Stobaeus on Stoic Ethics 13

The Stoics call "practices" the love of music, of letters, of horses, of hunting, and, broadly speaking, the so-called general crafts. 

They are not knowledge, but they leave them in the class of virtuous conditions, and consistently they say that only the wise man is a music lover and a lover of letters, and analogously in the other cases. 

They give a definition of a "practice" as follows: a method using a craft or some part of a craft that leads us to what is in accord with virtue. 

IMAGE: Rembrandt, The Scholar at the Lectern (1641) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 79.4

Already much of the task is accomplished; nay, rather, if I can bring myself to confess the truth, not much. 
 
For goodness does not mean merely being better than the lowest. Who that could catch but a mere glimpse of the daylight would boast his powers of vision? One who sees the sun shining through a mist may be contented meanwhile that he has escaped darkness, but he does not yet enjoy the blessing of light.
 
Our souls will not have reason to rejoice in their lot until, freed from this darkness in which they grope, they have not merely glimpsed the brightness with feeble vision, but have absorbed the full light of day and have been restored to their place in the sky—until, indeed, they have regained the place which they held at the allotment of their birth. 
 
The soul is summoned upward by its very origin. And it will reach that goal even before it is released from its prison below, as soon as it has cast off sin and, in purity and lightness, has leaped up into celestial realms of thought. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 79 
 
Once I have set my sights on the virtues, I am confronted with another challenge. From thinking far too little of myself, I am tempted to now think far too much of myself, to presume that I have gained a mastery over something by merely glancing at it. I may speak about it with an intense passion, but I have not yet done the rough work of weaving it into my very bones. 
 
Am I a better man today than I was yesterday, or a decade ago? While it is good to be proud of progress, however slight, an advancement is not the same as a completion, just as one step does not conclude the entire journey. To catch a glimmer of light, from the corner of my eye, and to be drawn to its warmth, is not yet to bask in its glow. I am peeking through a dusty windowpane, even as I am being called to stroll freely in the sunshine. 
 
It begins with a transformation of understanding. It continues with a purity of intention. It is expressed in a habit of action; though it may not have to take a long time, it does demand a rigorous practice. Aristotle rightly distinguished between moral continence, where I know something of the good while still struggling to act upon it, and moral virtue, where the exercise of the good becomes like a second nature. 
 
I should not delude myself into believing that there are any shortcuts to an informed character. Latching onto a political creed, or a religious cult, or an ethnic tribe is never a substitute for a personal commitment, because it assumes the appearance without the responsibility. I note how the more I am inclined to scold my supposed enemies, the more I am whitewashing my own hidden vices. 
 
The angry zealot thinks he is already a sage, and the bitter cynic denies that there can ever be any sages, and both of them are victims of their own anxieties. I choose not to fall for either of these traps today, and if I can then manage it again tomorrow, I have achieved a bit of growth. Maturity is not instant, nor is it impossible: it comes from the process of dragging myself out of the shadows and daring to be consumed by the radiance. 
 
It is the rediscovery of the home I have forgotten, a return to my nature, a reverence that unfolds into a recognition. 

—Reflection written in 11/2013 

IMAGE: Rembrandt, The Philosopher in Meditation (1632) 

Poor Lazarus

Gustave Moreau, The Wicked Rich and the Poor Lazarus (c. 1875) 

Phaethon

Gustave Moreau, Phaethon (1878) 

Angels of Sodom

Gustave Moreau, The Angels of Sodom (c. 1890) 

Night

Gustave Moreau, Night (c. 1882) 

Dead Poet

Gustave Moreau, Dead Poet Carried by a Centaur (c. 1890) 

Helen

Gustave Moreau, Helen on the Walls of Troy (c. 1885) 

Inspiration

Gustave Moreau, Inspiration (c. 1893) 

King David

Gustave Moreau, King David (1878) 

Fine Weather

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 1.6

. . . But I expect, that the adversaries of this opinion will appeal back again to our own experience, and urge afresh, what? Do we not often find ourselves forced by the tyranny of ill men, and the overbearing torment of our own passions, and the strong bent of natural sympathies and antipathies? Do not these compel us to do and suffer many things against our wills; and such as no man in his senses would choose, if it were in his power to avoid? 

