Now, to sum up what is already delivered, we have showed what happiness is, and wherein it consists: that it is founded upon wisdom and virtue; for we must first know what we ought to do, and then live according to that knowledge. We have also discoursed the helps of philosophy and precept toward a happy life; the blessing of a good conscience; that a good man can never be miserable, nor a wicked man happy; nor any man unfortunate that cheerfully submits to Providence. We shall now examine, how it comes to pass that, when the certain way to happiness lies so fair before us, men will yet steer their course on the other side, which as manifestly leads to ruin.
Now, let me sum up what we've already covered. We've shown what happiness is and what it consists of. It's founded on wisdom and virtue. We must first know what we ought to do, then live according to that knowledge. We've also discussed how philosophy and good principles help us live happily. We've talked about the blessing of a good conscience. A good person can never be truly miserable, nor can a wicked person be truly happy. No one who cheerfully accepts what Providence brings can be truly unfortunate. Now we'll examine something puzzling. The certain path to happiness lies clearly before us. Yet people still choose to steer their course in the opposite direction, which obviously leads to ruin. How does this happen?
There are some that live without any design at all, and only pass in the world like straws upon a river; they do not go, but they are carried. Others only deliberate upon the parts of life, and not upon the whole, which is a great error: for there is no disposing of the circumstances of it, unless we first propound the main scope. How shall any man take his aim without a mark? or what wind will serve him that is not yet resolved upon his port? We live as it were by chance, and by chance we are governed. Some there are that torment themselves afresh with the memory of what is past: “Lord! what did I endure? never was any man in my condition; everybody gave me over; my very heart was ready to break,” etc. Others, again, afflict themselves with the apprehension of evils to come; and very ridiculously: for the one does not now concern us, and the other not yet: beside that, there may he remedies for mischiefs likely to happen; for they give us warning by signs and symptoms of their approach. Let him that would be quiet take heed not to provoke men that are in power, but live without giving offence; and if we cannot make all great men our friends, it will suffice to keep them from being our enemies. This is a thing we must avoid, as a mariner would do a storm.
Some people live without any plan at all. They just drift through the world like straws on a river. They don't choose their direction—they simply get carried along. Others only think about parts of their lives, not the whole picture. This is a big mistake. You can't manage life's circumstances unless you first decide on your main goal. How can anyone aim without a target? What wind will help a sailor who hasn't decided on his destination? We live as if everything happens by chance, and chance governs us. Some people torture themselves by dwelling on the past: "Lord! What did I go through? No one has ever been in my situation. Everyone gave up on me. My heart was ready to break," and so on. Others worry themselves sick about future troubles, which is ridiculous. The past no longer affects us, and the future hasn't happened yet. Besides, we can often find solutions for problems that might occur. These problems usually give us warning signs before they arrive. Anyone who wants peace should be careful not to anger powerful people. Live without causing offense. If we can't make all important people our friends, it's enough to keep them from becoming our enemies. We must avoid this like a sailor avoids a storm.
A rash seaman never considers what wind blows, or what course he steers, but runs at a venture, as if he would brave the rocks and the eddies; whereas he that is careful and considerate, informs himself beforehand where the danger lies, and what weather it is like to be: he consults his compass, and keeps aloof from those places that are infamous for wrecks and miscarriages; so does a wise man in the common business of life; he keeps out of the way from those that may do him hurt: but it is a point of prudence not to let them take notice that he does it on purpose; for that which a man shuns he tacitly condemns. Let him have a care also of listeners, newsmongers, and meddlers in other people’s matters; for their discourse is commonly of such things as are never profitable, and most commonly dangerous either to be spoken or heard.
A reckless sailor never thinks about which way the wind blows or what course he's steering. He sails blindly, as if he wants to crash into rocks and whirlpools. But a careful and thoughtful sailor learns ahead of time where the dangers are and what kind of weather to expect. He checks his compass and stays away from places known for shipwrecks and disasters. A wise person does the same thing in everyday life. He avoids people who might harm him. But it's smart not to let them notice he's doing this on purpose, because when a man avoids something, he's silently criticizing it. He should also be careful around eavesdroppers, gossips, and people who meddle in others' business. Their conversations are usually about things that are never helpful and often dangerous to either say or hear.
