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Marcus Aurelius >> Meditations
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XXVIII. Those words which once were common and ordinary,
are now become obscure and obsolete; and so the names of men once
commonly known and famous, are now become in a manner obscure
and obsolete names. Camillus, Cieso, Volesius, Leonnatus;
not long after, Scipio, Cato, then Augustus, then Adrianus,
then Antoninus Pius: all these in a short time will be out of date,
and, as things of another world as it were, become fabulous.
And this I say of them, who once shined as the wonders of
their ages, for as for the rest, no sooner are they expired,
than with them all their fame and memory. And what is it then
that shall always be remembered? all is vanity. What is it that we
must bestow our care and diligence upon? even upon this only:
that our minds and wills be just; that our actions be charitable;
that our speech be never deceitful, or that our understanding
be not subject to error; that our inclination be always set
to embrace whatsoever shall happen unto us, as necessary,
as usual, as ordinary, as flowing from such a beginning, and such
a fountain, from which both thou thyself and all things are.
Willingly therefore, and wholly surrender up thyself unto
that fatal concatenation, yielding up thyself unto the fates,
to be disposed of at their pleasure.
XXIX. Whatsoever is now present, and from day to day hath its existence;
all objects of memories, and the minds and memories themselves,
incessantly consider, all things that are, have their being by change
and alteration. Use thyself therefore often to meditate upon this,
that the nature of the universe delights in nothing more, than in
altering those things that are, and in making others like unto them.
So that we may say, that whatsoever is, is but as it were the seed
of that which shall be. For if thou think that that only is seed,
which either the earth or the womb receiveth, thou art very simple.
XXX. Thou art now ready to die, and yet hast thou not
attained to that perfect simplicity: thou art yet subject
to many troubles and perturbations; not yet free from all
fear and suspicion of external accidents; nor yet either
so meekly disposed towards all men, as thou shouldest;
or so affected as one, whose only study and only wisdom is,
to be just in all his actions. XXXI. Behold and observe,
what is the state of their rational part; and those that the world
doth account wise, see what things they fly and are afraid of;
and what things they hunt after.
XXXII. In another man's mind and understanding thy evil Cannot subsist,
nor in any proper temper or distemper of the natural constitution
of thy body, which is but as it were the coat or cottage of thy soul.
Wherein then, but in that part of thee, wherein the conceit,
and apprehension of any misery can subsist? Let not that part
therefore admit any such conceit, and then all is well.
Though thy body which is so near it should either be cut or burnt,
or suffer any corruption or putrefaction, yet let that part
to which it belongs to judge of these, be still at rest; that is,
let her judge this, that whatsoever it is, that equally may happen
to a wicked man, and to a good man, is neither good nor evil.
For that which happens equally to him that lives according to nature,
and to him that doth not, is neither according to nature, nor against it;
and by consequent, neither good nor bad.
XXXIII. Ever consider and think upon the world as being but one
living substance, and having but one soul, and how all things
in the world, are terminated into one sensitive power; and are done
by one general motion as it were, and deliberation of that one soul;
and how all things that are, concur in the cause of one another's being,
and by what manner of connection and concatenation all things happen.
XXXIV. What art thou, that better and divine part excepted,
but as Epictetus said well, a wretched soul, appointed to carry
a carcass up and down?
XXXV. To suffer change can be no hurt; as no benefit
it is, by change to attain to being. The age and time
of the world is as it were a flood and swift current,
consisting of the things that are brought to pass in the world.
For as soon as anything hath appeared, and is passed away,
another succeeds, and that also will presently out of sight.
XXXVI. Whatsoever doth happen in the world, is, in the course of nature,
as usual and ordinary as a rose in the spring, and fruit in summer.
Of the same nature is sickness and death; slander, and lying in wait,
and whatsoever else ordinarily doth unto fools use to be occasion
either of joy or sorrow. That, whatsoever it is, that comes after,
doth always very naturally, and as it were familiarly, follow upon
that which was before. For thou must consider the things of the world,
not as a loose independent number, consisting merely of necessary events;
but as a discreet connection of things orderly and harmoniously disposed.
There is then to be seen in the things of the world, not a bare
succession, but an admirable correspondence and affinity.
XXXVII. Let that of Heraclitus never be out of thy mind,
that the death of earth, is water, and the death of water, is air;
and the death of air, is fire; and so on the contrary. Remember him
also who was ignorant whither the way did lead, and how that reason
being the thing by which all things in the world are administered,
and which men are continually and most inwardly conversant with:
yet is the thing, which ordinarily they are most in opposition with,
and how those things which daily happen among them, cease not daily
to be strange unto them, and that we should not either speak,
or do anything as men in their sleep, by opinion and bare imagination:
for then we think we speak and do, and that we must not be as children,
who follow their father's example; for best reason alleging their bare
successive tradition from our forefathers we have received it.
