Book Five

At dawn, when you wake unwillingly, let this thought be ready to hand: I am rising to the work of a man. Why then am I out of humour, if I am going to do the things for which I was born, and for which I was brought into the world? Or was I framed for this, to lie warm under the blankets? "But this is more pleasant." Were you made, then, for pleasure — in short, to be acted upon, or to act? Do you not see the little plants, the sparrows, the ants, the spiders, the bees, each doing its own work, each helping in its way to set the universe in order? And you, will you not do the work of a man? Will you not run to that which is according to your nature? "But one must rest as well." One must, I grant; yet nature has set a measure to this, as she has set a measure to eating and drinking; and yet you go beyond the measure, beyond what suffices. In your actions, though, it is no longer so, but you stop short of what you can do. For you do not love yourself; if you did, you would love your nature too, and its will. Other men, who love their crafts, wear themselves out at their tasks, unwashed and unfed; but you honour your own nature less than the engraver honours his engraving, the dancer his dancing, the miser his money, the vainglorious man his little fame. These men, when the passion is on them, would rather not eat or sleep than fail to advance the things they care for; and to you do acts done for the common good seem cheaper, and worth less effort?

How easy it is to thrust away and blot out every disturbing or alien impression, and at once to be in perfect calm.

Judge yourself worthy of every word and deed that is in accordance with nature, and do not let the censure or the talk that follows from certain men distract you; but if it is good to be done or said, do not think yourself unworthy of it. For those men have their own ruling faculty and follow their own impulse; do not look round at these, but go straight on, following your own nature and the common nature; for the way of both is one.

I go forward through the things that are according to nature until I fall and have my rest, breathing out my last into that from which I daily draw breath, and falling upon that from which my father gathered the seed, my mother the blood, my nurse the milk; from which, all these years, I am fed and watered day by day; which bears me as I tread upon it and put it to so many uses.

They cannot admire you for sharpness of wit. Be it so; but there are many other qualities of which you cannot say, "It is not in my nature." Show forth, then, those that are wholly in your power: sincerity, dignity, endurance of toil, indifference to pleasure, contentment with your lot, the need of little, kindness, freedom, plainness, a freedom from idle talk, and largeness of mind. Do you not perceive how many things you are able even now to show forth, for which there is no excuse of natural incapacity or unfitness, and yet you still stay below of your own will? Or are you compelled, by some defect of nature, to grumble, to be grasping, to flatter, to lay the blame on your poor body, to play the toady, to brag, and to toss your soul about so? No, by the gods; you might have been rid of all this long since, and at most been convicted of being a little slow and dull of apprehension. Yet even this you must work at, neither neglecting it nor taking comfort in your sloth.

One man, when he has done another a good turn, is ready also to reckon it to him as a favour owed. Another is not so ready, but still in his own mind counts the man his debtor, and is conscious of what he has done. A third is in a manner not even conscious of what he has done, but is like a vine that has borne its grapes and seeks nothing further once it has yielded its proper fruit. As a horse runs, a hound tracks, a bee makes honey, so a man, when he has done a good deed, does not cry it abroad, but passes on to another, as the vine to bearing its grapes again in season. One must be, then, among those who do this in a manner without being conscious of it. "Yes, but one ought to be conscious of this very thing; for it is proper," they say, "to the man made for fellowship to perceive that he is acting for the fellowship, and, by Zeus, to wish his fellow to perceive it too." What you say is true, but you take the present saying amiss; and for this reason you will be one of those I mentioned before, for they too are led astray by a certain plausibility of reasoning. But if you are willing to understand what is meant, do not fear that you will on this account leave undone any work for the fellowship.

A prayer of the Athenians: "Rain, rain, dear Zeus, upon the ploughland of the Athenians and upon their plains." Either we should not pray at all, or we should pray thus, simply and freely.

