M. Aurelius PDF

THE INNER
CITADEL
The Meditations of
Marcus Aurelius
Pierre Hadot
Translated by Michael Chase
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
1998
Copyright 1 99 8 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College

Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved
Publication of this book has been aided by
a grant from the French Ministry of Culture.
Originally published as La Citadelle Interieure: Introduction aux "Pensees" de Marc Aure/e by
Pierre Hadot, copyright l 992 Librairie Artheme Fayard.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hadot, Pierre.
[Citadelle intfaieure. English]
The inner citadel : the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius I Pierre
Hadot ; translated by Michael Chase.
p.
cm.
Includes bibliographical references (p.
) and index.
ISBN 0-674-46 1 7 1 - 1 (alk. paper)

r.
Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome, 1 2 1 - 1 80 .

2. Ethics.
3 . Stoics.
4. Life.
B 5 8 3 .H 3 3 1 3
l 8 8 -dc2 1
97-469 7 1
1 99 8
Meditations.
I. Title.
CONTENTS
Preface
Vil
Note on Transliteration and Quotation
XI
Translator's Note
XII
The Emperor-Philosopher
A First Glimpse of the Meditations
21
The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises
35
The Philosopher-Slave and the Emperor-Philosopher
54
The Stoicism of Epictetus
73
The Inner Citadel, or the Discipline of Assent
101
The Discipline ofDesire, or Amor Fati
128
The Discipline of Action, or Action in the

Service of Mankind
9
10
183
Virtue and Joy
232
Marcus Aurelius in His Meditations
243
Conclusion
307
Abbreviations
3 15
Notes
3 17
Index
339
P RE FACE
Soon, you will have forgotten everything.

Soon, everybody will have forgotten you!
Meditations, VII,
2r
Marcus Aurelius was wrong. Eighteen centuries-almost two millen

nia-have passed, and the Meditations are still alive. Nor have their pages
been reserved to a few aristocrats of the intellect, like Shaftesbury,
Frederick II, or Goethe: on the contrary, for centuries they have brought
reasons to live to innumerable unknown people, who have been able to
read them in the multiple translations of the Meditations which have been
made in every corner of the earth; and they still do so today.
The Meditations are an inexhaustible source of wisdom; an " eternal
Gospel, " in Renan's words. Apparently, the Meditations do not hold any
particular difficulties in store for their readers. Aphorisms and brief dis
sertations follow one another without any apparent order, and as the
reader leafs through the book, he or she winds up finding a striking or
moving formula which seems to speak by itself, and to need no exegesis .
It is not a book to be read in one sitting. One must return to it often, in
order to discover in it, day by day, some nourishment which suits the
momentary states of our soul. The modern reader can perfectly well
understand a given aphorism by Marcus Aurelius, like the one I have
quoted as an epigraph. This is what is always attractive about the Medita
tions: their sayings, whose limpidity can never grow old.
And yet, what a deceptive limpidity! For besides these formulas, there
are others which are much more obscure, and which have been under
stood by historians in widely varying ways. The overall meaning of the
book, its purpose, and some of its affirmations are very hard for us to
grasp. Nor is this the case only with Marcus Aurelius. For all kinds of
reasons, of which chronological distance is not the most important, our
understanding of ancient works has grown more and more dim. To gain
access to them once more, we will have to practice a kind of spiritual
Vlll
Preface
exercise or intellectual ascetics, in order to free ourselves from certain

prejudices and rediscover what is, for us, almost another way of thinking.
This is what we shall attempt to do throughout the present work. Before
we set out upon this itinerary, however, it may be helpful to become
aware of these prejudices and illusions, which threatep to cause the
modern reader to go astray when reading a work from antiquity.
In the first place, the reader will perhaps imagine that the text has
remained constant since the distant era in which it appeared, as do our
contemporary printed texts. But we must not forget that ancient texts
were, precisely, not printed: for centuries they were copied by hand, and
copying errors were thereby constantly introduced. We can hardly blame
the ancient scribes for this, if we think of our modern books, which,
although they are printed, are often filled with printer's errors, which
sometimes deform the author's thought to the point of rendering it
unintelligible . That, however, is another question. It cannot be overem
phasized that it is thanks to the efforts of the scholars who investigate and
classify the manuscripts in which ancient works have been preserved, and
who attempt, using the critical method of the classification of errors, to
reconstitute the original state of the text, that we can now read the works
of antiquity in a state which is more or less satisfactory, but can never be
perfect. I feel I must insist upon this point, which is sometimes com
pletely ignored by some scientific authorities or historians of philosophy,
who imagine that one can hold forth about the theories of a particular
ancient author without knowing what he really wrote. In the case of
Marcus Aurelius, the greatest uncertainty often reigns with regard to
certain words of his text. This does not affect the totality of the work, but
it nevertheless remains true that some passages present almost insur
mountable difficulties, and we should not be surprised if these difficulties
are reflected in the translations which have been made of this author.
The modern reader tends too often to imagine that there is only one
possible translation of a Greek text, and he or she may be surprised to
find considerable differences. This fact should, however, make the reader
aware of the distance that separates us from the ancients. Translation
presupposes, first of all, a choice with regard to the Greek text, in those
cases in which this text is sometimes uncertain. But the translators' hesi
tations often also correspond to the difficulties they have in under
standing the text, and to the sometimes radically different interpretations
of it which they propose. In the case of Marcus Aurelius, for example,
many have not been able to render in an exact manner the technical
terms, peculiar to the Stoic system, which are found on every page of the
Preface
lX
Meditations. Moreover, in the case of Marcus, the division of the text into
chapters is very uncertain, and often the limits of each " meditation" are
not absolutely clear. Thus, the very appearance of the text can vary
widely.
Finally, the modem reader might imagine-and no one is safe from
this error-that the ancient author lives in the same intellectual world as
he does. The reader will treat the author's affirmations exactly as if they
came from a contemporary author, and will therefore think he has im
mediately understood what the author meant. In fact, however, this
understanding will be anachronistic, and the reader will often run the risk
of committing serious mistranslations. To be sure, it is fashionable now
adays to affirm that, in any case, we cannot know exactly what an author
meant, and that, moreover, this does not matter at all, for we can give the
works any meaning we please. For my part, and without entering into
this debate, I would say that before we discover " unintentional" mean
ings, it seems to me both possible and necessary to discover the meaning
which the author intended. It is absolutely indispensable to go in the
direction of a basic meaning, to which we can then refer in order to
uncover, if we should so wish, those meanings of which the author was
perhaps not conscious. It is true, however, that this reconstitution is
extremely difficult for us, because we proj ect attitudes and intentions
proper to our era into the past. I order to understand ancient works, we
must relocate them within their context, in the widest sense of the term,
which can signify the material, social, and political situation as well as the
political and rhetorical universe of thought. In particular, we must recall
that the mechanisms of literary composition were very different then
from what they are now. In antiquity, the rules of discourse were rigor
ously codified. In order to say what he wanted to say, an author had to
say it in a specific way, in accordance with traditional models, and ac
cording to rules prescribed by rhetoric or philosophy. Marcus Aurelius'
Meditations, for instance, are not the spontaneous outpourings of a soul
that wants to express its thoughts immediately, but rather an exercise,
accomplished in accordance with definite rules. As we shall see, they
presuppose a pre-existing canvas, upon which the philosopher-emperor
could only embroider. Often, Marcus says certain things only because he
has to say them, by virtue of the models and precepts imposed upon him.
The meaning of the Meditations can, therefore, only be understood once
we have discovered, among other things, the prefabricated schemes
which have been imposed upon it.
My intention, which is to offer the modem reader an introduction to
Preface
the reading of the Meditations, will thus perhaps not be without useful
ness. I will try to discover what Marcus wanted to accomplish by writing
them, to specify the literary genre to which they belong, and, especially,
to define their relationship with the philosophical system which inspired.
them. Finally, without trying to produce a biography of the emperor, I
will try to determine how much of him is visible in his work.
I have chosen to quote the Meditations abundantly. I hate those mono
graphs which, instead of letting the author speak and staying close to the
text, engage in obscure elucubrations which claim to carry out an act of
decoding and reveal the " unsaid" of the thinker, without the reader's
having the slightest idea of what that thinker really " said. " Such a
method unfortunately permits all kinds of deformations, distortions, and
sleight of hand. Our era is captivating for all kinds of reasons: too often,
however, from the philosophical and literary point of view, it could be
defined as the era of the misinterpretation, if not of the pun: people can,
it seems, say anything about anything. When I quote Marcus Aurelius, I
want my reader to make contact with the text itself, which is superior to
any commentary. I would like him to see how my interpretation tries to
base itself on the text, and that he can verify my affirmations directly and
immediately. The translation I offer is completely original. I have been
working on Marcus Aurelius for more than twenty years, in particular on
a new edition and translation of the Meditations, which will be published
within the next few years. In the course of this work, interpretation and
translation have gone hand in hand, and this is why I could not illustrate
my arguments by referring the reader to existing translations, which
would have been different from mine, and which might not have corre
sponded exactly with my idea of the philosopher-emperor's work.
I should like to thank Michael Chase for his sensitive and philologi
cally astute translation, as well as Angela Armstrong. Finally, my thanks
go to Margaretta Fulton and Mary Ellen Geer at Harvard University
Press, as well as Brian Stock at the University of Toronto , for their
patient and helpful advice.
Note on Transliteration and Quotation
I have sometimes found it useful to allude to certain Greek technical

terms which are peculiar to Stoic philosophy. I have tried to transliterate
them as simply as possible, using the letter e to represent the Greek letter
eta, and o to represent the letter omega.
In order not to multiply my notes unnecessarily, the references for the
quotations from Marcus Aurelius and the Discourses of Epictetus have
been indicated in parentheses within the text. In both cases, the first
number refers to the number of the book, the second to the chapter
number, and the third to the paragraph number within the chapter.
Unless I indicate otherwise, the references given in Chapters 4 and 5
always refer to the text of the Discourses of Epictetus.
The Greek text of Marcus Aurelius on which my translations are based
is generally that of W. Theiler, Marc Aurel, Wege zu sich selbst (Zurich:
Artemis Verlag, 1 974) .
Translator's Note
I have used the following procedure in rendering Pierre Hadot's transla

tions: I first literally translated Hadot's French version, and then com
pared it with the original Greek or Latin texts. We have exchanged
correspondence about doubtful cases, and this process has resulted in a
number of corrections with regard to the 1 992 French edition of this
work. The final result is, I hope, a translation which, insofar as is possible,
is faithful both to Pierre Hadot and to the Greek and Latin authors to
whom he has so fruitfully dedicated his life. Finally, all notes enclosed in
square brackets are my own.
T H E I N N E R C I T A D EL
T H E E M P E R O R- P H I L O S O P H E R
A happy youth, a tormented reign

The future Marcus Aurelius, who was to receive this name later on, as a
result of his adoption by the emperor Aurelius Antoninus Pius, was born
in Rome in l 2 l , and was initially named Marcus Annius Verus. The
families of his mother and father possessed a number of brick factories, 1
which represented an enormous fortune and a considerable investment
of capital. Such wealth allowed its holders to exercise political influence,
and the factory owners often attained positions from which they could
influence construction programs, as was the case for Marcus Aurelius'
grandfather.
After his grandfather died during his early childhood, Marcus was
noticed, protected, and favored by the emperor Hadrian. Just before his
death in 1 3 8 , the latter, in order to ensure his succession, adopted Anton
inus-uncle-in-law of the future Marcus Aurelius-and asked him to
adopt Marcus as well as Lucius Verus, the son of Aelius Caesar, whom
Hadrian had initially chosen as his successor, but who had just died.
On July I O , 1 3 8 , Hadrian was succeeded by Antoninus. One year later,
the future Marcus Aurelius, at the age of eighteen, was raised to the
dignity of Caesar. In 1 4 5 , he married Faustina, daughter of Antoninus.
The couple had thirteen children, of whom only six survived beyond
childhood: five daughters and one son, the future emperor Commodus. 2
The correspondence which Marcus exchanged with his rhetoric
teacher Fronto, which lasted nearly thirty years-from 1 3 9 to 1 66/ r 67,
the date of Fronto's death3-provides us with precious details on this
period of Marcus Aurelius' life, as well as on the atmosphere at the court
of the Antonines: family life, children's illnesses, wine-making, the future
emperor's studies and readings, the rhetorical homework which he
punctually sent to Fronto, and the tender friendship which linked not
only the master and the student, but also the families of Marcus Aurelius
T H E I N N E R C I TA D E L
and of Fronto. At the death of Antoninus ( 1 6 1 ) , Marcus Aurelius, then

thirty-nine years old, became emperor, and he immediately had equal
power conferred upon his adoptive brother, Lucius Verus.
In the same year as their common accession to the throne, the
Parthians invaded the eastern provinces of the Empire. The campaign
began with a disaster for the Roman army, whereupon Lucius was sent
east, where, under the command of two seasoned warriors, Statius Pris
cius and Avidius Cassius, the Roman troops regained the upper hand
( 1 63-1 66) . They invaded the Parthian kingdom, and seized Ctesiphon
and Seleucia.
No sooner had the ceremonies celebrating the two emperors' victory
of 1 66 ended when most alarming news arrived from another border of
the Empire. The Marcomanni and the Quadi, Germanic peoples from
the region of the Danube, were threatening the North of ltaly. The two
emperors were obliged to come and restore order to the situation, and
spent the winter at Aquileia. At the beginning of the year l 69, however,
Lucius died in the carriage in which he was riding along with Marcus
Aurelius. From 1 69 to 1 75 , the Emperor then had to carry out military
operations in the region of the Danube.
In 1 7 5 , at the very moment when he was beginning to enj oy some
success, Marcus received word of the rebellion of Avidius Cassius, who,
as a result of a plot which had spread through several provinces of the
East and of Egypt, had himself proclaimed Emperor. Marcus Aurelius
was probably saved on this occasion by the loyalty of Martius Verus, the
governor of Cappadocia. At any rate, as the Emperor was preparing to
leave for the East, he learned of the assassination of Avidius Cassius,
which put an end to this tragic episode.
Marcus Aurelius nevertheless decided to travel to the eastern prov
inces, accompanied by Faustina and their son Commodus; he went to
Egypt, Syria, and Cilicia, where Faustina died. Ancient historians loved
to linger over Faustina's numerous adulteries; whatever may be the truth
behind this gossip, the Emperor was profoundly affected by her loss, and
it is with deep emotion that, in the Meditations (I, 1 7, 1 8) , he evokes the
memory of his wife, so " docile, so loving, and so upright. "
On his way back to Rome, the Emperor passed through Smyrna and
then Athens, where, together with Commodus, he was initiated into the
Eleusinian Mysteries. The festivities celebrating the victories over the
Germans and the Sarmatians took place at Rome, on December 2 3 , 1 76,
but Marcus Aurelius had to leave once again for the Danubian front in
1 7 8 . He died at Sirmium or at Vienna in 1 80.
The Empire was ravaged by natural catastrophes even more than by

wars during this period: floodings of the Tiber ( 1 6 1 ) , earthquakes at
Cyzicus ( 1 6 1 ) and at Smyrna ( 1 78) , and above all the terrible plague
epidemic brought back from Asia by Roman troops returning from the
Parthian war ( 1 66) . As ]. F. Gilliam has shown,4 this plague did not
perhaps bring about the vast depopulation which has b een described by
certain historians, who have made it the decisive cause of the decline of
Rome, but it certainly did have serious consequences for the social and
economic life of the Empire.
What a tormented reign it was! No sooner had Marcus Aurelius as
cended the throne than he was suddenly overwhelmed by natural disas
ters, military and political difficulties, and family cares and mournings,
which forced him to engage in a battle every day.
The sober-albt:it partial-judgment of Cassius Dio5 is one of the
most just that have been made on the subj ect of Marcus: " He didn't have
the luck which he deserved . . . but was confronted, throughout his
reign, by a multitude of disasters . That is why I admire him more than
any other, for it was amidst these extraordinary and unparalleled difficul
ties that he was able to survive, and to save the Empire. "
As Ferdinand Lot has written,6 " The Roman world saw a series of
sovereigns succeed to the throne the likes of which history has never
seen since, and this happened precisely at the time first of the stagnation,
and then of the decline of the ancient world. " After enumerating the
examples of Marcus Aurelius, Septimius Severus, Diocletian, Julian, and
Theodosius, among others, he continues: " Statesmen, legislators, warri
ors, they sped from Brittany to the Rhine, from the Rhine to the
Danube, from the Danube to the Euphrates, in order to defend the
Roman world and civilization against the Germanic or Sarmatian Bar
barians, against the Parthians, and then against the Persians. They all
knew that their lives were constantly threatened . . . And they aban
doned themselves fearlessly to their tragic destiny as supermen. For if
ever supermen have existed, we have to look for them among the em
perors of the second to the fourth century. " Such is the perspective
within which we must situate the personality of Marcus Aurelius, if we
hope to catch a glimpse of it.
Evolution toward philosophy

In this work, however, the goal is not to write the biography of one of
these " supermen. "7 Our task shall only be to ask how Marcus Aurelius
came to write the Meditations; and this is the same as asking how he
became a philosopher, and how the Meditations could represent for him a
part of his philosophical activity.
First, it is perhaps not inappropriate to recall that a philosopher in
antiquity was not necessarily a theoretician of philosophy, as is all too
often supposed. In antiquity, a philosopher was someone who lived like a
philosopher-that is, who led a philosophical life. Cato the Younger, a
statesman of the first century B.c., was a Stoic philosopher, but he did not
write a single philosophical treatise. Rogatianus, a statesman of the third
century A.D., was a Platonic philosopher, the disciple of Plotinus, and yet
he wrote no philosophical treatise. Neverthless both men considered
themselves philosophers, because they had adopted a philosophical way
oflife . Let it not be said, moreover, that they were amateur philosophers.
In the view of the masters of ancient philosophy, authentic philosophy
was not that which discoursed upon theories or commented upon
authors . In the words of Epictetus (II I , 2 1 , 5 ) , a Stoic who had a consid
erable influence upon Marcus Aurelius: "Eat like a man, drink like a
man, get dressed, get married, have children, lead the life of a citizen . . . .
Show us all this, so that we can see whether or not you have really
learned something from the philosophers. "8
Ancient philosophers thus had no need to write. If, moreover, they
did write, it was not necessary for them to invent a new theory, or
develop any specific part of a system. It was enough for them to formu
late the fundamental principles of the school in favor of which they had
made their choice of life. When Marcus was writing the Meditations, he
did not invent anything new, and did not bring about any progress
within Stoic doctrine. This, however, is not to say that he was not a
philosopher, and especially not a Stoic philosopher.9
On the other hand, the fact of having taken some philosophy courses
did not necessarily mean that one was a philosopher. Lucius Verus,
Marcus Aurelius' adoptive brother, received instruction from the same
philosophy teachers as his brother, but no one would think of calling him
a philosopher. 10 The Latin author Aulus Gellius, Marcus' contemporary,
was a student of the Platonic philosopher Taurus at Athens. There is no
doubt that Gellius was interested in philosophy, and he cites many philo
sophical texts in his works, but he makes no claim to lead a philosophical
life . Rhetoricians and statesmen found in philosophy courses training for
dialectics, and material to develop commonplaces in their discourses. As
Pronto wrote to Marcus: " Philosophy will give you the substance of
your discourse, and rhetoric its form. " 1 1 They did not, however, feel
obliged to live like philosophers. This is why the Discourses of Epictetus,
as reported by Arrian, constantly remind the philosopher's audience th at
philosophy does not consist in dialectical skillfulness or beautiful lan
guage, but in the way one lives day-to-day life . To be a philosopher was
not to have received a theoretical philosophical education, or to be a
professor of philosophy. Rather, it was to profess, as a result of a conver
sion which caused a radical change of life-style, a way of life different
from that of other people.
It would be extremely interesting to know, in all its details, the man
ner in which Marcus' conversion to philosophy took place . Yet many
points remain obscure.
We possess two documents of capital importance on Marcus Aurelius'
evolution. The first is the correspondence between Marcus and his
rhetoric teacher Pronto, of which I have already spoken; unfortunately, it
has come down to us in a palimpsest discovered in the nineteenth cen
tury; thus this collection of letters has been covered over by other writ
ing, and the chemical products which were used to make it legible have
caused irreparable deterioration of the manuscript, which contains gaps
and is often unreadable. The second piece of evidence comes from the
Emperor himself, who, as he wrote the first book of his Meditations,
mentioned all he owed to his parents, teachers, and friends; this is an
extremely concise text, which leaves us terribly unsatisfied. Still, with the
help of the meager indications we can glean from these sources, we can
distinguish a certain number of phases in Marcus' evolution toward
philosophy. Although later hagiographers asserted that he was " serious "
from childhood on, 12 we can discern an initial period of carefree youth,
which seems to have continued until the age of twenty, that is, into the
period when he was already Caesar. It is possible, however, that under
the influence of Diognetus, one of the teachers Marcus speaks about in
his Meditations (I, 6) , the desire to live as a philosopher may have touched
him already at this period.
Marcus' conversion to philosophy seems to have been the work of
Junius Rusticus, who revealed to him the teachings of Epictetus, and his
conversion can probably be dated to the years 1 44-1 47. In any case,
when Marcus was twenty-five, in 1 46-1 47, he wrote Pronto a letter
which leaves no doubt as to his new state of mind. Besides, throughout
the first years of Marcus' elevation to the throne, Pronto makes almost
constant allusions to the philosophical way of life of his Imperial student.
Carefree life of a young prince and dreams of a life o f austerity

Marcus' letters to Pronto-particularly those he wrote when he was still
a young eighteen- or twenty-year-old Caesar-allow us to catch a
glimpse of the simple, familiar way of life which was led at the court of
Marcus' adoptive father Antoninus, particularly in the Imperial villas, far
away from Rome, to which Antoninus often liked to withdraw. The
family took part in the labors of the grape harvests, and there was no
luxury in the meals served, or even in the heating. The future emperor
liked physical exercise-especially hunting-which he seems to have
practiced without any particular scruples with regard to his subj ects.
This, at least, is what we can glimpse from a letter which could date from
the years 1 40-1 43 , only the first part of which has been preserved:
. . . When my father came back home from the vineyards, I went
riding, as usual. I got started and we gradually moved away. Sud
denly, in the middle of the road, there was a big flock of sheep, and
the place was deserted: there were four dogs, two shepherds, and
nothing else. When they saw this group of horsemen coming, one
of the shepherds said to the other, " Watch out for these horseman;
they're the kind that usually cause the most trouble. " No sooner did
I hear this than I spurred my horse and headed him straight for the
flock; the terrified beasts scattered, running every which way, bleat
ing and in the utmost confusion. The shepherd threw his staff at me,
but it landed on the rider who was following me, and we fled.
Thus, he who was afraid of losing a lamb wound up losing his staff!
Do you think I made this story up? No, it's true. I ' d write you still
more about it, but they're coming to get me for my bath . 13
In this childish prank, we catch the future emperor in an act of foolish
ness and senselessness. We are a long way from the philosopher who will
later try, among other things, to render justice with the utmost scrupu
lousness. Most of the time, moreover, the tone of these letters to Fronto
is very playful. It appears as though the young Caesar, that passionate
reader, who was no doubt trying his hardest to polish his skills at rhetoric,
was not thinking about anything else.
It does seem, however, that even in his childhood Marcus Aurelius
had seen what the ideal of a philosophical life could be. In the first book
of his Meditations (I, 6) , he attributes this aspiration for a life of austerity to
the influence of a certain Diognetus.14 The latter was one of the first
teachers Marcus had; he had taught him to write dialogues " while he was
still a child, " and had turned him away from a game which had long been
practiced by young Greeks: mentioned by Aristophanes and Plato, it
consisted essentially in playing with quails by striking them lightly on the
head. 1 5 It was Diognetus, said Marcus, who gave him his love for phi
losophy and inspired in him " the desire to sleep on a cot and a simple
animal-skin, and for things of this sort which belong to the 'Hellenic'
way of life . " We shall return to this last phrase . For the moment, let us
note the correspondence between this note from the Meditations and the
indications given us by The Life ef Marcus Aurelius in the Historia
Augusta:16 " At the age of twelve, he adopted the costume of a philoso
pher, and a little later the endurance of one, too. He used to study
dressed in a pallium-that is, a philosophers' cloak-and sleep on the
ground; his mother had all kinds of difficulty in getting him to stretch out
on a bed covered with animal skins. "
A short cloak and a hard bed were the symbols of the Stoic philosophi
cal life. We find them in Seneca, who advises his disciple Lucilius to
practice this austerity from time to time, evoking Demetrius the Cynic
lying on his cot; in the younger Pliny, who speaks of the jurist Aristo
more of a philosopher than the so-called philosophers-whose bed called
to mind the simplicity of life of the ancients; and finally in the Stoic
Musonius, teacher of Epictetus, who declared that a cot and a simple
animal-skin are enough for sleeping.17
On this topic, we can well wonder whether " Hellenic way of life
(agoge), " the reading of the manuscripts of the Meditations, ought to be
preserved, or whether we should emend the reading to " Laconian way of
life (agoge). " For among the ancients, the " Hellenic way of life " tended
rather to designate Greek culture and civilization, both in its spiritual and
in its material forms: literature and philosophical discourses, to be sure,
but also the gymnasia and social way of life. 1 8 The expression " Laconian
way of life, " by contrast, traditionally designated the " rough life " which
characterized at the same time Spartan education and philosophical
askesis. The word agoge was, moreover, often used by itself to designate
the life-style of the Lacedaemonians. 19 In his life of the Spartan legislator
Lycurgus, Plutarch20 describes the way in which Spartan children were
brought up: once they reached the age of twelve, they lived without any
tunic, received only one cloak for the whole year, and slept on mattresses
which they themselves had made out of reeds.
The model of this style of life was strongly idealized by the philoso
phers, especially the Cynics and Stoics. This was what F. Ollier21 has
termed the " Spartan mirage, " and it was all the more a mirage in that
Sparta was a warlike, totalitarian state which " fashioned its citizens to
become the docile instruments of its will ," whereas the Cynics and Stoics
considered personal moral value as the only goal of life. From Spartan
education, they retained only its training for perseverance, its return to a
natural life, and its contempt for social conventions. To cite only one
example: the Stoic Musonius considered that a disciple " educated Spar
tan style " was in a better condition to receive philosophical instruction,
and he had praised at length the Lacedaemonians' frugal life-style.22 One
might add that the philosophers' cloak (Greek tribon, Latin pallium) worn
by the young Marcus Aurelius was none other than the Spartan cloak,
made of coarse cloth, that had been adopted by Socrates, Antisthenes,
Diogenes, and the philosophers of the Cynic and Stoic tradition. 23
How did Diognetus transmit to Marcus the desire for the austere life
of the philosophers and the Spartans? We do not know. Did he boast to
him of the free life of the Cynic or Stoic philosophers? Following the
example of Plutarch, did he tell him about the life of Lycurgus or of
Cleomenes? Be this as it may, he brought about in his student what we
might call an initial conversion toward philosophy.
Nevertheless, in the letters from Marcus to Fronto which date from
before the years 1 46-1 47, we do not perceive the slightest trace of this
youthful-or rather, childish-enthusiasm for the Spartan-style philo
sophical way of life. No doubt it had been short-lived; and yet this fire,
though apparently extinguished, continued to smolder, and it would not
be long before it flared up once again.
Junius Rusticus
Ancient historians are unanimous in recognizing the vitally important
role played by Junius Rusticus in Marcus' evolution toward philosophy.
" His favorite teacher, " says the Historia Augusta, 24 " was Junius Rusticus,
whose disciple he was and for whom he had the greatest respect. This
Rusticus was as effective in war as he was in peace, and he was a great
practitioner of the Stoic way of life . Marcus Aurelius consulted him on
all his business, whether public or private; he used to greet him with a
kiss even in front of the Praetorian prefect; honored him with a second
consulate, and, after his death, requested that the Senate raise statues of
him. " The Historia Augusta could, moreover, have added that Rusticus'
first consulate, in 1 62 (the year after Marcus became emperor) , was
certainly intended as a sign of the disciple's gratitude toward his master.
When the historian Cassius Dio25 speaks of Marcus' philosophy teachers,
he mentions only Junius Rusticus and Apollonius of Chalcedon, both of

whom he depicts as Stoics. Later, in the fourth century, Themistius still
speaks of the privileged relationship between Junius Rusticus and the
Emperor.26
It will come as no surprise that a statesman, who was to become
Prefect of the City from 1 62 to 1 6 8 , should be at the same time a
philosophy teacher. There was nothing extraordinary about this in antiq
uity: Cicero and Seneca were also statesmen, and they too did not hesi
tate to present themselves as philosophy teachers. There were two rea
sons for this: in the first place, ancient philosophy was not restricted to
specialists and professionals, so that statesmen could perfectly well live as
philosophers and master philosophical discourse. Moreover, as has been
well shown by I. Hadot, 27 there was at Rome an old tradition according
to which young people attached themselves to older and more experi
enced personages who initiated them into political life, but also into
ethical life. This was in particular the way they studied law-as Cicero
did under Scaevola-but young people could also be initiated into the
philosophical life in this way. From this perspective, we may say that
Junius Rusticus gave Marcus Aurelius private philosophy lessons, and
that he was at the same time his friend and his spiritual guide.
The first book of the Meditations renders him an extended homage
the longest of any, in fact, except for that accorded to Marcus' adoptive
father, the emperor Antoninus (I, 7) :
From Rusticus. To have had some idea of the need I had to
straighten out my moral condition, and to take care of it.
That I did not let myself be dragged into sophistical ambition, or
to compose treatises on philosophical theorems, to declaim fine
exhortatory speeches, or, finally, to try to strike my audience's
imagination by parading myself ostentatiously as a man who prac
tices philosophical exercises, or is generous to a fault.
To have given up rhetoric, poetry, and refined expressions.
Not to walk around in a toga while I'm home, and not to let
myself go in such matters.
To write letters simply, just like the letter he himself wrote to my
mother from Sinuessa.
To be disposed, with regard to those who are angry with you and
offend you, in such a way as to be ready to respond to the first call,
and to be reconciled as soon as they themselves wish to return to
you.
To study texts with precision, without being content just to skim
IO
over them in a general, approximate way; and not to give my assent

too quickly to smooth talkers.
To have been able to read the notes taken at the courses of
Epictetus, which he lent to me from his own library.
What Marcus learned from Rusticus was thus, in a sense, the opposite
of what he had learned from Diognetus. As Epictetus28 had said, the goal
of philosophy is not to wear a cloak, but to reason correctly. Philosophy
does not consist in sleeping on the ground, nor in writing dialogues, but
in rectifying one's character. It resides neither in sophistry, bookish dis
sertations, nor pretentious declamations, nor in ostentatiousness, but
rather in simplicity. In this text, we can glimpse the conflict that sepa
rated Franta and Rusticus in the orientation of Marcus' education: " To
have given up rhetoric, poetry, and refined expressions. " Franta himself
referred to this opposition when, declaring himself delighted to see that
the new Emperor had spoken eloquently in public, although it had been
several years since he had refused to continue his rhetorical studies, he
wrote to him: " Of all the people I have known, I have never found
anyone gifted with a greater natural gift for eloquence. . . . My dear
Rusticus, our Roman, who would give his life or sacrifice it willingly to
save your little finger, was then forced to concede-much against his
will, and with a disgusted look on his face-that what I used to say about
your rhetorical talents was right. "29
His role as spiritual guide cannot always have been easy for Rusticus.
The mention ofRusticus' attitude toward those who got angry with him
does seem to be an allusion to the attitude of Marcus himself: in the same
first book of his Meditations, Marcus thanks the gods for having brought it
about that, although he frequently became angry with Rusticus, he never
went so far as to do something he might later regret (I, 1 7, 1 4) . No doubt
relations between the two men were stormy, both during Marcus' youth,
when Rusticus pointed out to his disciple that he needed to reform his
character (I, 7, r) , and during the period when Rusticus was one of the
Emperor's advisers. Thus, Rusticus, by his indulgence and his gentleness,
showed Marcus the attitude that he too should adopt vis-a-vis those who
became irritated with him. It does seem as though one of the Emperor's
principal character defects was his tendency to become irritated easily.
Marcus Aurelius does not say a word about the Stoic doctrines taught
to him by Junius Rusticus . There is nothing surprising about this, for
although the first book of the Meditations draws up a list of what the
Emperor has received from his parents, his teachers, his friends, and the
II
gods, it is a list of the models and practical advice which have been
offered to him, and not the description of a purely intellectual itinerary.
From this perspective, however, the mention of the notes taken during
the classes of Epictetus is sufficient, for compared to Epictetus, all the
Stoic teachers of Marcus' time were mere epigones. As far as Stoicism is
concerned, the figure of Epictetus dominated the entire second century.
For Marcus, this was the greatest benefit he had received from Rusticus,
for his Meditations were to be no more than variations-often superbly
orchestrated-on themes proposed by the philosopher-slave.
The reading of " Aristo "

