There is but one light of the sun, though it be intercepted by
walls and mountains, and other thousand objects.
walls and mountains, and other thousand objects.
Marcus Aurelius - Meditations
Thirdly,
that if they do these things rightly, thou hast no reason to be grieved.
But if not rightly, it must needs be that they do them against their
wills, and through mere ignorance. For as, according to Plato's opinion,
no soul doth willingly err, so by consequent neither doth it anything
otherwise than it ought, but against her will. Therefore are they
grieved, whensoever they hear themselves charged, either of injustice,
or unconscionableness, or covetousness, or in general, of any injurious
kind of dealing towards their neighbours. Fourthly, that thou thyself
doest transgress in many things, and art even such another as they are.
And though perchance thou doest forbear the very act of some sins, yet
hast thou in thyself an habitual disposition to them, but that either
through fear, or vainglory, or some such other ambitious foolish
respect, thou art restrained. Fifthly, that whether they have sinned or
no, thou doest not understand perfectly. For many things are done by
way of discreet policy; and generally a man must know many things
first, before he be able truly and judiciously to judge of another
man's action. Sixthly, that whensoever thou doest take on grievously, or
makest great woe, little doest thou remember then that a man's life is
but for a moment of time, and that within a while we shall all be in our
graves. Seventhly, that it is not the sins and transgressions themselves
that trouble us properly; for they have their existence in their
minds and understandings only, that commit them; but our own opinions
concerning those sins. Remove then, and be content to part with that
conceit of thine, that it is a grievous thing, and thou hast removed
thine anger. But how should I remove it? How? reasoning with thyself
that it is not shameful. For if that which is shameful, be not the only
true evil that is, thou also wilt be driven whilest thou doest follow
the common instinct of nature, to avoid that which is evil, to commit
many unjust things, and to become a thief, and anything, that will
make to the attainment of thy intended worldly ends. Eighthly, how many
things may and do oftentimes follow upon such fits of anger and grief;
far more grievous in themselves, than those very things which we are so
grieved or angry for. Ninthly, that meekness is a thing unconquerable,
if it be true and natural, and not affected or hypocritical. For how
shall even the most fierce and malicious that thou shalt conceive, be
able to hold on against thee, if thou shalt still continue meek and
loving unto him; and that even at that time, when he is about to do
thee wrong, thou shalt be well disposed, and in good temper, with all
meekness to teach him, and to instruct him better? As for example; My
son, we were not born for this, to hurt and annoy one another; it will
be thy hurt not mine, my son: and so to show him forcibly and fully,
that it is so in very deed: and that neither bees do it one to another,
nor any other creatures that are naturally sociable. But this thou must
do, not scoffingly, not by way of exprobation, but tenderly without
any harshness of words. Neither must thou do it by way of exercise, or
ostentation, that they that are by and hear thee, may admire thee: but
so always that nobody be privy to it, but himself alone: yea, though
there be more present at the same time. These nine particular heads, as
so many gifts from the Muses, see that thou remember well: and begin one
day, whilest thou art yet alive, to be a man indeed. But on the other
side thou must take heed, as much to flatter them, as to be angry with
them: for both are equally uncharitable, and equally hurtful. And in thy
passions, take it presently to thy consideration, that to be angry is
not the part of a man, but that to be meek and gentle, as it savours of
more humanity, so of more manhood. That in this, there is strength
and nerves, or vigour and fortitude: whereof anger and indignation is
altogether void. For the nearer everything is unto unpassionateness,
the nearer it is unto power. And as grief doth proceed from weakness,
so doth anger. For both, both he that is angry and that grieveth, have
received a wound, and cowardly have as it were yielded themselves unto
their affections. If thou wilt have a tenth also, receive this tenth
gift from Hercules the guide and leader of the Muses: that is a mad
man's part, to look that there should be no wicked men in the world,
because it is impossible. Now for a man to brook well enough, that there
should be wicked men in the world, but not to endure that any
should transgress against himself, is against all equity, and indeed
tyrannical.
XVII. Four several dispositions or inclinations there be of the mind and
understanding, which to be aware of, thou must carefully observe: and
whensoever thou doest discover them, thou must rectify them, saying to
thyself concerning every one of them, This imagination is not necessary;
this is uncharitable: this thou shalt speak as another man's slave, or
instrument; than which nothing can be more senseless and absurd: for
the fourth, thou shalt sharply check and upbraid thyself; for that
thou doest suffer that more divine part in thee, to become subject and
obnoxious to that more ignoble part of thy body, and the gross lusts
and concupiscences thereof.
XVIII. What portion soever, either of air or fire there be in thee,
although by nature it tend upwards, submitting nevertheless to the
ordinance of the universe, it abides here below in this mixed body. So
whatsoever is in thee, either earthy, or humid, although by nature it
tend downwards, yet is it against its nature both raised upwards, and
standing, or consistent. So obedient are even the elements themselves to
the universe, abiding patiently wheresoever (though against their
nature) they are placed, until the sound as it were of their retreat,
and separation. Is it not a grievous thing then, that thy reasonable
part only should be disobedient, and should not endure to keep its
place: yea though it be nothing enjoined that is contrary unto it, but
that only which is according to its nature? For we cannot say of it when
it is disobedient, as we say of the fire, or air, that it tends upwards
towards its proper element, for then goes it the quite contrary way. For
the motion of the mind to any injustice, or incontinency, or to sorrow,
or to fear, is nothing else but a separation from nature. Also when the
mind is grieved for anything that is happened by the divine providence,
then doth it likewise forsake its own place. For it was ordained unto
holiness and godliness, which specially consist in an humble submission
to God and His providence in all things; as well as unto justice: these
also being part of those duties, which as naturally sociable, we are
bound unto; and without which we cannot happily converse one with
another: yea and the very ground and fountain indeed of all just
actions.
XIX. He that hath not one and the self-same general end always as long
as he liveth, cannot possibly be one and the self-same man always. But
this will not suffice except thou add also what ought to be this general
end. For as the general conceit and apprehension of all those things
which upon no certain ground are by the greater part of men deemed good,
cannot be uniform and agreeable, but that only which is limited and
restrained by some certain proprieties and conditions, as of community:
that nothing be conceived good, which is not commonly and publicly
good: so must the end also that we propose unto ourselves, be common
and sociable. For he that doth direct all his own private motions and
purposes to that end, all his actions will be agreeable and uniform; and
by that means will be still the same man.
XX. Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse, and the
great fright and terror that this was put into.
XXI. Socrates was wont to call the common conceits and opinions of men,
the common bugbears of the world: the proper terror of silly children.
XXII. The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont to appoint
seats and forms for their strangers in the shadow, they themselves were
content to sit anywhere.
XXIII. What Socrates answered unto Perdiccas, why he did not come unto
him, Lest of all deaths I should die the worst kind of death, said he:
that is, not able to requite the good that hath been done unto me.
XXIV. In the ancient mystical letters of the Ephesians, there was an
item, that a man should always have in his mind some one or other of the
ancient worthies.
XXV. The Pythagoreans were wont betimes in the morning the first thing
they did, to look up unto the heavens, to put themselves in mind of them
who constantly and invariably did perform their task: as also to put
themselves in mind of orderliness, or good order, and of purity, and of
naked simplicity. For no star or planet hath any cover before it.
XXVI. How Socrates looked, when he was fain to gird himself with a
skin, Xanthippe his wife having taken away his clothes, and carried them
abroad with her, and what he said to his fellows and friends, who were
ashamed; and out of respect to him, did retire themselves when they saw
him thus decked.
XXVII. In matter of writing or reading thou must needs be taught before
thou can do either: much more in matter of life. 'For thou art born a
mere slave, to thy senses and brutish affections;' destitute without
teaching of all true knowledge and sound reason.
XXVIII. 'My heart smiled within me. ' 'They will accuse even virtue
herself; with heinous and opprobrious words. '
XXIX. As they that long after figs in winter when they cannot be had; so
are they that long after children, before they be granted them.
XXX. 'As often as a father kisseth his child, he should say secretly
with himself' (said Epictetus,) 'tomorrow perchance shall he die. ' But
these words be ominous. No words ominous (said he) that signify anything
that is natural: in very truth and deed not more ominous than this, 'to
cut down grapes when they are ripe. ' Green grapes, ripe grapes, dried
grapes, or raisins: so many changes and mutations of one thing, not into
that which was not absolutely, but rather so many several changes and
mutations, not into that which hath no being at all, but into that which
is not yet in being.
XXXI. 'Of the free will there is no thief or robber:' out of Epictetus;
Whose is this also: that we should find a certain art and method of
assenting; and that we should always observe with great care and heed
the inclinations of our minds, that they may always be with their due
restraint and reservation, always charitable, and according to the
true worth of every present object. And as for earnest longing, that we
should altogether avoid it: and to use averseness in those things only,
that wholly depend of our own wills. It is not about ordinary petty
matters, believe it, that all our strife and contention is, but whether,
with the vulgar, we should be mad, or by the help of philosophy wise and
sober, said he. XXXII. Socrates said, 'What will you have? the souls of
reasonable, or unreasonable creatures? Of reasonable. But what? Of those
whose reason is sound and perfect? or of those whose reason is vitiated
and corrupted? Of those whose reason is sound and perfect. Why then
labour ye not for such? Because we have them already. What then do ye so
strive and contend between you? '
THE TWELFTH BOOK
I. Whatsoever thou doest hereafter aspire unto, thou mayest even now
enjoy and possess, if thou doest not envy thyself thine own happiness.
