The inward retreat

The faculty that rules within, when it is in accordance with nature, is so disposed toward events that it always readily adapts itself to what is possible and what is given it. It requires no particular material, but moves toward its purpose under whatever conditions arise, and it turns whatever opposes it into material for itself—the way fire takes hold of what falls into it, fuel that would have snuffed out a small flame. But when the fire is strong, it quickly makes the material heaped on it its own, consumes it, and rises higher because of that very fuel.

Let no act be done without a purpose, nor otherwise than according to the perfect principles of the art.

People look for places of retreat for themselves—country houses, seashores, mountains—and you too are in the habit of longing for such things above all. But this is a thoroughly unrefined way to think, since it is in your power, whenever you wish, to retire into yourself. Nowhere does a person retire with more peace or freedom from trouble than into his own soul, especially if he has within him the sort of thoughts that let him, by looking into them, immediately find full ease of mind—and by ease of mind I mean nothing other than a well-ordered mind. So constantly give yourself this retreat, and renew yourself there. Keep your principles brief and fundamental, ready so that as soon as you turn to them, they will be enough to scour the soul clean and send you back without resentment toward the things you return to. What is it that you're resentful about? The wickedness of other people? Recall this conclusion: rational beings exist for one another, that bearing with each other is a part of justice, and that people do wrong without meaning to; and think how many now, after mutual hostility, suspicion, hatred, and open conflict, have been laid out dead and turned to ash—and be at peace at last. Or perhaps you're dissatisfied with what has been allotted to you out of the whole. Recall the alternative: either there is providence, or all is atoms and chance; or remember the arguments that prove the world is a kind of political community—and be at peace at last. Or perhaps bodily things still take hold of you. Consider further that the mind, once it has drawn apart and discovered its own power, does not mix itself with the breath, whether it moves gently or roughly; and recall everything you have heard and agreed to about pain and pleasure—and be at peace at last. Or perhaps the craving for so-called fame will torment you. See how quickly everything is forgotten, look at the chasm of infinite time on either side of the present, the emptiness of applause, the fickleness and poor judgment of those who claim to praise you, and how cramped the space is within which it is confined—and be at peace at last. For the whole earth is a mere point, and how small a corner of it is this dwelling of yours, and how few are in it, and what sort of people are they who will praise you? What remains, then, is this: remember to retreat into this small territory that is your own, and above all, don't strain or distract yourself, but be free, and look at things as a man, a human being, a citizen, a mortal. Among the things readiest to hand when you turn to them, let these two be foremost. One: things do not touch the soul, for they are external and stand motionless; our disturbances come only from the judgment that is within. Two: everything you now see will change in a moment and soon cease to exist; keep constantly in mind how many such changes you have already witnessed. The universe is change; life is opinion.

If our intellectual part is shared in common, then the reason by which we are rational beings is also shared in common. If that is so, the reason that commands us what to do and what not to do is also shared in common. If that is so, there is a common law as well. If that is so, we are fellow citizens. If that is so, we belong to some political community. If that is so, the world is, in a manner, a state. For of what other common political community will anyone claim that the whole human race are members? And it is from there, from this common political community, that our very intellectual and rational faculty and our capacity for law come—or where else would they come from? Just as my earthy part is a portion given me from some earth, my watery part from another element, my hot and fiery part from some particular source (for nothing comes from nothing, just as nothing returns to nothing), so too the intellectual part comes from some source.

Death is the same kind of thing as birth, a mystery of nature: a composition out of the same elements, and a decomposition into the same. It is altogether nothing a man should be ashamed of, for it is not contrary to the nature of a rational being, and not contrary to the reason of our constitution.

It is natural that such things should be done by such people—it is a matter of necessity. If a man refuses to accept this, he might as well refuse to let the fig tree have its juice. But above all keep this in mind: within a very short time both you and he will be dead, and soon not even your names will remain.

Take away your judgment, and the complaint "I have been harmed" is taken away. Take away the complaint "I have been harmed," and the harm itself is taken away.

Whatever does not make a man worse than he was does not make his life worse either, and it harms him neither from without nor from within.

The nature of what is universally useful was compelled to do this.

Consider that everything that happens, happens justly, and if you watch closely, you will find this to be so. I don't mean merely with respect to the continuity of the sequence of things, but with respect to what is just—as if it were done by someone who assigns to each thing its due value. Observe it, then, as you have begun to, and whatever you do, do it together with this: being good, in the sense in which a man is properly understood to be good. Hold to this in every action.

Don't hold the same opinion of things that the one who wrongs you holds, or the one he wants you to hold, but look at them as they truly are.

A man should always keep these two rules ready: first, to do only what the reason of the ruling and legislating faculty suggests for the benefit of people; second, to change his opinion if someone is present who corrects him and moves him away from some opinion. But this change of opinion must come only from a genuine conviction—of what is just, or of common benefit, and the like—never because it seems pleasant or brings reputation.

"Do you have reason?" "I do." "Then why don't you use it? For if it does its own work, what more do you want?"

You have existed as a part. You will vanish into that which produced you—or rather, you will be taken back into its generative principle by transformation.

Many grains of frankincense on the same altar: one falls first, another falls later—it makes no difference.

Within ten days you will seem a god to those to whom you are now a beast and an ape—if you return to your principles and the reverence of reason.

Don't act as though you were going to live ten thousand years. Death hangs over you. While you live, while you still can, be good.