No More Learning

In Rome itself there
was pestilence and starvation, the one brought from the east by Verus's
legions, the other caused by floods which had destroyed vast quantities
of grain. After all had been done possible to allay famine and to supply
pressing needs--Marcus being forced even to sell the imperial jewels to
find money--both emperors set forth to a struggle which was to continue
more or less during the rest of Marcus's reign. During these wars, in
169, Verus died. We have no means of following the campaigns in detail;
but thus much is certain, that in the end the Romans succeeded in
crushing the barbarian tribes, and effecting a settlement which made the
empire more secure. Marcus was himself commander-in-chief, and victory
was due no less to his own ability than to his wisdom in choice of
lieutenants, shown conspicuously in the case of Pertinax. There were
several important battles fought in these campaigns; and one of them has
become celebrated for the legend of the Thundering Legion. In a battle
against the Quadi in 174, the day seemed to be going in favour of
the foe, when on a sudden arose a great storm of thunder and rain the
lightning struck the barbarians with terror, and they turned to rout.
In later days this storm was said to have been sent in answer to the
prayers of a legion which contained many Christians, and the name
Thundering Legion should be given to it on this account. The title of
Thundering Legion is known at an earlier date, so this part of the story
at least cannot be true; but the aid of the storm is acknowledged by one
of the scenes carved on Antonine's Column at Rome, which commemorates
these wars.

The settlement made after these troubles might have been more
satisfactory but for an unexpected rising in the east. Avidius Cassius,
an able captain who had won renown in the Parthian wars, was at this
time chief governor of the eastern provinces. By whatever means induced,
he had conceived the project of proclaiming himself emperor as soon as
Marcus, who was then in feeble health, should die; and a report having
been conveyed to him that Marcus was dead, Cassius did as he had
planned. Marcus, on hearing the news, immediately patched up a peace and
returned home to meet this new peril. The emperors great grief was that
he must needs engage in the horrors of civil strife. He praised the
qualities of Cassius, and expressed a heartfelt wish that Cassius might
not be driven to do himself a hurt before he should have the opportunity
to grant a free pardon. But before he could come to the east news had
come to Cassius that the emperor still lived; his followers fell away
from him, and he was assassinated. Marcus now went to the east, and
while there the murderers brought the head of Cassius to him; but the
emperor indignantly refused their gift, nor would he admit the men to
his presence.

On this journey his wife, Faustina, died. At his return the emperor
celebrated a triumph (176). Immediately afterwards he repaired to
Germany, and took up once more the burden of war. His operations were
followed by complete success; but the troubles of late years had been
too much for his constitution, at no time robust, and on March 17, 180,
he died in Pannonia.

The good emperor was not spared domestic troubles. Faustina had borne
him several children, of whom he was passionately fond. Their innocent
faces may still be seen in many a sculpture gallery, recalling with odd
effect the dreamy countenance of their father. But they died one by
one, and when Marcus came to his own end only one of his sons still
lived--the weak and worthless Commodus. On his father's death Commodus,
who succeeded him, undid the work of many campaigns by a hasty and
unwise peace; and his reign of twelve years proved him to be a ferocious
and bloodthirsty tyrant. Scandal has made free with the name of Faustina
herself, who is accused not only of unfaithfulness, but of intriguing
with Cassius and egging him on to his fatal rebellion, it must be
admitted that these charges rest on no sure evidence; and the emperor,
at all events, loved her dearly, nor ever felt the slightest qualm of
suspicion.

As a soldier we have seen that Marcus was both capable and successful;
as an administrator he was prudent and conscientious. Although steeped
in the teachings of philosophy, he did not attempt to remodel the world
on any preconceived plan. He trod the path beaten by his predecessors,
seeking only to do his duty as well as he could, and to keep out
corruption. He did some unwise things, it is true. To create a compeer
in empire, as he did with Verus, was a dangerous innovation which could
only succeed if one of the two effaced himself; and under Diocletian
this very precedent caused the Roman Empire to split into halves. He
erred in his civil administration by too much centralising. But the
strong point of his reign was the administration of justice. Marcus
sought by-laws to protect the weak, to make the lot of the slaves
less hard, to stand in place of father to the fatherless. Charitable
foundations were endowed for rearing and educating poor children. The
provinces were protected against oppression, and public help was given
to cities or districts which might be visited by calamity. The great
blot on his name, and one hard indeed to explain, is his treatment
of the Christians. In his reign Justin at Rome became a martyr to
his faith, and Polycarp at Smyrna, and we know of many outbreaks of
fanaticism in the provinces which caused the death of the faithful. It
is no excuse to plead that he knew nothing about the atrocities done in
his name: it was his duty to know, and if he did not he would have been
the first to confess that he had failed in his duty. But from his own
tone in speaking of the Christians it is clear he knew them only from
calumny; and we hear of no measures taken even to secure that they
should have a fair hearing. In this respect Trajan was better than he.

To a thoughtful mind such a religion as that of Rome would give small
satisfaction. Its legends were often childish or impossible; its
teaching had little to do with morality. The Roman religion was in fact
of the nature of a bargain: men paid certain sacrifices and rites, and
the gods granted their favour, irrespective of right or wrong. In this
case all devout souls were thrown back upon philosophy, as they had
been, though to a less extent, in Greece. There were under the early
empire two rival schools which practically divided the field between
them, Stoicism and Epicureanism. The ideal set before each was nominally
much the same. The Stoics aspired to the repression of all emotion, and
the Epicureans to freedom from all disturbance; yet in the upshot the
one has become a synonym of stubborn endurance, the other for unbridled
licence. With Epicureanism we have nothing to do now; but it will be
worth while to sketch the history and tenets of the Stoic sect. Zeno,
the founder of Stoicism, was born in Cyprus at some date unknown, but
his life may be said roughly to be between the years 350 and 250 B. C.
Cyprus has been from time immemorial a meeting-place of the East and
West, and although we cannot grant any importance to a possible strain
of Phoenician blood in him (for the Phoenicians were no philosophers),
yet it is quite likely that through Asia Minor he may have come in touch
with the Far East. He studied under the cynic Crates, but he did not
neglect other philosophical systems. After many years' study he opened
his own school in a colonnade in Athens called the Painted Porch, or
Stoa, which gave the Stoics their name. Next to Zeno, the School of the
Porch owes most to Chrysippus (280--207 b. c. ), who organised Stoicism
into a system. Of him it was said, 'But for Chrysippus, there had been
no Porch. '

The Stoics regarded speculation as a means to an end and that end was,
as Zeno put it, to live consistently omologonuenws zhn or as it was
later explained, to live in conformity with nature. This conforming of
the life to nature oralogoumenwz th fusei zhn. was the Stoic idea of
Virtue.