Conversions are often thought to be events that happen instantaneously
in unexpected circumstances. History is filled with anecdotes of this
kind, whether they be about Polemon, after a night of debauchery,
stumbling by chance into the class of the Platonic philosopher Xeno
crates; Augustine hearing a child's voice telling him to " take this and read
it" ; or Saul blinded on the road to Damascus. It would be nice to find the
traces of a sudden conversion to philosophy in the case of our philoso
pher-emperor as well, and they have long been thought to have been
discovered in a letter from Marcus to his teacher Fronto,30 in which he
says that he is so upset that he is sad and is no longer eating.
At the beginning of this letter, Marcus mentions-in a half-joking
tone and without entering into details-a discussion he had had with his
friend Aufidius Victorinus, Fronto's son-in-law. Aufidius is bursting with
pride at having been a judge during an arbitration; he boasts-certainly
less than seriously-that he is the most just of all the men who had come
to Rome from Umbria, and he considers himself superior to Marcus
Aurelius , who is only an assessor and is happy just to sit and yawn beside
the judge. As Caesar-we learn from the rest of the letter that Marcus
was twenty-five years old at the time-Marcus had to assist the emperor
Antoninus in his judicial activity, and it is to this function that Aufidius is
probably alluding.31
After telling this story, Marcus moves on to another topic. Fronto is
coming to Rome, intending, as was his custom, to check on his pupil's
literary work. To be sure, Marcus is happy at the thought of his master's
visit, but he is extremely upset that he has not read the texts Fronto had
assigned to him (Plautus and Cicero, it would seem) , and especially that
he has not written a rhetorical argument in which he was to plead for
both the pro and the contra side.
12
The reason for his falling behind, says Marcus, is his reading of Arista :
Aristo's books are a joy for me, and at the same time a torture. They
are a j oy, in that they teach me better things; but when they show
me to what extent my inner dispositions (ingenium) are distant from
these better things, then all too often your disciple blushes and is
angry with himself because, at the age of twenty-five, I have not yet
assimilated into my soul any of the salutary dogmas and purest
reasonings. This is why I am tormented, angry, and j ealous, and I no
longer eat.
In the third part of his letter, Marcus announces to Fronto that he is
going to follow the advice of an ancient orator: under certain circum
stances, the laws must be allowed to sleep . He will therefore let Aristo's
books sleep a little, and devote himself to the rhetorical work he had
promised his teacher. However, in his current state of mind, it would be
impossible for him to argue simultaneously for and against some mat
ter-that is, we are to understand, as if the justice or injustice of the
matter in question were indifferent to him.
Traditionally, this letter has been considered as the story of Marcus'
conversion, which would thus have occurred at the age of twenty-five,
and the Arista spoken of here has consequently been identified with
Arista of Chios, a Stoic of the third century B.C. On this interpretation, it
was the reading of this author which brought about this sudden transfor
mation.
E . Champlin has recently expressed his doubts about this interpreta
tion. 32 This author starts off from the observation that the beginning and
end of the letter allude to jurisprudence, with the beginning evoking
Aufidius' pride as a judge, and the end speaking, a propos of Aristo's
books, of "letting the laws sleep , " and he concludes that the middle part
of the letter is also to be interpreted in the context ofjurisprudence . The
books mentioned by Marcus would therefore be those not of Arista of
Chios, but of Titus Arista, a Roman jurisconsult of the time of Trajan,
whose ascetic image had been evoked in one of the letters of Pliny the
Younger. When he describes the effect made on him by these works,
therefore, Fronto's student is not at all speaking of his regrets at not yet
being a philosopher, but of his sadness at not yet having sufficiently
studied jurisprudence . This is why at the end of the letter, the books of
Arista are identified with the laws which must sometimes be allowed to
sleep .
13
This interpretation has been criticized by R. B . Rutherford,

H. Gorgemanns, and mysel33 In the first place, it seems completely
unlikely that, at the age of twenty-five, Marcus could cry out, a propos of
some books on jurisprudence: " At the age of twenty-five, I have not yet
assimilated into my soul any of the salutary dogmas and the purest rea
sonings, " and that he could speak of the distance of his "inner disposi
tions " as compared to the ideal he has discovered. Moreover, the irrita
tion, sadness, and loss of appetite,34 even when we take rhetorical
amplification into account, would seem highly exaggerated if they were
the result of a temporary passion for j urisprudence.
Second, it is somewhat facile to attempt to interpret the letter as if it
dealt with the one theme of jurisprudence, and with that theme alone.
The story of Aufidius Victorinus forms a whole, independent of what
follows it. Finally, the formula " to let the laws sleep " was a proverbial
expression, 35 meaning that, in cases of serious crises, we must sometimes
resign ourselves to silencing our moral principles.
Champlin bases his argument on the fact that, already in antiquity, all
the works of Aristo of Chios were considered to be apocryphal. To be
sure, it is virtually certain that this philosopher, like many others from
Socrates down to Epictetus, gave only oral instruction and wrote noth
ing. Yet the list of his " works " as it existed in antiquity enumerated, for
the most part, such titles as hypomnemata, scholai, and diatribai, which
designated notes taken during class by students.36 This is also how the
teachings of Epictetus have come down to us: thanks to the notes taken
by Arrian, a statesman of the beginning of the second century A.D. It is
not impossible that Marcus had access to these notes taken at Aristo's
classes, or to extracts from the letter preserved in the Stoic schools. He
may also have read a collection of " Comparisons " (Homoiomata) by the
same Aristo, which was popular down to the end of antiquity, and which
moreover does seem authentic, since it accords with what we know of
Aristo 's teaching from other sources. For instance, we know that he
considered dialectics to be useless, and we find sayings in this collection
which illustrate this view. The reasonings of the dialecticians, says Aristo,
are like spiders' webs: completely useless, but ingenious. Those who
conduct advanced studies of dialectics are like people eating crayfish:
they struggle with a lot of shell for very little nourishment. Dialectics is
like mud on the road: it is completely useless, and it makes those who
walk fall down. We should also note the following remark on the brevity
of life: the time and life accorded to men are very short; sleep, like a
tutor, takes away half of it from us.37 It should be noted as well that
14
Marcus could have known Aristo through Cicero and Seneca, who had
spoken about him.38
In the final analysis, however, our problem is not that of knowing
which Aristo Marcus read. According to the testimony of Pliny, the
jurisconsult Titus Aristo used to live like a philosopher, and he too can
perfectly well, after all, have written philosophical works. The only thing
we can say with certainty is that the letter reveals the complete upheaval
that his reading of philosophical books brought about in Marcus.
It is nevertheless difficult to admit that it was the mere reading of
Aristo of Chios-if the books in question were genuinely by him-that
brought about Marcus' conversion and had a considerable influence on
his thought, for the characteristics which, according to ancient tradition,
distinguished the teaching of Aristo of Chios are not found in the Medita
tions of Marcus Aurelius. On this point, I must correct an interpretation
which I had proposed in a previous study, and I shall return later to this
doctrinal problem. 39
Marcus states quite clearly in the first book of his Meditations that the
decisive influence on him came from his reading of the Discourses of
Epictetus, which Junius Rusticus had obtained for him. We must imag
ine Marcus' conversion rather as a slow evolution, brought about by his
frequenting of Junius Rusticus, and of other philosophers of whom I
shall speak shortly. Besides, we must not forget that many of Marcus'
letters to Fronto are lost. It is probable that, in other missives, the student
let his teacher know that he was becoming more and more detached
from rhetoric, and that he wanted to devote himself to the improvement
of his inner dispositions. He tried to do so with delicacy, and a bit of
self-deprecating irony, as in the present letter. Marcus' reading of Aristo,
whoever he may have been, represents only a moment and a milestone
in a long process. Marcus certainly read many other authors, just as he
listened to different philosophy teachers. What is of interest here, how
ever, is that the first evidence we have of his adherence to philosophy
may be dated approximately from his twenty-fifth year.
Professors and friends

In addition to Junius Rusticus, Marcus and the ancient historians name
other philosophy teachers, in particular Apollonius of Chalcedon and
Sextus of Chaeronea. Junius Rusticus was the spiritual guide who was
very close to his disciple, whereas Apollonius and Sextus were professors
15
in charge of a school, where Marcus had to go hear their lectures.

According to the Historia Augusta, Apollonius-whom the ancient histo
rians depict as a Stoic-refused to come to the palace to give lessons to
his royal student: " The disciple must come to the master, " he is supposed
to have said, " and not the master to the disciple. " The emperor Anton
inus Pius, who had had him sent for at great expense from distant Chal
cedon to teach the young Caesar Stoicism, remarked on this occasion40
that it was easier to get Apollonius to come from Chalcedon to Rome
than to get him to come from his house to the palace.
In the first book of the Meditations (I, 8) , Marcus mentions Apollonius
immediately after Rusticus. Here again, Marcus makes no allusion to the
content of Apollonius' teaching; rather, what he retains from his teacher
are moral attitudes and practical advice: on freedom; on the art of recon
ciling extremes-for example, to come to a decision after lengthy reflec
tion, but without putting it off; to be on the alert but at the same time
relaxed;41 not to consider oneself bound by the favors one has received,
but not to disdain them either. In Marcus' eyes, Apollonius was a teacher
who did not give himself the airs of a great professor. He did not consider
the experience and teaching skills he had acquired to be his main quali
ties, and he did not go in for nitpicking when it came to the explanation
of texts. When Apollonius died before Marcus became emperor, the
latter was deeply grieved, and wept abundantly. The courtiers re
proached Marcus for his demonstration of affection, probably because
they considered his philosophical pretensions to be a joke, and wanted to
show him that he was being unfaithful to his own principles. However,
the emperor Antoninus Pius said to them: " Let him be a man. Neither
philosophy nor the Empire can uproot affections. "42
Marcus, then, attended the school of Apollonius while he was still a
young Caesar. It seems, however, that it was after he became emperor,
when Marcus was already growing old, that he attended the lectures of
Sextus of Chaeronea. The latter was, according to the Historia Augusta, 43
a Stoic, whereas the collection known as the Souda44 calls him a skeptic,
no doubt confusing him with the famous skeptic Sextus Empiricus. Ac
cording to the Souda, Marcus frequently took Sextus along as his assessor
when he had trials to judge. The story was told that a certain Lucius, a
philosopher of Marcus' time famous for his uninhibited speech, asked
Marcus why he went to Sextus' school. Marcus replied: " Learning is a
good thing, even for one who is growing old. From Sextus the philoso
pher I shall learn what I do not yet know. " Lucius raised his hands
16
skyward: " Oh Z eus, " he cried, " the aging Emperor of the Romans is
hanging tablets around his neck in order to go to school, while my king
Alexander died at the age of thirty-two ! "45
Sextus also appears in the first book of Marcus' Meditations (I, 9) , right
after Apollonius. Among other things, what Marcus retained from Sextus
were his benevolence, the way in which he directed his household, the
model he provided of a life in accordance with nature, his simple gravity,
his gift of guessing his friends' feelings, his patience, his ability to adapt
himself to each person, and to j oin together impassibility and tenderness.
At the same time, however, Marcus also evokes part ofSextus' teachings,
for instance his ability to set in order " the fundamental principles (dog
mata) necessary for life, with evidence and method, " and above all " the
idea of a life in conformity with nature. " This last detail does seem to
confirm that Sextus was a Stoic.
We have no way of knowing whether there were any differences
between the teachings of Apollonius and those of Sextus . It is likely that
there were few, and that the Stoics of the time were all more or less
dependent upon the teachings of Musonius Rufus and his student
Epictetus. Fronto, at least, considered that the famous philosophers of his
day-Euphrates, Dion, Timocrates, and Athenodotus-were all disciples
of Musonius Rufus.46 Besides, if Marcus followed a regular course of
study in the schools of Apollonius and of Sextus, this means that he
studied the three parts of philosophy: not only ethics, but also the theory
of nature and dialectics. When, in a letter to Marcus, Fronto reproaches
him47 for studying dialectics and the refutation of sophisms, it is perhaps
not a case of rhetorical exaggeration.
Apart from these philosophers in charge of schools, whose classes
Marcus attended, we find among his teachers Roman statesmen who
professed philosophy. It seems to me that this is clearly apparent from the
plan of the first book of the Meditations, in which Marcus evokes succes
sively his parents; the educators he had during his childhood, in particu
lar Diognetus; the dominant figure of his spiritual guide Junius Rusticus,
who, for Marcus, was linked to his conversion to philosophy; Apollonius
and Sextus, the two professors whose schools he attended; Alexander the
Grammarian and Fronto, his grammar and rhetoric teachers; and Alexan
der the Platonist,48 a rhetorician who became Marcus' secretary for
Greek correspondence about I 70. The Emperor considered the last
named figure as a "friend, " and retained from him some lessons about
moral conduct.
The three names which follow-Catulus, Severus, and Maximus-
17
form a group not of professors but of friends. They were no doubt older
men who , like Junius Rusticus, either were statesmen or least had had a
political career, but who also had an influence on the development of
Marcus' philosophical life. The Maximus in question was Claudius
Maximus, proconsul of Africa and philosopher, whom Apuleius men
tions in his Apology. The Historia Augusta presents Claudius Maximus and
Cinna Catulus as Stoics, and there is no good reason to doubt this
testimony, since the same Historia Augusta is perfectly well aware that
Severus-that is, Claudius Severus Arabianus, consul in 1 46-was an
Aristotelian.49 The son of this individual, also a consul, was also an Aris
totelian; this is explicitly stated by Galen,50 who tells how Severus' son
used to attend the public sessions of anatomy, with commentary, which
the famous doctor had organized for the Roman nobility. 51
Marcus then goes on to evoke the Emperor Antoninus (I, 1 6) , of
whom Marcus paints, as it were, the portrait of the ideal prince that he
himself would have liked to be. Philosophy is not absent from this
description, for Antoninus is compared to Socrates, who was able both to
enj oy pleasures and to abstain from them, according to the circum
stances.
Book I concludes with Marcus recalling all the benefits he has re
ceived from the gods, foremost among which, he says, were his encoun
ters with the philosophers Apollonius, Rusticus, and Maximus. The final
lines of this first book do seem to allude to chapter 7 , in which the
Emperor had expressed his gratitude to Rusticus for having dissuaded
him from sophistical ambition, bookish dissertations, and pretentious
declamations, and for having thus revealed to him that philosophy was a
way oflife .
According t o his own testimony i n Book I , then, i t was t o Junius
Rusticus that Marcus owed his discovery of true philosophy and of the
thought of Epictetus. The Stoic teachings of Apollonius and of Sextus
were then added to this decisive contribution, while from his "friends "
Alexander the Platonist, Claudius Maximus, Claudius Severus, and
Cinna Catulus he received the advice and the examples which helped
him to live his philosophical life.
The philosopher-emperor
When, on March 7, r 6 r , Marcus became emperor, it was an unexpected
and extraordinary event. Rome now had an emperor who professed to
be a philosopher-not only that, but a Stoic philosopher. Fronto, for
18
one, was less than reassured to see such a man governing the Empire:
philosophy, he felt, could be a bad inspiration. In a letter to Aufidius
Victorinus about a juridical problem Marcus was facing concerning the
will of his extremely wealthy aunt Matidia, Fronto wrote: " I was greatly
afraid that his philosophy might persuade him to make the wrong deci
sion. "52 For Fronto, moreover, Stoic philosophy as Marcus understood it
was the enemy of eloquence, which Fronto held to be indispensable for a
sovereign. He wrote to the Emperor:
Even should you attain the wisdom of Cleanthes or of Zeno, you
shall still be obliged, like it or not, to wear the purple pallium, and
not that of the philosophers, made of coarse wool. 53
" . . . and so, " we are to understand, " you are darned well going to have
to speak in public, and remember my rhetoric classes. "
Throughout the years in which Marcus was weighed down by the
heavy burdens of the Empire, Fronto was to become the advocate of
common sense, as opposed to philosophical rigor. For example, he ad
vised the Emperor to relax and take a real vacation during his stay on the
coast at Alsium: "Even your Chrysippus himself, they say, used to get
plastered every day. "54 When Fronto speaks of "your Chrysippus, " by
the way, it should be noted that although some modern historians-no
doubt fond of paradoxes-have wondered whether or not Marcus con
sidered himself a Stoic,55 his friend Fronto certainly had no such doubts.
When he speaks of the Emperor's philosophy, he spontaneously brings
up the great names of Stoicism: Cleanthes, Zeno, and Chrysippus. It is
clear that Marcus made no secret of his Stoic affinities.
Sometimes, Fronto is content to smile at the Emperor's infatuation: in
keeping with his dogmas (instituta tua), says Fronto, Marcus must have
remained imperturbable in a situation in which his life was threatened. 56
On another occasion, speaking about the Emperor's children whom he
had just visited, Fronto observed that one of them was holding a piece of
black bread in his hand, just like a real philosopher's son.57
The people, both in Rome and throughout the Empire, seem to have
been aware that the Emperor was a philosopher. Thus when, during his
reign, at the height of the Danubian wars, Marcus was forced to enlist the
gladiators, the current joke in Rome was that Marcus wanted to make
the people renounce their pleasures and constrain them to philosophy. 58
In this regard, the dedications of the Apologies that some Christian apolo
gists used to send to the Emperor are interesting. The emperors' titles
19
usually included the names they gave themselves after a victory, but in
Marcus' case we see that the Christian apologist Athenagoras added the
title of "philosopher" to the list: " To the Emperors Marcus Aurelius
Antoninus and Lucius Aurelius Commodus, Armenians, Sarmatians, and
above all philosophers. " Here Commodus, Marcus' unworthy son,
benefits from his father's reputation. The same holds true for Marcus'
adoptive brother Lucius Verus, in the dedication-unfortunately corrupt
in its present state-which Justin placed at the beginning of his Apology.
In any case, Marcus, then still a Caesar, is called " philosopher" in it,
together with Lucius Verus. The reason these dedications mention the
title of "philosopher" is that the Apologists' arguments ran as follows:
Christianity is a philosophy-indeed the best of all philosophies. There
fore, a philosopher-emperor must tolerate it.
In order to govern, the Emperor surrounded himself with philoso
phers. I have already spoken of his Stoic " friends " : Junius Rusticus,
consul in the year 1 62, Prefect of Rome around 1 6 5 ; Claudius Maximus,
proconsul of Africa; and Cinna Catulus. But there were not only Stoics;
there were also convinced Aristotelians like Claudius Severus, consul in
1 73 and Marcus' son-in-law, as well as all those whom Galen mentions in
the context of his sessions of dissection. Above all, there was the circle
which gravitated around the Peripatetic philosopher Eudemus of Per
gamon: Sergius Paulus, consul in 1 68 , proconsul of Asia in 1 66-1 67,
Prefect of Rome around 1 6 8 ; Flavius Boethius, Governor of Palestinian
Syria around 1 66- 1 6 8 , who had been the student of the Peripatetic
Alexander of Damascus, and finally M. Vetulenus Civica Barbarus, con
sul in 1 5 7, who had accompanied Marcus' daughter Lucilla on her trip to
Antioch, where she was to marry Lucius Verus. 59
Galen's testimony allows us to glimpse an intense philosophical activ
ity in the circles of the Roman aristocracy of Marcus' time, and it must
be emphasized once more that these philosophical statesmen were not
amateurs, vaguely interested in philosophical doctrines, but that they had
consciously chosen their philosophical school. Some were enthusiastic
Aristotelians, others Stoics. Thus, it was not just one philosopher who
governed the Empire at that time, but several philosophers. Galen re
counts, moreover, that there was a radical opposition between the court
of Marcus Aurelius and that of his adoptive brother Lucius Verus.
Around Marcus, it was the fashion to have one's head shaved, Stoic-style:
the poet Persius had referred to the adepts of this school as " sheared
youths, "60 who slept and ate but little. At Lucius Verus' court, by con
trast, the fashion was to wear one's hair long; and Lucius used to call
20
Marcus' entourage " mimologoi, " or mimes, probably because he

thought they were playing at being philosophers in order to imitate the
Emperor.61 Cassius Dio, for his part, writes that under the reign of Mar
cus Aurelius, many people gave the appearance of being philosophers, in
the hopes of attracting the Emperor's liberality.62
We have so far attempted, albeit too briefly, to glimpse how Marcus
became a philosopher. We now must ask ourselves how he came to write
the Meditations.
2
A
FIRST GLIMPSE OF
THE
ME D I TA TI O NS
The fate of a text

In our time, now that the printing and distribution of books are banal,
everyday operations, we no longer realize to what extent the survival of
any work of antiquity represented an almost miraculous adventure. If,
after having been dictated or written onto relatively fragile materials, and
then having been more or less disfigured by copyists' mistakes, a text
managed to survive until the birth of printing, it was only because it had
the good fortune not to be burned in one of the numerous library fires of
antiquity, or else simply did not fall into useless pieces. The odyssey of
Marcus Aurelius' Meditations seems to have been particularly risky.
In all probability, the Emperor wrote for himself and his own private
use, rather than by dictation. At his death, the notes Marcus wrote in this
way were saved and conserved by a family member, a friend, or an
admirer. Was it ever published, that is to say, copied down and distrib
uted to bookstores? It is difficult to say. Some scholars have thought that
they recognize analogies between the Meditations and the speech which,
according to the historian Cassius Dio, writing a few years after the
Emperor's death, Marcus delivered before his soldiers on the occasion of
the rebellion of Avidius Cassius. 1 In fact, however, the analogies in ex
pression are not very specific; these were formulas which were fairly
widespread in the philosophical and literary tradition.
It does seem that, two centuries after Marcus, the philosopher Them
istius knew of the existence of the work: he speaks of paraggelmata2 or
" exhortations " written by Marcus. The historian Aurelius Victor and the
Historia Augusta claim that Marcus, before leaving on his expedition to
the Danubian front, had publicly set forth the precepts of his philosophy
in the form of a series of exhortations. 3 This is an interesting detail, for it
reveals that the writing of the Meditations was linked in a confused way
22
with the wars against the Germans, which is not completely false. Much
later, in the fourteenth century, it would be imagined that the work was
a book composed with a view to the education of Marcus' son Com
modus. 4 In any case, it seems that none of these authors had direct access
to the book of which they were speaking.
It was not until the Byzantine tenth century that we find testimonies
to the reading and copying of Marcus' works. The great Byzantine
lexicon entitled the Souda, which dates from that period, contains several
extracts from the Meditations, and specifies that Marcus Aurelius' work
consists of twelve books. 5 In addition, the bishop Arethas, in a letter of
907 addressed to Demetrius, metropolitan of Heraclea, speaks of a copy
of the philosopher-emperor's work in his possession, which is readable
but in poor condition. He has had it recopied, he writes, and can thus
bequeath it to posterity in renewed condition.6 There are, moreover,
several literal quotations from the Meditations in Arethas' works.7 In the
Byzantine world, the Meditations were read throughout the following
centuries. 8
In the West, we do not find quotations from Marcus until the begin
ning of the sixteenth century: the De arte cabalistica ofJohannes Reuchlin,
published in 1 5 1 7, contains quotations of two passages from the Medita
tions, probably taken from a manuscript in Reuchlin's possession.9 It was
not until 1 5 5 9 that a printed edition appeared, brought out by Andreas
Gesner of Zurich. Based on a now-lost manuscript, this edition was
accompanied by a Latin translation made by Xylander (Wilhelm
Holzmann) . Besides this edition, we have only one complete manuscript
of the Emperor's works: the Vaticanus Graecus 1 9 50, which dates from the
fourteenth century.
We can thus surmise that it is only a matter of luck that we happen to
know the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. We must admit, however, that
in the case of a number of passages-fortunately not very numerous
the state of the text as we now possess it is less than satisfactory; and given
the small number of manuscripts, it is difficult to improve upon the text.
In order to reestablish the text with the highest degree of probability,
therefore, we are sometimes reduced to making conj ectures.
The text, is, in any event, rather difficult to understand, and the reader
should not be surprised if he finds that the original translation I am
proposing is sometimes rather different from other extant translations.
Moreover, it is because my interpretation of the thought of Marcus
Aurelius is based upon my way of translating the text that I have found it
necessary to include lengthy quotations from his work.
23
Neither in the manuscripts nor in the first edition, moreover, is there

any division of the work into chapters; and there are few paragraphs. The
first editors and translators who, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centu
ries, worked with the first edition proposed a variety of divisions; but the
modern numeration is that of the Latin translation by Thomas Gataker,
published in Cambridge in 1 6 5 2 . 10 Gataker's division, however, is in
need of complete revision. Some chapters must be reunited, and, above
all, many others must be subdivided, since a number of passages with
very different subj ect matter have been unjustifiably grouped together.
The reader should not be surprised, therefore, to encounter the divisions
I have introduced into a particular text, which will seem different from
those found in the other extant translations.
The title
As we have seen, it was the edition of 1 5 59 which revealed Marcus
Aurelius to the West. The work quickly became a huge success, with
editions of the Greek text, and translations into Latin and the various
European languages, coming fast and furious. Soon, however, the fol
lowing question arose: under which genre should the work be classified?
In antiquity, a book's title allowed its readers to recognize immediately in
which category it should be situated. Moreover, it was not usually the
philosopher who gave the title to his writings: more often than not, the
classes he had written entered his school's library without a title. Then,
for convenience, his disciples and successors got the habit of referring to
the work by the part of philosophy or the specific question with which it
dealt-for example, Classes on Physics-sometimes accompanied by the
name of the addressee (Nichomachean Ethics) . No doubt Plato chose the
titles of dialogues himself, but they are usually taken from the names of
the protagonists of the discussion: Charmides, Phaedo, Philebus. A book's
title was not then, as it is now, an invention of the author, by means of
which he tries to show off his originality and attract the reader by the
unusual nature of his formulations, as in The Bald Soprano, The Dancer and
the Chatterton, The Cook and the Man-eater. 11

It is highly likely that when Marcus was writing what we now call the
Meditations, he had no idea of giving a title to these notes intended only
for himsel In antiquity, moreover, as long as a book remained unpub
lished-through a public reading, for instance-it was almost always the
case that the author did not give it a title. Thus, we find the physician
Galen and the philosopher Plotinus entrusting their texts to friends,
24
without providing them with titles.12 Their works, which they had given
to their entourage, were in the state of what the ancients used to call
hypomnemata: that is to say, notes not yet quite revised for publication,
and lacking a title. This is all the more true if, as is probably the case,
Marcus' work was made up of a collection of strictly personal and private
notes. When Arethas13 (ninth to tenth centuries) , to whom we no doubt
owe the preservation of our precious text, describes the condition of his
manuscript, he merely designates it as " the very profitable book of the
Emperor Marcus. " The fact that he does not give it a title may well lead
us to believe that the manuscript did not bear one. Likewise, the epigram
dedicated to Marcus' book, perhaps composed by Theophylactus Simo
cattes (seventh century) , does not give any title. 14 When Arethas wrote
his scholia on Lucian, he quotes the work as follows: Marcus in " the
ethical writings addressed to himself" (ta eis heauton Ethika). The Byzan
tine dictionary called the Souda15 says of Marcus: " He consigned the rule
(agoge) of his personal life in twelve books. " Finally, let us recall that
Themistius, in the third century, made extremely vague allusions to some
paraggelmata, or " exhortations " of Marcus Aurelius .
The Vatican manuscript gives n o title t o the Emperor's work. Some
manuscript collections of extracts from it do bear the notice: ta kat'
heauton, which could be translated: "Writing concerning Himself, " or
" Private Writing. "
After the publication of the Greek text in 1 5 59, various translations,
corresponding to various theories and interpretations, were given to the
work. Xylander's translation, which accompanied the Greek text in
1 5 59, proposed the title De seipso seu vita sua (" On Himself or on His
Life ") . In the editions of Strasburg ( 1 5 90) and of Lyon ( 1 626) , the title
was De vita sua ("On his life ") . When Meric Casaubon published his
Graeco-Latin edition in London in 1 643 , he preferred the title De seipso
et ad seipsum ("About Himself and to Himself") ; but when the English
translation appeared in 1 6 3 4 , he had entitled it Meditations concerning
himselfe. Thomas Gataker, another English humanist of the same period,
placed the following formula at the beginning of his Latin translation
with commentary: De rebus suis sive de eis quae ad se pertinere censebat (" On
His Private Affairs, or the Matters which He Thought Concerned
1
H"m")
.
Thus, the work was to receive all kinds of titles, in all sorts of lan
guages. In Latin: De officio vitae (" On the Duty of Life ") ; Pugillaria (" Tab
lets ") ; Commentaria quae ipse sibi scripsit (" Notes which He Wrote for
Himself") . In French: Pensees morales (" Moral Thoughts ") ; Pensees
25
(" Thoughts ") ; A moi-meme (" To Myself") . In English: Conversations with

Himself; Meditations; Thoughts; To Himself; Communings with Himself; and
in German, Betrachtungen uber sich selbst or mit sich selbst (" Reflections on
Himself" or " with Himself") ; Selbstbetrachtungen ("Reflections on Him
self") ; Wege zu sich selbst (" Paths toward Himself") .
Hypotheses on the work's literary genre