Just as the saying goes, "Asclepius prescribed for this man horse-exercise, or cold baths, or going barefoot," so this too may be said: "The Nature of the Whole prescribed for this man disease, or maiming, or loss, or some such thing." For there "prescribed" means something like this: he ordained this for him as suited to his health; and here, what befalls each man has in some way been ordained for him as suited to his destiny. For we say that these things "befit" us, as the masons say that the squared stones in the walls or the pyramids "befit" one another, fitting together in a certain arrangement. For altogether there is one harmony; and just as out of all bodies the universe is made up into such a body, so out of all causes destiny is made up into such a cause. Even the most unlearned understand what I mean; for they say, "This was brought to him." Now if it was brought to him, then it was brought, and it was ordained for him; let us, then, receive these things as we receive what Asclepius ordains. Many of his prescriptions, indeed, are harsh, yet we welcome them in the hope of health. Let the accomplishment and fulfilment of what the common nature judges good seem to you of the same kind as your health; and so welcome all that comes to pass, even if it seem rather cruel, because it leads to that end, to the health of the universe and to the welfare and prosperity of Zeus. For he would not have brought this to anyone, if it were not of benefit to the whole; nor does any nature whatsoever bring anything that is not suited to that which it governs. On two grounds, then, you must love what befalls you: first, because it came to be for you, and was ordained for you, and stood in some relation to you, woven for you from the highest causes; second, because for him who governs the whole it is a cause even of his welfare, of his fulfilment, and indeed of his very continuance — the cause that comes severally to each. For the whole is maimed if you sever anything at all from the connection and continuity, whether of its parts or of its causes; and you sever it, so far as in you lies, whenever you are discontented, and in a manner you destroy it.

Do not feel disgust, nor give up, nor lose heart, if it is not granted you to act in every case from sound principles; but, when struck down, return again, and be glad if the greater part of your acts are worthy of a man, and love that to which you return; and come back to philosophy not as to a schoolmaster, but as the sore-eyed come back to the little sponge and the egg, as another to a plaster, as to a fomentation. For so you will show no parade of obeying reason, but will find rest in it. And remember that philosophy wills only what your own nature wills; but you were willing something else, not according to nature. For what is sweeter than this? Is it not for this that pleasure trips us up? But consider whether magnanimity is not sweeter, and freedom, simplicity, kindness of heart, holiness. For what is sweeter than wisdom itself, when you consider the sureness and the smooth flow, in all things, of the faculty of comprehension and knowledge?

Things are wrapped in such a veil, in a manner, that to not a few philosophers, and those no ordinary men, they have seemed altogether incomprehensible; nay, even to the Stoics themselves they seem hard to comprehend; and our every assent is liable to be reversed — for where is the man who never reverses it? Pass on, then, to the objects themselves, how short-lived and cheap they are, and how they may be in the possession of a catamite, a harlot, or a robber. After this, go on to the characters of those who live with you, of whom even the most agreeable can scarcely be borne — not to say that a man can scarcely bear himself. In such darkness and filth, then, and in so great a flux of substance and time, of motion and of things moved, what there is that can be prized or earnestly pursued at all, I cannot conceive. On the contrary, a man should comfort himself by awaiting the natural dissolution, and not chafe at the delay, but find rest in these two thoughts alone: the one, that nothing will befall me which is not in accordance with the Nature of the Whole; the other, that it is in my power to do nothing contrary to my god and guardian spirit; for there is no one who will compel me to transgress against it.

To what use, then, am I now putting my soul? On every occasion ask yourself this, and examine: what is now in this part of me which they call the ruling faculty, and whose soul have I now? That of a child? Of a youth? Of a weak woman? Of a tyrant? Of a beast of burden? Of a wild beast?

What manner of things those are that pass for good with the many you may gather even from this. For if a man conceived of certain things as truly good — such as wisdom, self-control, justice, courage — then, having first so conceived them, he could not bear to hear the saying "for the abundance of good things," for it would not fit. But of the things that seem good to the many, a man who has first so conceived them will listen, and readily take, as aptly added, the words of the comic poet. So even the many perceive the difference; for otherwise the one saying would not give offence and be rejected, while in the matter of wealth and the good fortunes that minister to luxury or fame we accept it as fittingly and wittily spoken. Go on, then, and ask whether we should honour, and account good, such things, of which, when a man has first conceived them, it could be fittingly added that their possessor, for all his abundance, "has not a place to relieve himself."