Levity of mind is a great hindrance of repose, and the very change of wickedness is an addition to the wickedness itself; for it is inconstancy added to iniquity; we relinquish the thing we sought, and then we take it up again; and so divide our lives between our lust and our repentances. From one appetite we pass to another, not so much upon choice as for change; and there is a check of conscience that casts a damp upon all our unlawful pleasures, which makes us lose the day in expectation of the night, and the night itself for fear of the approaching light.
A restless mind prevents us from finding peace. When we keep changing from one sin to another, we're actually making our wickedness worse. We're adding inconsistency to our wrongdoing. We abandon what we were pursuing, then pick it up again. This way, we split our lives between our desires and our regrets. We move from one craving to another, not really by choice but just for the sake of change. Our conscience nags at us and dampens all our forbidden pleasures. This makes us waste the day waiting for night, and then waste the night dreading the morning light.
Some people are never at quiet, others are always so, and they are both to blame: for that which looks like vivacity and industry in the one is only a restlessness and agitation; and that which passes in the other for moderation and reserve is but a drowsy and unactive sloth. Let motion and rest both take their turns, according to the order of Nature, which makes both the day and the night. Some are perpetually shifting from one thing to another; others, again, make their whole life but a kind of uneasy sleep: some lie tossing and turning until very weariness brings them to rest; others, again, I cannot so properly call inconstant as lazy. There are many proprieties and diversities of vice; but it is one never-failing effect of it to live displeased. We do all of us labor under inordinate desires; we are either timorous, and dare not venture, or venturing we do not succeed; or else we cast ourselves upon uncertain hopes, where we are perpetually solicitous, and in suspense. In this distraction we are apt to propose to ourselves things dishonest and hard; and when we have taken great pains to no purpose, we come then to repent of our undertakings: we are afraid to go on, and we can neither master our appetites nor obey them: we live and die restless and irresolute; and, which is worst of all, when we grow weary of the public, and betake ourselves to solitude for relief, our minds are sick and wallowing, and the very house and walls are troublesome to us; we grow impatient and ashamed of ourselves, and suppress our inward vexation until it breaks our heart for want of vent. This is it that makes us sour and morose, envious of others, and dissatisfied with ourselves; until at last, betwixt our troubles for other people’s successes and the despair of our own, we fall foul upon Fortune and the times, and get into a corner perhaps, where we sit brooding over our own disquiets. In these dispositions there is a kind of pruriginous fancy, that makes some people take delight in labor and uneasiness, like the clawing of an itch until the blood starts.
Some people are never at peace, while others are always inactive. Both are wrong. What looks like energy and hard work in restless people is really just agitation and anxiety. What seems like moderation and self-control in inactive people is actually just lazy drowsiness. Movement and rest should both have their place, following nature's pattern of day and night. Some people constantly jump from one thing to another. Others make their whole lives like an uneasy sleep. Some toss and turn until exhaustion finally brings them rest. Others I can't really call inconsistent—they're just lazy. There are many different types of bad behavior, but they all have one thing in common: they make us live unhappy lives. We all struggle with excessive desires. We're either too scared to take risks, or we take risks and fail. Or we pin our hopes on uncertain things, which leaves us constantly worried and anxious. In this confused state, we often set dishonest and impossible goals for ourselves. After working hard for nothing, we regret what we tried to do. We're afraid to continue, but we can't control our desires or give in to them either. We live and die restless and unable to make decisions. Worst of all, when we get tired of being around people and retreat to solitude for relief, our minds are sick and wallowing. Even our own house and walls bother us. We become impatient and ashamed of ourselves. We hold in our inner frustration until it breaks our hearts because we have no outlet for it. This is what makes us bitter and gloomy, envious of others, and dissatisfied with ourselves. Eventually, torn between our troubles over other people's success and despair over our own failures, we blame luck and the times we live in. We might retreat to some corner where we sit brooding over our own problems. In these moods, there's a strange urge that makes some people actually enjoy struggle and discomfort, like scratching an itch until it bleeds.
