper

constitution did require. And here thou must remember, that thy carriage in every business must be according

to the worth and due proportion of it, for so shalt thou not easily be tired out and vexed, if thou shalt not

XXVIII. Those words which once were common and ordinary, are now become obscure and obsolete; and so

the names of men once commonly known and famous, are now become in a manner obscure and obsolete

names. Camillus, Cieso, Volesius, Leonnatus; not long after, Scipio, Cato, then Augustus, then Adrianus,

then Antoninus Pius: all these in a short time will be out of date, and, as things of another world as it were,

become fabulous. And this I say of them, who once shined as the wonders of their ages, for as for the rest, no

sooner are they expired, than with them all their fame and memory. And what is it then that shall always be

remembered? all is vanity. What is it that we must bestow our care and diligence upon? even upon this only:

that our minds and wills be just; that our actions be charitable; that our speech be never deceitful, or that our

understanding be not subject to error; that our inclination be always set to embrace whatsoever shall happen

unto us, as necessary, as usual, as ordinary, as flowing from such a beginning, and such a fountain, from

which both thou thyself and all things are. Willingly therefore, and wholly surrender up thyself unto that fatal

concatenation, yielding up thyself unto the fates, to be disposed of at their pleasure.

XXIX. Whatsoever is now present, and from day to day hath its existence; all objects of memories, and the

minds and memories themselves, incessantly consider, all things that are, have their being by change and

alteration. Use thyself therefore often to meditate upon this, that the nature of the universe delights in nothing

more, than in altering those things that are, and in making others like unto them. So that we may say, that

whatsoever is, is but as it were the seed of that which shall be. For if thou think that that only is seed, which

XXX. Thou art now ready to die, and yet hast thou not attained to that perfect simplicity: thou art yet subject

to many troubles and perturbations; not yet free from all fear and suspicion of external accidents; nor yet

either so meekly disposed towards all men, as thou shouldest; or so affected as one, whose only study and

only wisdom is, to be just in all his actions. XXXI. Behold and observe, what is the state of their rational part;

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

XXXII. In another man's mind and understanding thy evil Cannot subsist, nor in any proper temper or

distemper of the natural constitution of thy body, which is but as it were the coat or cottage of thy soul.

Wherein then, but in that part of thee, wherein the conceit, and apprehension of any misery can subsist? Let

not that part therefore admit any such conceit, and then all is well. Though thy body which is so near it

should either be cut or burnt, or suffer any corruption or putrefaction, yet let that part to which it belongs to

judge of these, be still at rest; that is, let her judge this, that whatsoever it is, that equally may happen to a

wicked man, and to a good man, is neither good nor evil. For that which happens equally to him that lives

according to nature, and to him that doth not, is neither according to nature, nor against it; and by consequent,

XXXIII. Ever consider and think upon the world as being but one living substance, and having but one soul,

and how all things in the world, are terminated into one sensitive power; and are done by one general motion

as it were, and deliberation of that one soul; and how all things that are, concur in the cause of one another's

XXXIV. What art thou, that better and divine part excepted, but as Epictetus said well, a wretched soul,

XXXV. To suffer change can be no hurt; as no benefit it is, by change to attain to being. The age and time of

the world is as it were a flood and swift current, consisting of the things that are brought to pass in the world.

For as soon as anything hath appeared, and is passed away, another succeeds, and that also will presently out

XXXVI. Whatsoever doth happen in the world, is, in the course of nature, as usual and ordinary as a rose in

the spring, and fruit in summer. Of the same nature is sickness and death; slander, and lying in wait, and

whatsoever else ordinarily doth unto fools use to be occasion either of joy or sorrow. That, whatsoever it is,

that comes after, doth always very naturally, and as it were familiarly, follow upon that which was before.

For thou must consider the things of the world, not as a loose independent number, consisting merely of

necessary events; but as a discreet connection of things orderly and harmoniously disposed. There is then to

be seen in the things of the world, not a bare succession, but an admirable correspondence and affinity.

XXXVII. Let that of Heraclitus never be out of thy mind, that the death of earth, is water, and the death of

water, is air; and the death of air, is fire; and so on the contrary. Remember him also who was ignorant

whither the way did lead, and how that reason being the thing by which all things in the world are

administered, and which men are continually and most inwardly conversant with: yet is the thing, which

ordinarily they are most in opposition with, and how those things which daily happen among them, cease not

daily to be strange unto them, and that we should not either speak, or do anything as men in their sleep, by

opinion and bare imagination: for then we think we speak and do, and that we must not be as children, who

follow their father's example; for best reason alleging their bare successive tradition from our forefathers we

XXXVIII. Even as if any of the gods should tell thee, Thou shalt certainly die tomorrow, or next day, thou

wouldst not, except thou wert extremely base and pusillanimous, take it for a great benefit, rather to die the

next day after, than tomorrow; (for alas, what is the difference!) so, for the same reason, think it no great

XXXIX. Let it be thy perpetual meditation, how many physicians who once looked so grim, and so tetrically

shrunk their brows upon their patients, are dead and gone themselves. How many astrologers, after that in

great ostentation they had foretold the death of some others, how many philosophers after so many elaborate

tracts and volumes concerning either mortality or immortality; how many brave captains and commanders,

after the death and slaughter of so many; how many kings and tyrants, after they had with such horror and

insolency abused their power upon men's lives, as though themselves had been immortal; how many, that I

may so speak, whole cities both men and towns: Helice, Pompeii, Herculaneum, and others innumerable are

dead and gone. Run them over also, whom thou thyself, one after another, hast known in thy time to drop

away. Such and such a one took care of such and such a one's burial, and soon after was buried himself. So

one, so another: and all things in a short time. For herein lieth all indeed, ever to look upon all worldly things,

as things for their continuance, that are but for a day: and for their worth, most vile, and contemptible, as for

example, What is man? That which but the other day when he was conceived was vile snivel; and within few

days shall be either an embalmed carcass, or mere ashes. Thus must thou according to truth and nature,

throughly consider how man's life is but for a very moment of time, and so depart meek and contented: even

as if a ripe olive falling should praise the ground that bare her, and give thanks to the tree that begat her.

XL. Thou must be like a promontory of the sea, against which though the waves beat continually, yet it both

XLI. Oh, wretched I, to whom this mischance is happened! nay, happy I, to whom this thing being happened,

I can continue without grief; neither wounded by that which is present, nor in fear of that which is to come.

For as for this, it might have happened unto any man, but any man having such a thing befallen him, could

not have continued without grief. Why then should that rather be an unhappiness, than this a happiness? But

however, canst thou, 0 man! term that unhappiness, which is no mischance to the nature of man I Canst thou

think that a mischance to the nature of man, which is not contrary to the end and will of his nature? What then

hast thou learned is the will of man's nature? Doth that then which hath happened unto thee, hinder thee from

being just? or magnanimous? or temperate? or wise? or circumspect? or true? or modest? or free? or from

anything else of all those things in the present enjoying and possession whereof the nature of man, (as then

enjoying all that is proper unto her,) is fully satisfied? Now to conclude; upon all occasion of sorrow

remember henceforth to make use of this dogma, that whatsoever it is that hath happened unto thee, is in very

deed no such thing of itself, as a misfortune; but that to bear it generously, is certainly great happiness.

XLII. It is but an ordinary coarse one, yet it is a good effectual remedy against the fear of death, for a man to

consider in his mind the examples of such, who greedily and covetously (as it were) did for a long time enjoy

their lives. What have they got more, than they whose deaths have been untimely? Are not they themselves

dead at the last? as Cadiciant's, Fabius, Julianus Lepidus, or any other who in their lifetime having buried

many, were at the last buried themselves. The whole space of any man's life, is but little; and as little as it is,

with what troubles, with what manner of dispositions, and in the society of how wretched a body must it be

passed! Let it be therefore unto thee altogether as a matter of indifferency. For if thou shalt look backward;

behold, what an infinite chaos of time doth present itself unto thee; and as infinite a chaos, if thou shalt look

forward. In that which is so infinite, what difference can there be between that which liveth but three days,

XLIII. Let thy course ever be the most compendious way. The most compendious, is that which is according

to nature: that is, in all both words and deeds, ever to follow that which is most sound and perfect. For such a

resolution will free a man from all trouble, strife, dissembling, and ostentation

I. In the morning when thou findest thyself unwilling to rise, consider with thyself presently, it is to go about

a man's work that I am stirred up. Am I then yet unwilling to go about that, for which I myself was born and

brought forth into this world? Or was I made for this, to lay me down, and make much of myself in a warm

bed? 'O but this is pleasing.' And was it then for this that thou wert born, that thou mightest enjoy pleasure?

Was it not in very truth for this, that thou mightest always be busy and in action? Seest thou not how all

things in the world besides, how every tree md plant, how sparrows and ants, spiders and bees: how all in

their kind are intent as it were orderly to perform whatsoever (towards the preservation of this orderly

universe) naturally doth become and belong unto thin? And wilt not thou do that, which belongs unto a man

to do? Wilt not thou run to do that, which thy nature doth require? 'But thou must have some rest.' Yes, thou

must. Nature hath of that also, as well as of eating and drinking, allowed thee a certain stint. But thou guest

beyond thy stint, and beyond that which would suffice, and in matter of action, there thou comest short of that

which thou mayest. It must needs be therefore, that thou dost not love thyself, for if thou didst, thou wouldst

also love thy nature, and that which thy nature doth propose unto herself as her end. Others, as many as take

pleasure in their trade and profession, can even pine themselves at their works, and neglect their bodies and

their food for it; and doest thou less honour thy nature, than an ordinary mechanic his trade; or a good dancer

his art? than a covetous man his silver, and vainglorious man applause? These to whatsoever they take an

affection, can be content to want their meat and sleep, to further that every one which he affects: and shall

actions tending to the common good of human society, seem more vile unto thee, or worthy of less respect

II. How easy a thing is it for a man to put off from him all turbulent adventitious imaginations, and presently

III. Think thyself fit and worthy to speak, or to do anything that is according to nature, and let not the

reproach, or report of some that may ensue upon it, ever deter thee. If it be right and honest to be spoken or

done, undervalue not thyself so much, as to be discouraged from it. As for them, they have their own rational

overruling part, and their own proper inclination: which thou must not stand and look about to take notice

of, but go on straight, whither both thine own particular, and the common nature do lead thee; and the way of

IV. I continue my course by actions according to nature, until I fall and cease, breathing out my last breath

into that air, by which continually breathed in I did live; and falling upon that earth, out of whose gifts and

fruits my father gathered his seed, my mother her blood, and my nurse her milk, out of which for so many

years I have been provided, both of meat and drink. And lastly, which beareth me that tread upon it, and

beareth with me that so many ways do abuse it, or so freely make use of it, so many ways to so many ends. V.

No man can admire thee for thy sharp acute language, such is thy natural disability that way. Be it so: yet

there be many other good things, for the want of which thou canst not plead the want or natural ability. Let

them be seen in thee, which depend wholly from thee; sincerity, gravity, laboriousness, contempt of

pleasures; be not querulous, be Content with little, be kind, be free; avoid all superfluity, all vain prattling; be

magnanimous. Doest not thou perceive, how many things there be, which notwithstanding any pretence of

natural indisposition and unfitness, thou mightest have performed and exhibited, and yet still thou doest

voluntarily continue drooping downwards? Or wilt thou say. that it is through defect of thy natural

constitution, that thou art constrained to murmur, to be base and wretched to flatter; now to accuse, and now

to please, and pacify thy body: to be vainglorious, to be so giddyheaded., and unsettled in thy thoughts? nay

(witnesses be the Gods) of all these thou mightest have been rid long ago: only, this thou must have been

contented with, to have borne the blame of one that is somewhat slow and dull. wherein thou must so exercise

thyself, as one who neither doth much take to heart this his natural defect, nor yet pleaseth himself in it.

Vi. Such there be, who when they have done a good turn to any, are ready to set them on the score for it, and

to require retaliation. Others there be, who though they stand not upon retaliation, to require any, yet they

think with themselves nevertheless, that such a one is their debtor, and they know as their word is what they

have done. Others again there be, who when they have done any such thing, do not so much as know what

they have done; but are like unto the vine, which beareth her grapes, and when once she hath borne her own

proper fruit, is contented and seeks for no further recompense. As a horse after a race, and a hunting dog

when he hath hunted, and a bee when she hath made her honey, look not for applause and commendation; so

neither doth that man that rightly doth understand his own nature when he hath done a good turn: but from

one doth proceed to do another, even as the vine after she hath once borne fruit in her own proper season, is

ready for another time. Thou therefore must be one of them, who what they do, barely do it without any

further thought, and are in a manner insensible of what they do. 'Nay but,' will some reply perchance, 'this

very thing a rational man is bound unto, to understand what it is, that he doeth.' For it is the property, say

they, of one that is naturally sociable, to be sensible, that he doth operate sociably: nay, and to desire, that the

party him self that is sociably dealt with, should be sensible of it too. I answer, That which thou sayest is true

indeed, but the true meaning of that which is said, thou dost not understand. And therefore art thou one of

those first, whom I mentioned. For they also are led by a probable appearance of reason. But if thou dost

desire to understand truly what it is that is said, fear not that thou shalt therefore give over any sociable

VII. The form of the Athenians' prayer did run thus: '0 rain, rain, good Jupiter, upon all the grounds and fields

that belong to the Athenians.' Either we should not pray at all, or thus absolutely and freely; and not every

VIII. As we say commonly, The physician hath prescribed unto this man, riding; unto another, cold baths;

unto a third, to go barefoot: so it is alike to say, The nature of the universe hath prescribed unto this man

sickness, or blindness, or some loss, or damage or some such thing. For as there, when we say of a physician,

that he hath prescribed anything, our meaning is, that he hath appointed this for that, as subordinate and

conducing to health: so here, whatsoever doth happen unto any, is ordained unto him as a thing subordinate

unto the fates, and therefore do we say of such things, that they do happen, or fall together; as of square

stones, when either in walls, or pyramids in a certain position they fit one another, and agree as it were in an

harmony, the masons say, that they do (sumbainein) as if thou shouldest say, fall together: so that in the

general, though the things be divers that make it, yet the consent or harmony itself is but one. And as the

whole world is made up of all the particular bodies of the world, one perfect and complete body, of the same

nature that particular bodies; so is the destiny of particular causes and events one general one, of the same

nature that particular causes are. What I now say, even they that are mere idiots are not ignorant of: for they

say commonly (touto eferen autw) that is, This his destiny hath brought upon him. This therefore is by the

fates properly and particularly brought upon this, as that unto this in particular is by the physician prescribed.

These therefore let us accept of in like manner, as we do those that are prescribed unto us our physicians. For

them also in themselves shall We find to contain many harsh things, but we nevertheless, in hope of health,

and recovery, accept of them. Let. the fulfilling' and accomplishment of those things which the common

nature bath determined, be unto thee as thy health. Accept then, and be pleased with whatsoever doth happen,

though otherwise harsh and unpleasing, as tending to that end, to the health and welfare of the universe, and

to Jove's happiness and prosperity. For this whatsoever it be, should not have been produced, had it not

conduced to the good of the universe. For neither doth any ordinary particular nature bring anything to pass,

that is not to whatsoever is within the sphere of its own proper administration and government agreeable and

subordinate. For these two considerations then thou must be well pleased with anything that doth happen unto

thee. First, because that for thee properly it was brought to pass, and unto thee it was prescribed; and that

from the very beginning by the series and connection of the first causes, it hath ever had a reference unto

thee. And secondly, because the good success and perfect welfare, and indeed the very continuance of Him,

that is the Administrator of the whole, doth in a manner depend on it. For the whole (because whole,

therefore entire and perfect) is maimed, and mutilated, if thou shalt cut off anything at all, whereby the

coherence, and contiguity as of parts, so of causes, is maintained and preserved. Of which certain it is, that

thou doest (as much as lieth in thee) cut off, and in some sort violently take somewhat away, as often as thou

IX. Be not discontented, be not disheartened, be not out of hope, if often it succeed not so well with thee

punctually and precisely to do all things according to the right dogmata, but being once cast off, return unto

them again: and as for those many and more frequent occurrences, either of worldly distractions, or human

infirmities, which as a man thou canst not but in some measure be subject unto, be not thou discontented with

them; but however, love and affect that only which thou dust return unto: a philosopher's life, and proper

occupation after the most exact manner. And when thou dust return to thy philosophy, return not unto it as

the manner of some is, after play and liberty as it were, to their schoolmasters and pedagogues; but as they

that have sore eyes to their sponge and egg: or as another to his cataplasm; or as others to their fomentations:

so shalt not thou make it a matter of ostentation at all to obey reason but of ease and comfort. And remember

that philosophy requireth nothing of thee, but what thy nature requireth, and wouldest thou thyself desire

anything that is not according to nature? for which of these sayest thou; that which is according to nature or

against it, is of itself more kind and pleasing? Is it not for that respect especially, that pleasure itself is to so

many men's hurt and overthrow, most prevalent, because esteemed commonly most kind, and natural? But

consider well whether magnanimity rather, and true liberty, and true simplicity, and equanimity, and holiness;

whether these be not most kind and natural? And prudency itself, what more kind and amiable than it, when

thou shalt truly consider with thyself, what it is through all the proper objects of thy rational intellectual

faculty currently to go on without any fall or stumble? As for the things of the world, their true nature is in a

manner so involved with obscurity, that unto many philosophers, and those no mean ones, they seemed

altogether incomprehensible. and the Stoics themselves, though they judge them not altogether

incomprehensible, yet scarce and not without much difficulty, comprehensible, so that all assent of ours is

fallible, for who is he that is infallible in his conclusions? >From the nature of things, pass now unto their

subjects and matter: how temporary, how vile are they I such as may be in the power and possession of some

abominable loose liver, of some common strumpet, of some notorious oppressor and extortioner. Pass from

thence to the dispositions of them that thou doest ordinarily converse with, how hardly do we bear, even with

the most loving and amiable! that I may not say, how hard it is for us to bear even with our own selves, in

such obscurity, and impurity of things: in such and so continual a flux both of the substances and time; both

of the motions themselves, and things moved; what it is that we can fasten upon; either to honour, and respect

especially; or seriously, and studiously to seek after; I cannot so much as conceive For indeed they are things

contrary. X. Thou must comfort thyself in the expectation of thy natural dissolution, and in the meantime not

grieve at the delay; but rest contented in those two things. First, that nothing shall happen unto thee, which is

not according to the nature of the universe. Secondly, that it is in thy power, to do nothing against thine own

proper God, and inward spirit. For it is not in any man's power to constrain thee to transgress against him. XI.

What is the use that now at this present I make of my soul? Thus from time to time and upon all occasions

thou must put this question to thyself; what is now that part of mine which they call the rational mistress part,

employed about? Whose soul do I now properly possess? a child's? or a youth's? a woman's? or a tyrant's?

some brute, or some wild beast's soul? XII. What those things are in themselves, which by the greatest part

are esteemed good, thou mayest gather even from this. For if a man shall hear things mentioned as good,

which are really good indeed, such as are prudence, temperance, justice, fortitude, after so much heard and

conceived, he cannot endure to hear of any more, for the word good is properly spoken of them. But as for

those which by the vulgar are esteemed good, if he shall hear them mentioned as good, he doth hearken for

more. He is well contented to hear, that what is spoken by the comedian, is but familiarly and popularly

spoken, so that even the vulgar apprehend the difference. For why is it else, that this offends not and needs

not to be excused, when virtues are styled good: but that which is spoken in commendation of wealth,

pleasure, or honour, we entertain it only as merrily and pleasantly spoken? Proceed therefore, and inquire

further, whether it may not be that those things also which being mentioned upon the stage were merrily, and

with great applause of the multitude, scoffed at with this jest, that they that possessed them had not in all the

world of their own, (such was their affluence and plenty) so much as a place where to avoid their excrements.