To this my answer is still the same, that notwithstanding all this, our liberty is not destroyed, but the choice upon these occasions is still free, and our own. For here are two things proposed; and, though the side we take, be not eligible for its own sake, and when considered absolutely; yet it is so, with regard to the present straits we are in, and when compared with something which we avoid by this means; and for this reason it is, that we make choice of it. 

And it is utterly impossible that a man should be carried to do anything without the consent of his own mind; For he, that does a thing without his own choice, is like a man thrust down a precipice by some stronger hand, which he cannot resist; and this person is at that time under the circumstance of an inanimate creature; he does not act at all, but is purely passive in the case. So that, when we really do act, though with never so great unwillingness and reluctancy, yet still we choose to act, after such and such a manner. 

This is further evident from men’s own practice. For we find several persons take several ways, when yet the necessity that lies upon them is the same. Some choose to comply with what is imposed upon them, for fear of enduring some greater evil, if they refuse it; others again are peremptory in the refusing it, as looking upon such compliance to be a greater evil, than any punishment they can possibly undergo, upon account of their refusal. So that, even in those actions that seem most involuntary, there is still a place for liberty and choice. 

For we must distinguish between what is voluntary, and what is free. That only is voluntary, which would be chosen for its own sake ; but that is free, which we have power to choose, not only for its own sake, but for the sake of avoiding some greater mischief. 

And indeed, there are some cases, in which we find both something voluntary, and something involuntary meet. For which reason those are properly called mixed actions; that is, when what is eligible upon these occasions, is not simply and absolutely so, but carries something along with it, which we should never choose, if we could help it. And Homer very elegantly describes the perplexity of thought, this mixture of voluntariness and involuntariness, in the soul, when he say to this purpose, 

Great strife in my divided breast I find, A will consenting, yet unwilling mind. 

These things I thought fit rather to enlarge upon, because almost all the following book depends upon this distinction of the things in our own power: for, the design of it being wholly moral and instructive, he lays the true foundation here at first; and shows us, what we ought to place all our happiness and all our unhappiness in; and that, being at our own disposal, and endued with a principle of motion from within, we are to expect it all from our own actions. 

For things that move mechanically and necessarily, as they drive their being from, so they owe all the good and evil they are capable of to, something else; they depend upon the impressions made upon them from without, both for the thing itself, and for the degree of it. 

But those creatures, which act freely, and are themselves the cause of their own motions and operations, receive all their good and evil from these operations. Now these operations, properly speaking, with regard to knowledge and speculative matters, are their opinions and apprehensions of things; but with regard to desirable objects, and matters of practice, they are the appetites, and aversions, and the affections of the soul. 

When therefore we have just ideas, and our notions agree with the things themselves; and when we apply our desires and our aversions to such objects, and in such measures, as we ought to do; then we are properly happy, and attain to that perfection, which nature has designed us for, and made peculiar to us: but when we fail in these matters, then we fail of that happiness and perfection too. 

Now by our own actions, I mean such, as are wrought by ourselves only, and need nothing more to effect them, but our own choice. For as to actions that concern things without us, such as sciences and trades, and supplying the necessities of human life, and the making ourselves masters of knowledge, and the instructing others in it, or any other employments and professions of credit and reputation in the world; these are not entirely in our own power, but require many helps and external advantages, in order to the compassing of them. 

But the regulating of our opinions, and our own choices, is properly and entirely our own work, and stands in need of no foreign assistances. So that our good and evil depend on ourselves; for this we may be sure of, that no man is accountable for those things, that do not come within the compass of his own power. . . . 

Dhammapada 399

Him I call indeed a Brahmana who, though he has committed no offense, endures reproach, bonds, and stripes, who has endurance for his force, and strength for his army. 

