Meditations
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 either city or citizen.
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 spring-time 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, ἀξιοπίστως, 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 thou doest.
XXXVIII. Remember, that that which sets a man at work, and hath power
over the affections to draw them either one way, or the other way, is
not any external thing properly, but that which is hidden within every
man's dogmata, and opinions: That, that is rhetoric; that is life; that
(to speak true) is man himself. As for thy body, which as a vessel, or
a case, compasseth thee about, and the many and curious instruments
that it hath annexed unto it, let them not trouble thy thoughts. For
of themselves they are but as a carpenter's axe, but that they are born
with us, and naturally sticking unto us. But otherwise, without the
inward cause that hath power to move them, and to restrain them, those
parts are of themselves of no more use unto us, than the shuttle is
of itself to the weaver, or the pen to the writer, or the whip to the
coachman.
THE ELEVENTH BOOK
I. The natural properties, and privileges of a reasonable soul are: That
she seeth herself; that she can order, and compose herself: that
she makes herself as she will herself: that she reaps her own fruits
whatsoever, whereas plants, trees, unreasonable creatures, what fruit
soever (be it either fruit properly, or analogically only) they bear,
they bear them unto others, and not to themselves. Again; whensoever,
and wheresoever, sooner or later, her life doth end, she hath her own
end nevertheless. For it is not with her, as with dancers and players,
who if they be interrupted in any part of their action, the whole action
must needs be imperfect: but she in what part of time or action soever
she be surprised, can make that which she hath in her hand whatsoever it
be, complete and full, so that she may depart with that comfort, 'I have
lived; neither want I anything of that which properly did belong unto
me.' Again, she compasseth the whole world, and penetrateth into the
vanity, and mere outside (wanting substance and solidity) of it, and
stretcheth herself unto the infiniteness of eternity; and the revolution
or restoration of all things after a certain period of time, to the same
state and place as before, she fetcheth about, and doth comprehend in
herself; and considers withal, and sees clearly this, that neither they
that shall follow us, shall see any new thing, that we have not seen,
nor they that went before, anything more than we: but that he that is
once come to forty (if he have any wit at all) can in a manner (for
that they are all of one kind) see all things, both past and future. As
proper is it, and natural to the soul of man to love her neighbour, to
be true and modest; and to regard nothing so much as herself: which is
also the property of the law: whereby by the way it appears, that sound
reason and justice comes all to one, and therefore that justice is the
chief thing, that reasonable creatures ought to propose unto themselves
as their end.
II. A pleasant song or dance; the Pancratiast's exercise, sports that
thou art wont to be much taken with, thou shalt easily contemn; if
the harmonious voice thou shalt divide into so many particular sounds
whereof it doth consist, and of every one in particular shall ask
thyself; whether this or that sound is it, that doth so conquer thee.
For thou wilt be ashamed of it. And so for shame, if accordingly thou
shalt consider it, every particular motion and posture by itself: and
so for the wrestler's exercise too. Generally then, whatsoever it be,
besides virtue, and those things that proceed from virtue that thou art
subject to be much affected with, remember presently thus to divide
it, and by this kind of division, in each particular to attain unto the
contempt of the whole. This thou must transfer and apply to thy whole
life also.
III. That soul which is ever ready, even now presently (if need be) from
the body, whether by way of extinction, or dispersion, or continuation
in another place and estate to be separated, how blessed and happy is
it! But this readiness of it, it must proceed, not from an obstinate and
peremptory resolution of the mind, violently and passionately set upon
Opposition, as Christians are wont; but from a peculiar judgment; with
discretion and gravity, so that others may be persuaded also and drawn
to the like example, but without any noise and passionate exclamations.
IV. Have I done anything charitably? then am I benefited by it. See
that this upon all occasions may present itself unto thy mind, and never
cease to think of it. What is thy profession? to be good. And how should
this be well brought to pass, but by certain theorems and doctrines;
some Concerning the nature of the universe, and some Concerning the
proper and particular constitution of man?
V. Tragedies were at first brought in and instituted, to put men in mind
of worldly chances and casualties: that these things in the ordinary
course of nature did so happen: that men that were much pleased and
delighted by such accidents upon this stage, would not by the same
things in a greater stage be grieved and afflicted: for here you see
what is the end of all such things; and that even they that cry out
so mournfully to Cithaeron, must bear them for all their cries and
exclamations, as well as others. And in very truth many good things are
spoken by these poets; as that (for example) is an excellent passage:
'But if so be that I and my two children be neglected by the Gods, they
have some reason even for that,' &c. And again, 'It will but little
avail thee to storm and rage against the things themselves,' &c. Again,
'To reap one's life, as a ripe ear of corn;' and whatsoever else is
to be found in them, that is of the same kind. After the tragedy, the
ancient comedy was brought in, which had the liberty to inveigh against