If an ass goes travelling he will not come home a horse.

“If an ass goes travelling, he will not come home a horse.” Thus spoke Thomas Fuller, the wise chronicler of men’s follies and virtues in the seventeenth century. His words, though simple in form, carry a weight of ancient discernment. They remind us that travel alone does not transform character, and that wisdom is not found merely by wandering, but by awakening. A fool who crosses oceans remains a fool; ignorance does not dissolve under foreign suns. For it is not distance that refines a man, but discipline—not the miles he walks, but the mind he cultivates along the way.

In Fuller’s day, travel was the mark of privilege and learning. Gentlemen journeyed across Europe on what was called the Grand Tour, seeking refinement in art, music, and culture. Yet many returned as they left—vain, shallow, and unchanged—having seen cathedrals but not God, tasted wine but not wisdom. Fuller, a clergyman and scholar, saw through the pretense. His “ass” is not an insult to birth or station, but to stubborn ignorance—that thick-skinned resistance to growth that no experience can pierce. His saying is thus a warning: you cannot outdistance your own nature unless you labor to transform it.

Consider the tale of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who, though he ruled over vast territories and commanded armies across the known world, understood that true mastery lies within. He wrote in his Meditations, often while on campaign, that the soul must retreat into itself, for “nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.” Though he travelled far, he knew that geography could not grant virtue. The emperor who conquered nations was humble enough to know that self-conquest was the harder victory. His wisdom stands in sharp contrast to Fuller’s “ass,” who travels the same world but learns nothing from it.

There are many in every age who mistake motion for growth. They rush from place to place, job to job, relationship to relationship, hoping that change of scenery will cure the restlessness of their hearts. But the untrained soul carries its own confusion like a shadow. To flee without reflection is to drag one’s burdens on a longer leash. You may change your city, your circle, even your language, yet if you do not change your spirit, you will find the same discontent waiting at every gate. Fuller’s proverb, then, is not mockery—it is mercy in disguise, calling us to turn inward and seek transformation before seeking escape.

Even in our modern age, this truth resounds. There was once a young scholar who dreamt of enlightenment in the East. He travelled to India, Tibet, and Japan, sitting at the feet of sages and masters. Yet after years of pilgrimage, he returned home no wiser than before. One evening, his old teacher in the West said to him, “You have journeyed the world in search of truth, but you left your heart unexamined. The longest journey is from the mind to the soul.” And at that moment, he understood Fuller’s wisdom: that travel without introspection is movement without meaning.

Therefore, my children of the future, take heed. Do not seek greatness in the mere changing of places, but in the changing of your spirit. Let every journey—whether across oceans or through the corridors of your own mind—be guided by reflection, humility, and purpose. When you walk in foreign lands, walk also through your own thoughts; when you meet new faces, meet also the unexamined corners of your heart. Only then does travel become transformation, and distance become depth.

So, remember the lesson of Thomas Fuller: no voyage can make a beast into a noble creature unless the heart itself consents to learn. If you wish to return home different than you left, travel not as an ass seeking novelty, but as a seeker of wisdom, eager to be refined by every trial, every encounter, every silence. For the world changes no man who does not first desire to change himself. And when at last you do return, may you not merely come home—but come higher, bearing within you the quiet nobility of one who has journeyed not only across the earth, but through the soul.