IMAGE: Antonio Zucchi, Justice and Fortitude (1767) 

Proverbs 2:9-19

[9] Then you will understand righteousness and justice
and equity, every good path;
[10] for wisdom will come into your heart,
and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;
[11] discretion will watch over you;
understanding will guard you;
[12] delivering you from the way of evil,
from men of perverted speech,
[13] who forsake the paths of uprightness
to walk in the ways of darkness,
[14] who rejoice in doing evil
and delight in the perverseness of evil;
[15] men whose paths are crooked,
and who are devious in their ways.
[16] You will be saved from the loose woman,
from the adventuress with her smooth words,
[17] who forsakes the companion of her youth
and forgets the covenant of her God;
[18] for her house sinks down to death,
and her paths to the shades;
[19] none who go to her come back
nor do they regain the paths of life. 

IMAGE: Hermann von Kaulbach, Allegory of Wisdom and Justice (1888) 

Seneca, Moral Letters 79.3

Now if Aetna does not make your mouth water, I am mistaken in you. You have for some time been desirous of writing something in the grand style and on the level of the older school. For your modesty does not allow you to set your hopes any higher; this quality of yours is so pronounced that, it seems to me, you are likely to curb the force of your natural ability, if there should be any danger of outdoing others; so greatly do you reverence the old masters.
 
Wisdom has this advantage, among others—that no man can be outdone by another, except during the climb. But when you have arrived at the top, it is a draw; there is no room for further ascent, the game is over. 
 
Can the sun add to his size? Can the moon advance beyond her usual fulness? The seas do not increase in bulk. The Universe keeps the same character, the same limits. Things which have reached their full stature cannot grow higher. 
 
Men who have attained wisdom will therefore be equal and on the same footing. Each of them will possess his own peculiar gifts: one will be more affable, another more facile, another more ready of speech, a fourth more eloquent; but as regards the quality under discussion—the element that produces happiness—it is equal in them all.
 
I do not know whether this Aetna of yours can collapse and fall in ruins, whether this lofty summit, visible for many miles over the deep sea, is wasted by the incessant power of the flames; but I do know that virtue will not be brought down to a lower plane either by flames or by ruins. 
 
Hers is the only greatness that knows no lowering; there can be for her no further rising or sinking. Her stature, like that of the stars in the heavens, is fixed. Let us therefore strive to raise ourselves to this altitude. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 79 
 
This section strikes awfully close to home, for I have long been prone to selling myself short. I could easily try to blame the bullies and the beautiful people, for regularly reminding me how I wasn’t good enough, though I really know that the fault has always been my own. Let another man compete where there is no need to compete, and let me remember why the good life is never about winning a race. 
 
While Lucilius may feel intimidated by the greatness of the writers who came before him, his work must stand on its own merits. Perhaps just one entrepreneur can negotiate the lucrative contract, or only one athlete can win the gold medal, but in the end, happiness is not about the fortune and the fame. Once obtained, however we might manage to approach them, wisdom and virtue leave nothing more to be desired, and there is no limited supply, reserved for the select few. 
 
There is good reason why the analogy of climbing a mountain is so universal, even as I fear that too many of us are now denied such a rousing experience; begrudgingly taking the stairs when the elevator is broken is hardly the same. The various paths may be straight or winding, steep or gradual, long or short, scenic or bleak, yet we all hope to arrive at the very same summit. And after we reach that peak, no one wanderer is better or worse than any other. 
 
Whatever our peculiarities, and wherever we may have come from, the destination is shared in common, and it admits of no rank. If I care solely for the content of character, it will make little difference how any of us got there, or what baggage we carried with us. When understanding and love are the goal, there is no call for pretending to be special, as the accidents fall away from the essence. 
 
Consider how any rivalry must immediately cease, when a peace of mind has been achieved. Where there is prudence, there is no malice. Where there is fortitude, there is no doubt. Where there is temperance, there is no lust. Where there is justice, there is no envy. Name the human failing, and the virtues will always remove it, one person at a time. 
 