This dictum might easily be taken to mean that virtue consists in
yielding to each natural impulse; but that was very far from the Stoic
meaning. In order to live in accord with nature, it is necessary to know
what nature is; and to this end a threefold division of philosophy is
made--into Physics, dealing with the universe and its laws, the problems
of divine government and teleology; Logic, which trains the mind to
discern true from false; and Ethics, which applies the knowledge thus
gained and tested to practical life. The Stoic system of physics was
materialism with an infusion of pantheism. In contradiction to Plato's
view that the Ideas, or Prototypes, of phenomena alone really exist,
the Stoics held that material objects alone existed; but immanent in
the material universe was a spiritual force which acted through them,
manifesting itself under many forms, as fire, aether, spirit, soul,
reason, the ruling principle.

The universe, then, is God, of whom the popular gods are manifestations;
while legends and myths are allegorical. The soul of man is thus an
emanation from the godhead, into whom it will eventually be re-absorbed.
The divine ruling principle makes all things work together for good,
but for the good of the whole. The highest good of man is consciously
to work with God for the common good, and this is the sense in which
the Stoic tried to live in accord with nature. In the individual it
is virtue alone which enables him to do this; as Providence rules the
universe, so virtue in the soul must rule man.

In Logic, the Stoic system is noteworthy for their theory as to the test
of truth, the Criterion. They compared the new-born soul to a sheet of
paper ready for writing. Upon this the senses write their impressions,
fantasias and by experience of a number of these the soul unconsciously
conceives general notions koinai eunoiai or anticipations. prolhyeis
When the impression was such as to be irresistible it was called
(katalnptikh fantasia) one that holds fast, or as they explained it,
one proceeding from truth. Ideas and inferences artificially produced by
deduction or the like were tested by this 'holding perception. ' Of the
Ethical application I have already spoken. The highest good was the
virtuous life. Virtue alone is happiness, and vice is unhappiness.
Carrying this theory to its extreme, the Stoic said that there could
be no gradations between virtue and vice, though of course each has
its special manifestations. Moreover, nothing is good but virtue, and
nothing but vice is bad. Those outside things which are commonly called
good or bad, such as health and sickness, wealth and poverty, pleasure
and pain, are to him indifferent adiofora. All these things are merely
the sphere in which virtue may act. The ideal Wise Man is sufficient
unto himself in all things, autarkhs and knowing these truths, he will
be happy even when stretched upon the rack. It is probable that no Stoic
claimed for himself that he was this Wise Man, but that each strove
after it as an ideal much as the Christian strives after a likeness to
Christ. The exaggeration in this statement was, however, so obvious,
that the later Stoics were driven to make a further subdivision of
things indifferent into what is preferable (prohgmena) and what is
undesirable. They also held that for him who had not attained to the
perfect wisdom, certain actions were proper. (kaqhkonta) These were
neither virtuous nor vicious, but, like the indifferent things, held a
middle place. Two points in the Stoic system deserve special mention.
One is a careful distinction between things which are in our power and
things which are not. Desire and dislike, opinion and affection, are
within the power of the will; whereas health, wealth, honour, and other
such are generally not so. The Stoic was called upon to control his
desires and affections, and to guide his opinion; to bring his whole
being under the sway of the will or leading principle, just as the
universe is guided and governed by divine Providence. This is a special
application of the favourite Greek virtue of moderation, (swfrosuum) and
has also its parallel in Christian ethics. The second point is a strong
insistence on the unity of the universe, and on man's duty as part of a
great whole. Public spirit was the most splendid political virtue of the
ancient world, and it is here made cosmopolitan. It is again instructive
to note that Christian sages insisted on the same thing. Christians
are taught that they are members of a worldwide brotherhood, where is
neither Greek nor Hebrew, bond nor free and that they live their lives
as fellow-workers with God.

Such is the system which underlies the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius.
Some knowledge of it is necessary to the right understanding of the
book, but for us the chief interest lies elsewhere. We do not come to
Marcus Aurelius for a treatise on Stoicism. He is no head of a school to
lay down a body of doctrine for students; he does not even contemplate
that others should read what he writes. His philosophy is not an eager
intellectual inquiry, but more what we should call religious feeling.
The uncompromising stiffness of Zeno or Chrysippus is softened and
transformed by passing through a nature reverent and tolerant, gentle
and free from guile; the grim resignation which made life possible to
the Stoic sage becomes in him almost a mood of aspiration. His book
records the innermost thoughts of his heart, set down to ease it, with
such moral maxims and reflections as may help him to bear the burden of
duty and the countless annoyances of a busy life.