Whether, I say, those ought not also in very deed to be much respected, and esteemed of, as the only things

XIII. All that I consist of, is either form or matter. No corruption can reduce either of these unto nothing: for

neither did I of nothing become a subsistent creature. Every part of mine then. will by mutation be disposed

into a certain part of the whole world, and that in time into another part; and so in infinitum; by which kind of

mutation, I also became what I am, and so did they that begot me, and they before them, and so upwards in

infinitum. For so we may be allowed to speak, though the age and government of the world, be to some

certain periods of time limited, and confined. XIV. Reason, and rational power, are faculties which content

themselves with themselves, and their own proper operations. And as for their first inclination and motion,

that they take from themselves. But their progress is right to the end and object, which is in their way, as it

were, and lieth just before them: that is, which is feasible and possible, whether it be that which at the first

they proposed to themselves, or no. For which reason also such actions are termed katorqwseiz to intimate the

directness of the way, by which they are achieved. Nothing must be thought to belong to a man, which doth

not belong unto him as he is a man. These, the event of purposes, are not things required in a man. The nature

of man doth not profess any such things. The final ends and consummations of actions are nothing at all to a

man's nature. The end therefore of a man, or the summum bonum whereby that end is fulfilled, cannot consist

in the consummation of actions purposed and intended. Again, concerning these outward worldly things,

were it so that any of them did properly belong unto man, then would it not belong unto man, to condemn

them and to stand in opposition with them. Neither would he be praiseworthy that can live without them; or

he good, (if these were good indeed) who of his own accord doth deprive himself of any of them. But we see

contrariwise, that the more a man doth withdraw himself from these wherein external pomp and greatness

doth consist, or any other like these; or the better he doth bear with the loss of these, the better he is

XV. Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are, such will thy mind be in time. For the soul doth as it

were receive its tincture from the fancies, and imaginations. Dye it therefore and thoroughly soak it with the

assiduity of these cogitations. As for example. Wheresoever thou mayest live, there it is in thy power to live

well and happy. But thou mayest live at the Court, there then also mayest thou live well and happy. Again,

that which everything is made for, he is also made unto that, and cannot but naturally incline unto it. That

which anything doth naturally incline unto, therein is his end. Wherein the end of everything doth consist,

therein also doth his good and benefit consist. Society therefore is the proper good of a rational creature. For

that we are made for society, it hath long since been demonstrated. Or can any man make any question of

this, that whatsoever is naturally worse and inferior, is ordinarily subordinated to that which is better? and

that those things that are best, are made one for another? And those things that have souls, are better than

those that have none? and of those that have, those best that have rational souls?

XVI. To desire things impossible is the part of a mad man. But it is a thing impossible, that wicked man

should not commit some such things. Neither doth anything happen to any man, which in the ordinary course

of nature as natural unto him doth not happen. Again, the same things happen unto others also. And truly, if

either he that is ignorant that such a thing hath happened unto him, or he that is ambitious to be commended

for his magnanimity, can be patient, and is not grieved: is it not a grievous thing, that either ignorance, or a

vain desire to please and to be commended, should be more powerful and effectual than true prudence? As

for the things themselves, they touch not the soul, neither can they have any access unto it: neither can they of

themselves any ways either affect it, or move it. For she herself alone can affect and move herself, and

according as the dogmata and opinions are, which she doth vouchsafe herself; so are those things which, as

XVII. After one consideration, man is nearest unto us; as we are bound to do them good, and to bear with

them. But as he may oppose any of our true proper actions, so man is unto me but as a thing indifferent: even

as the sun, or the wind, or some wild beast. By some of these it may be, that some operation or other of mine,

may be hindered; however, of my mind and resolution itself, there can be no let or impediment, by reason of

that ordinary constant both exception (or reservation wherewith it inclineth) and ready conversion of objects;

from that which may not be, to that which may be, which in the prosecution of its inclinations, as occasion

serves, it doth observe. For by these the mind doth turn and convert any impediment whatsoever, to be her

aim and purpose. So that what before was the impediment, is now the principal object of her working; and

that whihch before was in her way, is now her readiest way. XVIII. Honour that which is chiefest and most

powerful in the world, and that is it, which makes use of all things, and governs all things. So also in thyself;

honour that which is chiefest, and most powerful; and is of one kind and nature with that which we now

spake of. For it is the very same, which being in thee, turneth all other things to its own use, and by whom

XIX. That which doth not hurt the city itself; cannot hurt any citizen. This rule thou must remember to apply

and make use of upon every conceit and apprehension of wrong. If the whole city be not hurt by this, neither

am I certainly. And if the whole be not, why should I make it my private grievance? consider rather what it is

wherein he is overseen that is thought to have done the wrong. Again, often meditate how swiftly all things

that subsist, and all things that are done in the world, are carried away, and as it were conveyed out of sight:

for both the substance themselves, we see as a flood, are in a continual flux; and all actions in a perpetual

change; and the causes themselves, subject to a thousand alterations, neither is there anything almost, that

may ever be said to be now settled and constant. Next unto this, and which follows upon it, consider both the

infiniteness of the time already past, and the immense vastness of that which is to come, wherein all things

are to be resolved and annihilated. Art not thou then a very fool, who for these things, art either puffed up

with pride, or distracted with cares, or canst find in thy heart to make such moans as for a thing that would

trouble thee for a very long time? Consider the whole universe whereof thou art but a very little part, and the

whole age of the world together, whereof but a short and very momentary portion is allotted unto thee, and all

the fates and destinies together, of which how much is it that comes to thy part and share! Again: another

doth trespass against me. Let him look to that. He is master of his own disposition, and of his own operation.

I for my part am in the meantime in possession of as much, as the common nature would have me to possess:

XX. Let not that chief commanding part of thy soul be ever subject to any variation through any corporal

either pain or pleasure, neither suffer it to be mixed with these, but let it both circumscribe itself, and confine

those affections to their own proper parts and members. But if at any time they do reflect and rebound upon

the mind and understanding (as in an united and compacted body it must needs;) then must thou not go about

to resist sense and feeling, it being natural. However let not thy understanding to this natural sense and

feeling, which whether unto our flesh pleasant or painful, is unto us nothing properly, add an opinion of either

XXI. To live with the Gods. He liveth with the Gods, who at all times affords unto them the spectacle of a

soul, both contented and well pleased with whatsoever is afforded, or allotted unto her; and performing

whatsoever is pleasing to that Spirit, whom (being part of himself) Jove hath appointed to every man as his

XXII. Be not angry neither with him whose breath, neither with him whose arm holes, are offensive. What

can he do? such is his breath naturally, and such are his arm holes; and from such, such an effect, and such a

smell must of necessity proceed. 'O, but the man (sayest thou) hath understanding in him, and might of

himself know, that he by standing near, cannot choose but offend.' And thou also (God bless thee!) hast

understanding. Let thy reasonable faculty, work upon his reasonable faculty; show him his fault, admonish

him. If he hearken unto thee, thou hast cured him, and there will be no more occasion of anger.

XXIII. 'Where there shall neither roarer be, nor harlot.' Why so? As thou dost purpose to live, when thou hast

retired thyself to some such place, where neither roarer nor harlot is: so mayest thou here. And if they will not

suffer thee, then mayest thou leave thy life rather than thy calling, but so as one that doth not think himself

anyways wronged. Only as one would say, Here is a smoke; I will out of it. And what a great matter is this!

Now till some such thing force me out, I will continue free; neither shall any man hinder me to do what I will,

and my will shall ever be by the proper nature of a reasonable and sociable creature, regulated and directed.

XXIV. That rational essence by which the universe is governed, is for community and society; and therefore

hath it both made the things that are worse, for the best, and hath allied and knit together those which are

best, as it were in an harmony. Seest thou not how it hath subordinated, and coordinated? and how it hath

distributed unto everything according to its worth? and those which have the preeminency and superiority

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

towards thy wife? towards thy children? towards thy masters? thy fosterfathers? thy friends? thy domestics?

thy servants? Is it so with thee, that hitherto thou hast neither by word or deed wronged any of them?

Remember withal through how many things thou hast already passed, and how many thou hast been able to

endure; so that now the legend of thy life is full, and thy charge is accomplished. Again, how many truly

good things have certainly by thee been discerned? how many pleasures, how many pains hast thou passed

over with contempt? how many things eternally glorious hast thou despised? towards how many perverse

XXVI. Why should imprudent unlearned souls trouble that which is both learned, and prudent? And which is

that that is so? she that understandeth the beginning and the end, and hath the true knowledge of that rational

essence, that passeth through all things subsisting, and through all ages being ever the same, disposing and

XXVII. Within a very little while, thou wilt be either ashes, or a sceletum; and a name perchance; and

perchance, not so much as a name. And what is that but an empty sound, and a rebounding echo? Those

things which in this life are dearest unto us, and of most account, they are in themselves but vain, putrid,

contemptible. The most weighty and serious, if rightly esteemed, but as puppies, biting one another: or

untoward children, now laughing and then crying. As for faith, and modesty, and justice, and truth, they long

since, as one of the poets hath it, have abandoned this spacious earth, and retired themselves unto heaven.

What is it then that doth keep thee here, if things sensible be so mutable and unsettled? and the senses so

obscure, and so fallible? and our souls nothing but an exhalation of blood? and to be in credit among such, be

but vanity? What is it that thou dost stay for? an extinction, or a translation; either of them with a propitious

and contented mind. But still that time come, what will content thee? what else, but to worship and praise the

Gods; and to do good unto men. To bear with them, and to forbear to do them any wrong. And for all external

things belonging either to this thy wretched body, or life, to remember that they are neither thine, nor in thy

XXVIII. Thou mayest always speed, if thou wilt but make choice of the right way; if in the course both of

thine opinions and actions, thou wilt observe a true method. These two things be common to the souls, as of

God, so of men, and of every reasonable creature, first that in their own proper work they cannot be hindered

by anything: and secondly, that their happiness doth consist in a disposition to, and in the practice of

XXIX. If this neither be my wicked act, nor an act anyways depending from any wickedness of mine, and

that by it the public is not hurt; what doth it concern me? And wherein can the public be hurt? For thou must

not altogether be carried by conceit and common opinion: as for help thou must afford that unto them after

thy best ability, and as occasion shall require, though they sustain damage, but in these middle or worldly

things; but however do not thou conceive that they are truly hurt thereby: for that is not right. But as that old

fosterfather in the comedy, being now to take his leave doth with a great deal of ceremony, require his

fosterchild's rhombus, or rattletop, remembering nevertheless that it is but a rhombus; so here also do thou

likewise. For indeed what is all this pleading and public bawling for at the courts? O man, hast thou forgotten

what those things are! yea but they are things that others much care for, and highly esteem of. Wilt thou

XXX. Let death surprise rue when it will, and where it will, I may be a happy man, nevertheless.

For he is a happy man, who in his lifetime dealeth unto himself a happy lot and portion. A happy lot and

I. The matter itself, of which the universe doth consist, is of itself very tractable and pliable. That rational

essence that doth govern it, bath in itself no cause to do evil. It bath no evil in itsell; neither can it do anything

that is evil: neither can anything be hurt by it. And all things are done and determined according to its will

II. Be it all one unto thee, whether half frozen or well warm; whether only slumbering, or after a full sleep;

whether discommended or commended thou do thy duty: or whether dying or doing somewhat else; for that

also 'to die,' must among the rest be reckoned as one of the duties and actions of our lives.

III. Look in, let not either the proper quality, or the true worth of anything pass thee, before thou hast fully

IV. All substances come soon to their change, and either they shall be resolved by way of exhalation (if so be

that all things shall be reunited into one substance), or as others maintain, they shall be scattered and

dispersed. As for that Rational Essence by which all things are governed, as it best understandeth itself, both

its own disposition, and what it doth, and what matter it hath to do with and accordingly doth all things; so

we that do not, no wonder, if we wonder at many things, the reasons whereof we cannot comprehend.

VI. Let this be thy only joy, and thy only comfort, from one sociable kind action without intermission to pass

VII. The rational commanding part, as it alone can stir up and turn itself; so it maketh both itself to be, and

VIII. According to the nature of the universe all things particular are determined, not according to any other

nature, either about compassing and containing; or within, dispersed and contained; or without, depending.

Either this universe is a mere confused mass, and an intricate context of things, which shall in time be

scattered and dispersed again: or it is an union consisting of order, and administered by Providence. If the

first, why should I desire to continue any longer in this fortuit confusion and commixtion? or why should I

take care for anything else, but that as soon as may be I may be earth again? And why should I trouble myself

any more whilst I seek to please the Gods? Whatsoever I do, dispersion is my end, and will come upon me

whether I will or no. But if the latter be, then am not I religious in vain; then will I be quiet and patient, and

put my trust in Him, who is the Governor of all. IX. Whensoever by some present hard occurrences thou art

constrained to be in some sort troubled and vexed, return unto thyself as soon as may be, and be not out of

tune longer than thou must needs. For so shalt thou be the better able to keep thy part another time, and to

maintain the harmony, if thou dost use thyself to this continually; once out, presently to have recourse unto it,

X. If it were that thou hadst at one time both a stepmother, and a natural mother living, thou wouldst honour

and respect her also; nevertheless to thine own natural mother would thy refuge, and recourse be continually.

So let the court and thy philosophy be unto thee. Have recourse unto it often, and comfort thyself in her, by

whom it is that those other things are made tolerable unto thee, and thou also in those things not intolerable

XI. How marvellous useful it is for a man to represent unto himself meats, and all such things that are for the

mouth, under a right apprehension and imagination! as for example: This is the carcass of a fish; this of a

bird; and this of a hog. And again more generally; This phalernum, this excellent highly commended wine, is

but the bare juice of an ordinary grape. This purple robe, but sheep's hairs, dyed with the blood of a shellfish.

So for coitus, it is but the attrition of an ordinary base entrail, and the excretion of a little vile snivel, with a

certain kind of convulsion: according to Hippocrates his opinion. How excellent useful are these lively

fancies and representations of things, thus penetrating and passing through the objects, to make their true

nature known and apparent! This must thou use all thy life long, and upon all occasions: and then especially,

when matters are apprehended as of great worth and respect, thy art and care must be to uncover them, and to

behold their vileness, and to take away from them all those serious circumstances and expressions, under

which they made so grave a show. For outward pomp and appearance is a great juggler; and then especially

art thou most in danger to be beguiled by it, when (to a man's thinking) thou most seemest to be employed

XIII. Those things which the common sort of people do admire, are most of them such things as are very

general, and may be comprehended under things merely natural, or naturally affected and qualified: as stones,

wood, figs, vines, olives. Those that be admired by them that are more moderate and restrained, are

comprehended under things animated: as flocks and herds. Those that are yet more gentle and curious, their

admiration is commonly confined to reasonable creatures only; not in general as they are reasonable, but as

they are capable of art, or of some craft and subtile invention: or perchance barely to reasonable creatures; as

they that delight in the possession of many slaves. But he that honours a reasonable soul in general, as it is

reasonable and naturally sociable, doth little regard anything else: and above all things is careful to preserve

his own, in the continual habit and exercise both of reason and sociableness: and thereby doth cooperate

XIV. Some things hasten to be, and others to he no more. And even whatsoever now is, some part thereof

bath already perished. Perpetual fluxes and alterations renew the world, as the perpetual course of time doth

make the age of the world (of itself infinite) to appear always fresh and new. In such a flux and course of all

things, what of these things that hasten so fast away should any man regard, since among all there is not any

that a man may fasten and fix upon? as if a man would settle his affection upon some ordinary sparrow living

by him, who is no sooner seen, than out of sight. For we must not think otherwise of our lives, than as a mere

exhalation of blood, or of an ordinary respiration of air. For what in our common apprehension is, to breathe

in the air and to breathe it out again, which we do daily: so much is it and no more, at once to breathe out all

thy respirative faculty into that common air from whence but lately (as being but from yesterday, and

XV. Not vegetative spiration, it is not surely (which plants have) that in this life should be so dear unto us;

nor sensitive respiration, the proper life of beasts, both tame and wild; nor this our imaginative faculty; nor

that we are subject to be led and carried up and down by the strength of our sensual appetites; or that we can

gather, and live together; or that we can feed: for that in effect is no better, than that we can void the

excrements of our food. What is it then that should be dear unto us? to hear a clattering noise? if not that, then

neither to be applauded by the tongues of men. For the praises of many tongues, is in effect no better than the

clattering of so many tongues. If then neither applause, what is there remaining that should be dear unto thee?

This I think: that in all thy motions and actions thou be moved, and restrained according to thine own true

natural constitution and Construction only. And to this even ordinary arts and professions do lead us. For it is

that which every art doth aim at, that whatsoever it is, that is by art effected and prepared, may be fit for that

work that it is prepared for. This is the end that he that dresseth the vine, and he that takes upon him either to

tame colts, or to train up dogs, doth aim at. What else doth the education of children, and all learned

professions tend unto? Certainly then it is that, which should be dear unto us also. If in this particular it go

well with thee, care not for the obtaining of other things. But is it so, that thou canst not but respect other

things also? Then canst not thou truly be free? then canst thou not have selfcontent: then wilt thou ever be

subject to passions. For it is not possible, but that thou must be envious, and jealous, and suspicious of them

whom thou knowest can bereave thee of such things; and again, a secret underminer of them, whom thou

seest in present possession of that which is dear unto thee. To be short, he must of necessity be full of

confusion within himself, and often accuse the Gods, whosoever stands in need of these things. But if thou

shalt honour and respect thy mind only, that will make thee acceptable towards thyself, towards thy friends

very tractable; and conformable and concordant with the Gods; that is, accepting with praises whatsoever

XVI. Under, above, and about, are the motions of the elements; but the motion of virtue, is none of those

motions, but is somewhat more excellent and divine. Whose way (to speed and prosper in it) must be through

XVII. Who can choose but wonder at them? They will not speak well of them that are at the same time with

them, and live with them; yet they themselves are very ambitious, that they that shall follow, whom they have

never seen, nor shall ever see, should speak well of them. As if a man should grieve that he hath not been

XVIII. Do not ever conceive anything impossible to man, which by thee cannot, or not without much

difficulty be effected; but whatsoever in general thou canst Conceive possible and proper unto any man, think

XIX. Suppose that at the palestra somebody hath all totorn thee with his nails, and hath broken thy head.

Well, thou art wounded. Yet thou dost not exclaim; thou art not offended with him. Thou dost not suspect

him for it afterwards, as one that watcheth to do thee a mischief. Yea even then, though thou dost thy best to

save thyself from him, yet not from him as an enemy. It is not by way of any suspicious indignation, but by

way of gentle and friendly declination. Keep the same mind and disposition in other parts of thy life also. For

many things there be, which we must conceit and apprehend, as though we had had to do with an antagonist

at the palestra. For as I said, it is very possible for us to avoid and decline, though we neither suspect, nor

XX. If anybody shall reprove me, and shall make it apparent unto me, that in any either opinion or action of

mine I do err, I will most gladly retract. For it is the truth that I seek after, by which I am sure that never any

man was hurt; and as sure, that he is hurt that continueth in any error, or ignorance whatsoever. XXI. I for my

part will do what belongs unto me; as for other things, whether things unsensible or things irrational; or if

rational, yet deceived and ignorant of the true way, they shall not trouble or distract me. For as for those

creatures which are not endued with reason and all other things andmatters of the world whatsoever I freely,

and generously, as one endued with reason, of things that have none, make use of them. And as for men,

towards them as naturally partakers of the same reason, my care is to carry myself sociably. But whatsoever it

is that thou art about, remember to call upon the Gods. And as for the time how long thou shalt live to do

these things, let it be altogether indifferent unto thee, for even three such hours are sufficient. XXII.

Alexander of Macedon, and he that dressed his mules, when once dead both came to one. For either they

were both resumed into those original rational essences from whence all things in the world are propagated;

XXIII Consider how many different things, whether they concern our bodies, or our souls, in a moment of

time come to pass in every one of us, and so thou wilt not wonder if many more things or rather all things that

are done, can at one time subsist, and coexist in that both one and general, which we call the world.