We only stumble if our priorities are out of order. All schemes must eventually fail, and every empire will surely crumble, but a soul filled with integrity is unassailable, because virtue is itself the pinnacle of our human nature. I am well-advised to recall this, the next time I find myself hindered by any fear or resentment about being good enough. 

—Reflection written in 11/2013

IMAGE: Thomas Cole, Mount Etna from Taormina (1843) 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 1.5

. . . Again, the souls choose their particular ways of living, according to their former dignity and disposition; but still, the behaving themselves well or ill in each of these ways, is left in their own power. Upon this account, we see many, who have chosen a way of trade, and business, and great temptation, yet continue very honest and good men in it; and many who profess philosophy, and the improvement of wisdom and virtue, are yet of very loose conversation, notwithstanding all the advantages of such an employment. 

For the different methods of life, as that of husbandry, or merchandise, or music, or the like, are chosen by the soul according to her former disposition; and men’s station in the world is assigned them, suitable to their dignity and deserts: but the management of themselves, in any of these callings, is the choice and work of the soul afterwards; and we do not so much blame or commend men for their callings themselves, as for their different behavior in them. 

Farther yet: this fatal position or revolution does never (as some men too boldly affirm it does) cause anything of wickedness in us, so as to make it necessary, that men born under it should be knaves and cheats, adulterous, or addicted to beastly and unnatural lusts. For, though the casters of nativities sometimes say true, when they foretell these things; yet this only happens, according as we receive particular qualities or impressions; which is done, sometimes in a moderate, and sometimes in an immoderate degree. 

And it is not the influence of the stars, but the corruption of the mind, that makes men knavish, or lascivious, or unnatural and brutish. Those that receive these influences moderately, and do not assist them by their own depravity, are cautious and wary, correct the heat of youth, and use it virtuously; but those that receive them immoderately, that is, give way to them, and promote them, debase and prostitute themselves to all manner of wickedness. 

And what reflection upon nature can this be? For, even that, which is most beneficial to us, may turn to our prejudice by a perverse use of it. The sun gives us light; it both makes things visible, and enables us to see them; And yet, if a man will be so foolish, as to take too much of it, to gaze upon his rays when they shine in their full strength, he may lose his eyesight by his folly. But then, that folly, and not the brightness of the sun, is to be blamed; if that, which is the author of light to all the world, be the occasion of blindness and darkness to him. 

Now, when the astrologers have (as they think) formed to themselves certain marks and rules, whereby to know, who will receive these impressions in a due measure, and who in a vicious excess; then they pronounce some men wise, and others subtle and knavish accordingly. Those, after all, I very much doubt, whether the erecting of any schemes can furnish them with such marks of distinction, or no: some things indeed are so manifest, that all the world must allow them; as, that when the sun is in Cancer, our bodies feel excessive heat; but some again are exceedingly dark and doubtful, and such as none, but those who have made themselves masters of astrology, can make anything of. 

Now, that those things which act constantly according to the design and directions of nature, preserve the original constitution given them at first by their great creator, and are endued with the greatest power and strength, that such things, I say, always act upon a good design, and properly speaking, are never the cause of any evil, seems to me very plain. 

For all evil is occasioned, not by the excess, but by the want of power; and if it were not so, power ought not to be reckoned among those things that are good. And yet it is as plain that even good things in excess oftentimes prove hurtful to us; but then, that hurt is not owing to the things, but to ourselves. And thus much may suffice, in answer to them who deny the freedom of the will, upon the pretense of any fatality from the motion or position of the heavens. 

But indeed, to all who deny this liberty, upon any argument whatsoever, it may be replied in general, that those who go about to destroy it, do by no means consider or understand the nature of the soul, but overthrow its very original constitution, without seeming to be sensible of it. For they take away all principle of internal and self-motion, in which the essence of the soul chiefly consists. For it must be either moved of its own accord, and then it is excited by a cause within itself to its appetites and affections, and not thrust forward and dragged along, as bodies are; or else it is moved by an external force, and then it is purely mechanical. 