It is instructive to compare the Meditations with another famous book,
the Imitation of Christ. There is the same ideal of self-control in
both. It should be a man's task, says the Imitation, 'to overcome
himself, and every day to be stronger than himself. ' 'In withstanding of
the passions standeth very peace of heart. ' 'Let us set the axe to the
root, that we being purged of our passions may have a peaceable mind. '
To this end there must be continual self-examination. 'If thou may not
continually gather thyself together, namely sometimes do it, at least
once a day, the morning or the evening. In the morning purpose, in the
evening discuss the manner, what thou hast been this day, in word, work,
and thought. ' But while the Roman's temper is a modest self-reliance,
the Christian aims at a more passive mood, humbleness and meekness,
and reliance on the presence and personal friendship of God. The Roman
scrutinises his faults with severity, but without the self-contempt
which makes the Christian 'vile in his own sight. ' The Christian, like
the Roman, bids 'study to withdraw thine heart from the love of things
visible'; but it is not the busy life of duty he has in mind so much as
the contempt of all worldly things, and the 'cutting away of all
lower delectations. ' Both rate men's praise or blame at their real
worthlessness; 'Let not thy peace,' says the Christian, 'be in the
mouths of men. ' But it is to God's censure the Christian appeals, the
Roman to his own soul. The petty annoyances of injustice or unkindness
are looked on by each with the same magnanimity. 'Why doth a little
thing said or done against thee make thee sorry? It is no new thing; it
is not the first, nor shall it be the last, if thou live long. At best
suffer patiently, if thou canst not suffer joyously. ' The Christian
should sorrow more for other men's malice than for our own wrongs; but
the Roman is inclined to wash his hands of the offender. 'Study to be
patient in suffering and bearing other men's defaults and all manner
infirmities,' says the Christian; but the Roman would never have thought
to add, 'If all men were perfect, what had we then to suffer of other
men for God? ' The virtue of suffering in itself is an idea which does
not meet us in the Meditations. Both alike realise that man is one of a
great community. 'No man is sufficient to himself,' says the Christian;
'we must bear together, help together, comfort together. ' But while
he sees a chief importance in zeal, in exalted emotion that is, and
avoidance of lukewarmness, the Roman thought mainly of the duty to be
done as well as might be, and less of the feeling which should go with
the doing of it. To the saint as to the emperor, the world is a poor
thing at best. 'Verily it is a misery to live upon the earth,' says the
Christian; few and evil are the days of man's life, which passeth away
suddenly as a shadow.

But there is one great difference between the two books we are
considering. The Imitation is addressed to others, the Meditations
by the writer to himself. We learn nothing from the Imitation of
the author's own life, except in so far as he may be assumed to have
practised his own preachings; the Meditations reflect mood by mood the
mind of him who wrote them. In their intimacy and frankness lies their
great charm. These notes are not sermons; they are not even confessions.
There is always an air of self-consciousness in confessions; in such
revelations there is always a danger of unctuousness or of vulgarity for
the best of men. St. Augus-tine is not always clear of offence, and John
Bunyan himself exaggerates venial peccadilloes into heinous sins. But
Marcus Aurelius is neither vulgar nor unctuous; he extenuates nothing,
but nothing sets down in malice. He never poses before an audience; he
may not be profound, he is always sincere. And it is a lofty and serene
soul which is here disclosed before us. Vulgar vices seem to have no
temptation for him; this is not one tied and bound with chains which
he strives to break. The faults he detects in himself are often such as
most men would have no eyes to see. To serve the divine spirit which
is implanted within him, a man must 'keep himself pure from all violent
passion and evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all
manner of discontent, either in regard of the gods or men': or, as he
says elsewhere, 'unspotted by pleasure, undaunted by pain. ' Unwavering
courtesy and consideration are his aims. 'Whatsoever any man either
doth or saith, thou must be good;' 'doth any man offend? It is against
himself that he doth offend: why should it trouble thee? ' The offender
needs pity, not wrath; those who must needs be corrected, should be
treated with tact and gentleness; and one must be always ready to learn
better. 'The best kind of revenge is, not to become like unto them. '
There are so many hints of offence forgiven, that we may believe the
notes followed sharp on the facts. Perhaps he has fallen short of his
aim, and thus seeks to call his principles to mind, and to strengthen
himself for the future. That these sayings are not mere talk is plain
from the story of Avidius Cassius, who would have usurped his imperial
throne. Thus the emperor faithfully carries out his own principle, that
evil must be overcome with good. For each fault in others, Nature (says
he) has given us a counteracting virtue; 'as, for example, against the
unthankful, it hath given goodness and meekness, as an antidote. '

One so gentle towards a foe was sure to be a good friend; and indeed his
pages are full of generous gratitude to those who had served him. In his
First Book he sets down to account all the debts due to his kinsfolk
and teachers. To his grandfather he owed his own gentle spirit, to
his father shamefastness and courage; he learnt of his mother to be
religious and bountiful and single-minded. Rusticus did not work in
vain, if he showed his pupil that his life needed amending. Apollonius
taught him simplicity, reasonableness, gratitude, a love of true
liberty. So the list runs on; every one he had dealings with seems
to have given him something good, a sure proof of the goodness of his
nature, which thought no evil.

If his was that honest and true heart which is the Christian ideal, this
is the more wonderful in that he lacked the faith which makes Christians
strong. He could say, it is true, 'either there is a God, and then all
is well; or if all things go by chance and fortune, yet mayest thou use
thine own providence in those things that concern thee properly; and
then art thou well. ' Or again, 'We must needs grant that there is a
nature that doth govern the universe. ' But his own part in the scheme
of things is so small, that he does not hope for any personal happiness
beyond what a serene soul may win in this mortal life. 'O my soul, the
time I trust will be, when thou shalt be good, simple, more open and
visible, than that body by which it is enclosed;' but this is said of
the calm contentment with human lot which he hopes to attain, not of a
time when the trammels of the body shall be cast off. For the rest, the
world and its fame and wealth, 'all is vanity. ' The gods may perhaps
have a particular care for him, but their especial care is for the
universe at large: thus much should suffice. His gods are better than
the Stoic gods, who sit aloof from all human things, untroubled and
uncaring, but his personal hope is hardly stronger. On this point he
says little, though there are many allusions to death as the natural
end; doubtless he expected his soul one day to be absorbed into the
universal soul, since nothing comes out of nothing, and nothing can be
annihilated. His mood is one of strenuous weariness; he does his duty as
a good soldier, waiting for the sound of the trumpet which shall sound
the retreat; he has not that cheerful confidence which led Socrates
through a life no less noble, to a death which was to bring him into the
company of gods he had worshipped and men whom he had revered.

But although Marcus Aurelius may have held intellectually that his soul
was destined to be absorbed, and to lose consciousness of itself, there
were times when he felt, as all who hold it must sometimes feel, how
unsatisfying is such a creed. Then he gropes blindly after something
less empty and vain. 'Thou hast taken ship,' he says, 'thou hast sailed,
thou art come to land, go out, if to another life, there also shalt
thou find gods, who are everywhere. ' There is more in this than the
assumption of a rival theory for argument's sake. If worldly things
'be but as a dream, the thought is not far off that there may be an
awakening to what is real. When he speaks of death as a necessary
change, and points out that nothing useful and profitable can be brought
about without change, did he perhaps think of the change in a corn of
wheat, which is not quickened except it die? Nature's marvellous power
of recreating out of Corruption is surely not confined to bodily things.
Many of his thoughts sound like far-off echoes of St. Paul; and it is
strange indeed that this most Christian of emperors has nothing good
to say of the Christians. To him they are only sectaries 'violently and
passionately set upon opposition.