And that will be, if thou shalt forget all that is past, and for the
future, refer thyself wholly to the Divine Providence, and shalt bend
and apply all thy present thoughts and intentions to holiness and
righteousness. To holiness, in accepting willingly whatsoever is sent
by the Divine Providence, as being that which the nature of the universe
hath appointed unto thee, which also hath appointed thee for that,
whatsoever it be. To righteousness, in speaking the truth freely, and
without ambiguity; and in doing all things justly and discreetly. Now in
this good course, let not other men's either wickedness, or opinion, or
voice hinder thee: no, nor the sense of this thy pampered mass of flesh:
for let that which suffers, look to itself. If therefore whensoever the
time of thy departing shall come, thou shalt readily leave all things,
and shalt respect thy mind only, and that divine part of thine, and this
shall be thine only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease
to live, but thou shalt never begin to live according to nature: then
shalt thou be a man indeed, worthy of that world, from which thou hadst
thy beginning; then shalt thou cease to be a stranger in thy country,
and to wonder at those things that happen daily, as things strange and
unexpected, and anxiously to depend of divers things that are not in thy
power.
II. God beholds our minds and understandings, bare and naked from these
material vessels, and outsides, and all earthly dross. For with His
simple and pure understanding, He pierceth into our inmost and purest
parts, which from His, as it were by a water pipe and channel, first
flowed and issued. This if thou also shalt use to do, thou shalt
rid thyself of that manifold luggage, wherewith thou art round about
encumbered. For he that does regard neither his body, nor his clothing,
nor his dwelling, nor any such external furniture, must needs gain unto
himself great rest and ease. Three things there be in all, which thou
doest consist of; thy body, thy life, and thy mind. Of these the two
former, are so far forth thine, as that thou art bound to take care for
them. But the third alone is that which is properly thine. If then thou
shalt separate from thyself, that is from thy mind, whatsoever other men
either do or say, or whatsoever thou thyself hast heretofore either
done or said; and all troublesome thoughts concerning the future, and
whatsoever, (as either belonging to thy body or life:) is without the
jurisdiction of thine own will, and whatsoever in the ordinary course
of human chances and accidents doth happen unto thee; so that thy
mind (keeping herself loose and free from all outward coincidental
entanglements; always in a readiness to depart:) shall live by herself,
and to herself, doing that which is just, accepting whatsoever doth
happen, and speaking the truth always; if, I say, thou shalt separate
from thy mind, whatsoever by sympathy might adhere unto it, and all time
both past and future, and shalt make thyself in all points and respects,
like unto Empedocles his allegorical sphere, 'all round and circular,'
&c. , and shalt think of no longer life than that which is now present:
then shalt thou be truly able to pass the remainder of thy days without
troubles and distractions; nobly and generously disposed, and in good
favour and correspondency, with that spirit which is within thee.
III. I have often wondered how it should come to pass, that every man
loving himself best, should more regard other men's opinions concerning
himself than his own. For if any God or grave master standing by,
should command any of us to think nothing by himself but what he should
presently speak out; no man were able to endure it, though but for one
day. Thus do we fear more what our neighbours will think of us, than
what we ourselves.
IV. how come it to pass that the Gods having ordered all other things
so well and so lovingly, should be overseen in this one only thing, that
whereas then hath been some very good men that have made many covenants
as it were with God and by many holy actions and outward services
contracted a kind of familiarity with Him; that these men when once they
are dead, should never be restored to life, but be extinct for ever. But
this thou mayest be sure of, that this (if it be so indeed) would
never have been so ordered by the Gods, had it been fit otherwise. For
certainly it was possible, had it been more just so and had it been
according to nature, the nature of the universe would easily have borne
it. But now because it is not so, (if so be that it be not so indeed) be
therefore confident that it was not fit it should be so for thou seest
thyself, that now seeking after this matter, how freely thou doest argue
and contest with God. But were not the Gods both just and good in the
highest degree, thou durst not thus reason with them. Now if just and
good, it could not be that in the creation of the world, they should
either unjustly or unreasonably oversee anything.
V. Use thyself even unto those things that thou doest at first despair
of. For the left hand we see, which for the most part lieth idle because
not used; yet doth it hold the bridle with more strength than the right,
because it hath been used unto it.
VI. Let these be the objects of thy ordinary meditation: to consider,
what manner of men both for soul and body we ought to be, whensoever
death shall surprise us: the shortness of this our mortal life: the
immense vastness of the time that hath been before, and will he after
us: the frailty of every worldly material object: all these things to
consider, and behold clearly in themselves, all disguisement of external
outside being removed and taken away. Again, to consider the efficient
causes of all things: the proper ends and references of all actions:
what pain is in itself; what pleasure, what death: what fame or
honour, how every man is the true and proper ground of his own rest and
tranquillity, and that no man can truly be hindered by any other: that
all is but conceit and opinion. As for the use of thy dogmata, thou must
carry thyself in the practice of them, rather like unto a pancratiastes,
or one that at the same time both fights and wrestles with hands and
feet, than a gladiator. For this, if he lose his sword that he fights
with, he is gone: whereas the other hath still his hand free, which he
may easily turn and manage at his will.
VII. All worldly things thou must behold and consider, dividing them
into matter, form, and reference, or their proper end.
VIII. How happy is man in this his power that hath been granted unto
him: that he needs not do anything but what God shall approve, and
that he may embrace contentedly, whatsoever God doth send unto him?
IX. Whatsoever doth happen in the ordinary course and consequence of
natural events, neither the Gods, (for it is not possible, that they
either wittingly or unwittingly should do anything amiss) nor men, (for
it is through ignorance, and therefore against their wills that they do
anything amiss) must be accused. None then must be accused.
X. How ridiculous and strange is he, that wonders at anything that
happens in this life in the ordinary course of nature!
XI. Either fate, (and that either an absolute necessity, and unavoidable
decree; or a placable and flexible Providence) or all is a mere
casual confusion, void of all order and government. If an absolute and
unavoidable necessity, why doest thou resist? If a placable and exorable
Providence, make thyself worthy of the divine help and assistance. If
all be a mere confusion without any moderator, or governor, then hast
thou reason to congratulate thyself; that in such a general flood of
confusion thou thyself hast obtained a reasonable faculty, whereby thou
mayest govern thine own life and actions. But if thou beest carried
away with the flood, it must be thy body perchance, or thy life, or some
other thing that belongs unto them that is carried away: thy mind and
understanding cannot. Or should it be so, that the light of a candle
indeed is still bright and lightsome until it be put out: and should
truth, and righteousness, and temperance cease to shine in thee whilest
thou thyself hast any being?
XII. At the conceit and apprehension that such and such a one hath
sinned, thus reason with thyself; What do I know whether this be a sin
indeed, as it seems to be? But if it be, what do I know but that he
himself hath already condemned himself for it? And that is all one as
if a man should scratch and tear his own face, an object of compassion
rather than of anger. Again, that he that would not have a vicious man
to sin, is like unto him that would not have moisture in the fig, nor
children to welp nor a horse to neigh, nor anything else that in the
course of nature is necessary. For what shall he do that hath such an
habit? If thou therefore beest powerful and eloquent, remedy it if thou
canst.
XIII. If it be not fitting, do it not. If it be not true, speak it not.
Ever maintain thine own purpose and resolution free from all compulsion
and necessity.
XIV. Of everything that presents itself unto thee, to consider what the
true nature of it is, and to unfold it, as it were, by dividing it into
that which is formal: that which is material: the true use or end of it,
and the just time that it is appointed to last.
XV. It is high time for thee, to understand that there is somewhat in
thee, better and more divine than either thy passions, or thy sensual
appetites and affections. What is now the object of my mind, is it fear,
or suspicion, or lust, or any such thing? To do nothing rashly without
some certain end; let that be thy first care. The next, to have no other
end than the common good. For, alas! yet a little while, and thou art no
more: no more will any, either of those things that now thou seest, or
of those men that now are living, be any more. For all things are by
nature appointed soon to be changed, turned, and corrupted, that other
things might succeed in their room.
XVI. Remember that all is but opinion, and all opinion depends of the
mind. Take thine opinion away, and then as a ship that hath stricken
in within the arms and mouth of the harbour, a present calm; all things
safe and steady: a bay, not capable of any storms and tempests: as the
poet hath it.
XVII. No operation whatsoever it he, ceasing for a while, can be truly
said to suffer any evil, because it is at an end. Neither can he that
is the author of that operation; for this very respect, because his
operation is at an end, be said to suffer any evil. Likewise then,
neither can the whole body of all our actions (which is our life) if in
time it cease, be said to suffer any evil for this very reason, because
it is at an end; nor he truly be said to have been ill affected, that
did put a period to this series of actions. Now this time or certain
period, depends of the determination of nature: sometimes of particular
nature, as when a man dieth old; but of nature in general, however; the
parts whereof thus changing one after another, the whole world still
continues fresh and new. Now that is ever best and most seasonable,
which is for the good of the whole. Thus it appears that death of
itself can neither be hurtful to any in particular, because it is not a
shameful thing (for neither is it a thing that depends of our own will,
nor of itself contrary to the common good) and generally, as it is both
expedient and seasonable to the whole, that in that respect it must
needs be good. It is that also, which is brought unto us by the order
and appointment of the Divine Providence; so that he whose will and
mind in these things runs along with the Divine ordinance, and by this
concurrence of his will and mind with the Divine Providence, is led
and driven along, as it were by God Himself; may truly be termed and
esteemed the *OEo~p7poc*, or divinely led and inspired.