Again, They who will not allow us to have our actions at our own disposal, do not attend to, nor are able to account for, the vital energy of the soul, and its assenting and dissenting, accepting or rejecting power. Now this is what experience and common sense teaches every man; that he has a power of consenting and refusing, embracing and declining, agreeing to or denying; and it is to no purpose to argue against that, which we feel and find every moment. But now all these are internal motions, begun in the soul itself; and not violent impulses and attractions from things without us, such as inanimate creatures must be moved by. 

For this is the difference between animate and inanimate bodies, that the one sort are moved by an internal principle, and the other are not. Now, according to this distinction, that which puts the inanimate into motion, must have a principle of motion of its own, and cannot itself be moved mechanically. For if this also derived its motion from something else, the body (as was urged before) is not moved by this, but by that other cause, from whence the motion is at first imparted to this; and so the body, being moved no longer from within, but by some forcible impression from without, as all other inanimate creatures are, must itself be concluded inanimate.

Once more, by denying that we have power over our actions, and a liberty of willing or not willing, of considering, comparing, choosing, desiring, declining, and the like, all moral distinctions are lost and gone, and virtue and vice are utterly confounded. There is no longer any just ground left for praise or dispraise, applause or reproach, rewards or punishments. 

The laws of God and man instituted for those purposes, and enforced by these sanctions, are evacuated; and the very foundations of them all torn up, and quite overturned. And then, do but consider, how dismal the consequences must be. For when once we are come to this pass, all order and society must needs be lost; and nothing left us, but a life of rapine and violence, of misery and confusion; a life, not of civilized men, but of ravenous and wild beasts. . . . 

Sayings of Publilius Syrus 175

A prosperous worthlessness is the curse of high life. 

IMAGE: Lawrence Alma-Tadema, The Roses of Heliogabalus (1888) 

Maxims of Goethe 67

The really foolish thing in men who are otherwise intelligent is that they fail to understand what another person says, when he does not exactly hit upon the right way of saying it. 

Seneca, Moral Letters 79.2

There is a well-known place in Lycia—called by the inhabitants “Hephaestion”—where the ground is full of holes in many places and is surrounded by a harmless fire, which does no injury to the plants that grow there. Hence the place is fertile and luxuriant with growth, because the flames do not scorch but merely shine with a force that is mild and feeble. 
 
But let us postpone this discussion, and look into the matter when you have given me a description just how far distant the snow lies from the crater—I mean the snow which does not melt even in summer, so safe is it from the adjacent fire. 
 
But there is no ground for your charging this work to my account; for you were about to gratify your own craze for fine writing, without a commission from anyone at all. Nay, what am I to offer you not merely to describe Aetna in your poem, and not to touch lightly upon a topic which is a matter of ritual for all poets? 
 
Ovid could not be prevented from using this theme simply because Vergil had already fully covered it; nor could either of these writers frighten off Cornelius Severus. Besides, the topic has served them all with happy results, and those who have gone before seem to me not to have forestalled all that could be said, but merely to have opened the way.
 

It makes a great deal of difference whether you approach a subject that has been exhausted, or one where the ground has merely been broken; in the latter case, the topic grows day by day, and what is already discovered does not hinder new discoveries. 

 
Besides, he who writes last has the best of the bargain; he finds already at hand words which, when marshalled in a different way, show a new face. And he is not pilfering them, as if they belonged to someone else, when he uses them, for they are common property. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 79 
 
Nature is full of instances where forces that would appear to be in violent opposition will resolve themselves into a delicate balance. I have yet to see plants thriving in the midst of fire, or snow resting next to lava, though I was delighted to see wildflowers growing from barrels of industrial waste, and a family of birds nested inside a neglected jet engine. 
 