Profound as philosophy these Meditations certainly are not; but Marcus
Aurelius was too sincere not to see the essence of such things as
came within his experience. Ancient religions were for the most
part concerned with outward things. Do the necessary rites, and you
propitiate the gods; and these rites were often trivial, sometimes
violated right feeling or even morality. Even when the gods stood on the
side of righteousness, they were concerned with the act more than with
the intent. But Marcus Aurelius knows that what the heart is full of,
the man will do. 'Such as thy thoughts and ordinary cogitations are,' he
says, 'such will thy mind be in time. ' And every page of the book shows
us that he knew thought was sure to issue in act. He drills his soul, as
it were, in right principles, that when the time comes, it may be guided
by them. To wait until the emergency is to be too late. He sees also the
true essence of happiness. 'If happiness did consist in pleasure,
how came notorious robbers, impure abominable livers, parricides, and
tyrants, in so large a measure to have their part of pleasures? ' He who
had all the world's pleasures at command can write thus 'A happy lot and
portion is, good inclinations of the soul, good desires, good actions. '

By the irony of fate this man, so gentle and good, so desirous of quiet
joys and a mind free from care, was set at the head of the Roman Empire
when great dangers threatened from east and west. For several years he
himself commanded his armies in chief. In camp before the Quadi he dates
the first book of his Meditations, and shows how he could retire within
himself amid the coarse clangour of arms. The pomps and glories which
he despised were all his; what to most men is an ambition or a dream, to
him was a round of weary tasks which nothing but the stern sense of duty
could carry him through. And he did his work well. His wars were slow
and tedious, but successful. With a statesman's wisdom he foresaw the
danger to Rome of the barbarian hordes from the north, and took measures
to meet it. As it was, his settlement gave two centuries of respite
to the Roman Empire; had he fulfilled the plan of pushing the imperial
frontiers to the Elbe, which seems to have been in his mind, much more
might have been accomplished. But death cut short his designs.
Truly a rare opportunity was given to Marcus Aurelius of showing what
the mind can do in despite of circumstances. Most peaceful of warriors,
a magnificent monarch whose ideal was quiet happiness in home life, bent
to obscurity yet born to greatness, the loving father of children who
died young or turned out hateful, his life was one paradox. That nothing
might lack, it was in camp before the face of the enemy that he passed
away and went to his own place.

Translations THE following is a list of the chief English translations
of Marcus Aurelius: (1) By Meric Casaubon, 1634; (2) Jeremy Collier,
1701; (3) James Thomson, 1747; (4) R. Graves, 1792; (5) H. McCormac,
1844; (6) George Long, 1862; (7) G. H. Rendall, 1898; and (8) J.
Jackson, 1906. Renan's "Marc-Aurèle"--in his "History of the Origins of
Christianity," which appeared in 1882--is the most vital and original
book to be had relating to the time of Marcus Aurelius. Pater's "Marius
the Epicurean" forms another outside commentary, which is of service in
the imaginative attempt to create again the period.




MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS THE ROMAN EMPEROR




HIS FIRST BOOK

concerning HIMSELF:

Wherein Antoninus recordeth, What and of whom, whether Parents, Friends,
or Masters; by their good examples, or good advice and counsel, he had
learned:

Divided into Numbers or Sections.

ANTONINUS Book vi. Num. xlviii. Whensoever thou wilt rejoice thyself,
think and meditate upon those good parts and especial gifts, which thou
hast observed in any of them that live with thee:

as industry in one, in another modesty, in another bountifulness, in
another some other thing. For nothing can so much rejoice thee, as
the resemblances and parallels of several virtues, eminent in the
dispositions of them that live with thee, especially when all at once,
as it were, they represent themselves unto thee. See therefore, that
thou have them always in a readiness.


THE FIRST BOOK

I. Of my grandfather Verus I have learned to be gentle and meek, and to
refrain from all anger and passion. From the fame and memory of him that
begot me I have learned both shamefastness and manlike behaviour. Of my
mother I have learned to be religious, and bountiful; and to forbear,
not only to do, but to intend any evil; to content myself with a spare
diet, and to fly all such excess as is incidental to great wealth. Of my
great-grandfather, both to frequent public schools and auditories, and
to get me good and able teachers at home; and that I ought not to think
much, if upon such occasions, I were at excessive charges.

II. Of him that brought me up, not to be fondly addicted to either of
the two great factions of the coursers in the circus, called Prasini,
and Veneti: nor in the amphitheatre partially to favour any of the
gladiators, or fencers, as either the Parmularii, or the Secutores.
Moreover, to endure labour; nor to need many things; when I have
anything to do, to do it myself rather than by others; not to meddle
with many businesses; and not easily to admit of any slander.

III. Of Diognetus, not to busy myself about vain things, and not easily
to believe those things, which are commonly spoken, by such as take upon
them to work wonders, and by sorcerers, or prestidigitators, and
impostors; concerning the power of charms, and their driving out of
demons, or evil spirits; and the like. Not to keep quails for the game;
nor to be mad after such things. Not to be offended with other men's
liberty of speech, and to apply myself unto philosophy. Him also I must
thank, that ever I heard first Bacchius, then Tandasis and Marcianus,
and that I did write dialogues in my youth; and that I took liking to
the philosophers' little couch and skins, and such other things, which
by the Grecian discipline are proper to those who profess philosophy.

IV. To Rusticus I am beholding, that I first entered into the conceit
that my life wanted some redress and cure. And then, that I did not
fall into the ambition of ordinary sophists, either to write tracts
concerning the common theorems, or to exhort men unto virtue and the
study of philosophy by public orations; as also that I never by way of
ostentation did affect to show myself an active able man, for any kind
of bodily exercises. And that I gave over the study of rhetoric and
poetry, and of elegant neat language. That I did not use to walk about
the house in my long robe, nor to do any such things. Moreover I learned
of him to write letters without any affectation, or curiosity; such as
that was, which by him was written to my mother from Sinuessa: and to be
easy and ready to be reconciled, and well pleased again with them that
had offended me, as soon as any of them would be content to seek unto
me again. To read with diligence; not to rest satisfied with a light and
superficial knowledge, nor quickly to assent to things commonly spoken
of: whom also I must thank that ever I lighted upon Epictetus his
Hypomnemata, or moral commentaries and common-factions: which also he
gave me of his own.