XVIII. These three things thou must have always in a readiness: first
concerning thine own actions, whether thou doest nothing either idly,
or otherwise, than justice and equity do require: and concerning those
things that happen unto thee externally, that either they happen unto
thee by chance, or by providence; of which two to accuse either, is
equally against reason. Secondly, what like unto our bodies are
whilest yet rude and imperfect, until they be animated: and from their
animation, until their expiration: of what things they are compounded,
and into what things they shall be dissolved. Thirdly, how vain all
things will appear unto thee when, from on high as it were, looking
down thou shalt contemplate all things upon earth, and the wonderful
mutability, that they are subject unto: considering withal, the infinite
both greatness and variety of things aerial and things celestial that
are round about it. And that as often as thou shalt behold them, thou
shalt still see the same: as the same things, so the same shortness of
continuance of all those things. And, behold, these be the things that
we are so proud and puffed up for.
XIX. Cast away from thee opinion, and thou art safe. And what is it that
hinders thee from casting of it away? When thou art grieved at anything,
hast thou forgotten that all things happen according to the nature
of the universe; and that him only it concerns, who is in fault; and
moreover, that what is now done, is that which from ever hath been done
in the world, and will ever be done, and is now done everywhere: how
nearly all men are allied one to another by a kindred not of blood, nor
of seed, but of the same mind. Thou hast also forgotten that every man's
mind partakes of the Deity, and issueth from thence; and that no man can
properly call anything his own, no not his son, nor his body, nor his
life; for that they all proceed from that One who is the giver of all
things: that all things are but opinion; that no man lives properly, but
that very instant of time which is now present. And therefore that no
man whensoever he dieth can properly be said to lose any more, than an
instant of time.
XX. Let thy thoughts ever run upon them, who once for some one thing or
other, were moved with extraordinary indignation; who were once in
the highest pitch of either honour, or calamity; or mutual hatred and
enmity; or of any other fortune or condition whatsoever. Then consider
what's now become of all those things. All is turned to smoke; all to
ashes, and a mere fable; and perchance not so much as a fable. As also
whatsoever is of this nature, as Fabius Catulinus in the field; Lucius
Lupus, and Stertinius, at Baiae Tiberius at Caprem: and Velius Rufus,
and all such examples of vehement prosecution in worldly matters; let
these also run in thy mind at the same time; and how vile every object
of such earnest and vehement prosecution is; and how much more agreeable
to true philosophy it is, for a man to carry himself in every matter
that offers itself; justly, and moderately, as one that followeth the
Gods with all simplicity. For, for a man to be proud and high conceited,
that he is not proud and high conceited, is of all kind of pride and
presumption, the most intolerable.
XXI. To them that ask thee, Where hast thou seen the Gods, or how
knowest thou certainly that there be Gods, that thou art so devout in
their worship? I answer first of all, that even to the very eye, they
are in some manner visible and apparent. Secondly, neither have I ever
seen mine own soul, and yet I respect and honour it. So then for the
Gods, by the daily experience that I have of their power and providence
towards myself and others, I know certainly that they are, and therefore
worship them.
XXII. Herein doth consist happiness of life, for a man to know
thoroughly the true nature of everything; what is the matter, and what
is the form of it: with all his heart and soul, ever to do that which is
just, and to speak the truth. What then remaineth but to enjoy thy life
in a course and coherence of good actions, one upon another immediately
succeeding, and never interrupted, though for never so little a while?
XXIII.
There is but one light of the sun, though it be intercepted by
walls and mountains, and other thousand objects. There is but one common
substance of the whole world, though it be concluded and restrained into
several different bodies, in number infinite. There is but one common
soul, though divided into innumerable particular essences and natures.
So is there but one common intellectual soul, though it seem to be
divided. And as for all other parts of those generals which we have
mentioned, as either sensitive souls or subjects, these of themselves
(as naturally irrational) have no common mutual reference one unto
another, though many of them contain a mind, or reasonable faculty in
them, whereby they are ruled and governed. But of every reasonable mind,
this the particular nature, that it hath reference to whatsoever is
of her own kind, and desireth to be united: neither can this common
affection, or mutual unity and correspondency, be here intercepted or
divided, or confined to particulars as those other common things are.
XXIV. What doest thou desire? To live long. What? To enjoy the
operations of a sensitive soul; or of the appetitive faculty? or wouldst
thou grow, and then decrease again? Wouldst thou long be able to talk,
to think and reason with thyself? Which of all these seems unto thee a
worthy object of thy desire? Now if of all these thou doest find that
they be but little worth in themselves, proceed on unto the last, which
is, in all things to follow God and reason. But for a man to grieve that
by death he shall be deprived of any of these things, is both against
God and reason.
XXV. What a small portion of vast and infinite eternity it is, that is
allowed unto every one of us, and how soon it vanisheth into the general
age of the world: of the common substance, and of the common soul also
what a small portion is allotted unto us: and in what a little clod of
the whole earth (as it were) it is that thou doest crawl. After thou
shalt rightly have considered these things with thyself; fancy not
anything else in the world any more to be of any weight and moment
but this, to do that only which thine own nature doth require; and to
conform thyself to that which the common nature doth afford.
XXVI. What is the present estate of my understanding? For herein lieth
all indeed. As for all other things, they are without the compass of
mine own will: and if without the compass of my will, then are they as
dead things unto me, and as it were mere smoke.
XXVII. To stir up a man to the contempt of death this among other
things, is of good power and efficacy, that even they who esteemed
pleasure to be happiness, and pain misery, did nevertheless many of them
contemn death as much as any. And can death be terrible to him, to
whom that only seems good, which in the ordinary course of nature is
seasonable? to him, to whom, whether his actions be many or few, so they
be all good, is all one; and who whether he behold the things of the
world being always the same either for many years, or for few years
only, is altogether indifferent? O man! as a citizen thou hast lived,
and conversed in this great city the world. Whether just for so many
years, or no, what is it unto thee? Thou hast lived (thou mayest be
sure) as long as the laws and orders of the city required; which may be
the common comfort of all. Why then should it be grievous unto thee, if
(not a tyrant, nor an unjust judge, but) the same nature that brought
thee in, doth now send thee out of the world? As if the praetor should
fairly dismiss him from the stage, whom he had taken in to act a while.
Oh, but the play is not yet at an end, there are but three acts yet
acted of it? Thou hast well said: for in matter of life, three acts is
the whole play. Now to set a certain time to every man's acting, belongs
unto him only, who as first he was of thy composition, so is now the
cause of thy dissolution. As for thyself; thou hast to do with
neither. Go thy ways then well pleased and contented: for so is He that
dismisseth thee.
APPENDIX
CORRESPONDENCE OF M. AURELIUS ANTONINUS AND M. CORNELIUS FRONTO'
M. CORNELIUS FRONTO(1) was a Roman by descent, but of provincial birth,
being native to Cirta, in Numidia. Thence he migrated to Rome in the
reign of Hadrian, and became the most famous rhetorician of his day.
As a pleader and orator he was counted by his contemporaries hardly
inferior to Tully himself, and as a teacher his aid was sought for the
noblest youths of Rome. To him was entrusted the education of M.
Aurelius and of his colleague L. Verus in their boyhood; and he was
rewarded for his efforts by a seat in the Senate and the consular rank
(A. D. 143). By the exercise of his profession he became wealthy; and if
he speaks of his means as not great,(2) he must be comparing his wealth
with the grandees of Rome, not with the ordinary citizen.
Before the present century nothing was known of the works of Fronto,
except a grammatical treatise; but in 1815 Cardinal Mai published a
number of letters and some short essays of Fronto, which he had
discovered in a palimpsest at Milan. Other parts of the same MS. he
found later in the Vatican, the whole being collected
1 References are made to the edition of Naber, Leipzig
(Trübner), 1867.
2 Ad Verum imp. Aur. Caes. , ii, 7. and edited in the year
1823.
We now possess parts of his correspondence with Antoninus Pius, with M.
Aurelius, with L. Verus, and with certain of his friends, and also
several rhetorical and historical fragments. Though none of the more
ambitious works of Fronto have survived, there are enough to give proof
of his powers. Never was a great literary reputation less deserved. It
would be hard to conceive of anything more vapid than the style and
conception of these letters; clearly the man was a pedant without
imagination or taste. Such indeed was the age he lived in, and it is no
marvel that he was like to his age. But there must have been more in him
than mere pedantry; there was indeed a heart in the man, which Marcus
found, and he found also a tongue which could speak the truth. Fronto's
letters are by no means free from exaggeration and laudation, but they
do not show that loathsome flattery which filled the Roman court. He
really admires what he praises, and his way of saying so is not unlike
what often passes for criticism at the present day. He is not afraid to
reprove what he thinks amiss; and the astonishment of Marcus at this
will prove, if proof were needed, that he was not used to plain dealing.