Many historians and readers of the Meditations did not understand, and
still do not understand, what Marcus Aurelius' intentions were in writing
them down. Consequently, they have proj ected back upon him, in a
totally anachronistic way, the prejudices and literary habits of their own
time . The first editor, "Xylander" (Holzmann) , noting that the text he
was publishing lacked the fine structure of a dialogue by Plato or a
treatise by Cicero, had already conjectured that the Meditations, in the
state in which they existed in the manuscript he was editing, were only
loose extracts from the works of Marcus Aurelius, and that the Emperor's
book had come down to us mutilated, incomplete, and in utter disor
der. 16 It seemed to him inconceivable that Marcus could have left these
obscure, disorderly texts to posterity, since in this period the systematic
treatise was considered the perfect form of philosophical production.
Meric Casaubon, who translated Marcus Aurelius into English and
Latin in the seventeenth century ( 1 6 3 4 and 1 643 respectively) , seems to
have been much better informed about the variety of literary genres in
antiquity. In the Preface to his Latin translation, he reminds his readers
that there then existed the literary genre of the aphorism-used, for
example , by Theognis and Phocylides-which consisted in expressing
one's thoughts in the form of short sayings; he added that Epictetus'
Manual, as composed by Arrian, was presented entirely in this way.
Moreover, he adds, if one is able to discern the real unities that make up
the text, one will be better able to understand both the flow of ideas
within each passage and the themes which often recur throughout the
work.
Besides, Casaubon went on, we must not forget that Marcus was
writing for himself, and was not seeking clarity, as an author would who
was addressing himself to the public. This gives Casaubon17 the opportu
nity to criticize the custom that had arisen in his time of quoting Marcus'
work by the title De vita sua (" On His Life ") . True, he writes, some
emperors--such as Augustus-did write books about their lives; but
their subj ect was the acts and events of their public and private lives .
26
With Marcus this is not the case; rather, as the Souda indicated, what we
have is a writing dealing with " the rule of his own life. " Some editors
had expressed this idea by means of the title De cifficio suo (" On His
Duty") ; but this did not render the specificity of the title Eis heauton,
which, in order to be rendered with exactitude, must be translated as De
seipso et ad seipsum ("About Himself and to Himself") . Thus, the work is
a dialogue Marcus had with himself and about himself Casaubon here
reminds the reader that Solon was supposed to have written some " In
structions for Himself" (hypothekas eis heauton); above all, he reminds the
reader that, for the Platonists and the Stoics, the "self" was the soul or the
spirit.
Thomas Gataker defines the specific character of the work even more
precisely. He opposes the Discourses of Epictetus-transmitted to us by
his disciple Arrian, who was thus their editor, just as the Evangelists were
in the case of Christ-to the writings of Marcus, which emanated from
his own notes. Gataker uses the word adversaria, meaning " that which is
always in front of one, " or " the rough draft which one always has
handy. " The Emperor's mind, says Gataker, was always devoted to
philosophical occupations, and he developed the habit of writing down
the thoughts that came to him in the course of his meditations, without
feeling compelled to put them into any kind of order. They were ar
ranged solely in accordance with the places and times in which he had
either composed them himself, or encountered them in the course of his
readings and conversations. This is shown, moreover, by such remarks as
" In the Land of the Quades " and "At Carnutum, " placed at the begin
ning of Books II and III. This resulted in some inconsistencies and
repetitions, and a style that is often elliptical or abrupt: sufficient to allow
the Emperor to recall such-and-such an idea, but liable to lead to a great
deal of obscurity. These were notes intended for Marcus' personal use. 18
As early as the beginning of the seventeenth century, however, the
philologist Caspar Barth,19 writing in 1 624, emphasized that traces of
organization, and sometimes even long chains of reasoning, could be
found in Marcus' writings. Barth thus returned to the theory of Xylan
der, according to which the text, in the state in which it had been
preserved, represented mere extracts (eclogai) taken from a vast systematic
treatise on ethics which the Emperor was supposed to have composed.
In the eighteenth century, an analogous opinion was set forth by
Jean-Pierre de Joly, who edited and translated the Meditations in 1 742 and
again in l 77 3 . Marcus, said Joly, had composed a systematic treatise on
ethics, written on tablets which were dispersed after his death; an editor
then published them in their state of disorder. The task of the modern
editor, then, was to rediscover the systematic order of the treatise ; and
this is what Joly attempted to do by publishing a systematic presentation
of the Meditations, divided into thirty-five sections. 20
In the twentieth century, A. S. L. Farquharson published, in I 944, an
edition, English translation, and commentary on Marcus' text which was
remarkable in every respect. He took up the hypothesis ofBarth and Joly
from another angle: for a period of ten to fifteen years, he thought,
Marcus had accumulated materials of every variety with a view to the
composition of " a work of consolation and of encouragement. " Indeed,
certain meditations do show signs of highly conscientious literary com
position. After the Emperor's death, it was perhaps a secretary who made
a choice from among these notes. Their present disorder could be the
result either of the fact that the secretary left them as they were, or that
he introduced into them an order which does not satisfy us, or the fact
that the text has been mutilated or disorganized by scribes through the
course of the years. In any event, Marcus' intention was to write a
handbook of useful advice for the philosophical life. In Farquharson's
view, Marcus' Meditations can be compared to the Meditations of Guigues
of Chartres, the well-known Religio Medici of Thomas Browne, and
above all the Pensees of Pascal.21
The apparent lack of order of the Meditations did not disturb nine
teenth-century readers at all . In the century of Romanticism, it was
thought that the work was the Emperor's own "journal intime. " " It is
probable, " wrote Renan,22 " that Marcus kept a private diary of his inner
states starting from an early age. In it, he would inscribe in Greek the
maxims to which he had recourse in order to fortify himself, reminis
cences from his favorite authors, passages from those moralists who most
impressed him, the principles which had sustained him throughout the
day, and sometimes the reproaches which his scrupulous conscience
thought it had to address to itself " I should state right away that, if we
understand by " diary" notes which one writes for oneself and which
accumulate day after day, then we can indeed say, with G. Misch in his
History efAutobiography, 23 that the Emperor did write a " diary, " or, in the
words of P. Brunt24 in his excellent study entitled " Marcus Aurelius in his
Meditations, " a " spiritual diary. " If, however, we understand by " diary" a
writing to which one consigns the outpourings of one's heart and spiri
tual states, then the Meditations are not a " diary, " and the fact that Marcus
Aurelius wrote his Meditations does not allow us, as Renan claimed, to
know whether or not the Emperor had an uneasy soul. Renan was too
28
much inclined to imagine the philosopher-emperor as a kind of Amiel or

Maurice de Guerin, expressing their worries and sufferings every day.
Following Renan, twentieth-century historians have taken pleasure in
the image of Marcus finding consolation from reality by exhaling his
resignation, pessimism, or resentment into his Meditations.
A strange work
We must try to imagine the state in which the first humanists discovered
the manuscript containing the copy of Marcus Aurelius' book. They
were faced with a work without a title, which began with a list of the
examples or advice which Marcus had received from his parents, his
teachers, his friends, and from the emperor Antoninus Pius, as well as a
list of the favors which the gods had accorded to him. After this enu
meration-in the manuscript, at any rate, which was used for the estab
lishment of the editio princeps-one could read a note which was both
geographical and chronological in nature: "Written in the land of the
Quades, on the banks of the Gran. " Then there came a series of reflec
tions, several pages long, which sometimes contained divisions, marked
by a paragraph and by capital letters, which do not always correspond to
our modern-day division of the work into chapters. At the beginning of
what we now call chapter III, we find the following indication: "Written
in Carnutum. " The reflections then begin again, and continue until the
end of the work. In the Vaticanus, the books are not numbered: the most
this manuscript contains is a two-line separation between what are today
Books I and I I ; between today's Books II and III; between today's Book
IV and Book V; between today's Book VIII and Book IX; and a dividing
mark between today's Book XI and Book XII . This means that the
divisions between Books III and IV; V and VI ; VI and VII; VII and VIII;
and IX and X are not indicated.
Who is responsible for remarks like " in the land of the Quades " or "in
Carnutum? " Was it Marcus himself, who wanted to remind himself of
the circumstances in which a specific group of notes had been written?
Or was it some secretary responsible for preserving the Emperor's docu
ments, who added a kind of tag to the package that had been entrusted to
him? The first hypothesis is the more likely; but if so it is, I believe,
something unique in the entire history of ancient literature, and well
suited to show to what extent we are dealing with writings recorded day
by day and linked, not perhaps to precise circumstances, but to the
variations in the spiritual state of their author. Did such geographical
29
indications exist among the other books, and did they then become lost?
Or was the greater part of the book written at Carnutum? Was it Marcus
himself who gave up supplying such indications? We do not know. Did
the twelve books which we distinguish today correspond to twelve
groups which represented, in the view of their author, sequences of
thoughts having their own unity and different from one another? Or was
this division purely accidental, due, for instance, to the form and dimen
sions of the physical materials of Marcus' writing? Again, were the books
separated by an editor, either just after Marcus' death, or by Arethas,
when he produced an edition of the text in the tenth century? We have
seen that the breaks between books, at any rate in the Vaticanus, were
faintly marked, if not nonexistent.
The contents of the work are rather disconcerting as well. After
Book I, which presents an undeniable unity in its evocation of all those,
gods and men, to whom Marcus is expressing his gratitude, the rest of the
work is nothing but a completely incoherent series-at least in appear
ance-of reflections which are not even composed in accordance with
the rules of the same literary genre. We encounter many very short
sentences, often quite striking and well written, for example:
Soon you will have forgotten everything, and soon everyone will
have forgotten you (VII , 2 1 ) .
Everything is ephemeral, that which remembers and that which is
remembered (IV, 3 5) .
The best way to get even with them is not to resemble them (VI, 6) .
Alongside these short formulas, we find a certain number of longer
developments, which vary in length from twenty to sixty lines; they may
have the form of a dialogue with a fictitious interlocutor, or of one that
Marcus carries out with himself In them, Marcus exhorts himself to
follow a specific moral attitude, or else he discusses certain general philo
sophical problems: if souls survive after death, for instance , where can
they be located (IV, 2 1 ) ? In most of these passages, whether they are long
or short, Marcus' individuality can scarcely be discerned; most of the
time, we have to do with exhortations addressed to a moral person. We
also find, however, some passages in which Marcus speaks to himself as
an Emperor (VI, 3 0 , 1 ; VI, 44, 6) ; or in which he speaks of his attitude
toward life at court (V, 1 6 , 2; VI , 1 2 ; VIII, 9) ; about the way he must
30
express himselfin the Senate (VIII, 3 0) ; about his faults (V, 5 , l ) ; or about
his entourage (X, 3 6) . He also evokes the people he has known in his life
(VIII, 3 7, l ; X, 3 l , 1 ) , in imaginatory exercises in the course of which, in
order to prepare himself for death, he represents to himself the fragility of
all things human, and the continuity of the processes of metamorphosis,
which will not spare anyone in his entourage.
In addition to these various literary forms, we must also add two
collections of quotations in Books VII (p-5 1 ) and XI (22-3 9) . Bor
rowed from the tragedians, Plato, and Epictetus, they have obviously
been chosen for their moral efficacy.
How, then, are we to define this work, which, by its multiple aspects
and unusual tone, seems to be the only example of its genre in all of
antiquity?
The
Meditations as personal notes (hypomnemata)
It's time to stop rambling. You will no longer reread the notes
1ypomnematia) that you had taken, the great deeds of the ancient
Greeks and the Romans, or the extracts from the works you had
been putting aside until your old age (III, 1 4) .
Here we can catch a glimpse of the intellectual activity to which Marcus
devoted himself all his life. Already in his youth, when still the student of
Fronto, he assiduously copied out extracts from Latin authors. 25 He must
later have gone to the trouble of making up "for his old age " an anthol
ogy of edifying quotations, of which we can discover traces in some
pages of the Meditations. He had also put together a historical collection:
" the great deeds of the ancient Greeks and Romans. " Finally, Marcus
also speaks of his "personal notes, " using the diminutive word hypomne
matia. It has often been suggested that these notes should be identified
with the Meditations.26 It is extremely difficult to give a definitive judg
ment on this point; nevertheless, with the help of other ancient parallels,
we can at any rate imagine the way in which the Meditations were
composed.
In the first place, it seems that, as he wrote the Meditations, Marcus
decided to change completely the finality of his literary activity. In
Books II and III, we find numerous allusions both to the imminence of
death weighing upon Marcus, who was then engaged in the military
campaigns of the Danube, and to the urgency of the total conversion he
31
felt he was about to undergo, and the change in his literary activity which
would be a necessary result of this:
Leave your books alone. Don't let yourself be distracted any longer;
you can't allow yourself that any more (II , 2, 2) .
Throw away your thirst for reading, so that when you die , you will
not be grumbling, but will be in true serenity, thanking the gods
from the bottom of your heart (II, 3 , 3 ) .
Marcus is no longer t o disperse himself by gathering extracts from
authors in the course of his readings, for he no longer has time to read.
He is no longer, out of intellectual curiosity or speculative interest, to
write great quantities of " note-cards, " as we would call them nowadays:
rather, he is to write only in order to influence himself, and concentrate
on the essential principles (II, 3 , 3 ) :
Let these thoughts b e enough, if they are life-principles (dogmata)
for you.
Marcus, then, is to keep on writing. From now on, however, he will
write only efficacious thoughts: that is, those which totally transform his
way of living.
As he wrote these texts, which were to become our Meditations, Mar
cus no doubt used these " note-cards " which he was afraid he would no
longer have the time to reread; just as he no doubt had recourse to his
collections of extracts in order to take from them the quotations from
authors which he reproduced in several books of the Meditations.
Formally, then, Marcus' literary activity did not change. He continued
to write down for himself all kinds of notes and reflections (hypomne
mata); but the finality of these intellectual exercises had become com
pletely modified. From the point of view of the imminence of death, one '
thing counts, and one alone: to strive always to have the essential rules of
life present in one's mind, and to keep placing oneself in the fundamental
disposition of the philosopher, which consists essentially in controlling
one's inner discourse, in doing only that which is of benefit to the
human community, and in accepting the events brought to us by the
course of the Nature of the All .
Thus, the Meditations belong to that type of writing called hypomnemata
in antiquity, which we could define as "personal notes taken on a day-to-
day basis. " This was a very widespread practice, and on this point we
have the remarkable testimony of Pamphila, a married woman who lived
at the time of Nero in the first century A.D., who had published her
hypomnemata . In the introduction she had placed at the beginning of this
collection-now unfortunately lost-she tells the reader that, during the
course of thirteen years of married life, which " was not interrupted for a
day nor even for an hour, " she noted down what she learned from her
husband, from visitors who came to the house, and from the books she
read. "I wrote them down, " she said, " in the form of notes (hypomne
mata), in no special order, and without sorting them out and distinguish
ing them according to their subj ect matter. Rather, I wrote them down
at random, in the order in which each matter presented itself to me. " She
could, she adds, have ordered them by subj ect matter with a view to their
publication, but she found variety and the absence of a plan more pleas
ant and more graceful. All that she wrote under her own name was an
overall introduction and, apparently, a few transitional passages. The
notes she had gathered together dealt with the lives of philosophers,
history, rhetoric, and poetry. 27
In the following century, the Latin author Aulus Gellius also published
his personal notes, under the title of Attic Nights. In his preface, he writes:
"Whether I was reading a Greek or a Latin book, or whether I had heard
someone say something worthy of being remembered, I j otted down
what interested me, of whatever kind it was, without any order, and I
then set it aside, in order to support my memory [this is the etymological
meaning of hypomnemata] " . The book he is now offering to the public,
he adds, will preserve the same variety and disorder as his notes.28
At the beginning of his treatise On the Tranquillity ef the Soul, Plutarch
explains to the work's addressee that, since he was in a hurry to hand
over his manuscript to the mail-courier who was just about to leave for
Rome, he had not had the time to put together a well-written treatise,
but had merely communicated to him the notes (hypomnemata) that he
had gathered together on this theme.29
It is probable that many educated people-and especially philoso
phers-were in the habit of making such collections of all kinds of notes
for their personal use: both in order to inform themselves, and also in
order to form themselves; that is, to ensure their spiritual progress. It was
no doubt with this goal in mind that Plutarch had put together his
collection on the tranquillity of the soul.
This, then, is the genre of writings among which we should place the
Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. It is important to emphasize, however,
33
that in his case, most of these notes were exhortations to himself, or a

dialogue with himself, usually composed with the utmost care.
Inner dialogue gave rise to a highly particular literary genre, of which
we know only one written and published example: the Soliloquies of
Augustine. For him the writer's ego is no longer situated-as is often the
case with Marcus-at the level of Reason, exhorting the soul. Rather,
Augustine's ego takes the place of the soul listening to Reason:
For a long time, I had being going over a thousand thoughts in my
mind; indeed, for many days I had been ardently searching for
myself and my good, and for that evil which I had to avoid, when
suddenly I was told (was it I who was speaking, or someone, either
outside me or within me, I do not know; that is precisely what I am
trying with all my strength to find out) ; at any rate, I was told . . . .
What the voice tells Augustine is that he must write down what it is
going to make known to him. He himself is to write, not dictate, for it is
not fitting to dictate things so intimate: they demand absolute solitude. 30
Let us pause for a moment and consider this extremely interesting
remark. Throughout antiquity, authors either wrote themselves, or else
they dictated their works. For instance, we know from Porphyry that
Plotinus wrote his treatises by hand.31 There were many drawbacks to
dictation, as was pointed out by that great user of secretaries, St. Jerome:
" It is one thing to twirl one's pen around in its ink several times before
one writes, and thus to write only that which is worthy of being retained;
but it is another to dictate to a secretary everything that comes into one's
head, for fear of falling silent, because the secretary is waiting. "32
Augustine, however, allows us to glimpse a wholly other point of view:
it is only in the presence of ourselves, he implies, that we can reflect
upon that which is most intimate to us. The presence of another, to
whom one speaks or dictates, instead of speaking to oneself, makes inner
discourse in some way banal and impersonal. This, in all probability, is
why Marcus too wrote his Meditations in his own hand, as he also did in
the case of the letters he wrote to his friends. 33
Tiziano Dorandi34 has recently drawn attention to the variety of stages
leading to the completion of a literary work in antiquity. As a first stage,
the author might compose rough drafts, written on tablets of wax or of
wood. Alternatively, he might, either at the outset or after this stage,
compose a provisional version of his work. Then, in the third stage, came
the definitive revision of the work, which was indispensable before its
34
final publication. Now, Marcus was clearly writing only for himself, and
we must imagine that he probably never envisaged this third stage. All
our evidence points to the conclusion that Marcus, as he wrote down his
thoughts from day to day, always remained at the first stage. He probably
used tablets (pugillares), or some other medium useful for handwritten
notes, such as leaves (schedae) .35 At what point was this material copied
and corrected by a scribe? Possibly during Marcus' lifetime, for his own
personal use. It is also possible, however, and perhaps more probable,
that it was after his death; and on this hypothesis we may imagine,
without having recourse to the destruction postulated by Joly,36 that the
tablets or leaves may not have been copied down in the precise order in
which they were written. It is perhaps not irrelevant in this context that
our Book I, which was in all probability written later and independently
from the others, was placed at the beginning of the collection. N everthe
less, the essential part seems to be in order. Each book is characterized, at
least in part, by a specialized vocabulary and by its emphasis on certain
themes; this allows us to suppose that each book has its own unity, and
was written during a period when the Emperor's attention was concen
trated on a specific question.
Obviously, it is difficult, and even impossible, to obtain a clear idea of
what really happened. We must, it would seem, be content with three
certainties: first of all, the Emperor wrote for himself.37 Second, he wrote
day by day, without attempting to write a unified work, destined for the
public. This is to say that his works remained in the state of hypomnemata
or personal notes, perhaps written on a " mobile " kind of medium like
tablets . In the third place, Marcus took the trouble to write down his
thoughts, aphorisms, and reflections in a highly refined literary form, since it
was precisely the perfection of the formulas which could ensure their
psychological efficacy and persuasive force.
These characteristics suffice to distinguish the personal notes of Mar
cus Aurelius from those of Pamphila or of Aulus Gellius, or even from
the " note-cards " assembled by Plutarch in order to compose his treatise
on the tranquillity of the soul-as well as from the notes taken by Arrian
at the classes of Epictetus. It seems, in fact, that unlike these other
hypomnemata, the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius were spiritual exercises,
practiced in accordance with a specific method. We must now explore
what this means.
THE
ME D I TA T I O NS
A S S P I R I T UA L
EXERCISES
" Theory" and "practice "

The Meditations have only one theme: philosophy. We can see this from
passages such as the following:
What is it that can escort you in order to protect you in this life?
Only one thing: philosophy. It consists in keeping your inner god
free from pollution and from damage (II, 1 7 , 3 ) .
Be careful of becoming " caesarized" . . . Keep yourself simple,
good, pure, grave, natural, a friend of justice . Revere the gods, be
benevolent, affectionate, and firm in accomplishing your duties.
Fight in order to remain as philosophy has wished you to be (VI, 3 0,
r-3 ) .
For the ancients m general, but particularly fo r the Stoics and for
Marcus Aurelius, philosophy was, above all, a way oflife . This is why the
Meditations strive, by means of an ever-renewed effort, to describe this
way of life and to sketch the model that one must have constantly in
view: that of the ideal good man. Ordinary people are content to think
in any old way, to act haphazardly, and to undergo grudgingly whatever
befalls them. The good man, however, will try, insofar as he is able, to act
justly in the service of other people, to accept serenely those events
which do not depend on him, and to think with rectitude and veracity
(VII , 5 4 ) :
Always and everywhere, it depends o n you piously to b e satisfied
with the present conjunction of events,
36
to conduct yourselfjustly toward whatever other people are pre

sent, and
to apply the rules of discernment to the inner representation you
are having now, so that nothing which is. not obj ective may infil
trate its way into you.
Many of the Meditations present these three rules of life-or one or
another of them-in a variety of forms. But these practical rules manifest
a global attitude, a vision of the world, and a fundamental inner choice,
which is expressed in a " discourse, " or in universal formulas which
Marcus, following Epictetus,1 calls dogmata (Marcus Aurelius II, 3 , 3 ; III,
I 3, I ; IV, 49, 6) . A dogma is a universal principle which founds and
justifies a specific practical conduct, and which can be formulated in one
or in several propositions. Our word " dogma" has, moreover, retained
something of this meaning, for instance in Victor Hugo: " Liberty, Equal
ity, Fraternity: these are dogmas of peace and of harmony. Why should
we make them seem frightening? "2
In addition to the three rules oflife, then, the Meditations formulate, in
every possible way, those dogmas which express, in discursive form, the
indivisible inner disposition that manifests itself in the three rules of
action.
Marcus himself gives us good examples of the relationship between
general principles and rules of life . We have seen that one of the rules of
life he proposes consists in consenting with serenity to events willed by
Destiny, which do not depend on us. But he also exhorts himself, in the
following terms (IV, 49, 6) :
On the occasion of everything that causes you sadness, remember to
use this " dogma " : not only is this not a misfortune, but it is a piece
of good fortune for you to bear up under it courageously.
This dogma is deduced from the fundamental dogma of Stoicism,
which is the foundation for all Stoic behavior: only moral good, or
virtue, is a good, and only moral evil, or vice, is an evil.3 Marcus formu
lates this explicitly elsewhere (VI I I , I , 6) :
What does happiness consist of? It consists of doing that which the
nature of mankind desires. How shall we do this? By possessing
those dogmas which are the principles of impulses and of action.
Which dogmas? Those which pertain to the distinction of what is
37
good from what is bad: there is no good for mankind but that which
renders him just, temperate, courageous and free, and there is no
evil for mankind, except that which brings about in him the con
trary vices.
Marcus also employs the word theorema to designate the " dogmas, "
inasmuch as every art entails principles, and consequently so too does
that art of living called philosophy (XI, 5 ) :
What art do you practice? That o f being good. How can you
practice this except by starting out from theorems, some of which
concern the Nature of the All , and others of which deal with the
constitution proper to mankind?
Dogmas, as Marcus says (VII , 2) , run the risk of dying out, if one does
not constantly reignite those inner images, or phantasiai, which make
them present to us.
Thus, we can say that the Meditations-with the exception of
Book I-are wholly made up of the repeated, ever-renewed formulation
of the three rules of action which we have just seen, and of the various
dogmas which are their foundation.
Dogmas and their formulation

These dogmas, or foundational and fundamental rules, were the subj ect
of demonstrations within the Stoic schools. Marcus learned such demon
strations from his Stoic teachers Junius Rusticus, Apollonius, and Sextus,
to whom he renders homage in the first book of the Meditations. Above
all , he read about them in the Discourses of Epictetus as collected by
Arrian. In his Meditations, Marcus mentions " the large number of proofs
by which it is demonstrated that the world is like a City, " or else the
teachings he has received on the subj ect of pleasure and pain, and to
which he has given his assent (IV, 3 , 5, 6) .
With the aid of these demonstrations, the dogmas imposed themselves
upon Marcus with absolute certainty, and he usually restricts himself to
formulating them in the form of a simple proposition, as he does in
Book II, r , 3 . The nature of the good, he says there, is moral good (to
kalon); while that of evil is moral evil (to aischron). This condensed form is
sufficient to evoke the theoretical demonstration of which they were the
subj ect, and it allows the inner disposition which was a result of his clear
view o f these principles-that is, the resolution to do good-to b e re

awakened within his soul. To repeat the dogmas to oneself, or write
them down for oneself, is " to retreat, " as Marcus says (IV, 3 , 1 ) , " not to
the countryside, the seashore, or the mountains, " but within oneself It is
there that one can find the formulas " which shall renew us. " " Let them
be concise and essential, " Marcus continues, in order that their efficacy
be complete . This is why, in order to be ready to apply the three rules of
action, Marcus sometimes gathers together a series of chapter-heads
(kephalaia), extremely brief in form, which constitute an enumeration of
points which, by their very accumulation, can increase their psychic
efficacy (II , 1 ; IV, 3 ; IV, 26; VII , 22, 2; VIII, 2 1 , 2; XI, 1 8 ; XII , 7; XII , 8 ;
XII, 26) . I cannot quote these lists in their entirety, but I shall take one
example (XII, 26) in which eight kephalaia, or fundamental points, pro
vide a group of resources with a view to the practice of that rule of action
which prescribes that we must serenely accept that which happens to us,
but does not depend on our will:
If you are annoyed at something, it is because you have forgotten:
( 1 ) that everything happens in accordance with universal Nature;
(2 ) that whatever fault was committed is not your concern;
(3) and, moreover, that everything that happens has always hap
pened thus and will always happen thus, and is, at this very mo
ment, happening thus everywhere;
(4 ) how close is the relationship between man and the whole
human race: for this is no community of blood or of seed, but of the
intellect.
You have also forgotten:
(s)that the intellect of each person is God, and that it has flowed
down here from above;
(6) and that nothing belongs to any of us in the strict sense, but
that our child, our body and our soul come from above;
(7)and that everything is a judgment-value;
(8) and the only thing each of us lives and loses is the present.
All the points presented here in the form of a laconic aide-memoire,
which does nothing but evoke demonstrations with which Marcus is
familiar from elsewhere, can be found separated from one another
throughout the Meditations: they are repeated, ruminated upon; but also
explained and sometimes demonstrated. If we assemble these series of
kephalaia (II , 1 ; IV, 3 ; IV, 26; VII , 22, 2; VIII, 2 1 , 2; XI, 1 8 ; XII , 7; XII,
39
8 ; XII , 26) we can thus discover almost all the themes announced or
developed in the Meditations. By connecting them to the most funda
mental dogmas of Stoicism, we can present, in a structured form, the
whole ensemble of doctrines which constitute the essential core of the
Meditations.
From the absolutely primary principle according to which the only
good is moral good and the only evil is moral evil (II, 1 , 3 ) , it follows that
neither pleasure nor pain are evils (IV, 3 , 6; XII , 8 ) ; that the only thing
shameful is moral evil (II , 1 , 3 ) ; that faults committed against us cannot
touch us (II , 1 , 3 ; XII , 26) ; that he who commits a fault hurts only
himself (IV, 26, 3 ) ; and that the fault cannot be found elsewhere than
within oneself (VII , 29, 7; XII , 26) . It further follows that I can suffer no
harm whatsoever from the actions of anyone else (II , 1 , 3 ; VII, 22, 2 ) .
From the general principles
1 . only that which depends on us can be either good or evil; and
2. our judgment and our assent depend on us (XII, 22 ) ,
it follows that the only evil or trouble there can be for us resides in our
own judgment; that is to say, in the way we represent things to ourselves
(IV, 3 , 1 0 ; XI, 1 8 , I I ) ; and that people are the authors of their own
problems (IV, 26, 2; XII, 8) . Everything, therefore, is a matter of judg
ment (XII, 8 ; XII , 22; XII, 26) . The intellect is independent of the body
(IV, 3 , 6) , and things do not come inside us in order to trouble us (IV, 3 ,
1 0) . If everything is a matter of judgment, every fault is in fact a false
judgment, and proceeds from ignorance (II , 1 , 2; IV, 3 , 4; XI , 1 8 , 4-5) .
I n the enumeration of kephalaia in Book XI (XI , 1 8 , 2 ) , Marcus tells
himself:
Go higher up still, starting from the principle that if we rej ect
atoms, it must be Nature which governs the All.
In the list in Book IV, he says:
Remember the disjunction: either providence or atoms.
These brief mentions of a principle, which it is assumed is known,
allow us to glimpse that Marcus is here again alluding to teachings he has
received, which placed face to face the Epicurean position (atoms) and
the Stoic position (Nature and providence) , to conclude in favor of the
40
latter. I shall return to this point. For the moment, suffice it to say that
from the dogma that affirms a unity and rationality of the world, many
consequences may be drawn, to which Marcus alludes in his series of
kephalaia. Everything comes from universal Nature and in conformity
with the will of universal Nature (XII , 26)-even the malevolence of
mankind (XI, 1 8 , 24) , which is a necessary consequence of the gift of
liberty. Everything occurs in conformity with Destiny (IV, 26, 4) : thus, it
is in conformity with the order of the universe that all things undergo
continuous metamorphosis (IV, 3 , I I ; XII , 2 1 ) , but are also ceaselessly
repeated (XI I , 26) , and that we must die (IV, 3 , 4; XI , 1 8 , r n) . Universal
Reason gives form and energy to matter that is docile, but without
strength; this is why we must always and everywhere distinguish the
causal (reason) and the material (XII, 8; XII, 1 8) . It is from universal
Reason that comes that reason which is common to all mankind and
assures its relatedness, which is not a community of blood or of seed
(II, 1 , 3 ; XII , 26) . This is why people are made for one another (II, 1 , 4;
IV, 3 , 4; XI , 1 8 , 1-2) .
One last series of kephalaia can be grouped around the grandiose vision
of the immensity of universal Nature, and the infinity of space and of
time (IV, 3 , 7; XII , 7) . From this perspective, the whole of life seems to
be of minuscule duration (VIII, 2 1 , 2; IV, 26, 5 ; XII , 7) ; the instant seems
infinitesimal (II , 14, 3 ; XII , 26) ; the earth seems like a point (IV, 3 , 8 ;
VIII, 2 1 , 2) ; current fame and posthumous glory seem completely vain
(IV, 3 , 8 ; VII I , 2 1 , 3 ; XII , 2 1 ; IV, 3 , 7) , all the more so since they can only
be obtained from people who contradict themselves and each other
(IV, 3 , 8 ; VII, 2 1 , 3 ) , and whom one cannot respect, if one sees them as
they really are (XI, 1 8 , 3 ) .
All these " dogmas " can, then, b e deduced from more fundamental
dogmas. Yet they all become crystallized around the three rules or disci
plines oflife, which we have distinguished. The discipline of thought, for
example, obviously presupposes the dogmas which concern freedom of
judgment; the discipline of action presupposes those which affirm the
existence of a community of reasonable beings; and the discipline of
consent to events presupposes the dogma of the providence and rational
ity of the universe. We can glimpse a similar grouping in IV, 3 .
Lists of kephalaia or fundamental points: such is the first mode of
formulation of dogmas in the Meditations. Yet these fundamental points
are also taken up by themselves and frequently repeated throughout the
course of the work. Thus the invitation, formulated in one of the series
of kephalaia (XII , 8 ) , to discern what is causal in each thing, is repeated
41
eight times in isolated form, without any commentary or explanation, in