I am composed of the causal and the material; and neither of these will perish into nothing, just as neither came into being out of nothing. So every part of me will be assigned, by change, to some part of the universe, and that again will change into another part of the universe, and so on to infinity. By such change I too came into being, and those who begot me, and so back to another infinity. For nothing forbids us to speak thus, even if the universe is governed in finite cycles.

Reason and the rational art are powers sufficient to themselves and to their own works. They set out from their own first principle and travel toward the appointed end; and that is why such actions are called "right actions," signifying the rightness of the road.

None of those things should be called a man's which do not belong to a man as man. They are not required of a man, nor does the nature of man profess them, nor are they perfections of man's nature. Therefore neither is the end set for man placed in them, nor that which completes the end, the good. For if any of them belonged to a man, it would not have belonged to him to despise them and rise above them; nor would the man who makes himself independent of them be praiseworthy; nor would he who stints himself in any of these be good, if these were goods. But as it is, the more a man strips himself of these or such other things, or bears their being taken from him, by so much the more is he good.

Such as are the things you most often picture to yourself, such will your mind be; for the soul is dyed by its impressions. Dye it, then, with a succession of such impressions as these: for instance, that where it is possible to live, there it is also possible to live well; and it is possible to live in a palace; therefore it is also possible to live well in a palace. And again, that each thing is borne toward that for which it was framed; and in that toward which it is borne lies its end; and where its end is, there too lies the advantage and the good of each. Now the good of a rational being is fellowship; for that we are made for fellowship has long since been shown. Or was it not plain that the lower things are for the sake of the higher, and the higher for one another? And living things are higher than the lifeless, and rational beings higher than the rest.

To pursue what is impossible is madness; and it is impossible for the base to do otherwise than such things.

Nothing befalls any man that he is not framed by nature to bear. The same things befall another, and either through not knowing that they have befallen, or in a display of greatness of soul, he stands firm and remains unhurt. It is a shameful thing, then, that ignorance and the wish to please should be stronger than wisdom.

Things themselves touch the soul not at all, nor have they any way into the soul, nor can they turn or move the soul. The soul alone turns and moves itself, and makes the things that present themselves to be such as it deems worthy of itself in its judgments.

In one respect man is the nearest thing to us, in so far as we must do men good and bear with them. But in so far as some of them stand in the way of our proper tasks, man becomes for me one of the things indifferent, no less than the sun, the wind, or a wild beast. By these, indeed, some action of mine might be hindered, but they are no hindrance to my impulse and disposition, because of the reservation and the turning about. For the mind turns about and converts every hindrance to its action into something furthering its purpose, and what stands in the way of the work becomes itself the work, and what blocks the road becomes itself the road.

Honour that which is most excellent in the universe; and this is that which makes use of all things and directs all things. In like manner honour that which is most excellent in yourself; and this is of the same kind as the other. For in you too it is this that makes use of all else, and by this your life is governed.

What is not harmful to the city does not harm the citizen either. On every impression of being harmed apply this rule: if the city is not harmed by it, neither am I harmed; and if the city is harmed, you must not be angry, but show him who harms the city what he has overlooked.

Reflect often on the swiftness with which the things that exist and that come to be are swept by and carried away. For substance is like a river in perpetual flow; the activities are in continual change, and the causes in countless turnings; and there is scarcely anything that stands still, even what is close at hand. And consider, too, the boundless gulf of the past and of the future, in which all things vanish. Is he not, then, a fool who in the midst of all this is puffed up, or distracted, or aggrieved, as though anything could trouble him for any length of time?

Remember the whole of substance, of which you partake a very little; and the whole of time, of which a brief and momentary span has been marked off for you; and destiny, of which how small a part are you?

Does another do wrong against me? He shall see to it; he has his own disposition, his own activity. I have now what the common nature wills me now to have, and I do what my own nature wills me now to do.