"How happy I am," he writes, "that my friend Marcus Cornelius, so
distinguished as an orator and so noble as a man, thinks me worth
praising and blaming. "(1) In another place he deems himself blest
because Pronto had taught him to speak the truth(2) although the context
shows him to be speaking of expression, it is still a point in favour of
Pronto. A sincere heart is better than literary taste; and if Fronto had
not done his duty by the young prince, it is not easy to understand the
friendship which remained between them up to the last.
1 Ad M. Caes iii. 17
2 Ad M. Caes iii. 12
An example of the frankness which was between them is given by a
difference they had over the case of Herodes Atticus. Herodes was a
Greek rhetorician who had a school at Rome, and Marcus Aurelius was
among his pupils. Both Marcus and the Emperor Antoninus had a high
opinion of Herodes; and all we know goes to prove he was a man of high
character and princely generosity. When quite young he was made
administrator of the free cities in Asia, nor is it surprising to find
that he made bitter enemies there; indeed, a just ruler was sure to make
enemies. The end of it was that an Athenian deputation, headed by the
orators Theodotus and Demostratus, made serious accusations against his
honour. There is no need to discuss the merits of the case here; suffice
it to say, Herodes succeeded in defending himself to the satisfaction of
the emperor. Pronto appears to have taken the delegates' part, and to
have accepted a brief for the prosecution, urged to some extent by
personal considerations; and in this cause Marcus Aurelius writes to
Fronto as follows 'AURELIUS CAESAR to his friend FRONTO, greeting. (1) 'I
know you have often told me you were anxious to find how you might best
please me. Now is the time; now you can increase my love towards you, if
it can be increased. A trial is at hand, in which people seem likely not
only to hear your speech with pleasure, but to see your indignation with
impatience. I see no one who dares give you a hint in the matter; for
those who are less friendly, prefer to see you act with some
inconsistency; and those who are more friendly, fear to seem too
friendly to your opponent if they should dissuade you from your
accusation; then again, in case you have prepared something neat for the
occasion, they cannot endure to rob you of your harangue by silencing
you. Therefore, whether you think me a rash counsellor, or a bold boy,
or too kind to your opponent, not because I think it better, I will
offer my counsel with some caution. But why have I said, offer my
counsel? No, I demand it from you; I demand it boldly, and if I succeed,
I promise to remain under your obligation. What? you will say if I am
attackt, shall I not pay tit for tat? Ah, but you will get greater
glory, if even when attackt you answer nothing. Indeed, if he begins it,
answer as you will and you will have fair excuse; but I have demanded of
him that he shall not begin, and I think I have succeeded. I love each
of you according to your merits and I know that lie was educated in the
house of P. Calvisius, my grandfather, and that I was educated by you;
therefore I am full of anxiety that this most disagreeable business
shall be managed as honourably as possible. I trust you may approve my
advice, for my intention you will approve. At least I prefer to write
unwisely rather than to be silent unkindly. '
1 Ad M. Caes ii. , 2.
Fronto replied, thanking the prince for his advice, and promising that
he will confine himself to the facts of the case. But he points out that
the charges brought against Herodes were such, that they can hardly be
made agreeable; amongst them being spoliation, violence, and murder.
However, he is willing even to let some of these drop if it be the
prince's pleasure. To this Marcus returned the following answer:--(1)
'This one thing, my dearest Fronto, is enough to make me truly grateful
to you, that so far from rejecting my counsel, you have even approved
it. As to the question you raise in your kind letter, my opinion is
this: all that concerns the case which you are supporting must be
clearly brought forward; what concerns your own feelings, though you may
have had just provocation, should be left unsaid. ' The story does credit
to both. Fronto shows no loss of temper at the interference, nor shrinks
from stating his case with frankness; and Marcus, with forbearance
remarkable in a prince, does not command that his friend be left
unmolested, but merely stipulates for a fair trial on the merits of the
case.
Another example may be given from a letter of Fronto's (2) Here is
something else quarrelsome and querulous. I have sometimes found fault
with you in your absence somewhat seriously in the company of a few
of my most intimate friends: at times, for example, when you mixt in
society with a more solemn look than was fitting, or would read books
in the theatre or in a banquet; nor did I absent myself from theatre
or banquet when you did (3). Then I used to call you a hard man, no good
company, even disagreeable, sometimes, when anger got the better of me.
But did any one else in the same banquet speak against you, I could
not endure to hear it with equanimity. Thus it was easier for me to say
something to your disadvantage myself, than to hear others do it; just
as I could more easily bear to chastise my daughter Gratia, than to see
her chastised by another. '
1. Ad. M. Caes. , iii. 5.
2. iv. 12.
3 The text is obscure
The affection between them is clear from every page of the
correspondence. A few instances are now given, which were written at
different periods To MY MASTER. (1) 'This is how I have past the last few
days. My sister was suddenly seized with an internal pain, so violent
that I was horrified at her looks; my mother in her trepidation on that
account accidentally bruised her side on a corner of the wall; she and
we were greatly troubled about that blow. For myself; on going to rest
I found a scorpion in my bed; but I did not lie down upon him, I killed
him first. If you are getting on better, that is a consolation. My
mother is easier now, thanks be to God. Good-bye, best and sweetest
master. My lady sends you greeting. '
(2)'What words can I find to fit my had luck, or how shall I upbraid as
it deserves the hard constraint which is laid upon me? It ties me fast
here, troubled my heart is, and beset by such anxiety; nor does it allow
me to make haste to my Fronto, my life and delight, to be near him at
such a moment of ill-health in particular, to hold his hands, to chafe
gently that identical foot, so far as may be done without discomfort, to
attend him in the bath, to support his steps with my arm. '
(3)'This morning I did not write to you, because I heard you were
better, and because I was myself engaged in other business, and I
cannot ever endure to write anything to you unless with mind at ease and
untroubled and free. So if we are all right, let me know: what I desire,
you know, and how properly I desire it, I know. Farewell, my master,
always in every chance first in my mind, as you deserve to be. My
master, see I am not asleep, and I compel myself to sleep, that you may
not be angry with me. You gather I am writing this late at night. '
1 Ad M. Caes. , v. 8.
2 i. 2.
3 iii. 21.
(1)'What spirit do you suppose is in me, when I remember how long it
is since I have seen you, and why I have not seen you 1 and it may be
I shall not see you for a few days yet, while you are strengthening
yourself; as you must. So while you lie on the sick-bed, my spirit also
will lie low anti, whenas,(2) by God's mercy you shall stand upright,
my spirit too will stand firm, which is now burning with the strongest
desire for you. Farewell, soul of your prince, your (3)O my dear Fronto,
most distinguished Consul! I yield, you have conquered: all who have
ever loved before, you have conquered out and out in love's contest.
Receive the victor's wreath; and the herald shall proclaim your victory
aloud before your own tribunal: "M. Cornelius Fronto, Consul, wins, and
is crowned victor in the Open International Love-race. "(4) But beaten
though I may be, I shall neither slacken nor relax my own zeal. Well,
you shall love me more than any man loves any other man; but I, who
possess a faculty of loving less strong, shall love you more than any
one else loves you; more indeed than you love yourself. Gratia and I
will have to fight for it; I doubt I shall not get the better of her.
For, as Plautus says, her love is like rain, whose big drops not only
penetrate the dress, but drench to the very marrow. '
Marcus Aurelius seems to have been about eighteen years of age when
the correspondence begins, Fronto being some thirty years older. (5) The
systematic education of the young prince seems to have been finisht, and
Pronto now acts more as his adviser than his tutor. He recommends
the prince to use simplicity in his public speeches, and to avoid
affectation. (6) Marcus devotes his attention to the old authors who then
had a great vogue at Rome: Ennius, Plautus, Nawius, and such orators
as Cato and Gracchus. (7) Pronto urges on him the study of Cicero, whose
letters, he says, are all worth reading.
1 Ad M. Caes. , iii. 19.
2 The writer sometimes uses archaisms such as quom, which I
render 'whenas'.
3 Ad M. Caes. , ii. 2.
4 The writer parodies the proclamation at the Greek games; the
words also are Greek.
5 From internal evidence: the letters are not arranged in order
of time. See Naher's Prolegomena, p. xx. foil.
6 Ad M. Caes. , iii. x.
7 Ad M. Caes ii. 10,; iii. 18,; ii. 4.
When he wishes to compliment Marcus he declares one or other of his
letters has the true Tullian ring. Marcus gives his nights to reading
when he ought to be sleeping. He exercises himself in verse composition
and on rhetorical themes.
'It is very nice of you,' he writes to Fronto,(1) 'to ask for my
hexameters; I would have sent them at once if I had them by me. The fact
is my secretary, Anicetus-you know who I mean-did not pack up any of my
compositions for me to take away with me. He knows my weakness; he was
afraid that if I got hold of them I might, as usual, make smoke of them.
However, there was no fear for the hexameters. I must confess the truth
to my master: I love them. I study at night, since the day is taken up
with the theatre. I am weary of an evening, and sleepy in the daylight,
and so I don't do much. Yet I have made extracts from sixty books, five
volumes of them, in these latter days. But when you read remember
that the "sixty" includes plays of Novius, and farces, and some little
speeches of Scipio; don't be too much startled at the number. You
remember your Polemon; but I pray you do not remember Horace, who has
died with Pollio as far as I am concerned. (2) Farewell, my dearest
and most affectionate friend, most distinguished consul and my beloved
master, whom I have not seen these two years. Those who say two months,
count the days. Shall I ever see you again? '
Sometimes Fronto sends him a theme to work up, as thus: 'M.
that if they do these things rightly, thou hast no reason to be grieved.