the body of the Meditations (IV, 2 1 , 5 ; VII , 29, 5 ; VII I , u ; IX, 2 5 ; IX, 3 7 ;
XII, r n; XII , 1 8 ; XII , 29) . Likewise, the affirmation "All i s judgment, "
which figures in two lists of kephalaia (XII , 8 and XII , 26) is found twice
by itself, either without commentary or accompanied by a very brief
explanation (II, 1 5 ; XII , 22) . Above all , the dogma according to which
our troubles come only from our judgments, and that things do not
penetrate within us (IV, 3 , 1 o) , recurs eighteen times in the course of the
Meditations, sometimes repeated almost word for word, and sometimes in
slightly different form (V, 1 9 ; VI , 52; VII , 2; VIII, 47; IX, 1 3 ; IX, 1 5 ; XI,
1 1 ; XI, 1 6 ; XII , 22; XII , 2 5 ; IV, 7; IV, 3 9 , 2; V, 2; VII , 1 4 ; VII, 1 6; VIII,
29; VIII, 40; VIII, 49) .
Let us now consider another theme which we have encountered in
the series of kephalaia: that of the eternal repetition of all things both in
universal Nature and in human history (XII, 26, 3 ) . This, too, is a point
which is dear to Marcus, and which he goes over indefatigably. It does
not matter, he writes, whether one attends the spectacle of the world for
a short or a long time, since the totality of being is present at each instant
and in each thing. All things are thus homoeideis; that is, they have the
same content, and therefore repeat themselves infinitely.
From all eternity, all things have identical contents, and pass
through the same cycles (II, 14, 1 ) .
Everything i s of the same kind, and of identical contents (VI, 3 7) .
From all eternity, all things are produced with identical contents,
and for all infinity there will be other things of this kind (IX, 3 5) .
In a sense, a man of forty-if he is not devoid of intelligence-has
seen all that has been and all that shall be, once he recognizes that all
things have identical contents (XI, 1 , 3 ) .
I t would b e tedious t o cite other examples o f the many repetitions
which one finds all throughout the work. It suffices to note that most of
the Meditations take up again-often in a highly elaborate and striking
form-these various kephalaia and dogmas, the list of which Marcus gives
us several times in the course of his work.
It is, however, not enough to " retreat, " returning frequently to these
dogmas to reorient one's actions; after all, in the art ofliving, we must do
42
nothing which is not m conformity " with the theorems of the art"
(IV, 2) . Rather, we must often return to their theoretical foundations.
Marcus clearly explains this need, in a passage which has been misunder
stood by many interpreters (X, 9) . Within it, we must distinguish two
different lines of thought. The first is a concentrated and brutal descrip
tion of the unhappiness of the human condition, when it is not guided by
reason:
Buffoonery and bloody struggles; torpor and agitation; the slavery
of every day!4
Then there comes another thought, completely independent from the
first, which has to do with the importance of theory:
All your fine sacred dogmas, which you think without founding
them on a science of Nature, and then abandon: they will disappear
rapidly. From now on, you must see and practice everything, so that
that which is required by the present circumstances is accomplished,
but, at the same time, the theoretical foundation of your actions is
always present in an efficacious way, and that you always maintain
within yourself-latent, but not buried-that self-confidence
which is procured by science, applied to each particular case.
We must, then, not only act in conformity with the theorems of the
art of living and the fundamental dogmas, but also keep present to our
consciousness the theoretical foundations which justify them. This is
what Marcus means by the " science of Nature, " because, in the final
analysis, all oflife's principles merge in the knowledge of Nature.5 With
out this, the formulations of dogmas will become devoid of sense, no
matter how often they are repeated.
This is why Marcus uses a third method of formulating dogmas. Here
the technique involves reconstructing the arguments used to justify
them, or even reflecting upon the difficulties to which they may give
rise. For instance, Marcus alludes, without citing them, to all the proofs
which demonstrate that the world is like a City (IV, 3 , 5 ) ; and this
formula entailed a quite specific attitude vis-a-vis events and other peo
ple. Elsewhere, however, he bases this formula on a complex series of
rationalizations, and we can summarize the sorites he constructs as fol
lows: a city is a group ofbeings subj ect to the same laws. Now, the world
is a group ofbeings subj ect to the same laws: the law of Reason. There-
43
fore, the world is a City (IV, 4 ) . This reasoning was traditional in Stoi
cism; traces of it can be found, for example, in Cicero. 6 Yet elsewhere,
Marcus remarks that we must imbibe our spirit with the help of reason
ing-that is, the linkages between representations (V, 1 6, l)-and he
proposes further demonstrations, one of which also has the form of a
sorites.
This theoretical work does not, however, consist solely in reproducing
a simple series of reasonings. It may take on several forms: either that of
literary or rhetorical-sounding developments, or of more technical dis
cussions concerning aporiai. The dogma according to which "Everything
happens in conformity with universal Nature " (XII, 26, l ) , for instance ,
i s presented i n what one might call a highly orchestrated manner i n V, 8 ,
as well as in VII, 9 :
All things are linked together mutually, and their linkage is sacred.
Nothing, so to speak, is foreign to anything else, for everything is
coordinated and everything contributes to the order of one single
world. One single world is the result of all things, and one single
God penetrates throughout them all; there is one single substance,
and one single law which is the Reason common to all intelligent
beings; there is one truth.
This theme of the unity of the world, based on the unity of its origin,
is often repeated in analogous terms (VI, 3 8 ; XII , 29) ; but it is also
discussed critically, sometimes in schematic fashion, but at other times in
a more diluted way, particularly in the numerous passages in which we
find what Marcus calls the " disjunction " : either atoms (that is, Epicurean
dispersion) , or one Nature (Stoic unity; c IV, 27; VI, 1 0; VI, 44; VII, 7 5 ;
VIII , 1 8 ; IX, 2 8 ; IX, 3 9 ; X , 6-7) .
Many other major points are discussed in comparatively long develop
ments: for instance, the mutual attraction that reasonable beings feel for
one another, which explains that people are made for one another (IX,
9) ; or the dogma that nothing can constitute an obstacle for intellect or
reason (X, 3 3 ) .
The three rules o f life o r disciplines

As we have seen, practical conduct obeys three rules of life which deter
mine the individual's relationship to the necessary course of Nature, to
other people, and to his own thought. As in the case of his exposition of
44
the dogmas, Marcus' exposition o f these rules is highly structured. The

three rules of life or discipline correspond to the three activities of the
soul: judgment, desire, and impulse; and to the three domains of reality:
our individual faculty ofjudgment, universal Nature, and human nature.
This can be seen in the following diagram:
activity
domain ef reality
inner attitude
( 1 ) j udgment
(2 ) desire
(3) impulse toward action
faculty ofjudgment
universal Nature
human Nature
obj ectivity
consent to Destiny
justice and altruism
We encounter this ternary model very frequently throughout the

Meditations. I shall cite a few important passages:
Always and everywhere, it depends on you
-piously to rej oice in the present conjunction of events (2) ;
-to conduct yourself with j ustice toward whatever people are
present (3) ;
-to apply the rules of discernment to your present representation
( 1 ) , so that nothing nonobj ective may infiltrate its way in (VII , 5 4) .
The following are enough for you:
-your present value-judgment ( 1 ) , as long as it is obj ective ;
-your present action (3) , a s long a s i t i s accomplished i n the service
of the human community;
-your present inner disposition (2) , as long as it finds its j oy in
every conjunction of events brought about by the external cause
(IX, 6) .
Reasonable nature is indeed following its proper path
-if, with regard to its representations ( 1 ) , it gives its assent neither to
what is false, nor to what is obscure;
-if it directs its impulses (3) only toward those actions which serve
the human community;
-if it has desire (2) and aversion only for that which depends on us;
while it j oyfully greets all that which is granted to it by universal
Nature (VIII, 7) .
Again,
45
Erase your representation (phantasia) ( I ) ;

Stop your impulse toward action (horme) (3)
Extinguish your desire (orexis) (2) ;
Have your guiding principle (hegemonikon) within your power
(IX, 7) .
What must you practice?
One thing only:
-thought devoted to justice and actions accomplished in the service
of the community (3 ) ;
-speech which can never deceive ( I ) ;
-an inner disposition (2) which lovingly greets each conj unction of
events, recognizing it as necessary, familiar, and flowing forth from
so great a principle, and so great a source (IV, 3 3 , 3 ) .
I n addition t o these explicit fommlations, w e find numerous allusions to
the three disciplines, in various forms. Thus, Marcus lists as a triad of
virtues: " truth, " "justice, " and " temperance " (XII , 1 5) ; or " unhurried
ness in judgment, " "love of people, " and " the disposition to place one
selfin the cortege of the gods " (III, 9, 2)-which correspond to the three
rules of life. It sometimes happens that only two or even only one of the
disciplines appears, as for instance in IV, 22:
To accomplish justice on the occasion of each impulse toward
action, and, on the occasion of each representation, retain only that
part of it which exactly corresponds to reality (here we can recog
nize the disciplines of action and ofjudgment) .
In X, I I , 3 :
He is content with two things: to accomplish the present action
with justice, and to love the fate which has, here and now, been
allotted to him.
And again, in VIII, 23 :
Am I accomplishing some action? I accomplish it, relating it to the
well-being of mankind. Is something happening to me? I greet it,
relating what happens to me to the gods and to the source of all
things, whence is formed the framework of events (here we recog

nize the disciplines of action and of desire) .
Often, only one theme is evoked, as for instance the discipline of
desire (VII, 5 7) :
Love only the event which comes upon us, and which is linked to
us by Destiny.
or the discipline ofjudgment (IV, 7) :
Suppress the value-judgment (which you add) , and the " I 've been
hurt" is also suppressed. Suppress the " I 've been hurt, " and the
harm is suppressed.
or, finally, the discipline of impulses (XII , 20) :
In the first place: nothing at random, and nothing unrelated to some
goal or end. Second, don't relate your actions to anything except an
end or goal which serves the human community.
The Meditations, then, take up the various dogmas one by one, either
briefly or in more developed form, and different chapters give longer lists
of them than others. Likewise, they tirelessly repeat, either concisely or
in more extended form, the formulation of the three rules of life, which
can be found gathered together in their entirety in certain chapters. As
we shall see, Book III attempts to give a detailed, ideal portrait of the
good man, and the three rules of life, which correspond precisely to the
good man's behavior, are set forth in great detail. On the other hand, we
can also find the three rules of life-mixed together with other related
exhortations-presented in a form so concise that it makes them almost
enigmatic :
Erase this representation [discipline ofjudgment] .
Stop dancing around like a puppet [discipline of action] .
Circumscribe the precise moment of time.
Recognize what is happening to you or to someone else [disci
pline of the consent to Destiny] .
Divide the obj ect and analyze it into " causal " and " material. "
Think about your last hour.
47
As for the wrong committed by so-and-so: leave it right where

the fault was committed (VII, 29) .
These three disciplines of life are the true key to the Meditations of
Marcus Aurelius, for the various dogmas I have discussed crystallize
around them. The dogmas affirming our freedom of judgment, and the
possibility for mankind to criticize and modify his own thought, are
linked to the discipline of judgment, while all the theorems on the
causality of universal Nature are grouped around that discipline which
directs our attitude toward external events. Finally, the discipline of
action is fed by all the theoretical propositions concerning the mutual
attraction which unites rational beings.
In the last analysis, we realize that behind their apparent disorder, we
can discern a highly rigorous conceptual system in Marcus' Meditations. I
shall now turn to a detailed description of its structure.
Imaginative exercises
The Meditations do not just formulate the rules of life and the dogmas by
which they are nourished; for it is not only reason which is exercised in
them, but the imagination as well. For example, Marcus does not restrict
himself to saying that life is short and that we all must soon die, by virtue
of the laws of metamorphosis imposed by Nature. Instead, he brings to
life before his eyes (VIII, 3 1 )
the court of Augustus; his wife, his daughter, his descendants, his
progeny, his sister, Agrippa, his relatives, his acquaintances, his
friends Arius and Maecenas, his doctors, his sacrificers, the death of
an entire Court . . .
Yet it is not only the disappearance of a court that he tries to represent
to himself, but that of a whole generation (IV, 3 2) :
For instance, imagine the time of Vespasian. You'll see all o f that:
people getting married, raising a family, falling ill, dying, going to
war, celebrating festivals, doing business, working the fields; there'll
be flatterers, arrogant or suspicious people, conspirators; there'll be
people who desire the death of others; others who grumble about
present events; there'll be lovers, misers, others who lust after con-
sulate or kingship. That life of theirs: is it not true that it is nowhere

now?
At other times, Marcus thinks of the great men of the past: Hip
pocrates, Alexander, Pompey, Caesar, Augustus, Hadrian, Heraclitus,
Democritus, Socrates, Eudoxus, Hipparchus, and Archimedes. "All of
them long dead! " he writes (VI, 47) ; " No more and nowhere! " (VIII, 5) .
By so doing, Marcus takes his place in the great literary tradition which,
from Lucretius to Franc;:ois Villon,7 has evoked the famous dead: "Where
are the snows of yesteryear? " " Where are they? " Marcus had already
asked (X, 3 1 , 2) ; " Nowhere; no matter where! "
Such imaginative exercises recur rather often in the Meditations (IV, 50;
VI , 24; VII, 1 9 , 2; VII , 48; VIII, 25; VIII, 3 7; IX, 3 0; XII , 27) . It is by this
means that Marcus attempts vigorously to place the dogma of universal
metamorphosis before his eyes.
Life itself, however, is a kind of death, when it is not illuminated by
virtue, by the practice of the rules of life, and by the knowledge of those
dogmas which provide knowledge of things human and divine. This is
what explains those descriptions of the vanity of human life-worthy of
a Cynic-which we sometimes find in the Meditations, as in the follow
ing extraordinary passage (VII, 3 ) :
The vain solemnity o f a procession; dramas played out o n the stage;
troops of sheep or goats; fights with spears; a little bone thrown to
dogs; a chunk of bread thrown into a fish-pond; the exhausting
labor and heavy burdens under which ants must bear up; crazed
mice running for shelter; puppets pulled by strings . . . .
And we have already encountered the following brief but striking note
(X, 9) :
Buffoonery and bloody struggles; torpor and agitation; the slavery
of every day.
Writing as a spiritual exercise

As we have seen throughout these analyses, the Meditations appear to be
variations on a small number of themes. The result of this is the large
number of repetitions they contain, which are sometimes almost verba-
49
tim. We have already encountered several examples of this, and the

following ones can be added:
How could that which does not make a man worse, make life
worse? (II, I I , 4)
That which does not make a man worse than he is, does not make
his life worse, either . . . . (IV, 8) .
All is ephemeral: that which remembers, and that which it remem
bers (IV, 3 5) .
Ephemeral . . . is he who remembers and that which he remembers
(VIII, 2 1 , 2) .
Nothing is so capable of producing greatness of soul (III,
Nothing is so capable of producing greatness of soul (X,
I I,
2) .
I I , I) .
Many more examples could be cited, including long developments such

as VIII, 34 and XI, 8, both of which are structurally parallel, and are
devoted to the power which man has received from God to reunite
himself with the All from which he has separated himself.
The advice on distinguishing within each thing " that which is causal"
from " that which is material " is repeated almost ten times, with only very
slight variations. Here we can recognize one of the fundamental struc
tures of Stoic physics,8 and therefore-once again-the technical nature
of the formulas Marcus uses. But Marcus does not merely repeat this
distinction as if he were reproducing something he had learned in a Stoic
school; for him, it has an existential meaning. To distinguish the causal
element is to recognize the presence within oneself of the hegemonikon,
that is, the principle which directs all being. This is that principle of
thought and judgn1ent which makes us independent of the body, and the
principle of liberty which delimits the sphere of " that which depends on
us, " as opposed to " that which does not depend on us. "
Marcus does not say this; however, we can deduce it from the overall
structure of his system. He is content merely to recommend to himself to
apply this distinction, without ever giving an example which might help
us to understand what this exercise might mean. The reason is that
Marcus has no need of examples; he knows perfectly well what he's
50
talking about. These formulas, which are repeated throughout the Medi
tations, never set forth a doctrine . Rather, they serve only as a catalyst
which, by means of the association of ideas, reactivates a series of repre
sentations and practices, about which Marcus-since he is writing only
for himself-has no need to go into detail.
Marcus writes only in order to have the dogmas and rules oflife always
present to his mind. He is thus following the advice of Epictetus, who,
after having set forth the distinction between what does and does not
depend on us-the fundamental dogma of Stoicism-adds:
It is about this that philosophers ought to meditate; this is what they
should write down every day, and it should be the subj ect of their
exercises (I, I , 25) .
You must have these principles at hand (procheira) both night and
day; you must write them down; you must read them (II I , 24, 1 0 3 ) .
The Stoic philosophical life consists essentially in mastering one's in
ner discourse. Everything in an individual's life depends on how he
represents things to himself-in other words, how he tells them to him
self in inner dialogue. " It is not things that trouble us, " as Epictetus said
(Manual, 5 ) , "but our judgments about things, " in other words, our
inner discourse about things. I will have a great deal to say later on about
the Discourses of Epictetus, which were collected by his disciple Arrian.
They depict Epictetus speaking with his students during his philosophy
classes, and, as Arrian says in his brief preface, " When he spoke, he
certainly had no other desire than to set the thoughts of his listeners in
motion toward what is best . . . when Epictetus spoke these words, his
audience could not help feeling j ust what this man wanted them to feel. "
Epictetus' speech, then, was intended to modify his audience's inner
discourse. We are thus in the presence of two therapies: one was that of
the word, practiced in a variety of forms, by means of striking or moving
formulas and with the help oflogical and technical rational processes, but
also with the help of seductive and persuasive imagery. Another was the
therapy of writing for oneself, which, for Marcus, consisted in taking up
the dogmas and rules of action as they were stated by Epictetus-all the
while addressing himself-and assimilating them, so that they might be
come the principles of his inner discourse. Therefore, one must con
stantly rekindle the " representations " (phantasiai) within oneself, in other
words, those discourses which formulate dogmas (VII, 2) .
51
Such writing exercises thus lead necessarily to incessant repetitions,

and this is what radically differentiates the Meditations from every other
work. Dogmas are not mathematical rules, learned once and for all and
then mechanically applied. Rather, they must somehow become
achievements of awareness, intuitions, emotions, and moral experiences
which have the intensity of a mystical experience or a vision. This
spiritual and affective spirituality is, however, quick to dissipate. In order
to reawaken it, it is not enough to reread what has already been written.
Written pages are already dead, and the Meditations were not made to be
reread. What counts is the reformulation: the act of writing or talking to
oneself, right now, in the very moment when one needs to write. It is
also the act of composing with the greatest care possible: to search for
that version which, at a given moment, will produce the greatest effect,
in the moment before it fades away, almost instantaneously, almost as
soon as it is written. Characters traced onto some medium do not fix
anything: everything is in the act of writing. Thus, we witness a succes
sion of new attempts at composition, repetitions of the same formulas,
and endless variations on the same themes: the themes of Epictetus .
The goal is to reactualize, rekindle, and ceaselessly reawaken an inner
state which is in constant danger of being numbed or extinguished. The
task-ever-renewed-is to bring back to order an inner discourse which
becomes dispersed and diluted in the futility of routine .
A s h e wrote the Meditations, Marcus was thus practicing Stoic spiritual
exercises. He was using writing as a technique or procedure in order to
influence himself, and to transform his inner discourse by meditating on
the Stoic dogmas and rules oflife. This was an exercise of writing day by
day, ever-renewed, always taken up again and always needing to be taken
up again, since the true philosopher is he who is conscious of not yet
having attained wisdom.
" Greek " exercises

It is not surprising to the modern reader that the Meditations were written
in Greek. One might, however, wonder why the Emperor, whose
mother tongue was Latin, chose to use Greek to write personal notes
intended only for himself
First of all , we must note that Marcus was completely bilingual, having
studied Greek rhetoric with Heracles Atticus and Latin rhetoric with
Fronto . More generally, the population of Rome was made up of the
most diverse elements, who had converged upon the Empire's metropo-
52
lis for a wide variety of reasons, and the two languages were in constant
use. In the streets of Rome, the Greek doctor Galen could rub elbows
with the Christian apologist Justin, or else with some Gnostic. All these
figures taught in Rome and had students from the educated classes.9
Even in Rome, Greek was the language of philosophy. The rhetori
cian Quintillian, writing at the end of the first century A.D., notes that
few Latin writers had ever dealt with philosophy: he cites only Cicero,
Brutus, Seneca, and a few others. He could also have included the name
of Lucretius. Be that as it may, in the first century A.D. Cornutus,
Musonius Rufus, and Epictetus all wrote in Greek, which allows us to
infer that, from then on, educated Romans accepted that even in Rome,
the official language of philosophy should be Greek.
One might have thought that Marcus would have preferred to talk to
himself in Latin. As we have seen, however, the Meditations are not
spontaneous effusions, but exercises carried out in accordance with a
program which Marcus had received from the Stoic tradition, and in
particular from Epictetus. Marcus was working with pre-existing materi
als, and painting on a canvas given him by someone else. This fact entails
several consequences.
In the first place, this philosophical material was associated with a
technical vocabulary, and the Stoics, in particular, were renowned for the
technical nature of their terminology. Translators must, by the way, be
aware of this peculiarity of Marcus' vocabulary, and pay the closest possi
ble attention when they encounter such words as hypolepsis ("value-judg
ment") ; kataleptikos (" obj ective " ; " adequate ") ; phantasia (" repre
sentation, " not " imagination ") , hegemonikon (" directing principle ") ;
epakolouthesis (" necessary but nonessential consequence") ; and hypexaire
sis (" reserve clause") , to cite only a few examples. Such technicalities go
to show that Marcus was no amateur, and that it was not the case that
Stoicism was just "a religion " for him.10
It was difficult to translate these terms into Latin. It could be said that
Lucretius, Cicero, and Seneca had done quite well when faced with the
same kind of challenge. But the goal of these authors was popularization:
they wanted to make Greek philosophy accessible to a Latin audience .
Marcus' proj ect was different: h e was writing fo r himself T o translate or
to adapt terminology would distract him from his goal. What is more, if
they were translated into Latin, the technical terms of Greek philosophy
would lose a part of their meaning. In the same way, when Aulus Gel
lius, 11 a contemporary of Marcus who had studied philosophy at Athens,
translates a passage from the Discourses of Epictetus as reported by Arrian,
53
he feels obliged to transcribe technical Greek words, in order to explain

his choice of the Latin words which he has chosen to correspond to
them. Modern translators of Heidegger are often forced to do the same.
In the final analysis, philosophy, like poetry, is untranslatable.
In any case, Marcus had no time to indulge in the literary work of
translation. In the urgency of conversion and the imminence of death, he
searched for immediate effects : words and phrases which would dissipate
worry or anger immediately (IV, 3 , 3 ) . He felt the need to plunge back
into the atmosphere of philosophical instruction, and to remember the
exact phraseology of Epictetus, which supplied him with the themes
upon which he developed his variations.
T H E P H I L O S O P H E R - S L AV E A N D
T H E E M P E RO R - P H I L O S O P H E R
Memories of philosophical readings

Some quotations from philosophers appear occasionally in the Medita
tions . 1 It is possible that Marcus may have read some of these authors, but
he may also have come across them in the course of his Stoic readings.
The Stoics considered Heraclitus, for instance, as their great ancestor. 2
Several passages from the Ephesian philosopher appear in the Meditations,
but it is difficult to distinguish the authentic passages from the paraphrases
which the Emperor gives of them, perhaps because he is quoting them
from memory. It is possible that Marcus' allusion to " people who speak
and act while asleep, " and thus live in a state of unconsciousness (IV, 46,
4) , is only a development of the first fragment of Heraclitus, which also
alluded to the unconsciousness of the majority of mankind, analogous to
sleep .3
At any rate, the theme of the sleep of unconsciousness made a deep
impression on Marcus. He makes a possible allusion to the Heraclitean
fragment4 which speaks of a person so drunk he no longer knows where
he is going: " he who forgets where the road leads, " as Marcus puts it (IV,
46, 2) . More significantly, Marcus affirms-still under the inspiration of
Heraclitus5-that those who are asleep and unconscious also contribute,
in their own way, to the fabrication of the world, and he draws from this
the following conclusion (VI, 42, 1 ) :
We are all working together in order to complete one work; some
of us knowingly and consciously, and the others unconsciously.
Thus, even when we oppose ourselves to the will of universal Reason,
each of us collaborates with it, for the course of Nature also has need of
those who refuse to follow it. After all, Nature has integrated freedom
55
into her plan, as well as all that i t implies: including unconsciousness or

resistance. In the drama which Nature makes us play, sleepers and oppo
nents are precisely what she has to foresee.
For these people, asleep or unconscious, who are " in discord with the
logos "6 (IV, 46, 3 ) , " what they encounter every day seems foreign to
them"7 (IV, 46, 3 ) . It could be that this Heraclitean theme was all the
more dear to Marcus because of the great importance he attached to the
notion of " familiarity" with Nature, and therefore with the logos. It is this
familiarity which allows us to recognize as familiar or natural, and not
foreign, all those events which occur by the will of Nature (III, 2, 6) .
The death of the elements into one another-an eminently Her
aclitean theme-could not fail to attract the Emperor's attention (IV, 46,
1 ) ; after all, Stoicism had accustomed him to meditate upon universal
metamorphosis.9
Together with Heraclitus we find Empedocles, one of whose verses
Marcus cites (XII , 3 ) . The "pure-orbed" Sphairos which this poet
philosopher had imagined was the traditional model for the Sage. 10
Without naming its author, Marcus quotes and criticizes (IV, 24) a
fragment of Democritus which advises people not to get involved in too
many things, if they want to keep their peace of mind. In fact, among
those authors-especially Stoics-who dealt with this virtue, it was a
tradition to refuse the Democritean invitation to inaction. 1 1
In the collection entitled " The Sentences o f Democratus, " sometimes
attributed to Democritus, 12 Marcus found an aphorism which, one could
say, sums up his own thought (IV, 3 , r I ) :
The world is nothing but metamorphosis (alloiosis), and life is noth
ing but an opinion (or a judgment: hypolepsis) .
In this formulation, Marcus no doubt recognized Epictetus' idea accord
ing to which it is not things that trouble us, but the representations and
judgments which we make about them (Manual, 5) .
Elsewhere (VII , 3 r , 4) , Marcus criticizes another Democritean text,
which affirmed that true reality consists of atoms and the void, and that
everything else was only "by convention" (nomisti) . As Galen explains,13
this meant that " in itself, " there is nothing but atoms; but that " with
regard to us, " there is a whole world of colors, odors, and tastes, which
we assume is real, but which in fact is only subj ective. Marcus corrects
the Democritean formula, but interprets it in a Stoic sense. He denies the
infinite number of atoms which, on this theory, are the only real princi-
ples, but h e admits the word nomisti, on the condition that it b e under
stood not in the sense of "by convention, " but as if it meant " by a law. "
For Marcus, then, only half of D emocritus' formula is true: "Everything
is nomisti. " Its meaning, however, is that " everything happens by the
law, " that is, the law of universal Nature. The other part of Democritus'
formula, which asserted that the true reality is the multiplicity of atoms
which constitute the principles, is false; for if everything comes about by
the laws of Nature, then the number of principles is quite restricted. In
fact, it is reduced to one: the logos; or to two: the logos and matter. Such,
at least, is one interpretation of this difficult and probably corrupt text. 14
One might also consider that Marcus understands "Everything is nomisti"
in the same sense as the sentence of Democritus cited above: "Everything
is subj ective; that is, everything is judgment. " In other words, Marcus
may have understood it in the light of Epictetus' idea that everything is in
our representations.15 This does not mean that we do not know reality,
but that we attribute to it values of good or of evil which have no basis in
reality.
Marcus also thinks he recognizes this doctrine in the formula of a
Cynic (II, 1 5) :
"Everything is matter ofjudgment. " No doubt what people used to
say in opposition to Monimus the Cynic is obvious; but the useful
ness of what he said is obvious too, as long as we receive what is
profitable in what he said, while remaining within the limits of what
is true.
According to the comic playwright Menander, 16 Monimus the Cynic
used to declare that all human opinion (to hypolephthen) is only vanity
(tuphos) . Marcus believed he was penetrating to the deepest truth of the
formula cited by Menander: in the final analysis, everything is a matter of
opinion; what troubles us are our value-judgments, and they are only
vanity (tuphos).
A s Monimus said, i t i s usually precisely our vanity tuphos i n the sense
of " emptiness, " " smoke, " but also "pride "-which perverts our value
judgments (VI , l J) :
-
Pride is a dreadful sophist, and it is just at the moment when you

think you are devoting yourself to serious matters that it enchants
you the most. Look, for instance, at what Crates says about a man
like Xenocrates.
57
In antiquity, Platonists like Xenocrates had the reputation of being vain,