V. From Apollonius, true liberty, and unvariable steadfastness, and not
to regard anything at all, though never so little, but right and reason:
and always, whether in the sharpest pains, or after the loss of a child,
or in long diseases, to be still the same man; who also was a present
and visible example unto me, that it was possible for the same man to
be both vehement and remiss: a man not subject to be vexed, and offended
with the incapacity of his scholars and auditors in his lectures and
expositions; and a true pattern of a man who of all his good gifts
and faculties, least esteemed in himself, that his excellent skill and
ability to teach and persuade others the common theorems and maxims of
the Stoic philosophy. Of him also I learned how to receive favours and
kindnesses (as commonly they are accounted:) from friends, so that I
might not become obnoxious unto them, for them, nor more yielding upon
occasion, than in right I ought; and yet so that I should not pass them
neither, as an unsensible and unthankful man.

VI. Of Sextus, mildness and the pattern of a family governed with
paternal affection; and a purpose to live according to nature: to be
grave without affectation: to observe carefully the several dispositions
of my friends, not to be offended with idiots, nor unseasonably to set
upon those that are carried with the vulgar opinions, with the theorems,
and tenets of philosophers: his conversation being an example how a man
might accommodate himself to all men and companies; so that though his
company were sweeter and more pleasing than any flatterer's cogging and
fawning; yet was it at the same time most respected and reverenced: who
also had a proper happiness and faculty, rationally and methodically to
find out, and set in order all necessary determinations and instructions
for a man's life. A man without ever the least appearance of anger, or
any other passion; able at the same time most exactly to observe the
Stoic Apathia, or unpassionateness, and yet to be most tender-hearted:
ever of good credit; and yet almost without any noise, or rumour: very
learned, and yet making little show.

VII. From Alexander the Grammarian, to be un-reprovable myself, and not
reproachfully to reprehend any man for a barbarism, or a solecism, or
any false pronunciation, but dextrously by way of answer, or testimony,
or confirmation of the same matter (taking no notice of the word) to
utter it as it should have been spoken; or by some other such close and
indirect admonition, handsomely and civilly to tell him of it.

VIII. Of Fronto, to how much envy and fraud and hypocrisy the state of a
tyrannous king is subject unto, and how they who are commonly called
[Eupatridas Gk. ], i. e. nobly born, are in some sort incapable, or void
of natural affection.

IX. Of Alexander the Platonic, not often nor without great necessity to
say, or to write to any man in a letter, 'I am not at leisure'; nor in
this manner still to put off those duties, which we owe to our friends
and acquaintances (to every one in his kind) under pretence of urgent
affairs.

X. Of Catulus, not to contemn any friend's expostulation, though unjust,
but to strive to reduce him to his former disposition: freely and
heartily to speak well of all my masters upon any occasion, as it is
reported of Domitius, and Athenodotus: and to love my children with true
affection.

XI. From my brother Severus, to be kind and loving to all them of my
house and family; by whom also I came to the knowledge of Thrasea and
Helvidius, and Cato, and Dio, and Brutus. He it was also that did put me
in the first conceit and desire of an equal commonwealth, administered
by justice and equality; and of a kingdom wherein should be regarded
nothing more than the good and welfare of the subjects. Of him also,
to observe a constant tenor, (not interrupted, with any other cares and
distractions,) in the study and esteem of philosophy: to be bountiful
and liberal in the largest measure; always to hope the best; and to
be confident that my friends love me. In whom I moreover observed open
dealing towards those whom he reproved at any time, and that his friends
might without all doubt or much observation know what he would, or would
not, so open and plain was he.

XII. From Claudius Maximus, in all things to endeavour to have power
of myself, and in nothing to be carried about; to be cheerful and
courageous in all sudden chances and accidents, as in sicknesses: to
love mildness, and moderation, and gravity: and to do my business,
whatsoever it be, thoroughly, and without querulousness. Whatsoever
he said, all men believed him that as he spake, so he thought, and
whatsoever he did, that he did it with a good intent. His manner was,
never to wonder at anything; never to be in haste, and yet never
slow: nor to be perplexed, or dejected, or at any time unseemly, or
excessively to laugh: nor to be angry, or suspicious, but ever ready to
do good, and to forgive, and to speak truth; and all this, as one that
seemed rather of himself to have been straight and right, than ever to
have been rectified or redressed; neither was there any man that ever
thought himself undervalued by him, or that could find in his heart, to
think himself a better man than he. He would also be very pleasant and
gracious.

