Virtue is that perfect good which is the complement of a happy life; the only immortal thing that belongs to mortality—it is the knowledge both of others and itself—it is an invincible greatness of mind, not to be elevated or dejected with good or ill fortune. It is sociable and gentle, free, steady, and fearless, content within itself, full of inexhaustible delights, and it is valued for itself. One may be a good physician, a good governor, a good grammarian, without being a good man, so that all things from without are only accessories, for the seat of it is a pure and holy mind. It consists in a congruity of actions which we can never expect so long as we are distracted by our passions: not but that a man may be allowed to change color and countenance, and suffer such impressions as are properly a kind of natural force upon the body, and not under the dominion of the mind; but all this while I will have his judgment firm, and he shall act steadily and boldly, without wavering betwixt the motions of his body and those of his mind.
Virtue is perfect goodness that completes a happy life. It's the only immortal thing that belongs to mortal beings. Virtue means knowing both others and yourself. It's an unshakeable strength of mind that doesn't get lifted up by good fortune or brought down by bad fortune. Virtue is friendly and gentle, free, steady, and fearless. It's content within itself and full of endless delights. We value it for its own sake. Someone can be a good doctor, a good leader, or a good teacher without being a good person. All external things are just accessories because virtue lives in a pure and holy mind. Virtue means acting consistently. We can never expect this as long as our emotions pull us in different directions. A person may naturally change color and expression and feel physical reactions that are a kind of natural force on the body, not controlled by the mind. But through all this, I want his judgment to stay firm. He should act steadily and boldly, without wavering between what his body feels and what his mind knows.
It is not a thing indifferent, I know, whether a man lies at ease upon a bed, or in torment upon a wheel—and yet the former may be the worse of the two if he suffer the latter with honor, and enjoy the other with infamy. It is not the matter, but the virtue, that makes the action good or ill; and he that is led in triumph may be yet greater than his conqueror.
I know it's not the same thing whether a man rests comfortably in bed or suffers in agony on a torture wheel. Yet the man in bed might actually be worse off if he enjoys comfort through shameful acts, while the other endures pain with honor. What makes an action good or bad isn't the circumstances, but the virtue behind it. The person being paraded as a prisoner might still be greater than the one who conquered him.
When we come once to value our flesh above our honesty we are lost: and yet I would not press upon dangers, no, not so much as upon inconveniences, unless where the man and the brute come in competition; and in such a case, rather than make a forfeiture of my credit, my reason, or my faith, I would run all extremities.
When we start valuing our physical comfort over our integrity, we are lost. Yet I wouldn't seek out dangers, or even inconveniences, unless it comes down to a choice between the civilized person and the animal within us. In such a case, I would face any extreme rather than sacrifice my reputation, my reason, or my faith.
They are great blessings to have tender parents, dutiful children, and to live under a just and well-ordered government. Now, would it not trouble even a virtuous man to see his children butchered before his eyes, his father made a slave, and his country overrun by a barbarous enemy? There is a great difference betwixt the simple loss of a blessing and the succeeding of a great mischief in the place of it, over and above. The loss of health is followed with sickness, and the loss of sight with blindness; but this does not hold in the loss of friends and children, where there is rather something to the contrary to supply that loss: that is to say, virtue, which fills the mind, and takes away the desire of what we have not. What matters it whether the water be stopped or not, so long as the fountain is safe? Is a man ever the wiser for a multitude of friends, or the more foolish for the loss of them? so neither is he the happier, nor the more miserable. Short life, grief and pain are accessions that have no effect at all upon virtue. It consists in the action and not in the things we do—in the choice itself, and not in the subject-matter of it. It is not a despicable body or condition, nor poverty, infamy or scandal, that can obscure the glories of virtue; but a man may see her through all oppositions: and he that looks diligently into the state of a wicked man will see the canker at his heart, through all the false and dazzling splendors of greatness and fortune. We shall then discover our childishness, in setting our hearts upon things trivial and contemptible, and in the selling of our very country and parents for a rattle. And what is the difference (in effect) betwixt old men and children, but that the one deals in paintings and statues, and the other in babies, so that we ourselves are only the more expensive fools.