But if not rightly, it must needs be that they do them against their
wills, and through mere ignorance. For as, according to Plato's opinion,
no soul doth willingly err, so by consequent neither doth it anything
otherwise than it ought, but against her will. Therefore are they
grieved, whensoever they hear themselves charged, either of injustice,
or unconscionableness, or covetousness, or in general, of any injurious
kind of dealing towards their neighbours. Fourthly, that thou thyself
doest transgress in many things, and art even such another as they are.
And though perchance thou doest forbear the very act of some sins, yet
hast thou in thyself an habitual disposition to them, but that either
through fear, or vainglory, or some such other ambitious foolish
respect, thou art restrained. Fifthly, that whether they have sinned or
no, thou doest not understand perfectly. For many things are done by
way of discreet policy; and generally a man must know many things
first, before he be able truly and judiciously to judge of another
man's action. Sixthly, that whensoever thou doest take on grievously, or
makest great woe, little doest thou remember then that a man's life is
but for a moment of time, and that within a while we shall all be in our
graves. Seventhly, that it is not the sins and transgressions themselves
that trouble us properly; for they have their existence in their
minds and understandings only, that commit them; but our own opinions
concerning those sins. Remove then, and be content to part with that
conceit of thine, that it is a grievous thing, and thou hast removed
thine anger. But how should I remove it? How? reasoning with thyself
that it is not shameful. For if that which is shameful, be not the only
true evil that is, thou also wilt be driven whilest thou doest follow
the common instinct of nature, to avoid that which is evil, to commit
many unjust things, and to become a thief, and anything, that will
make to the attainment of thy intended worldly ends. Eighthly, how many
things may and do oftentimes follow upon such fits of anger and grief;
far more grievous in themselves, than those very things which we are so
grieved or angry for. Ninthly, that meekness is a thing unconquerable,
if it be true and natural, and not affected or hypocritical. For how
shall even the most fierce and malicious that thou shalt conceive, be
able to hold on against thee, if thou shalt still continue meek and
loving unto him; and that even at that time, when he is about to do
thee wrong, thou shalt be well disposed, and in good temper, with all
meekness to teach him, and to instruct him better? As for example; My
son, we were not born for this, to hurt and annoy one another; it will
be thy hurt not mine, my son: and so to show him forcibly and fully,
that it is so in very deed: and that neither bees do it one to another,
nor any other creatures that are naturally sociable. But this thou must
do, not scoffingly, not by way of exprobation, but tenderly without
any harshness of words. Neither must thou do it by way of exercise, or
ostentation, that they that are by and hear thee, may admire thee: but
so always that nobody be privy to it, but himself alone: yea, though
there be more present at the same time. These nine particular heads, as
so many gifts from the Muses, see that thou remember well: and begin one
day, whilest thou art yet alive, to be a man indeed. But on the other
side thou must take heed, as much to flatter them, as to be angry with
them: for both are equally uncharitable, and equally hurtful. And in thy
passions, take it presently to thy consideration, that to be angry is
not the part of a man, but that to be meek and gentle, as it savours of
more humanity, so of more manhood. That in this, there is strength
and nerves, or vigour and fortitude: whereof anger and indignation is
altogether void. For the nearer everything is unto unpassionateness,
the nearer it is unto power. And as grief doth proceed from weakness,
so doth anger. For both, both he that is angry and that grieveth, have
received a wound, and cowardly have as it were yielded themselves unto
their affections. If thou wilt have a tenth also, receive this tenth
gift from Hercules the guide and leader of the Muses: that is a mad
man's part, to look that there should be no wicked men in the world,
because it is impossible. Now for a man to brook well enough, that there
should be wicked men in the world, but not to endure that any
should transgress against himself, is against all equity, and indeed
tyrannical.
XVII. Four several dispositions or inclinations there be of the mind and
understanding, which to be aware of, thou must carefully observe: and
whensoever thou doest discover them, thou must rectify them, saying to
thyself concerning every one of them, This imagination is not necessary;
this is uncharitable: this thou shalt speak as another man's slave, or
instrument; than which nothing can be more senseless and absurd: for
the fourth, thou shalt sharply check and upbraid thyself; for that
thou doest suffer that more divine part in thee, to become subject and
obnoxious to that more ignoble part of thy body, and the gross lusts
and concupiscences thereof.
XVIII. What portion soever, either of air or fire there be in thee,
although by nature it tend upwards, submitting nevertheless to the
ordinance of the universe, it abides here below in this mixed body. So
whatsoever is in thee, either earthy, or humid, although by nature it
tend downwards, yet is it against its nature both raised upwards, and
standing, or consistent. So obedient are even the elements themselves to
the universe, abiding patiently wheresoever (though against their
nature) they are placed, until the sound as it were of their retreat,
and separation. Is it not a grievous thing then, that thy reasonable
part only should be disobedient, and should not endure to keep its
place: yea though it be nothing enjoined that is contrary unto it, but
that only which is according to its nature? For we cannot say of it when
it is disobedient, as we say of the fire, or air, that it tends upwards
towards its proper element, for then goes it the quite contrary way. For
the motion of the mind to any injustice, or incontinency, or to sorrow,
or to fear, is nothing else but a separation from nature. Also when the
mind is grieved for anything that is happened by the divine providence,
then doth it likewise forsake its own place. For it was ordained unto
holiness and godliness, which specially consist in an humble submission
to God and His providence in all things; as well as unto justice: these
also being part of those duties, which as naturally sociable, we are
bound unto; and without which we cannot happily converse one with
another: yea and the very ground and fountain indeed of all just
actions.
XIX. He that hath not one and the self-same general end always as long
as he liveth, cannot possibly be one and the self-same man always. But
this will not suffice except thou add also what ought to be this general
end. For as the general conceit and apprehension of all those things
which upon no certain ground are by the greater part of men deemed good,
cannot be uniform and agreeable, but that only which is limited and
restrained by some certain proprieties and conditions, as of community:
that nothing be conceived good, which is not commonly and publicly
good: so must the end also that we propose unto ourselves, be common
and sociable. For he that doth direct all his own private motions and
purposes to that end, all his actions will be agreeable and uniform; and
by that means will be still the same man.
XX. Remember the fable of the country mouse and the city mouse, and the
great fright and terror that this was put into.
XXI. Socrates was wont to call the common conceits and opinions of men,
the common bugbears of the world: the proper terror of silly children.
XXII. The Lacedaemonians at their public spectacles were wont to appoint
seats and forms for their strangers in the shadow, they themselves were
content to sit anywhere.
XXIII. What Socrates answered unto Perdiccas, why he did not come unto
him, Lest of all deaths I should die the worst kind of death, said he:
that is, not able to requite the good that hath been done unto me.
XXIV. In the ancient mystical letters of the Ephesians, there was an
item, that a man should always have in his mind some one or other of the
ancient worthies.
XXV. The Pythagoreans were wont betimes in the morning the first thing
they did, to look up unto the heavens, to put themselves in mind of them
who constantly and invariably did perform their task: as also to put
themselves in mind of orderliness, or good order, and of purity, and of
naked simplicity. For no star or planet hath any cover before it.
XXVI. How Socrates looked, when he was fain to gird himself with a
skin, Xanthippe his wife having taken away his clothes, and carried them
abroad with her, and what he said to his fellows and friends, who were
ashamed; and out of respect to him, did retire themselves when they saw
him thus decked.
XXVII. In matter of writing or reading thou must needs be taught before
thou can do either: much more in matter of life. 'For thou art born a
mere slave, to thy senses and brutish affections;' destitute without
teaching of all true knowledge and sound reason.
XXVIII. 'My heart smiled within me. ' 'They will accuse even virtue
herself; with heinous and opprobrious words. '
XXIX. As they that long after figs in winter when they cannot be had; so
are they that long after children, before they be granted them.
XXX. 'As often as a father kisseth his child, he should say secretly
with himself' (said Epictetus,) 'tomorrow perchance shall he die. ' But
these words be ominous. No words ominous (said he) that signify anything
that is natural: in very truth and deed not more ominous than this, 'to
cut down grapes when they are ripe. ' Green grapes, ripe grapes, dried
grapes, or raisins: so many changes and mutations of one thing, not into
that which was not absolutely, but rather so many several changes and
mutations, not into that which hath no being at all, but into that which
is not yet in being.
XXXI. 'Of the free will there is no thief or robber:' out of Epictetus;
Whose is this also: that we should find a certain art and method of
assenting; and that we should always observe with great care and heed
the inclinations of our minds, that they may always be with their due
restraint and reservation, always charitable, and according to the
true worth of every present object. And as for earnest longing, that we
should altogether avoid it: and to use averseness in those things only,
that wholly depend of our own wills. It is not about ordinary petty
matters, believe it, that all our strife and contention is, but whether,
with the vulgar, we should be mad, or by the help of philosophy wise and
sober, said he. XXXII. Socrates said, 'What will you have? the souls of
reasonable, or unreasonable creatures? Of reasonable. But what? Of those
whose reason is sound and perfect? or of those whose reason is vitiated
and corrupted? Of those whose reason is sound and perfect. Why then
labour ye not for such? Because we have them already. What then do ye so
strive and contend between you? '
THE TWELFTH BOOK
I. Whatsoever thou doest hereafter aspire unto, thou mayest even now
enjoy and possess, if thou doest not envy thyself thine own happiness.
