Book Six

The substance of the Whole is docile and pliant; and the reason that governs it has in itself no cause to do evil, for it has no malice, nor does it do anything ill, nor is anything harmed by it. By it all things come to be and are brought to their end.

Let it make no difference to you whether you do what is fitting while cold or while warm, drowsy or with sleep enough, ill spoken of or praised, dying or busy with some other thing; for this too, by which we die, is one of the acts of life; and so it is enough, in this too, to make good use of the present.

Look within. Let neither the peculiar quality nor the worth of anything escape you.

All the things that lie before us will very soon change: either they will be exhaled into vapour, if substance is one, or they will be scattered abroad.

The governing reason knows how it is disposed, and what it does, and upon what material.

The best way to avenge yourself is not to become like the wrongdoer.

Delight in one thing and rest in it: to pass from one act done for the common good to another act done for the common good, with the remembrance of God.

The ruling faculty is that which rouses and turns itself, and makes itself such as it wills, and makes everything that befalls appear to itself such as it wills.

According to the Nature of the Whole each thing is brought to pass; for not according to any other nature, whether one that encloses from without, or is enclosed within, or hangs detached outside.

Either a medley, a tangle, and a scattering, or a unity, an order, and a providence. If, then, the former, why should I even wish to dwell in such a chance jumble and confusion? Why should I care for anything but how at last I am to "become earth"? Why should I be troubled? For the scattering will come upon me whatever I do. But if the latter is true, then I revere, I stand firm, and I take courage in him who governs.

Whenever you are forced, as it were, to be disturbed by your surroundings, return swiftly into yourself, and do not lose the rhythm more than you must; for you will be the more master of the harmony by continually returning to it.

If you had at once a stepmother and a mother, you would pay your duty to the one, and yet your return to your mother would be constant. So now the court is your stepmother, and philosophy your mother. Return often to her, and rest in her, by whose help the things at court seem bearable to you, and you bearable in them.

As when one forms an impression of meats and such-like foods, that this is the corpse of a fish, that the corpse of a bird or a pig; and again, that Falernian wine is the mere juice of a cluster of grapes, and the purple-bordered robe sheep's hair dipped in the blood of a shellfish; and of the act of generation, that it is the rubbing together of entrails and, with a kind of spasm, the discharge of mucus — such impressions as these, that reach the very things themselves and pass through them, so that one sees what they really are: thus must you do through the whole of life, and where things present themselves as too worthy of trust, lay them bare, behold their cheapness, and strip away the story on which they pride themselves. For vanity is a terrible sophist, and when you think yourself most engaged on serious matters, then most of all are you bewitched. See, at all events, what Crates says of Xenocrates himself.

Most of the things the multitude admire come under the most general heads — those things held together by mere cohesion or by nature: stones, wood, fig-trees, vines, olives. Those that men a little more moderate admire come under things held together by a soul: flocks, herds. The things admired by men still more refined come under what is held together by a rational soul — not, however, the universal one, but in so far as it is skilled in some art, or otherwise clever, or merely owns a multitude of slaves. But he who honours the rational, universal, and social soul gives no further heed to the rest, and above all keeps his own soul rational and social in its disposition and its motions, and works together with his kind toward this end.

Some things hasten to come into being, others hasten to have been; and of that which is coming to be, some part is already quenched. Flowings and changes continually renew the universe, just as the unceasing course of time makes the infinite age forever new. In this river, then, what among the things rushing past could a man prize, on which there is no standing still? It is as if one began to love one of the little sparrows flitting by, when already it is gone out of sight. Such, indeed, is the very life of each of us, like the exhalation from the blood and the drawing of breath from the air. For just as it is to draw in the air once and give it back, which we do every moment, so it is to give back, there whence you first drew it, the whole power of breathing, which yesterday or the day before you acquired at birth.