It's a great blessing to have loving parents, obedient children, and to live under a fair and well-run government. Wouldn't it trouble even a good man to see his children killed before his eyes, his father enslaved, and his country invaded by a savage enemy? There's a big difference between simply losing a blessing and having something terrible take its place. The loss of health brings sickness, and the loss of sight brings blindness. But this doesn't apply to losing friends and children, where something else can fill that gap: virtue, which satisfies the mind and removes our desire for what we don't have. What does it matter if the water is cut off, as long as the source is safe? Is a man any wiser for having many friends, or more foolish for losing them? He's neither happier nor more miserable. A short life, grief, and pain don't affect virtue at all. Virtue lies in our actions, not in the things we do. It's in the choice itself, not in what we're choosing about. A weak body, poor circumstances, poverty, disgrace, or scandal can't dim virtue's glory. A man can see virtue shining through all obstacles. Anyone who looks carefully at a wicked man will see the rot in his heart, despite all the false, glittering displays of power and wealth. We'll then see how childish we are when we set our hearts on trivial, worthless things, and when we sell out our very country and parents for a toy. What's the real difference between old men and children? One plays with paintings and statues, the other with dolls. We're just more expensive fools.
If one could but see the mind of a good man, as it is illustrated with virtue; the beauty and the majesty of it, which is a dignity not so much as to be thought of without love and veneration—would not a man bless himself at the sight of such an object as at the encounter of some supernatural power—a power so miraculous that it is a kind of charm upon the souls of those that are truly affected with it. There is so wonderful a grace and authority in it that even the worst of men approve it, and set up for the reputation of being accounted virtuous themselves. They covet the fruit indeed, and the profit of wickedness; but they hate and are ashamed of the imputation of it. It is by an impression of Nature that all men have a reverence for virtue—they know it and they have a respect for it though they do not practice it—nay, for the countenance of their very wickedness, they miscall it virtue. Their injuries they call benefits, and expect a man should thank them for doing him a mischief—they cover their most notorious iniquities with a pretext of justice.
If you could see into the mind of a good person, you would witness virtue in all its beauty and majesty. This dignity inspires such love and respect that you couldn't help but feel blessed by the sight. It would be like encountering some supernatural power. This miraculous force has a kind of magical effect on those who truly understand it. Virtue carries such wonderful grace and authority that even the worst people approve of it. They want to be seen as virtuous themselves. They may want the rewards and profits that come from wickedness, but they hate being called wicked and feel ashamed of that reputation. Nature has given all people a natural respect for virtue. They recognize it and respect it, even when they don't practice it. In fact, they often disguise their wickedness by calling it virtue. They call their harmful acts benefits and expect people to thank them for causing harm. They cover their worst crimes with claims of justice.
He that robs upon the highway had rather find his booty than force it; ask any of them that live upon rapine, fraud, oppression, if they had not rather enjoy a fortune honestly gotten, and their consciences will not suffer them to deny it. Men are vicious only for the proof of villainy; for at the same time that they commit it they condemn it; nay, so powerful is virtue, and so gracious is Providence, that every man has a light set up within him for a guide, which we do, all of us, both see and acknowledge, though we do not pursue it. This it is that makes the prisoner upon the torture happier than the executioner, and sickness better than health, if we bear it without yielding or repining—this it is that overcomes ill-fortune and moderates good—for it marches betwixt the one and the other, with an equal contempt for both. It turns (like fire) all things into itself, our actions and our friendships are tinctured with it, and whatever it touches becomes amiable.
Even highway robbers would rather find their treasure than fight for it. Ask anyone who lives by theft, fraud, or oppression if they wouldn't prefer to enjoy an honest fortune. Their consciences won't let them deny it. People are only wicked to prove their wickedness. At the very moment they commit evil, they condemn it. Virtue is so powerful, and Providence so gracious, that every person has an inner light to guide them. We all see and acknowledge this light, though we don't follow it. This is what makes the prisoner under torture happier than the executioner. It makes sickness better than health, if we bear it without giving in or complaining. This inner light overcomes bad fortune and keeps good fortune in check. It walks between both with equal contempt for each. Like fire, it transforms everything into itself. Our actions and friendships are colored by it. Whatever it touches becomes lovable.