And that will be, if thou shalt forget all that is past, and for the
future, refer thyself wholly to the Divine Providence, and shalt bend
and apply all thy present thoughts and intentions to holiness and
righteousness. To holiness, in accepting willingly whatsoever is sent
by the Divine Providence, as being that which the nature of the universe
hath appointed unto thee, which also hath appointed thee for that,
whatsoever it be. To righteousness, in speaking the truth freely, and
without ambiguity; and in doing all things justly and discreetly. Now in
this good course, let not other men's either wickedness, or opinion, or
voice hinder thee: no, nor the sense of this thy pampered mass of flesh:
for let that which suffers, look to itself. If therefore whensoever the
time of thy departing shall come, thou shalt readily leave all things,
and shalt respect thy mind only, and that divine part of thine, and this
shall be thine only fear, not that some time or other thou shalt cease
to live, but thou shalt never begin to live according to nature: then
shalt thou be a man indeed, worthy of that world, from which thou hadst
thy beginning; then shalt thou cease to be a stranger in thy country,
and to wonder at those things that happen daily, as things strange and
unexpected, and anxiously to depend of divers things that are not in thy
power.
II. God beholds our minds and understandings, bare and naked from these
material vessels, and outsides, and all earthly dross. For with His
simple and pure understanding, He pierceth into our inmost and purest
parts, which from His, as it were by a water pipe and channel, first
flowed and issued. This if thou also shalt use to do, thou shalt
rid thyself of that manifold luggage, wherewith thou art round about
encumbered. For he that does regard neither his body, nor his clothing,
nor his dwelling, nor any such external furniture, must needs gain unto
himself great rest and ease. Three things there be in all, which thou
doest consist of; thy body, thy life, and thy mind. Of these the two
former, are so far forth thine, as that thou art bound to take care for
them. But the third alone is that which is properly thine. If then thou
shalt separate from thyself, that is from thy mind, whatsoever other men
either do or say, or whatsoever thou thyself hast heretofore either
done or said; and all troublesome thoughts concerning the future, and
whatsoever, (as either belonging to thy body or life:) is without the
jurisdiction of thine own will, and whatsoever in the ordinary course
of human chances and accidents doth happen unto thee; so that thy
mind (keeping herself loose and free from all outward coincidental
entanglements; always in a readiness to depart:) shall live by herself,
and to herself, doing that which is just, accepting whatsoever doth
happen, and speaking the truth always; if, I say, thou shalt separate
from thy mind, whatsoever by sympathy might adhere unto it, and all time
both past and future, and shalt make thyself in all points and respects,
like unto Empedocles his allegorical sphere, 'all round and circular,'
&c. , and shalt think of no longer life than that which is now present:
then shalt thou be truly able to pass the remainder of thy days without
troubles and distractions; nobly and generously disposed, and in good
favour and correspondency, with that spirit which is within thee.
III. I have often wondered how it should come to pass, that every man
loving himself best, should more regard other men's opinions concerning
himself than his own. For if any God or grave master standing by,
should command any of us to think nothing by himself but what he should
presently speak out; no man were able to endure it, though but for one
day. Thus do we fear more what our neighbours will think of us, than
what we ourselves.
IV. how come it to pass that the Gods having ordered all other things
so well and so lovingly, should be overseen in this one only thing, that
whereas then hath been some very good men that have made many covenants
as it were with God and by many holy actions and outward services
contracted a kind of familiarity with Him; that these men when once they
are dead, should never be restored to life, but be extinct for ever. But
this thou mayest be sure of, that this (if it be so indeed) would
never have been so ordered by the Gods, had it been fit otherwise. For
certainly it was possible, had it been more just so and had it been
according to nature, the nature of the universe would easily have borne
it. But now because it is not so, (if so be that it be not so indeed) be
therefore confident that it was not fit it should be so for thou seest
thyself, that now seeking after this matter, how freely thou doest argue
and contest with God. But were not the Gods both just and good in the
highest degree, thou durst not thus reason with them. Now if just and
good, it could not be that in the creation of the world, they should
either unjustly or unreasonably oversee anything.
V. Use thyself even unto those things that thou doest at first despair
of. For the left hand we see, which for the most part lieth idle because
not used; yet doth it hold the bridle with more strength than the right,
because it hath been used unto it.
VI. Let these be the objects of thy ordinary meditation: to consider,
what manner of men both for soul and body we ought to be, whensoever
death shall surprise us: the shortness of this our mortal life: the
immense vastness of the time that hath been before, and will he after
us: the frailty of every worldly material object: all these things to
consider, and behold clearly in themselves, all disguisement of external
outside being removed and taken away. Again, to consider the efficient
causes of all things: the proper ends and references of all actions:
what pain is in itself; what pleasure, what death: what fame or
honour, how every man is the true and proper ground of his own rest and
tranquillity, and that no man can truly be hindered by any other: that
all is but conceit and opinion. As for the use of thy dogmata, thou must
carry thyself in the practice of them, rather like unto a pancratiastes,
or one that at the same time both fights and wrestles with hands and
feet, than a gladiator. For this, if he lose his sword that he fights
with, he is gone: whereas the other hath still his hand free, which he
may easily turn and manage at his will.
VII. All worldly things thou must behold and consider, dividing them
into matter, form, and reference, or their proper end.
VIII. How happy is man in this his power that hath been granted unto
him: that he needs not do anything but what God shall approve, and
that he may embrace contentedly, whatsoever God doth send unto him?
IX. Whatsoever doth happen in the ordinary course and consequence of
natural events, neither the Gods, (for it is not possible, that they
either wittingly or unwittingly should do anything amiss) nor men, (for
it is through ignorance, and therefore against their wills that they do
anything amiss) must be accused. None then must be accused.
X. How ridiculous and strange is he, that wonders at anything that
happens in this life in the ordinary course of nature!
XI. Either fate, (and that either an absolute necessity, and unavoidable
decree; or a placable and flexible Providence) or all is a mere
casual confusion, void of all order and government. If an absolute and
unavoidable necessity, why doest thou resist? If a placable and exorable
Providence, make thyself worthy of the divine help and assistance. If
all be a mere confusion without any moderator, or governor, then hast
thou reason to congratulate thyself; that in such a general flood of
confusion thou thyself hast obtained a reasonable faculty, whereby thou
mayest govern thine own life and actions. But if thou beest carried
away with the flood, it must be thy body perchance, or thy life, or some
other thing that belongs unto them that is carried away: thy mind and
understanding cannot. Or should it be so, that the light of a candle
indeed is still bright and lightsome until it be put out: and should
truth, and righteousness, and temperance cease to shine in thee whilest
thou thyself hast any being?
XII. At the conceit and apprehension that such and such a one hath
sinned, thus reason with thyself; What do I know whether this be a sin
indeed, as it seems to be? But if it be, what do I know but that he
himself hath already condemned himself for it? And that is all one as
if a man should scratch and tear his own face, an object of compassion
rather than of anger. Again, that he that would not have a vicious man
to sin, is like unto him that would not have moisture in the fig, nor
children to welp nor a horse to neigh, nor anything else that in the
course of nature is necessary. For what shall he do that hath such an
habit? If thou therefore beest powerful and eloquent, remedy it if thou
canst.
XIII. If it be not fitting, do it not. If it be not true, speak it not.
Ever maintain thine own purpose and resolution free from all compulsion
and necessity.
XIV. Of everything that presents itself unto thee, to consider what the
true nature of it is, and to unfold it, as it were, by dividing it into
that which is formal: that which is material: the true use or end of it,
and the just time that it is appointed to last.
XV. It is high time for thee, to understand that there is somewhat in
thee, better and more divine than either thy passions, or thy sensual
appetites and affections. What is now the object of my mind, is it fear,
or suspicion, or lust, or any such thing? To do nothing rashly without
some certain end; let that be thy first care. The next, to have no other
end than the common good. For, alas! yet a little while, and thou art no
more: no more will any, either of those things that now thou seest, or
of those men that now are living, be any more. For all things are by
nature appointed soon to be changed, turned, and corrupted, that other
things might succeed in their room.
XVI. Remember that all is but opinion, and all opinion depends of the
mind. Take thine opinion away, and then as a ship that hath stricken
in within the arms and mouth of the harbour, a present calm; all things
safe and steady: a bay, not capable of any storms and tempests: as the
poet hath it.
XVII. No operation whatsoever it he, ceasing for a while, can be truly
said to suffer any evil, because it is at an end. Neither can he that
is the author of that operation; for this very respect, because his
operation is at an end, be said to suffer any evil. Likewise then,
neither can the whole body of all our actions (which is our life) if in
time it cease, be said to suffer any evil for this very reason, because
it is at an end; nor he truly be said to have been ill affected, that
did put a period to this series of actions. Now this time or certain
period, depends of the determination of nature: sometimes of particular
nature, as when a man dieth old; but of nature in general, however; the
parts whereof thus changing one after another, the whole world still
continues fresh and new. Now that is ever best and most seasonable,
which is for the good of the whole. Thus it appears that death of
itself can neither be hurtful to any in particular, because it is not a
shameful thing (for neither is it a thing that depends of our own will,
nor of itself contrary to the common good) and generally, as it is both
expedient and seasonable to the whole, that in that respect it must
needs be good. It is that also, which is brought unto us by the order
and appointment of the Divine Providence; so that he whose will and
mind in these things runs along with the Divine ordinance, and by this
concurrence of his will and mind with the Divine Providence, is led
and driven along, as it were by God Himself; may truly be termed and
esteemed the *OEo~p7poc*, or divinely led and inspired.