Let the ruling and sovereign part of your soul be unmoved by the motions, smooth or rough, in the flesh, and let it not mingle with them, but mark itself off and confine those affections to the parts. But when they are diffused into the mind by that other sympathy, as in a body that is one, then one must not try to resist the sensation, which is natural; only let the ruling faculty not add of itself the opinion that it is good or evil.

"To live with the gods." And he lives with the gods who continually shows them his soul content with what is allotted, and doing all that the guardian spirit wills — that spirit which Zeus has given to each man as his guardian and guide, a fragment of himself. And this is each man's mind and reason.

Are you angry with the man who reeks like a goat, angry with the man whose breath is foul? What will it profit you? He has such a mouth, such armpits; from such things such an exhalation must needs come. "But the man has reason," you say, "and can, if he reflects, perceive wherein he offends." Good luck to you; then you too have reason. Move his rational disposition by your own rational disposition; show him, remind him. For if he hearkens, you will cure him, and there is no need of anger. Neither tragic actor nor harlot.

As you intend to live when you have departed, so it is in your power to live here; but if they do not allow it, then depart from life as well, yet so as to suffer no evil. The room is smoky, and I take my leave; why do you think it a great matter? But while no such thing drives me out, I remain free, and no one will hinder me from doing what I will; and I will what is according to the nature of a rational and social being.

The mind of the whole is made for fellowship. At any rate, it has made the lower things for the sake of the higher, and fitted the higher to one another. You see how it has subordinated, co-ordinated, and given to each its due, and brought the most excellent things into concord with one another.

How have you borne yourself until now toward gods, parents, brothers, wife, children, teachers, those who reared you, friends, kinsmen, servants? Is it true of you, toward all of them until now, that you have never done an outrage to any nor said an evil word? Recall, too, through what you have passed, and what you have found strength to endure; and that the story of your life is now full, and your service complete; and how many fair things you have seen, and how many pleasures and pains you have looked down upon, how many things accounted glorious you have disregarded, and toward how many thankless men you have been kind.

Why do unskilled and ignorant souls confound the skilled and the knowing? And what soul is skilled and knowing? That which knows the beginning and the end, and the reason which pervades all substance and orders the whole through all eternity in appointed cycles.

In a little while you will be ashes or a skeleton, and either a name or not even a name; and the name is a sound and an echo. And the things highly prized in life are empty, rotten, and trifling — little dogs snapping at one another, quarrelsome children, laughing and then straightway weeping. But good faith, and modesty, and justice, and truth have fled "to Olympus from the wide-wayed earth." What, then, still keeps you here, if the objects of sense are ever-changing and unstable, the organs of sense dim and easily misled, the poor soul itself a vapour from the blood, and good repute among such men an empty thing? What then? You will await, serene, whether it be extinction or removal; and until that hour comes, what suffices? What else than to revere and bless the gods, and to do good to men, to bear with them and to forbear; and to remember, of all that lies within the bounds of this poor flesh and breath, that it is neither yours nor in your power?

You can always have a smooth course of life, if you can also keep to the right road — if you can comprehend and act by way of method. These two things are common to the soul of God, and of man, and of every rational being: not to be hindered by another, and to find good in a just disposition and conduct, and there to let desire come to rest.

If this is neither a vice of mine, nor an action proceeding from a vice of mine, nor is the common good harmed, why do I trouble myself about it? And what harm is there to the common good?

Do not be carried away wholesale by the impression. Give help according to your power and as each deserves, even if men are losers in things indifferent; yet do not picture this as a harm; for that is a bad habit. But, as the old man on his departure asked back the foster-child's toy, remembering that it was a toy, so act here too. For indeed, when you take your stand at the rostra — man, have you forgotten what these things were? "Yes; but men are mightily in earnest about them." And will you for that reason be a fool too? I was once, wherever I was overtaken, a man blessed in his lot; but to be blessed in one's lot is to have apportioned to oneself a good lot; and good lots are good turnings of the soul, good impulses, good actions.