That which is frail and mortal rises and falls, grows, wastes, and varies from itself; but the state of things divine is always the same; and so is virtue, let the matter be what it will. It is never the worse for the difficulty of the action, nor the better for the easiness of it. It is the same in a rich man as in a poor; in a sickly man as in a sound; in a strong as in a weak; the virtue of the besieged is as great as that of the besiegers. There are some virtues, I confess, which a good man cannot be without, and yet he had rather have no occasion to employ them. If there were any difference, I should prefer the virtues of patience before those of pleasure; for it is braver to break through difficulties than to temper our delights. But though the subject of virtue may possibly be against nature, as to be burnt or wounded, yet the virtue itself of an invincible patience is according to nature. We may seem, perhaps, to promise more than human nature is able to perform; but we speak with a respect to the mind, and not to the body.
Everything fragile and mortal rises and falls, grows, wastes away, and changes constantly. But divine things stay the same forever. Virtue is the same way, no matter what situation we face. Virtue isn't weakened by difficult actions or strengthened by easy ones. It's identical in a rich person and a poor person, in someone sick and someone healthy, in the strong and the weak. The virtue of those under siege equals that of those doing the besieging. I admit there are some virtues that good people must have, even though they'd rather never need to use them. If I had to choose, I'd prefer the virtues that come from patience over those that come from pleasure. It takes more courage to push through difficulties than to control our desires. The situations that test virtue might go against nature - like being burned or wounded - but the virtue of unshakeable patience itself follows nature's laws. We might seem to promise more than human nature can deliver. But we're talking about the mind, not the body.
If a man does not live up to his own rules, it is something yet to have virtuous meditations and good purposes, even without acting; it is generous, the very adventure of being good, and the bare proposal of an eminent course of life, though beyond the force of human frailty to accomplish. There is something of honor yet in the miscarriage; nay, in the naked contemplation of it. I would receive my own death with as little trouble as I would hear of another man’s; I would bear the same mind whether I be rich or poor, whether I get or lose in the world; what I have, I will neither sordidly spare, or prodigally squander away, and I will reckon upon benefits well-placed as the fairest part of my possession: not valuing them by number or weight, but by the profit and esteem of the receiver; accounting myself never the poorer for that which I give to a worthy person. What I do shall be done for conscience, not ostentation. I will eat and drink, not to gratify my palate, or only to fill and empty, but to satisfy nature: I will be cheerful to my friends, mild and placable to my enemies: I will prevent an honest request if I can foresee it, and I will grant it without asking: I will look upon the whole world as my country, and upon the gods, both as the witnesses and the judges of my words and deeds. I will live and die with this testimony, that I loved good studies, and a good conscience; that I never invaded another man’s liberty; and that I preserved my own. I will govern my life and my thoughts as if the whole world were to see the one, and to read the other; for “what does it signify to make anything a secret to my neighbor, when to God (who is the searcher of our hearts) all our privacies are open?”
Even when a man fails to live up to his own standards, there's still value in having good thoughts and noble intentions. Just trying to be good is generous in itself. The simple idea of living an excellent life has worth, even if human weakness makes it impossible to achieve perfectly. There's honor even in failing at this goal. There's honor just in thinking about it. I want to face my own death as calmly as I would hear news of another person's death. I want to feel the same way whether I'm rich or poor, whether I gain or lose in this world. Whatever I have, I won't hoard it greedily or waste it carelessly. I'll consider the good I do for others as the best part of what I own. I won't measure my generosity by how much I give, but by how much it helps and means to the person receiving it. I'll never think myself poorer for what I give to someone who deserves it. Everything I do will be for my conscience, not for show. I'll eat and drink to satisfy my body's needs, not just to please my taste or fill my stomach. I'll be cheerful with my friends and gentle and forgiving with my enemies. If I can predict an honest request, I'll fulfill it before being asked. I'll grant requests willingly. I'll think of the whole world as my country. I'll consider the gods as witnesses and judges of everything I say and do. I'll live and die knowing that I loved learning and kept a good conscience. I never took away another person's freedom, and I protected my own. I'll control my life and thoughts as if the whole world could see my actions and read my mind. After all, what's the point of keeping secrets from my neighbors when God, who searches our hearts, already knows all our private thoughts?