It is not the breathing-out, as in plants, that is precious, nor the breathing of cattle and wild beasts, nor the being stamped by impressions, nor the being jerked by impulse like a puppet, nor the herding together, nor the taking of food — for this is like the discharging of the refuse of food. What, then, is precious? To be applauded? No. Then neither to be applauded by tongues; for the praises of the many are an applause of tongues. So you have given up that little fame too. What is left that is precious? This, I think: to be moved and held in check according to one's own constitution, the end to which both occupations and arts lead. For every art aims at this, that the thing it fashions be fitted for the work for which it was fashioned; this the planter and the keeper of the vine seek, this the horse-breaker and the keeper of the dog. And the training of children, and the teaching of them — to what do they hasten? Here, then, is the precious thing; and if this is well with you, you will not procure for yourself any of the rest. Will you not cease to honour many other things besides? Then you will be neither free, nor self-sufficient, nor free from passion; for you must needs envy, be jealous, suspect those able to take such things away, and plot against those who have what you prize. In short, he who lacks any of these things must be in confusion, and moreover often find fault with the gods. But reverence and honour for your own mind will make you pleasing to yourself, well attuned to your fellows, and in harmony with the gods — that is, praising all that they apportion and ordain.

Up, down, and round in a circle move the elements; but the motion of virtue is in none of these: it is something more divine, and, advancing by a way hard to trace, it journeys well.

What a thing they do! They are unwilling to praise the men who live in the same age and in their own company, yet they set great store by being praised themselves by men who come after, whom they have never seen and never will. This is near to grieving that men of former times did not utter words of praise about you.

Do not, if a thing is hard for you to accomplish, suppose it therefore impossible for man; but if anything is possible for man and proper to him, count it attainable by you as well.

In the wrestling-ground someone has scratched us with his nails, or, dashing his head against us, has dealt us a blow; yet we do not brand him, nor take offence, nor suspect him thereafter as a plotter. We do, indeed, keep clear of him, yet not as an enemy, nor with suspicion, but with a good-natured avoidance. Let it be so in the other parts of life too: let us overlook many things in those who are, as it were, our fellow-wrestlers. For it is possible, as I said, to avoid them, and neither to suspect nor to hate.

If anyone can prove to me, and bring it home, that I think or act wrongly, I will gladly change; for I seek the truth, by which no one was ever harmed. But he is harmed who persists in his own deceit and ignorance.

I do my own duty; the other things do not distract me; for they are either lifeless, or irrational, or have lost their way and are ignorant of the road.

With irrational creatures and with things and objects in general, deal generously and freely, as one having reason with things that have none; but with men, as having reason, deal in the spirit of fellowship. And in everything call upon the gods. And do not concern yourself how long you will do these things; three hours of such living are enough.

Alexander of Macedon and his muleteer, when they died, came to the same state; for either they were taken back into the same generative principles of the universe, or they were alike scattered into the atoms.

Consider how many things, in the same instant of time, happen at once in each of us, both of the body and of the soul; and so you will not wonder if far more things — nay, all the things that come to pass — subsist together in that one and all-embracing whole which we call the universe.

If someone puts to you how the name "Antoninus" is written, will you, with straining, force out each of the letters? What, then, if they grow angry — will you grow angry in return? Will you not go on quietly and number off each of the letters? So here too remember that every duty is made up of certain numbered parts. These you must observe, and, without being disturbed or showing ill humour in return to those who show it, carry through methodically the task before you.

How cruel it is not to allow men to strive after what appears to them their own and to their advantage. And yet in a way you do not allow them to do this when you are vexed that they go wrong; for they are surely borne along as toward their own and their advantage. "But it is not so." Then teach them, and show them, without being vexed.

Death is a rest from the resistance of the senses, from the jerking of impulse like a puppet, from the wandering of thought, and from service to the flesh.

It is shameful that, in a life where the body does not give out, the soul should give out first.