XXIV. if any should put this question unto thee, how this word Antoninus is written, wouldst thou not

presently fix thine intention upon it, and utter out in order every letter of it? And if any shall begin to gainsay

thee, and quarrel with thee about it; wilt thou quarrel with him again, or rather go on meekly as thou hast

begun, until thou hast numbered out every letter? Here then likewise remember, that every duty that belongs

unto a man doth consist of some certain letters or numbers as it were, to which without any noise or tumult

keeping thyself thou must orderly proceed to thy proposed end, forbearing to quarrel with him that would

XXV. Is it not a cruel thing to forbid men to affect those things, which they conceive to agree best with their

own natures, and to tend most to their own proper good and behoof? But thou after a sort deniest them this

liberty, as often as thou art angry with them for their sins. For surely they are led unto those sins whatsoever

they be, as to their proper good and commodity. But it is not so (thou wilt object perchance). Thou therefore

teach them better, and make it appear unto them: but be not thou angry with them. XXVI. Death is a cessation

from the impression of the senses, the tyranny of the passions, the errors of the mind, and the servitude of the

XXVII. If in this kind of life thy body be able to hold out, it is a shame that thy soul should faint first, and

give over. take heed, lest of a philosopher thou become a mere Caesar in time, and receive a new tincture

from the court. For it may happen if thou dost not take heed. Keep thyself therefore, truly simple, good,

sincere, grave, free from all ostentation, a lover of that which is just, religious, kind, tender. hearted, strong

and vigorous to undergo anything that becomes thee. Endeavour to continue such, as philosophy (hadst thou

wholly and constantly applied thyself unto it) would have made, and secured thee. Worship the Gods, procure

the welfare of men, this life is short. Charitable actions, and a holy disposition, is the only fruit of this earthly

XXVIII. Do all things as becometh the disciple of Antoninus Pius. Remember his resolute constancy in

things that were done by him according to reason, his equability in all things, his sanctity; the cheerfulness of

his countenance, his sweetness, and how free he was from all vainglory; how careful to come to the true and

exact knowledge of matters in hand, and how he would by no means give over till he did fully, and plainly

understand the whole state of the business; and how patiently, and without any contestation he would bear

with them, that did unjustly condemn him: how he would never be overhasty in anything, nor give ear to

slanders and false accusations, but examine and observe with best diligence the several actions and

dispositions of men. Again, how he was no backbiter, nor easily frightened, nor suspicious, and in his

language free from all affectation and curiosity: and how easily he would content himself with few things, as

lodging, bedding, clothing, and ordinary nourishment, and attendance. How able to endure labour, how

patient; able through his spare diet to continue from morning to evening without any necessity of

withdrawing before his accustomed hours to the necessities of nature: his uniformity and constancy in matter

of friendship. How he would bear with them that with all boldness and liberty opposed his opinions; and even

rejoice if any man could better advise him: and lastly, how religious he was without superstition. All these

things of him remember, that whensoever thy last hour shall come upon thee, it may find thee, as it did him,

XXIX. Stir up thy mind, and recall thy wits again from thy natural dreams, and visions, and when thou art

perfectly awoken, and canst perceive that they were but dreams that troubled thee, as one newly awakened

out of another kind of sleep look upon these worldly things with the same mind as thou didst upon those, that

XXX. I consist of body and soul. Unto my body all things are indifferent, for of itself it cannot affect one

thing more than another with apprehension of any difference; as for my mind, all things which are not within

the verge of her own operation, are indifferent unto her, and for her own operations, those altogether depend

of her; neither does she busy herself about any, but those that are present; for as for future and past

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

their labour, whatsoever it be, is not unnatural. So a man as long as he doth that which is proper unto a man,

his labour cannot be against nature; and if it be not against nature, then neither is it hurtful unto him. But if it

were so that happiness did consist in pleasure: how came notorious robbers, impure abominable livers,

XXXII. Dost thou not see, how even those that profess mechanic arts, though in some respect they be no

better than mere idiots, yet they stick close to the course of their trade, neither can they find in their heart to

decline from it: and is it not a grievous thing that an architect, or a physician shall respect the course and

mysteries of their profession, more than a man the proper course and condition of his own nature, reason,

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

drop; and the great Mount Athos, but as a clod, as all present time is but as one point of eternity. All, petty

things; all things that are soon altered, soon perished. And all things come from one beginning; either all

severally and particularly deliberated and resolved upon, by the general ruler and governor of all; or all by

necessary consequence. So that the dreadful hiatus of a gaping lion, and all poison, and all hurtful things, are

but (as the thorn and the mire) the necessary consequences of goodly fair things. Think not of these therefore,

as things contrary to those which thou dost much honour, and respect; but consider in thy mind. the true

XXXIV He that seeth the things that are now, hath Seen all that either was ever, or ever shall be, for all things

are of one kind; and all like one unto another. Meditate often upon the connection of all things in the world;

and upon the mutual relation that they have one unto another. For all things are after a sort folded and

involved one within another, and by these means all agree well together. For one thing is consequent unto

another, by local motion, by natural conspiration and agreement, and by substantial union, or, reduction of all

XXXV. Fit and accommodate thyself to that estate and to those occurrences, which by the destinies have

been annexed unto thee; and love those men whom thy fate it is to live with; but love them truly. An

instrument, a tool, an utensil, whatsoever it be, if it be fit for the purpose it was made for, it is as it should be

though he perchance that made and fitted it, be out of sight and gone. But in things natural, that power which

hath framed and fitted them, is and abideth within them still: for which reason she ought also the more to be

respected, and we are the more obliged (if we may live and pass our time according to her purpose and

intention) to think that all is well with us, and according to our own minds. After this manner also, and in this

XXXVI. What things soever are not within the proper power and jurisdiction of thine own will either to

compass or avoid, if thou shalt propose unto thyself any of those things as either good, or evil; it must needs

be that according as thou shalt either fall into that which thou dost think evil, or miss of that which thou dost

think good, so wilt thou be ready both to complain of the Gods, and to hate those men, who either shall be so

indeed, or shall by thee be suspected as the cause either of thy missing of the one, or falling into the other.

And indeed we must needs commit many evils, if we incline to any of these things, more or less, with an

opinion of any difference. But if we mind and fancy those things only, as good and bad, which wholly depend

of our own wills, there is no more occasion why we should either murmur against the Gods, or be at enmity

XXXVII. We all work to one effect, some willingly, and with a rational apprehension of what we do: others

without any such knowledge. As I think Heraclitus in a place speaketh of them that sleep, that even they do

work in their kind, and do confer to the general operations of the world. One man therefore doth cooperate

after one sort, and another after another sort; but even he that doth murmur, and to his power doth resist and

hinder; even he as much as any doth cooperate. For of such also did the world stand in need. Now do thou

consider among which of these thou wilt rank thyself. For as for him who is the Administrator of all, he will

make good use of thee whether thou wilt or no, and make thee (as a part and member of the whole) so to

cooperate with him, that whatsoever thou doest, shall turn to the furtherance of his own counsels, and

resolutions. But be not thou for shame such a part of the whole, as that vile and ridiculous verse (which

Chrysippus in a place doth mention) is a part of the comedy. XXXVIII. Doth either the sun take upon him to

do that which belongs to the rain? or his son Aesculapius that, which unto the earth doth properly belong?

How is it with every one of the stars in particular? Though they all differ one from another, and have their

several charges and functions by themselves, do they not all nevertheless concur and cooperate to one end?

XXXIX. If so be that the Gods have deliberated in particular of those things that should happen unto me, I

must stand to their deliberation, as discrete and wise. For that a God should be an imprudent God, is a thing

hard even to conceive: and why should they resolve to do me hurt? for what profit either unto them or the

universe (which they specially take care for) could arise from it? But if so be that they have not deliberated of

me in particular, certainly they have of the whole in general, and those things which in consequence and

coherence of this general deliberation happen unto me in particular, I am bound to embrace and accept of.

But if so be that they have not deliberated at all (which indeed is very irreligious for any man to believe: for

then let us neither sacrifice, nor pray, nor respect our oaths, neither let us any more use any of those things,

which we persuaded of the presence and secret conversation of the Gods among us, daily use and practise:)

but, I say, if so be that they have not indeed either in general, or particular deliberated of any of those things,

that happen unto us in this world; yet God be thanked, that of those things that concern myself, it is lawful for

me to deliberate myself, and all my deliberation is but concerning that which may be to me most profitable.

Now that unto every one is most profitable, which is according to his own constitution and nature. And my

nature is, to be rational in all my actions and as a good, and natural member of a city and commonwealth,

towards my fellow members ever to be sociably and kindly disposed and affected. My city and country as I

am Antoninus, is Rome; as a man, the whole world. Those things therefore that are expedient and profitable

XL. Whatsoever in any kind doth happen to any one, is expedient to the whole. And thus much to content us

might suffice, that it is expedient for the whole in general. But yet this also shalt thou generally perceive, if

thou dost diligently take heed, that whatsoever doth happen to any one man or men. . . . And now I am

content that the word expedient, should more generally be understood of those things which we otherwise call

XLI. As the ordinary shows of the theatre and of other such places, when thou art presented with them, affect

thee; as the same things still seen, and in the same fashion, make the sight ingrateful and tedious; so must all

the things that we see all our life long affect us. For all things, above and below, are still the same, and from

XLII. Let the several deaths of men of all sorts, and of all sorts of professions, and of all sort of nations, be a

perpetual object of thy thoughts, . . . so that thou mayst even come down to Philistio, Phoebus, and

Origanion. Pass now to other generations. Thither shall we after many changes, where so many brave orators

are; where so many grave philosophers; Heraclitus, Pythagoras, Socrates. Where so many heroes of the old

times; and then so many brave captains of the latter times; and so many kings. After all these, where

Eudoxus, Hipparchus, Archimedes; where so many other sharp, generous, industrious, subtile, peremptory

dispositions; and among others, even they, that have been the greatest scoffers and deriders of the frailty and

brevity of this our human life; as Menippus, and others, as many as there have been such as he. Of all these

consider, that they long since are all dead, and gone. And what do they suffer by it! Nay they that have not so

much as a name remaining, what are they the worse for it? One thing there is, and that only, which is worth

our while in this world, and ought by us much to be esteemed; and that is, according to truth and

XLIII. When thou wilt comfort and cheer thyself, call to mind the several gifts and virtues of them, whom

thou dost daily converse with; as for example, the industry of the one; the modesty of another; the liberality

of a third; of another some other thing. For nothing can so much rejoice thee, as the resemblances and

parallels of several virtues, visible and eminent in the dispositions of those who live with thee; especially

when, all at once, as near as may be, they represent themselves unto thee. And therefore thou must have them

XLIV. Dost thou grieve that thou dost weigh but so many pounds, and not three hundred rather? Just as much

reason hast thou to grieve that thou must live but so many years, and not longer. For as for bulk and

substance thou dost content thyself with that proportion of it that is allotted unto thee, so shouldst thou for

time. XLV. Let us do our best endeavours to persuade them ; but however, if reason and justice lead thee to

it, do it, though they be never so much against it. But if any shall by force withstand thee, and hinder thee in

it, convert thy virtuous inclination from one object unto another, from justice to contented equanimity, and

cheerful patience: so that what in the one is thy hindrance, thou mayst make use of it for the exercise of

another virtue: and remember that it was with due exception, and reservation, that thou didst at first incline

and desire. For thou didst not set thy mind upon things impossible. Upon what then? that all thy desires might

ever be moderated with this due kind of reservation. And this thou hast, and mayst always obtain, whether the

thing desired be in thy power or no. And what do I care for more, if that for which I was born and brought

forth into the world (to rule all my desires with reason and discretion) may be?

XLVI. The ambitious supposeth another man's act, praise and applause, to be his own happiness; the

XLVII. It is in thy power absolutely to exclude all manner of conceit and opinion, as concerning this matter;

and by the same means, to exclude all grief and sorrow from thy soul. For as for the things and objects

themselves, they of themselves have no such power, whereby to beget and force upon us any opinion at all.

XLVIII. Use thyself when any man speaks unto thee, so to hearken unto him, as that in the interim thou give

not way to any other thoughts; that so thou mayst (as far as is possible) seem fixed and fastened to his very

L. Will either passengers, or patients, find fault and complain, either the one if they be well carried, or the

others if well cured? Do they take care for any more than this; the one, that their shipmaster may bring them

LI. How many of them who came into the world at the same time when I did, are already gone out of it?

LII. To them that are sick of the jaundice, honey seems bitter; and to them that are bitten by a mad dog, the

water terrible; and to children, a little ball seems a fine thing. And why then should I be angry? or do I think

that error and false opinion is less powerful to make men transgress, than either choler, being immoderate and

LIII. No man can hinder thee to live as thy nature doth require. Nothing can happen unto thee, but what the

LIV. What manner of men they be whom they seek to please, and what to get, and by what actions: how soon

I. What is wickedness ? It is that which many time and often thou hast already seen and known in the world.

And so oft as anything doth happen that might otherwise trouble thee, let this memento presently come to thy

mind, that it is that which thou hast already often Seen and known. Generally, above and below, thou shalt

find but the same things. The very same things whereof ancient stories, middle age stories, and fresh stories

are full whereof towns are full, and houses full. There is nothing that is new. All things that are, are both

II. What fear is there that thy dogmata, or philosophical resolutions and conclusions, should become dead in

thee, and lose their proper power and efficacy to make thee live happy, as long as those proper and correlative

fancies, and representations of things on which they mutually depend (which continually to stir up and revive

is in thy power,) are still kept fresh and alive? It is in my power concerning this thing that is happened, what

soever it be, to conceit that which is right and true. If it be, why then am I troubled? Those things that are

without my understanding, are nothing to it at all: and that is it only, which doth properly concern me. Be

Ill. That which most men would think themselves most happy for, and would prefer before all things, if the

Gods would grant it unto them after their deaths, thou mayst whilst thou livest grant unto thyself; to live

again. See the things of the world again, as thou hast already seen them. For what is it else to live again?

Public shows and solemnities with much pomp and vanity, stage plays, flocks and herds; conflicts and con

tentions: a bone thrown to a company of hungry curs; a bait for greedy fishes; the painfulness, and continual

burdenbearing of wretched ants, the running to and fro of terrified mice: little puppets drawn up and down

with wires and nerves: these be the objects of the world. among all these thou must stand steadfast, meekly

affected, and free from all manner of indignation; with this right ratiocination and apprehension; that as the

worth is of those things which a man doth affect, so is in very deed every man's worth more or less.

IV. Word after word, every one by itself, must the things that are spoken be conceived and understood; and

so the things that are done, purpose after purpose, every one by itself likewise. And as in matter of purposes

and actions, we must presently see what is the proper use and relation of every one; so of words must we be

as ready, to consider of every one what is the true meaning, and signification of it according to truth and

V. Is my reason, and understanding sufficient for this, or no? If it be sufficient, without any private applause,

or public ostentation as of an instrument, which by nature I am provided of, I will make use of it for the work

in hand, as of an instrument, which by nature I am provided of. if it be not, and that otherwise it belong not

unto me particularly as a private duty, I will either give it over, and leave it to some other that can better

effect it: or I will endeavour it; but with the help of some other, who with the joint help of my reason, is able

to bring somewhat to pass, that will now be seasonable and useful for the common good. For whatsoever I do

either by myself, or with some other, the only thing that I must intend, is, that it be good and expedient for the

public. For as for praise, consider how many who once were much commended, are now already quite

forgotten, yea they that commended them, how even they themselves are long since dead and gone. Be not

therefore ashamed, whensoever thou must use the help of others. For whatsoever it be that lieth upon thee to

effect, thou must propose it unto thyself, as the scaling of walls is unto a soldier. And what if thou through

either lameness or some other impediment art not able to reach unto the top of the battlements alone, which

with the help of another thou mayst; wilt thou therefore give it over, or go about it with less courage and

VI. Let not things future trouble thee. For if necessity so require that they come to pass, thou shalt

(whensoever that is) be provided for them with the same reason, by which whatsoever is now present, is

made both tolerable and acceptable unto thee. All things are linked and knitted together, and the knot is

sacred, neither is there anything in the world, that is not kind and natural in regard of any other thing, or, that

hath not some kind of reference and natural correspondence with whatsoever is in the world besides. For all

things are ranked together, and by that decency of its due place and order that each particular doth observe,

they all concur together to the making of one and the same ["Kosmos" ed] or world: as if you said, a comely

piece, or an orderly composition. For all things throughout, there is but one and the same order; and through

all things, one and the same God, the same substance and the same law. There is one common reason, and

one common truth, that belongs unto all reasonable creatures, for neither is there save one perfection of all

VII. Whatsoever is material, doth soon vanish away into the common substance of the whole; and whatsoever

is formal, or, whatsoever doth animate that which is material, is soon resumed into the common reason of the

whole; and the fame and memory of anything, is soon swallowed up by the general age and duration of the

VIII. To a reasonable creature, the same action is both according to nature, and according to reason. IX.

X. As several members in one body united, so are reasonable creatures in a body divided and dispersed, all

made and prepared for one common operation. And this thou shalt apprehend the better, if thou shalt use

thyself often to say to thyself, I am meloz, or a member of the mass and body of reasonable substances. But if

thou shalt say I am meroz, or a part, thou dost not yet love men from thy heart. The joy that thou takest in the

exercise of bounty, is not yet grounded upon a due ratiocination and right apprehension of the nature of

things. Thou dost exercise it as yet upon this ground barely, as a thing convenient and fitting; not, as doing

good to thyself, when thou dost good unto others. XI. Of things that are external, happen what will to that

which can suffer by external accidents. Those things that suffer let them complain themselves, if they will; as

for me, as long as I conceive no such thing, that that which is happened is evil, I have no hurt; and it is in my

power not to conceive any such thing. XII. Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, thou must be good; not

for any man's sake, but for thine own nature's sake; as if either gold, or the emerald, or purple, should ever be

saying to themselves, Whatsoever any man either doth or saith, I must still be an emerald, and I must keep

XIII. This may ever be my comfort and security: my understanding, that ruleth over all, will not of itself

bring trouble and vexation upon itself. This I say; it will not put itself in any fear, it will not lead itself into

any concupiscence. If it be in the power of any other to compel it to fear, or to grieve, it is free for him to use

his power. But sure if itself do not of itself, through some false opinion or supposition incline itself to any

such disposition; there is no fear. For as for the body, why should I make the grief of my body, to be the grief

of my mind? If that itself can either fear or complain, let it. But as for the soul, which indeed, can only be

truly sensible of either fear or grief; to which only it belongs according to its different imaginations and

opinions, to admit of either of these, or of their contraries; thou mayst look to that thyself, that it suffer

nothing. Induce her not to any such opinion or persuasion. The understanding is of itself sufficient unto itself,

and needs not (if itself doth not bring itself to need) any other thing besides itself, and by consequent as it

needs nothing, so neither can it be troubled or hindered by anything, if itself doth not trouble and hinder

XIV. What is rvor happiness: but a7~o~ or, a good da~rnon, or spirit? What then dost thou do here, O

opinion? By the Gods I adjure thee, that thou get thee gone, as thou earnest: for I need thee not. Thou earnest

indeed unto me according to thy ancient wonted manner. It is that, that all men have ever been subject unto.

That thou camest therefore I am not angry with thee, only begone, now that I have found thee what thou art.

XV. Is any man so foolish as to fear change, to which all things that once were not owe their being? And

what is it, that is more pleasing and more familiar to the nature of the universe? How couldst thou thyself use

thy ordinary hot baths, should not the wood that heateth them first be changed? How couldst thou receive any

nourishment from those things that thou hast eaten, if they should not be changed? Can anything else almost

(that is useful and profitable) be brought to pass without change? How then dost not thou perceive, that for

thee also, by death, to come to change, is a thing of the very same nature, and as necessary for the nature of

XVI. Through the substance of the universe, as through a torrent pass all particular bodies, being all of the

same nature, and all joint workers with the universe itself as in one of our bodies so many members among

themselves. How many such as Chrysippus, how many such as Socrates, how many such as Epictetus, hath

the age of the world long since swallowed up and devoured? Let this, be it either men or businesses, that thou

hast occasion to think of, to the end that thy thoughts be not distracted and thy mind too earnestly set upon

anything, upon every such occasion presently come to thy mind. Of all my thoughts and cares, one only thing

shall be the object, that I myself do nothing which to the proper constitution of man, (either in regard of the

thing itself, or in regard of the manner, or of the time of doing,) is contrary. The time when thou shalt have

forgotten all things, is at hand. And that time also is at hand, when thou thyself shalt be forgotten by all.

Whilst thou art, apply thyself to that especially which unto man as he is a mart, is most proper and agreeable,

and that is, for a man even to love them that transgress against him. This shall be, if at the same time that any

such thing doth happen, thou call to mind, that they are thy kinsmen; that it is through ignorance and against

their wills that they sin; and that within a very short while after, both thou and he shall be no more. But above

all things, that he hath not done thee any hurt; for that by him thy mind and understanding is not made worse

or more vile than it was before. XVII. The nature of the universe, of the common substance of all things as it

were of so much wax hath now perchance formed a horse; and then, destroying that figure, hath new

tempered and fashioned the matter of it into the form and substance of a tree: then that again into the form

and substance of a man: and then that again into some other. Now every one of these doth subsist but for a

very little while. As for dissolution, if it be no grievous thing to the chest or trunk, to be joined together; why

XVIII. An angry countenance is much against nature, and it is oftentimes the proper countenance of them that

are at the point of death. But were it so, that all anger and passion were so thoroughly quenched in thee, that it

were altogether impossible to kindle it any more, yet herein must not thou rest satisfied, but further endeavour

by good consequence of true ratiocination, perfectly to conceive and understand, that all anger and passion is

against reason. For if thou shalt not be sensible of thine innocence; if that also shall be gone from thee, the

comfort of a good conscience, that thou doest all things according to reason: what shouldest thou live any

longer for? All things that now thou seest, are but for a moment. That nature, by which all things in the world

are administered, will soon bring change and alteration upon them, and then of their substances make other

things like unto them : and then soon after others again of the matter and substance of these: that so by these

means, the world may still appear fresh and new. XIX. Whensoever any man doth trespass against other,

presently consider with thyself what it was that he did suppose to be good, what to be evil, when he did

trespass. For this when thou knowest, thou wilt pity him thou wilt have no occasion either to wonder, or to be

angry. For either thou thyself dust yet live in that error and ignorance, as that thou dust suppose either that

very thing that he doth, or some other like worldly thing, to be good; and so thou art bound to pardon him if

he have done that which thou in the like case wouldst have done thyself. Or if so be that thou dost not any

more suppose the same things to be good or evil, that he doth; how canst thou but be gentle unto him that is

XX. Fancy not to thyself things future, as though they were present but of those that are present, take some

aside, that thou takest most benefit of, and consider of them particularly, how wonderfully thou wouldst want

them, if they were not present. But take heed withal, lest that whilst thou dust settle thy contentment in things

present, thou grow in time so to overprize them, as that the want of them (whensoever it shall so fall out)

should be a trouble and a vexation unto thee. Wind up thyself into thyself. Such is the nature of thy

reasonable commanding part, as that if it exercise justice, and have by that means tranquillity within itself, it

XXI. Wipe off all opinion stay the force and violence of unreasonable lusts and affections: circumscribe the

present time examine whatsoever it be that is happened, either to thyself or to another: divide all present

objects, either in that which is formal or material think of the last hour. That which thy neighbour bath

committed, where the guilt of it lieth, there let it rest. Examine in order whatsoever is spoken. Let thy mind

penetrate both into the effects, and into the causes. Rejoice thyself with true simplicity, and modesty; and that

all middle things between virtue and vice are indifferent unto thee. Finally, love mankind; obey God. XXII.