Virtue is divided into two parts, contemplation and action. The one is delivered by institution, the other by admonition: one part of virtue consists in discipline, the other in exercise: for we must first learn, and then practice. The sooner we begin to apply ourselves to it, and the more haste we make, the longer shall we enjoy the comforts of a rectified mind; nay, we have the fruition of it in the very act of forming it: but it is another sort of delight, I must confess, that arises from a contemplation of a soul which is advanced into the possession of wisdom and virtue. If it was so great a comfort to us to pass from the subjection of our childhood into a state of liberty and business, how much greater will it be when we come to cast off the boyish levity of our minds, and range ourselves among the philosophers? We are past our minority, it is true, but not our indiscretions; and, which is yet worse, we have the authority of seniors, and the weaknesses of children, (I might have said of infants, for every little thing frights the one, and every trivial fancy the other.) Whoever studies this point well will find that many things are the less to be feared the more terrible they appear. To think anything good that is not honest, were to reproach Providence; for good men suffer many inconveniences; but virtue, like the sun, goes on still with her work, let the air be never so cloudy, and finishes her course, extinguishing likewise all other splendors and oppositions; insomuch that calamity is no more to a virtuous mind, than a shower into the sea. That which is right, is not to be valued by quantity, number, or time; a life of a day may be as honest as a life of a hundred years: but yet virtue in one man may have a larger field to show itself in than in another. One man, perhaps, may be in a station to administer unto cities and kingdoms; to contrive good laws, create friendships, and do beneficial offices to mankind.
Virtue has two parts: contemplation and action. We learn one through instruction and the other through practice. One part involves discipline, the other involves exercise. We must first learn, then practice. The sooner we start and the more effort we put in, the longer we'll enjoy the benefits of a clear mind. We actually experience these benefits while we're developing virtue. But I must admit, there's a different kind of joy that comes from contemplating a soul that has gained wisdom and virtue. If it brought us such comfort to move from childhood dependence to adult freedom and responsibility, imagine how much greater it will be when we shed our childish foolishness and join the ranks of philosophers. We're past our youth, that's true, but not past our poor judgment. What's worse, we have the authority of adults but the weaknesses of children. I could even say infants, since little things frighten one and trivial thoughts distract the other. Anyone who studies this carefully will discover that many things become less frightening the more terrible they appear. To consider anything good that isn't honest would be to criticize Providence. Good people suffer many hardships, but virtue, like the sun, continues its work regardless of how cloudy the sky becomes. It completes its course while extinguishing all other lights and opposition. Disaster means no more to a virtuous mind than a raindrop means to the ocean. What is right shouldn't be measured by quantity, number, or time. A life of one day can be as honest as a life of a hundred years. Yet virtue in one person may have more opportunities to show itself than in another. One person might be positioned to serve cities and kingdoms, to create good laws, build friendships, and perform beneficial services for humanity.
For virtue is open to all; as well to servants and exiles, as to princes: it is profitable to the world and to itself, at all distances and in all conditions; and there is no difficulty can excuse a man from the exercise of it; and it is only to be found in a wise man, though there may be some faint resemblances of it in the common people. The Stoics hold all virtues to be equal; but yet there is great variety in the matter they have to work upon, according as it is larger or narrower, illustrious or less noble, of more or less extent; as all good men are equal, that is to say, as they are good; but yet one may be young, another old; one may be rich, another poor; one eminent and powerful, another unknown and obscure. There are many things which have little or no grace in themselves, and are yet glorious and remarkable by virtue. Nothing can be good which gives neither greatness nor security to the mind; but, on the contrary, infects it with insolence, arrogance, and tumor: nor does virtue dwell upon the tip of the tongue, but in the temple of a purified heart. He that depends upon any other good becomes covetous of life, and what belongs to it; which exposes a man to appetites that are vast, unlimited, and intolerable. Virtue is free and indefatigable, and accompanied with concord and gracefulness; whereas pleasure is mean, servile, transitory, tiresome, and sickly and scarce outlives the tasting of it: it is the good of the belly, and not of the man; and only the felicity of brutes. Who does not know that fools enjoy their pleasures, and that there is great variety in the entertainments of wickedness? Nay, the mind itself has its variety of perverse pleasures as well as the body: as insolence, self-conceit, pride, garrulity, laziness, and the abusive wit of turning everything into ridicule, whereas virtue weighs all this, and corrects it. It is the knowledge both of others and of itself; it is to be learned from itself; and the very will itself may be taught; which will cannot be right, unless the whole habit of the mind be right from whence the will comes. It is by the impulse of virtue that we love virtue, so that the very way to virtue, lies by virtue, which takes in also, at a view, the laws of human life.