proud, and haughty, so it is not surprising that Crates-who, like
Monimus, was a Cynic-should have reproached him for his tuphos, or
puffed-up vanity. 1 7
There is no doubt that, either directly or indirectly, Marcus was famil
iar with other Cynic texts. There is nothing surprising about this: on the
one hand, Cynicism and Stoicism were very close to each other with
regard to their conceptions of life; and on the other, as we have seen in
the case of Democritus and Monimus, our philosopher-emperor had the
gift of recognizing Stoic doctrines in the texts which retained his atten
tion.
We also find several Platonic texts in the Meditations, taken from the
Apology (28b; 28d) , the Gorgias (5 1 2d-e) , the Republic (486a) , and the
Theaetetus (1 74d-e) . Once again, this is not surprising, because the Plato
whom Marcus quotes is, so to speak, a " pre-Stoic" Plato-that is, one
who has Socrates speak in terms the Stoics would not have denied. For
this Plato/Socrates, the important questions are not those dealing with
life and death, but those that deal with justice and injustice, or good and
evil (VII , 44) ; we must remain at the post which has been assigned to us
(VII , 4 5 ) ; what matters is not to save one's life , but to spend it in the
worthiest way possible (VII , 46) ; he who embraces in one glance the
totality of time and of substance is not afraid of death (VII , 3 5) . Finally,
Marcus finds in the Theaetetus ( 1 74d-e) a description of the difficult
situation of a king, bereft of the leisure he needs to think and to philoso
phize, like a shepherd shut up with his flock " in a pasture in the midst of
the mountains " (X, 2 3 ) . What Marcus recognized in all these quotations
was Stoicism, not Platonism. 1 8
Marcus also read a text by Theophrastus, the student of Aristotle,
which he alone mentions of all the authors of antiquity. The passage
probably interested the judge in Marcus, responsible for assessing guilt,
since it raises the question of degrees of responsibility. According to
Theophrastus, crimes committed with pleasure, and resulting from the
attraction of pleasure, are more serious than those one is forced to com
mit because of the suffering caused by an injustice we have borne, which
pushes us on to anger. Marcus approves of this theory (II , r n) , and it has
been maintained that he was thereby unfaithful to Stoicism, since the
Stoa held that all faults are equal.19 Now, it is true that the Stoics consid
ered wisdom to be an absolute perfection. The slightest fault, therefore,
estranged a person from this perfection just as much as the most serious
one did. One was either a sage or not, and there was no intermediate
58
status. I n theory, therefore, there was no such thing as a more or less

serious fault. Yet, for all that, the Stoics did allow for the possibility of
moral progress in the case of the non-sage, and consequently they also
admitted degrees of moral progress. Different degrees of the gravity of
faults could therefore also be allowed in the case of the non-sage.20
Epictetus himself, for that matter, also appears to consider that certain
faults are more easy to pardon than others (IV, l , 1 47) : the passion of
love, for example, is easier to pardon than that of ambition.
Marcus also mentions the " Pythagoreans, " who ordained that we
should raise our eyes toward the heavens at dawn, in order to remind
ourselves of that model of order and purity represented by the stars
(XI, 27) .21
Epicurean maxims and passages from Epicurus are also to be found in
the Meditations. Marcus rewrites them into a Stoic vocabulary when he
quotes them, and he retains from them advice which a Stoic could
legitimately practice: be happy with the present, without regretting that
which we do not possess and could not possess (VII , 27) ; pain cannot be
simultaneously both unbearable and eternal (VII, 3 3 ; VII , 64) ; we should
always keep the virtues of the ancients in mind (XI, 26) ; and finally, in
every circumstance, we must remain on the level of philosophy, and not
let ourselves be dragged down into sharing the anthropomorphic view
points of those who do not practice philosophy (IX, 4 1 ) .22 The commen
tary Marcus gives on this last-mentioned passage-a letter written by
Epicurus while he was ill or on his deathbed-allows us to understand
how Stoics such as Seneca and Epictetus could find, even in Epicurean
ism, maxims capable of nourishing their own meditation. We must not
assume that they were eclectics, rather than dyed-in-the-wool Stoics:
they knew perfectly well that there was a radical opposition between
Stoic and Epicurean doctrines, as well as between the practical attitude of
the Stoics and the Epicureans. They were also aware, however, that
Epicureanism, Stoicism, Platonism, and Aristotelianism were merely the
different and opposing forms of a single phenomenon: the philosophical
style of life. Within the latter, there could be points held in common by
several-or even all-of the schools, as Marcus states expressly with
regard to the letter of Epicurus (IX, 4 1 ) :
I t i s common t o all the schools not t o depart from philosophy under
any circumstances, and not to let oneself be dragged into the chatter
of the vulgar, that is, of those who do not practice the science of
Nature.
59
In particular, the Stoics and the Epicureans shared a specific attitude

with regard to time. They insisted on concentration on the present
moment,23 which allows us both to grasp the incomparable value of the
present instant, and to diminish the intensity of pain, as we become
conscious of the fact that we onlyfeel and live this pain within the present
moment.
When all is said and done, it was as a Stoic, and as a disciple of
Epictetus, that Marcus read the texts of the philosophers whom he
quotes. For it is above all the reading of Epictetus, and the knowledge of
his teachings, which explain the Meditations .
The teachings of Epictetus

In the course of the preceding pages, we have encountered the name of
Epictetus more than once. Nor is this surprising, given that he is men
tioned many times in the Meditations. For instance, Marcus expresses his
gratitude to his Stoic teacher Rusticus for having passed along to him
notes taken at Epictetus' classes. Marcus often quotes texts explicitly from
Epictetus, and places him on the same level as those whom the Stoics
considered the greatest of masters (VII , 1 9 , 2) :
How many men-like Chrysippus, like Socrates, like Epictetus
has Eternity swallowed up !
Epictetus was, at the time, considered to be the great philosopher. His
image and teachings were mentioned throughout the literature of the
second century A.D., and he was to remain a model for philosophers
down to the end of antiquity. The Latin author Aulus Gellius, who had
studied at Athens, mentions a conversation he had witnessed there in
which the rhetorician Herodes Atticus quoted a passage from the Dis
courses of Epictetus, as collected by Arrian. He also informs us that, in
another conversation, the philosopher Favorinus had reported several of
the Master's sayings. In the course of a sea voyage, Aulus Gellius himself
had met another philosopher, who pulled the Discourses out of his travel
bag and read him a passage from them. Elsewhere in Gellius' Attic Nights,
we find allusions to details about Epictetus' life: his initial condition as a
slave; his expulsion from Rome by the emperor Domitian; and his even
tual settling down in Nicopolis .24 The satirist Lucian, who also lived
under the reign of Marcus, tells how an admirer once bought " the clay
lamp of the Stoic Epictetus " for 3 ,000 drachmas. " No doubt he hoped, "
60
remarks Lucian,25 " that if he read at night by the light of this lamp, the
wisdom of Epictetus would come upon him all of a sudden during his
sleep, and he would be just like that admirable old man. " Marcus' doctor,
Galen, alludes to a dialogue which Favorinus of Ades had directed
against Epictetus, and which Galen himself refuted.26 Even Christians
such as Origen, who wrote in the third century, speak of Epictetus in
terms of respect. 27
Epictetus was born in the first century A.D . , in Phrygian Hierapolis
(Pammukale in modern Turkey) . Sometime during the second half of
the century, he was brought to Rome as the slave of Epaphroditus, one
of Nero' s freedmen. Epictetus mentions his master Epaphroditus several
times in the Discourses; he allowed his slave to attend the classes of the
Stoic philosopher Musonius Rufus. Musonius had a tremendous
influence on Epictetus; the latter frequently reproduces his teacher's
sayings in the Discourses, and describes his teaching as follows (II I , 23 , 29) :
"When we sat before him, each of us felt as though someone had de
nounced our faults to him. Such was the exactitude with which he hit
upon our current state, and placed everyone's faults before his eyes. "
After having been set free by Epaphroditus, Epictetus opened his own
philosophy school in Rome, but was expelled from the city, together
with all other philosophers, by the emperor Domitian in 93--94 He then
set himself up at Nicopolis, in Epirus on the Greek coast, a town which
served as a jumping-off point for the sea voyage across the Adriatic to
Italy. There he opened a new philosophy school. The Neoplatonist
Simplicius relates that Epictetus was so poor that the house he lived in at
Rome had no need for a lock, since it contained nothing other than the
mattress and the mat on which he used to sleep. The same author reports
that Epictetus had adopted an orphan, and had taken in a woman in
order to bring him up,28 but he never married.29 The precise date of his
death is not known.
Epictetus wrote nothing. If we can still get some idea of his teachings,
it is thanks to Arrian of Nicomedia, a politician who, as a young man
about r n 8 A.D . , had attended Epictetus' classes in Nicopolis, and later
published the " notes " he had taken at these classes. Arrian of Nicomedia
is an attractive character. 30 It should be pointed out right away that his
contemporaries considered him a philosopher: inscriptions dedicated to
him during his lifetime at Athens and Corinth designate him by this
title.31 The historian Cassius Dio had apparently written a " Life of Arrian
the Philosopher. "32 Arrian did, indeed, leave philosophical works behind
him. In addition to his notes which report the Sayings or Discourses of
Epictetus, one must add a little work which was of much greater impor-
61
tance i n the history o f western thought: the so-called Manual o f Epictetus

(in Greek, Encheiridion) . The word Encheiridion (" that which one has at
hand") alludes to a requirement of the Stoic philosophical life-a re
quirement to which Marcus, too, had tried to respond by composing his
Meditations. In every one of life's circumstances, it was necessary to have
" at hand" the principles, " dogmas, " rules of life, or formulas which
would allow a person to place himself in that inner disposition most
conducive to correct action, or to accept his fate. The Manual is a
selection of passages taken from the Sayings of Epictetus.33 It is a kind of
anthology of striking maxims aimed at illuminating the philosopher in
the course of his actions. Arrian also seems to have written a book on
celestial phenomena, or what was called meteorology in antiquity. 34 As we
have seen, however, a philosopher in antiquity was not someone who
wrote philosophical books, but someone who led a philosophical life,
and we have every reason to believe that Arrian, although he remained a
politician like Marcus' teacher Rusticus, tried to live like a philosopher.
We can surmise this from the end of his preface to Epictetus' Discourses;
by publishing them, Arrian wanted to produce in his readers the same
effect that Epictetus had on his auditors: to raise them up toward the
Good. His model, moreover, was Socrates' famous disciple Xenophon,
who had also had a military and political career at the same time as a
literary one. Arrian wanted to be known as the " new Xenophon" ; he
imitates the latter both in style and in the subj ect matter of his works,
and, like Xenophon, he too wrote a treatise on hunting. Above all,
however, Arrian wrote the Discourses, which are as it were the Memora
bilia of Epictetus, the new Socrates.35 He certainly did not have in mind a
mere literary model, but a model for life: that of the philosopher in
action. Two centuries later, the philosopher Themistius36 would praise
Junius Rusticus and Arrian for having abandoned their books and placed
themselves at the service of the common good, not only like Cato and
other Romans, but especially like Xenophon and Socrates himself. For
Rusticus and Arrian, Themistius goes on, philosophy did not stop with
pen and ink: they were not content merely to write about courage, and
they did not shrink from their duty of serving the interests of the State.
Arrian did, indeed, enj oy a brilliant career as a statesman: he was
proconsul of the province of Beltica around 1 2 3 A . D . , consul suffectus37 in
l 29 or l 3 o, and governor of Cappadocia from l 3 o (or l 3 l) to l 3 7 (or
l 3 8) . In this last capacity, he repulsed an invasion of the Alani in l 3 5 ,
made an inspection of the coasts o f the Black Sea, and presented a report
on his trip to the emperor Hadrian.
In the preface he addressed to his friend Lucius Gellius, Arrian explains
the way h e had gathered together his notes taken at the classes given by
Epictetus: " I did not compose them in a literary style, as could have been
done in the case of sayings of this kind, and I did not publish them
myself, precisely because I did not compose them. " In antiquity, it was in
principle only works carefully composed according to the rules of style
and composition that were made public, either by means of a public
reading, or by giving the text over to booksellers.
Yet I tried to write down everything I heard while he was speaking,
in the same words that he used, in order to preserve for myself, in
the future, " notes to help me remember" (hypomnemata) his thought
and his freedom of speech. It is therefore natural that these notes
should have the appearance of a spontaneous, man-to-man conver
sation, and not at all that of a composition intended to be read later.
What Arrian means is that he has reproduced, insofar as was possible, the
spontaneity of an exhortation or a dialogue, and this is how he explains
his use of popular language (koine) throughout the work, instead of the
literary style he had used in his other books. He continues: " I do not
know how notes which were in such a state have managed to find their
way into the public domain, unbeknownst to me and against my
wishes. " The same thing probably happened to Arrian as had happened
to Galen: class notes, initially confided to friends, were gradually copied
in a wide variety of circumstances and were thus, for all intents and
purposes, "published. " " I don't particularly care if people think me inca
pable of properly composing a work. " Here, by despising literary glory,
Arrian shows himself to be a good student of Epictetus.
As for Epictetus: it is not important in his case either, if it is true that
he held discourses in contempt. When he spoke, the only thing he
wanted was to set the thoughts of his listeners in motion toward
better things. If that is indeed the result of these discourses, then
they will certainly not fail to produce the effect that the discourse of
philosophers should produce . If the contrary should occur, then at
least may those who read them know that when they were spoken
by Epictetus himself, the person listening to them necessarily felt
what that man wanted him to feel. If these discourses fail to produce
this effect, perhaps I am to blame; perhaps, however, things just had
to be that way.
I shall not go into detail about the discussions to which this passage has
given rise among historians. Some are of the opinion that Arrian has
preserved for us in his work the very words of Epictetus, taken down by
stenography. For others, on the contrary, Arrian, in his desire to imitate
Xenophon's Memorabilia, carried out a much more extensive editorial
activity than he gives us to understand in his letter to Gellius: he often
reconstituted Epictetus' sayings, since their literary form is much more
refined than Arrian was willing to admit. In any case, unless we suppose
that Arrian was capable of developing an original philosophical discourse
himself and attributing it to Epictetus, we have no alternative but to
concede that, as far as the main points are concerned, Arrian's work is
closely connected with the living teaching of Epictetus.38
We must not conclude from this, however-as has been done by the
maj ority of historians and commentators-that all of Epictetus' teachings
are contained in the Discourses as reported by Arrian. As we read them,
we find allusions to parts of the course which were not included by
Arrian. In fact, as has been shown by Souilhe,39 the greatest part of
Epictetus' course, as was the case for all philosophy courses from at least
the first century A.D. on, was devoted to the explanation of texts by the
founders of the school-that is, in the case of the Stoics, Zeno and
Chrysippus. The master would explain these texts, but this was also
sometimes the task of the auditors. Now, although Arrian did not repro
duce one single bit of this technical aspect of Epictetus' pedagogical
activity, he does sometimes allude to it. For instance, he relates a scene in
which one of Epictetus' students is explaining, under the guidance of a
more advanced student, a Stoic text concerning the logical problem of
syllogisms (I, 26, 1 3 ) ; similarly, he speaks of Epictetus getting up in the
morning and thinking about how he will direct the exercise of textual
explanation in his class later that day (I, IO, 8) .
This part of the class, then, which consisted of " reading"40 would
become the lectio of the Middle Ages, and finally our "lesson. " It made
up the most essential part of Epictetus' teachings, but is completely
absent from the Discourses of Epictetus. What they do preserve for us,
however, is what could be termed the nontechnical part of the course.
All philosophy courses-at least since the beginning of the first century
A.D.-contained as an essential element the explanation of texts; yet they
could also end in a moment of free discussion between the philosopher
and his auditors. Aulus Gellius, writing a few decades after Arrian, tells
how his Platonic teacher had the habit, after the lectio or textual explana
tion, of suggesting that his auditors question him on a topic of their
choice. The Discourses narrated by Arrian thus correspond to those more

relaxed moments in which the Master entered into a dialogue with his
students, or developed remarks which he considered useful for the prac
tice of the philosophical life. 41
It is most important to emphasize this point, for it means that we
cannot expect to find technical and systematic expositions of the whole
of Stoic doctrine in Epictetus' Discourses as reported by Arrian. This does
not mean, however, that Epictetus did not, in that part of course devoted
to theoretical instruction, tackle the Stoic system as a whole by means of
the explanation of texts. In other words, we should not say that, of the
three parts of Stoic philosophy-physics, ethics, and logic-Epictetus
ignores physics, or that part of this discipline which described physical
phenomena; for we have no idea which Stoic texts Epictetus read during
his classes, nor of the explanation he gave of them. All we can say is that
he does not mention physical problems in those discourses with his
disciples which have come down to us. It does appear that Arrian himself
wrote a book on comets, which is unfortunately now lost to us. If this is
true, we can presume that Arrian had been initiated by Epictetus into the
philosophical treatment of this kind of question. The way Photius de
scribes the contents of the work even allows us to see what Arrian had
retained from the lessons of Epictetus-that is, the moral significance that
was to be attributed to physical investigations:42 " Arrian, who wrote a
little work on the nature, formation, and apparitions of comets, tries to
show in a number of discussions that appearances such as this do not
foretell anything, either good or evil. "
We shall have occasion to return to Epictetus' conception of the
tripartite division of philosophy. For the moment, it is sufficient to say
that it would be utterly false to conclude, on the basis of the content of
the Discourses as they have come down to us, that Late Stoicism under
went an impoverishment in its theoretical teaching.43 In the first place, as
we have seen, the Discourses only reproduce-certainly in a highly frag
mentary way-that part of the course which was, by definition, neither
theoretical nor technical. Second, they are only the echo of the remarks
that Arrian heard over a period of one or two years, during the time of
his stay at Nicopolis. Epictetus, by contrast, taught for twenty-five or
thirty years. Finally, we must not forget that only the first four books of
the Discourses have been preserved. This means that one or more books
have been lost: Aulus Gellius quotes a long passage from book V. 44
Thanks to Marcus Aurelius, we can also get a glimpse of the existence of
Epictetan texts otherwise unknown to us. Thus we can see that the
Discourses, at least in the condition in which they have come down to us,
do not by any means give us an idea of everything that Epictetus said,
much less of what he did not say.
We know from Book I of the Meditations (chapter 7) that Marcus came
to know Epictetus thanks to Junius Rusticus, who had instructed Marcus
in Stoic doctrine before going on to become one of his counselors .
Marcus tells us that Rusticus lent him his personal copy of the hypomne
mata of Epictetus, that is, of notes taken at his classes. This assertion can
be interpreted in two ways: in the first place, we might think that the
writings in question were a copy of the work by Arrian. Arrian himself,
in his letter to Lucius Gellius mentioned above, represented his work as
hypomnemata, or notes designed to serve as an aide-memoire. The letter to
Gellius was probably written after the death of Epictetus, which took
place sometime between 1 2 5 and 1 3 0 A.D. The book was probably in
circulation by 1 3 0. Aulus Gellius tells us that during the year he spent
studying at Athens around 1 40, he was present at a discussion in the
course of which the famous millionaire Herodes Atticus had brought
from the library a copy of what Gellius calls the dissertationes of Epictetus,
put into order (digestae) by Arrian.45 He also tells how, on a sea voyage
from Cassiopoiea to Brindisium, he had encountered a philosopher who
was carrying this work in his traveler's sack; what is more, the philoso
pher had read him a passage from the now-lost book V. Thus, thanks to
Rusticus, Marcus was able to read a copy of the Discourses as composed
by Arrian, and this copy was more complete than the ones known by our
modern editions.
Another hypothesis, proposed by Farquharson, 46 could also be envis
aged. The notes passed on by Rusticus to Marcus might have been
Rusticus' own, which he himself had taken at the classes of Epictetus.
From the point of view of chronology, if we assume that Epictetus died
between 125 and 1 3 0 A . D . , and that Rusticus was born at the beginning
of the second century (as can be surmised from his official cursus) , it is
entirely possible that he may have been Epictetus' student around
1 20 A.D. Moreover, since the Discourses of Epictetus as reported by Arrian
were widely known in Greece around 1 40, it is difficult to imagine that
in the Rome of about 1 45-146 A.D .-at the time when Marcus had
become converted to philosophy-no copy of the work was to be
found. Marcus represents Rusticus' gift as something exceptional, so we
are entitled to wonder if the gift was indeed Rusticus' own notes. If this
were the case, then these notes may have revealed to Marcus an Epictetus
quite different from the one we know thanks to Arrian. After all ,
66
Epictetus certainly did not say the same things, every year, to all of his
students.
It is, in any case, virtually certain that Marcus did read Arrian's work,
since the Meditations contain several literal quotations taken from it.
Whether Marcus read only the Discourses as composed by Arrian, or
whether he also had access to the notes of Rusticus, one thing is certain:
Marcus was familiar with more texts pertaining to the teachings of
Epictetus than we are today. We now possess only a part of Arrian's
work; and the notes of Rusticus-if indeed they did exist-might well
have revealed to Marcus teachings of Epictetus other than those reported
by Arrian. As we shall see, it is thanks to Marcus that we have access to
several fragments of Epictetus which are otherwise unknown.
Quotations of Epictetus in the
Meditations
You are a little soul carrying around a corpse, as Epictetus has said
(IV, 4 1 ) .
When you kiss your child, says Epictetus, you must say t o yourself:
"perhaps you will be dead tomorrow . . . " (XI, 3 4) .
These are the two explicit quotations of Epictetus which are to be
found in the Meditations. 47 The first text is not to be found in the four
books of Epictetus' Discourses reported by Arrian which we possess today,
and came to Marcus, as I have said, by some other channel. The " soul
carrying around a corpse " also reappears in IX, 24, in one of a series of
descriptions of the miserable condition into which human life is plunged
when it is not in conformity with Nature and with Reason:
Infantile rages, infantile games! Souls carrying corpses around! In
order that the scene of the Evocation of the dead be before your
eyes in a yet more striking way.
In the other quotation from Epictetus (XI, 3 4) , we can recognize a text
from book III of the Discourses (III, 24, 8 8 ) .
Yet i t often happens that Marcus repeats whole passages from
Epictetus, without quoting him. When Marcus (VII , 6 3 ) quotes a passage
from Plato (Republic, 4 r 2e-4 r J a) , for example, he gives the text in the
form which had been given it by Epictetus (I, 2 8 , 4) :
Each soul is deprived of the truth against its will.

We encounter this quote again, moreover, in the long series of kephalaia
against anger (XI , 1 8 , 5) .
Epictetus alluded to the Stoic theory of suicide as follows (I, 2 5 , I 8) :
So there's some smoke in the house? If there's not too much, I 'll
stay; if there's too much, I 'll leave. For what you must never forget,
and keep firmly in mind, is that the door is wide open.
Marcus echoes Epictetus as follows 0f, 29, 2) :
Smoke? Then I'm leaving!
Epictetus gave the following recommendation to his disciple (III, 3 , 1 4) :
As soon as you go out in the morning, and whatever it is you see or
hear, carry out this test. You respond, as if we were having an
argument by questions and answers:
-What did you see?
-A handsome man, or a good-looking woman.
Then apply the rule (epage ton kanona), [and ask yourself] :
-Does their beauty depend upon their will, or not?
-It does not depend upon their will.
-Then rej ect it.
Once more, Marcus picks up the tune (V, 22) :
That which does not harm the State does not harm its citizen either.
Each time you imagine you have been injured, apply this rule (epage
touton ton kanona) .

In both cases, we see a theoretical position or dogma (the distinction
between what does and does not depend on us, or the identity of interest
between the State and the citizen) represented as a rule (kanon) which
must be applied to each particular case.
The whole final part of Book XI (chapters 3 3-3 9) appears to be a
series of passages from Epictetus. First, as we have seen, Epictetus is cited
explicitly in chapter 3 4 . Chapter 3 3 also gives an anonymous summary of
a passage from book III of the Discourses (III, 24, 86) , while chapters
68
3 5-3 6 cite still more texts from book III (III, 24, 92-93 ; III, 22, 105) . In
fact, it is as though we had before us a collection of notes that Marcus had
taken while reading book III of the Discourses.
The following chapter (XI, 3 7) is introduced by the phrase " he says, "
which gives us every right to suppose that Marcus is continuing to quote
the same author as in the preceding chapters-that is, Epictetus. This text
has no parallel in the Discourses, but it comes without any doubt from the
lost portion of Epictetus. In it, we can recognize Epictetus' usual vocabu
lary (topos peri tas hormas, hypexairesis, kat'axian, orexis, ekklisis), and above
all one of his fundamental teachings: that of the three rules of life, or the
disciplines of judgment, of desire, and of action, of which I shall be
speaking throughout the present work.
Chapter 3 8 is also introduced by " he says, " which can only designate
Epictetus. It is perhaps a rather free paraphrase of a text (III, 2 5 , 3 ) in
which Epictetus affirms that the fight for virtue is no small matter, since
what is at stake is nothing less than happiness. Marcus remarks (XI, 3 8 ) :
The struggle, then, is not about winning just any old prize, but
about deciding whether one will be sane or insane.
The last chapter (XI, 3 9) is supposed to transmit various sayings of
Socrates, but since chapters 3 3 to 3 8 are taken from Epictetus, it is quite
likely that this passage should also be attributed to Epictetus.
There may be still other anonymous quotations from Epictetus in the
Meditations . H. Frankel48 thought, with good reason, that IV, 49, 2-5 was
one such quotation:
-I 'm so unlucky that such-and-such a thing has happened to me!
-Not at all! On the contrary, you should say: " How lucky I am,
since now that such-and-such a thing has happened to me, I remain
free from grief I neither let myselfbe broken by the present, nor do
I fear what is going to happen! For this event could have happened
to anyone, but not everyone would have remained free from grief
-Why, moreover, should we say that this particular event is a
misfortune, while that one is a piece of good fortune? In general, do
you call anything a " misfortune " for man which does not cause the
nature of man to deviate from its goal? And do you think that that
which is not contrary to the will of Nature causes the nature of man
to deviate from its goal?
-What, then, is the will of Nature?
-You've learned it. Does the event which has happened to you
prevent you from being just, from possessing greatness of soul, from
being temperant and prudent, without haste in your judgments,
without falsity in your speech, reserved, and free, and everything
else such that, when they are present together, the nature of man
possesses that which is proper to it?
Frankel bases his contention on lexical and grammatical particularities
which are quite convincing. 49 It could perhaps be objected-quite
rightly-that this passage basically does nothing but express in dialogue
form the fundamental dogma of Stoicism: that the only evil is moral evil,
in other words, that which prevents us from practicing the virtues. This
is true, but it does not alter the fact that the tone and form of this passage
are in stark contrast with the rest of the Meditations. Normally, when
Marcus uses the word " I , " he is speaking either about himself, or about
the good man, speaking to himself Here, by contrast, the " I " represents
the interlocutor of a dialogue which Marcus is reporting. It is highly
probable that this is a dialogue which Epictetus has imagined before his
auditors, as he often does in the Discourses, and that Marcus has copied it
down. It should be noted that, elsewhere in his Discourses (I, 4, 23) ,
Epictetus tells his auditors that what is truly worthwhile is to work at
eliminating all "Alas! " and " How unhappy I am! " from one's life.
It is thus probable that we have here an unrecognized fragment of
Epictetus. Are there others? I think it likely that there are some. In
general, moreover, we should not exclude the hypothesis that a given
passage of the Meditations may be utilizing a text from an unknown
author, or at any rate may be a paraphrase thereof As far as Epictetus is
concerned, however, we must bear in mind the fact that Marcus had read
so much of him as to become impregnated with his vocabulary, his
stylistic habits, and especially his ideas. This situation was recognized
perfectly by the unknown fourteenth-century humanist who copied ex
tracts from Books I to IX in a manuscript now kept at Darmstadt. At the
beginning of Book II, he wrote: antikrus epiktetizei ("He is openly
Epictetizing" ; that is, he is following and imitating Epictetus) .
The three rules of life or disciplines according to Epictetus

We have already seen the important role played in the Meditations by
what I have called the triple rule of life, which proposes a discipline of
representations or judgments, of desire, and of action. This very triparti-
tion of the acts and functions of the soul, and the entire distinction
between judgment, desire, and impulse, is a doctrine which is peculiar to
Epictetus, and which is not found in Stoicism prior to him. Its presence
in Marcus Aurelius is, nevertheless, unmistakable. In VIII, 7, for exam
ple, Marcus clearly draws an opposition between representations (phanta
siai), desires (orexeis), and impulses toward action (hormai), and he does so
again in VIII, 2 8 :
Every judgment, every impulse t o action, and every desire o r aver
sion are within the soul, and nothing else can enter therein.
We have already encountered a brief maxim which also makes use of the
same schema:
Erase your representation (phantasia), check your impulse to action
(horme), extinguish your desire (orexis) . Keep your directing princi
ple (hegemonikon) within your power (IX, 7) .
The three rules of life propose an askesis, or discipline, for these three
acts of the soul. In the context of the cento of passages from Epictetus
(XI, 3 3-3 9) which we have already seen, Marcus himself cites an
Epictetan passage which we know only through his intermediary
(XI, 3 7) :
We must discover the rule to b e applied in the case of the assent [to
be given to representations and judgments] ,
-while in the matter of exercises relating to impulses to action,
we must never relax our attention, in order that these impulses to
action may be accompanied by a reserve clause, that their goal be to
serve the community, and that they be proportionate to value,
-and, finally, we must abstain completely from desire, and pay
no attention to things that do not depend on us.
Discipline of representations and judgment, discipline of impulsive
action, discipline of desire: Epictetus formulates these three rules of life
not only in this text, but in several chapters of his Discourses . Moreover,
they correspond precisely to the three rules oflife formulated by Marcus,
which are in a sense the key to his Meditations.
71
The influence o f Aristo

