Plutarch on the Tranquillity of the Mind

Plutarch, Matthew Morgan (T) · Down to Earth Series · 26 pages

From Plutarch's Morals, translated from the Greek by several hands, corrected and revised by William W. Goodwin with an introduction by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1878 — based on the fifth edition of 1718, the first having appeared in London in five volumes between 1684 and 1694. This piece is from Vol. I, pages 136–67, in Matthew Morgan's translation. Two further Plutarch pieces in this series come from the same Goodwin edition: the treatise on whether water or land animals are the most crafty, in John Philips's translation, and the tracts on eating flesh, in William Baxter's.

A train of thoughts numbered to thirty-two stands at the front and works as a summary of the whole. Plutarch writes to his friend Paccius, apologising that a friend's sudden departure for Rome left him no leisure to compose the piece properly, so that he has transcribed his commonplace book and put his collections together in haste — addressing a man who, he says, looks not for flourishes of style but for what is instructive and useful in the conduct of life, and who despite the confidence of princes and an unmatched reputation at the bar has not been puffed up by the applause of the multitude. The argument then proceeds by numbered heads: that worldly honour and wealth cannot procure quietness of mind; that we should fortify ourselves against trouble in advance; that tranquillity is not to be had by neglecting public or private duty, and that idleness is itself an affliction to many; that changes in life do not remove the causes of disquiet, since it is the mind that renders life pleasant or otherwise. The practical counsels follow — make the best of circumstances, take benefit even from affliction, do not sour at the perverseness of others, weigh the good enjoyed against the ills suffered, consider what the loss of present enjoyments would be, look at those worse off, give no place to envy, know what you can do and be content with doing it, let alone what you cannot. The closing heads turn to memory and expectation, warning against dwelling on past sorrows or being too sanguine in hope, and end on death as no real ultimate evil, guilt as the producer of remorse, and a clear conscience as a rich possession.

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