This is it that puts us upon rambling voyages; one while by land; but still disgusted with the present: the town pleases us to-day, the country to-morrow: the splendors of the court at one time, the horrors of a wilderness at another, but all this while we carry our plague about us; for it is not the place we are weary of, but ourselves. Nay, our weakness extends to everything; for we are impatient equally of toil and of pleasure. This trotting of the ring, and only treading the same steps over and over again, has made many a man lay violent hands upon himself. It must be the change of the mind, not of the climate, that will remove the heaviness of the heart; our vices go along with us, and we carry in ourselves the causes of our disquiets. There is a great weight lies upon us, and the bare shocking of it makes it the more uneasy; changing of countries, in this case, is not travelling, but wandering. We must keep on our course, if we would gain our journey’s end. “He that cannot live happily anywhere, will live happily nowhere.” What is a man the better for travelling? as if his cares could not find him out wherever he goes? Is there any retiring from the fear of death, or of torments? or from those difficulties which beset a man wherever he is? It is only philosophy that makes the mind invincible, and places us out of the reach of fortune, so that all her arrows fall short of us. This it is that reclaims the rage of our lusts, and sweetens the anxiety of our fears. Frequent changing of places or councils, shows an instability of mind; and we must fix the body before we can fix the soul. We can hardly stir abroad, or look about us, without encountering something or other that revives our appetites. As he that would cast off an unhappy love avoids whatsoever may put him in mind of the person, so he that would wholly deliver himself from his beloved lusts must shun all objects that may put them in his head again, and remind him of them. We travel, as children run up and down after strange sights, for novelty, not profit; we return neither the better nor the sounder; nay, and the very agitation hurts us. We learn to call towns and places by their names, and to tell stories of mountains and of rivers; but had not our time been better spent in the study of wisdom and of virtue? in the learning of what is already discovered, and in the quest of things not yet found out? If a man break his leg, or strain his ankle, he sends presently for a surgeon to set all right again, and does not take horse upon it, or put himself on ship-board; no more does the change of place work upon our disordered minds than upon our bodies. It is not the place, I hope, that makes either an orator or a physician. Will any man ask upon the road, Pray, which is the way to prudence, to justice, to temperance, to fortitude? No matter whither any man goes that carries his affections along with him. He that would make his travels delightful must make himself a temperate companion.
This is what drives us to wander from place to place. Sometimes we travel by land, but we're always unhappy with where we are. The city pleases us today, the countryside tomorrow. We want the splendor of the royal court one day, the isolation of the wilderness the next. But we carry our problems with us wherever we go. It's not the place we're tired of—it's ourselves. Our weakness affects everything. We get restless with both work and pleasure. This endless circling, just repeating the same steps over and over, has driven many people to take their own lives. We need to change our minds, not our location, to lift the weight from our hearts. Our bad habits follow us everywhere. We carry the sources of our troubles within ourselves. There's a heavy burden on us, and just shifting it around makes it more uncomfortable. In this case, changing countries isn't really traveling—it's just wandering aimlessly. We must stay on course if we want to reach our destination. "Someone who can't live happily anywhere will live happily nowhere." How does traveling make a person better? As if his worries couldn't track him down wherever he goes? Can anyone escape the fear of death or suffering? Can we avoid the problems that follow us everywhere? Only philosophy makes the mind unbeatable and puts us beyond fortune's reach, so all her attacks miss their mark. Philosophy controls our wild desires and calms our anxious fears. Constantly changing places or plans shows an unstable mind. We must settle the body before we can settle the soul. We can barely step outside or look around without seeing something that stirs up our desires. Just as someone trying to get over a painful love avoids anything that reminds them of that person, anyone wanting to break free from destructive habits must avoid things that might trigger those thoughts again. We travel like children chasing after strange sights—for novelty, not benefit. We come back no better or wiser. In fact, all that restless movement hurts us. We learn to name towns and places and tell stories about mountains and rivers. But wouldn't our time be better spent studying wisdom and virtue? Learning what others have already discovered and searching for things not yet found? If someone breaks their leg or sprains their ankle, they immediately call a doctor to fix it. They don't get on a horse or board a ship. Changing location works no better on our troubled minds than it does on our injured bodies. Location doesn't make someone an orator or a physician, I hope. Would anyone ask for directions on the road: "Excuse me, which way to wisdom, justice, self-control, or courage?" It doesn't matter where someone goes if they take their problems with them. Anyone who wants to enjoy their travels must first become good company for themselves.