In the context of Marcus' conversion to philosophy, I alluded to the
influence that the reading of the works of the third century B.C. Stoic
Aristo of Chios may have exerted on the Emperor. I had once thought I
could recognize an echo of Aristo's teachings in some of the Emperor's
sayings. Aristo had defined the supreme goal of life in the following
terms: " To live in a disposition of indifference with regard to indifferent
things. " Marcus, for his part, writes (XI, 1 6) :
To spend one's life in the best way: the power to do this resides
within the soul, if one is indifferent to indifferent things.
I was once struck by the similarity of these formulas. 50 In fact, how
ever, Aristo was not the only Stoic to speak of indifference to indifferent
things; moreover, Marcus, as a faithful adherent to the Stoicism of
Epictetus and of Chrysippus, did not understand this principle in the
same sense as Aristo, and interpreted it in a wholly different way.
The principle of all Stoicism is, moreover, precisely indifference to
indifferent things. This means, in the first place, that the only value is
moral good, which depends on our freedom, and that everything that
does not depend on our freedom-poverty, wealth, sickness, and
health-is neither good nor bad, and is therefore indifferent. Second, it
means that we must not make any distinction between indifferent things;
in other words, we must love them equally, since they have been willed
by universal Nature. This indifference to indifferent things can be found,
for example, in a passage from Philo of Alexandria,51 which describes the
exercise of wisdom-that is to say, philosophy-without there having
been any particular influence by Aristo on Philo : "Accustomed no
longer to pay attention to bodily and external evils, exercising ourselves
to be indifferent to indifferent things, armed against pleasures and desires
. . . for such people, all oflife is a festival. "
As a matter of fact, the difference between Aristo and the other Stoics
bore precisely on the very notion of " indifferent. " For Aristo, that which
was indifferent was completely " undifferentiated, "52 and no element of
daily life had any importance in and of itself Such a view ran the risk of
leading to a skeptical attitude such as that of Pyrrho, who was also
indifferent to everything. Orthodox Stoics, while they recognized that
the things which do not depend on us are indifferent, nevertheless ad
mitted that we could attribute to them a moral value, by conceding the
72
existence of political, social, and family obligations, linked to the needs of

human nature in accordance with reasonable probability. This was the
realm of the kathekonta, or duties, of which I shall have more to say later.
Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus, allowed for the existence of this entire
order of obligations and duties, which Arista had denied. In fact, Marcus
uses the technical term kathekon in the Stoic sense a total of five times. 53
There can thus be no question of any influence by Arista on Marcus as
far as the doctrine of indifference is concerned.
Moreover, Arista rejected the physical and logical parts of philosophy
as useless.54 At first glance, Marcus appears to incline toward a similar
attitude; for example, he thanks the gods for not having allowed him to
be carried away with resolving syllogisms or studying celestial phenom
ena (I, 1 7, 22) . Elsewhere, he admits that he no longer hopes to excel in
dialectics or in the philosophy of nature (VII, 67) . Here again, however,
the underlying sense is wholly different. For Arista, logic and physics are
strictly useless. For Marcus, by contrast, it is the theoretical discourse oflogic
and physics which is no longer a matter of concern. He did, however,
intend to practice a lived logic (the discipline of judgment) and a lived
physics (the discipline of desire) . As he says explicitly (VIII, l J ) :
Continuously, and, if possible, on the occasion o f every repre
sentation which presents itself to you, practice physics, pathology,
and dialectics.
We are thus forced to conclude that there is no trace of Aristo's
doctrines to be found in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. 55
THE S T O I C I S M O F E P I C TETUS
The general characteristics of Stoicism

It is probably scarcely necessary to remind the reader that when we speak
of the doctrines of a philosopher from the period we are studying, we
must not imagine that we have to do with a system invented lock, stock,
and barrel by the philosopher in question. Ancient philosophy had noth
ing in common with our contemporary philosophers, who imagine that
philosophy consists, for each philosopher, in inventing a " new discourse"
or new language, all the more original the more it is incomprehensible
and artificial. In general, ancient philosophy was situated within a tradi
tion, and attached to a school. Now, Epictetus was a Stoic; this means
that for him philosophy consisted in explicating the texts of Zeno and
Chrysippus, the founders of the school, and above all in practicing him
self, and having his disciples practice, the way of life peculiar to the Stoic
school. This does not mean that Epictetus' teaching was devoid of its
own characteristic features. These features, however, did not modify the
fundamental dogmas of Stoicism, or the essential choice of a way of life.
On the contrary, they are to be found within his form of teaching, in his
way of presenting the doctrine, and in the definition of certain specific
points (for instance, the distinction between desire and impulse) , or else
within the particular color and tonality which permeate the Stoic way of
life proposed by the philosopher.
By the time Epictetus taught, it had been some four centuries since
Zeno of Citium had founded the Stoic school at Athens. One can say
that Stoicism was born of the fusion of three traditions: the Socratic
ethical tradition, the Heraclitean physical and " materialistic " tradition,
and the dialectical tradition of the Megareans and of Aristotle. The Stoic
choice of life was analogous to the Socratic choice of life, according to
which moral good or virtue is the only value, to which everything else
74
must b e subordinated. As Socrates says in Plato's Apology (4 1 d) : " For a

good man, no evil is possible, whether he be dead or alive. " " No evil is
possible, " precisely because such a man, since he is good, is a stranger to
moral evil. Since for him there is no other evil than moral evil, he
believes that all those things which appear to be evil in the eyes of
men-death, illness, the loss of wealth, insults-are not evils for him.
This transmutation of values, however, can only be carried out by means
of an operation which is, at the same time, both intellectual and ethical: it
consists in examining oneselfin a dialogue, a logos, or a process ofreason
ing which one develops either with someone else or with oneself. The
spirit of Socratism is thus the affirmation of the absolute value of moral
good, as discovered by reason; it is also the idea according to which the
moral life is a matter ofjudgment and of knowledge.
Prima facie, it does not appear that the physical tradition of Her
aclitean " materialism" has anything to do with the Socratic ethical tradi
tion. We shall soon see, however, that the originality of Stoicism consists
precisely in the intimate and indissoluble fusion of these two traditions.
For the moment, it is sufficient to emphasize the influence of Heraclitus
upon the Stoic vision of a universe in perpetual transformation, of which
the original element is fire, and which is set in order by a logos or Reason,
in accordance with which events are linked by mutual necessity.
Finally, it is not surprising that Stoicism is situated as well within the
dialectical tradition of the Megarians, but also within that of the Platonic
Academy and of Aristotle. In this period, instruction in philosophy con
sisted above all in training for discussion and argumentation, and conse
quently in dialectical exercises. Here again, we encounter a logos: this
time it is human discourse, but one which is rational and just, insofar as it
imitates that logos which maintains the universe in order.
We can thus glimpse the extraordinary unity which held the parts of
the Stoic system together. It is the unity of one single logos, or Reason,
which permeates all things. In the words of E mile Brehier:
It is one single, unique reason which, in dialectics, links consequent
propositions to their antecedents; which, in nature, links together
all causes; and which, in human conduct, establishes perfect con
cord between acts. It is impossible that a good man should not be a
physicist and a dialectician; it is impossible for rationality to be
realized separately in these three areas; it is impossible completely to
grasp the reason within the course of events in the universe with
out, at the same time, realizing reason within one's own behavior. 1
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Stoicism is a philosophy of self-coherence, based upon a remarkable

intuition of the essence of life. From the very first moment of its exist
ence, every living being is instinctively attuned to itself; that is, it tends to
preserve itself, to love its own existence, and to love all that can preserve
this existence. This instinctive accord becomes a moral accord with
oneself, as soon as man discovers by means of his reason that the supreme
value is not those things which are the obj ects of this instinct for self
preservation, but the reflective choice of accord with oneself, and the
activity of choice itself. This is because voluntary accord with oneself coin
cides with the tendencies of universal Reason, which not only makes
each living being into a being in accord with itself, but makes the entire
world as well a being in accord with itself In the words of Marcus
Aurelius (IV, 23) :
All that is in accord with you is in accord with me, 0 World.
Human society, which is the society of those who participate in one
single logos or Reason, also forms-at least in principle-an ideal City,
whose Reason, which is the Law, ensures its accord with itself Finally, it
is obvious that the Reason of each individual, in the mutual linkage of its
thoughts or speech, demands logical and dialectical coherence with itself
This coherence with oneself is thus the fundamental principle of Stoi
cism. For Seneca,2 all wisdom may be summed up in the formula: "Al
ways want the same thing, and always refuse the same thing. " There is no
need, Seneca continues, to add the tiny restriction " as long as what one
wants is morally good. " Why? Because, he says, " One and the same
thing can be universally and constantly pleasing only if it is morally
right. " This is nothing but the distant echo of the formulas by which
Zeno, the founder of Stoicism, used to define the sovereign Good: " Live
in a coherent way (homologoumenos);3 that is to say, live in accordance
with a rule of life which is one and harmonious, because those who live
in incoherence are unhappy. "
This coherence with oneself is, as we have seen, based on the self
coherence of universal Reason or Nature. The well-known Stoic theme
of the Eternal Return is only one other aspect of this theme. Universal
Reason wishes this world to be as it is: that is to say, arising from the
original fire, and returning to this original fire, and therefore having a
beginning and an end. Nature's will, however, is always the same; and
the only thing its continuous action can accomplish is the repetition of
this world, with precisely this beginning, precisely this end, and the
entire course of events situated between these two moments. Thus, this
world returns eternally: " There will be another Socrates, a Plato, and
every man with the same friends and the same fellow-citizens . . . and
this renewal will not happen once, but several times; rather, all things
will be repeated eternally. "4 This is why the sage, like universal Reason,
must intensely wish for each instant: he must wish intensely for things to
happen eternally exactly as they do happen.
I have just mentioned the figure of the sage. It was characteristic of
Stoic philosophy to make of this figure a transcendent norm, which can
only be realized in rare and exceptional cases. Here we encounter an
echo of Plato's Symposium (204d) , where Socrates appears as the figure
who knows that he is not a sage. Socrates' situation places him between
the gods, who are wise and know that they are wise, and men, who think
they are wise but do not realize that they are not. This intermediary
situation is that of the philosopher: he who loves and aspires to wisdom
precisely because he knows that he lacks it. It is also the situation of Eros,
who loves Beauty because he knows he lacks it; neither man nor god,
Eros is therefore a daimon, intermediary between the two. The figure of
Socrates thus coincides both with that of Eros and with that of the
philosopher. 5
Similarly, the Stoic sage is the equal of God, since God is nothing
other than universal Reason, producing in self-coherence all the events
of the universe. Human reason is an emanation or part of this Universal
Reason. It can, however, become obscured and deformed as a result of
life within the body, owing in particular to the attractions of pleasure. It
is only the sage who is able to make his reason coincide with universal
Reason. Such perfect coincidence, however, can only be an ideal, for the
sage is necessarily an exceptional being. There are very few of them
perhaps only one, or perhaps none at all. He is an almost inaccessible
ideal, and, in the last analysis, more of a transcendent norm than anything
else, which the Stoics never tire of describing, even as they enumerate all
its paradoxes. Philosophy is not wisdom, but only the exercise of wis
dom, and if the philosopher is not a sage, he is necessarily a non-sage.
There is thus a contradictory opposition between sage and non-sage:
either one is a " sage " or one is not, and there is no middle term. There
are no degrees of unwisdom, relative to wisdom. As the Stoics used to
say, it doesn't matter much if you are one cubit below the surface of the
water, or five hundred fathoms: you'll drown in the one case just as
much as in the other. Since, then, the sage is extremely rare, all humanity
is out of its mind, and men suffer from an almost universal corruption of
77
or deviation from Reason. Yet the Stoics still urge people to philoso
phize-that is, to train themselves for wisdom. They therefore believe in
the possibility of spiritual progress.
The explanation of this apparent paradox is that, although it is true that
there is a contradictory opposition between wisdom and unwisdom, and
therefore that there are no degrees of unwisdom as opposed to wisdom,
it is nevertheless the case that, as in Plato's Symposium, there are two
categories of people within the state of unwisdom itself those non-sages
who are not conscious of their state-these are the foolish ones-and
those non-sages who are aware of their state, and who attempt to progress
toward inaccessible wisdom. Those in the latter category are philoso
phers .
Thus, from the point of view of logic, we have here a contrary oppo
sition between the sage and the foolish, who are unaware of their state.
This opposition does, however, admit of a middle tem1: the non-foolish
non-sages-in other words, philosophers. 6
The ideal sage would thus be one who could, at each moment and
definitively, make his reason coincide with that universal Reason which
is the Sage that thinks and produces the world.
An unexpected consequence of this Stoic theory of the sage is that
Stoic philosophy-and I do mean Stoic philosophy; that is, the theory
and the practice of training for wisdom-allows for a great deal of uncer
tainty and simple probability. After all, only the Sage possesses a perfect,
necesary, and unshakable knowledge of reality; the philosopher does
not. The goal, proj ect, and obj ect of Stoic philosophy are thus to allow
the philosopher to orient himself or herself within the uncertainties of
daily life, by proposing probable choices which our reason can accept,
even if it is not always sure it ought to. What matters are not results or
efficiency, but the intention to do good. What matters is to act out of one
motive alone, without any other considerations of interest or pleasure:
that of the moral good. This is the only value, and the only one we need.
The Stoics on the parts of philosophy

By the time Zeno founded the Stoic school, the custom of distinguishing
various parts of philosophy, and of determining their mutual relationship,
was already traditional within the teaching provided by the philosophical
schools. Since the time of Plato, and especially since that of Aristotle,
philosophers had been paying the most careful attention to questions
concerning the different types of knowledge, and the various methods

which characterize them. 7
We can presume that within the Platonic school, also known as the
Old Academy, there was already a distinction between three parts of
philosophy: dialectics, physics, and ethics. Dialectics was the noblest part
of philosophy, inasmuch as, in the sense that Plato had given to this term,
it corresponded to the discovery of the Ideas or Forms (for example, the
notion ofJustice or of Equality) . This discovery was brought about by a
" dialectical " method of discussion; that is to say, for the Platonists, by
means of rigorous argumentation. Physics, as the study of the visible
world, was an inferior part of philosophy, but it did have as its obj ect, to
some degree at least, celestial phenomena, or the necessary, eternal
movement of the stars. Ethics was lower still, inasmuch as its obj ects were
the uncertain, contingent actions of mankind. Thus, the division of the
parts of philosophy reflects the hierarchy which the Platonists had intro
duced among the various degrees of reality.
The Stoics, at the same time as they took up this division, transformed
it completely. Their terminology appears to remain the same, but it no
longer corresponds to the hierarchy of the Platonists, but rather to the
dynamic, unitary conception of the world which was peculiar to the
Stoa. Among physics, ethics, and dialectics, there was no longer any
preeminence of one discipline over the others, for all three were related
to the same logos or divine Reason. This Reason was equally present in
the physical world, in the world of social life-since society is based
upon the reason common to all mankind-and in human speech and
thought; that is, within the rational activity ofjudgment.
Moreover, from the point of view of perfect action, which is that of
the sage, these three disciplines mutually imply one another, since it is
one and the same logos or Reason which is to be found within nature, the
human community, and individual reason. This is why, to return once
more to the remarks of E mile Brehier, "it is impossible for a good man
[that is, one who practices ethics] not to be a physician and a dialectician;
it is impossible for rationality to be realized separately in these three areas,
and, for instance, to grasp reason fully in the course of events in the
world, without at the same time realizing reason within one's own con
duct. "8 The perfect exercise of any one of these disciplines implies that of
all the others. The sage practices dialectics by maintaining coherence in
his judgments; he practices ethics by maintaining coherence in his will,
and in the actions which result from it; and he practices physics by
behaving like a part which is coherent with the whole to which it
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belongs. For the Stoics, the parts of philosophy are virtues9 which-like
all virtues, in their view-are equal and mutually imply one another: to
practice one of them is necessarily to practice all of them.
Thus, from this point of view, there is a sense in which logic, physics,
and ethics are not really distinct from one another; no one of them
precedes the others, and they are all mixed up together. The Platonic
Aristotelian model of a hierarchy of knowledge and of levels of reality is
thus replaced by the representation of an organic unity, in which there is
complete compenetration. For the Platonists and the Aristotelians, the
whole of reality is heterogeneous, and is composed of zones in which
substantiality and necessity are completely different. For the Stoics, on
the contrary, all reality is homogeneous, and the sequence of events
wholly necessary. The distinction between physics, as the science of the
sensible world, and a science of the transcendent world of Ideas (that is,
Platonic dialectics) or of the gods (theology) is completely abolished.
Physis or nature, which, for the Platonists and the Aristotelians, was only
a small part-and the lowest part at that-of the whole of reality, be
comes all of reality.
The word " dialectics " also changes its meaning. It no longer denotes,
as it does for Plato, a method of reasoning which starts from notions
common to all mankind, and rises, by means of questions and answers, to
the discovery of those essences which make reasoning and language
possible. Nor does it denote, as it did for Aristotle, a method ofreasoning
which starts from notions which are common to all mankind-and
therefore not scientific-and makes possible, by means of questions and
answers, the attainment of probable conclusions in every area of reality.
Although Stoic dialectics also takes its point of departure in common
notions, it is able to obtain true and necessary conclusions because it
reflects the necessary interrelation of causes within the sensible world.
To be sure, for the Stoics, physics, ethics, and dialectics are--formally
at least-to be related to three different sectors of reality: the physical
world, human conduct, and the functioning of thought. Nevertheless,
the Stoics did not consider these three parts as corpora of theoretical
doctrines, but as inner dispositions and practical conduct of the sage, and
hence of the philosopher in training for wisdom. From this perspective,
the living exercise of physics, ethics, and dialectics, and the practice of
these three virtues, in fact corresponds to one attitude: the single act of
placing oneself in harmony with the logos, whether it be the logos of
universal Nature, the logos of rational human nature, or the logos as it is
expressed in human discourse.
So
Although physics, ethics, and dialectics are practically merged together

into a single act when it comes to the concrete exercise of philosophy,
they must nevertheless be well distinguished when it comes to teaching
them. Philosophy must be set forth and described before the disciple.
Thus, philosophical discourse introduces a temporal dimension which
has two aspects: there is the " logical " time of the discourse itself, and
then there is the psychological time which the disciple requires to assimi
late what he or she is being taught. Logical time corresponds to the inner
requirements of theoretical discourse: there must be a series of argu
ments, which must be presented in a specific order, and this is logical
time. All expositions of doctrine, however, are addressed to an auditor,
and the auditor introduces another component: the stages of his spiritual
progress; and here we are dealing with a time which is purely psycho
logical. Until the auditor has assimilated a given doctrine inwardly and
spiritually, it is either useless or impossible to speak to him or her about
anything else. There is, moreover, a kind of conflict between these two
times, for it is often difficult to safeguard the logical order while still
taking the auditor's spiritual state into account.
Thus, from the point of view of that discourse which transmits philo
sophical instruction, the Stoics distinguished very sharply and clearly
between the three parts of philosophy, and tried to establish among them
not only a logical order, but also a pedagogical one. There was much
discussion on this topic within the school, for there was no agreement on
the order which was to be established between physics, ethics, and logic
or dialectics. We know that the Stoics used to compare the parts of
philosophy to the parts of organic totalities such as an egg, a garden, or a
living being. However, although logic was always presented in these
comparisons as the part which ensures self-defense and solidity, the in
nermost and most precious part was sometimes presented as ethics, and
sometimes as physics.
In his treatise On Stoic Self- Contradictions, Plutarch10 reproaches
Chrysippus with having sometimes placed physics as the end-point of
philosophical instruction, as if it were the supreme initiation which trans
mitted teachings about the gods, and at other times placing physics be
fore ethics, since the distinction between good and evil was only possible
on the basis of the study of universal Nature and the organization of the
world. In fact, these hesitations correspond to the various types of educa
tional program which could be chosen. According to the logical order of
exposition, physics should precede ethics, in order to give it a rational
foundation. According to the psychological order of education, however,
81
physics must follow ethics, because it is by practicing ethics that one

prepares oneself for the revelation of the divine world, that is, of univer
sal Nature.
It was in order to get past these difficulties that some Stoics, while
continuing to profess their own theory concerning the ideal priority of a
given part of philosophy within the overall educational program, urged
that the parts of philosophy be presented simultaneously within the con
text of instructional philosophical discourse: " Some Stoics held that no
part of philosophy had any priority, but that they were all mixed to
gether; and they made their teaching mixed, too . " 1 1 The parts of philoso
phy were " inseparable. "12 How, indeed, could one wait until one
finished the complete program for one part, before beginning the study
of another? Above all, how could one wait to practice philosophy itself,
in all its three aspects? Chrysippus himself seems to have recommended
this type of " mixed" instruction, for he writes: " He who begins with
logic must not abstain from the other parts, but must participate in the
other studies, when the opportunity arises. "13 In fact, the method of
teaching must be integral at each of its moments, since we are not trying
to acquire three distinct theoretical bodies of knowledge, separate from
one another, but rather to train ourselves for that unique act of wisdom
which is, indissolubly, the practice of physics, of ethics, and oflogic.
In view of the preceding considerations, we are now better able to
understand how the Stoics distinguished between philosophy and dis
course concerning philosophy. They affirmed that logic, physics, and eth
ics-which up until now I have been calling, in accordance with com
mon usage, the parts of philosophy-were not in fact parts of philosophy
properly so called, but parts of discourse concerning philosophy. 14 The
only time physics, logic, and ethics appear as distinct, separate, and per
haps even successive, is within the context of the philosophical teaching
discourse.
It is this teaching discourse which requires a theoretical exposition of
logic, in the form of an abstract study of the rules of reasoning. It also
requires a theoretical exposition of physics, that is to say, an abstract study
of the structure and coming-to-be of the cosmos. Finally, it requires a
theoretical exposition of ethics-in other words, an abstract study of
human behavior, and of the rules which it ought to obey. Chrysippus
used to say explicitly that these were the " three kinds of theoremata proper
to philosophy. "15 In philosophy itself, by contrast, understood as the
exercise of wisdom, physics, ethics, and logic are mutually implicated
within and interior to one another, in that act-at once multiple and
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unique--w hich is the exercise of physical virtue, ethical virtue, and

logical virtue . At this point, we are no longer concerned with producing
abstract theories of logic-that is, theories of the art of speaking and
writing well; rather, we are concerned with speaking and writing well in
reality. We no longer construct abstract theories of ethics, or of acting
well; instead we are concerned about whether we are in fact acting well.
Finally, at this level we are no longer interested in developing abstract
theories about physics, in order to prove that we are a part of the cosmic
All; rather, we try to live as a true part of the cosmic All .
These three exercises mutually imply one another, and in fact they
constitute one single act or disposition, which is differentiated only inso
far as it is oriented toward the three aspects of reality: the Reason of
human discourse, the Reason of human society, and the Reason of the
cosmos.
Thus, logic, physics, and ethics are distinguishable when we talk about
philosophy, but not when we live it.
The three acts of the soul and the three exercise-themes

according to Epictetus
From Zeno ( 3 3 2-262 B.c.) and Chrysippus (c. 28 1-204 B.c.) to Epictetus
(died c. 1 2 5 A.D. ) , the formulation of Stoic doctrine evolved-particu
larly as a result of its polemics with other philosophical schools-and
sometimes the rigor of the positions of the school's founders was some
what attenuated. Yet its fundamental dogmas never changed.
Epictetus himself, at any rate-perhaps because of his teaching meth
ods, which obliged him to explicate the works of the founding fathers
went back to the origins. As Brehier used to say, Epictetus cannot be too
highly recommended to anyone wishing to understand the Old Stoa.16
Already in 1 894, in two remarkable studies devoted to Epictetus,
A. Bonhoffer had reached similar conclusions.17 It can be said that
Epictetus subscribes to the most orthodox Stoic tradition: that which,
beginning with Chrysippus, apparently continues through Archedemus
and Antipater;18 he makes no allusions to Panetius or to Posidonius.
Through Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius was able to go back to the purest
Stoic sources, and the following exposition of the Stoicism of Epictetus
may consequently be regarded as a preliminary sketch of the Stoicism of
Marcus Aurelius.
It is true that, in the sayings of Epictetus as recorded by Arrian, we
nowhere find a systematic exposition of the totality of Stoic doctrine; the

reasons for this have been explained above. The subj ects of the Discourses
were inspired by occasional circumstances, such as the questions raised by
his students, or the visit of a specific personage. Epictetus' sayings are
essentially anecdotal; but it is all the more precious to be able to observe
within them the presence of a highly structured theme, which frequently
recurs and can be said to summarize the essential points of Stoicism.
There is one highly structured theme that integrates right at the outset
something which, it would seem, Epictetus is the only one within the
Stoic tradition, besides Marcus Aurelius, to distinguish: the three activi
ties or operations of the soul. These are the desire to accumulate that
which is good, the impulse to act, and judgment on the value of things.
Basing his view on the traditional and fundamental Stoic distinction
between those things which do not depend upon our will and those
which do, Epictetus enumerates these three psychological operations as
follows:
What depends on us are value-judgments (hypolepseis), impulses
toward action (horme), and desire (orexis) or aversion; in a word,
everything which is our own business. What does not depend on us
are the body, wealth, honors, and high positions in office; in a
word, everything which is not our own business. 19
Here, we can glimpse one of the Stoics' most fundamental attitudes:
the delimitation of our own sphere of liberty as an impregnable islet of
autonomy, in the midst of the vast river of events and of Destiny. What
depends on us are thus the acts of our soul, because we can freely choose
them. We can judge or not judge, or judge in whatever manner we
please; we can desire or not desire; will or not will. By contrast, that
which does not depend on us-Epictetus lists our body, honors, riches,
and high positions of authority-is everything that depends upon the
general course of nature. Our body, first: it is true that we can move it,
but we are not completely in control of it. Birth, death, sickness, invol
untary movements, sensations of pleasure or of pain: all these are com
pletely independent of our will. As for wealth and honors : we can, to be
sure, attempt to acquire them, yet definitive success does not depend
upon us, but upon a series of human factors and events which are exte
rior to us; they are imponderable and do not depend upon our will.
Thus, the Stoic delimits a center of autonomy-the soul, as opposed to
the body; and a guiding principle (hegemonikon) as opposed to the rest of
the soul. I t is within this guiding principle that freedom and our true self
are located. It is also there, and only there, that moral good and evil can
be found, for the only moral good and evil are voluntary good and evil.
The soul or guiding principle thus has three fundamental activities. In
the first place, as it receives the images which come from bodily sensa
tions, it develops an inner discourse, and this is what constitutes judgment.
The soul tells itself what a given obj ect or event is; in particular, it tells
itself what the obj ect is for the soul, that is, what it is in the soul's view.
Here we have the central node of the whole of Stoicism: that of inner
discourse, or judgments expressed on the subj ect of representations. As
Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius never tire of saying, everything is a matter
of judgment. It is not things themselves that trouble us, but our repre
sentations of these things, the ideas we form of them, and the inner
discourse which we formulate about them. Desire and impulses to action
are the necessary results of this inner discourse: if we desire something, it
is because we have told ourselves that the thing in question is good;
likewise , if we want to do something, it is because we have told ourselves
that it was a good thing.
As is well known, the Stoics held that only those representations
should be accepted into the mind which they called kataleptikai, a term
which is usually translated as " comprehensive. " This translation gives the
impression that the Stoics believed a representation to be true when it
" comprehends, " or seizes the contents of reality. In Epictetus, however,
we can glimpse a wholly different meaning of the term: for him, a
representation is kataleptike when it does not go beyond what is given,
but is able to stop at what is perceived, without adding anything extrane
ous to that which is perceived. Rather than " comprehensive repre
sentations, " then, it would be better to speak of " adequate repre
sentations. "
Here is a translation-slightly paraphrased, in order to make it more
comprehensible-of a vital passage from the Discourses of Epictetus. It
shows in action the inner discourse, or the soul's dialogue with itself, on
the subj ect of representations (III, 8, 1-2) :
In the same way as we train ourselves in order to be able to face up
to sophistical interrogations, we ought also to train ourselves to face
up to representations (phantasiai), for they too ask us questions.
For example, let's say we formulate within ourselves the contents of the
representation: " So-and-so's son is dead. "
This representation is asking you a question, and you should reply:

" That does not depend on the will, and is not something bad. "
" So-and-so's father has disinherited him. What do you think of
that? " Reply: " That doesn't depend on the will, and is not some
thing bad. "
" He was very hurt by it. " Reply: " That does depend on the will,
and is something bad. "
" He put up with it bravely. " " That depends on the will, and is
something good. "
Epictetus continues:
If we acquire this habit, we will make progress; for we will give our
assent only to that of which there is an adequate (kataleptike) repre
sentation.
It is quite remarkable that Epictetus here is representing moral life as a
dialectical exercise, in which we engage in a dialogue with events, as
they ask us questions.
Epictetus then goes on to give the following examples, in which
representations ask us questions. " Her son is dead" is an inner repre
sentation which we formulate, and it asks us the question: "What hap
pened? " This could lead us to enunciate a value-judgment, of the type " a
great misfortune, " but w e must reply: " Her son is dead. " The repre
sentation, however, is not satisfied; it asks " Nothing more?" to which the
soul responds: " nothing more. " Epictetus then continues along the same
lines:
" His ship sank. "
"What happened? "
" His ship sank. "
" He was sent to prison. " But if you add the proposition " a terrible
thing happened to him, " then that is coming from you.
What Epictetus means is that the idea according to which a certain
event is a misfortune-as well as the consequences that such a repre
sentation may have on the desires and tendencies of the soul-is a repre
sentation which has no basis in reality; rather, it goes beyond an adequate
vision of reality, by adding to it a false value-judgment. Such a repre
sentation can arise only in a soul which has not yet assimilated the
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fundamental dogma of Stoicism: happiness is only to b e found in moral

good, or virtue; and misfortune is only to be found in moral evil, in faults
and in vice.
If the only good is moral good, and the only evil is moral evil, how
can the Stoic live his daily life, in which there are many things which are
morally neither good nor evil, but are " indifferent, " to use a term from
the Stoic vocabulary? A person must, after all, eat, sleep, work, raise a
family, and fulfill his or her role within the community. The Stoic, too,
must act; and he or she has an impulse-both instinctive and rational-to
act. Thus, the second of the soul's proper functions, coming after the
activity of representations, judgments, and assent, must be just this im
pulse to act, as well as action itself The domain of the latter includes what
Epictetus and the Stoics call the kathekonta; that is, those actions which,
in all probability and for good reason, may be considered as " appropri
ate " to human nature. These are the actions which conform to the
deep-rooted instinct which urges rational human nature to act in order
to preserve itself Thus, both the active impulse and action itself will be
exercised above all in the domain of society, of the state, of the family,
and of relations between human beings in general.
Human action cannot, however, hope to be completely effective; it
does not always attain its goal. Mankind is, therefore, reduced to hoping
and to desiring that what suits him actually happens, and that that which
he fears does not. Desire is thus the third activity proper to the human
soul, and its domain is not that which one does oneself, but rather that
which happens-in other words, the events which happen to us by
virtue of Destiny, and the course of universal Nature. He who desires
does not act, but is in a certain disposition of waiting. As was the case
with the impulse to action, desire depends on us, and the soul is free
either to desire a given obj ect, or not to desire it.
The philosopher, then, must train himself in these three domains of
activity: judgment, impulse toward action, and desire (III, 2, 1-2 ) :
There are three domains in which he who would become perfect
must train himself
-the domain concerning desires and aversions, so that he may not
find himself frustrated in his desires, and may not encounter that
which he was seeking to avoid;
-the domain concerning active impulses and repulsions, and in
general, the domain which concerns what is appropriate (kathekon)
for our nature, so that he may act in an orderly way, in accordance
with rational probability, and without negligence;