All things (saith he) are by certain order and appointment. And what if the elements only.

It will suffice to remember, that all things in general are by certain order and appointment: or if it be but few.

And as concerning death, that either dispersion, or the atoms, or annihilation, or extinction, or translation will

ensue. And as concerning pain, that that which is intolerable is soon ended by death; and that which holds

long must needs be tolerable; and that the mind in the meantime (which is all in all) may by way of

jnterclusion, or interception, by stopping all manner of commerce and sympathy with the body, still retain its

own tranquillity. Thy understanding is not made worse by it. As for those parts that suffer, let them, if they

can, declare their grief themselves. As for praise and commendation, view their mind and understanding,

what estate they are in; what kind of things they fly, and what things they seek after: and that as in the

seaside, whatsoever was before to be seen, is by the continual succession of new heaps of sand cast up one

upon another, soon hid and covered; so in this life, all former things by those which immediately succeed.

XXIII. Out of Plato. 'He then whose mind is endowed with true magnanimity, who hath accustomed himself

to the contemplation both of all times, and of all things in general; can this mortal life (thinkest thou) seem

any great matter unto him? It is not possible, answered he. Then neither will such a one account death a

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

the face should be subject unto the mind, to be put into what shape it will, and to be dressed by it as it will;

and that the mind should not bestow so much care upon herself, as to fashion herself, and to dress herself as

XXV. Out of several poets and comics. 'It will but little avail thee, to turn thine anger and indignation upon

the things themselves that have fallen across unto thee. For as for them, they are not sensible of it, Thou shalt

but make thyself a laughingstock; both unto the Gods and men, Our life is reaped like a ripe ear of corn; one

is yet standing and another is down, But if so be that I and my children be neglected by the gods, there is

some reason even for that, As long as right and equity is of my side, Not to lament with them, not to tremble,

XXVI. Out of Plato. 'My answer, full of justice and equity, should be this: Thy speech is not right, O man! if

thou supposest that he that is of any worth at all, should apprehend either life or death, as a matter of great

hazard and danger; and should not make this rather his only care, to examine his own actions, whether just or

unjust: whether actions of a good, or of a wicked man, For thus in very truth stands the case, O ye men of

Athens. What place or station soever a man either hath chosen to himself, judging it best for himself; or is by

lawful authority put and settled in, therein do I think (all appearance of danger notwithstanding) that he

should continue, as one who feareth neither death, nor anything else, so much as he feareth to commit

anything that is vicious and shameful, But, O noble sir, consider I pray, whether true generosity and true

happiness, do not consist in somewhat else rather, than in the preservation either of our, or other men's lives.

For it is not the part of a man that is a man indeed, to desire to live long or to make much of his life whilst he

Iiveth: but rather (he that is such) will in these things wholly refer himself unto the Gods, and believing that

which every woman can tell him, that no man can escape death; the only thing that he takes thought and care

for is this, that what time he liveth, he may live as well and as virtuously as he can possibly, To look about,

and with the eyes to follow the course of the stars and planets as though thou wouldst run with them; and to

mind perpetually the several changes of the elements one into another. For such fancies and imaginations,

help much to purge away the dross and filth of this our earthly life,' That also is a fine passage of Plato's,

where he speaketh of worldly things in these words: 'Thou must also as from some higher place look down,

as it were, upon the things of this world, as flocks, armies, husbandmen's labours, marriages, divorces,

generations, deaths: the tumults of courts and places of judicatures; desert places; the several nations of

barbarians, public festivals, mournmgs, fairs, markets.' How all things upon earth are pellmell; and how

miraculously things contrary one to another, concur to the beauty and perfection of this universe.

XXVII. To look back upon things of former ages, as upon the manifold changes and conversions of several

monarchies and commonwealths. We may also foresee things future, for they shall all be of the same kind;

neither is it possible that they should leave the tune, or break the concert that is now begun, as it were, by

these things that are now done and brought to pass in the world. It comes all to one therefore, whether a man

be a spectator of the things of this life but forty years, or whether he see them ten thousand years together: for

what shall he see more? 'And as for those parts that came from the earth, they shall return unto the earth

again; and those that came from heaven, they also shall return unto those heavenly places.' Whether it be a

mere dissolution and unbinding of the manifold intricacies and entanglements of the confused atoms; or some

such dispersion of the simple and incorruptible elements . . . 'With meats and drinks and divers charms, they

seek to divert the channel, that they might not die. Yet must we needs endure that blast of wind that cometh

XXVIII. He hath a stronger body, and is a better wrestler than I. What then? Is he more bountiful? is he more

modest? Doth he bear all adverse chances with more equanimity: or with his neighbour's offences with more

XXIX. Where the matter may be effected agreeably to that reason, which both unto the Gods and men is

common, there can be no just cause of grief or sorrow. For where the fruit and benefit of an action well begun

and prosecuted according to the proper constitution of man may be reaped and obtained, or is sure and

certain, it is against reason that any damage should there be suspected. In all places, and at all times, it is in

thy power religiously to embrace whatsoever by God's appointment is happened unto thee, and justly to

converse with those men, whom thou hast to do with, and accurately to examine every fancy that presents

itself, that nothing may slip and steal in, before thou hast rightly apprehended the true nature of it.

XXX. Look not about upon other men's minds and understandings; but look right on forwards whither nature,

both that of the universe, in those things that happen unto thee; and thine in particular, in those things that are

done by thee: doth lead, and direct thee. Now every one is bound to do that, which is consequent and

agreeable to that end which by his true natural constitution he was ordained unto. As for all other things, they

are ordained for the use of reasonable creatures: as in all things we see that that which is worse and inferior,

is made for that which is better. Reasonable creatures, they are ordained one for another. That therefore

which is chief in every man's constitution, is, that he intend the common good. The second is, that he yield

not to any lusts and motions of the flesh. For it is the part and privilege of the reasonable and intellective

faculty, that she can so bound herself, as that neither the sensitive, nor the appetitive faculties, may not

anyways prevail upon her. For both these are brutish. And therefore over both she challengeth mastery, and

cannot anyways endure, if in her right temper, to be subject unto either. And this indeed most justly. For by

nature she was ordained to command all in the body. The third thing proper to man by his constitution, is, to

avoid all rashness and precipitancy; and not to be subject to error. To these things then, let the mind apply

herself and go straight on, without any distraction about other things, and she hath her end, and by consequent

XXXI. As one who had lived, and were now to die by right, whatsoever is yet remaining, bestow that wholly

as a gracious overplus upon a virtuous life. Love and affect that only, whatsoever it be that happeneth, and is

by the fates appointed unto thee. For what can be more reasonable? And as anything doth happen unto thee

by way of cross, or calamity, call to mind presently and set before thine eyes, the examples of some other

men, to whom the selfsame thing did once happen likewise. Well, what did they? They grieved; they

wondered ; they complained. And where are they now? All dead and gone. Wilt thou also be like one of

them? Or rather leaving to men of the world (whose life both in regard of themselves, and them that they

converse with, is nothing but mere mutability; or men of as fickle minds, as fickle bodies; ever changing and

soon changed themselves: let it be thine only care and study, how to make a right use of all such accidents.

For there is good use to be made of them, and they will prove fit matter for thee to work upon, if it shall be

both thy care and thy desire, that whatsoever thou doest, thou thyself mayst like and approve thyself for it.

And both these, see, that thou remember well, according as the diversity of the matter of the action that thou

art about shall require. Look within; within is the fountain of all good. Such a fountain, where springing

waters can never fail, so thou dig still deeper and deeper. XXXII. Thou must use thyself also to keep thy body

fixed and steady; free from all loose fluctuant either motion, or posture. And as upon thy face and looks, thy

mind hath easily power over them to keep them to that which is grave and decent; so let it challenge the same

power over the whole body also. But so observe all things in this kind, as that it be without any manner of

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

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

XXXVI. Take heed lest at any time thou stand so affected, though towards unnatural evil men, as ordinary

XXXVII. How know we whether Socrates were so eminent indeed, and of so extraordinary a disposition? For

that he died more gloriously, that he disputed with the Sophists more subtilly; that he watched in the frost

more assiduously; that being commanded to fetch innocent Salaminius, he refused to do it more generously;

all this will not serve. Nor that he walked in the streets, with much gravity and majesty, as was objected unto

him by his adversaries: which nevertheless a man may well doubt of, whether it were so or no, or, which

above all the rest, if so be that it were true, a man would well consider of, whether commendable, or

discommendable. 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

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

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

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

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

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,

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 accoring 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

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

III. Alexander, Caius, Pompeius; what are these to Diogenes, Heraclitus, and Socrates? These penetrated into

the true nature of things; into all causes, and all subjects: and upon these did they exercise their power and

authority. But as for those, as the extent of their error was, so far did their slavery extend.

IV. What they have done, they will still do, although thou shouldst hang thyself. First; let it not trouble thee.

For all things both good and evil: come to pass according to the nature and general condition of the universe,

and within a very little while, all things will be at an end; no man will be remembered: as now of Africanus

(for example) and Augustus it is already come to pass. Then secondly; fix thy mind upon the thing itself; look

into it, and remembering thyself, that thou art bound nevertheless to be a good man, and what it is that thy

nature requireth of thee as thou art a man, be not diverted from what thou art about, and speak that which

seemeth unto thee most just: only speak it kindly, modestly, and without hypocrisy.

V. That which the nature of the universe dotb busy herself about, is; that which is here, to transfer it thither,

to change it, and thence again to take it away, and to carry it to another place. So that thou needest not fear

any new thing. For all things are usual and ordinary; and all things are disposed by equality. VI. Every

particular nature hath content, when in its own proper course it speeds. A reasonable nature doth then speed,

when first in matter of fancies and imaginations, it gives no consent to that which is either false uncertain.

Secondly, when in all its motions and resolutions it takes its level at the common good only, and that it

desireth nothing, and flieth from nothing, bet what is in its own power to compass or avoid. And lastly, when

it willingly and gladly embraceth, whatsoever is dealt and appointed unto it by the common nature. For it is

part of it; even as the nature of any one leaf, is part of the common nature of all plants and trees. But that the

nature of a leaf, is part of a nature both unreasonable and unsensibIe, and which in its proper end may be

hindered; or, which is servile and slavish : whereas the nature of man is part of a common nature which

cannot be hindered, and which is both reasonable and just. From whence also it is, that accord ing to the

worth of everything, she doth make such equal distribution of all things, as of duration, substance form,

operation, and of events and accidents. But herein consider not whether thou shalt find this equality rn

everything abu;oluteiy and by itself; but whether in all the particulars of some one thing taken together, and

compared with all the particulars of some other thing, and them together likewise.

VII. Thou hast no time nor opportunity to read. What then? Hast thou not time and opportunity to exercise

thyself, not to wrong thyself; to strive against all carnal pleasures and pains, and to aet the upper hand of

them; to contemn honour and vainglory; and not only, not to be angry with them, whom towards thee thou

doest find unsensible and unthankful; but also to have a care of them still, and of their welfare? VIII. Forbear

henceforth to complain of the trouble of a courtly life, either in public before others, or in private by thyself.

IX. Repentance is an inward and selfreprehension for the neglect or omission of somewhat that was

profitable. Now whatsoever is good, is also profltable, and it is the part of an honest virtuous man to set by it,

and to make reckoning of it accordingly. But never did any honest virtuous man repent of the neglect or

omission of any carnal pleasure : no carnal pleasure then is either good or profitable.

X. This, what is it in itself, and by itself, according to its proper constitution? What is the substance of it?

What is the matter, or proper use ? What is the form or efflcient cause? What is it for in this world, and how

long will it abide? Thus must thou examine all things, that present themselves unto thee.

XI. When thou art hard to he stirred up and awaked out of thy sleep, admonish thyself and call to mind, that,

to perform actions tending to the common good is that which thine own proper constitution, and that which

the nature of man do require. ]3ut to sleep, is common to unreasonable creatures also. And what more proper

and natural, yea what more kind and pleasing, than that which is according to nature?

XII. As every fancy and imagination presents itself unto thee, consider (if it be possible) the true nature, and

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

XIV. Remember, that to change thy mind upon occasion, and to follow him that is able to rectify thee, is

equally ingenuous, as to find out at the first, what is right and just, without help. For of thee nothing is

required, ti, is beyond the extent of thine own deliberation and jun. merit, arid of thine own understanding.

XV. If it were thine act and in thine own power, wi: wouldcst thou do it ? If it were not, whom dost tin

accuse? the atoms, or the Gods? For to do either, the part of a mad man. Thou must therefore blame nobody,

but if it be in thy power, redress what is amiss; if it be not, to what end is it to complain? For nothing should

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

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 beginnine

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

XX. That which must be the subject of thy consideration, is either the matter itself, or the dogma, or the

XXI. Most justly have these things happened unto thee: why dost not thou amend? O but thou hadst rather

become good tomorrow, than to be so today. 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

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 he no more or shall ranslated, and appointed to some certain place and station. XXV.

The true joy of a man, is to do that which properly belongs unto a man. That which is most proper unto a

man, is, first, to he kindly affected towards them that are of the same kind and nature as he is himself to

contemn all sensual motions and appetites, to discern rightly all plausible fancies and imaginations, to

contemplate the nature of the universe; both it, and things that are done in it. In which kind of con templation

three several relations are to be observed The first, to the apparent secondary cause. The Second to the first

original cause, God, from whom originally proceeds whatsoever doth happen in the world. The third and last,

to them that we live and converse with: what use may be made of it, to their use and benefit XXVI. If pain be

an evil, either it is in regard of the body; (and that cannot be, because the body of itself is altogether

insensible:) or in regard of the soul But it is in the power of the soul, to preserve her own peace and

tranquillity, and not to suppose that pain is evil. For all judgment and deliberation; all prosecution, or

aversation is from within, whither the sense of evil (except it be let in by opinion) cannot penetrate.

XXVII. Wipe off all idle fancies, and say unto thyselF incessantly; Now if I will, it is in my power to keep

out of this my soul all wickedness, all lust, and concupiscences, all trouble and confusion. But on the contrary

to behold and consider all things according to their true nature, and to carry myself towards everything

according to its true worth. Remember then this thy power that nature hath given thee.

XXVIII. Whether thou speak in the Senate or whether thou speak to any particular, let thy speech In always

grave and modest. But thou must not openly and vulgarly observe that sound and exact form of speaking,

concerning that which is truly good and truly civil; the vanity of the world, and of worldly men: which

XXIX. Augustus his court; his wife, his daughter, his nephews, his sonsinlaw his sister, Agrippa, his

kinsmen, his domestics, his friends; Areus, Maecenas, his slayers of beasts for sacrifice and divination: there

thou hast the death of a whole court together. Proceed now on to the rest that have been since that of

Augustus. Hath death dwelt with them otherwise, though so many and so stately whilst they lived, than it

doth use to deal with any one particular man? Consider now the death of a whole kindred and family, as of

that of the Pompeys, as that also that useth to be written upon some monuments, HE WASS THE LAST OF

HIS OWN KINDRED. O what care did his predecessors take, that they might leave a successor, yet behold at

last one or other must of necessity be THE LAST. Here again therefore consider the death of a whole

XXX. Contract thy whole life to the measure and proportion of one single action. And if in every particular

action thou dost perform what is fitting to the utmost of thy power, let it suffice thee. And who can hinder

thee, but that thou mayest perform what is fitting? But there may be some outward let and impediment. Not

any, that can hinder thee, but that whatsoever thou dost, thou may do it, justly, temperately, and with the

praise of God. Yea, but there may be somewhat, whereby some operation or other of thine may he hindered.

And then, with that very thing that doth hinder, thou mayest he well pleased, and so by this gentle and

equanimious conversion of thy mind unto that which may be, instead of that which at first thou didst intend,

in the room of that former action there succeedeth another, which agrees as well with this contraction of thy

XXXI. Receive temporal blessings without ostentation, when they are sent and thou shalt be able to part with

XXXII. If ever thou sawest either a hand, or a foot, or a head lying by itself, in some place or other, as cut off

from the rest of the body, such must thou conceive him to make himself, as much as in him lieth, that either is

offended with anything that is happened, (whatsoever it be) and as it were divides himself from it: or that

commits anything against the natural law of mutual correspondence, and society among men: or, he that,

commits any act of uncharitableness. Whosoever thou art, thou art such, thou art cast forth I know not

whither out of the general unity, which is according to nature. Thou went born indeed a part, but now thou

hast cut thyself off. However, herein is matter of joy and exultation, that thou mayst be united again. God

bath not granted it unto any other part, that once separated and cut off, it might be reunited, and come

together again. But, behold, that GOODNESS how great and immense it is! which hath so much esteemed

MAN. As at first be was so made, that he needed not, except he would himself, have divided himself from the

whole; so once divided and cut off, IT hath so provided and ordered it, that if he would himself, he might

return, and grow together again, and be admitted into its former rank and place of a part, as he was before.

XXXIII. As almost all her other faculties and properties the nature of the universe bath imparted unto every

reasonable creature, so this in particular we have received from her, that as whatsoever doth oppose itself

unto her, and doth withstand her in her purposes and intentions, she doth, though against its will and

intention, bring it about to herself, to serve herself of it in the execution of her own destinated ends; and so by

this though not intended cooperation 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

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

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 quicksighted, 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

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

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,

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,

XLV. Nothing can happen unto thee, which is not incidental unto thee, as thou art a man. As nothing can

happen either to an ox, a vine, or to a stone, which is not incidental unto them; unto every one in his own

kind. If therefore nothing can happen unto anything, which is not both usual and natural; why art thou

displeased? Sure the common nature of all would not bring anything upon any, that were intolerable. If

therefore it be a thing external that causes thy grief, know, that it is not that properly that doth cause it, but

thine own conceit and opinion concerning the thing: which thou mayest rid thyself of, when thou wilt. But if

it be somewhat that is amiss in thine own disposition, that doth grieve thee, mayest thou not rectify thy moral

tenets and opinions. But if it grieve thee, that thou doest not perform that which seemeth unto thee right and

just, why doest not thou choose rather to perform it than to grieve? But somewhat that is stronger than thyself

doth hinder thee. Let it not grieve thee then, if it be not thy fault that the thing is not performed. 'Yea but it is

a thing of that nature, as that thy life is not worth the while, except it may be performed.' If it be so, upon

condition that thou be kindly and lovingly disposed towards all men, thou mayest be gone. For even then, as

much as at any time, art thou in a very good estate of performance, when thou doest die in charity with those,

that are an obstacle unto thy performance. XLVI. Remember that thy mind is of that nature as that it

becometh altogether unconquerable, when once recollected in herself, she seeks no other content than this,

that she cannot be forced: yea though it so fall out, that it be even against reason itself, that it cloth bandy.

How much less when by the help of reason she is able to judge of things with discretion? And therefore let

thy chief fort and place of defence be, a mind free from passions. A stronger place, (whereunto to make his

refuge, and so to bccome impregnable) and better fortified than this, bath no man. He that seeth not this is

unlearned. He that seeth it, and betaketh not himself to this place of refuge, is unhappy. XLVII. Keep thyself

to the first bare and naked apprehensions of things, as they present themselves unto thee, and add not unto

them. It is reported unto thee, that such a one speaketh ill of thee. Well; that he speaketh ill of thee, so much

is reported. But that thou art hurt thereby, is not reported: that is the addition of opinion, which thou must

exclude. I see that my child is sick. That he is sick, I see, but that he is in danger of his life also, I see it not.

Thus thou must use to keep thyself to the first motions and apprehensions of things, as they present

themselves outwardly; and add not unto them from within thyself through mere conceit and opinion. Or

rather add unto them: hut as one that understandeth the true nature of all things that happen in the world.

