Book One
Imperial Marcus Aurelius GreekFrom my grandfather Verus: nobility of character, and a temper free from anger.
From the reputation my father left behind, and my memory of him: modesty and a manly bearing.
From my mother: piety and generosity; to abstain not only from doing wrong but even from dwelling on such thoughts; and further, a simple way of life, far removed from the habits of the rich.
From my great-grandfather: not to have attended the public schools, but to have had good teachers at home, and to have learned that on such things one should spend without grudging the cost.
From my tutor: not to have taken sides with the Greens or the Blues at the races, nor with the light-shield or the heavy-shield men in the ring; to endure hardship and to want little; to work with my own hands, and to mind my own affairs; and to turn a deaf ear to slander.
From Diognetus: to avoid empty enthusiasms; to disbelieve what the miracle-mongers and charlatans say about spells and the casting-out of spirits and suchlike; not to breed fighting-quails, nor to be carried away by such pastimes; to tolerate plain speaking; to have grown intimate with philosophy, and to have heard first Bacchius, then Tandasis and Marcianus; to have written dialogues as a boy; and to have set my heart on the plank bed and the hide coverlet, and the rest of the discipline that belongs to the Greek training.
From Rusticus: to have grasped that my character stood in need of correction and care; not to be sidetracked into the ambition of the sophist, nor to write treatises on abstract questions, nor to deliver little moralizing addresses, nor to parade myself as a man of discipline or of good works; to have given up rhetoric and poetry and fine phrasing; not to walk about the house in formal robes, nor do anything of the kind; to write letters plainly, as he himself wrote to my mother from Sinuessa; to be easily won back to good will and readily reconciled with those who have given offence or done me wrong, the moment they themselves are willing to return; to read closely, and not be satisfied with a rough general grasp, nor agree too quickly with the glib talker; and to have come upon the memoirs of Epictetus, which he lent me from his own library.
From Apollonius: freedom of will, and an unwavering steadiness that leaves nothing to chance; to look to nothing else, even for a moment, but reason; to be ever the same — in sharp pain, at the loss of a child, through long illness; to see plainly, in a living example, that one and the same man can be both utterly resolute and at ease; not to be ill-tempered in explaining things; and to have seen a man who plainly counted as the least of his merits his experience and skill in handing on his teachings; and to have learned how one should receive what pass for favours from friends — neither enslaved by them nor letting them go unfelt.
From Sextus: graciousness; the model of a household governed as a father governs his own; the idea of living in accordance with nature; dignity without affectation; a watchful, caring attention to friends; patience with the unlearned and with those who hold opinions without examining them; an adaptability towards all men, so that his conversation was more winning than any flattery, and yet at that very moment he was held in the deepest reverence by those same men; the gift of finding out and arranging, with method and intelligence, the principles necessary for life; never to give a sign of anger or any other passion, but to be at once entirely free of passion and most affectionate; to bestow praise without fanfare, and to carry great learning without display.
From Alexander the grammarian: not to be fault-finding, nor to pounce reproachfully on those who let slip a barbarism, a solecism, or a harsh-sounding phrase, but deftly to introduce the very expression that should have been used, by way of an answer, a confirmation, or a shared reflection on the matter itself — not on the word — or by some other graceful, indirect reminder.
From Fronto: to mark what envy, duplicity, and hypocrisy go hand in hand with absolute power, and how those among us who are called patricians are somehow rather wanting in natural affection.
From Alexander the Platonist: not often, and never without necessity, to say to anyone, or write in a letter, that I am too busy; nor in this way to be forever begging off the duties I owe to those who share my life, pleading the press of affairs.
From Catulus: not to make light of a friend's complaint, even when it happens to be unreasonable, but to try to restore him to his usual temper; to speak warmly in praise of one's teachers, as Domitius and Athenodotus are remembered to have done; and a genuine love towards one's children.
From my brother Severus: love of family, of truth, and of justice; that through him I came to know Thrasea, Helvidius, Cato, Dio, and Brutus, and conceived the idea of a commonwealth under equal laws, governed by equality and freedom of speech, and of a kingship that honours above all else the liberty of the governed. And further, from him: a steady and even regard for philosophy; readiness to do good and to give without stint; good hope, and confidence in being loved by one's friends; openness towards those he found at fault; and that his friends had no need to guess at what he wished or did not wish — it was plain to see.
From Maximus: mastery of oneself, swayed by nothing; good cheer in all circumstances, and in sickness too; a character finely tempered — gentle and dignified together; to do the work set before him without complaint; that all men believed he thought as he spoke, and that whatever he did, he did with no ill intent. Never to be astonished or dismayed; never hurried, never hesitant, never at a loss, never downcast, never with a forced smile, and again never angry or suspicious; to be generous in kindness, ready to forgive, free of falsehood; to give the impression of a man who could not be bent from the straight path rather than one straightened by another; and that no one could ever have thought himself looked down on by him, nor have dared to suppose himself the better man; and a charm in good humour.
