Meditations of Marcus Aurelius
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THE ELEVENTH BOOK
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 as their end.
A pleasant song or dance; the Pancratiast's exercise,
sports that thou art wont to be much taken with, thou shalt
easily contemn; if the harmonious voice thou shalt divide
into so many particular sounds whereof it doth consist,
and of every one in particular shall ask thyself; whether this
or that sound is it, that doth so conquer thee. For thou wilt
be ashamed of it. And so for shame, if accordingly thou shalt
consider it, every particular motion and posture by itself:
and so for the wrestler's exercise too. Generally then,
whatsoever it be, besides virtue, and those things that proceed
from virtue that thou art subject to be much affected with,
remember presently thus to divide it, and by this kind of division,
in each particular to attain unto the contempt of the whole.
This thou must transfer and apply to thy whole life also.
That soul which is ever ready, even now presently (if need be)
from the body, whether by way of extinction, or dispersion,
or continuation in another place and estate to be separated,
how blessed and happy is it! But this readiness of it, it must proceed,
not from an obstinate and peremptory resolution of the mind,
violently and passionately set upon Opposition, as Christians are wont;
but from a peculiar judgment; with discretion and gravity,
so that others may be persuaded also and drawn to the like example,
but without any noise and passionate exclamations.
Have I done anything charitably? then am I benefited by it.
See that this upon all occasions may present itself unto thy mind,
and never cease to think of it. What is thy profession? to be good.
And how should this be well brought to pass, but by certain
theorems and doctrines; some Concerning the nature of the universe,
and some Concerning the proper and particular constitution of man?
Tragedies were at first brought in and instituted,
to put men in mind of worldly chances and casualties:
that these things in the ordinary course of nature did so happen:
that men that were much pleased and delighted by such accidents
upon this stage, would not by the same things in a greater stage
be grieved and afflicted: for here you see what is the end
of all such things; and that even they that cry out so mournfully
to Cithaeron, must bear them for all their cries and exclamations,
as well as others. And in very truth many good things are spoken
by these poets; as that (for example) is an excellent passage:
'But if so be that I and my two children be neglected by the Gods,
they have some reason even for that,' &c. And again, 'It will but
little avail thee to storm and rage against the things themselves,'
&c. Again, 'To reap one's life, as a ripe ear of corn;'
and whatsoever else is to be found in them, that is of the same kind.
After the tragedy, the ancient 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,' &c. Why, no man denies,
but that these also have some good things whereof that may be one:
but the whole drift and foundation of that kind of dramatical poetry,
what is it else, but as we have said?
How clearly doth it appear unto thee, that no other course
of thy life could fit a true philosopher's practice better,
than this very course, that thou art now already in?
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.
To grow together like fellow branches in matter of good
correspondence and affection; but not in matter of opinions.
They that shall oppose thee in thy right courses, as it is not
in their power to divert thee from thy good action, so neither
let it be to divert thee from thy good affection towards them.
But be it thy care to keep thyself constant in both; both in a
right judgment and action, and in true meekness towards them,
that either shall do their endeavour to hinder thee, or at
least will be displeased with thee for what thou hast done.
For to fail in either (either in the one to give over for fear,
or in the other to forsake thy natural affection towards him,
who by nature is both thy friend and thy kinsman) is equally base,
and much savouring of the disposition of a cowardly fugitive soldier.
It is not possible that any nature should be inferior
unto art, since that all arts imitate nature. If this be so;
that the most perfect and general nature of all natures should in
her operation come short of the skill of arts, is most improbable.
Now common is it to all arts, to make that which is worse
for the better's sake. Much more then doth the common
nature do the same. Hence is the first ground of justice.
From justice all other virtues have their existence.
For justice cannot be preserved, if either we settle our minds
and affections upon worldly things; or be apt to be deceived,
or rash, and inconstant.
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.
Will any contemn me? let him look to that, upon what grounds
he does it: my care shall be that I may never be found either
doing or speaking anything that doth truly deserve contempt.
Will any hate me? let him look to that. I for my part will be kind
and loving unto all, and even unto him that hates me, whom-soever he be,
will I be ready to show his error, not by way of exprobation
or ostentation of my patience, but ingenuously and meekly:
such as was that famous Phocion, if so be that he did not dissemble.
For it is inwardly that these things must be: that the Gods
who look inwardly, and not upon the outward appearance,
may behold a man truly free from all indignation and grief.
For what hurt can it be unto thee whatsoever any man else doth,
as long as thou mayest do that which is proper and suitable to thine
own nature? Wilt not thou (a man wholly appointed to be both what,
and as the common good shall require) accept of that which is now
seasonable to the nature of the universe? XIII. They contemn
one another, and yet they seek to please one another: and whilest
they seek to surpass one another in worldly pomp and greatness,
they most debase and prostitute themselves in their better part
one to another.