XXXVIII. Even as if any of the gods should tell thee,
Thou shalt certainly die to-morrow, or next day, thou wouldst not,
except thou wert extremely base and pusillanimous, take it for a
great benefit, rather to die the next day after, than to-morrow;
(for alas, what is the difference!) so, for the same reason,
think it no great matter to die rather many years after,
than the very next day.
XXXIX. Let it be thy perpetual meditation, how many physicians who once
looked so grim, and so 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 itself stands,
and about it are those swelling waves stilled and quieted.
XLI. Oh, wretched I, to whom this mischance is happened! nay, happy I,
to whom this thing being happened, I can continue without grief; neither
wounded by that which is present, nor in fear of that which is to come.
For as for this, it might have happened unto any man, but any man having
such a thing befallen him, could not have continued without grief.
Why then should that rather be an unhappiness, than this a happiness?
But however, canst thou, 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,
and that which liveth three ages?
XLIII. Let thy course ever be the most compendious way.
The most compendious, is that which is according to nature:
that is, in all both words and deeds, ever to follow that which
is most sound and perfect. For such a resolution will free
a man from all trouble, strife, dissembling, and ostentation
THE FIFTH BOOK
I. In the morning when thou findest thyself unwilling to rise,
consider with thyself presently, it is to go about a man's work
that I am stirred up. Am I then yet unwilling to go about that,
for which I myself was born and brought forth into this world?
Or was I made for this, to lay me down, and make much of myself
in a warm bed? 'O but this is pleasing.' And was it then
for this that thou wert born, that thou mightest enjoy pleasure?
Was it not in very truth for this, that thou mightest always
be busy and in action? Seest thou not how all things in the
world besides, how every tree md plant, how sparrows and ants,
spiders and bees: how all in their kind are intent as it were
orderly to perform whatsoever (towards the preservation of this
orderly universe) naturally doth become and belong unto thin?
And wilt not thou do that, which belongs unto a man to do?
Wilt not thou run to do that, which thy nature doth require?
'But thou must have some rest.' Yes, thou must.
Nature hath of that also, as well as of eating and drinking,
allowed thee a certain stint. But thou guest beyond thy stint,
and beyond that which would suffice, and in matter of action,
there thou comest short of that which thou mayest.
It must needs be therefore, that thou dost not love thyself,
for if thou didst, thou wouldst also love thy nature,
and that which thy nature doth propose unto herself as her end.
Others, as many as take pleasure in their trade and profession,
can even pine themselves at their works, and neglect their bodies
and their food for it; and doest thou less honour thy nature,
than an ordinary mechanic his trade; or a good dancer his art?
than a covetous man his silver, and vainglorious man applause?
These to whatsoever they take an affection, can be content to want
their meat and sleep, to further that every one which he affects:
and shall actions tending to the common good of human society,
seem more vile unto thee, or worthy of less respect and intention?
II. How easy a thing is it for a man to put off from him
all turbulent adventitious imaginations, and presently to be
in perfect rest and tranquillity!
III. Think thyself fit and worthy to speak, or to do anything
that is according to nature, and let not the reproach,
or report of some that may ensue upon it, ever deter thee.
If it be right and honest to be spoken or done,
undervalue not thyself so much, as to be discouraged from it.
As for them, they have their own rational over-ruling part,
and their own proper inclination: which thou must not stand
and look about to take notice of, but go on straight, whither both
thine own particular, and the common nature do lead thee;
and the way of both these, is but one.
IV. I continue my course by actions according to nature,
until I fall and cease, breathing out my last breath into
that air, by which continually breathed in I did live;
and falling upon that earth, out of whose gifts and fruits
my father gathered his seed, my mother her blood, and my nurse
her milk, out of which for so many years I have been provided,
both of meat and drink. And lastly, which beareth me that tread
upon it, and beareth with me that so many ways do abuse it,
or so freely make use of it, so many ways to so many ends.
V. No man can admire thee for thy sharp acute language,
such is thy natural disability that way. Be it so:
yet there be many other good things, for the want of
which thou canst not plead the want or natural ability.
Let them be seen in thee, which depend wholly from thee;
sincerity, gravity, laboriousness, contempt of pleasures;
be not querulous, be Content with little, be kind, be free;
avoid all superfluity, all vain prattling; be magnanimous.