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 outplace; 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

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

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 freewill my

neighbour's freewill, 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~Jotc] or an extension. For therefore are the beams of it called [~i~m'~] from the word

[~KTEIVEOOa,,] 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

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

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

I. He that is unjust, is also impious. For the nature of the universe, having made all reasonable creatures one

for another, to the end that they should do one another good; more or less according to the several persons

and occasions but in nowise hurt one another: it is manifest that he that doth transgress against this her will, is

guilty of impiety towards the most ancient and venerable of all the deities. For the nature of the universe, is

the nature the common parent of all, and therefore piously to be observed of all things that are, and that which

now is, to whatsoever first was, and gave it its being, hath relation of blood and kindred. She is also called

truth and is the first cause of all truths. He therefore that willingly and wittingly doth lie, is impious in that he

doth receive, and so commit injustice: but he that against his will, in that he disagreeth from the nature of the

universe, and in that striving with the nature of the world he doth in his particular, violate the general order of

the world. For he doth no better than strive and war against it, who contrary to his own nature applieth

himself to that which is contrary to truth. For nature had before furnished him with instincts and opportunities

sufficient for the attainment of it ; which he having hitherto neglected, is not now able to discern that which is

false from that which is true. He also that pursues after pleasures, as that which is truly good and flies from

pains, as that which is truly evil: is impious. For such a one must of necessity oftentimes accuse that common

nature, as distributing many things both unto the evil, and unto the good, not according to the deserts of

either: as unto the bad oftentimes pleasures, and the causes of pleasures; so unto the good, pains, and the

occasions of pains. Again, he that feareth pains and crosses in this world, feareth some of those things which

some time or other must needs happen in the world. And that we have already showed to be impious. And he

that pursueth after pleasures, will not spare, to compass his desires, to do that which is unjust, and that is

manifestly impious. Now those things which unto nature are equally indifferent (for she had not created both,

both pain and pleasure, if both had not been unto her equally indifferent): they that will live according to

nature, must in those things (as being of the same mind and disposition that she is) be as equally indifferent.

Whosoever therefore in either matter of pleasure and pain; death and life; honour and dishonour, (which

things nature in the administration of the world, indifferently doth make use of), is not as indifferent, it is

apparent that he is impious. When I say that common nature doth indifferently make use of them, my

meaning is, that they happen indifferently in the ordinary course of things, which by a necessary

consequence, whether as principal or accessory, come to pass in the world, according to that first and ancient

deliberation of Providence, by which she from some certain beginning, did resolve upon the creation of such

a world, conceiving then in her womb as it were some certain rational generative seeds and faculties of things

future, whether subjects, changes, successions; both such and such, and just so many.

II. It were indeed more happy and comfortable, for a man to depart out of this world, having lived all his life

long clear from all falsehood, dissimulation, voluptuousness, and pride. But if this cannot be, yet it is some

comfort for a man joyfully to depart as weary, and out of love with those; rather than to desire to live, and to

continue long in those wicked courses. Hath not yet experience taught thee to fly from the plague? For a far

greater plague is the corruption of the mind, than any certain change and distemper of the common air can be.

This is a plague of creatures, as they are living creatures; but that of men as they are men or reasonable. III.

Thou must not in matter of death carry thyself scornfully, but as one that is well pleased with it, as being one

of those things that nature hath appointed. For what thou dost conceive of these, of a boy to become a young

man, to wax old, to grow, to ripen, to get teeth, or a beard, or grey hairs to beget, to bear, or to be delivered;

or what other action soever it be, that is natural unto man according to the several seasons of his life; such a

thing is it also to he dissolved. It is therefore the part of a wise man, in matter of death, not in any wise to

carry himself either violently, or proudly but patiently to wait for it, as one of nature's operations: that with

the same mind as now thou dost expect when that which yet is but an embryo in thy wife's belly shall come

forth, thou mayst expect also when thy soul shall fall off from that outward coat or skin: wherein as a child in

the belly it lieth involved and shut up. But thou desirest a more popular, and though not so direct and

philosophical, yet a very powerful and penetrative recipe against the fear of death, nothing can make they

more willing to part with thy life, than if thou shalt consider, both what the subjects themselves are that thou

shalt part with, and what manner of disposition thou shalt no more have to do with. True it is, that. offended

with them thou must not be by no means, but take care of them, and meekly bear with them However, this

thou mayst remember, that whensoever it happens that thou depart, it shall not be from men that held the

same opinions that thou dost. For that indeed, (if it were so) is the only thing that might make thee averse

from death, and willing to continue here, if it were thy hap to live with men that had obtained the same belief

that thou hast. But now, what a toil it is for thee to live with men of different opinions, thou seest: so that thou

hast rather occasion to say, Hasten, I thee pray, O Death; lest I also in time forget myself. IV. He that sinneth,

sinneth unto himself. He that is unjust, hurts himself, in that he makes himself worse than he was before. Not

he only that committeth, but he also that omitteth something, is oftentimes unjust. V. If my present

apprehension of the object be right, and my present action charitable, and this, towards whatsoever doth

proceed from God, be my present disposition, to be well pleased with it, it sufficeth. VI. To wipe away fancy,

to use deliberation, to quench concupiscence, to keep the mind free to herself. VII. Of all unreasonable

creatures, there is but one unreasonable soul; and of all that are reasonable, but one reasonable soul, divided

betwixt them all. As of all earthly things there is but one earth, and but one light that we see by; and but one

air that we breathe in, as many as either breathe or see. Now whatsoever partakes of some common thing,

naturally affects and inclines unto that whereof it is part, being of one kind and nature with it. Whatsoever is

earthly, presseth downwards to the common earth. Whatsoever is liquid, would flow together. And

whatsoever is airy, would be together likewise. So that without some obstacle, and some kind of violence,

they cannot well be kept asunder. Whatsoever is fiery, doth not only by reason of the elementary fire tend

upwards; but here also is so ready to join, and to burn together, that whatsoever doth want sufficient moisture

to make resistance, is easily set on fire. Whatsoever therefore is partaker of that reasonable common nature,

naturally doth as much and more long after his own kind. For by how much in its own nature it excels all

other things, by so much more is it desirous to be joined and united unto that, which is of its own nature. As

for unreasonable creatures then, they had not long been, but presently begun among them swarms, and flocks,

and broods of young ones, and a kind of mutual love and affection. For though but unreasonable, yet a kind

of soul these had, and therefore was that natural desire of union more strong and intense in them, as in

creatures of a more excellent nature, than either in plants, or stones, or trees. But among reasonable creatures,

begun commonwealths, friendships, families, public meetings, and even in their wars, conventions, and

truces. Now among them that were yet of a more excellent nature, as the stars and planets, though by their

nature far distant one from another, yet even among them began some mutual correspondency and unity. So

proper is it to excellency in a high degree to affect unity, as that even in things so far distant, it could operate

unto a mutual sympathy. But now behold, what is now come to pass. Those creatures that are reasonable, are

now the only creatures that have forgotten their natural affection and inclination of one towards another.

Among them alone of all other things that are of one kind, there is not to be found a general disposition to

flow together. But though they fly from nature, yet are they stopt in their course, and apprehended. Do they

what they can, nature doth prevail. And so shalt thou confess, if thou dost observe it. For sooner mayst thou

find a thing earthly, where no earthly thing is, than find a man that naturally can live by himself alone.

VIII. Man, God, the world, every one in their kind, bear some fruits. All things have their proper time to bear.

Though by custom, the word itself is in a manner become proper unto the vine, and the like, yet is it so

nevertheless, as we have said. As for reason, that beareth both common fruit for the use of others; and

peculiar, which itself doth enjoy. Reason is of a diffusive nature, what itself is in itself, it begets in others,

IX. Either teach them better if it be in thy power; or if it be not, remember that for this use, to bear with them

patiently, was mildness and goodness granted unto thee. The Gods themselves are good unto such; yea and in

some things, (as in matter of health, of wealth, of honour,) are content often to further their endeavours: so

good and gracious are they. And mightest thou not be so too? or, tell me, what doth hinder thee?

X. Labour not as one to whom it is appointed to be wretched, nor as one that either would be pitied, or

admired; but let this be thine only care and desire; so always and in all things to prosecute or to forbear, as the

law of charity, or mutual society doth require. XI. This day I did come out of all my trouble. Nay I have cast

out all my trouble; it should rather be for that which troubled thee, whatsoever it was, was not without

anywhere that thou shouldest come out of it, but within in thine own opinions, from whence it must be cast

XII. All those things, for matter of experience are usual and ordinary; for their continuance but for a day; and

for their matter, most base and filthy. As they were in the days of those whom we have buried, so are they

XIII. The things themselves that affect us, they stand without doors, neither knowing anything themselves nor

able to utter anything unto others concerning themselves. What then is it, that passeth verdict on them? The

understanding XIV. As virtue and wickedness consist not in passion, but in action; so neither doth the true

good or evil of a reasonable charitable man consist in passion, but in operation and action.

XV. To the stone that is cast up, when it comes down it is no hurt unto it; as neither benefit, when it doth

XVI. Sift their minds and understandings, and behold what men they be, whom thou dost stand in fear of

XVII. All things that are in the world, are always in the estate of alteration. Thou also art in a perpetual

XVIII. it is not thine, but another man's sin. Why should it trouble thee? Let him look to it, whose sin it is.

XIX. Of an operation and of a purpose there is an ending, or of an action and of a purpose we say commonly,

that it is at an end: from opinion also there is an absolute cessation, which is as it were the death of it. In all

this there is no hurt. Apply this now to a man's age, as first, a child; then a youth, then a young man, then an

old man; every change from one age to another is a kind of death And all this while here no matter of grief

yet. Pass now unto that life first, that which thou livedst under thy grandfather, then under thy mother, then

under thy father. And thus when through the whole course of thy life hitherto thou hast found and observed

many alterations, many changes, many kinds of endings and cessations, put this question to thyself What

matter of grief or sorrow dost thou find in any of these? Or what doest thou suffer through any of these? If in

none of these, then neither in the ending and consummation of thy whole life, which is also but a cessation

XX. As occasion shall require, either to thine own understanding, or to that of the universe, or to his, whom

thou hast now to do with, let thy refuge be with all speed. To thine own, that it resolve upon nothing against

justice. To that of the universe, that thou mayest remember, part of whom thou art. Of his, that thou mayest

consider. whether in the estate of ignorance, or of knowledge. And then also must thou call to mind, that he is

XXI. As thou thyself, whoever thou art, were made for the perfection and consummation, being a member of

it, of a common society; so must every action of thine tend to the perfection and consummation of a life that

is truly sociable. What action soever of thine therefore that either immediately or afar off, hath not reference

to the common good, that is an exorbitant and disorderly action; yea it is seditious; as one among the people

who from such and such a consent and unity, should factiously divide and separate himself.

XXII. Children's anger, mere babels; wretched souls bearing up dead bodies, that they may not have their fall

so soon: even as it is in that common dirge song. XXIII. Go to the quality of the cause from which the effect

doth proceed. Behold it by itself bare and naked, separated from all that is material. Then consider the utmost

XXIV. Infinite are the troubles and miseries, that thou hast already been put to, by reason of this only,

because that for all happiness it did not suffice thee, or, that thou didst not account it sufficient happiness, that

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

such carriage towards thee, get thee presently to their minds and understandings, and look in them, and

behold what manner of men they be. Thou shalt see, that there is no such occasion why it should trouble thee,

what such as they are think of thee. Yet must thou love them still, for by nature they are thy friends. And the

Gods themselves, in those things that they seek from them as matters of great moment, are well content, all

XXVI. Up and down, from one age to another, go the ordinary things of the world; being still the same. And

either of everything in particular before it come to pass, the mind of the universe doth consider with itself and

deliberate: and if so, then submit for shame unto the determination of such an excellent understanding: or

once for all it did resolve upon all things in general; and since that whatsoever happens, happens by a

necessary consequence, and all things indivisibly in a manner and inseparably hold one of another. In sum,

either there is a God, and then all is well; or if all things go by chance and fortune, yet mayest thou use thine

own providence in those things that concern thee properly; and then art thou well.

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

course will be, from one period of eternity unto another, and so a perpetual eternity. Now can any man that

shall consider with himself in his mind the several rollings or successions of so many changes and alterations,

and the swiftness of all these rulings; can he otherwise but contemn in his heart and despise all worldly

things? The cause of the universe is as it were a strong torrent, it carrieth all away.

XXVIII. And these your professed politicians, the only true practical philosophers of the world, (as they think

of themselves) so full of affected gravity, or such professed lovers of virtue and honesty, what wretches be

they in very deed; how vile and contemptible in themselves? O man! what ado doest thou keep? Do what thy

nature doth now require. Resolve upon it, if thou mayest: and take no thought, whether anybody shall know it

or no. Yea, but sayest thou, I must not expect a Plato's commonwealth. If they profit though never so little, I

must be content; and think much even of that little progress. Doth then any of them forsake their former false

opinions that I should think they profit? For without a change of opinions, alas! what is all that ostentation,

but mere wretchedness of slavish. minds, that groan privately, and yet would make a show of obedience to

reason, and truth? Go too now and tell me of Alexander and Philippus, and Demetrius Phalereus. Whether

they understood what the common nature requireth, and could rule themselves or no, they know best

themselves. But if they kept a life, and swaggered; I (God be thanked) am not bound to imitate them. The

effect of true philosophy is, unaffected simplicity and modesty. Persuade me not to ostentation and vainglory.

XXIX. From some high place as it were to look down, and to behold here flocks, and there sacrifices, without

number; and all kind of navigation; some in a rough and stormy sea, and some in a calm: the general

differences, or different estates of things, some, that are now first upon being; the several and mutual

relations of those things that are together; and some other things that are at their last. Their lives also, who

were long ago, and theirs who shall be hereafter, and the present estate and life of those many nations of

barbarians that are now in the world, thou must likewise consider in thy mind. And how many there be, who

never so much as heard of thy name, how many that will soon forget it; how many who but even now did

commend thee, within a very little while perchance will speak ill of tbee. So that neither fame, nor honour,

nor anything else that this world doth afford, is worth the while. The sum then of all; whatsoever doth happen

unto thee, whereof God is the cause, to accept it contentedly: whatsoever thou doest, whereof thou thyself art

the cause, to do it justly: which will be, if both in thy resolution and in thy action thou have no further end,

than to do good unto others, as being that, which by thy natural constitution, as a man, thou art bound unto.

XXX. Many of those things that trouble and straiten thee, it is in thy power to cut off, as wholly depending

XXXI. To comprehend the whole world together in thy mind, and the whole course of this present age to

represent it unto thyself, and to fix thy thoughts upon the sudden change of every particular object. How short

the time is from the generation of anything, unto the dissolution of the same; but how immense and infinite

both that which was before the generation, and that which after the generation of it shall be. All things that

thou seest, will soon be perished, and they that see their corruptions, will soon vanish away themselves. He

XXXII. What are their minds and understandings; and what the things that they apply themselves unto: what

do they love, and what do they hate for? Fancy to thyself the estate of their souls openly to be seen. When

they think they hurt them shrewdly, whom they speak ill of; and when they think they do them a very good

turn, whom they commend and extol: O how full are they then of conceit, and opinion!

XXXIII. Loss and corruption, is in very deed nothing else but change and alteration; and that is it, which the

nature of the universe doth most delight in, by which, and according to which, whatsoever is done, is well

done. For that was the estate of worldly things from the beginning, and so shall it ever be. Or wouldest. thou

rather say, that all things in the world have gone ill from the beginning for so many ages, and shall ever go

ill? And then among so many deities, could no divine power be found all this while, that could rectify the

things of the world? Or is the world, to incessant woes and miseries, for ever condemned?

XXXIV. How base and putrid, every common matter is! Water, dust, and from the mixture of these bones,

and all that loathsome stuff that our bodies do consist of: so subject to be infected, and corrupted. And again

those other things that are so much prized and admired, as marble stones, what are they, but as it were the

kernels of the earth ? gold and silver, what are they, but as the more gross faeces of the earth? Thy most royal

apparel, for matter, it is but as it were the hair of a silly sheep, and for colour, the very blood of a shellfish;

of this nature are all other things. Thy life itself, is some such thing too; a mere exhalation of blood: and it

also, apt to be changed into some other common thing. XXXV. Will this querulousness, this murmuring, this

complaining and dissembling never be at an end? What then is it, that troubleth thee? Doth any new thing

happen unto thee? What doest thou so wonder at? At the cause, or the matter? Behold either by itself, is either

of that weight and moment indeed? And besides these, there is not anything. But thy duty towards the Gods

also, it is time thou shouldst acquit thyself of it with more goodness and simplicity.

XXXVI. It is all one to see these things for a hundred of years together or but for three years.

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

XXXVIII. Either all things by the providence of reason happen unto every particular, as a part of one general

body ; and then it is against reason that a part should complain of anything that happens for the good of the

whole; or if, according to Epicurus, atoms be the cause of all things and that life be nothing else but an

accidentary confusion of things, and death nothing else, but a mere dispersion and so of all other things: what

XXXIX. Sayest thou unto that rational part, Thou art dead; corruption hath taken hold on thee? Doth it then

also void excrements? Doth it like either oxen, or sheep, graze or feed; that it also should be mortal, as well

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

of thy mind. If they can do nothing, why doest thou pray? If they can, why wouldst not thou rather pray, that

they will grant unto thee, that thou mayst neither fear, nor lust after any of those worldly things which cause

these distractions and distempers of it? Why not rather, that thou mayst not at either their absence or

presence, be grieved and discontented: than either that thou mayst obtain them, or that thou mayst avoid

them? For certainly it must needs be, that if the Gods can help us in anything, they may in this kind also. But

thou wilt say perchance, 'In those things the Gods have given me my liberty: and it is in mine own power to

do what I will.' But if thou mayst use this liberty, rather to set thy mind at true liberty, than wilfully with

baseness and servility of mind to affect those things, which either to compass or to avoid is not in thy power,

wert not thou better? And as for the Gods, who hath told thee, that they may not help us up even in those

things that they have put in our own power? whether it be so or no, thou shalt soon perceive, if thou wilt but

try thyself and pray. One prayeth that he may compass his desire, to lie with such or such a one, pray thou

that thou mayst not lust to lie with her. Another how he may be rid of such a one; pray thou that thou mayst

so patiently bear with him, as that thou have no such need to be rid of him. Another, that he may not lose his

child. Pray thou that thou mayst not fear to lose him. To this end and purpose, let all thy prayer be, and see

XLI. 'In my sickness' (saith Epicurus of himself:) 'my discourses were not concerning the nature of my

disease, neither was that, to them that came to visit me, the subject of my talk; but in the consideration and

contemplation of that, which was of especial weight and moment, was all my time bestowed and spent, and

among others in this very thing, how my mind, by a natural and unavoidable sympathy partaking in some sort

with the present indisposition of my body, might nevertheless keep herself free from trouble, and in present

possession of her own proper happiness. Neither did I leave the ordering of my body to the physicians

altogether to do with me what they would, as though I expected any great matter from them, or as though I

thought it a matter of such great consequence, by their means to recover my health: for my present estate,

methought, liked me very well, and gave me good content.' Whether therefore in sickness (if thou chance to

sicken) or in what other kind of extremity soever, endeavour thou also to be in thy mind so affected, as he

doth report of himself: not to depart from thy philosophy for anything that can befall thee, nor to give ear to

the discourses of silly people, and mere naturalists. XLII. It is common to all trades and professions to mind

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

XLIII. When at any time thou art offended with any one's impudency, put presently this question to thyself:

'What? Is it then possible, that there should not be any impudent men in the world! Certainly it is not

possible.' Desire not then that which is impossible. For this one, (thou must think) whosoever he be, is one of

those impudent ones, that the world cannot be without. So of the subtile and crafty, so of the perfidious, so of

every one that offendeth, must thou ever be ready to reason with thyself. For whilst in general thou dost thus

reason with thyself, that the kind of them must needs be in the world, thou wilt be the better able to use

meekness towards every particular. This also thou shalt find of very good use, upon every such occasion,

presently to consider with thyself, what proper virtue nature hath furnished man with, against such a vice, or

to encounter with a disposition vicious in this kind. As for example, against the unthankful, it hath given

goodness and meekness, as an antidote, and so against another vicious in another kind some other peculiar

faculty. And generally, is it not in thy power to instruct him better, that is in an error? For whosoever sinneth,

doth in that decline from his purposed end, and is certainly deceived, And again, what art thou the worse for

his sin? For thou shalt not find that any one of these, against whom thou art incensed, hath in very deed done

anything whereby thy mind (the only true subject of thy hurt and evil) can be made worse than it was. And

what a matter of either grief or wonder is this, if he that is unlearned, do the deeds of one that is unlearned?