See that you are not made a Caesar, that you are not dyed with that dye; for it happens. Keep yourself, then, simple, good, sincere, dignified, unaffected, a friend of justice, reverent of the gods, kindly, full of affection, strong for the works that are fitting. Strive to remain such as philosophy wished to make you. Reverence the gods, preserve men. Life is short; the one fruit of earthly life is a holy disposition and acts done for the common good. In all things a disciple of Antoninus: his vigour in all that was done according to reason, his evenness everywhere, his holiness, the serenity of his countenance, his sweetness, his contempt of empty fame, his earnestness to grasp the truth of things; how he would never let anything pass without first looking well into it and clearly understanding it; how he bore with those who blamed him unjustly, without blaming them in return; how he hastened at nothing; how he gave no ear to slander; how exact an examiner he was of characters and actions, yet no reviler, not easily startled, not suspicious, no sophist; how content he was with little, in lodging, bed, dress, food, attendance; how laborious and long-suffering; how able to stay at the same task till evening, his frugal diet not even requiring him to relieve himself before the usual hour; the constancy and sameness of his friendships; how he bore with those who freely opposed his opinions, and was glad if anyone showed him something better; and how he was reverent of the gods without superstition. Strive thus, that the last hour may find you with as good a conscience as it found him.

Become sober again, and call yourself back; and when you have shaken off sleep and perceived that they were dreams that troubled you, look once more, awake now, on these things as you looked on those.

I am composed of a poor body and a soul. To the body all things are indifferent, for it cannot make distinctions. To the mind those things are indifferent that are not its own activities; and all that are its own activities are in its power. Yet even of these it concerns itself only with the present; for its future and past activities are themselves indifferent now.

Pain is no thing contrary to nature for the hand or the foot, so long as the foot does the work of a foot and the hand the work of a hand. So neither is pain contrary to nature for a man, as man, so long as he does the work of a man. And if it is not contrary to nature for him, neither is it an evil to him.

What great pleasures robbers, perverts, parricides, and tyrants have enjoyed!

Do you not see how the handicraftsmen accommodate themselves up to a point to the layman, yet none the less hold fast to the principle of their craft and cannot bear to depart from it? Is it not strange, then, that the builder and the physician should reverence the principle of their own art more than a man reverences his own — that reason which he shares with the gods?

Asia, Europe, are corners of the universe; every sea, a drop of the universe; Athos, a little clod of the universe; all the present, a point in eternity. Everything is small, ever-changing, vanishing away. All things come from there, having set out from that common ruling power, either directly or by consequence. And so the gaping jaws of the lion, and the poison, and every evil-doing — like a thorn, like mire — are by-products of those venerable and beautiful things. Do not, then, imagine them alien to that which you revere, but reflect upon the source of all things.

He who has seen the present has seen all things, both all that came to be from everlasting and all that shall be to infinity; for all things are of one kind and one form.

Reflect often on the connection of all things in the universe, and their relation to one another. For in a manner all things are interwoven with one another, and so all are dear to one another; for one thing follows in order upon another, by reason of the tension of movement, the common breath, and the unity of substance.

Fit yourself to the things with which your lot has been cast; and the men among whom your lot has fallen, love them, but truly.

Every instrument, tool, and vessel is in good case if it does the thing for which it was made; and there the maker is not present. But in the things held together by nature, the power that made them is within and abides; wherefore you must the more reverence it, and believe that, if you live and conduct yourself according to its will, you have all things to your mind. So too the Whole has its own things to its mind.

Whatever among the things not subject to your choice you have set up for yourself as good or evil, of necessity, on the befalling of such an evil or the failing of such a good, you will blame the gods and hate the men who are the cause, or are suspected of being about to be the cause, of the failing or the befalling; and indeed we do much wrong through our concern for these things. But if we judge those things alone to be good and evil that are in our own power, there remains no cause either to charge against God or to stand toward a man in the posture of an enemy.

We all work together toward one accomplishment, some knowingly and with understanding, others without knowing it — just as Heraclitus, I think, says that even those who sleep are workers and fellow-labourers in what comes to pass in the universe. One man works together in one way, another in another; and beyond measure even the man who finds fault and tries to oppose and undo what comes to pass; for the universe had need even of such a one. It remains, then, to understand among which you rank yourself; for he who governs the whole will in any case make good use of you, and receive you as one part of the labourers and fellow-workers. But do not be such a part as the mean and ridiculous verse in the play, of which Chrysippus makes mention.