XIII. In my father, I observed his meekness; his constancy without
wavering in those things, which after a due examination and
deliberation, he had determined. How free from all vanity he carried
himself in matter of honour and dignity, (as they are esteemed:) his
laboriousness and assiduity, his readiness to hear any man, that had
aught to say tending to any common good: how generally and impartially
he would give every man his due; his skill and knowledge, when rigour
or extremity, or when remissness or moderation was in season; how he did
abstain from all unchaste love of youths; his moderate condescending to
other men's occasions as an ordinary man, neither absolutely requiring
of his friends, that they should wait upon him at his ordinary meals,
nor that they should of necessity accompany him in his journeys; and
that whensoever any business upon some necessary occasions was to be put
off and omitted before it could be ended, he was ever found when he
went about it again, the same man that he was before. His accurate
examination of things in consultations, and patient hearing of others.
He would not hastily give over the search of the matter, as one easy to
be satisfied with sudden notions and apprehensions. His care to preserve
his friends; how neither at any time he would carry himself towards them
with disdainful neglect, and grow weary of them; nor yet at any time
be madly fond of them. His contented mind in all things, his cheerful
countenance, his care to foresee things afar off, and to take order for
the least, without any noise or clamour. Moreover how all acclamations
and flattery were repressed by him: how carefully he observed all things
necessary to the government, and kept an account of the common expenses,
and how patiently he did abide that he was reprehended by some for this
his strict and rigid kind of dealing. How he was neither a superstitious
worshipper of the gods, nor an ambitious pleaser of men, or studious of
popular applause; but sober in all things, and everywhere observant of
that which was fitting; no affecter of novelties: in those things which
conduced to his ease and convenience, (plenty whereof his fortune
did afford him,) without pride and bragging, yet with all freedom and
liberty: so that as he did freely enjoy them without any anxiety or
affectation when they were present; so when absent, he found no want
of them. Moreover, that he was never commended by any man, as either a
learned acute man, or an obsequious officious man, or a fine orator; but
as a ripe mature man, a perfect sound man; one that could not endure to
be flattered; able to govern both himself and others. Moreover, how much
he did honour all true philosophers, without upbraiding those that were
not so; his sociableness, his gracious and delightful conversation, but
never unto satiety; his care of his body within bounds and measure,
not as one that desired to live long, or over-studious of neatness, and
elegancy; and yet not as one that did not regard it: so that through his
own care and providence, he seldom needed any inward physic, or outward
applications: but especially how ingeniously he would yield to any that
had obtained any peculiar faculty, as either eloquence, or the knowledge
of the laws, or of ancient customs, or the like; and how he concurred
with them, in his best care and endeavour that every one of them might
in his kind, for that wherein he excelled, be regarded and esteemed: and
although he did all things carefully after the ancient customs of his
forefathers, yet even of this was he not desirous that men should take
notice, that he did imitate ancient customs. Again, how he was not
easily moved and tossed up and down, but loved to be constant, both in
the same places and businesses; and how after his great fits of headache
he would return fresh and vigorous to his wonted affairs. Again, that
secrets he neither had many, nor often, and such only as concerned
public matters: his discretion and moderation, in exhibiting of the
public sights and shows for the pleasure and pastime of the people: in
public buildings. congiaries, and the like. In all these things,
having a respect unto men only as men, and to the equity of the things
themselves, and not unto the glory that might follow. Never wont to
use the baths at unseasonable hours; no builder; never curious, or
solicitous, either about his meat, or about the workmanship, or colour
of his clothes, or about anything that belonged to external beauty.
In all his conversation, far from all inhumanity, all boldness, and
incivility, all greediness and impetuosity; never doing anything with
such earnestness, and intention, that a man could say of him, that
he did sweat about it: but contrariwise, all things distinctly, as at
leisure; without trouble; orderly, soundly, and agreeably. A man might
have applied that to him, which is recorded of Socrates, that he knew
how to want, and to enjoy those things, in the want whereof, most men
show themselves weak; and in the fruition, intemperate: but to hold out
firm and constant, and to keep within the compass of true moderation and
sobriety in either estate, is proper to a man, who hath a perfect and
invincible soul; such as he showed himself in the sickness of Maximus.

XIV. From the gods I received that I had good grandfathers, and parents,
a good sister, good masters, good domestics, loving kinsmen, almost all
that I have; and that I never through haste and rashness transgressed
against any of them, notwithstanding that my disposition was such,
as that such a thing (if occasion had been) might very well have been
committed by me, but that It was the mercy of the gods, to prevent such
a concurring of matters and occasions, as might make me to incur this
blame. That I was not long brought up by the concubine of my father;
that I preserved the flower of my youth. That I took not upon me to be
a man before my time, but rather put it off longer than I needed. That
I lived under the government of my lord and father, who would take
away from me all pride and vainglory, and reduce me to that conceit and
opinion that it was not impossible for a prince to live in the court
without a troop of guards and followers, extraordinary apparel, such
and such torches and statues, and other like particulars of state and
magnificence; but that a man may reduce and contract himself almost to
the state of a private man, and yet for all that not to become the more
base and remiss in those public matters and affairs, wherein power and
authority is requisite. That I have had such a brother, who by his own
example might stir me up to think of myself; and by his respect and
love, delight and please me. That I have got ingenuous children, and
that they were not born distorted, nor with any other natural deformity.
That I was no great proficient in the study of rhetoric and poetry, and
of other faculties, which perchance I might have dwelt upon, if I had
found myself to go on in them with success. That I did by times prefer
those, by whom I was brought up, to such places and dignities, which
they seemed unto me most to desire; and that I did not put them off with
hope and expectation, that (since that they were yet but young) I would
do the same hereafter. That I ever knew Apollonius and Rusticus, and
Maximus. That I have had occasion often and effectually to consider and
meditate with myself, concerning that life which is according to nature,
what the nature and manner of it is: so that as for the gods and such
suggestions, helps and inspirations, as might be expected from them,
nothing did hinder, but that I might have begun long before to live
according to nature; or that even now that I was not yet partaker and
in present possession of that life, that I myself (in that I did not
observe those inward motions, and suggestions, yea and almost plain and
apparent instructions and admonitions of the gods,) was the only cause
of it. That my body in such a life, hath been able to hold out so long.
That I never had to do with Benedicta and Theodotus, yea and afterwards
when I fell into some fits of love, I was soon cured. That having been
often displeased with Rusticus, I never did him anything for which
afterwards I had occasion to repent. That it being so that my mother was
to die young, yet she lived with me all her latter years. That as often
as I had a purpose to help and succour any that either were poor, or
fallen into some present necessity, I never was answered by my officers
that there was not ready money enough to do it; and that I myself never
had occasion to require the like succour from any other. That I have
such a wife, so obedient, so loving, so ingenuous. That I had choice of
fit and able men, to whom I might commit the bringing up of my children.
That by dreams I have received help, as for other things, so in
particular, how I might stay my casting of blood, and cure my dizziness,
as that also that happened to thee in Cajeta, as unto Chryses when he
prayed by the seashore. And when I did first apply myself to philosophy,
that I did not fall into the hands of some sophists, or spent my time
either in reading the manifold volumes of ordinary philosophers, nor in
practising myself in the solution of arguments and fallacies, nor dwelt
upon the studies of the meteors, and other natural curiosities. All
these things without the assistance of the gods, and fortune, could not
have been.