Doest not thou perceive, how many things there be,
which notwithstanding any pretence of natural indisposition
and unfitness, thou mightest have performed and exhibited,
and yet still thou doest voluntarily continue drooping downwards?
Or wilt thou say. that it is through defect of thy
natural constitution, that thou art constrained to murmur,
to be base and wretched to flatter; now to accuse,
and now to please, and pacify thy body: to be vainglorious,
to be so giddy-headed., and unsettled in thy thoughts? nay
(witnesses be the Gods) of all these thou mightest have been
rid long ago: only, this thou must have been contented with,
to have borne the blame of one that is somewhat slow and dull.
wherein thou must so exercise thyself, as one who neither doth
much take to heart this his natural defect, nor yet pleaseth
himself in it.
Vi. Such there be, who when they have done a good turn to any,
are ready to set them on the score for it, and to require retaliation.
Others there be, who though they stand not upon retaliation,
to require any, yet they think with themselves nevertheless, that such a
one is their debtor, and they know as their word is what they have done.
Others again there be, who when they have done any such thing,
do not so much as know what they have done; but are like unto the vine,
which beareth her grapes, and when once she hath borne her own
proper fruit, is contented and seeks for no further recompense.
As a horse after a race, and a hunting dog when he hath hunted,
and a bee when she hath made her honey, look not for applause
and commendation; so neither doth that man that rightly doth
understand his own nature when he hath done a good turn:
but from one doth proceed to do another, even as the vine after she hath
once borne fruit in her own proper season, is ready for another time.
Thou therefore must be one of them, who what they do, barely do it without
any further thought, and are in a manner insensible of what they do.
'Nay but,' will some reply perchance, 'this very thing a rational
man is bound unto, to understand what it is, that he doeth.'
For it is the property, say they, of one that is naturally sociable,
to be sensible, that he doth operate sociably: nay, and to desire,
that the party him self that is sociably dealt with, should be
sensible of it too. I answer, That which thou sayest is true indeed,
but the true meaning of that which is said, thou dost not understand.
And therefore art thou one of those first, whom I mentioned.
For they also are led by a probable appearance of reason.
But if thou dost desire to understand truly what it is that is said,
fear not that thou shalt therefore give over any sociable action.
VII. The form of the Athenians' prayer did run thus:
'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 one for himself
in particular alone.
VIII. As we say commonly, The physician hath prescribed unto this
man, riding; unto another, cold baths; unto a third, to go barefoot:
so it is alike to say, The nature of the universe hath prescribed
unto this man sickness, or blindness, or some loss, or damage
or some such thing. For as there, when we say of a physician,
that he hath prescribed anything, our meaning is, that he hath
appointed this for that, as subordinate and conducing to health:
so here, whatsoever doth happen unto any, is ordained unto him
as a thing subordinate unto the fates, and therefore do we
say of such things, that they do happen, or fall together;
as of square stones, when either in walls, or pyramids in a certain
position they fit one another, and agree as it were in an harmony,
the masons say, that they do (sumbainein) as if thou shouldest say,
fall together: so that in the general, though the things be divers
that make it, yet the consent or harmony itself is but one.
And as the whole world is made up of all the particular bodies
of the world, one perfect and complete body, of the same nature that
particular bodies; so is the destiny of particular causes and events
one general one, of the same nature that particular causes are.
What I now say, even they that are mere idiots are not ignorant of:
for they say commonly (touto eferen autw) that is, This his destiny
hath brought upon him. This therefore is by the fates properly
and particularly brought upon this, as that unto this in particular
is by the physician prescribed. These therefore let us accept of in
like manner, as we do those that are prescribed unto us our physicians.
For them also in themselves shall We find to contain many
harsh things, but we nevertheless, in hope of health, and recovery,
accept of them. Let. the fulfilling' and accomplishment of those things
which the common nature bath determined, be unto thee as thy health.
Accept then, and be pleased with whatsoever doth happen,
though otherwise harsh and un-pleasing, as tending to that end,
to the health and welfare of the universe, and to Jove's happiness
and prosperity. For this whatsoever it be, should not have
been produced, had it not conduced to the good of the universe.
For neither doth any ordinary particular nature bring anything
to pass, that is not to whatsoever is within the sphere of its own
proper administration and government agreeable and subordinate.
For these two considerations then thou must be well pleased with
anything that doth happen unto thee. First, because that for thee
properly it was brought to pass, and unto thee it was prescribed;
and that from the very beginning by the series and connection
of the first causes, it hath ever had a reference unto thee.