From my father: gentleness, and an unshakeable constancy in decisions reached after due examination; no vanity in the matter of so-called honours; love of work, and perseverance; a readiness to listen to anyone with something to contribute for the common good; an unswerving will to give every man his due; the experience to know where to press hard and where to ease off; and the putting away of the passion for boys. His sense of fellowship; and that he let his friends feel under no obligation always to dine with him or to attend him on his journeys, so that those kept away by some necessity always found him unchanged. His careful, persevering spirit in council, never breaking off an inquiry content with first impressions. His way of keeping his friends, never tiring of them nor doting on them. Self-sufficiency in everything, and a cheerful face. To look far ahead, and to arrange even the smallest matters in advance, without making a scene of it. To check, in his own case, all public acclamation and flattery. To watch ceaselessly over the needs of the empire, to husband its resources, and to bear the criticism that came of such care. Neither superstitious before the gods, nor, with men, a courter of the crowd, an ingratiating flatterer of the mob, but sober in all things and steadfast, nowhere vulgar nor chasing after novelty. In the things that make life comfortable — of which fortune gave him an abundance — to make use of them without display and without apology, so that when they were at hand he enjoyed them without affectation, and when they were absent he did not feel their lack. That no one could call him a sophist, a glib upstart, or a pedant, but rather a man ripe and complete, beyond the reach of flattery, fit to govern his own affairs and other men's. Besides this, his respect for the true followers of philosophy, while towards the rest he was neither scornful nor easily led astray by them. His ease and grace in company, never to the point of excess. His care for his own body within measure — not as one in love with life, nor for the sake of appearance, yet not negligently either, but so that, by his own attention, he had the least possible need of medicine, of drugs, or of outward remedies. Above all, his readiness to give way, without a trace of envy, to those who had gained some special competence — in eloquence, say, or the knowledge of laws or customs or other matters — and his eagerness to help them, so that each might win the repute his own gifts deserved. Acting always according to the ways of our fathers, yet not making even this — the keeping of ancestral custom — a thing to be seen doing. Not given to change or restlessness, but content to linger in the same places and at the same tasks; and, after his bouts of headache, returning at once fresh and vigorous to his usual work. His secrets were few — very few, and very rare, and those only on matters of state. Discretion and moderation in mounting public shows, in the building of public works, in distributions to the people, and the like — the conduct of a man who looks to what must be done, not to the reputation that follows the doing. He was no bather at odd hours, no lover of building, no connoisseur of his food, of the weave and colour of his clothes, or of the bloom of young bodies. His dress was brought up from his country house at Lorium; at Lanuvium he lived for the most part simply; we recall how he treated the customs-officer who begged his pardon at Tusculum, and all his behaviour was of that kind. There was nothing harsh in him, nothing relentless, nothing headlong — nothing of which one might say "he is sweating at it" — but everything was reasoned out separately, as if at leisure: untroubled, orderly, vigorous, and all of a piece with itself. What is recorded of Socrates would fit him too: that he could equally abstain from, and enjoy, those things which most men are too weak to abstain from and too self-indulgent to enjoy in moderation. But to be strong enough for the one and sober enough for the other is the mark of a man whose soul is perfect and unconquered — as he showed in the illness of Maximus.
From the gods: to have had good grandfathers, good parents, a good sister, good teachers, good companions, kinsmen, and friends — very nearly all of them good; and that I never stumbled into giving offence to any of them, though I had a disposition such that, given the occasion, I might have done something of the kind — but it was the gods' kindness that no concurrence of circumstances arose to put me to the test. That I was not reared longer than I was in my grandfather's concubine's house; that I kept the flower of my youth; that I did not prove my manhood before the time, but even held off a while longer. That I was set under a ruler and a father who would strip me of all conceit and bring me to see that one may live in a palace and yet have no need of bodyguards, of splendid robes, of torches and statues and pomp of that kind, but may draw oneself in very near to the condition of a private man, and be none the meaner or more remiss for it in whatever must be done, as a sovereign, for the common good. That I was granted such a brother — one able by his character to rouse me to care for myself, and at the same time gladdening me with his respect and affection. That my children were not born dull, nor deformed in body. That I made no great progress in rhetoric and poetry and the other pursuits in which I might well have been caught up, had I felt myself getting on easily. That I was quick to set my tutors in the positions of honour they seemed to long for, and did not put them off with the hope of doing it later, since they were still young. That I came to know Apollonius, Rusticus, Maximus. That it was brought home to me clearly and often what a life in accordance with nature is, so that, as far as the gods are concerned, and the gifts, the help, and the inspirations that come from them, nothing now prevents me from living in accordance with nature — though I still fall short of it through my own fault, and through not keeping in mind the reminders, almost the instructions, of the gods. That my body has held out so long in such a life. That I never laid a hand on Benedicta or Theodotus, and that, when later I was caught up in passions of love, I was cured. That, though often angry with Rusticus, I never went so far as to do anything I would have regretted. That my mother, though fated to die young, yet spent her last years with me. That whenever I wished to help anyone in poverty or other need, I was never told there were no funds for it; and that I myself never fell into the like need of having to take from another. That my wife is what she is — so obedient, so affectionate, so unaffected. That I had no lack of suitable tutors for my children. That remedies were granted me through dreams — among others, against the spitting of blood and against dizziness; and what happened at Caieta, "as you shall use it." That, when I set my heart on philosophy, I did not fall into the hands of some sophist, nor sit down to pore over treatises, or unravel syllogisms, or busy myself with the phenomena of the heavens. For all these things "stand in need of the gods' help, and of fortune."
Among the Quadi, on the Granua.