



Produced by J. Boulton





MEDITATIONS

By Marcus Aurelius




CONTENTS


     NOTES

     INTRODUCTION

     FIRST BOOK

     SECOND BOOK

     THIRD BOOK

     FOURTH BOOK

     FIFTH BOOK

     SIXTH BOOK

     SEVENTH BOOK

     EIGHTH BOOK

     NINTH BOOK

     TENTH BOOK

     ELEVENTH BOOK

     TWELFTH BOOK

     APPENDIX

     GLOSSARY




Original Transcriber's Notes:

This text was scanned by J. Boulton using Textbridge OCR. The Greek
portions of the text have been added by hand and they will require the
standard "Symbol" font "symbol.ttf" to be installed in the system fonts
folder. This is a standard Windows font, so should be present on most
systems. To contact the scanner e-mail: magicjon@ic24.net INTRODUCTION
This is the Plain Text version, see medma10h.txt or.zip for the HTML
version with the various symbols mentioned above.




INTRODUCTION


MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS was born on April 26, A.D. 121. His real name
was M. Annius Verus, and he was sprung of a noble family which claimed
descent from Numa, second King of Rome. Thus the most religious of
emperors came of the blood of the most pious of early kings. His father,
Annius Verus, had held high office in Rome, and his grandfather, of
the same name, had been thrice Consul. Both his parents died young, but
Marcus held them in loving remembrance. On his father's death Marcus
was adopted by his grandfather, the consular Annius Verus, and there was
deep love between these two. On the very first page of his book Marcus
gratefully declares how of his grandfather he had learned to be gentle
and meek, and to refrain from all anger and passion. The Emperor Hadrian
divined the fine character of the lad, whom he used to call not Verus
but Verissimus, more Truthful than his own name. He advanced Marcus to
equestrian rank when six years of age, and at the age of eight made him
a member of the ancient Salian priesthood. The boy's aunt, Annia Galeria
Faustina, was married to Antoninus Pius, afterwards emperor. Hence it
came about that Antoninus, having no son, adopted Marcus, changing his
name to that which he is known by, and betrothed him to his daughter
Faustina. His education was conducted with all care. The ablest teachers
were engaged for him, and he was trained in the strict doctrine of the
Stoic philosophy, which was his great delight. He was taught to dress
plainly and to live simply, to avoid all softness and luxury. His body
was trained to hardihood by wrestling, hunting, and outdoor games; and
though his constitution was weak, he showed great personal courage to
encounter the fiercest boars. At the same time he was kept from the
extravagancies of his day. The great excitement in Rome was the strife
of the Factions, as they were called, in the circus. The racing drivers
used to adopt one of four colours--red, blue, white, or green--and their
partisans showed an eagerness in supporting them which nothing could
surpass. Riot and corruption went in the train of the racing chariots;
and from all these things Marcus held severely aloof.

In 140 Marcus was raised to the consulship, and in 145 his betrothal
was consummated by marriage. Two years later Faustina brought him a
daughter; and soon after the tribunate and other imperial honours were
conferred upon him.

Antoninus Pius died in 161, and Marcus assumed the imperial state. He
at once associated with himself L. Ceionius Commodus, whom Antoninus had
adopted as a younger son at the same time with Marcus, giving him the
name of Lucius Aurelius Verus. Henceforth the two are colleagues in the
empire, the junior being trained as it were to succeed. No sooner was
Marcus settled upon the throne than wars broke out on all sides. In
the east, Vologeses III. of Parthia began a long-meditated revolt by
destroying a whole Roman Legion and invading Syria (162). Verus was sent
off in hot haste to quell this rising; and he fulfilled his trust by
plunging into drunkenness and debauchery, while the war was left to his
officers. Soon after Marcus had to face a more serious danger at home in
the coalition of several powerful tribes on the northern frontier. Chief
among those were the Marcomanni or Marchmen, the Quadi (mentioned in
this book), the Sarmatians, the Catti, the Jazyges. 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