“A good conscience is the testimony of a good life, and the reward of it.” This is it that fortifies the mind against fortune, when a man has gotten the mastery of his passions; placed his treasure and security within himself; learned to be content with his condition; and that death is no evil in itself, but only the end of man. He that has dedicated his mind to virtue, and to the good of human society, whereof he is a member, has consummated all that is either profitable or necessary for him to know or to do toward the establishment of his peace. Every man has a judge and a witness within himself of all the good and ill that he does, which inspires us with great thoughts, and administers to us wholesome counsels. We have a veneration for all the works of Nature, the heads of rivers, and the springs of medicinal waters; the horrors of groves and of caves strike us with an impression of religion and worship. To see a man fearless in dangers, untainted with lusts, happy in adversity, composed in a tumult, and laughing at all those things which are generally either coveted or feared; all men must acknowledge that this can be nothing else but a beam of divinity that influences a mortal body. And this is it that carries us to the disquisition of things divine and human; what the state of the world was before the distribution of the first matter into parts; what power it was that drew order out of that confusion, and gave laws both to the whole, and to every particle thereof; what that space is beyond the world; and whence proceed the several operations of Nature.
“A good conscience is the evidence of a good life, and its reward.” This is what strengthens the mind against fortune. It comes when a man has gained mastery of his passions, placed his treasure and security within himself, and learned to be content with his condition. It comes when he has learned that death is no evil in itself, but only the end of man. He who has devoted his mind to virtue, and to the good of the human society of which he is a member, has completed all that is either useful or necessary for him to know or do to establish his peace. Every man has within himself a judge and a witness of all the good and evil he does. This inspires us with great thoughts and gives us wholesome counsel. We revere all the works of Nature, the sources of rivers and the springs of healing waters. The dread that groves and caves inspire strikes us with a sense of religion and worship. Suppose we see a man fearless in danger, untouched by lusts, happy in adversity, calm in an uproar, and laughing at all the things most people either crave or fear. All men must admit that this can be nothing other than a ray of divinity acting on a mortal body. And this is what carries us on to inquire into things divine and human. We ask what the state of the world was before the first matter was divided into parts. We ask what power drew order out of that confusion and gave laws both to the whole and to every particle of it. We ask what that space beyond the world is, and where the various workings of Nature come from.
Shall any man see the glory and order of the universe; so many scattered parts and qualities wrought into one mass; such a medley of things, which are yet distinguished: the world enlightened, and the disorders of it so wonderfully regulated; and shall he not consider the Author and Disposer of all this; and whither we ourselves shall go, when our souls shall be delivered from the slavery of our flesh? The whole creation we see conforms to the dictates of Providence, and follows God both as a governor and as a guide. A great, a good, and a right mind, is a kind of divinity lodged in flesh, and may be the blessing of a slave as well as of a prince; it came from heaven, and to heaven it must return; and it is a kind of heavenly felicity, which a pure and virtuous mind enjoys, in some degree, even upon earth: whereas temples of honor are but empty names, which, probably, owe their beginning either to ambition or to violence.
Can anyone look at the glory and order of the universe and not be amazed? So many scattered parts and qualities are woven into one whole. It's a mixture of things that are still distinct from each other. The world is filled with light, and its disorders are wonderfully regulated. How can someone see all this and not think about the Author and Creator of it all? How can they not wonder where we ourselves will go when our souls are freed from the slavery of our flesh? All of creation follows the commands of Providence. It follows God both as a ruler and as a guide. A great, good, and righteous mind is like a piece of divinity living in flesh. It can bless a slave just as much as a prince. It came from heaven, and to heaven it must return. A pure and virtuous mind enjoys a kind of heavenly happiness, even here on earth. Meanwhile, temples of honor are just empty names. They probably began either from ambition or from violence.
I am strangely transported with the thoughts of eternity; nay, with the belief of it; for I have a profound veneration for the opinions of great men, especially when they promise things so much to my satisfaction: for they do promise them, though they do not prove them. In the question of the immortality of the soul, it goes very far with me, a general consent to the opinion of a future reward and punishment; which meditation raises me to the contempt of this life, in hopes of a better. But still, though we know that we have a soul; yet what the soul is, how, and from whence, we are utterly ignorant: this only we understand, that all the good and ill we do is under the dominion of the mind; that a clear conscience states us in an inviolable peace; and that the greatest blessing in Nature is that which every honest man may bestow upon himself. The body is but the clog and prisoner of the mind; tossed up and down, and persecuted with punishments, violences, and diseases; but the mind itself is sacred and eternal, and exempt from the danger of all actual impression.