-the domain in which what matters is to preserve oneself from
error and insufficient reasons; and, in general, that which concerns
the assent [which we give to j udgments] .
If we gather together all the indications concerning this theme con
tained in Epictetus' sayings, we can present this theory of the three forms
_
or domains20 of philosophical exercise as follows:
The first domain is that of desires and aversions. Humans are unhappy
because they desire things which they consider good, but which they
may either fail to obtain or else lose; and because they try to avoid things
which they consider as evils, but which are often inevitable. The reason
is that these apparent goods and evils-wealth and health, for example ,
or on the contrary poverty and sickness-do not depend on u s . Thus, the
exercise of the discipline of desire will consist in gradually renouncing
these desires and aversions, so that we may finally desire only that which
does depend on us-in other words, moral good-and may avoid only
that which depends on us-in other words, moral evil. That which does
not depend on us is to be considered as indifferent, which means that we
are not to introduce any preferential order among such things, but accept
them as willed by the will of universal Nature, which Epictetus some
times designates by the term " gods " in general. To "follow the gods "
means to accept their will, which is identical with the will of universal
Nature (I , 1 2 , 8; I, 20, I 5) . The discipline of desire thus has as its obj ect
the passions (pathe), or the emotions which we feel when events present
themselves to us.
The second domain of exercises is that of impulses to action. As we have
seen, it is the field of those actions which are " appropriate " (kathekonta)
to our rational nature. These are actions-and therefore something
which depends on us-that have an effect on things which do not de
pend on us, such as other human beings, politics, health, family life, and
so forth. All of these areas are, in themselves, " indifferent" in the Stoic
sense of the term; but they may, in accordance with a rational justifica
tion or reasonable probability, be considered as corresponding to reason
able nature's instinct for self-preservation. Since such actions are directed
exclusively toward other people, and have their foundation in that com
munity of reasonable nature which unites humankind, they must be
guided by our intention to place ourselves in the service of the human
community, and bring about the reign ofjustice.
The third domain of exercises is that of assent (sunkatathesis). Each
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representation (phantasia) which presents itself to us must be subj ected to

criticism, so that our inner dialogue and the judgment we enunciate with
regard to it may not add anything " subj ective " to that which, within the
representation, is " adequate " to reality; only thus will we be able to give
our assent to a true judgment. We have already seen the importance of
this theme in Stoicism, for which good and evil are not to be found
anywhere else than in our faculty ofjudgment.
It is tempting to compare the three acts of the soul as distinguished by
Epictetus-rational activity of judgment and assent, impulse to action,
and desire-with the three parts of the soul recognized by the Platonists.
Following Plato, they distinguished between the rational part of the soul,
its " choleric " part, which is the seat of action, and the " desiring" part,
which is the principle of pleasure and of passion. This comparison is all
the more attractive in that Plato, like Epictetus, based his system of
virtues, and therefore, in a sense, his " ascetic " system, on his distinction
of the parts of the soul. For Epictetus, as we have seen, there is a
discipline of the soul's intellectual activity, a discipline of impulses and
tendencies to action, and a discipline of desire. In Plato's Republic, justice
is the inner harmony of the individual as well as of the state, and it
consists in the union of three elements: the first is wisdom, which, in the
soul, reigns over the rational part, and in the state is the characteristic of
the philosopher-kings. Within the soul, courage reigns over the " chol
eric " and impulsive part; whereas within the state it pertains to the class
of warriors. Finally, that temperance which is to be found within the soul
reigns over the " desiring" part; whereas within the state it must be the
characteristic of the lowest class: that of the artisans. 2 1
In spite of these analogies, however, the schemes of Plato and of
Epictetus are radically and completely different. For Plato, there is a
hierarchy among the parts of the soul analogous to that which is estab
lished between the classes of society in the Republic: rulers, warriors, and
artisans. The philosopher-kings impose their rule upon the warriors and
artisans, who are their inferiors . In the same way, good reason imposes its
law upon the inferior parts of the soul.
For Epictetus, by contrast, both active impulse and desire are acts of
the rational soul, or the " guiding principle " within each human being.
There is thus no opposition or difference of level between rational activ
ity, impulses to action, and desire. Impulses and desire are located within
the rational soul itself; and this is all the more true in that impulse and
desire, even if they do have affective repercussions upon the soul, are,
according to Stoic teaching, essentially judgments made by the rational
soul. Reason is not essentially good; rather, like impulses and desire, it
can be either good or bad, according to whether it emits true or false

judgments, which then determine conduct. A passage from Plutarch22
provides a good summary of Stoic doctrine as we find it in Epictetus:
For the Stoics, virtue is a disposition of the ruling part of the soul
. . . or rather it is reason when the latter is coherent with itself, firm,
and constant. They do not believe that the passionate and irrational
parts of the soul differ from the rational faculty by means of a natural
difference; but that it is the same part of the soul, which they call
dianoia and hegemonikon (the faculty of reflection and the directing
principle) which changes and is completely transformed in the pas
sions and the transformations which it undergoes, either in its state
or in its dispositions, and that it becomes vice or virtue. In itself,
however, there is nothing irrational about this faculty, but it is called
irrational when, owing to excessive impulses, it becomes very
strong and triumphant, and is consequently led to something inap
propriate and contrary to the choice of reason. Passion, thus, is
reason, but reason which is vitiated and depraved, and which,
owing to the effect of bad and perverted judgment, has acquired
strength and vigor.
For Plato, we can say that the essence of human beings resides in
reason; and reason is necessarily right, but the life of the concrete indi
vidual does not necessarily coincide with it. For Epictetus, by contrast, as
for the Stoics in general, the essence of mankind does consist in reason,
the principle of freedom, and the power to choose. Precisely because it is
the power to choose, however, it can be either good or bad and is not
necessarily right.
Impulse and desire are thus located within the " directing principle, "
or center of the human soul's freedom. For this reason, they are on the
same level as the rational faculty of judgment and of assent. Obviously,
however, judgment, impulse, and desire are not interchangeable. Each
impulse and each desire has its foundation and its origin in a judgment. It
is as a function of its inner discourse that the soul feels a certain impulse
to action, or a certain inner disposition of desire .
The three exercise-themes and the three parts of philosophy

For the Stoics, as we have seen, there is not only a discourse about logic,
but a lived logic. Likewise, there is not only a discourse about ethics, but
also a lived ethics; there is not only a discourse about physics, but also a
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lived physics . I n other words, philosophy, insofar as it is the conduct of

life, is indissolubly logic, ethics, and physics. We can recognize this lived
logic, ethics, and physics in the three exercises of Epictetus which we
have just examined.
It is worth noting that, in order to designate these exercises,
Epictetus23 uses the word topos, a term traditionally used by the Stoics-at
least since the time of Apollodoros of Seleucia, who flourished at the end
of the second century B . C .-to designate the parts of philosophy.24 When
the Stoics spoke of the parts of philosophical discourse, they were prob
ably using the word topos in a rhetorical and dialectical sense, in which it
signified a thesis, or a " general question which is put up for discussion. "25
In the same way as a rhetorical or dialectical topos was a theme for
exercises in the area of discourse, so Epictetus' three topoi are three
themes of intellectual exercise, which correspond to the three parts of
philosophical discourse. At the same time, however, they are also three
themes of lived exercise, which put the principles formulated in philo
sophical discourse into action, in the area of life .
It i s obvious that, fo r Epictetus, the discipline o f judgment and of
assent corresponds to the logical part of philosophy, while the discipline
of impulses corresponds to the ethical part of philosophy. This equiva
lence comes out clearly in a passage in which Epictetus opposes logic, on
the one hand, as a part of theoretical discourse, and on the other the
discipline of assent, as a lived logic. He then goes on to contrast ethics, as
a part of theoretical discourse, and the discipline of impulses, as a lived
ethics. The context is a section of the Discourses (IV, 4, r r-1 8) in which
Epictetus is criticizing the false philosopher, who is content merely to
read theoretical discourses about philosophy. Epictetus reminds his audi
ence that " Life is made up of other things besides books, " and then
proceeds as follows:
It is as if, in the domain (topos) of the exercise of assent, when we are
in the presence of representations of which some are " adequate "
(kataleptikai) and the others are not, we were to refuse to distinguish
the ones from the others, but preferred to read treatises entitled On
Comprehension. What, then, is the reason for this? It is because we
have never read, and we have never written, so as to be capable, in
a context of action, to use the representations which actually do
present themselves to us in a manner in conformity with nature.
Rather, we have confined ourselves to learning what is said, and
being able to explain it to someone else; we've learned how to
resolve a syllogism and how to examine a hypothetical argument.
91
As we can see, Epictetus is here opposing two kinds oflogic; theoreti

cal logic, as it is contained in treatises with titles like On Comprehension,
gives us only a theoretical knowledge and technical skill in argumenta
tion, which bears no relationship to reality. Opposed to this stands lived
logic, which consists in criticizing, and entering into dialogue with, the
representations which actually do present themselves to us in the course
of everyday life. Similarly, Epictetus goes on, we should not be con
cerned with reading treatises entitled On Impulses, in order to find out
what people have to say about impulses, but rather we should get busy
and act. Here, the theoretical ethics contained in treatises on impulse
and-Epictetus adds-on duty is placed in relation to the exercise of the
discipline of impulse .
The correspondence between logic and the discipline o f assent, then,
can be easily admitted; as can that between ethics and the discipline of
impulses. What, however, shall we say about the discipline of desire? The
structure of the Stoic scheme of the three parts of philosophy seems to
require that it correspond to physics. Is this possible? Seemingly not; in
the first place, Epictetus makes no allusion to any particular relationship
between physics and the discipline of desire in the passage quoted above,
although he does relate the discipline of judgment to logic, and the
discipline of impulses to ethics. Instead, he merely speaks of theoretical
treatises entitled On Desire and Aversion, which seem to be ethical trea
tises. If it is true, however, that the abstract theory of " desire " itself,
insofar as it is an act of the soul, is situated within the domain of ethics,
nevertheless the lived practice of the discipline of desire implies, in the
last analysis, a specific attitude toward the cosmos and nature. I have
already hinted at this point in my account of the content of the three
disciplines, but must now be more specific. The discipline of desire has as
its goal to bring it about that we never desire things of which we might
be frustrated, and that we never flee that which we might undergo
against our will. This discipline therefore consists in desiring only the
good which depends upon us-the only thing that is truly good, for the
Stoics-and just as much in fleeing only moral evil. As for that which
does not depend on us: we are to accept it, as willed by universal Nature
(II , 1 4, 7) :
Here is approximately what we think the philosopher's task is. He
must adapt his own will to events, in such a way that, among all
events which occur, there may be none which occur when he did
not want them to occur, and that, of all events which do not occur,
there may be none which does not occur when he wanted it to
92
happen. The result, for those who have undertaken this task, is that
they are not frustrated in their desires, and that they are not forced
to undergo that for which they have an aversion.
The continuation of this passage still describes the task of the philoso
pher, but now with regard to his relations with others. We have here,
then, a very clear linkage between the discipline of desire and the con
sent willed by destiny. Such consent presupposes that mankind recognize
himself as a part of the All , and that he understand that events are
necessarily linked to one another by the will of universal Reason. What
ever happens, Epictetus recommends, one should not become irritated
against the events that have been disposed by Zeus himself [that is to
say, by universal Reason] ; he has defined them and placed them in
order in cooperation with the Moirae [i. e . , the Fates] , who were
present at your birth and have woven your destiny. Don't you
know how tiny a part you are, compared to the All ? (I, 1 2 , 2 5 ) .
Elsewhere, Epictetus writes i n the same vein (II , 1 7 , 25) :
Let your desires and your aversions become attached to Zeus, and
to the other gods; give them to them, let them govern them, and let
this desire and this aversion be ranged in accordance with them.
Consent to destiny and obedience to the gods-the essential compo
nents of the discipline of desire--presuppose that man become aware of
his place within the All , and consequently that he practice physics. " The
consent to Destiny, " writes A.-J. Voelke,26 " requires first of all that the
universe be understood, thanks to an effort of thought in which intellec
tual power bases itself upon sense-representations . . . . The result of this
methodical elucidation is that, little by little, we arrive at the rational
certainty that we are living in a cosmos which is good, and set in harmo
nious order by a supreme Providence. " We shall see later that, in the
writings of Marcus Aurelius, this theme of the link between the disci
pline of desire and physics lived as a spiritual exercise is orchestrated even
more richly than in the sayings of Epictetus which have come down to
us.27
Sometimes Epictetus places the three disciplines on the same level, but
he also sometimes seems to establish a hierarchy among them. Conse
quently, he sometimes enumerates the three disciplines without estab-
93
lishing any determinate order among them, as for example when he

begins with the discipline of assent (I, 1 7 , 22; IV, 4, 1 4ff; IV, 6, 26) .
Elsewhere, by contrast, he speaks of first, second, and third themes of
exercise (topoi) : the first being that of desires, the second that of impulses,
and the third that of assent. In Epictetus' view, this order corresponds to
different phases of spiritual progress. From this perspective, it is the
discipline of desire, and then that of impulses, which must come first and
which are the most necessary (I, 4, 1 2) . The discipline of assent now
comes only in third place, and is reserved for those who are making
progress (II I , 2, 5 ; III, 26, 14; IV, I O , 1 3) , since it ensures them firmness in
their assenting. Nevertheless, we can sense that for Epictetus, the disci
plines of desire and of impulse are fused together into the discipline
which criticizes representations, and therefore in the discipline of j udg
ment and assent. After all, for Epictetus, who is here being entirely
faithful to Stoic orthodoxy, the cause of our passions-that is to say, of
our desires-as well as of our actions-that is, of our impulses-is noth
ing other than representations (phantasiai}-in other words, the ideas we
form of things. All the tragedies and dramas in the world are the simple
result of the false ideas of events that the heroes of these tragedies and
dramas have formed for themselves (I, 2 8 , r n-3 3 ) . If this is true, how
ever, the exercise-theme which has as its obj ect the criticism of repre
sentations and judgment ought to come first.
In fact, this apparent confusion is, once again, the result of differences
in perspective: differences introduced, on the one hand, by the concrete,
lived practice of philosophy, and on the other by the orderly progression
demanded by the teaching of philosophy. In practice, it is indeed the
criticism of our representations, and the correction of the false ideas
which we form about things, which is the most urgent task, because it
conditions the control of our desires and our impulses. We cannot wait
to practice the discipline of judgment and of assent until, at the end of
our program of studies, we have begun the study of texts on theoretical
logic, or the examination of hypothetical syllogisms and sophisms. The
urgency of life does not permit such niceties, and, in the words of
Epictetus, "life is made up of other things besides books. " In everyday
life, the discipline of desire, the discipline of impulses, and the discipline
of judgment are inseparable, and are but three aspects of one activity,
which Epictetus calls " the right way of using (chresis)" representations (II ,
1 9, 3 2 ; 2 2 , 29) ; that i s t o say, the right way o f examining the value and
correctness of the ideas which we form of things, which are the causes of
our desires and impulses.
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And yet these three disciplines are taught, which means they are the
obj ect of a theoretical discourse which, if it is well assimilated by the
disciple, contributes to his spiritual progress. Here again the matter is
urgent-but from another point of view. The exercise-themes which are
to be given top priority are those which will allow the disciple to live
philosophically: the discipline of desire, which delivers us from " worries,
agitations, and grief" (III, 2 , 3 ) , and the discipline of impulse, which
teaches us to live within our family and our city. " These, " says Epictetus
(I, 4, 1 2) , " are the exercise-themes which must come first, and which are
the most necessary. " In theoretical teaching, then, the discipline of de
sire, which is the first exercise-theme, will correspond to physics; the
second-the discipline of active impulses-will correspond to ethics, and
in particular to the theory of appropriate duties and actions (kathekonta).
Once again, then, w e return t o the relationship between theoretical
physics and that lived physics which we have identified as the discipline
of desire. In order for the philosopher to be able to discipline his desires,
he must understand the Stoic theory of nature. As Chrysippus28 himself
had already said:
There is no more appropriate way to arrive at the theory of goods
and of evils, virtues and wisdom, than by starting out from universal
Nature and the organization of the world . . . for the theory of
goods and evils must be connected to these subj ects . . . and physics
is taught only so that we may be able to teach the distinction which
must be established between goods and evils.
It is precisely upon this distinction between goods and evils that the
discipline of desire is based, and this is why we encounter this intimate
link between physics and the theme of the exercice of desire in Epictetus.
Epictetus, moreover, also makes an explicit reference to Chrysippus (I,
IO, r o) :
Please examine what, according to Chrysippus, is the administration
of the world, and what place rational animals occupy therein. Then,
from this point of view, consider who you are, and what good and
evil are for you.
In the Discourses of Epictetus as reported by Arrian, we do not find
lengthy considerations of this series of questions, which must have corre
sponded to an entire program of studies. Often, however, we can recog-
95
nize in passing Epictetus' allusions to this essential part of the discourse

on the teaching of physics, such as the following passage (IV, 7, 6) :
God has made everything that is in the universe and the universe in
its entirety, free of constraint and independent; but he made the
parts of the Whole for the sake of the Whole. Other beings lack the
capability of understanding the divine administration; but rational
beings possess the inner resources which allow them to reflect upon
this universe. They can reflect that they are a part of it, and on what
kind of a part they are; and that it is good for the parts to yield to the
Whole.
Becoming aware, by means of the study of physics, of our situation as
parts of the Whole does not just serve the function of providing a theo
retical and rational foundation for the discipline of desire, which, as we
have seen, requires that, precisely because we are parts of the Whole, we
must desire everything that happens as a result of the natural course of
Nature. On the contrary, it also means enjoying the spectacle of the
entire universe, and looking at the world with the vision of God himself
In another passage, Epictetus describes the solitary meditation of God at
the moment when, at the end of one of the periodic cycles of the
Universe, he remains alone, since for a moment all things have been
reabsorbed into him-that is to say, into the original fire which is at the
same time the logos which produces the world-and he urges us to
imitate him (III, 1 3 , 7) :
As Zeus is with himself, rests in himself, thinks about the way in
which he administers the world, and is plunged in thoughts worthy
of himself; so too should we converse with ourselves: with no need
of others, and without being worried about how to keep our lives
busy. We, too, should reflect on the way in which God administers
the world, and on our relation to the rest of the world; we should
consider what our attitude has been, up until now, toward things
that happen; and on what it is now; we should consider what are
the things that cause us pain, and how we could best remedy
them . . . .
Here we switch, with complete naturalness, from a v1s1on of the
universe to an examination of conscience. The latter is related to the
discipline of desire, and to our attitude with regard to the events that
happen to us by virtue of the general movement of the universe. As

Epictetus says later on (IV, r , r oo- r o r ) :
This body made of mud: how could God have created it free of
impediments? He therefore submitted it to the revolution of the
Universe, as he did with my possessions, my furniture, my house,
my children, and my wife . Why, then, should I fight against God?
Why should I wish for things that ought not to be wished for?
It is thus no good complaining, and blaming him who has given us all
for taking away from us that which he has given (IV, I , 1 03-4) :
Who are you, and why have you come here? Isn't it God who has
introduced you down here? Isn't it he who has made the light shine
for you . . . and who has given you reason and the senses? In what
condition, moreover, has he introduced you down here? . . . Was it
not so as to live on earth with a miserable piece of flesh and, for a
little while, to contemplate his government, follow his procession,
and celebrate a festival with him?
Good people, therefore, will say when they are dying (II I , 5 ,
r o) :
I leave full of gratefulness to you, for you have judged me worthy of

celebrating the festival with you, of contemplating your works, and
of following together with you the way in which you govern the
world.
Finally, the discipline of desire, insofar as it is a lived physics, consists
not only in accepting what happens, but in contemplating the works of
God with admiration (I, 6, 1 9-25) :
God introduced humankind down here in order to contemplate
both him and his works . . . For us, nature's final accomplishment is
contemplation, becoming aware, and a way of living in harmony
with nature. Make sure, then, that you do not die without having
contemplated all these realities . . . will you never realize, then, who
you are, why you were born, and what this spectacle is to which
you have been admitted?
The first theoretical instruction in the education of a philosopher must
therefore be in physics, which forms the basis of the distinction between
97
good and evil, and hence the discipline of desire. The second subj ect of
theoretical teaching is in ethics, which is the basis of the discipline of
impulses. Theoretical instruction in logic, which corresponds to what
Epictetus calls the " exercise-theme of assent, " comes third.
We have here a good example of the way in which Epictetus viewed
two kinds of exercises as somehow fundamentally identical: intellectual
exercises, as practiced in the exposition of a given part of philosophical
discourse-in this case, logic-and lived exercises, as practiced in everyday
life-here, as the exercise-theme (topos) of judgment and assent.
Epictetus does, after all, use the same term, " the exercise-theme of as
sent, " to designate both lived logic (the criticism of our representations
and of the ideas which we form of things) and, on the other hand,
theoretical logic (that is to say, the theory of syllogisms) .
On the one hand, Epictetus affirms (III, 1 2 , 1 4-1 5 ) :
The third exercise-theme concerns assent, and i n particular seduc
tive and attractive representations. Just as Socrates used to say that an
unexamined life is not worth living, so we must never accept an
unexamined representation.
Thus, in this description of lived logic, or logic put into practice, we
recognize the proper use of representations which is, in fact, the basis and
foundation of all the other exercise-themes. Let me repeat: from this
lived and concrete point of view, the three themes are necessarily simul
taneous; and if Epictetus speaks of the " third theme, " it is only for the
sake of clarity of exposition.
On the other hand, there are other passages in which the exercise
theme of assent really is the third theme: it comes last after all the others,
and is reserved for those who are making progress (III, 2 , 5) . In this case,
what is under discussion is theoretical/scholarly discourse about logic,
conceived as reasoning-processes which change in value-those which
end in one of the premises, hypothetical syllogisms, and deceptive rea
soning (III, 2, 6) . 29 Epictetus insists upon the absolute necessity of this
teaching; for instance, he responds as follows to an auditor who asks to be
persuaded of the usefulness of logic (II, 2 5 , 1 ) : "Without logic, how will
you know whether or not I am deceiving you with a sophism? " For
Epictetus, it is indispensable to be able to provide, by means of the art of
uncovering sophisms and errors in reasoning, the dogmas one has re
ceived via instruction in physics and ethics with an unshakably firm
foundation. Such logic may be sterile (I , 1 7, r n) ; it is a purely critical
discipline, which teaches no dogma, but examines and criticizes every

thing else .
In the final analysis, one gets the impression that, for Epictetus, the
place of logic in a philosophical education is situated at two moments:
the beginning and the end. It has its place at the beginning, because, as
we have seen, in order to be able to practice the three themes of philo
sophical exercise, it is indispensable to learn, as soon as possible, how to
criticize one's representations, and how to give one's assent only to those
which are adequate. " This, " says Epictetus, " is the reason why we place
logic at the beginning" (I, 1 7, 6) . Logic also, however, has its place at the
end of the curriculum, in its more technical form of the theory of
syllogisms; this is what gives unshakable certainty to the dogmas, which
are the principles of action (II I , 26, 1 4) . The danger of this technical
study, however, is that it may remain purely technical, and become an
end in itself or a means of showing off (III, 2, 6; I , 26, 9; II, 1 9, 5) . In such
a case, the third exercise-theme may become deleterious to a philosophi
cal education.
As we can see, reconciling the demands of concrete philosophical life
with those of pedagogical and theoretical education was very difficult for
Epictetus, as it was for the other Stoics as well. He probably restricted
himself to the combined teaching of all three disciplines. Nevertheless,
the doctrine of the three topoi, or lived exercise-themes, appears in
Epictetus' teachings as the final development of the Stoic theory of the
three parts of philosophy. Epictetus enunciates a philosophical discourse
on the subj ect of these three parts, but at the same time he also finds
them within the everyday life of philosophers. Here, they assume the
form of three exercise-themes, linked to the three activities of the soul;
for the discipline of desire is possible only by means of that awareness by
virtue of which the philosopher considers himself as a part of the cosmic
All . Likewise, the discipline of impulses is possible only by means of that
awareness by virtue of which the philosopher discovers his place within
the human community; while the discipline of assent is possible only
thanks to the awareness by means of which the philosopher simultane
ously discovers, on the one hand, his liberty with regard to repre
sentations, and, on the other, the rigorous laws of Reason.
The coherence of the All

Most historians of philosophy mention Epictetus' doctrine of the three
exercise-themes. For instance, they have recognized that Arrian used this
99
scheme of the three exercise-themes in order to group together those

sayings of Epictetus which he collected in the summary of the Master's
teachings which he entitled the Manual. 30 Scholars have also sought to
discover traces of analogous schemes in Seneca or Cicero,31 but it appears
that we shall never arrive at decisive results concerning this point. De
spite all these efforts, however, scholars have perhaps not sufficiently
emphasized the human significance of this doctrine.
The discipline of desire essentially consists in re-placing oneself within
the context of the cosmic All , and in becoming aware of human exist
ence as being a part, one that must conform to the will of the Whole,
which in this case is equivalent to universal Reason. The discipline of
impulses and of actions consists essentially in re-placing oneself within
the context of human society; this entails acting in conformity with that
Reason which all human beings have in common, and which is itself an
integral part of universal Reason. Finally, the discipline of judgment
consists in allowing oneself to be guided by the logical necessity which is
imposed upon us by that Reason which is within ourselves; this Reason,
too , is a part of universal Reason, since logical necessity is based upon the
necessary linkage of events.
Thus, the scheme of Epictetus' exercise-themes has exactly the same
goal as did the three aspects of lived philosophy-physics, ethics, and
logic-for the Stoics: to live "in accordance with Reason. " There is
nothing surprising about this, since, as we have seen, Epictetus holds that
the three exercise-themes are the three aspects of lived philosophy. The
philosopher must abandon his partial, egoistic vision of reality, in order,
by way of physics, to rise to the point of seeing things as universal
Reason sees them. Above all, the philosopher must intensely wish the
common good of the universe and of society, by discovering that a part
can possess no other proper good than the common good of the All . The
philosopher is a citizen of the world (I, 9, l ; II, I O, 3 ) ; but he or she is also
a citizen of the human City (II , 5 , 26) , which is nothing other than a
smaller image of the cosmic City. If one's individual consciousness can be
expanded as far as the utmost limits of the cosmic event, and wills this
wholly and completely, this still does not prevent one from assuming the
responsibilities of social duties, nor from having a profound love for the
human community. If my Reason has come forth from universal Rea
son, then so has that of all other human beings. All people are brothers
and sisters since they share in the same Reason; and even a slave is thus
his master's brother (I, 1 3 , 3 ) .
Epictetus' three disciplines, therefore, guide and direct the relations
100
between human beings and the universe, other human beings, and hu
mankind's own reason. Thus, the totality of human existence is situated
in relation to the whole of reality. For the Stoics, moreover, totality is
precisely what characterizes living beings; in their view, to be a whole is
to be coherent with oneself By means of the three disciplines, people
freely cooperate with a totality and a coherence which will necessarily be
actualized, whether they like it or not, for it is only the totality of the
cosmos which is assured of a perfect, unbreakable coherence . Although
humankind's freedom confers upon it the privilege of being able to
conform, freely and voluntarily, to this rational coherence of the cosmos,
it also exposes humanity to the risk of allowing incoherence to infiltrate
its thought, its affectivity, and the human City as a whole. Humankind's
adherence to the coherence of cosmic Reason is always fragile and in
doubt, but the divine plan will be realized of necessity.
The doctrine of the three exercise-themes, disciplines, or rules of life
thus contains within itself the whole essence of Stoicism, recapitulated in
a grandiose way. It invites humankind to a complete reversal of its vision
of the world and its usual way of living. The philosopher-emperor Mar
cus Aurelius, as the distant disciple of the philosopher-slave, would mag
nificently develop and orchestrate these richly-harmonied themes in his
Meditations.
T H E I N N E R C I TA D E L , O R
THE D I S C I P L I NE O F A S S E N T
The discipline of assent

As we have seen, the Meditations are Stoic spiritual exercises. We can,
however, be more specific: by means of these exercises, Marcus Aurelius
wished to establish within himself the inner discourse and the profound
dispositions which would allow him to practice concretely-in the midst
of his imperial life-the three exercise-themes or rules of life set forth by
Epictetus. The Meditations return constantly to the formulation of these
exercise-themes, and of the dogmas which serve as their foundation. The
structure underlying the Meditations is the very same ternary structure
that we have just seen in the case of Epictetus, and we must now turn to
examining the form which this structure takes on in the Meditations.
The objective or adequate representation (phantasia kataleptike)