XVIII. These three things thou must have always in a readiness: first
concerning thine own actions, whether thou doest nothing either idly,
or otherwise, than justice and equity do require: and concerning those
things that happen unto thee externally, that either they happen unto
thee by chance, or by providence; of which two to accuse either, is
equally against reason. Secondly, what like unto our bodies are
whilest yet rude and imperfect, until they be animated: and from their
animation, until their expiration: of what things they are compounded,
and into what things they shall be dissolved. Thirdly, how vain all
things will appear unto thee when, from on high as it were, looking
down thou shalt contemplate all things upon earth, and the wonderful
mutability, that they are subject unto: considering withal, the infinite
both greatness and variety of things aerial and things celestial that
are round about it. And that as often as thou shalt behold them, thou
shalt still see the same: as the same things, so the same shortness of
continuance of all those things. And, behold, these be the things that
we are so proud and puffed up for.
XIX. Cast away from thee opinion, and thou art safe. And what is it that
hinders thee from casting of it away? When thou art grieved at anything,
hast thou forgotten that all things happen according to the nature
of the universe; and that him only it concerns, who is in fault; and
moreover, that what is now done, is that which from ever hath been done
in the world, and will ever be done, and is now done everywhere: how
nearly all men are allied one to another by a kindred not of blood, nor
of seed, but of the same mind. Thou hast also forgotten that every man's
mind partakes of the Deity, and issueth from thence; and that no man can
properly call anything his own, no not his son, nor his body, nor his
life; for that they all proceed from that One who is the giver of all
things: that all things are but opinion; that no man lives properly, but
that very instant of time which is now present. And therefore that no
man whensoever he dieth can properly be said to lose any more, than an
instant of time.
XX. Let thy thoughts ever run upon them, who once for some one thing or
other, were moved with extraordinary indignation; who were once in
the highest pitch of either honour, or calamity; or mutual hatred and
enmity; or of any other fortune or condition whatsoever. Then consider
what's now become of all those things. All is turned to smoke; all to
ashes, and a mere fable; and perchance not so much as a fable. As also
whatsoever is of this nature, as Fabius Catulinus in the field; Lucius
Lupus, and Stertinius, at Baiae Tiberius at Caprem: and Velius Rufus,
and all such examples of vehement prosecution in worldly matters; let
these also run in thy mind at the same time; and how vile every object
of such earnest and vehement prosecution is; and how much more agreeable
to true philosophy it is, for a man to carry himself in every matter
that offers itself; justly, and moderately, as one that followeth the
Gods with all simplicity. For, for a man to be proud and high conceited,
that he is not proud and high conceited, is of all kind of pride and
presumption, the most intolerable.
XXI. To them that ask thee, Where hast thou seen the Gods, or how
knowest thou certainly that there be Gods, that thou art so devout in
their worship? I answer first of all, that even to the very eye, they
are in some manner visible and apparent. Secondly, neither have I ever
seen mine own soul, and yet I respect and honour it. So then for the
Gods, by the daily experience that I have of their power and providence
towards myself and others, I know certainly that they are, and therefore
worship them.
XXII. Herein doth consist happiness of life, for a man to know
thoroughly the true nature of everything; what is the matter, and what
is the form of it: with all his heart and soul, ever to do that which is
just, and to speak the truth. What then remaineth but to enjoy thy life
in a course and coherence of good actions, one upon another immediately
succeeding, and never interrupted, though for never so little a while?
XXIII.
There is but one light of the sun, though it be intercepted by
walls and mountains, and other thousand objects. There is but one common
substance of the whole world, though it be concluded and restrained into
several different bodies, in number infinite. There is but one common
soul, though divided into innumerable particular essences and natures.
So is there but one common intellectual soul, though it seem to be
divided. And as for all other parts of those generals which we have
mentioned, as either sensitive souls or subjects, these of themselves
(as naturally irrational) have no common mutual reference one unto
another, though many of them contain a mind, or reasonable faculty in
them, whereby they are ruled and governed. But of every reasonable mind,
this the particular nature, that it hath reference to whatsoever is
of her own kind, and desireth to be united: neither can this common
affection, or mutual unity and correspondency, be here intercepted or
divided, or confined to particulars as those other common things are.
XXIV. What doest thou desire? To live long. What? To enjoy the
operations of a sensitive soul; or of the appetitive faculty? or wouldst
thou grow, and then decrease again? Wouldst thou long be able to talk,
to think and reason with thyself? Which of all these seems unto thee a
worthy object of thy desire? Now if of all these thou doest find that
they be but little worth in themselves, proceed on unto the last, which
is, in all things to follow God and reason. But for a man to grieve that
by death he shall be deprived of any of these things, is both against
God and reason.
XXV. What a small portion of vast and infinite eternity it is, that is
allowed unto every one of us, and how soon it vanisheth into the general
age of the world: of the common substance, and of the common soul also
what a small portion is allotted unto us: and in what a little clod of
the whole earth (as it were) it is that thou doest crawl. After thou
shalt rightly have considered these things with thyself; fancy not
anything else in the world any more to be of any weight and moment
but this, to do that only which thine own nature doth require; and to
conform thyself to that which the common nature doth afford.
XXVI. What is the present estate of my understanding? For herein lieth
all indeed. As for all other things, they are without the compass of
mine own will: and if without the compass of my will, then are they as
dead things unto me, and as it were mere smoke.
XXVII. To stir up a man to the contempt of death this among other
things, is of good power and efficacy, that even they who esteemed
pleasure to be happiness, and pain misery, did nevertheless many of them
contemn death as much as any. And can death be terrible to him, to
whom that only seems good, which in the ordinary course of nature is
seasonable? to him, to whom, whether his actions be many or few, so they
be all good, is all one; and who whether he behold the things of the
world being always the same either for many years, or for few years
only, is altogether indifferent? O man! as a citizen thou hast lived,
and conversed in this great city the world. Whether just for so many
years, or no, what is it unto thee? Thou hast lived (thou mayest be
sure) as long as the laws and orders of the city required; which may be
the common comfort of all. Why then should it be grievous unto thee, if
(not a tyrant, nor an unjust judge, but) the same nature that brought
thee in, doth now send thee out of the world? As if the praetor should
fairly dismiss him from the stage, whom he had taken in to act a while.
Oh, but the play is not yet at an end, there are but three acts yet
acted of it? Thou hast well said: for in matter of life, three acts is
the whole play. Now to set a certain time to every man's acting, belongs
unto him only, who as first he was of thy composition, so is now the
cause of thy dissolution. As for thyself; thou hast to do with
neither. Go thy ways then well pleased and contented: for so is He that
dismisseth thee.
APPENDIX
CORRESPONDENCE OF M. AURELIUS ANTONINUS AND M. CORNELIUS FRONTO'
M. CORNELIUS FRONTO(1) was a Roman by descent, but of provincial birth,
being native to Cirta, in Numidia. Thence he migrated to Rome in the
reign of Hadrian, and became the most famous rhetorician of his day.
As a pleader and orator he was counted by his contemporaries hardly
inferior to Tully himself, and as a teacher his aid was sought for the
noblest youths of Rome. To him was entrusted the education of M.
Aurelius and of his colleague L. Verus in their boyhood; and he was
rewarded for his efforts by a seat in the Senate and the consular rank
(A. D. 143). By the exercise of his profession he became wealthy; and if
he speaks of his means as not great,(2) he must be comparing his wealth
with the grandees of Rome, not with the ordinary citizen.
Before the present century nothing was known of the works of Fronto,
except a grammatical treatise; but in 1815 Cardinal Mai published a
number of letters and some short essays of Fronto, which he had
discovered in a palimpsest at Milan. Other parts of the same MS. he
found later in the Vatican, the whole being collected
1 References are made to the edition of Naber, Leipzig
(Trübner), 1867.
2 Ad Verum imp. Aur. Caes. , ii, 7. and edited in the year
1823.
We now possess parts of his correspondence with Antoninus Pius, with M.
Aurelius, with L. Verus, and with certain of his friends, and also
several rhetorical and historical fragments. Though none of the more
ambitious works of Fronto have survived, there are enough to give proof
of his powers. Never was a great literary reputation less deserved. It
would be hard to conceive of anything more vapid than the style and
conception of these letters; clearly the man was a pedant without
imagination or taste. Such indeed was the age he lived in, and it is no
marvel that he was like to his age. But there must have been more in him
than mere pedantry; there was indeed a heart in the man, which Marcus
found, and he found also a tongue which could speak the truth. Fronto's
letters are by no means free from exaggeration and laudation, but they
do not show that loathsome flattery which filled the Roman court. He
really admires what he praises, and his way of saying so is not unlike
what often passes for criticism at the present day. He is not afraid to
reprove what he thinks amiss; and the astonishment of Marcus at this
will prove, if proof were needed, that he was not used to plain dealing.
"How happy I am," he writes, "that my friend Marcus Cornelius, so
distinguished as an orator and so noble as a man, thinks me worth
praising and blaming. "(1) In another place he deems himself blest
because Pronto had taught him to speak the truth(2) although the context
shows him to be speaking of expression, it is still a point in favour of
Pronto. A sincere heart is better than literary taste; and if Fronto had
not done his duty by the young prince, it is not easy to understand the
friendship which remained between them up to the last.