As it is with the inanimate, so it is with the animate, and as it is with the beast, so it is with the man. My tomcat has now become fast friends with the neighbor’s pit bull, and I need to stop thinking that my own efforts are somehow in conflict with the achievements of others. False dichotomies are among the greatest barriers we face in securing our peace of mind. 
 
Like Lucilius, let my action be its own reward, with no worry over whether it is perceived as being original or derivative; different descriptions should rightly complement one another, not exclude one another. It did not concern Ovid that Vergil had already written about Aetna, and I should not be frightened of presenting a fresh account of a road formerly traveled. 
 
Innovation is in service to the truth, instead of the truth being at the whims of innovation. If it has served to enlighten before, then it is certainly worth repeating, and if the matter is not yet decided, I may yet add a new perspective, however slight and unassuming. In practice, I have yet to come across a question that has been answered thoroughly, so every contribution ought to be welcome. 
 
And if it happens to be true, it belongs to everyone, not just to the fellow who was fortunate enough to stumble across it earliest. Once a man claims a sole possession of knowledge, and he wishes to deny its benefits to his fellows, I fear he is no longer dealing in science, but rather in lust. 
 
I imagine that people assume I opted out of academic publishing because I wasn’t smart enough, and that may well be the case, yet my motive came from a point of conscience, a refusal to treat my friends as if they were enemies, my own thinking as an act of war against my colleague’s thinking. 
 
No one has to be first, and the latecomer has just as much to offer. There is more than enough of the truth to go around, whether we contribute at the beginning or at the end, in shining lights or in dusty footnotes. Resentment and jealousy are the marks of a puny man. 

—Reflection written in 11/2013 

Simplicius, Commentary on Epictetus 1.4

. . . We are told again, that our desires and our opinions are carried to their proper object with as invincible a necessity, as a stone or clod of earth is carried downwards; and consequently, that nature has left us nothing in our own power: nor have we any more reason to conclude, that we are free to think, or to desire, after this or that manner, when we see our assent and appetite always moved by the credibility or the desirableness of their objects, than we have, to suppose that a stone can ascend, when we never see it do so. 

Now to this it may be replied, that there is a twofold necessity, the one absolutely destructive of free will, the other very consistent with it. 

That kind of necessity, which proceeds from any things without us, does indeed take away all liberty and choice; for no man can be said to act freely, when he is compelled by any other external cause, to do a thing, or to leave it undone. 

But then there is another sort of necessity from within ourselves, which keeps everything within its due bounds, and obliges each faculty and part to act agreeably to its own nature and original constitution. And this is so far from destroying free will, that it rather preserves and supports it. For by this means it comes to pass, that a free agent can be wrought upon by no other ways, but such as are consistent with the nature of a free agent, which is from a principle of motion within itself. 

And this necessity is by no means a mechanical necessity, because it is not imposed by anything from without us; but is what the nature of such an agent admits and requires; what is necessary for its preservation, and for exerting the operations, proper to a creature endued with such a faculty as self-motion. 

Besides, if the soul can bring itself to such habits and dispositions as are virtuous or vicious; can grow better by wisdom and sobriety, and worse by perverseness and a dissolute behavior; and can confirm itself in each of these courses, by the frequent repetition of acts suitable to them; then the soul is the true cause of all this. 

Though, in truth, it must not be admitted for a general rule neither, that the liberty and power of the will is to be judged of, by men being able to do things, contrary to one another. For the souls immediately united to the original good, prefer that constantly; and yet the freedom of their choice is still the same; for that preference is no more constrained and necessary, than if they took evil instead of it. But it is their excellence and perfection, that they continue steadfast in their own good, and never suffer themselves to be drawn off to the contrary. 

But as for our souls, which are more remotely descended from that great original, their desires are according to their tempers and dispositions; those of them that are well disposed, have good desires, and those that are ill, have evil ones: but still these souls of ours are capable of great alterations; they frequently recover themselves from vice to virtue, by reformation and better care; they decline too, and sink down from virtue to vice, by supineness and a foolish neglect; and both these changes are wrought in them by their own voluntary choice, and not by any force or necessity that compels them to it. So that there can be no manner of pretense for charging any part of our wickedness upon God. 

