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
comanander-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 he 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 he 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 general1y
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. '0 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-Aureile"--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.
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