Should not thou rather blame thyself, who, when upon very good grounds of reason, thou mightst have

thought it very probable, that such a thing would by such a one be committed, didst not only not foresee it,

but moreover dost wonder at it, that such a thing should be. But then especially, when thou dost find fault

with either an unthankful, or a false man, must thou reflect upon thyself. For without all question, thou

thyself art much in fault, if either of one that were of such a disposition, thou didst expect that he should be

true unto thee: or when unto any thou didst a good turn, thou didst not there bound thy thoughts, as one that

had obtained his end; nor didst not think that from the action itself thou hadst received a full reward of the

good that thou hadst done. For what wouldst thou have more? Unto him that is a man, thou hast done a good

turn: doth not that suffice thee? What thy nature required, that hast thou done. Must thou be rewarded for it?

As if either the eye for that it seeth, or the feet that they go, should require satisfaction. For as these being by

nature appointed for such an use, can challenge no more, than that they may work according to their natural

constitution: so man being born to do good unto others whensoever he doth a real good unto any by helping

them out of error; or though but in middle things, as in matter of wealth, life, preferment, and the like, doth

help to further their desires he doth that for which he was made, and therefore can require no more.

I. O my soul, the time I trust will be, when thou shalt be good, simple, single, more open and visible, than

that body by which it is enclosed. Thou wilt one day be sensible of their happincss, whose end is love, and

their affections dead to all worldly things. Thou shalt one day be full, and in want of no external thing: not

seeking pleasure from anything, either living or insensible, that this world can afford; neither wanting time

for the continuation of thy pleasure, nor place and opportunity, nor the favour either of the weather or of men.

When thou shalt have content in thy present estate, and all things present shall add to thy content: when thou

shalt persuade thyself, that thou hast all things; all for thy good, and all by the providence of the Gods: and of

things future also shalt be as confident, that all will do well, as tending to the maintenance and preservation in

some sort, of his perfect welfare and happiness, who is perfection of life, of goodness, and beauty; who

begets all things, and containeth all things in himself, and in himself doth recollect all things from all places

that are dissolved, that of them he may beget others again like unto them. Such one day shall be thy

disposition, that thou shalt be able, both in regard of the Gods, and in regard of men, so to fit and order thy

conversation, as neither to complain of them at any time, for anything that they do; nor to do anything thyself,

II. As one who is altogether governed by nature, let it be thy care to observe what it is that thy nature in

general doth require. That done, if thou find not that thy nature, as thou art a living sensible creature, will be

the worse for it, thou mayest proceed. Next then thou must examine, what thy nature as thou art a living

sensible creature, doth require. And that, whatsoever it be, thou mayest admit of and do it, if thy nature as

thou art a reasonable living creature, will not be the worse for it. Now whatsoever is reasonable, is also

sociable, Keep thyself to these rules, and trouble not thyself about idle things.

III. Whatsoever doth happen unto thee, thou art naturally by thy natural constitution either able, or not able to

bear. If thou beest able, be not offended, but bear it according to thy natural constitution, or as nature hath

enabled thee. If thou beest not able, be not offended. For it will soon make an end of thee, and itself,

(whatsoever it be) at the same time end with thee. But remember, that whatsoever by the strength of opinion,

grounded upon a certain apprehension of both true profit and duty, thou canst conceive tolerable; that thou art

IV. Him that offends, to teach with love and meek ness, and to show him his error. But if thou canst not, then

to blame thyself; or rather not thyself neither, if thy will and endeavours have not been wanting.

V. Whatsoever it be that happens unto thee, it is that which from all time was appointed unto thee. For by the

same coherence of causes, by which thy substance from all eternity was appointed to be, was also whatsoever

VI. Either with Epicurus, we must fondly imagine the atoms to be the cause of all things, or we must needs

grant a nature. Let this then be thy first ground, that thou art part of that universe, which is governed by

nature. Then secondly, that to those parts that are of the same kind and nature as thou art, thou hast relation of

kindred. For of these, if I shall always be mindful, first as I am a part, I shall never be displeased with

anything, that falls to my particular share of the common chances of the world. For nothing that is behoveful

unto the whole, can be truly hurtful to that which is part of it. For this being the common privilege of all

natures, that they contain nothing in themselves that is hurtful unto them; it cannot be that the nature of the

universe (whose privilege beyond other particular natures, is, that she cannot against her will by any higher

external cause be constrained,) should beget anything and cherish it in her bosom that should tend to her own

hurt and prejudice. As then I bear in mind that I am a part of such an universe, I shall not be displeased with

anything that happens. And as I have relation of kindred to those parts that are of the same kind and nature

that I am, so I shall be careful to do nothing that is prejudicial to the community, but in all my deliberations

shall they that are of my kind ever be; and the common good, that, which all my intentions and resolutions

shall drive unto, as that which is contrary unto it, I shall by all means endeavour to prevent and avoid. These

things once so fixed and concluded, as thou wouldst think him a happy citizen, whose constant study and

practice were for the good and benefit of his fellow citizens, and the carriage of the city such towards him,

that he were well pleased with it ; so must it needs be with thee, that thou shalt live a happy life.

VII. All parts of the world, (all things I mean that are contained within the whole world, must of necessity at

some time or other come to corruption. Alteration I should say, to speak truly and properly; but that I may be

the better understood, I am content at this time to use that more common word. Now say I, if so be that this

be both hurtful unto them, and yet unavoidable, would not, thinkest thou, the whole itself be in a sweet case,

all the parts of it being subject to alteration, yea and by their making itself fitted for corruption, as consisting

of things different and contrary? And did nature then either of herself thus project and purpose the affliction

and misery of her parts, and therefore of purpose so made them, not only that haply they might, but of

necessity that they should fall into evil; or did not she know what she did, when she made them? For either of

these two to say, is equally absurd. But to let pass nature in general, and to reason of things particular

according to their own particular natures; how absurd and ridiculous is it, first to say that all parts of the

whole are, by their proper natural constitution, subject to alteration; and then when any such thing doth

happen, as when one doth fall sick and dieth, to take on and wonder as though some strange thing had

happened? Though this besides might move not so grievously to take on when any such thing doth happen,

that whatsoever is dissolved, it is dissolved into those things, whereof it was compounded. For every

dissolution is either a mere dispersion, of the elements into those elements again whereof everything did

consist, or a change, of that which is more solid into earth; and of that which is pure and subtile or spiritual,

into air. So that by this means nothing is lost, but all resumed again into those rational generative seeds of the

universe; and this universe, either after a certain period of time to lie consumed by fire, or by continual

changes to be renewed, and so for ever to endure. Now that solid and spiritual that we speak of, thou must not

conceive it to be that very same, which at first was, when thou wert born. For alas! all this that now thou art

in either kind, either for matter of substance, or of life, hath but two or three days ago partly from meats

eaten, and partly from air breathed in, received all its influx, being the same then in no other respect, than a

running river, maintained by the perpetual influx and new supply of waters, is the same. That therefore which

thou hast since received, not that which came from thy mother, is that which comes to change and corruption.

But suppose that that for the general substance, and more solid part of it, should still cleave unto thee never

so close, yet what is that to the proper qualities and affections of it, by which persons are distinguished,

VIII. Now that thou hast taken these names upon thee of good, modest, true; of emfrwn, sumfrwn, uperfrwn;

take heed lest at any times by doing anything that is contrary, thou be but improperly so called, and lose thy

right to these appellations. Or if thou do, return unto them again with all possible speed. And remember, that

the word emfrwn notes unto thee an intent and intelligent consideration of every object that presents itself

unto thee, without distraction. And the word emfrwn a ready and contented acceptation of whatsoever by the

appointment of the common nature, happens unto thee. And the word sumfrwn, a superextension, or a

transcendent, and outreaching disposition of thy mind, whereby it passeth by all bodily pains and pleasures,

honour and credit, death and whatsoever is of the same nature, as matters of absolute indifferency, and in no

wise to be stood upon by a wise man. These then if inviolably thou shalt observe, and shalt not be ambitious

to be so called by others, both thou thyself shalt become a new man, and thou shalt begin a new life. For to

continue such as hitherto thou hast been, to undergo those distractions and distempers as thou must needs for

such a life as hitherto thou hast lived, is the part of one that is very foolish, and is overfond of his life. Whom

a man might compare to one of those halfeaten wretches, matched in the amphitheatre with wild beasts; who

as full as they are all the body over with wounds and blood, desire for a great favour, that they may be

reserved till the next day, then also, and in the same estate to be exposed to the same nails and teeth as before.

Away therefore, ship thyself; and from the troubles and distractions of thy former life convey thyself as it

were unto these few names; and if thou canst abide in them, or be constant in the practice and possession of

them, continue there as glad and joyful as one that were translated unto some such place of bliss and

happiness as that which by Hesiod and Plato is called the Islands of the Blessed, by others called the Elysian

Fields. And whensoever thou findest thyself; that thou art in danger of a relapse, and that thou art not able to

master and overcome those difficulties and temptations that present themselves in thy present station: get thee

into any private corner, where thou mayst be better able. Or if that will not serve forsake even thy life rather.

But so that it be not in passion but in a plain voluntary modest way: this being the only commendable action

of thy whole life that thus thou art departed, or this having been the main work and business of thy whole life,

that thou mightest thus depart. Now for the better remembrance of those names that we have spoken of, thou

shalt find it a very good help, to remember the Gods as often as may be: and that, the thing which they

require at our hands of as many of us, as are by nature reasonable creation is not that with fair words, and

outward show of piety and devotion we should flatter them, but that we should become like unto them: and

that as all other natural creatures, the fig tree for example; the dog the bee: both do, all of them, and apply

themselves unto that. which by their natural constitution, is proper unto them; so man likewise should do that,

IX. Toys and fooleries at home, wars abroad: sometimes terror, sometimes torpor, or stupid sloth : this is thy

daily slavery. By little and little, if thou doest not better look to it, those sacred dogmata will be blotted out of

thy mind. How many things be there, which when as a mere naturalist, thou hast barely considered of

according to their nature, thou doest let pass without any further use? Whereas thou shouldst in all things so

join action and contemplation, that thou mightest both at the same time attend all present occasions, to

perform everything duly and carefully and yet so intend the contemplative part too, that no part of that delight

and pleasure, which the contemplative knowledge of everything according to its true nature doth of itself

afford, might be lost. Or, that the true and contemn plative knowledge of everything according to its own

nature, might of itself, (action being subject to many lets and impediments) afford unto thee sufficient

pleasure and happiness. Not apparent indeed, but not concealed. And when shalt thou attain to the happiness

of true simplicity, and unaffected gravity? When shalt thou rejoice in the certain knowledge of every

particular object according to its true nature: as what the matter and substance of it is; what use it is for in the

world: how long it can subsist: what things it doth consist of: who they be that are capable of it, and who they

X. As the spider, when it hath caught the fly that it hunted after, is not little proud, nor meanly conceited of

herself: as he likewise that hath caught an hare, or hath taken a fish with his net: as another for the taking of a

boar, and another of a bear: so may they be proud, and applaud themselves for their valiant acts against the

Sarmatai, or northern nations lately defeated. For these also, these famous soldiers and warlike men, if thou

dost look into their minds and opinions, what do they for the most part but hunt after prey?

XI. To find out, and set to thyself some certain way and method of contemplation, whereby thou mayest

clearly discern and represent unto thyself, the mutual change of all things, the one into the other. Bear it in

thy mind evermore, and see that thou be throughly well exercised in this particular. For there is not anything

more effectual to beget true magnanimity. XII. He hath got loose from the bonds of his body, and perceiving

that within a very little while he must of necessity bid the world farewell, and leave all these things behind

him, he wholly applied himself, as to righteousness in all his actions, so to the common nature in all things

that should happen unto him. And contenting himself with these two things, to do all things justly, and

whatsoever God doth send to like well of it: what others shall either say or think of him, or shall do against

him, he doth not so much as trouble his thoughts with it. To go on straight, whither right and reason directed

him, and by so doing to follow God, was the only thing that he did mind, that, his only business and

XIII. What use is there of suspicion at all? or, why should thoughts of mistrust, and suspicion concerning that

which is future, trouble thy mind at all? What now is to be done, if thou mayest search and inquiry into that,

what needs thou care for more? And if thou art well able to perceive it alone, let no man divert thee from it.

But if alone thou doest not so well perceive it, suspend thine action, and take advice from the best. And if

there be anything else that doth hinder thee, go on with prudence and discretion, according to the present

occasion and opportunity, still proposing that unto thyself, which thou doest conceive most right and just. For

to hit that aright, and to speed in the prosecution of it, must needs be happiness, since it is that only which we

XIV. What is that that is slow, and yet quick? merry, and yet grave? He that in all things doth follow reason

XV. In the morning as soon as thou art awaked, when thy judgment, before either thy affections, or external

objects have wrought upon it, is yet most free and impartial: put this question to thyself, whether if that which

is right and just be done, the doing of it by thyself, or by others when thou art not able thyself; be a thing

material or no. For sure it is not. And as for these that keep such a life, and stand so much upon the praises, or

dispraises of other men, hast thou forgotten what manner of men they be? that such and such upon their beds,

and such at their board: what their ordinary actions are: what they pursue after, and what they fly from: what

thefts and rapines they commit, if not with their hands and feet, yet with that more precious part of theirs,

their minds: which (would it but admit of them) might enjoy faith, modesty, truth, justice, a good spirit.

XVL Give what thou wilt, and take away what thou wilt, saith he that is well taught and truly modest, to Him

that gives, and takes away. And it is not out of a stout and peremptory resolution, that he saith it, but in mere

XVII. So live as indifferent to the world and all worldly objects, as one who liveth by himself alone upon

some desert hill. For whether here, or there, if the whole world be but as one town, it matters not much for the

place. Let them behold and see a man, that is a man indeed, living according to the true nature of man. If they

cannot bear with me, let them kill me. For better were it to die, than so to live as they would have thee.

XVIII. Make it not any longer a matter of dispute or discourse, what are the signs and proprieties of a good

XIX. Ever to represent unto thyself; and to set before thee, both the general age and time of the world, and

the whole substance of it. And how all things particular in respect of these are for their substance, as one of

the least seeds that is: and for their duration, as the turning of the pestle in the mortar once about. Then to fix

thy mind upon every particular object of the world, and to conceive it, (as it is indeed,) as already being in the

state of dissolution, and of change; tending to some kind of either putrefaction or dispersion; or whatsoever

XX. Consider them through all actions and occupations, of their lives: as when they eat, and when they sleep:

when they are in the act of necessary exoneration, and when in the act of lust. Again, when they either are in

their greatest exultation; and in the middle of all their pomp and glory; or being angry and displeased, in great

state and majesty, as from an higher place, they chide and rebuke. How base and slavish, but a little while

ago, they were fain to be, that they might come to this; and within a very little while what will be their estate,

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

XXII. The earth, saith the poet, doth often long after the rain. So is the glorious sky often as desirous to fall

upon the earth, which argues a mutual kind of love between them. And so (say I) doth the world bear a

certain affection of love to whatsoever shall come to pass With thine affections shall mine concur, O world.

The same (and no other) shall the object of my longing be which is of thine. Now that the world doth love it

is true indeed so is it as commonly said, and acknowledged ledged, when, according to the Greek phrase,

imitated by the Latins, of things that used to be, we say commonly, that they love to be.

XXIII. Either thou dost Continue in this kind of life and that is it, which so long thou hast been used unto and

therefore tolerable: or thou doest retire, or leave the world, and that of thine own accord, and then thou hast

thy mind: or thy life is cut off; and then mayst. thou rejoice that thou hast ended thy charge. One of these

must needs be. Be therefore of good comfort. XXIV Let it always appear and be manifest unto thee that

solitariness, and desert places, by many philosophers so much esteemed of and affected, are of themselves but

thus and thus; and that all things are them to them that live in towns, and converse with others as they are the

same nature everywhere to be seen and observed: to them that have retired themselves to the top of

mountains, and to desert havens, or what other desert and inhabited places soever. For anywhere it thou wilt

mayest thou quickly find and apply that to thyself; which Plato saith of his philosopher, in a place: as private

and retired, saith he, as if he were shut up and enclosed about in some shepherd's lodge, on the top of a hill.

There by thyself to put these questions to thyself. or to enter in these considerations: What is my chief and

principal part, which hath power over the rest? What is now the present estate of it, as I use it; and what is it,

that I employ it about? Is it now void of reason ir no ? Is it free, and separated; or so affixed, so congealed

and grown together as it were with the flesh, that it is swayed by the motions and inclinations of it?

XXV. He that runs away from his master is a fugitive. But the law is every man's master. He therefore that

forsakes the law, is a fugitive. So is he, whosoever he be, that is either sorry, angry, or afraid, or for anything

that either hath been, is, or shall be by his appointment, who is the Lord and Governor of the universe. For he

truly and properly is Nomoz, or the law, as the only nemwn, or distributor and dispenser of all things that

happen unto any one in his lifetime Whatsoever then is either sorry, angry, or afraid, is a fugitive.

XXVI. From man is the seed, that once cast into the womb man hath no more to do with it. Another cause

succeedeth, and undertakes the work, and in time brings a child (that wonderful effect from such a

beginning!) to perfection. Again, man lets food down through his throat; and that once down, he hath no more

to do with it. Another cause succeedeth and distributeth this food into the senses, and the affections: into life,

and into strength; and doth with it those other many and marvellous things, that belong unto man. These

things therefore that are so secretly and invisibly wrought and brought to pass, thou must use to behold and

contemplate; and not the things themselves only, but the power also by which they are effected; that thou

mayst behold it, though not with the eyes of the body, yet as plainly and visibly as thou canst see and discern

XXVII. Ever to mind and consider with thyself; how all things that now are, have been heretofore much after

the same sort, and after the same fashion that now they are: and so to think of those things which shall be

hereafter also. Moreover, whole dramata, and uniform scenes, or scenes that comprehend the lives and

actions of men of one calling and profession, as many as either in thine own experience thou hast known, or

by reading of ancient histories; (as the whole court of Adrianus, the whole court of Antoninus Pius, the whole

court of Philippus, that of Alexander, that of Croesus): to set them all before thine eyes. For thou shalt find

that they are all but after one sort and fashion: only that the actors were others.

XXVIII. As a pig that cries and flings when his throat is cut, fancy to thyself every one to be, that grieves for

any worldly thing and takes on. Such a one is he also, who upon his bed alone, doth bewail the miseries of

this our mortal life. And remember this, that Unto reasonable creatures only it is granted that they may

willingly and freely submit unto Providence: but absolutely to submit, is a necessity imposed upon all

XXIX. Whatsoever it is that thou goest about, consider of it by thyself, and ask thyself, What? because I shall

XXX. When thou art offended with any man's transgression, presently reflect upon thyself; and consider what

thou thyself art guilty of in the same kind. As that thou also perchance dost think it a happiness either to be

rich, or to live in pleasure, or to be praised and commended, and so of the rest in particular. For this if thou

shalt call to mind, thou shalt soon forget thine anger; especially when at the same time this also shall concur

in thy thoughts, that he was constrained by his error and ignorance so to do: for how can he choose as long as

he is of that opinion? Do thou therefore if thou canst, take away that from him, that forceth him to do as he

XXXI. When thou seest Satyro, think of Socraticus and Eutyches, or Hymen, and when Euphrates, think of

Eutychio, and Sylvanus, when Alciphron, of Tropaeophorus, when Xenophon, of Crito, or Severus. And

when thou doest look upon thyself, fancy unto thyself some one or other of the Caasars; and so for every one,

some one or other that hath been for estate and profession answerable unto him. Then let this come to thy

mind at the same time; and where now are they all? Nowhere or anywhere? For so shalt thou at all time. be

able to perceive how all worldly things are but as the smoke, that vanisheth away: or, indeed, mere nothing.