How rotten and insincere is he, that saith, I am resolved to carry
myself hereafter towards you with all ingenuity and simplicity.
O man, what doest thou mean! what needs this profession of thine?
the thing itself will show it. It ought to be written upon thy forehead.
No sooner thy voice is heard, than thy countenance must be able
to show what is in thy mind: even as he that is loved knows
presently by the looks of his sweetheart what is in her mind.
Such must he be for all the world, that is truly simple and good,
as he whose arm-holes are offensive, that whosoever stands by,
as soon as ever he comes near him, may as it were smell him whether
he will or no. But the affectation of simplicity is nowise laudable.
There is nothing more shameful than perfidious friendship.
Above all things, that must be avoided. However true goodness,
simplicity, and kindness cannot so be hidden, but that as we have already
said in the very eyes and countenance they will show themselves.
To live happily is an inward power of the soul, when she is
affected with indifferency, towards those things that are by their
nature indifferent. To be thus affected she must consider all worldly
objects both divided and whole: remembering withal that no object
can of itself beget any opinion in us, neither can come to us,
but stands without still and quiet; but that we ourselves beget,
and as it were print in ourselves opinions concerning them.
Now it is in our power, not to print them; and if they creep
in and lurk in some corner, it is in our power to wipe them off.
Remembering moreover, that this care and circumspection of thine,
is to continue but for a while, and then thy life will be at an end.
And what should hinder, but that thou mayest do well with all
these things? For if they be according to nature, rejoice in them,
and let them be pleasing and acceptable unto thee. But if they
be against nature, seek thou that which is according to thine
own nature, and whether it be for thy credit or no, use all possible
speed for the attainment of it: for no man ought to be blamed,
for seeking his own good and happiness.
Of everything thou must consider from whence it came,
of what things it doth consist, and into what it will be changed:
what will be the nature of it, or what it will be like unto when it
is changed; and that it can suffer no hurt by this change.
And as for other men's either foolishness or wickedness,
that it may not trouble and grieve thee; first generally thus;
What reference have I unto these? and that we are all born for one
another's good: then more particularly after another consideration;
as a ram is first in a flock of sheep, and a bull in a herd
of cattle, so am I born to rule over them. Begin yet higher,
even from this: if atoms be not the beginning of all things,
than which to believe nothing can be more absurd, then must we
needs grant that there is a nature, that doth govern the universe.
If such a nature, then are all worse things made for the better's sake;
and all better for one another's sake. Secondly, what manner
of men they be, at board, and upon their beds, and so forth.
But above all things, how they are forced by their opinions
that they hold, to do what they do; and even those things
that they do, with what pride and self-conceit they do them.
Thirdly, that if they do these things rightly, thou hast no reason
to be grieved. But if not rightly, it must needs be that they
do them against their wills, and through mere ignorance.
For as, according to Plato's opinion, no soul doth willingly err,
so by consequent neither doth it anything otherwise than it ought,
but against her will. Therefore are they grieved, whensoever they
hear themselves charged, either of injustice, or unconscionableness,
or covetousness, or in general, of any injurious kind of dealing
towards their neighbours. Fourthly, that thou thyself doest
transgress in many things, and art even such another as they are.
And though perchance thou doest forbear the very act of some sins,
yet hast thou in thyself an habitual disposition to them, but that
either through fear, or vainglory, or some such other ambitious
foolish respect, thou art restrained. Fifthly, that whether
they have sinned or no, thou doest not understand perfectly.
For many things are done by way of discreet policy;
and generally a man must know many things first, before he be
able truly and judiciously to judge of another man's action.
Sixthly, that whensoever thou doest take on grievously,
or makest great woe, little doest thou remember then that a man's
life is but for a moment of time, and that within a while we
shall all be in our graves. Seventhly, that it is not the sins
and transgressions themselves that trouble us properly; for they
have their existence in their minds and understandings only,
that commit them; but our own opinions concerning those sins.
Remove then, and be content to part with that conceit of thine,
that it is a grievous thing, and thou hast removed thine anger.
But how should I remove it? How? reasoning with thyself that it
is not shameful. For if that which is shameful, be not the only
true evil that is, thou also wilt be driven whilest thou doest
follow the common instinct of nature, to avoid that which is evil,
to commit many unjust things, and to become a thief, and anything,
that will make to the attainment of thy intended worldly ends.
Eighthly, how many things may and do oftentimes follow upon
such fits of anger and grief; far more grievous in themselves,
than those very things which we are so grieved or angry for.