I am strangely carried away by thoughts of eternity, and even by belief in it. For I have a deep reverence for the opinions of great men, especially when they promise things so much to my liking. And they do promise them, though they do not prove them. On the question of the immortality of the soul, the general agreement in the belief in future reward and punishment counts for a great deal with me. This meditation raises me to despise this life, in the hope of a better one. Still, though we know that we have a soul, we are entirely ignorant of what the soul is, and how, and from where. We understand only this much. All the good and evil we do is under the rule of the mind. A clear conscience settles us in a peace that cannot be broken. And the greatest blessing in Nature is one that every honest man can give himself. The body is only a weight on the mind, and its prisoner. It is tossed up and down and harassed with punishments, violence, and diseases. But the mind itself is sacred and eternal, and safe from the danger of any actual blow.
Provided that we look to our consciences, no matter for opinion: let me deserve well, though I hear ill. The common people take stomach and audacity for the marks of magnanimity and honor; and if a man be soft and modest, they look upon him as an easy fop; but when they come once to observe the dignity of his mind in the equality and firmness of his actions; and that his external quiet is founded upon an internal peace, the very same people who have him in esteem and admiration; for there is no man but approves of virtue, though but few pursue it; we see where it is, but we dare not venture to come at it: and the reason is, we overvalue that which we must quit to obtain it.
As long as we follow our consciences, public opinion doesn't matter. Let me do what's right, even if people speak badly of me. Most people mistake boldness and aggression for true greatness and honor. If someone is gentle and modest, they see him as weak or foolish. But once they notice the dignity of his character through his steady, consistent actions, they realize his outward calm comes from inner peace. Then these same people respect and admire him. Everyone recognizes virtue when they see it, though few actually pursue it. We know where to find it, but we're afraid to go after it. The reason is simple: we place too much value on what we'd have to give up to get it.
A good conscience fears no witnesses, but a guilty conscience is solicitous even of solitude. If we do nothing but what is honest, let all the world know it; but if otherwise, what does it signify to have nobody else know it, so long as I know it myself? Miserable is he that slights that witness! Wickedness, it is true, may escape the law, but not the conscience; for a private conviction is the first and the greatest punishment to offenders; so that sin plagues itself; and the fear of vengeance pursues even those that escape the stroke of it. It were ill for good men that iniquity may so easily evade the law, the judge, and the execution, if Nature had not set up torments and gibbets in the consciences of transgressors. He that is guilty lives in perpetual terror; and while he expects to be punished, he punishes himself; and whosoever deserves it expects it. What if he be not detected? he is still in apprehension yet that he may be so. His sleeps are painful, and never secure; and he cannot speak of another man’s wickedness without thinking of his own, whereas a good conscience is a continual feast.
A clear conscience has nothing to fear from witnesses, but a guilty conscience worries even when alone. If we only do honest things, let the whole world know about it. But if we do wrong, what good does it do to hide it from others when we still know it ourselves? How miserable is the person who ignores that inner witness! It's true that wickedness may escape the law, but it cannot escape the conscience. Private conviction is the first and greatest punishment for wrongdoers. Sin torments itself. The fear of punishment follows even those who escape actual punishment. It would be terrible for good people if evil could so easily avoid the law, the judge, and execution. But Nature has set up torments and gallows in the consciences of wrongdoers. The guilty person lives in constant terror. While expecting to be punished, he punishes himself. Anyone who deserves punishment expects it. What if he's not caught? He still fears that he might be. His sleep is painful and never peaceful. He cannot speak of another person's wickedness without thinking of his own. But a good conscience is a continual feast.
Those are the only certain and profitable delights, which arise from the consciousness of a well-acted life; no matter for noise abroad, so long as we are quiet within: but if our passions be seditious, that is enough to keep us waking without any other tumult. It is not the posture of the body, or the composure of the bed, that will give rest to an uneasy mind: there is an impatient sloth that may be roused by action, and the vices of laziness must be cured by business. True happiness is not to be found in excesses of wine, or of women, or in the largest prodigalities of fortune; what she has given to me, she may take away, but she shall not tear it from me; and, so long as it does not grow to me, I can part with it without pain. He that would perfectly know himself, let him set aside his money, his fortune, his dignity, and examine himself naked, without being put to learn from others the knowledge of himself.