And secondly, because the good success and perfect welfare,
and indeed the very continuance of Him, that is the Administrator
of the whole, doth in a manner depend on it. For the whole
(because whole, therefore entire and perfect) is maimed, and mutilated,
if thou shalt cut off anything at all, whereby the coherence,
and contiguity as of parts, so of causes, is maintained and preserved.
Of which certain it is, that thou doest (as much as lieth in thee)
cut off, and in some sort violently take somewhat away, as often
as thou art displeased with anything that happeneth.
IX. Be not discontented, be not disheartened, be not out of hope,
if often it succeed not so well with thee punctually and precisely
to do all things according to the right dogmata, but being
once cast off, return unto them again: and as for those many
and more frequent occurrences, either of worldly distractions,
or human infirmities, which as a man thou canst not but in some
measure be subject unto, be not thou discontented with them;
but however, love and affect that only which thou dust return unto:
a philosopher's life, and proper occupation after the most exact manner.
And when thou dust return to thy philosophy, return not unto it
as the manner of some is, after play and liberty as it were,
to their schoolmasters and pedagogues; but as they that have sore
eyes to their sponge and egg: or as another to his cataplasm;
or as others to their fomentations: so shalt not thou make it a matter
of ostentation at all to obey reason but of ease and comfort.
And remember that philosophy requireth nothing of thee, but what
thy nature requireth, and wouldest thou thyself desire anything
that is not according to nature? for which of these sayest thou;
that which is according to nature or against it, is of itself
more kind and pleasing? Is it not for that respect especially,
that pleasure itself is to so many men's hurt and overthrow,
most prevalent, because esteemed commonly most kind, and natural?
But consider well whether magnanimity rather, and true liberty,
and true simplicity, and equanimity, and holiness; whether these be
not most kind and natural? And prudency itself, what more kind
and amiable than it, when thou shalt truly consider with thyself,
what it is through all the proper objects of thy rational
intellectual faculty currently to go on without any fall or stumble?
As for the things of the world, their true nature is in a manner
so involved with obscurity, that unto many philosophers,
and those no mean ones, they seemed altogether incomprehensible.
and the Stoics themselves, though they judge them not
altogether incomprehensible, yet scarce and not without
much difficulty, comprehensible, so that all assent of ours
is fallible, for who is he that is infallible in his conclusions?
>From the nature of things, pass now unto their subjects and matter:
how temporary, how vile are they I such as may be in the power
and possession of some abominable loose liver, of some
common strumpet, of some notorious oppressor and extortioner.
Pass from thence to the dispositions of them that thou doest ordinarily
converse with, how hardly do we bear, even with the most loving
and amiable! that I may not say, how hard it is for us to bear even
with our own selves, in such obscurity, and impurity of things:
in such and so continual a flux both of the substances and time;
both of the motions themselves, and things moved; what it is
that we can fasten upon; either to honour, and respect especially;
or seriously, and studiously to seek after; I cannot so much as conceive
For indeed they are things contrary. X. Thou must comfort thyself
in the expectation of thy natural dissolution, and in the meantime
not grieve at the delay; but rest contented in those two things.
First, that nothing shall happen unto thee, which is not according
to the nature of the universe. Secondly, that it is in thy power,
to do nothing against thine own proper God, and inward spirit.
For it is not in any man's power to constrain thee to transgress
against him. XI. What is the use that now at this present I make
of my soul? Thus from time to time and upon all occasions thou
must put this question to thyself; what is now that part of mine
which they call the rational mistress part, employed about?
Whose soul do I now properly possess? a child's? or a youth's?
a woman's? or a tyrant's? some brute, or some wild beast's soul?
XII. What those things are in themselves, which by the greatest
part are esteemed good, thou mayest gather even from this.
For if a man shall hear things mentioned as good, which are really
good indeed, such as are prudence, temperance, justice, fortitude,
after so much heard and conceived, he cannot endure to hear
of any more, for the word good is properly spoken of them.
But as for those which by the vulgar are esteemed good,
if he shall hear them mentioned as good, he doth hearken for more.
He is well contented to hear, that what is spoken by the comedian,
is but familiarly and popularly spoken, so that even the vulgar
apprehend the difference. For why is it else, that this offends
not and needs not to be excused, when virtues are styled good:
but that which is spoken in commendation of wealth, pleasure,
or honour, we entertain it only as merrily and pleasantly spoken?
Proceed therefore, and inquire further, whether it may not be that
those things also which being mentioned upon the stage were merrily,
and with great applause of the multitude, scoffed at with this jest,
that they that possessed them had not in all the world of their own,
(such was their affluence and plenty) so much as a place
where to avoid their excrements. Whether, I say, those ought
not also in very deed to be much respected, and esteemed of,
as the only things that are truly good.
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