The man that would be truly rich must not increase his fortune, but retrench his appetites: for riches are not only superfluous, but mean, and little more to the possessor than to the looker-on. What is the end of ambition and avarice, when at best we are but stewards of what we falsely call our own? All those things that we pursue with so much hazard and expense of blood, as well to keep as to get, for which we break faith and friendship, what are they but the mere deposita of Fortune? and not ours, but already inclining toward a new master. There is nothing our own but that which we give to ourselves, and of which we have a certain and an inexpugnable possession. Avarice is so insatiable, that it is not in the power of liberality to content it; and our desires are so boundless, that whatever we get is but in the way to getting more without end: and so long as we are solicitous for the increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our time in putting out, calling in, and passing our accounts, without any substantial benefit, either to the world or to ourselves. What is the difference betwixt old men and children? the one cries for nuts and apples, and the other for gold and silver: the one sets up courts of justice, hears and determines, acquits and condemns, in jest; the other in earnest: the one makes houses of clay, the other of marble: so that the works of old men are nothing in the world but the progress and improvement of children’s errors; and they are to be admonished and punished too like children, not in revenge for injuries received, but as a correction of injuries done, and to make them give over. There is some substance yet in gold and silver; but as to judgments and statutes, procuration and continuance-money, these are only the visions and dreams of avarice. Throw a crust of bread to a dog, he takes it open-mouthed, swallows it whole, and presently gapes for more: just so do we with the gifts of Fortune; down they go without chewing, and we are immediately ready for another chop. But what has avarice now to do with gold and silver, that is so much outdone by curiosities of a far greater value? Let us no longer complain that there was not a heavier load laid upon those precious metals, or that they were not buried deep enough, when we have found out ways by wax and parchments, and by bloody usurious contracts, to undo one another. It is remarkable, that Providence has given us all things for our advantage near at hand; but iron, gold, and silver, (being both the instrument of blood and slaughter, and the price of it) Nature has hidden in the bowels of the earth.
To become truly rich, you must not increase your wealth but reduce your desires. Riches are not only unnecessary but meaningless. They offer little more value to the owner than to someone just looking at them. What is the point of ambition and greed when we are merely caretakers of what we falsely call our own? All the things we chase with such danger and cost, risking our lives to gain and keep them, breaking trust and friendship along the way—what are they but temporary deposits from Fortune? They don't belong to us. They're already moving toward a new master. Nothing is truly ours except what we give to ourselves, and what we possess with certainty that cannot be taken away. Greed is so endless that no amount of generosity can satisfy it. Our desires are so limitless that whatever we get only leads us to want more without end. As long as we worry about increasing our wealth, we lose the ability to truly use it. We spend our time lending, collecting, and balancing accounts without any real benefit to the world or ourselves. What's the difference between old men and children? One cries for nuts and apples, the other for gold and silver. One sets up pretend courts, hearing cases and making judgments in play. The other does the same thing seriously. One builds houses of clay, the other of marble. The works of old men are nothing more than grown-up versions of children's mistakes. They should be corrected and disciplined like children, not for revenge but to stop them from causing harm. At least gold and silver have some substance. But legal judgments, laws, legal fees, and court costs—these are just the fantasies and dreams of greed. Throw a crust of bread to a dog. He catches it with his mouth wide open, swallows it whole, and immediately begs for more. That's exactly how we handle Fortune's gifts. Down they go without thought, and we're instantly ready for another bite. But what does greed have to do with gold and silver anymore when it's been outdone by curiosities worth far more? Let's stop complaining that those precious metals weren't made heavier or buried deeper underground. We've found ways through contracts and documents, through bloody and exploitative deals, to destroy each other. It's worth noting that Providence has given us everything we need close at hand. But iron, gold, and silver—both the tools of violence and its price—Nature has hidden deep in the earth.
There is no avarice without some punishment, over and above that which it is to itself. How miserable is it in the desire! how miserable even in the attaining of our ends! For money is a greater torment in the possession than it is in the pursuit. The fear of losing it is a great trouble, the loss of it a greater, and it is made a greater yet by opinion. Nay, even in the case of no direct loss at all, the covetous man loses what he does not get. It is true, the people call the rich man a happy man, and wish themselves in his condition; but can any condition be worse than that which carries vexation and envy along with it? Neither is any man to boast of his fortune, his herds of cattle, his number of slaves, his lands and palaces; for comparing that which he has to that which he further covets, he is a beggar. No man can possess all things, but any man may contemn them; and the contempt of riches is the nearest way to the gaining of them.