Virtue is open to everyone. It belongs to servants and exiles just as much as to princes. It benefits the world and itself, no matter the distance or circumstances. No difficulty can excuse someone from practicing virtue. Only a wise person truly possesses it, though ordinary people may show faint traces of it. The Stoics believe all virtues are equal. Yet there's great variety in what virtue has to work with. Some situations are larger or smaller, more or less noble, with greater or lesser scope. All good people are equal in their goodness. But one may be young, another old. One may be rich, another poor. One may be famous and powerful, another unknown and humble. Many things have little grace in themselves but become glorious through virtue. Nothing can be good if it doesn't give the mind greatness or security. Instead, it infects the mind with arrogance and pride. Virtue doesn't live on the tip of the tongue but in the temple of a pure heart. Anyone who depends on other goods becomes greedy for life and everything that comes with it. This exposes them to appetites that are vast, unlimited, and unbearable. Virtue is free and tireless, accompanied by harmony and grace. Pleasure, on the other hand, is mean, servile, temporary, tiresome, and sickly. It barely outlasts the tasting of it. It's the good of the belly, not of the person. It's only the happiness of animals. Everyone knows that fools enjoy their pleasures. There's great variety in the entertainments of wickedness. The mind itself has its own twisted pleasures, just like the body. These include arrogance, self-importance, pride, endless talking, laziness, and the cruel wit of turning everything into a joke. Virtue weighs all this and corrects it. Virtue is knowledge of both others and itself. It must be learned from itself. Even the will can be taught. But the will cannot be right unless the whole habit of the mind is right, since that's where the will comes from. We love virtue through virtue's own impulse. The very path to virtue lies through virtue itself, which also takes in the laws of human life at a glance.
Neither are we to value ourselves upon a day, or an hour, or any one action, but upon the whole habit of the mind. Some men do one thing bravely, but not another; they will shrink at infamy, and bear up against poverty: in this case, we commend the fact, and despise the man. The soul is never in the right place until it be delivered from the cares of human affairs; we must labor and climb the hill, if we will arrive at virtue, whose seat is upon the top of it. He that masters avarice, and is truly good, stands firm against ambition; he looks upon his last hour not as a punishment, but as the equity of a common fate; he that subdues his carnal lusts shall easily keep himself untainted with any other: so that reason does not encounter this or that vice by itself, but beats down all at a blow. What does he care for ignominy that only values himself upon conscience, and not opinion? Socrates looked a scandalous death in the face with the same constancy that he had before practiced towards the thirty tyrants: his virtue consecrated the very dungeon: as Cato’s repulse was Cato’s honor, and the reproach of the government. He that is wise will take delight even in an ill opinion that is well gotten; it is ostentation, not virtue, when a man will have his good deeds published; and it is not enough to be just where there is honor to be gotten, but to continue so, in defiance of infamy and danger.
We shouldn't judge ourselves based on a single day, hour, or action. Instead, we should look at our overall character and habits. Some people act bravely in one situation but not another. They might resist shame but give in to poverty. In cases like this, we praise the action but look down on the person. The soul can never find peace until it's free from worldly concerns. We must work hard and climb the mountain if we want to reach virtue, which sits at the top. Someone who conquers greed and becomes truly good will also stand firm against ambition. He sees his final hour not as punishment, but as the fair outcome that comes to everyone. Someone who controls his physical desires will easily avoid other temptations too. This means reason doesn't fight each vice separately, but defeats them all at once. Why would someone care about disgrace if he values his conscience over public opinion? Socrates faced a shameful death with the same calm he had shown when dealing with the thirty tyrants. His virtue made even the prison cell sacred. Just as Cato's political defeat became Cato's honor and exposed the government's corruption. A wise person will even take pleasure in harsh criticism that's well-deserved. It's just showing off, not real virtue, when someone wants his good deeds made public. It's not enough to be just when there's honor to be gained. You must stay just even when facing disgrace and danger.