A great traveller was complaining that he was never the better for his travels; “That is very true,” said Socrates, “because you travelled with yourself.” Now, had not he better have made himself another man than to transport himself to another place? It is no matter what manners we find anywhere; so long as we carry our own. But we have all of us a natural curiosity of seeing fine sights, and of making new discoveries, turning over antiquities, learning the customs of nations, etc. We are never quiet; to-day we seek an office, to-morrow we are sick of it. We divide our lives betwixt a dislike of the present and a desire of the future: but he that lives as he should, orders himself so, as neither to fear nor to wish for to-morrow; if it comes, it is welcome; but if not, there is nothing lost; for that which is come, is but the same over again with what is past. As levity is a pernicious enemy to quiet, so pertinacity is a great one too. The one changes nothing, the other sticks to nothing; and which of the two is the worse, may be a question. It is many times seen, that we beg earnestly for those things, which, if they were offered us, we would refuse; and it is but just to punish this easiness of asking with an equal facility of granting. There are some things we would be thought to desire, which we are so far from desiring that we dread them. “I shall tire you,” says one, in the middle of a tedious story. “Nay, pray be pleased to go on,” we cry, though we wish his tongue out at half-way: nay, we do not deal candidly even with God himself. We should say to ourselves in these cases, “This I have drawn upon myself. I could never be quiet until I had gotten this woman, this place, this estate, this honor, and now see what is come of it.”
A great traveler once complained that he never benefited from his travels. "That's very true," said Socrates, "because you traveled with yourself." Wouldn't he have been better off changing himself rather than just going to another place? It doesn't matter what customs we find anywhere, as long as we carry our own bad habits with us. But we all have a natural curiosity about seeing beautiful sights and making new discoveries. We want to explore ancient ruins, learn about different cultures, and so on. We're never satisfied. Today we want a job, tomorrow we're sick of it. We split our lives between disliking the present and wanting the future. But someone who lives properly manages himself so he neither fears nor wishes for tomorrow. If it comes, great. If not, nothing is lost, because what comes is just the same as what has already passed. Just as being flighty is a dangerous enemy of peace, so is being stubborn. One person changes nothing, the other sticks to nothing. Which is worse might be debatable. We often see people begging earnestly for things that they would refuse if offered. It's only fair to punish this casual asking with equally casual granting. There are some things we want people to think we desire, but we're so far from wanting them that we actually dread them. "I'll bore you," someone says in the middle of a tedious story. "No, please go on," we say, even though we wish he'd shut up halfway through. We don't even deal honestly with God himself. We should tell ourselves in these cases, "I brought this on myself. I could never be satisfied until I got this woman, this position, this property, this honor. Now look what's come of it."
One sovereign remedy against all misfortunes is constancy of mind: the changing of parties and countenances looks as if a man were driven with the wind. Nothing can be above him that is above fortune. It is not violence, reproach, contempt, or whatever else from without, that can make a wise man quit his ground: but he is proof against calamities, both great and small: only our error is, that what we cannot do ourselves, we think nobody else can; so that we judge of the wise by the measures of the weak. Place me among princes or among beggars, the one shall not make me proud, nor the other ashamed. I can take as sound a sleep in a barn as in a palace, and a bundle of hay makes me as good a lodging as a bed of down. Should every day succeed to my wish, it should not transport me; nor would I think myself miserable if I should not have one quiet hour in my life. I will not transport myself with either pain or pleasure; but yet for all that, I could wish that I had an easier game to play, and that I were put rather to moderate my joys than my sorrows. If I were an imperial prince, I had rather take than be taken; and yet I would bear the same mind under the chariot of my conqueror that I had in my own. It is no great matter to trample upon those things that are most coveted or feared by the common people. There are those that will laugh upon the wheel, and cast themselves upon a certain death, only upon a transport of love, perhaps anger, avarice, or revenge; how much more then upon an instinct of virtue, which is invincible and steady! If a short obstinacy of mind can do this, how much more shall a composed and deliberate virtue, whose force is equal and perpetual.