XV. In the country of the Quadi at Granua, these. Betimes in the morning
say to thyself, This day I shalt have to do with an idle curious man,
with an unthankful man, a railer, a crafty, false, or an envious man; an
unsociable uncharitable man. All these ill qualities have happened unto
them, through ignorance of that which is truly good and truly bad. But I
that understand the nature of that which is good, that it only is to
be desired, and of that which is bad, that it only is truly odious and
shameful: who know moreover, that this transgressor, whosoever he be, is
my kinsman, not by the same blood and seed, but by participation of the
same reason, and of the same divine particle; How can I either be
hurt by any of those, since it is not in their power to make me incur
anything that is truly reproachful? or angry, and ill affected towards
him, who by nature is so near unto me? for we are all born to be
fellow-workers, as the feet, the hands, and the eyelids; as the rows of
the upper and under teeth: for such therefore to be in opposition, is
against nature; and what is it to chafe at, and to be averse from, but
to be in opposition?

XVI. Whatsoever I am, is either flesh, or life, or that which we
commonly call the mistress and overruling part of man; reason. Away with
thy books, suffer not thy mind any more to be distracted, and carried to
and fro; for it will not be; but as even now ready to die, think little
of thy flesh: blood, bones, and a skin; a pretty piece of knit and
twisted work, consisting of nerves, veins and arteries; think no more of
it, than so. And as for thy life, consider what it is; a wind; not one
constant wind neither, but every moment of an hour let out, and sucked
in again. The third, is thy ruling part; and here consider; Thou art an
old man; suffer not that excellent part to be brought in subjection, and
to become slavish: suffer it not to be drawn up and down with
unreasonable and unsociable lusts and motions, as it were with wires and
nerves; suffer it not any more, either to repine at anything now
present, or to fear and fly anything to come, which the destiny hath
appointed thee.

XVII. Whatsoever proceeds from the gods immediately, that any man will
grant totally depends from their divine providence. As for those
things that are commonly said to happen by fortune, even those must be
conceived to have dependence from nature, or from that first and general
connection, and concatenation of all those things, which more apparently
by the divine providence are administered and brought to pass.
All things flow from thence: and whatsoever it is that is, is both
necessary, and conducing to the whole (part of which thou art), and
whatsoever it is that is requisite and necessary for the preservation of
the general, must of necessity for every particular nature, be good and
behoveful. And as for the whole, it is preserved, as by the perpetual
mutation and conversion of the simple elements one into another, so
also by the mutation, and alteration of things mixed and compounded. Let
these things suffice thee; let them be always unto thee, as thy general
rules and precepts. As for thy thirst after books, away with it with all
speed, that thou die not murmuring and complaining, but truly meek and
well satisfied, and from thy heart thankful unto the gods.




THE SECOND BOOK

I. Remember how long thou hast already put off these things, and how
often a certain day and hour as it were, having been set unto thee by
the gods, thou hast neglected it. It is high time for thee to understand
the true nature both of the world, whereof thou art a part; and of that
Lord and Governor of the world, from whom, as a channel from the spring,
thou thyself didst flow: and that there is but a certain limit of time
appointed unto thee, which if thou shalt not make use of to calm and
allay the many distempers of thy soul, it will pass away and thou with
it, and never after return.

II. Let it be thy earnest and incessant care as a Roman and a man to
perform whatsoever it is that thou art about, with true and unfeigned
gravity, natural affection, freedom and justice: and as for all other
cares, and imaginations, how thou mayest ease thy mind of them. Which
thou shalt do; if thou shalt go about every action as thy last action,
free from all vanity, all passionate and wilful aberration from reason,
and from all hypocrisy, and self-love, and dislike of those things,
which by the fates or appointment of God have happened unto thee. Thou
seest that those things, which for a man to hold on in a prosperous
course, and to live a divine life, are requisite and necessary, are not
many, for the gods will require no more of any man, that shall but keep
and observe these things.

III. Do, soul, do; abuse and contemn thyself; yet a while and the time
for thee to respect thyself, will be at an end. Every man's happiness
depends from himself, but behold thy life is almost at an end, whiles
affording thyself no respect, thou dost make thy happiness to consist in
the souls, and conceits of other men.

IV. Why should any of these things that happen externally, so much
distract thee? Give thyself leisure to learn some good thing, and cease
roving and wandering to and fro. Thou must also take heed of another
kind of wandering, for they are idle in their actions, who toil and
labour in this life, and have no certain scope to which to direct all
their motions, and desires. V. For not observing the state of another
man's soul, scarce was ever any man known to be unhappy. Tell whosoever
they be that intend not, and guide not by reason and discretion the
motions of their own souls, they must of necessity be unhappy.

VI. These things thou must always have in mind: What is the nature
of the universe, and what is mine--in particular: This unto that what
relation it hath: what kind of part, of what kind of universe it is: And
that there is nobody that can hinder thee, but that thou mayest always
both do and speak those things which are agreeable to that nature,
whereof thou art a part.

VII. Theophrastus, where he compares sin with sin (as after a vulgar
sense such things I grant may be compared:) says well and like a
philosopher, that those sins are greater which are committed through
lust, than those which are committed through anger. For he that is angry
seems with a kind of grief and close contraction of himself, to turn
away from reason; but he that sins through lust, being overcome by
pleasure, doth in his very sin bewray a more impotent, and unmanlike
disposition. Well then and like a philosopher doth he say, that he of
the two is the more to be condemned, that sins with pleasure, than he
that sins with grief. For indeed this latter may seem first to have been
wronged, and so in some manner through grief thereof to have been forced
to be angry, whereas he who through lust doth commit anything, did of
himself merely resolve upon that action.

VIII. Whatsoever thou dost affect, whatsoever thou dost project, so do,
and so project all, as one who, for aught thou knowest, may at this very
present depart out of this life. And as for death, if there be any gods,
it is no grievous thing to leave the society of men. The gods will do
thee no hurt, thou mayest be sure. But if it be so that there be no
gods, or that they take no care of the world, why should I desire to
live in a world void of gods, and of all divine providence? But gods
there be certainly, and they take care for the world; and as for those
things which be truly evil, as vice and wickedness, such things they
have put in a man's own power, that he might avoid them if he would: and
had there been anything besides that had been truly bad and evil, they
would have had a care of that also, that a man might have avoided it.
But why should that be thought to hurt and prejudice a man's life in
this world, which cannot any ways make man himself the better, or the
worse in his own person? Neither must we think that the nature of the
universe did either through ignorance pass these things, or if not as
ignorant of them, yet as unable either to prevent, or better to order
and dispose them. It cannot be that she through want either of power or
skill, should have committed such a thing, so as to suffer all things
both good and bad, equally and promiscuously, to happen unto all both
good and bad. As for life therefore, and death, honour and dishonour,
labour and pleasure, riches and poverty, all these things happen
unto men indeed, both good and bad, equally; but as things which of
themselves are neither good nor bad; because of themselves, neither
shameful nor praiseworthy.