1 Ad M. Caes iii. 17
2 Ad M. Caes iii. 12
An example of the frankness which was between them is given by a
difference they had over the case of Herodes Atticus. Herodes was a
Greek rhetorician who had a school at Rome, and Marcus Aurelius was
among his pupils. Both Marcus and the Emperor Antoninus had a high
opinion of Herodes; and all we know goes to prove he was a man of high
character and princely generosity. When quite young he was made
administrator of the free cities in Asia, nor is it surprising to find
that he made bitter enemies there; indeed, a just ruler was sure to make
enemies. The end of it was that an Athenian deputation, headed by the
orators Theodotus and Demostratus, made serious accusations against his
honour. There is no need to discuss the merits of the case here; suffice
it to say, Herodes succeeded in defending himself to the satisfaction of
the emperor. Pronto appears to have taken the delegates' part, and to
have accepted a brief for the prosecution, urged to some extent by
personal considerations; and in this cause Marcus Aurelius writes to
Fronto as follows 'AURELIUS CAESAR to his friend FRONTO, greeting. (1) 'I
know you have often told me you were anxious to find how you might best
please me. Now is the time; now you can increase my love towards you, if
it can be increased. A trial is at hand, in which people seem likely not
only to hear your speech with pleasure, but to see your indignation with
impatience. I see no one who dares give you a hint in the matter; for
those who are less friendly, prefer to see you act with some
inconsistency; and those who are more friendly, fear to seem too
friendly to your opponent if they should dissuade you from your
accusation; then again, in case you have prepared something neat for the
occasion, they cannot endure to rob you of your harangue by silencing
you. Therefore, whether you think me a rash counsellor, or a bold boy,
or too kind to your opponent, not because I think it better, I will
offer my counsel with some caution. But why have I said, offer my
counsel? No, I demand it from you; I demand it boldly, and if I succeed,
I promise to remain under your obligation. What? you will say if I am
attackt, shall I not pay tit for tat? Ah, but you will get greater
glory, if even when attackt you answer nothing. Indeed, if he begins it,
answer as you will and you will have fair excuse; but I have demanded of
him that he shall not begin, and I think I have succeeded. I love each
of you according to your merits and I know that lie was educated in the
house of P. Calvisius, my grandfather, and that I was educated by you;
therefore I am full of anxiety that this most disagreeable business
shall be managed as honourably as possible. I trust you may approve my
advice, for my intention you will approve. At least I prefer to write
unwisely rather than to be silent unkindly. '
1 Ad M. Caes ii. , 2.
Fronto replied, thanking the prince for his advice, and promising that
he will confine himself to the facts of the case. But he points out that
the charges brought against Herodes were such, that they can hardly be
made agreeable; amongst them being spoliation, violence, and murder.
However, he is willing even to let some of these drop if it be the
prince's pleasure. To this Marcus returned the following answer:--(1)
'This one thing, my dearest Fronto, is enough to make me truly grateful
to you, that so far from rejecting my counsel, you have even approved
it. As to the question you raise in your kind letter, my opinion is
this: all that concerns the case which you are supporting must be
clearly brought forward; what concerns your own feelings, though you may
have had just provocation, should be left unsaid. ' The story does credit
to both. Fronto shows no loss of temper at the interference, nor shrinks
from stating his case with frankness; and Marcus, with forbearance
remarkable in a prince, does not command that his friend be left
unmolested, but merely stipulates for a fair trial on the merits of the
case.
Another example may be given from a letter of Fronto's (2) Here is
something else quarrelsome and querulous. I have sometimes found fault
with you in your absence somewhat seriously in the company of a few
of my most intimate friends: at times, for example, when you mixt in
society with a more solemn look than was fitting, or would read books
in the theatre or in a banquet; nor did I absent myself from theatre
or banquet when you did (3). Then I used to call you a hard man, no good
company, even disagreeable, sometimes, when anger got the better of me.
But did any one else in the same banquet speak against you, I could
not endure to hear it with equanimity. Thus it was easier for me to say
something to your disadvantage myself, than to hear others do it; just
as I could more easily bear to chastise my daughter Gratia, than to see
her chastised by another. '
1. Ad. M. Caes. , iii. 5.
2. iv. 12.
3 The text is obscure
The affection between them is clear from every page of the
correspondence. A few instances are now given, which were written at
different periods To MY MASTER. (1) 'This is how I have past the last few
days. My sister was suddenly seized with an internal pain, so violent
that I was horrified at her looks; my mother in her trepidation on that
account accidentally bruised her side on a corner of the wall; she and
we were greatly troubled about that blow. For myself; on going to rest
I found a scorpion in my bed; but I did not lie down upon him, I killed
him first. If you are getting on better, that is a consolation. My
mother is easier now, thanks be to God. Good-bye, best and sweetest
master. My lady sends you greeting. '
(2)'What words can I find to fit my had luck, or how shall I upbraid as
it deserves the hard constraint which is laid upon me? It ties me fast
here, troubled my heart is, and beset by such anxiety; nor does it allow
me to make haste to my Fronto, my life and delight, to be near him at
such a moment of ill-health in particular, to hold his hands, to chafe
gently that identical foot, so far as may be done without discomfort, to
attend him in the bath, to support his steps with my arm. '
(3)'This morning I did not write to you, because I heard you were
better, and because I was myself engaged in other business, and I
cannot ever endure to write anything to you unless with mind at ease and
untroubled and free. So if we are all right, let me know: what I desire,
you know, and how properly I desire it, I know. Farewell, my master,
always in every chance first in my mind, as you deserve to be. My
master, see I am not asleep, and I compel myself to sleep, that you may
not be angry with me. You gather I am writing this late at night. '
1 Ad M. Caes. , v. 8.
2 i. 2.
3 iii. 21.
(1)'What spirit do you suppose is in me, when I remember how long it
is since I have seen you, and why I have not seen you 1 and it may be
I shall not see you for a few days yet, while you are strengthening
yourself; as you must. So while you lie on the sick-bed, my spirit also
will lie low anti, whenas,(2) by God's mercy you shall stand upright,
my spirit too will stand firm, which is now burning with the strongest
desire for you. Farewell, soul of your prince, your (3)O my dear Fronto,
most distinguished Consul! I yield, you have conquered: all who have
ever loved before, you have conquered out and out in love's contest.
Receive the victor's wreath; and the herald shall proclaim your victory
aloud before your own tribunal: "M. Cornelius Fronto, Consul, wins, and
is crowned victor in the Open International Love-race. "(4) But beaten
though I may be, I shall neither slacken nor relax my own zeal. Well,
you shall love me more than any man loves any other man; but I, who
possess a faculty of loving less strong, shall love you more than any
one else loves you; more indeed than you love yourself. Gratia and I
will have to fight for it; I doubt I shall not get the better of her.
For, as Plautus says, her love is like rain, whose big drops not only
penetrate the dress, but drench to the very marrow. '
Marcus Aurelius seems to have been about eighteen years of age when
the correspondence begins, Fronto being some thirty years older. (5) The
systematic education of the young prince seems to have been finisht, and
Pronto now acts more as his adviser than his tutor. He recommends
the prince to use simplicity in his public speeches, and to avoid
affectation. (6) Marcus devotes his attention to the old authors who then
had a great vogue at Rome: Ennius, Plautus, Nawius, and such orators
as Cato and Gracchus. (7) Pronto urges on him the study of Cicero, whose
letters, he says, are all worth reading.
1 Ad M. Caes. , iii. 19.
2 The writer sometimes uses archaisms such as quom, which I
render 'whenas'.
3 Ad M. Caes. , ii. 2.
4 The writer parodies the proclamation at the Greek games; the
words also are Greek.
5 From internal evidence: the letters are not arranged in order
of time. See Naher's Prolegomena, p. xx. foil.
6 Ad M. Caes. , iii. x.
7 Ad M. Caes ii. 10,; iii. 18,; ii. 4.
When he wishes to compliment Marcus he declares one or other of his
letters has the true Tullian ring. Marcus gives his nights to reading
when he ought to be sleeping. He exercises himself in verse composition
and on rhetorical themes.
'It is very nice of you,' he writes to Fronto,(1) 'to ask for my
hexameters; I would have sent them at once if I had them by me. The fact
is my secretary, Anicetus-you know who I mean-did not pack up any of my
compositions for me to take away with me. He knows my weakness; he was
afraid that if I got hold of them I might, as usual, make smoke of them.
However, there was no fear for the hexameters. I must confess the truth
to my master: I love them. I study at night, since the day is taken up
with the theatre. I am weary of an evening, and sleepy in the daylight,
and so I don't do much. Yet I have made extracts from sixty books, five
volumes of them, in these latter days. But when you read remember
that the "sixty" includes plays of Novius, and farces, and some little
speeches of Scipio; don't be too much startled at the number. You
remember your Polemon; but I pray you do not remember Horace, who has
died with Pollio as far as I am concerned. (2) Farewell, my dearest
and most affectionate friend, most distinguished consul and my beloved
master, whom I have not seen these two years. Those who say two months,
count the days. Shall I ever see you again? '
Sometimes Fronto sends him a theme to work up, as thus: 'M.