The only sure and profitable delights are those that arise from the awareness of a life well lived. The noise outside does not matter, as long as we are quiet within. But if our passions are rebellious, that is enough to keep us awake without any other uproar. It is not the posture of the body or the smoothing of the bed that will give rest to an uneasy mind. There is a restless sloth that can be roused by action, and the vices of laziness must be cured by business. True happiness is not found in excesses of wine or of women, nor in Fortune’s most lavish gifts. What she has given me she may take away, but she will not tear it from me. As long as it has not grown into me, I can part with it without pain. Whoever wants to know himself perfectly should set aside his money, his fortune, and his rank, and examine himself naked, without having to learn from others what he is.
It is dangerous for a man too suddenly, or too easily, to believe himself. Wherefore let us examine, observe, and inspect our own hearts, for we ourselves are our own greatest flatterers: we should every night call ourselves to account, “What infirmity have I mastered to-day? what passion opposed? what temptation resisted? what virtue acquired?” Our vices will abate of themselves, if they be brought every day to the shrift. Oh the blessed sleep that follows such a diary! Oh the tranquillity, liberty, and greatness of that mind that is a spy upon itself, and a private censor of its own manners! It is my custom (says our author) every night, so soon as the candle is out, to run over all the words and actions of the past day; and I let nothing escape me; for why should I fear the sight of my own errors, when I can admonish and forgive myself? “I was a little too hot in such a dispute: my opinion might have been as well spared, for it gave offence, and did no good at all. The thing was true, but all truths are not to be spoken at all times; I would I had held my tongue, for there is no contending either with fools or our superiors. I have done ill, but it shall be so no more.” If every man would but thus look into himself, it would be the better for us all. What can be more reasonable than this daily review of a life that we cannot warrant for a moment? Our fate is set, and the first breath we draw is only the first motion toward our last: one cause depends upon another; and the course of all things, public and private, is but a long connection of providential appointments. There is a great variety in our lives, but all tends to the same issue. Nature may use her own bodies as she pleases; but a good man has this consolation, that nothing perishes which he can call his own. It is a great comfort that we are only condemned to the same fate with the universe; the heavens themselves are mortal as well as our bodies; Nature has made us passive, and to suffer is our lot. While we are in flesh, every man has his chain and his clog, only it is looser and lighter to one man than to another; and he is more at ease that takes it up and carries it, than he that drags it. We are born, to lose and to perish, to hope and to fear, to vex ourselves and others; and there is no antidote against a common calamity but virtue; for “the foundation of true joy is in the conscience.”
It is dangerous for a man to take his own word about himself too quickly or too easily. So let us examine, observe, and inspect our own hearts, for we are our own greatest flatterers. Every night we should call ourselves to account. “What weakness have I mastered today? What passion have I opposed? What temptation have I resisted? What virtue have I gained?” Our vices will lessen of their own accord if they are brought to confession every day. Oh, the blessed sleep that follows such a diary! Oh, the peace, freedom, and greatness of a mind that spies on itself and privately censors its own conduct! It is my custom (says our author) every night, as soon as the candle is out, to go over all the words and actions of the past day. I let nothing escape me. For why should I fear the sight of my own errors, when I can warn and forgive myself? “I was a little too hot in that dispute. I could well have kept my opinion to myself, for it gave offense and did no good at all. The thing was true, but not all truths are to be spoken at all times. I wish I had held my tongue, for there is no arguing either with fools or with our superiors. I have done wrong, but I will do so no more.” If every man would look into himself this way, we would all be the better for it. What can be more reasonable than this daily review of a life we cannot guarantee for a moment? Our fate is fixed, and the first breath we draw is only the first step toward our last. One cause depends on another. The course of all things, public and private, is only a long chain of the appointments of Providence. There is great variety in our lives, but all tend to the same end. Nature may use her own bodies as she pleases. But a good man has this comfort, that nothing he can call his own perishes. It is a great comfort that we are condemned only to the same fate as the universe. The heavens themselves are mortal, as our bodies are. Nature has made us to be acted upon, and to suffer is our lot. While we are in the flesh, every man has his chain and his weight. It is only looser and lighter for one man than for another. And he who picks it up and carries it is more at ease than he who drags it. We are born to lose and to perish, to hope and to fear, to trouble ourselves and others. And there is no antidote to a common calamity but virtue, for “the foundation of true joy is in the conscience.”