Greed always brings punishment beyond the misery it creates for itself. How wretched it makes us in our wanting! How wretched even when we get what we're after! Money causes more pain when we have it than when we're chasing it. The fear of losing it troubles us greatly. Actually losing it troubles us even more. Our thoughts make the pain worse still. Even when we don't lose anything directly, the greedy person loses what he doesn't gain. People call the rich man happy and wish they were in his place. But can any situation be worse than one that brings constant worry and envy? No one should boast about his wealth, his herds, his slaves, his lands and mansions. When he compares what he has to what he still wants, he's really a beggar. No one can own everything, but anyone can despise material things. Despising riches is the surest way to gain them.
Some magistrates are made for money, and those commonly are bribed with money. We are all turned merchants, and look not into the quality of things, but into the price of them; for reward we are pious, and for reward again we are impious. We are honest so long as we may thrive upon it; but if the devil himself gives better wages, we change our party. Our parents have trained us up into an admiration of gold and silver, and the love of it is grown up with us to that degree that when we would show our gratitude to Heaven, we make presents of those metals. This it is that makes poverty look like a curse and a reproach; and the poets help it forward; the chariot of the sun must be all of gold; the best of times must be the Golden Age, and thus they turn the greatest misery of mankind into the greatest blessings.
Some judges can be bought with money, and those are usually the ones who take bribes. We've all become merchants who only care about price, not quality. We act religious when it pays, and we abandon our faith when that pays better. We stay honest as long as it's profitable. But if the devil offers better wages, we'll switch sides. Our parents raised us to worship gold and silver. This love of money has grown so strong that when we want to thank God, we offer him these metals as gifts. This is why poverty seems like a curse and a shame. The poets make it worse. They say the sun's chariot must be made of gold. They call the best era the Golden Age. This way, they turn mankind's greatest misery into its greatest blessing.
Neither does avarice make us only unhappy in ourselves, but malevolent also to mankind. The soldier wishes for war; the husbandman would have his corn dear; the lawyer prays for dissension; the physician for a sickly year; he that deals in curiosities, for luxury and excess, for he makes up his fortunes out of the corruptions of the age. High winds and public conflagrations make work for the carpenter and bricklayer, and one man lives by the loss of another; some few, perhaps, have the fortune to be detected, but they are all wicked alike. A great plague makes work for the sexton; and, in one word, whosoever gains by the dead has not much kindness for the living. Demades of Athens condemned a fellow that sold necessaries for funerals, upon proof that he wished to make himself a fortune by his trade, which could not be but by a great mortality; but perhaps he did not so much desire to have many customers, as to sell dear, and buy cheap; besides, that all of that trade might have been condemned as well as he. Whatsoever whets our appetites, flatters and depresses the mind, and, by dilating it, weakens it; first blowing it up, and then filling and deluding it with vanity.
Greed doesn't just make us unhappy. It also makes us hostile toward other people. The soldier wants war. The farmer hopes his grain will be expensive. The lawyer prays for conflict. The doctor wishes for a year of sickness. The merchant who sells luxury goods wants people to be wasteful and excessive, because he builds his fortune from society's corruption. Strong winds and public fires create work for carpenters and builders. One person profits from another's loss. A few might get caught, but they're all equally wicked. A terrible plague creates work for the gravedigger. In short, anyone who profits from death has little love for the living. Demades of Athens once condemned a man who sold funeral supplies. The evidence showed he wanted to get rich from his trade, which could only happen if many people died. But maybe he didn't want more customers so much as he wanted to sell at high prices and buy at low ones. Besides, everyone in that business could have been condemned just as well. Whatever increases our desires also flatters and weakens the mind. It expands the mind, making it weaker. First it inflates the mind, then fills it with empty vanity.