Espccially when thou shalt call to mind this also, that whatsoever is once changed, shall never be again as

long as the world endureth. And thou then, how long shalt thou endure? And why doth it not suffice thee, if

virtuously, and as becometh thee, thou mayest pass that portion of time, how little soever it be, that is allotted

XXXII. What a subject, and what a course of life is it, that thou doest so much desire to be rid of. For all

these things, what are they, but fit objects for an understanding, that beholdeth everything according to its

true nature, to exercise itself upon? Be patient, therefore, until that (as a strong stomach that turns all things

into his own nature; and as a great fire that turneth in flame and light, whatsoever thou doest cast into it) thou

XXXIII. Let it not be in any man's power, to say truly of thee, that thou art not truly simple, or sincere and

open, or not good. Let him be deceived whosoever he be that shall have any such opinion of thee. For all this

doth depend of thee. For who is it that should hinder thee from being either truly simple or good? Do thou

only resolve rather not to live, than not to be such. For indeed neither doth it stand with reason that he should

live that is not such. What then is it that may upon this present occasion according to best reason and

discretion, either be said or done? For whatsoever it be, it is in thy power either to do it, or to say it, and

therefore seek not any pretences, as though thou wert hindered. Thou wilt never cease groaning and

complaining, until such time as that, what pleasure is unto the voluptuous, be unto thee, to do in everything

that presents itself, whatsoever may be done conformably and agreeably to the proper constitution of man, or,

to man as he is a man. For thou must account that pleasure, whatsoever it be, that thou mayest do according

to thine own nature. And to do this, every place will fit thee. Unto the cylindrus, or roller, it is not granted to

move everywhere according to its own proper motion, as neither unto the water, nor unto the fire, nor unto

any other thing, that either is merely natural, or natural and sensitive; but not rational. for many things there

be that can hinder their operations. But of the mind and understanding this is the proper privilege, that

according to its own nature, and as it will itself, it can pass through every obstacle that it finds, and keep

straight on forwards. Setting therefore before thine eyes this happiness and felicity of thy mind, whereby it is

able to pass through all things, and is capable of all motions, whether as the fire, upwards; or as the stone

downwards, or as the cylindrus through that which is sloping: content thyself with it, and seek not after any

other thing. For all other kind of hindrances that are not hindrances of thy mind either they are proper to the

body, or merely proceed from the opinion, reason not making that resistance that it should, but basely, and

cowardly suffering itself to be foiled; and of themselves can neither wound, nor do any hurt at all. Else must

he of necessity, whosoever he be that meets with any of them, become worse than he was before. For so is it

in all other subjects, that that is thought hurtful unto them, whereby they are made worse. But here

contrariwise, man (if he make that good use of them that he should) is rather the better and the more

praiseworthy for any of those kind of hindrances, than otherwise. But generally remember that nothing can

hurt a natural citizen, that is not hurtful unto the city itself, nor anything hurt the city, that is not hurtful unto

the law itself. But none of these casualties, or external hindrances, do hurt the law itself; or, are contrary to

that course of justice and equity, by which public societies are maintained: neither therefore do they hurt

XXXIV. As he that is bitten by a mad dog, is afraid of everything almost that he seeth: so unto him, whom

the dogmata have once bitten, or in whom true knowledge hath made an impression, everything almost that

he sees or reads be it never so short or ordinary, doth afford a good memento; to put him out of all grief and

fear, as that of the poet, 'The winds blow upon the trees, and their leaves fall upon the ground. Then do the

trees begin to bud again, and by the springtime they put forth new branches. So is the generation of men;

some come into the world, and others go out of it.' Of these leaves then thy children are. And they also that

applaud thee so gravely, or, that applaud thy speeches, with that their usual acclamation, axiopistwz, O wisely

spoken I and speak well of thee, as on the other side, they that stick not to curse thee, they that privately and

secretly dispraise and deride thee, they also are but leaves. And they also that shall follow, in whose

memories the names of men famous after death, is preserved, they are but leaves neither. For even so is it of

all these worldly things. Their spring comes, and they are put forth. Then blows the wind, and they go down.

And then in lieu of them grow others out of the wood or common matter of all things, like unto them. But, to

endure but for a while, is common unto all. Why then shouldest thou so earnestly either seek after these

things, or fly from them, as though they should endure for ever? Yet a little while, and thine eyes will be

closed up, and for him that carries thee to thy grave shall another mourn within a while after.

XXXV. A good eye must be good to see whatsoever is to be seen, and not green things only. For that is

proper to sore eyes. So must a good ear, and a good smell be ready for whatsoever is either to be heard, or

smelt: and a good stomach as indifferent to all kinds of food, as a millstone is, to whatsoever she was made

for to grind. As ready therefore must a sound understanding be for whatsoever shall happen. But he that saith,

O that my children might live! and, O that all men might commend me for whatsoever I do! is an eye that

seeks after green things; or as teeth, after that which is tender. XXXVI. There is not any man that is so happy

in his death, but that some of those that are by him when he dies, will be ready to rejoice at his supposed

calamity. Is it one that was virtuous and wise indeed? will there not some one or other be found, who thus

will say to himself; 'Well now at last shall I be at rest from this pedagogue. He did not indeed otherwise

trouble us much: but I know well enough that in his heart, he did much condemn us.' Thus will they speak of

the virtuous. But as for us, alas I how many things be there, for which there be many that glad would be to be

rid of us. This therefore if thou shalt think of whensoever thou diest, thou shalt die the more willingly, when

thou shalt think with thyself; I am now to depart from that world, wherein those that have been my nearest

friends and acquaintances, they whom I have so much suffered for, so often prayed for, and for whom I have

taken such care, even they would have me die, hoping that after my death they shall live happier, than they

did before. What then should any man desire to continue here any longer? Nevertheless, whensoever thou

diest, thou must not be less kind and loving unto them for it; but as before, see them, continue to be their

friend, to wish them well, and meekly, and gently to carry thyself towards them, but yet so that on the other

side, it make thee not the more unwilling to die. But as it fareth with them that die an easy quick death, whose

soul is soon separated from their bodies, so must thy separation from them be. To these had nature joined and

annexed me: now she parts us; I am ready to depart, as from friends and kinsmen, but yet without either

reluctancy or compulsion. For this also is according to Nature. XXXVII. Use thyself; as often, as thou seest

any man do anything, presently (if it be possible) to say unto thyself, What is this man's end in this his

action? But begin this course with thyself first of all, and diligently examine thyself concerning whatsoever

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

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 bath 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

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

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

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,

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,' And again, 'It will but little avail

thee to storm and rage against the things themselves,' 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 tomedy 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,' 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,

VI. How clearly doth it appear unto thee, that no other course of thy life could fit a true philosopher's practice

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

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

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, whomsoever 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

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

armholes 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

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

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 selfconceit 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

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 selfsame general end always as long as he liveth, cannot possibly be one

and the selfsame 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

XX. Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse, and the great fright and terror that this

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

XXII. The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont to appoint seats and forms for their strangers

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

XXVIII. 'My heart smiled within me.' 'They will accuse even virtue herself; with heinous and opprobrious

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

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

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

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

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,'

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

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

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 hieth idle

because not used; yet doth it hold the bridle with more strength than the right, because it hath been used unto

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

VII. All worldly things thou must behold and consider, dividing them into matter, form, and reference, or

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 he accused. None then must be

X. How ridiculous and strange is he, that wonders at anything that happens in this life in the ordinary course

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 proceod 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,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before the present century nothing was known of the works of Fronto, except a grammatical treatise; but in

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,

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 bard 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, arid 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

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 (1) Ad M. Caes iii. 17 (2) Ad M. Caes iii. 12 Antoninus had

a high opinion of Herodes; and all we know goes to prove he was a man of high character and princely

generosity. When quite young he was made administrator of the free cities in Asia, nor is it surprising to find

that he made bitter enemies there; indeed, a just ruler was sure to make enemies. The end of it was that an

Athenian deputation, headed by the orators Theodotus and Demostratus, made serious accusations against his

honour. There is no need to discuss the merits of the case here; suffice it to say, Herodes succeeded in

defending himself to the satisfaction of the emperor. Pronto appears to have taken the delegates' part, and to

have accepted a brief for the prosecution, urged to some extent by personal considerations; and in this cause

Marcus Aurelius writes to Fronto as follows 'AURELIUS CAESAR to his friend FRONTO, greeting.(1) 'I

know you have often told me you were anxious to find how you might best please me. Now is the time; now

you can increase my love towards you, if it can be increased. A trial is at hand, in which people seem likely

not only to hear your speech with pleasure, but to see your indignation with impatience. I see no one who

dares give you a hint in the matter; for those who are less friendly, prefer to see you act with some

inconsistency; and those who are more frIendly, fear to seem too friendly to your opponent if they should

dissuade you from your accusation; then again, in case you have prepared something neat for the occasion,

they cannot endure to rob you of your harangue by silencing you. Therefore, whether you think me a rash

counsellor, or a bold boy, or too kind to your opponent, not because I think it better, I will offer my counsel

with some caution. But why have I said, offer my counsel? No, I demand it from you; I demand it boldly, and

if I succeed, I promise to remain under your obligation. What? you will say if I am attackt, shall I not pay tit

for tat ? Ah, but you will get greater glory, if even when attackt you answer nothing. Indeed, if he begins it,

answer as you will and you will have fair excuse; but I have demanded of him that he shall not begin, and I

think I have succeeded. I love each of you according to your merits and I know that lie was educated in the

house of P. Calvisius, my gran(lfather, and that I was educated by you; therefore I am full of anxiety that

this most disagreeable business shall be managed as honourably as possible. I trust you may approve my

advice, for my intention you will approve. At least I prefer to write unwisely rather than to be silent

Fronto replied, thanking the prince for his advice, and promising that he will confine himself to the facts of

the case. But he points out that the charges brought against Herodes were such, that they can hardly be made

agreeable; amongst them being spoliation, violence, and murder. However, he is willing even to let some of

these drop if it be the prince's pleasure. To this Marcus returned the following answer:(1) 'This one thing,

my dearest Fronto, is enough to make me truly grateful to you, that so far from rejecting my counsel, you

have even approved it. As to the question you raise in your kind letter, my opinion is this: all that concerns

the case which you are supporting must be clearly brought forward ; what concerns your own feelings,

though you may have had just provocation, should be left unsaid.' The story does credit to both. Fronto shows

no loss of temper at the interference, nor shrinks from stating his case with frankness; and Marcus, with

forbearance remarkable in a prince, does not command that his friend be left unmolested, but merely

Another example may he given from a letter of Fronto's (2) Here is something else quarrelsome and

querulous. I have sometimes found fault with you in your absence somewhat seriously in the company of a

few of my most intimate friends : at times, for example, when you mixt in society with a more solemn look

than was fitting, or would read books in the theatre or in a banquet ; nor did I absent myself from theatre or

banquet when you did(3). Then I used to call you a hard man, no good company, even disagreeable,

sometimes, when anger got the better of me. But did any one else in the same banquet speak against you, I

could not endure to hear it with equanimity. Thus it was easier for me to say something to your disadvantage

myself, than to hear others do it; just as I could more easily bear to chastise my daughter Gratia, than to see

The affection between them is clear from every page of the correspondence. A few instances are now given,

which were written at different periods To MY MASTER.(1) 'This is how I have past the last few days. My

sister was suddenly seized with an internal pain, so violent that I was horrified at her looks; my mother in her

trepidation on that account accidentally bruised her side on a corner of the wall; she and we were greatly

troubled about that blow. For myself; on going to rest I found a scorpion in my bed; but I did not lie down

upon him, I killed him first. If you are getting on better, that is a consolation. My mother is easier now,

thanks be to God. Goodbye, best and sweetest master. My lady sends you greeting.'

(2)'What words can I find to fit my had luck, or how shall I upbraid as it deserves the hard constraint which is

laid upon me? It ties me fast here, troubled my heart is, and beset by such anxiety; nor does it allow me to

make haste to my Fronto, my life and delight, to be near him at such a moment of illhealth in particular, to

hold his hands, to chafe gently that identical foot, so far as may be done without discomfort, to attend him in

(3)'This morning I did not write to you, because I heard you were better, and because I was myself engaged in

other business, and I cannot ever endure to write anything to you unless with mind at ease and untroubled and

free. So if we are all right, let me know: what I desire, you know, and how properly I desire it, I know.

Farewell, my master, always in every chance first in my mind, as you deserve to be. My master, see I am not

asleep, and I compel myself to sleep, that you may not be angry with me. You gather I am writing this late at

(1)'What spirit do you suppose is in me, when I remember how long it is since I have seen you, and why I

have not seen you 1 and it may be I shall not see you for a few days yet, while you are strengthening yourself;

as you must. So while you lie on the sickbed, my spirit also will lie low anti, whenas,(2) by God's mercy

you shall stand upright, my spirit too will stand firm, which is now burning with the strongest desire for

you. Farewell, soul of your prince, your (3)0 my dear Fronto, most distinguished Consul! I yield, you have

conquered: all who have ever loved before, you have conquered out and out in love's contest. Receive the

victor's wreath ; and the herald shall proclaim your victory aloud before your own tribunal: "M. Cornelius

Fronto, Consul, wins, and is crowned victor in the Open International Loverace."(4) But beaten though I

may be, I shall neither slacken nor relax my own zeal. Well, you shall love me more than any man loves any

other man; but I, who possess a faculty of loving less strong, shall love you more than any one else loves you;

more indeed than you love yourself. Gratia and I will have to fight for it; I doubt I shall not get the better of

her. For, as Plautus says, her love is like rain, whose big drops not only penetrate the dress, but drench to the

Marcus Aurelius seems to have been about eighteen years of age when the correspondence begins, Fronto

being some thirty years older.(5) The systematic education of the young prince seems to have been finisht,

and Pronto now acts more as his adviser than his tutor. He recommends the prince to use simplicity in his

public speeches, and to avoid affectation.(6) Marcus devotes his attention to the old authors who then had a

great vogue at Rome: Ennius, Plautus, Nawius, and such orators as Cato and Gracchus.(7) Pronto urges on

him the study of Cicero, whose letters, he says, are all worth reading. 1 Ad M. Caes., iii. 19.

When he wishes to compliment Marcus he declares one or other of his letters has the true Tullian ring.

Marcus gives his nights to reading when he ought to be sleeping. He exercises himself in verse composition

'It is very nice of you,' he writes to Fronto,(1) 'to ask for my hexameters ; I would have sent them at once if I

had them by me. The fact is my secretary, Anicetusyou know who I meandid not pack up any of my

compositions for me to take away with me. He knows my weakness; he was afraid that if I got hold of them I

might, as usual, make smoke of them. However, there was no fear for the hexameters. I must confess the truth

to my master: I love them. I study at night, since the day is taken up with the theatre. I am weary of an

evening, and sleepy in the daylight, and so I don't do much. Yet I have made extracts from sixty books, five

volumes of them, in these latter days. But when you read remember that the "sixty" includes plays of Novius,

and farces, and some little speeches of Scipio; don't be too much startled at the number. You remember your

Polemon; but I pray you do not remember Horace, who has died with Pollio as far as I am concerned.(2)

Farewell, my dearest and most affectionate friend, most distinguished consul and my beloved master, whom I

have not seen these two years. Those who say two months, count the days. Shall I ever see you again?'

Sometimes Fronto sends him a theme to work up, as thus: 'M. Lucilius tribune of the people violently throws

into prison a free Roman citizen, against the opinion of his colleagues who demand his release. For this act he

is branded by the censor. Analyse the case, and then take both sides in turn, attacking and defending.'(3) Or

again: 'A Roman consul, doffing his state robe, dons the gauntlet and kills a lion amongst the young men at

the Quinquatrus in full view of the people of Rome. Denunciation before the censors.'(4) The prince has a fair

Homer, Plato, Euripides, but for some reason Fronto dissuaded him from this study.(5) His Meditations are

written in Greek. He continued his literary studies throughout his life, and after he became emperor we still

find him asking his adviser for copies of Cicero's Letters, by which he hopes to improve his vocabulary.(6)

Pronto Helps him with a supply of similes, which, it seems, he did not think of readily. It is to be feared that

Some idea of his literary style may he gathered from the letter which follows:(1) 'I heard Polemo declaim the

other day, to say something of things sublunary. If you ask what I thought of him, listen. He seems to me an

industrious farmer, endowed with the greatest skill, who has cultivated a large estate for corn and vines only,

and indeed with a rich return of fine crops. But yet in that land of his there is no Pompeian fig or Arician

vegetable, no Tarentine rose, or pleasing coppice, or thick grove, or shady plane tree; all is for use rather than

A pretty bold idea, is it not, and rash judgment, to pass censure on a man of such reputation? But whenas I

remember that I am writing to you, I think I am less bold than you would have me.

'There's an unpremeditated hendecasyllable for you. So before I begin to poetize, i'll take an easy with you.

Farewell, my heart's desire, your Verus's best beloved, most distinguisht consul, master most sweet. Farewell

What a letter do you think you have written me I could make bold to say, that never did she who bore me and

nurst me, write anything SO delightful, so honeysweet. And this does not come of your fine style and

eloquence: otherwise not my mother only, but all who breathe.' 1 Ad M. Caes, ii. 5.

To the pupil, never was anything on earth so fine as his master's eloquence ; on this theme Marcus fairly

(1)'Well, if the ancient Greeks ever wrote anything like this, let those who know decide it: for me, if I dare

say so, I never read any invective of Cato's so fine as your encomtum. O if my Lord(2) could be sufficiently

praised, sufficiently praised he would have been undoubtedly by you! This kind of thing is not done

nowadays.(3) It were easier to match Pheidias, easier to match Apelles, easier in a word to match

Demosthenes himself, or Cato himself; than to match this finisht and perfect work. Never have I read

anything more refined, anything more after the ancient type, anything more delicious, anything more Latin. 0

happy you, to be endowed with eloquence so great! 0 happy I, to be tinder the charge of such a master! 0

arguments,(4) O arrangement, 0 elegance, 0 wit, 0 beauty, 0 words, 0 brilliancy, 0 subtilty, 0 grace, 0

treatment, 0 everything! Mischief take me, if you ought not to have a rod put in your hand one day, a diadem

on your brow, a tribunal raised for you; then the herald would summon us allwhy do I say "us"? Would

summnon all, those scholars and orators: one by one you would beckon them forward with your rod and

admonish them. Hitherto I have had no fear of this admonition; many things help me to enter within your

school. I write this in the utmost haste; for whenas I am sending you so kindly a letter from my Lord, what

needs a longer letter of mine? Farewell then, glory of Roman eloquence, boast of your friends, magnifico,

'After this you will take care not to tell so many fibs of me, especially in the Senate. A monstrous fine speech

this is! 0 if 1 could kiss your head at every heading of it! You have looked down on all with a vengeance.

This oration once read, in vain shall we study, in vain shall we toil, in vain strain every nerve. Farewell

Sometimes Fronto descends from the heights of eloquence to offer practical advice; as when he suggests how

Marcus should deal with his suite. It is more difficult, he admits, to keep courtiers in harmony than to tame

lions with a lute; but if it is to be done, it must be by eradicating jealousy. ' Do not let your friends,' says

Fronto,'(1) 'envy each other, or think that what you give to another is filched from them.

Keep away envy from your suite, and you will find your friends kindly and harmonious.'

Here and there we meet with allusions to his daily life, which we could wish to be more frequent. He goes to

the theatre or the lawcourts,(2) or takes part in court ceremony, but his heart is always with his books. The

vintage season, with its religious rites, was always spent by Antoninus Pius in the country. The following

letters give sonic notion of a day's occupation at that time:(3) 'MY DEAREST MASTER, I am well. Today

I studied from the ninth hour of the night to the second hour of day, after taking food. I then put on my

slippers, and from time second to the third hour had a most enjoyable walk up and down before my chamber.

Then booted and cloakedfor so we were commanded to appearI went to wait upon my lord the emperor.

We went ahunting, did doughty deeds, heard a rumour that boars had been caught, but there was nothing to

see. However, we climbed a pretty steep hill, and in the afternoon returned home. I went straight to my

books. Off with the boots, down with the cloak; I spent a couple of hours in bed. I read Cato's speech on the

Property of Pulchra, and another in which he impeaches a tribune. Ho, ho! I hear you cry to your man, Off

with you as fast as you can, and bring me these speeches from the library of Apollo. No use to send: I have

those books with me too. You must get round the Tiberian librarian; you will have to spend something on the

matter; and when I return to town, I shall expect to go shares with him. Well, after reading these speeches I

wrote a wretched trifle, destined for drowning or burning. No, indeed my attempt at writing did not come off

at all today; the composition of a hunter or a vintager, whose shouts are echoing through my chamber,

hateful and wearisome as the lawcourts. What have I said? Yes, it was rightly said, for my master is an

orator. I think I have caught cold, whether from walking in slippers or from writing badly, I do not know. I

am always annoyed with phlegm, but today I seem to snivel more than usual. Well, I will pour oil on my

head and go off to sleep. I don't mean to put one drop in my lamp today, so weary am I from riding and

sneezing. Farewell, dearest and most beloved master, whom I miss, I may say, more than Rome it~dL'

'MY BELOVED MASTER,I am well. I slept a little more than usual for my slight cold, which seems to be

well again. So I spent the time from the eleventh hour of the night to the third of the day partly in reading in

Cato's Agriculture, partly in writing, not quite so badly as yesterday indeed. Then, after waiting upon my

father, I soothed my throat with honeywater, ejecting it without swallowing: I might say gargle, but I won't,

though I think the word is found in Novius and elsewhere. After attending to my throat I went to my father,

and stood by his side as he sacrificed. Then to luncheon. What do you think I had to eat? A bit of bread so

big, while I watched others gobbling boiled beans, onions, and fish full of roe. Then we set to work at

gathering the grapes, with plenty of sweat and shouting, and, as the quotation runs, "A few highhanging

clusters did we leave survivors of the vintage." After the sixth hour we returned home. I did a little work, and

poor work at that. Then I had a long gossip with my dear mother sitting on the bed. My conversation was:

What do you think my friend Fronto is doing just now? She said: And what do you think of my friend

Gratia?'(1) My turn now: And what of our little Gratia,(2) the sparrowkin? After this kind of talk, and an

argument as to which of you loved the other most, the gong sounded, the signal that my father had gone to

the bath. We supped, after ablutions in the oilcellarI mean we supped after ablutions, not after ablutions in

the oilcellar; and listened with enjoyment to the rustics gibing. After returning, before turning on my side to

snore, I do my task and give an account of the day to my delightful master, whom if I could long for a little

more, I should not mind growing a trifle thinner. Farewell, Fronto, wherever you are, honeysweet, my

'When my father returned home from the vineyards, I mounted my horse as usual, and rode on ahead some

little way. Well, there on the road was a herd of sheep, standing all crowded together as though the place

were a desert, with four dogs and two shepherds, but nothing else. Then one shepherd said to another

shepherd, on seeing a number of horsemen: 'I say,' says he, 'look you at those horsemen; they do a deal of

robbery.' When I heard this, I clap spurs to my horse, and ride straight for the sheep. In consternation the

sheep scatter; hither and thither they are fleeting and bleating. A shepherd throws his fork, and the fork falls

on the horseman who came next to me. We make our escape.' We like Marcus none the worse for this spice

Another letter(1) describes a visit to a country town, and shows the antiquarian spirit of the writer 'M.