But virtue cannot lie hid, for the time will come that shall raise it again (even after it is buried) and deliver it from the malignity of the age that oppressed it: immortal glory is the shadow of it, and keeps it company whether we will or not; but sometimes the shadow goes before the substance, and other whiles it follows it; and the later it comes, the larger it is, when even envy itself shall have given way to it. It was a long time that Democritus was taken for a madman, and before Socrates had any esteem in the world. How long was it before Cato could be understood? Nay, he was affronted, contemned, and rejected; and the people never knew the value of him until they had lost him: the integrity and courage of mad Rutilius had been forgotten but for his sufferings. I speak of those that fortune has made famous for their persecutions: and there are others also that the world never took notice of until they were dead; as Epicurus and Metrodorus, that were almost wholly unknown, even in the place where they lived. Now, as the body is to be kept in upon the down-hill, and forced upwards, so there are some virtues that require the rein and others the spur. In liberality, temperance, gentleness of nature, we are to check ourselves for fear of falling; but in patience, resolutions, and perseverance, where we are to mount the hill, we stand in need of encouragement. Upon this division of the matter, I had rather steer the smoother course than pass through the experiments of sweat and blood: I know it is my duty to be content in all conditions; but yet, if it were at my election, I would choose the fairest. When a man comes once to stand in need of fortune, his life is anxious, suspicious, timorous, dependent upon every moment, and in fear of all accidents. How can that man resign himself to God, or bear his lot, whatever it be, without murmuring, and cheerfully submit to Providence, that shrinks at every motion of pleasure or pain? It is virtue alone that raises us above griefs, hopes, fears and chances; and makes us not only patient, but willing, as knowing that whatever we suffer is according to the decree of Heaven. He that is overcome with pleasure, (so contemptible and weak an enemy) what will become of him when he comes to grapple with dangers, necessities, torments, death, and the dissolution of nature itself? Wealth, honor, and favor, may come upon a man by chance; nay, they may be cast upon him without so much as looking after them: but virtue is the work of industry and labor; and certainly it is worth the while to purchase that good which brings all others along with it. A good man is happy within himself, and independent upon fortune: kind to his friend, temperate to his enemy, religiously just, indefatigably laborious; and he discharges all duties with a constancy and congruity of actions.
True virtue cannot stay hidden forever. Time will eventually reveal it, even after it seems buried under the hatred of those who oppose it. Immortal glory follows virtue like a shadow, whether we want it or not. Sometimes this shadow appears before the substance, sometimes after. The later it comes, the greater it becomes, until even envy gives way to it. People thought Democritus was crazy for a long time before anyone respected him. Socrates faced the same treatment. How long did it take before anyone understood Cato? He was insulted, despised, and rejected. People only realized his worth after they lost him. We would have forgotten the integrity and courage of mad Rutilius if not for his suffering. I'm talking about those whom fortune made famous through persecution. There are others the world never noticed until they died, like Epicurus and Metrodorus, who were almost completely unknown even where they lived. Just as we must hold back the body when going downhill and push it upward when climbing, some virtues need restraint while others need encouragement. With generosity, moderation, and gentleness, we must check ourselves to avoid falling. But with patience, determination, and perseverance, where we must climb the hill, we need encouragement. Given this choice, I would rather take the smoother path than go through trials of sweat and blood. I know it's my duty to be content in all situations. But if I could choose, I would pick the easier way. When someone depends on fortune, their life becomes anxious, suspicious, fearful, hanging on every moment and dreading all accidents. How can such a person surrender to God or accept their fate without complaining? How can they cheerfully submit to Providence when they flinch at every touch of pleasure or pain? Only virtue lifts us above grief, hope, fear, and chance. It makes us not just patient, but willing, knowing that whatever we suffer follows Heaven's decree. If someone is overcome by pleasure (such a weak enemy), what will happen when they face dangers, hardships, torments, death, and the breakdown of nature itself? Wealth, honor, and favor may come by chance. They might even fall on someone without them seeking it. But virtue requires hard work and effort. It's certainly worth the trouble to gain something that brings all other good things with it. A good person is happy within themselves and independent of fortune. They are kind to friends, moderate toward enemies, religiously just, and tirelessly hardworking. They fulfill all duties with consistent and harmonious actions.