To proceed now from the most prostitute of all vices, sensuality and avarice, to that which passes in the world for the most generous, the thirst of glory and dominion. If they that run mad after wealth and honor, could but look into the hearts of them that have already gained these points, how would it startle them to see those hideous cares and crimes that wait upon ambitious greatness: all those acquisitions that dazzle the eyes of the vulgar are but false pleasures, slippery and uncertain. They are achieved with labor, and the very guard of them is painful. Ambition puffs us up with vanity and wind: and we are equally troubled either to see any body before us, or nobody behind us; so that we lie under a double envy; for whosoever envies another is also envied himself. What matters it how far Alexander extended his conquests, if he was not yet satisfied with what he had? Every man wants as much as he covets; and it is lost labor to pour into a vessel that will never be full. He that had subdued so many princes and nations, upon the killing of Clytus (one friend) and the loss of Hyphestion (another) delivered himself up to anger and sadness; and when he was master of the world, he was yet a slave to his passions. Look into Cyrus, Cambyses, and the whole Persian line, and you shall not find so much as one man of them that died satisfied with what he had gotten. Ambition aspires from great things to greater; and propounds matters even impossible, when it has once arrived at things beyond expectation. It is a kind of dropsy; the more a man drinks, the more he covets. Let any man but observe the tumults and the crowds that attend palaces; what affronts must we endure to be admitted, and how much greater when we are in! The passage to virtue is fair, but the way to greatness is craggy and it stands not only upon a precipice, but upon ice too; and yet it is a hard matter to convince a great man that his station is slippery, or to prevail with him not to depend upon his greatness; but all superfluities are hurtful. A rank crop lays the corn; too great a burden of fruit breaks the bough; and our minds may be as well overcharged with an immoderate happiness. Nay, though we ourselves would be at rest, our fortune will not suffer it: the way that leads to honor and riches leads to troubles; and we find the source of our sorrows in the very objects of our delights.
Let's move from the most degrading vices, like lust and greed, to what the world considers the most noble: the hunger for glory and power. If those who chase wealth and honor could see into the hearts of people who already have these things, they would be shocked. They would see the terrible worries and crimes that come with ambitious greatness. All those achievements that impress ordinary people are just false pleasures, slippery and uncertain. They take hard work to achieve, and even keeping them is painful. Ambition fills us with vanity and hot air. We're equally troubled to see anyone ahead of us or no one behind us. So we suffer from double envy, because whoever envies another person is also envied by others. What does it matter how far Alexander extended his conquests if he still wasn't satisfied with what he had? Every person wants as much as they desire. It's wasted effort to pour water into a vessel that will never be full. Alexander had conquered so many princes and nations, but when he killed Clytus (one friend) and lost Hyphestion (another), he gave himself over to anger and sadness. When he was master of the world, he was still a slave to his emotions. Look at Cyrus, Cambyses, and the whole Persian royal line. You won't find even one of them who died satisfied with what they had gained. Ambition reaches from great things to greater ones. It sets impossible goals once it has achieved things beyond expectation. It's like a disease where the more a person drinks, the more they want. Just watch the chaos and crowds around palaces. Think about the insults we must endure to get in, and how much worse it gets once we're inside! The path to virtue is clear, but the way to greatness is rocky. It stands not only on a cliff, but on ice too. Yet it's hard to convince a great person that their position is slippery, or to persuade them not to depend on their greatness. All excess is harmful. Too thick a crop flattens the grain. Too much fruit breaks the branch. Our minds can be just as overloaded with too much happiness. Even when we want to rest, our fortune won't let us. The road that leads to honor and riches leads to trouble. We find the source of our sorrows in the very things that delight us.
What joy is there in feasting and luxury; in ambition and a crowd of clients; in the arms of a mistress, or in the vanity of an unprofitable knowledge? These short and false pleasures deceive us, and, like drunkenness, revenge the jolly madness of one hour with the nauseous and sad repentance of many. Ambition is like a gulf: everything is swallowed up in it and buried, beside the dangerous consequences of it; for that which one has taken from all, may be easily taken away again by all from one. It was not either virtue or reason, but the mad love of a deceitful greatness, that animated Pompey in his wars, either abroad or at home. What was it but his ambition that hurried him to Spain, Africa, and elsewhere, when he was too great already in everybody’s opinion but his own? And the same motive had Julius Cæsar, who could not, even then, brook a superior himself, when the commonwealth had submitted unto two already.