'After I entered the carriage, after I took leave of you, we made a journey comfortable enough, but we had a

few drops of rain to wet us. But before coming to the countryhouse, we broke our journey at Anagnia, a

mile or so from the highroad. Then we inspected that ancient town, a miniature it is, but has in it many

antiquities, temples, and religious ceremonies quite out of the way. There is not a corner without its shrine, or

fane, or temple; besides, many books written on linen, which belongs to things sacred. Then on the gate as we

came out was written twice, as follows : "Priest don the fell.'(2) I asked one of the inhabitants what that word

was. He said it was the word in the Hernican dialect for the victim's skin, which the priest puts over his

conical cap when he enters the city. I found out many other things which I desired to know, but the only thing

I do not desire is that you should he absent from me; that is my chief anxiety. Now for yourself, when you

left that place, did you go to Aurelia or to Campania? Be sure to write to me, and say whether you have

opened the vintage, or carried a host of books to the countryhouse; this also, whether you miss me; I am

foolish to ask it, whenas you tell it me of yourself. Now if you miss me and if you love me, send me your

letters often, which is a comfort and consolation to me. Indeed I should prefer ten times to read your letters

than all the vines of Gaurus or the Marsians; for these Signian vines have grapes too rank and fruit too sharp

in the taste, but I prefer wine to must for drinking. Besides, those grapes are nicer to eat dried than freshripe;

I vow I would rather tread them under foot than put my teeth in them. But I pray they may be gracious and

forgiving, and grant me free pardon for these jests of mine. Farewell, best friend, dearest, most l~rned,

sweetest master. When you see the must ferment in the vat, remember that just so in my heart the longing for

you is gushing and flowing and bubbling. Goodbye.' 1 Ad Verum. Imp ii. 1, s. fin.

Making all allowances for conventional exaggerations, it is clear from the correspondence that there was deep

love between Marcus and his preceptor. The letters cover several years in succession, but soon after the birth

of Marcus's daughter, Faustina, there is a large gap. It does not follow that the letters ceased entirely, because

we know part of the collection is lost; but there was probably less intercourse between Marcus and Fronto

When Marcus succeeded to the throne in 161, the letters begin again, with slightly increased formality on

Fronto's part, and they go on for some four years, when Fronto, who has been continually complaining of

illhealth, appears to have died. One letter of the later period gives some interesting particulars of the

emperor's public life, which are worth quoting. Fronto speaks of Marcus's victories and eloquence in the

usual strain of high praise, and then continues.(1) 'The army when you took it in hand was sunk in luxury and

revelry, and corrupted with long inactivity. At Antiochia the soldiers had been Wont to applaud at the stage

plays, knew more of the gardens at the nearest restaurant than of the battlefield. Horses were hairy from lack

of grooming, horsemen smooth because their hairs had been pulled out by the roots(2) a rare thing it was to

see a soldier with hair on arm or leg. Moreover, they were better drest than armed; so much so, that Laelianus

Pontius. a strict man of the old discipline, broke the cuirasses of some of them with his fingertips, and

observed cushions on the horses' backs. At his direction the tufts were cut through, and out of the

horsemnen's saddles came what appeared to be feathers pluckt from geese. Few of the men could vault on

horseback, the rest clambered up with difficulty by aid of heel and knee and leg not many could throw a lance

hurtling, most did it without force or power, as though they were things of wool. dicing was common in the

camp, sleep lasted all night, or if they kept watch it was over the winecup. By what regulations to restrain

such soldiers as these, and to turn them to honesty and industry, did you not learn from Hannibal's sternness,

the discipline of Africanus, the acts of Metellus recorded in history 1 Ad Verum. imp., ii. I, s.fin.

After the preceptorial letters cease the others are concerned with domestic events, health and sickness, visits

or introductions, birth or death. Thus the empperor writes to his old friend, who had shown some diffidence

'I have a serious grievance against you, my dear master, yet indeed my grief is more than my grievance,

because after so long a time I neither embraced you nor spoke to you, though you visited the palace, and the

moment after I had left the prince my brother. I reproached my brother severc]y for not recalling me; nor

durst he deny the fault.' Fronto again writes on one occasion: 'I have seen your daughter. It was like seeing

you and Faustina in infancy, so much that is charming her face has taken from each of yours.' Or again, at a

later date:(2) I have seen your chicks, most delightful sight that ever I saw in my life, so like you that nothing

is more like than the likeness. . . . By the mercy of Heaven they have a healthy colour and strong lungs. One

held a piece of white bread, like a little prince, the other a common piece, like a true philosophers son.'

Marcus, we know, was devoted to his children. They were delicate in health, in spite of Fronto's assurance,

and only one son survived the father. We find echoes of this affection now and again in the letters. 'We have

summer heat here still,' writes Marcus, 'but since my little girls are pretty well, if I may say so, it is like the

bracing climate of spring to us.'(1) When little Faustina came back from the valley of the shadow of death,

her father at once writes to inform Fronto.(2) The sympathy he asks he also gives, and as old age brings more

and more infirmity, Marcus becomes even more solicitous for his beloved teacher. The poor old man suffered

a heavy blow in the death of his grandson, on which Marcus writes:(3) 'I have just heard of your misfortune.

Feeling grieved as I do when one of your joints gives you pain, what do you think I feel, dear master, when

you have pain of mind?' The old man's reply, in spite of a certain selfconsciousness, is full of pathos. He

recounts with pride the events of a long and upright life, in which he has wronged no man, and lived in

harmony with his friends and family. His affectations fall away from him, as the cry of pain is forced from

his heart: (4)'Many such sorrows has fortune visited me with all my life long. To pass by my other

afflictions, I have lost five children under the most pitiful conditions possible: for the five I lost one by one

when each was my only child, suffering these blows of bereavement in such a manner that each child was

born to one already bereaved. Thus I ever lost my children without solace, and got them amidst fresh grief.....'

The letter continues with reflections on the nature of death, 'more to be rejoiced at than bewailed, the younger

one dies,' and an arraignment of Providence not without dignity, wrung from him as it were by this last

culminating misfortune. It concludes with a summingup of his life in protest against the blow which has

'Through my long life I have committed nothing which might bring dishonour, or disgrace, or shame: no deed

of avarice or treachery have I done in all my day's: nay, but much generosity, much kindness, much truth and

faithfulness have I shown, often at the risk of my own life. I have lived in amity with my good brother, whom

I rejoice to see in possession of the highest office by your father's goodness, and by your friendship at peace

and perfect rest. Th~ offices which I have myself obtained I never strove for by any underhand means. I have

cultivated my mind rather than my body; the pursuit of learning I have preferred to increasing my wealth. I

preferred to he poor rather than bound by any' man's obligation, even to want rather than to beg. I have never

been extravagant in spending money, I have earned it sometimes because I must. I have scrupulously spoken

the truth, and have been glad to hear it spoken to me. I have thought it better to be neglected than to fawn, to

be dumb than to feign, to be seldom a friend than to be often a flatterer. 1 have sought little, deserved not

little. So far as I could, I have assisted each according to my means. I have given help readily to the

deserving, fearlessly to the undeserving. No one by proving to be ungrateful has made me more slow to

bestow promptly all benefits I could give, nor have I ever been harsh to ingratitude. (A fragmentary passage

follows, in which he appears to speak of his desire for a peaceful end, and the desolation of his house.) I have

suffered long and painful sickness, my beloved Marcus. Then I was visited by pitiful misfortunes: my wife I

have lost, my grandson I have lost in Germany:(1) woe is me! I have lost my Decimanus. If I were made of

iron, at this tine I could write no more.' It is noteworthy that in his meditations Marcus Aurelius mentions

Fronto only once.(2) All his literary studies, his oratory and criticism (such as it was) is forgotten; and, says

he, 'Fronto taught me not to expect natural affection from the highlyborn.' Fronto really said more than this:

that 'affection' is not a Roman quality, nor has it a Latin name.(3) Roman or not Roman, Marcus found

affection in Fronto; and if he outgrew his master's intellectual training, he never lost touch with the true heart

of the man it is that which Fronto's name brings up to his remembrance, not dissertations on compound verbs

THIS being neither a critical edition of the text nor an emended edition of Casaubon's translation, it has not

been thought necessary to add full notes. Casaubon's own notes have been omitted, because for the most part

they are discursive, and not necessary to an understanding of what is written. In those which here follow,

certain emendations of his are mentioned, which he proposes in his notes, and follows in the translation. In

addition, one or two corrections are made where he has mistaken the Greek, and the translation might be

misleading. Those which do not come under these two heads will explain themselves.

The text itself has been prepared by a comparison of the editions of 1634 and 1635. It should he borne in

mind that Casaubon's is often rather a paraphrase than a close translation; and it did not seem worth while to

notice every variation or amplification of the original. In the original editions all that Casauhon conceives as

understood, but not expressed, is enclosed in square brackets. These brackets are here omitted, as they

interfere with the comfort of the reader; and so have some of the alternative renderings suggested by the

translator. In a few cases, Latin words in the text have been replaced by English.

Numbers in brackets refer to the Teubner text of Stich, but the divisions of the text are left unaltered. For

some of the references identified I am indebted to Mr. G. H. Rendall's Marcus Aurelius.

BOOK I I "Both to frequent" (4). Gr. to mh, C. conjectures to me. The text is probably right: "I did not

VI Idiots. . . . philosophers (9). The reading is doubtful, but the meaning seems to be: "simple and unlearned

XII "Claudius Maximus" (15). The reading of the Palatine MS. (now lost) was paraklhsiz Maximon, which C.

XIII "Patient hearing. . . He would not" (16). C. translates his conjectural reading epimonon ollan. on

proapsth Stich suggests a reading with much the same sense: .....epimonon all antoi "Strict and rigid dealing"

(16). C. translates tonvn (Pal. MS.) as though from tonoz, in the sense of "strain." "rigour." The reading of

XIV "Cajeta" (17). The passage is certainly corrupt. C. spies a reference to Chryses praying by the seashore

in the Illiad, and supposes M. Aurelius to have done the like. None of the emendations suggested is

satisfactory. At � XV. Book II. is usually reckoned to begin. BOOK II III. Do, soul" (6). If the received

reading be right, it must be sarcastic; but there are several variants which show how unsatisfactory it is. C.

translates "en gar o bioz ekasty so par eanty " which I do not understand. The sense required is: "Do not

violence to thyself, for thou hast not long to use selfrespect. Life is not (v. 1. so) for each, and this life for

X. "honour and credit do proceed" (12). The verb has dropt out of the text, but C. has supplied one of the

XI. "Consider," etc. (52). This verb is not in the Greek, which means: "(And reason also shows) how man,

BOOK IV XV. "Agathos" (18): This is probably not a proper name, but the text seems to be unsound. The

XVI. oikonomian (16) is a "practical benefit," a secondary end. XXXIX. "For herein lieth all...." (~3). C.

BOOK V XIV. katorqwseiz (15): Acts of "rightness" or "straightness." XXIII. "Roarer" (28): Gr. "tragedian."

Ed. 1 has whoremonger,' ed. 2 corrects to "harlot," but omits to alter' the word at its second occurrence.

XXVII. " One of the poets" (33) : Hesiod, Op. et Dies, 197. XXIX and XXX. (36). The Greek appears to

contain quotations from sources not known, and the translation is a paraphrase. (One or two alterations are

here made on the authority of the second edition.) BOOK VI XIII. "Affected and qualified" (i4): exis, the

power of cohesion shown in things inanimate; fusiz, power of growth seen in plants and the like.

XXXVII. "Chrysippus" (42): C. refers to a passage of Plutarch De Communibus Notitiis (c. xiv.), where

Chrysippus is represented as saying that a coarse phrase may be vile in itself, yet have due place in a comedy

XL. "Man or men . . ." There is no hiatus in the Greek, which means: "Whatever (is beneficial) for a man is

BOOK VII IX. C. translates his conjecture mh for h. The Greek means " straight, or rectified," with a play on

XIV. endaimonia. contains the word daimwn in composition. XXII.The text is corrupt, but the words "or if it

"Lives," etc. Euripides, Hypsipyle, frag. 757 (Nauck). "As long," etc. Aristophanes, Acharne, 66 i.

XXVI. "But, 0 noble sir," etc. Plato, Gorgias, 512 D. XXVII. "And as for those parts," etc. A quotation from

"With meats," etc. From Euripides, Supplices, 1110. XXXIII. "They both," i.e. life and wrestling.

XXXVII. "How know we," etc. The Greek means: "how know we whether Telauges were not nobler in

BOOK X XXII. The Greek means, "paltry breath bearing up corpses, so that the tale of Dead Man's Land is

XXII. "The poet" (21) : Euripides, frag. 898 (Nauck); compare Aeschylus, Danaides, frag. 44.

XXXVIII. "Rhetoric" (38): Rather "the gift of speech"; or perhaps the "decree" of the reasoning faculty.

BOOK XI V. "Cithaeron" (6) : Oedipus utters this cry after discovering that he has fulfilled his awful doom,

he was exposed on Cithaeron as an infant to die, and the cry implies that he wishes he had died there.

V. "New Comedy . . .," etc. C. has here strayed from the Greek rather widely. Translate: "and understand to

what end the New Comedy was adopted, which by small degrees degenerated into a mere show of skill in

mimicry." C. writes Comedia Vetus, Media, Nova. XII. "Phocion" (13): When about to be put to death he

XXVIII. " My heart," etc. (31): From Homer, Odyssey ix. 413. "They will" From Hesiod, Opera et Dies, 184.

XXX. "Cut down grapes" (35): Correct "ears of corn." "Epictetus"(36): Arr. 3, 22, 105.

This Glossary includes all proper names (excepting a few which are insignificant or unknown) and all

obsolete or obscure words. ADRIANUS, or Hadrian (76138 A. D.), i4th Roman Emperor.

Antisthenes of Athens, founder of the sect of Cynic philosophers, and an opponent of Plato, 5th century B.C

Antoninus Pius, 15th Roman Emperor, 138161 AD. one of the best princes that ever mounted a throne.

Apathia: the Stoic ideal was calmness in all circumstance an insensibility to pain, and absence of all

BACCHIUS: there Were several persons of this name, and the one meant is perhaps the musician.

Brutus (1) the liberator of the Roman people from their kings, and (2) the murderer of Caesar.

Cato, called of Utica, a Stoic who died by his own hand after the battle of Thapsus, 46 B.C. His name was

Charax, perhaps the priestly historian of that name, whose date is unknown, except that it must be later than

Chrysippus, 280207 B.C., a Stoic philosopher, and the founder of Stoicism as a systematic philosophy.

There were four companies who contracted to provide horses, drivers, etc. These were called Factiones, and

each had its distinguishing colour: russata (red), albata (white), veneta (blue), prasina (green). There was high

Comedy, ancient; a term applied to the Attic comedy of Aristophanes and his time, which criticised persons

Cynics, a school of philosophers, founded by Antisthenes. Their texts were a kind of caricature of

Socraticism. Nothing was good but virtue, nothing bad but vice. The Cynics repudiated all civil and social

claims, and attempted to return to what they called a state of nature. Many of them were very disgusting in

DEMETRIUS of Phalerum, an Athenian orator, statesman, philosopher, and poet. Born 345 B.C.

Democritus of Abdera (460361 B.C.), celebrated as the 'laughing philosopher,' whose constant thought was

Dio of Syracuse, a disciple of Plato, and afterwards tyrant of Syracuse. Murdered 353 B.C.

5th century B.C., a philosopher, who first laid down that there were "four elements." He believed in the

Epictetus, a famous Stoic philosopher. He was of Phrygia, at first a slave, then freedman, lame, poor, and

Epicureans, a sect of philosophers founded by Epicurus, who "combined the physics of Democritus," i.e. the

They proposed to live for happiness, but the word did not bear that coarse and vulgar sense originally which

Lived at Athens in his "gardens," an urbane and kindly, if somewhat useless, life. His character was simple

and temperate, and had none of the vice or indulgence which was afterwards associated with the name of

Fronto, M. Cornelius, a rhetorician and pleader, made consul in 143 A.D. A number of his letters to M, Aur.

Helvidius Priscus, soninlaw of Thrasea Paetus, a noble man and a lover of liberty. He was banished by

Heraclitus of Ephesus, who lived in the 6th century B.C. He wrote on philosophy and natural science.

Hipparchus of Bithynia, an astronomer of the 2nd century B.C., "The true father of astronomy."

Hippocrates of Cos, about 460357 B.C. One of the most famous physicians of antiquity.

IDIOT, means merely the nonproficient in anything, the "layman," he who was not technically trained in

MAECENAS, a trusted adviser of Augustus, and a munificent patron of wits and literary men.

Meteores, ta metewrologika, "high philosophy," used specially of astronomy and natural philosophy, which

Middle Comedy, something midway between the Old and New Comedy. See Comedy, Ancient, and New

Middle things, Book 7, XXV. The Stoics divided all things into virtue, vice, and indifferent things; but as

"indifferent" they regarded most of those things which tbe world regards as good or bad, such as wealth or

Muses, the nine deities who presided over various kinds of poesy, music, etc. Their leader was Apollo, one of

New Comedy, the Attic Comedy of Menander and his school, which criticised not persons but manners, like

Pancratiast, competitor in the pancratium, a combined contest which comprised boxing and wrestling.

Philippus, founder of the Macedonian supremacy, and father of Alexander the Great.

Phocion, an Athenian general and statesman, a noble and highminded man, 4th century B.C.

He was put to death by the State in 317, on a false suspicion, and left a message for his son "to bear no

Plato of Athens, 429347 B.C. He used the dialectic method invented by his master Socrates.

He was, perhaps, as much poet as philosopher. He is generally identified with the Theory of Ideas, that things

are what they are by participation with our eternal Idea. His "Commonwealth" was a kind of Utopia.

Pompeius, C. Pompeius Magnus, a very successful general at the end of the Roman Republic (10648 B.C.).

Pythagoras of Samos, a philosopher, scientist, and moralist of the 6th century B.C.

M. Aurelius carried on war against them, and part of this book was written in the field.

Salaminius, Book 7, XXXVII. Leon of Salamis. Socrates was ordered by the Thirty Tyrants to fetch him

Sceptics, a school of philosophy founded by Pyrrho (4th contury B.C.). He advocated "suspension of

judgment," and taught the relativity of knowledge and impossibility of proof. The school is not unlike the

Scipio, the name of two great soldiers, P. Corn. Scipio Africanus, conqueror of Hannibal, and P.

Corn. Sc. Afr. Minor, who came into the family by adoption, who destroyed Carthage.

Secutoriani (a word coined by C.), the Sececutores, lightarmed gladiators, who were pitted against others

Socrates, an Athenian philosopher (469399 B.C.), founder of the dialectic method. Put to death on a

Stoics, a philosophic system founded,by Zeno (4th century B.C.), and systematised by Chrysippus (3rd

century B.C.). Their physical theory was a pantheistic materialism, their summum bonum "to live according

to nature." Their wise man needs nothing, he is sufficient to himself; virtue is good, vice bad, external things

THEOPHRASTUS, a philosopher, pupil of Aristotle, and his successor as president of the Lyceum. He wrote

Thrasea, P. Thrasea Pactus, a senator and Stoic philosopher, a noble and courageous man.

Tiberius, 2nd Roman Emperor (1431 AD.). He spent the latter part of his life at Capreae (Capri), off Naples,

Vespasian, 9th Roman Emperor XENOCRATES of Chalcedon, 396314 B.C., a philosopher, and president