Does the sun claim to do the work of the rain? Or Asclepius the work of the Fruit-bearer? And what of each of the stars? Are they not different, yet working together toward the same end?

If, then, the gods took counsel about me and about what should befall me, they took good counsel; for it is not easy even to conceive of a god without counsel, and for what cause should they be moved to do me harm? What advantage would come of this to them, or to the common good, of which above all they take forethought? But if they took no counsel about me in particular, yet about the common good they certainly took counsel; and the things that befall me by consequence of that I ought to welcome and to love. But if, after all, they take counsel about nothing — which it is not holy to believe; and if not, let us neither sacrifice, nor pray, nor swear by them, nor do the other things we do at every turn as toward gods present and living among us — but if, after all, they take counsel about none of our concerns, then it is in my power to take counsel about myself, and my inquiry is into what is advantageous. And that is advantageous to each which accords with his own constitution and nature; and my nature is rational and social. My city and country, as Antoninus, is Rome; as a man, it is the universe. The things, then, that are of benefit to these cities are alone good for me.

Whatever befalls each man is of benefit to the Whole; that would suffice. But further you will observe, as a general rule, if you watch closely, that whatever benefits one man benefits other men too. But here let "benefit" be taken in the more common sense, as applied to things indifferent.

As the shows in the amphitheatre and such places weary you, being always the same to behold, and the sameness makes the spectacle cloying, so it is with the whole of life; for all things, up and down, are the same and from the same. How long, then?

Reflect continually on all kinds of men, of all kinds of pursuits and of every sort of nation, who have died — so that you come down even to Philistion, Phoebus, and Origanion. Pass now to the other tribes. Thither we too must change our place — where so many mighty orators, so many grave philosophers, Heraclitus, Pythagoras, Socrates; so many heroes of old, and so many later generals and tyrants; and besides these Eudoxus, Hipparchus, Archimedes, and other keen, high-minded, laborious, cunning, and self-willed natures, mockers of the very mortal and fleeting life of men, such as Menippus and the like. Of all these reflect that they have long been laid low. What harm, then, is this to them? And what to those not even named at all? One thing here is worth much: to pass one's life in truth and justice, kindly toward the liars and the unjust.

When you wish to gladden yourself, think on the good qualities of those who live with you: in one the energy, in another the modesty, in another the openness of hand, in another something else. For nothing so gladdens as the likenesses of the virtues shining forth in the characters of those who live with us, and meeting together, so far as may be. Therefore one must keep them ready to hand.

Are you discontented that you weigh so many pounds and not three hundred? So too be content that you must live so many years and no more; for as you are content with the measure of substance allotted to you, so be content also in the matter of time.

Try to persuade them; but act even against their will, when the principle of justice so leads. If, however, anyone resists you with force, betake yourself to contentment and freedom from distress, and use the hindrance for the exercise of another virtue; and remember that you set out with a reservation, and were not aiming at the impossible. At what, then? At an impulse of a certain kind. And this you attain; the things for the sake of which we were set in motion do come to pass.

The lover of fame supposes another's activity to be his own good; the lover of pleasure, his own sensation; but the man of understanding, his own action.

It is in your power to hold no opinion about a thing, and so not to be troubled in your soul; for things themselves have no natural power to form our judgments.

Accustom yourself to attend closely to what another says, and as far as possible enter into the soul of the speaker.

What is not of benefit to the swarm is not of benefit to the bee either.

If the sailors spoke ill of the helmsman, or the sick of the physician, would they give heed to anyone else than how he might bring about the safety of the crew or the health of those under his care?

How many, with whom I came into the world, have already departed from it!

To the jaundiced honey seems bitter, and to one bitten by a mad dog water is a thing of terror, and to children the little ball is fine. Why, then, am I angry? Do you think a false opinion has less force than the bile in the jaundiced or the venom in the man bitten by a mad dog?

No one will hinder you from living according to the reason of your own nature; and nothing will befall you contrary to the reason of the common nature.

What manner of men are those whom they wish to please, and for what ends, and by what kind of actions! How swiftly will eternity cover all things, and how many it has covered already!