The best remedy for all misfortunes is keeping a steady mind. Changing sides and putting on different faces makes you look like you're blown around by the wind. Nothing can be above someone who rises above fortune itself. Violence, insults, contempt, or any other outside force cannot make a wise person abandon their position. They stand firm against disasters both large and small. Our mistake is thinking that what we cannot do, nobody else can do either. We judge the wise by the standards of the weak. Put me among princes or beggars - neither will make me proud or ashamed. I can sleep just as well in a barn as in a palace. A bundle of hay makes as good a bed as the finest down. If every day went exactly as I wished, it wouldn't overwhelm me with joy. Even if I never had one peaceful hour in my life, I wouldn't consider myself miserable. I won't let myself be carried away by either pain or pleasure. Still, I'd prefer an easier game to play. I'd rather control my joys than my sorrows. If I were a prince, I'd rather conquer than be conquered. Yet I would keep the same attitude under my conqueror's chariot as I had in my own. It's no great achievement to trample on things that ordinary people desperately want or fear. Some people will laugh even while being tortured. They'll throw themselves into certain death driven by love, anger, greed, or revenge. How much more can someone do when driven by virtue, which is unbeatable and constant! If brief stubbornness can accomplish this much, imagine what steady, thoughtful virtue can do. Its power is consistent and never-ending.
To secure ourselves in this world, first, we must aim at nothing that men count worth the wrangling for. Secondly, we must not value the possession of any thing which even a common thief would think worth the stealing. A man’s body is no booty. Let the way be never so dangerous for robberies, the poor and the naked pass quietly. A plain-dealing sincerity of manners makes a man’s life happy, even in despite of scorn and contempt, which is every clear man’s fate. But we had better yet be contemned for simplicity than lie perpetually upon the torture of a counterfeit; provided that care be taken not to confound simplicity with negligence; and it is, moreover, an uneasy life that of a disguise; for a man to seem to be what he is not, to keep a perpetual guard upon himself, and to live in fear of a discovery. He takes every man that looks upon him for a spy, over and above the trouble of being put to play another man’s part. It is a good remedy in some cases for a man to apply himself to civil affairs and public business; and yet, in this state of life too, what betwixt ambition and calumny, it is hardly safe to be honest. There are, indeed, some cases wherein a wise man will give way; but let him not yield over easily neither; if he marches off, let him have a care of his honor, and make his retreat with his sword in his hand, and his face to the enemy. Of all others, a studious life is the least tiresome: it makes us easy to ourselves and to others, and gains us both friends and reputation.
To stay safe in this world, we must first avoid wanting anything that people think is worth fighting over. Second, we shouldn't value owning anything that even a common thief would bother stealing. A person's body isn't worth robbing. No matter how dangerous the road is for robberies, the poor and naked pass by quietly. Honest and straightforward behavior makes life happy, even when facing scorn and contempt, which every decent person must endure. But it's better to be looked down on for being simple than to live constantly tortured by pretending to be someone else. Just make sure not to confuse simplicity with carelessness. Living a disguise is uncomfortable. When a man tries to seem like what he's not, he must constantly guard himself and live in fear of being found out. He sees every person who looks at him as a spy, on top of the trouble of playing another man's role. Sometimes it helps to get involved in civic affairs and public business. Yet even in this kind of life, between ambition and slander, it's hard to stay honest. There are times when a wise man will give way, but he shouldn't give in too easily. If he has to retreat, let him protect his honor and withdraw with his sword in hand and his face toward the enemy. Of all ways of life, a studious one is the least tiresome. It makes us comfortable with ourselves and others, and wins us both friends and a good reputation.