IX. Consider how quickly all things are dissolved and resolved: the
bodies and substances themselves, into the matter and substance of the
world: and their memories into the general age and time of the world.
Consider the nature of all worldly sensible things; of those especially,
which either ensnare by pleasure, or for their irksomeness are dreadful,
or for their outward lustre and show are in great esteem and request,
how vile and contemptible, how base and corruptible, how destitute of
all true life and being they are.

X. It is the part of a man endowed with a good understanding faculty, to
consider what they themselves are in very deed, from whose bare conceits
and voices, honour and credit do proceed: as also what it is to die, and
how if a man shall consider this by itself alone, to die, and separate
from it in his mind all those things which with it usually represent
themselves unto us, he can conceive of it no otherwise, than as of a
work of nature, and he that fears any work of nature, is a very child.
Now death, it is not only a work of nature, but also conducing to
nature.

XI. Consider with thyself how man, and by what part of his, is joined
unto God, and how that part of man is affected, when it is said to be
diffused. There is nothing more wretched than that soul, which in a kind
of circuit compasseth all things, searching (as he saith) even the very
depths of the earth; and by all signs and conjectures prying into the
very thoughts of other men's souls; and yet of this, is not sensible,
that it is sufficient for a man to apply himself wholly, and to confine
all his thoughts and cares to the tendance of that spirit which is
within him, and truly and really to serve him. His service doth consist
in this, that a man keep himself pure from all violent passion and
evil affection, from all rashness and vanity, and from all manner of
discontent, either in regard of the gods or men. For indeed whatsoever
proceeds from the gods, deserves respect for their worth and excellency;
and whatsoever proceeds from men, as they are our kinsmen, should by us
be entertained, with love, always; sometimes, as proceeding from their
ignorance, of that which is truly good and bad, (a blindness no less,
than that by which we are not able to discern between white and black:)
with a kind of pity and compassion also.

XII. If thou shouldst live three thousand, or as many as ten thousands
of years, yet remember this, that man can part with no life properly,
save with that little part of life, which he now lives: and that which
he lives, is no other, than that which at every instant he parts with.
That then which is longest of duration, and that which is shortest, come
both to one effect. For although in regard of that which is already past
there may be some inequality, yet that time which is now present and
in being, is equal unto all men. And that being it which we part with
whensoever we die, it doth manifestly appear, that it can be but a
moment of time, that we then part with. For as for that which is either
past or to come, a man cannot be said properly to part with it. For
how should a man part with that which he hath not? These two things
therefore thou must remember. First, that all things in the world from
all eternity, by a perpetual revolution of the same times and things
ever continued and renewed, are of one kind and nature; so that whether
for a hundred or two hundred years only, or for an infinite space of
time, a man see those things which are still the same, it can be no
matter of great moment. And secondly, that that life which any the
longest liver, or the shortest liver parts with, is for length and
duration the very same, for that only which is present, is that, which
either of them can lose, as being that only which they have; for that
which he hath not, no man can truly be said to lose.

XIII. Remember that all is but opinion and conceit, for those things
are plain and apparent, which were spoken unto Monimus the Cynic; and as
plain and apparent is the use that may be made of those things, if that
which is true and serious in them, be received as well as that which is
sweet and pleasing.

XIV. A man's soul doth wrong and disrespect itself first and especially,
when as much as in itself lies it becomes an aposteme, and as it were an
excrescency of the world, for to be grieved and displeased with anything
that happens in the world, is direct apostacy from the nature of the
universe; part of which, all particular natures of the world, are.
Secondly, when she either is averse from any man, or led by contrary
desires or affections, tending to his hurt and prejudice; such as are
the souls of them that are angry. Thirdly, when she is overcome by any
pleasure or pain. Fourthly, when she doth dissemble, and covertly and
falsely either doth or saith anything. Fifthly, when she doth either
affect or endeavour anything to no certain end, but rashly and without
due ratiocination and consideration, how consequent or inconsequent it
is to the common end. For even the least things ought not to be done,
without relation unto the end; and the end of the reasonable creatures
is, to follow and obey him, who is the reason as it were, and the law of
this great city, and ancient commonwealth.

XV. The time of a man's life is as a point; the substance of it ever
flowing, the sense obscure; and the whole composition of the body
tending to corruption. His soul is restless, fortune uncertain, and fame
doubtful; to be brief, as a stream so are all things belonging to the
body; as a dream, or as a smoke, so are all that belong unto the soul.
Our life is a warfare, and a mere pilgrimage. Fame after life is no
better than oblivion. What is it then that will adhere and follow? Only
one thing, philosophy. And philosophy doth consist in this, for a man to
preserve that spirit which is within him, from all manner of contumelies
and injuries, and above all pains or pleasures; never to do anything
either rashly, or feignedly, or hypocritically: wholly to depend from
himself and his own proper actions: all things that happen unto him to
embrace contentedly, as coming from Him from whom he himself also came;
and above all things, with all meekness and a calm cheerfulness, to
expect death, as being nothing else but the resolution of those
elements, of which every creature is composed. And if the elements
themselves suffer nothing by this their perpetual conversion of one into
another, that dissolution, and alteration, which is so common unto all,
why should it be feared by any? Is not this according to nature? But
nothing that is according to nature can be evil, whilst I was at
Carnuntzim.




THE THIRD BOOK

I. A man must not only consider how daily his life wasteth and
decreaseth, but this also, that if he live long, he cannot be certain,
whether his understanding shall continue so able and sufficient,
for either discreet consideration, in matter of businesses; or for
contemplation: it being the thing, whereon true knowledge of things both
divine and human, doth depend. For if once he shall begin to dote,
his respiration, nutrition, his imaginative, and appetitive, and other
natural faculties, may still continue the same: he shall find no want of
them.