He created the soul after such a manner indeed, as to leave it capable of being corrupted; because its essence is not of the first and best sort of natures, but has a mixture of the middle and the lowest; and this mixture was fit, that so all might remain in its perfection; and the first and best continue still such, without degenerating into barrenness, and imperfection, and matter. 

God therefore, who is infinitely good himself, made the soul in a capacity of being perverted; and it is an argument of his mercy, and the exceeding riches of his goodness, that he did so: for he has set it above the reach of all external violence and necessity, and made it impossible for it to be corrupted without its own consent. 

There is one argument more still behind; which pretends, that a fatal revolution of the heavens has so strong and absolute a power upon us, as not only to influence our actions, but even to determine our choice, and all our inclinations, and leave us no liberty at all to dispose of ourselves, but only the empty name of such a liberty. 

Now to these we may answer, that if the rational soul be eternal, and immortal, (which I shall not go about to prove, that being foreign to this subject, but shall desire at present to take for granted, though it must be confessed, not in all points agreeable to the doctrine of the Stoics in this particular, but) if the soul, I say, be eternal and immortal, it cannot be allowed to receive its being from, or to have its dependence upon, matter and motion. 

Its instrument indeed, that is, the animal taken in the gross, by which I mean, the body animated by the soul, may owe its nature and its changes to such causes: for material causes produce material effects; and these may differ, according as those causes are differently disposed; with regard to things here below. 

And the instrument is formed so, as to be proper and serviceable to the soul, whose business it is to make use of it now; as the difference of tools teaches us to distinguish the several professions that use them, so as to say, these belong to the carpenter’s, those to the mason’s, and others to the smith’s trade; and not only to distinguish the trades themselves, but the skill and capacity of the artificers themselves; to judge of their designs and intentions, and the perfection of the work itself; for those who are masters of their trade, have better tools, and use them with greater dexterity, than others. 

In like manner, they who have attained to the knowledge of astrology, find out the nature and temper of the instrument (the body) from the different constitution of material causes, and from hence make their conjectures of the disposition of the soul; and this is the reason, why they often guess aright. 

For indeed, the generality of souls, when falling under ill management, and the conversation of naughty men, (a sort of degradation, inflicted upon them by way of punishment, for the loss of their primitive purity) addict themselves too much to the body, and are governed and subdued by it; so as to use it no longer as their instrument of action, but to look upon it as a part and piece of their own essence, and conform their desires to its brutish appetites and inclinations. 

Besides, this position, and fatal revolution of the heavens, carries some sort of argument to the production of the souls united to bodies under it, yet not so, as to impose any absolute necessity upon their appetites and inclinations, but only to infer a resemblance of their temper. 

For, as in cities, there are some particular solemn seasons and places, which give us good grounds to distinguish the persons assembled in them: as the days and places of public worship commonly call those that are wise, and religious, and well-disposed, together; and those that are set apart for pomp and public sports, gather the rabble, and the idle, and the dissolute; so that the observing these solemnities gives us a clear knowledge of the people that attend upon them: by the same reason, the particular seasons and places, (the houses and conjunctions of the planets) may be able to give us some light, into the temper of the souls united to bodies under them, as carrying some affinity to the conjunctions, under which men are born. 

For, when God in his justice has ordained such a particular position, and all the fatalities consequent to it; then those souls, which have deserved this vengeance, are brought under that position. For likeness, and affinity of tempers, has a strange power of bringing all that agree in it together. 

This fatal revolution then, does by no means constrain or bind up the soul, nor take away its native freedom; but the soul only bears some resemblance to the temper of this revolution; and is framed agreeably to such a body, as itself has deserved to be given it for its use. And This gives men an opportunity of learning its particular desires and Inclinations, by considering the constellations that people are born under. . . .