Ninthly, that meekness is a thing unconquerable, if it be true
and natural, and not affected or hypocritical. For how shall
even the most fierce and malicious that thou shalt conceive,
be able to hold on against thee, if thou shalt still continue meek
and loving unto him; and that even at that time, when he is about
to do thee wrong, thou shalt be well disposed, and in good temper,
with all meekness to teach him, and to instruct him better?
As for example; My son, we were not born for this, to hurt
and annoy one another; it will be thy hurt not mine, my son:
and so to show him forcibly and fully, that it is so in very deed:
and that neither bees do it one to another, nor any other creatures
that are naturally sociable. But this thou must do, not scoffingly,
not by way of exprobation, but tenderly without any harshness of words.
Neither must thou do it by way of exercise, or ostentation,
that they that are by and hear thee, may admire thee:
but so always that nobody be privy to it, but himself alone:
yea, though there be more present at the same time.
These nine particular heads, as so many gifts from the Muses,
see that thou remember well: and begin one day, whilest thou art
yet alive, to be a man indeed. But on the other side thou must
take heed, as much to flatter them, as to be angry with them:
for both are equally uncharitable, and equally hurtful.
And in thy passions, take it presently to thy consideration,
that to be angry is not the part of a man, but that to be meek
and gentle, as it savours of more humanity, so of more manhood.
That in this, there is strength and nerves, or vigour and fortitude:
whereof anger and indignation is altogether void. For the nearer
everything is unto unpassionateness, the nearer it is unto power.
And as grief doth proceed from weakness, so doth anger.
For both, both he that is angry and that grieveth, have received
a wound, and cowardly have as it were yielded themselves unto
their affections. If thou wilt have a tenth also, receive this
tenth gift from Hercules the guide and leader of the Muses:
that is a mad man's part, to look that there should be no wicked
men in the world, because it is impossible. Now for a man to
brook well enough, that there should be wicked men in the world,
but not to endure that any should transgress against himself,
is against all equity, and indeed tyrannical.
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.
He that hath not one and the self-same general end always as long as
he liveth, cannot possibly be one and the self-same man always. But this
will not suffice except thou add also what ought to be this general end.
For as the general conceit and apprehension of all those things which
upon no certain ground are by the greater part of men deemed good,
cannot be uniform and agreeable, but that only which is limited and
restrained by some certain proprieties and conditions, as of community:
that nothing be conceived good, which is not commonly and publicly good:
so must the end also that we propose unto ourselves, be common
and sociable. For he that doth direct all his own private motions
and purposes to that end, all his actions will be agreeable and uniform;
and by that means will be still the same man.
Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse,
and the great fright and terror that this was put into.
Socrates was wont to call the common conceits and opinions of men,
the common bugbears of the world : the proper terror of silly children.
The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont
to appoint seats and forms for their strangers in the shadow,
they themselves were content to sit anywhere.
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.
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.
In matter of writing or reading thou must needs be taught
before thou can do either: much more in matter of life.
'For thou art born a mere slave, to thy senses and brutish affections;'
destitute without teaching of all true knowledge and sound reason.
'My heart smiled within me.' 'They will accuse even
virtue herself; with heinous and opprobrious words.'
As they that long after figs in winter when they cannot be had;
so are they that long after children, before they be granted them.
'As often as a father kisseth his child, he should say secretly
with himself' (said Epictetus,) 'tomorrow perchance shall he die.'
But these words be ominous. No words ominous (said he)
that signify anything that is natural: in very truth and deed not
more ominous than this, 'to cut down grapes when they are ripe.'
Green grapes, ripe grapes, dried grapes, or raisins:
so many changes and mutations of one thing, not into that which was
not absolutely, but rather so many several changes and mutations,
not into that which hath no being at all, but into that which is
not yet in being.
'Of the free will there is no thief or robber:'
out of Epictetus; Whose is this also: that we should find a certain
art and method of assenting; and that we should always observe
with great care and heed the inclinations of our minds, that they may
always be with their due restraint and reservation, always charitable,
and according to the true worth of every present object.
And as for earnest longing, that we should altogether avoid it:
and to use averseness in those things only, that wholly depend of
our own wills. It is not about ordinary petty matters, believe it,
that all our strife and contention is, but whether, with the vulgar,
we should be mad, or by the help of philosophy wise and sober,
said he. XXXII. Socrates said, 'What will you have? the souls
of reasonable, or unreasonable creatures? Of reasonable. But what?
Of those whose reason is sound and perfect? or of those whose reason
is vitiated and corrupted? Of those whose reason is sound and perfect.
Why then labour ye not for such? Because we have them already.
What then do ye so strive and contend between you?'