What joy can you find in fancy feasts and luxury? What about in ambition and having crowds of followers? Or in a lover's arms, or in showing off useless knowledge? These brief and fake pleasures trick us. Like getting drunk, they trade one hour of wild happiness for many hours of sick, sad regret. Ambition is like a bottomless pit. Everything gets swallowed up and buried in it, plus it brings dangerous consequences. What one person takes from everyone else can easily be taken back by everyone else from that one person. It wasn't virtue or reason that drove Pompey in his wars, both foreign and domestic. It was the crazy love of false greatness. What else but his ambition rushed him off to Spain, Africa, and other places when everyone already thought he was too powerful? Everyone except Pompey himself, that is. Julius Caesar had the same motive. He couldn't stand having a superior, even when the republic had already submitted to two leaders.
Nor was it any instinct of virtue that pushed on Marius, who at the head of an army was himself led on under the command of ambition: but he came at last to the deserved fate of other wicked men, and to drink himself of the same cup that he had filled to others. We impose upon our reason, when we suffer ourselves to be transported with titles; for we know that they are nothing but a more glorious sound; and so for ornaments and gildings, though there be a lustre to dazzle our eyes, our understanding tells us that it is only outside, and the matter under it is only coarse and common.
It wasn't virtue that drove Marius forward. He led an army, but ambition was really commanding him. In the end, he met the same fate as other evil men. He had to drink from the same cup of suffering that he had forced others to drink from. We fool ourselves when we get carried away by impressive titles. We know they're just fancy words that sound important. The same goes for decorations and gold trim. They might shine and catch our eye, but our minds tell us it's all just surface. Underneath, the material is rough and ordinary.
I will never envy those that the people call great and happy. A sound mind is not to be shaken with a popular and vain applause; nor is it in the power of their pride to disturb the state of our happiness. An honest man is known now-a-days by the dust he raises upon the way, and it is become a point of honor to overrun people, and keep all at a distance; though he that is put out of the way may perchance be happier than he that takes it. He that would exercise a power profitable to himself, and grievous to nobody else, let him practice it upon his passion. They that have burnt cities, otherwise invincible, driven armies before them, and bathed themselves in human blood, after they have overcome all open enemies, they have been vanquished by their lust, by their cruelty, and without any resistance.
I will never envy those people call great and happy. A sound mind cannot be shaken by popular but empty praise. Their pride has no power to disturb our happiness. An honest man these days is known by the commotion he causes on his way. It has become a point of honor to push past people and keep everyone at a distance. Yet the person who gets pushed aside might be happier than the one doing the pushing. If someone wants to exercise power that benefits himself without harming others, let him practice it on his own passions. Those who have burned unconquerable cities, driven armies before them, and bathed themselves in human blood have overcome all open enemies. But after all their victories, they have been defeated by their own lust and cruelty, without any resistance.
Alexander was possessed with the madness of laying kingdoms waste. He began with Greece, where he was brought up; and there he quarried himself upon that in it which was the best; he enslaved Lacedemon, and silenced Athens: nor was he content with the destruction of those towns which his father Philip had either conquered or bought; but he made himself the enemy of human nature; and, like the worst of beasts, he worried what he could not eat.
Alexander was driven by a mad desire to destroy kingdoms. He started with Greece, where he had grown up. There he attacked what was best in his homeland. He enslaved Lacedemon and silenced Athens. He wasn't satisfied with just destroying the towns his father Philip had conquered or bought. Instead, he made himself an enemy of all humanity. Like the worst kind of wild animal, he destroyed what he couldn't consume.
Felicity is an unquiet thing; it torments itself, and puzzles the brain. It makes some people ambitious, others luxurious; it puffs up some, and softens others; only (as it is with wine) some heads bear it better than others; but it dissolves all. Greatness stands upon a precipice: and if prosperity carries a man never so little beyond his poise, it overbears and dashes him to pieces. It is a rare thing for a man in a great fortune to lay down his happiness gently; it being a common fate for a man to sink under the weight of those felicities that raise him. How many of the nobility did Marius bring down to herdsmen and other mean offices! Nay, in the very moment of our despising servants, we may be made so ourselves.
Happiness is a restless thing. It torments itself and confuses the mind. It makes some people ambitious, others indulgent. It puffs up some and softens others. Like wine, some people handle it better than others, but it affects everyone. Greatness stands on a cliff's edge. If prosperity carries a man even slightly beyond his balance, it overwhelms him and destroys him. It's rare for someone with great fortune to set aside their happiness gently. Most people sink under the weight of the very success that lifts them up. How many nobles did Marius reduce to shepherds and other lowly jobs! Even in the moment we look down on servants, we ourselves might become servants.