The discipline of assent consists essentially in refusing to accept within
oneself all representations which are other than obj ective or adequate. In
order to understand what Marcus Aurelius means by this, it is necessary
to specify the meaning of the technical Stoic vocabulary which the
Emperor uses in this context.
In the first place, sensation (aisthesis) is a corporeal process which we
have in common with animals, and in which the impression of an exte
rior obj ect is transmitted to the soul. By means of this process, an image
(phantasia) of the obj ect is produced in the soul, or more precisely in the
guiding part (hegemonikon) of the soul.
The phantasia has a double aspect. On the one hand, it replaces the
obj ect, and in a sense becomes identified with it, since it is an image of
the obj ect. On the other hand, it is a modification (pathos) of the soul,
brought about by the action of an exterior obj ect. Marcus Aurelius, for
102
instance, asks himself the following question (III, r r , 3 ; XII , r 8) : "What

is the nature of the obj ect which is producing this phantasia within me? "
I n the summary o f Stoic logic which the historian Diogenes Laertius
has preserved for us, we read the following: " The phantasia comes first,
and then reflection (dianoia) which enunciates what it feels as a result of
the phantasia, and expresses it in discourse. "1 The presence of this image
in the soul is thus accompanied by an inner discourse; that is to say, a
phrase, proposition, or series of phrases and propositions which enunci
ate the nature, quality, and value of the obj ect which has given rise to the
phantasia in question. It is to these enunciations that we may either give
or withhold our assent. Like exterior obj ects, the phantasia is corporeal,
but the inner discourse to which we give our assent is incorporeal,
insofar as it possesses a meaning. By contrast with the passive nature of
the phantasia-the image or representation produced by exterior ob
j ects-this inner discourse represents an activity of the guiding part of the
soul. The soul, moreover, can also produce representations (phantasiai)
when it combines the images it has received. 2
This double aspect of the cognitive process-passive and active, con
strained and free-can be observed in a passage by Epictetus quoted by
Aulus Gellius.3 It deserves to be cited in its entirety, since it gives a good
description of the mechanism of assent:
These representations of the soul, which the philosophers call phan
tasiai, by which a person's spirit is momentarily moved, at the first
glimpse of the thing which presents itself to the soul: they do not
depend upon the will, and are not free. Rather, by means of some
kind of force which is peculiar to them, they throw themselves
upon people, in order to be known.
Assents, by contrast, which are called sunkatatheseis, by means of
which these representations are recognized and judged, are volun
tary and take place through human freedom.
This is why, when a terrifying sound is heard-whether it comes
from the heavens or from the collapse of some building, or whether
it announces some kind of danger, or anything else of that nature
it is necessary that the soul of the sage, too, be also slightly moved
and constricted and terrified; not because he judges that some form
of evil is present, but because of the rapid and involuntary move
ments, which usurp the proper task of the mind and of reason.
The sage, however, does not give his assent immediately to such
representations which terrify his soul; he does not approve them,
The Discipline of Assent
103
but brushes them aside and rej ects them, and it seems to him that
there is nothing to fear from such things. This is the difference
between the sage and the foolish person: the foolish person thinks
that things are as they appear to the first emotion of his soul-that is
to say, atrocious and frightful, and the foolish person approves by his
assent these first impressions, which appear to justify his fear.
But the sage, although the color of his face was briefly and rapidly
altered, does not give his assent, but maintains the force and solidity
of the dogma which he has always had about such representations:
that they are not at all to be feared, but they terrify people by means
of a false appearance and an empty terror.
This text provides a fairly clear distinction between the image (phanta
sia-in this case, the thunderclap which resounds within the soul) ; the
judgment (which Marcus calls a hypolepsis) , which is an inner discourse of
the form: " This is awful and terrible! " ; and finally the assent (sunkatathe
sis), which either approves or fails to approve the judgment.
Marcus has a frequent tendency to confuse judgment and repre
sentation; in other words, he identifies representations with the inner
discourse which enunciates their content and their value. We may omit
the passage in Book V, 1 6 , 2, where Marcus speaks of a chain of repre
sentations, even though what is being discussed is a syllogism, and hence
a chain of judgments: for in this particular case one can admit that he is
speaking of those phantasiai logikai, or abstract representations, which I
have alluded to above as the result of intellectual operations. Elsewhere,
however, we find Marcus saying either (VIII, 29) : "Erase your repre
sentations (phantasiai), " or else (VIII, 40) : " Suppress your judgment, "
without there being any apparent difference in meaning. And yet Marcus
is sometimes quite capable of distinguishing the inner discourse-and
hence the judgment-which the soul develops about a given repre
sentation, from the representation itself (VIII, 49) :
Don't tell yourself anything more than what your primary repre
sentations tell you. If you've been told, " So-and-so has been talking
behind your back, " then this is what you've been told. You have
not, however, been told that " Somebody has done a wrong to you. "
Here, we can recognize the stages of the process. In the first place, we
have the exterior event: someone announces to Marcus that so-and-so
has been saying negative things about him. Next, we have the repre-
sentation produced within him, which is called " primary" because as yet,
nothing has been added to it. In the third place, there is the discourse
which enunciates the contents of this primary representation: " So-and-so
has been saying negative things about you "; this is what is announced by
the primary representation. Finally, there is yet another enunciation,
which is no longer content merely to describe the situation, but emits a
value-judgment: " I have been wronged. "
Here we encounter once again the notion of an " adequate" or " obj ec
tive " representation (phantasia kataleptike), as we have seen it defined by
Epictetus. An obj ective or adequate representation is one which corre
sponds exactly to reality, which is to say that it engenders within us an
inner discourse which is nothing other than the pure and simple descrip
tion of an event, without the addition of any subj ective value-judgment
(Arrian, Discourses, III, 8, 5) :
He was sent to jail.
What happened? He was sent to jail. But " He is unhappy" is added
by oneself [i. e . , subj ectively] .
Thus, both Marcus and Epictetus draw a clear distinction between " ob
j ective " inner discourse, which is merely a pure description of reality,
and " subj ective " inner discourse, which includes conventional or pas
sionate considerations, which have nothing to do with reality.
The " p hysi c al " definition
One must always make a definition or description of the obj ect
which is presented in a representation, so as to see it in itself, as it is
in its essence, in its nakedness, in its totality, and in all its details.
One must say to oneself the name which is peculiar to it, as well as
the names of the parts which compose it, and into which it will be
resolved (III, r r ) .
Marcus Aurelius gives us several examples of what he means by this kind
of definition (VI , 1 3 ) :
How important it is to represent to oneself, when it comes to fancy
dishes and other such foods: " This is the corpse of a fish, this other
thing the corpse of a bird or a pig. " Similarly, " This Falernian wine
is just some grape juice, " and " This purple vestment is some sheep's
10 5
hair moistened in the blood of some shellfish. " When it comes to

sexual union, we must say, " This is the rubbing together of abdo
mens, accompanied by the spasmodic ejaculation of a sticky liquid. "
How important are these representations (phantasiai) which reach
the thing itself and penetrate right through it, so that one can see
what it is in reality.
Here again, Marcus uses the term phantasia to designate that inner
discourse which describes the obj ect of representations. Yet these repre
sentations, which appear to be discourses which " strike reality and pene
trate it through and through, " correspond to " obj ective " or " adequate "
representations, as these are conceived by Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius.
They do not add anything to reality; rather, they define it in its nudity, by
separating it from the value-judgments which people feel obliged to add
to it, whether by habit, under the influence of social prejudices, or out of
passion.
We can call this kind of definition "physical, " since it frees our repre
sentations from every kind of subj ective and anthropomorphic consid
eration, as well as from every relation to the human point of view, in
order to define them, as it were, scientifically and physically. Once again
we note that, according to Stoic philosophy, all is in all. Although the
criticism of representations and the search for obj ective representations
are a part of logic, they can nevertheless only be achieved if we adopt a
physical point of view, by situating events and obj ects within the per
spective of universal Nature. It is for this reason that it will be necessary
to speak of this kind of definition once again, when we are dealing with
the discipline of desire.
The Inner Citadel

Things Cannot Touch the Soul
Things cannot touch the soul.
They have no access to the soul.
They cannot produce our judgments.
They are outside of us.
They themselves know nothing, and by themselves they affirm
nothing.
(Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 3 , ro; V, r 9 ; VI, 5 2 ; IX, r 5)
1 06
Marcus insists strongly and repeatedly o n the total exteriority of things

with respect to us, and he does so in striking terms which do not appear
in the sayings of Epictetus which Arrian has preserved. When Marcus
says that " things cannot touch the soul, " he does not mean that they are
not the cause of the representations (phantasiai) which are produced
within the soul. One could argue that, since the relationship between
things and their representations is that of cause and effect, it is a part of
the necessary linkage of Destiny. But the blow which sets the inner
discourse of the guiding principle in motion is only the opportunity for
this guiding principle to develop its inner discourse. The discourse itself,
however, remains entirely free:
Just as when you push a cylinder, says Chrysippus,4 you have caused
it to begin its movement, but you have not given it the property of
rolling, so likewise a representation will no doubt mark and imprint
its form upon the soul; and yet our assent will still remain within
our power. Just like the cylinder, our assent may be pushed from
without, but then it will move by its own force and nature.
The skeptic Sextus Empiricus5 confirms this twofold aspect of percep
tion, in the context of his criticism of the Stoics:
Perception (katalepsis) consists, according to them, in giving one's
assent to an obj ective (kataleptike) representation, and this seems to
be a twofold matter: there is something involuntary it, as well as
something voluntary, which depends upon our judgment. The act
of receiving a representation, for instance, is involuntary; it does not
depend upon the person receiving the representation, but upon the
cause of the representation . . . . Giving one's assent to such a psy
chological movement, however, is within the power of the person
receiving the representation.
In order to understand what Marcus Aurelius means when he says that
things cannot touch the soul and are outside of us, we must bear in mind
that the word " soul " could have two meanings for the Stoics. In the first
place, it was a reality made of air (pneuma) which animates our body and
receives the impressions, or phantasiai, from exterior obj ects. This is often
what Marcus means by " soul. " Here, however, when he speaks about
" us " and about the soul, he is thinking of that superior or guiding part of
the soul which the Stoics called the hegemonikon. It alone is free, because
it alone can give or refuse its assent to that inner discourse which enunci
ates what the obj ect is which is represented by a given phantasia. This
borderline which obj ects cannot cross, this inviolable stronghold of free
dom, is the limit of what I shall refer to as the "inner citadel. " Things
cannot penetrate into this citadel: that is, they cannot produce the dis
course which we develop about things, or the interpretation which we
give of the world and its events. As Marcus says, the things outside of us
" stay still" ; they " do not come to us "; rather, in a way, " it is we who go
toward them" (XI, I I ) .
These assertions must obviously b e understood in a psychological and
moral sense. Marcus does not mean that things stay immobile in a physi
cal sense, but that they are " in themselves, " in the sense in which " in
itself" could be opposed to " for itsel " Things do not care about us: they
do not try to influence us, penetrate within us, or trouble us. Besides,
" they know nothing about themselves and affirm nothing about them
selves. " It is rather we who are concerned about things, who try to get to
know them, and who are worried about them. It is human beings who,
thanks to their freedom, introduce trouble and worry into the world.
Taken by themselves, things are neither good nor evil, and should not
trouble us. The course of things unfolds in a necessary way, without
choice, without hesitation, and without passion.
If you are grieving about some exterior thing, then it is not that
thing which is troubling you, but your judgment about that thing
(VIII, 47) .
Here we encounter an echo of a famous saying by Epictetus:
What troubles people is not things, but their judgments about
things (Manual, s ) .
Things cannot trouble u s , because they d o not touch our ego; i n other
words, they do not touch the guiding principle within us. They remain
on the threshold, outside of our liberty. When Marcus and Epictetus add
that " what troubles us is our judgment about things, " they are clearly
alluding to the discourse which it is within our power to pronounce
within ourselves, in order to define for ourselves the meaning of a given
event. It is this latter judgment which may trouble us, but this is where
the fundamental dogma of Stoicism comes in: there is no good but moral
good, and there is no evil but moral evil. That which is not moral-that
1 08
is to say, that which does not depend on our choice, our liberty, or our
judgment-is indifferent, and ought not to bother us. If our judgment
about things is troubling us, the reason is that we have forgotten this
fundamental dogma. The discipline of assent is thus intimately linked to
the doctrine of good, bad, and indifferent things (XI , 1 6) :
To live one's life in the best way: the power to do this resides
within our soul, if we are capable of being indifferent to indifferent
things. And we can be indifferent to indifferent things if we consider
each of these things, in each of its parts and in its totality, remem
bering that none of them can produce within us a value-judgment
about them, nor can they reach us. Rather, things remain immo
bile, whereas it is we who engender judgments about them, and, as
it were, write them down within ourselves. But it is possible for us
not to write them down; it is also possible, if we have not succeeded
in this, to erase them instantaneously.
The soul is free to judge as it pleases
Things, therefore, should not have any influence upon the guiding prin
ciple . Both Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius agree that the guiding princi
ple alone is responsible, whether it is troubled by things, or whether, on
the contrary, it is at peace. It is the guiding principle itself which modifies
itself, as it chooses this or that judgment about things, and consequently
this or that representation of the world. In the words of Marcus Aurelius
(who here uses the word " soul " to designate the superior, guiding part of
the soul; V, 1 9) : " the soul modifies itself. " This concept was a part of
Stoicism well before the time ofEpictetus and Marcus, as is shown by the
following passage in Plutarch:6
It is the same part of the soul, which they call dianoia (faculty of
reflection) and hegemonikon (guiding principle) , which changes and
is totally transformed in the passions and transformations which it
undergoes . . . they affirm that passion itself is reason, but depraved
and vicious reason, which, as a result of bad and mistaken judgment,
grows strong and vigorous.
Here we encounter another Stoic dogma: there is no opposition, as
the Platonists had held, between one part of the soul which is rational
10 9
and good in and of itself, and another part which is irrational and bad.
Rather, it is reason-and the ego itself-which becomes either good or
bad, as a function of the judgments which it forms about things. " It is the
soul which changes itself, according to whether it knows things, or fails
to know them. "7 This means that it is by its own judgment and decision
that the soul is in the right, or in error.
It must be understood that, for Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, all of
the preceding must be situated in the order of the value which is attrib
uted to things, and not in the order of being. In order to clarify this, we
can use an example set forth by Marcus (VIII, 5 0) : the cucumber that I
want to eat is bitter. Consequently, there is impressed upon my soul the
representation of a bitter cucumber, and the soul's guiding principle
should have only one thing to say about this representation: the assertion
" This cucumber is bitter. " Here we can recognize an instance of the
obj ective and adequate representation (phantasia kataleptike) . The entire
discipline of assent will therefore consist in my accepting only this one
obj ective representation. If, however, I were to add the question: " Why
are there such things in the world? " or the exclamation " Z eus is wrong
to allow such things! " then I am adding, freely and of my own accord, a
value-judgment which no longer corresponds to the adequate content of
my obj ective representation.
In Arrian's Manual ( 5), the saying " It is not things that trouble people,
but their judgn1ents about things " is well explained by the following
commentary: " For instance, there is nothing fearful about death . . .
rather, it is because of the judgment which we bring to bear upon
death-i . e . , that it is fearful-that is what is fearful about death. " Once
again, we have here a value-judgment which is added on in a purely
subj ective way.
It is in the area of value-judgments that the power of the guiding
principle, and of its faculty of assent, comes into play. It is this power that
introduces value differences into a world which is indifferent and " in
itself. " Nevertheless, the only value-judgments which are authentic and
true are those which recognize that the good is moral good, that evil is
moral evil, and that that which is neither morally good nor bad is indif
ferent, and therefore valueless. In other words, the Stoic definition of
good and evil has as its consequence the total transformation of one's
vision of the world, as it strips obj ects and events of the false values which
people have the habit of attributing to them, and which prevent them
from seeing reality in its nudity (VII, 68) :
1 10
True judgment says to that which presents itself: " this is what you
are in essence, even though you may appear to common opinion to
be something else. "
However, although
the guiding principle has the power to bring it about that every
event appears to it in the way it wills (VI , 8) ,
this does not mean that the guiding principle can imagine anything it
pleases about reality, but rather that it is free to attribute what value it
wishes to the obj ects it encounters. In order to suppress the false value
which we attribute to these obj ects, it is enough to suppress our false
discourse about the value of these obj ects. If we suppress the inner
discourse which says " I have been harmed, " then the harm disappears
and is suppressed (IV, 7) . As Epictetus had said (IV, 1 , I I o) : "Do not tell
yourself that indifferent things are necessary to you, and they will no
longer be so. "
Thus, when Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius speak of "judgments "
(hypolepsis), they are thinking of " value-judgments. " This is why I have
usually translated hypolepsis as " value-judgment. "
Critical idealism?
It is thus misleading to compare, as does Victor Goldschmidt,8 the affir
mations of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius to a kind of " Kantian ideal
ism, " completely different from the theory of the obj ective or compre
hensive representation proposed by Chrysippus . For Chrysippus, writes
Goldschmidt, " comprehension was the natural consequence of assent
accorded voluntarily but necessarily-to the comprehensive repre
sentation. Now, as in Kantianism, comprehension applies more to ap
pearances than to the thing in itself It is we who elaborate upon the
appearance brought about by the obj ect, and it is therefore this subj ectiv
ity, deforming reality as it does, which we must study and criticize, much
more than reality itself . . . it is as if the representation, which is no longer
comprehensive immediately and as a result only of the obj ect, was now
rendered such by the activity of the subj ect. " Goldschmidt, however,
failed to see that, for Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, the activity of the
subj ect does not consist in producing a comprehensive or obj ective repre
sentation, but rather in sticking to that which is obj ective within the
III
obj ective representation, without adding to it any value-judgment which

might deform it. According to Epictetus (III, I 2 , I 5) , we must say to
each of our representations:
Let's see some identification! Do you have the sign from nature
which every representation must have, in order to be approved?
This interrogation is not directed toward the obj ective and adequate
representation to which we spontaneously give our consent, but rather
to the other representations or judgments: those inner discourses we
pronounce not about the reality of the event or thing, but about its value .
It i s the latter which lack the " ID " and the " sign " o f a n obj ective and
adequate representation.
The reason Goldschmidt gave this interpretation of Epictetus and of
Marcus Aurelius is that he has misunderstood a passage from Epictetus.
This passage is, to be sure, highly enigmatic at first sight (Manual, I , 5) :
Every time you are in the presence of an unpleasant representation,
practice saying to yourself: "You're only a representation (phanta
sia), and not quite what you represent (to phainomenon) . "
This, at any rate, is the translation proposed by Goldschmidt, but it is
incorrect. What is under discussion here is an " unpleasant " repre
sentation-that is, one which gives the impression that an obj ect or event
is painful, injurious, or terrifying. What this means is that the value-judg
ment " this is unpleasant" has been added on to the obj ective repre
sentation of an obj ect or event. The representation is consequently no
longer obj ective, but subj ective. A more accurate translation of
Epictetus' Greek would thus be "You are only a subj ective repre
sentation, " which is to say, "You are merely a pure representation " (or " a
mere product o f my imagination, " as w e would put it today) , " and you
are not at all" (" not at all, "9 and not " not quite, " as Goldschmidt trans
lated) " what really presents itself " Here, then, to phainomenon designates
the obj ect as it is when it presents itself within an obj ective and adequate
representation-in other words, what is truly perceived.
The simultaneous discovery of oneself and of the world
In the last analysis, then, the discipline of assent appears as a constant
effort to eliminate all the value-judgments which we bring to bear upon
1 12
those things which do not depend upon us, and which therefore have no
moral value. The phenomena of nature and the events of the world,
once they are stripped of all the adj ectives-" terrifying, " " frightening, "
" dangerous, " " hideous, " " repulsive "-which humankind, in its blind
anthropomorphism, applies to them, appear in their nudity and all their
savage beauty. All reality is then perceived from the perspective of uni
versal Nature, as within the flow of eternal metamorphoses of which our
individual life and death are only the tiniest waves. And yet, in the very
act by which we transform the way we used to look at things, we also
become aware of our ability to transform this way of seeing. Hence, we
become aware of the inner power which we possess to see things-and
by " things, " let us always understand the value of things-as we want to
see them. In other words, thanks to the discipline of assent, the transfor
mation of our consciousness of the world brings about a transformation
of our consciousness of ourselves. And although Stoic physics makes it
seem as if events are woven inexorably by Fate, the self becomes aware of
itself as an island of freedom in the midst of a great sea of necessity. This
awareness consists in delimiting our true self, as opposed to what we used
to believe was our self, and we shall see that this is the necessary condi
tion for peace of mind. If I can discover that the self I thought I was is not
the self I am, then nothing can get to me.
Circumscribing the self
Marcus Aurelius speaks several times of the need for the self and for the
guiding part of the soul to delimit and circumscribe themselves. On one
occasion, he takes the trouble to describe this exercise in detail (XII , 3 ) :
There are three things o f which you are composed: your body, your
vital breath, and your intellect (nous).
The first two are yours only insofar a s you must take care of
them. Only the third is yours in the proper sense of the term.
This is why, if you separate yourself from yourself,
that is to say, from your thought (dianoia),
-everything that others may say or do;
-or again, everything that you yourself have said and done (in the
past) , as well as the things which trouble you because they are still to
come;
-and everything that happens to you, independently of your will,
1 13
because of the body which surrounds you, or your innate vital

breath;
-and everything which stirs the waves of the violent sea which
bathes you,
in order that
-raised above the interweavings of Fate,
-pure,
-free for itself,
the living intellectual power
-by doing what is right,

-by willing everything that happens,
-by telling the truth,
if, I say, you separate from this guiding principle (hegemonikon)
the things which have become attached to it, because it has become
attached to them,
and if you separate from time that which is beyond the present
and that which is past,
and if you make yourselflike the Sphairos ofEmpedocles, "a pure
orb, proud of its j oyful uniqueness, "
and if you strive to live only what you live-that is to say, the
present,
then you will be able to live the time that is left to you, up
until your death, untroubled, benevolently and serenely with regard
to your inner daimon.
--
--
The exercise designed to circumscribe and delimit the self, then, be

gins with the analysis of the components of human beings: the body; the
vital breath, or soul which animates the body; and the intellect. This last
is equivalent to our faculty ofjudgment and assent, our power ofreflec
tion (dianoia) or guiding principle iegemonikon). We encounter this de
scription of the human being several times in Marcus (II , 2, l-3 ; II, 1 7,
l-4; III, 1 6, l ; V, 3 3 , 6; VII , 1 6 , 3 ; VIII, 5 6, l ; XI, 20; XII, 1 4, 5 ; XII , 26,
2) . At other times, the only things mentioned are the soul and the body,
with the soul being identified with the hegemonikon, as is clear from a
passage like VI, 3 2, in which soul and dianoia-and therefore
hegemonikon-are synonyms .
Traditional Stoic doctrine made a distinction between the body and
the soul, and further, within the soul, it distinguished a superior part: the
guiding part of the soul, in which the various psychic functions were
1 14
situated. Such a schema was purely dichotomous, in that it opposed soul

and body. It is easy to understand, however, how the Stoic doctrine of
the soul was able to evolve in the direction of the position we find taken
by Marcus Aurelius. The meaning of this evolution is well explained by a
passage from the Skeptic Sextus Empiricus:10
Some Stoics say that the word " soul" is used in two ways: on the
one hand, to designate that which holds together the entire mixture
of the body [this is what Marcus calls the pneuma, or vital breath] ,
and on the other, in a more proper sense, the guiding principle . . . .
In the division of good things, when we say that some things are
goods of the soul, others of the body, and others are exterior, we are
not referring to the soul in its entirety, but to that part of the soul
which is the guiding principle.
Although we encounter this splitting up of the soul into vital principle
and thinking principle in Marcus Aurelius, it does not seem that there is
any trace of the trichotomy proposed by Marcus in the sayings of
Epictetus as recorded by Arrian. It is, however, perhaps worth noting
that Epictetus (II , 1 , 1 7) does use terminology analogous to that of
Marcus when he contrasts the body (designated by the diminutive term
somation) with the vital breath (designated by the diminutive pneumation) .
The general principle which presides over the exercise of the delimita
tion of the self, which I am now describing, was formulated by Epictetus,
and placed by Arrian at the beginning of his Manual: the difference
between the things that depend on us and the things that do not depend
on us. In other words, it is the difference between inner causality, or our
faculty of choice-our inner freedom-and external causality, that is to
say, Destiny and the universal course of Nature.
The first step in the delimitation of the ego consists in recognizing
that, of the being which I am, neither the body, nor the vital breath
which animates it, is mine in the proper sense of the term. I must, of
course, take care of them: this is part of the doctrine of " duties " or
" actions appropriate " to nature. It is both natural and in conformity with
my instinct for self-preservation that I care for my body and the pneuma
which makes it live; but it is precisely this decision which I make con
cerning these things which belong to me that belongs to a principle of
choice, and this principle of choice does belong to me in the proper sense.
The body and the vital pneuma are not completely mine, because they are
imposed upon me by Destiny, independently of my will. It might be
1 15
obj ected that the hegemonikon is also " given, " but it is given as a source of
my initiative, or an " I " who decides.
In the passage quoted above, Marcus describes in a quite remarkable
way the different circles which surround the ego or the " I, " as well as the
exercise which consists in rej ecting them one by one, as something
foreign to my sel(
The first circle, and the most exterior, is the others. As Marcus says
elsewhere (III, 4, r ) :
Don't waste the part o f life that remains t o you in representations
(phantasiai) concerning other people, unless you relate them to
something which benefits the common good. Why do you deprive
yourself of the opportunity of accomplishing another task . . . imag
ining what so-and-so is doing, why he is doing it, what he thinks,
what he is plotting and all those other questions which make you
dizzy inside and turn you away from the attention which you
should be paying toward your own guiding principle (hegemonikon)?
The second circle i s that o f the past and the future. If w e want to
become aware of our true selves, we must concentrate upon the present.
As Marcus puts it, we must " circumscribe the present, " and separate
ourselves from that which no longer belongs to us: our past words and
actions, and our future words and actions. Seneca had already expressed
this idea: 1 1
These two things must b e cut away: fear o f the future, and the
memory of past sufferings. The latter no longer concern me, and
the future does not concern me yet.
Thus, neither the past nor the future depend upon me, and only the
present is within my power.
The third circle is constituted by the domain of involuntary emotions;
these are caused by impressions received by the body, and by the soul
considered as the principle of the body's animation, or " inborn vital
breath. " In order to understand these involuntary emotions, let us recall
the passage alluded to earlier from the lost fifth book of Epictetus' Dis
courses, as recorded by Arrian. In his Attic Nights, Aulus Gellius reports
that, during a sea voyage, he had seen a Stoic philosopher grow pale
during a storm, and when they arrived in port he had asked the philoso
pher why he had experienced such a moment of weakness. At this, the
I I6
philosopher had pulled Arrian's book out of his traveling bag, and
pointed to the passage in which Epictetus explained that if the sage
experienced a particularly strong and violent sensation, then he, too,
despite his wisdom, would experience an involuntary emotion which
would echo throughout the body and the rest of the soul. That, he
explained, was why the color of the sage's face might change, but, as
Epictetus had put it, " The sage does not give his assent to this emotion. "
What this means is that when our rational consciousness or guiding
principle translates such an emotion into its inner discourse, and an
nounces that " This is terrible and appalling, " then the guiding principle
immediately refuses to give its assent to this value-judgment. Let us note
in passing that this testimony is all the more interesting in that it lets us
glimpse how Epictetus, in those books written by Arrian which have
since become lost, spoke of themes very different from those which are
dealt with in the first four books. In the Discourses which have come
down to us, there does not seem to be any allusion to the sage's involun
tary movements.
In any case, Marcus Aurelius returns in another passage to the relation
between the guiding principle and involuntary movements (V, 26, 1 ) :
Let the sovereign and directing part o f your soul remain unaltered
in the presence of movements, whether gentle or violent, which are
produced in the flesh. Let it not be mixed with them, but let it
delimit itself and circumscribe these affections within the parts of
the body.
The guiding principle draws a border, as it were, between sensitive
emotions and its freedom ofjudgment, by refusing to consent or give its
assent to judgments which would attribute a positive or negative value to
the pleasures or pains that occur within the body. This border does not
prevent the guiding principle from perceiving everything that goes on
within the body, and thereby it ensures the unity of consciousness of the
entire living being, just as, within the cosmic living being, everything
goes back to the single consciousness of the guiding principle of the
universe (IV, 40) . From this new perspective, Marcus continues, we
cannot prevent sensations from penetrating within the guiding principle,
since they are natural phenomena; nevertheless, the guiding principle
must not add its own value-judgments concerning them.
On one hand, the guiding principle ensures the unity of living beings,
so that the sensations and emotions which I perceive are mine, since I
perceive them from within. On the other hand, however, the guiding
1 17
principle considers these sensations and emotions as somehow alien to

itself, insofar as it refuses to acquiesce and participate in the disturbances
which they introduce into the body. And yet, shouldn't the sage be
completely impassive, and the complete master of his body and of his
soul? This is how the Stoic sage is usually conceived. In fact, however,
the Stoic sage, as Seneca points out, 12 is far from being insensitive:
There are misfortunes which strike the sage-without incapacitat
ing him, of course-such as physical pain, infirmity, the loss of
friends or children, or the catastrophes of his country when it is
devastated by war. I grant that he is sensitive to these things, for we
do not impute to him the hardness of a rock or of iron. There is no
virtue in putting up with that which one does not feel.
This initial shock of emotion is the same movement, independent of
our will, of which Marcus Aurelius speaks. Seneca is quite familiar with
it, too:13
This is how passions are born, develop, and become excessive. First
of all, there is an initial involuntary movement; a kind of prepara
tion for and threat of passion. Then there is a second one, accompa
nied by a desire which we are still able to rej ect: to wit, the idea that
" I have to get even because someone has done me wrong . . . . "
Finally, there is a third movement which can no longer be mastered
. . . we must have revenge at all costs. The first shock to the soul
cannot be avoided with the help of reason, any more than other
reflex movements which happen to the body, such as yawning . . .
reason cannot vanquish them, but perhaps habit and constant atten
tion may attenuate them. The second movement, which arises from
a judgment, can be suppressed by a judgment.
According to the Stoics, then, even the sage himself cannot escape these
first involuntary movements. As Seneca puts it,14 he always feels appear
ances or " shadows of passions. "
The fourth circle, a " rushing tide which bathes you with its waves, " is
that of the course of events; in other words, it is the course of Destiny
and of the time in which Destiny unveils itself (IV, 43 ) :
A river o f all events, a violent current: that is what eternity is. No
sooner has each thing appeared than it has already passed; another
comes along, and it too will be swept away.
I I8
Elsewhere, Marcus writes (V, 2 3 ) :

Think often o f how quickly beings and events pass and disappear;
for substance is like a river in perpetual flux.
If, Marcus adds, we can recognize that all this flux of things and events
is alien to us, then we will be " raised above the tangled web of Destiny. "
To be sure, our body and our vital breath are swept along by this flux,
and both our representations of things which are received into the body
and our vital breath belong to this flux, because they are produced by
causes outside of us. Yet the self becomes aware of the fact that, thanks to
its freedom of judgment-which also implies freedom of desire and of
the will-it stands apart from this flux. The self, then, identical with the
guiding principle, is raised above the web of destiny.
When the self thus becomes aware of its freedom, it acts only by
making its reason coincide with the Reason of universal Nature. It wants
that which happens; in other words, it wants what universal Nature
wants. The self now tells the truth, both inwardly and outwardly: in
other words, whenever a representation presents itself to the guiding
principle in order to obtain its assent, the self restricts itself to what is. It
holds fast to the obj ective representation, without adding value-judg
ments to things which have no moral value. Finally, the self now does
what is right: that is, it acts in accordance with Reason, in the service of
the human community. Here (XIII, 3 , 3) we recognize Epictetus' three
exercise themes (topoi), which, as we have seen, were taken up again by
Marcus Aurelius. To circumscribe and delimit one's self thus means to
practice the following exercises:
( r ) in the area of assent, it means not approving those value-judgments
which may be influenced by the body and the vital breath, which are
something other than myself;
(2) in the area of desire, it means recognizing that everything that does
not depend upon my moral choice is indifferent; and
(3) in the area of action, it means going beyond the egoistic concern for
my body and my vital breath, in order to rise up to the viewpoint of
Reason, which is common to all human beings; thus, it means willing
that which is beneficial to the common good.
After he has arrived at this culminating point, Marcus returns to the
theme of the delimitation of the self, in order to clarify certain aspects of
the process. The effort of concentration must make us aware of the fact
that things have become attached to us, and are no longer distinguishable
1 19
from us. Our self has become confused with such things, because we
have attached ourselves to them. Epictetus is fond of this theme of our
alienation toward things to which we attach ourselves (IV, 1 , 1 1 2) :
Purify your judgments, so that nothing that is not "yours " may
become attached to you or become connatural with you, so that
you do not feel any suffering if it is snatched away from you.
Such obj ects are not " ours, " Epictetus reminds us, not only because they
are different from us, but above all because they belong to Destiny and to
God, who are free to take them back after they have given them to us
(III, 24, 84) :
When you become attached to something, do not do so as to an
obj ect that cannot be taken away from you, but as if it were some
thing like a pot or a glass cup, so that, if it is broken, when you
remember what it was, you will not be disturbed . . . Remember
that what you love is mortal, and that nothing of what you love
belongs to you in the proper sense of the term. It has been given to
you for the time being, not forever or in such a way that it cannot
be taken away from you, but, like a fig or a bunch of grapes, at a
particular season of the year. If you get a craving for them during
the winter, then you're stupid.
Marcus Aurelius then returns to the importance of concentrating upon
the present moment. This indissoluble link between the delimitation of
the self and the delimitation of the present moment is extremely sig
nificant. It is only when I am active, either within myself or upon the
outside world, that I am truly myself and at liberty; and it is only in the
present moment that I can be active. Only the present is mine, and the
present is all that I live.
When the self has thus isolated and returned into itself, says Marcus, it
can be compared to the Sphairos of Empedocles. For Empedocles, this
term denoted that unified state of the universe when it is dominated by
Love, as opposed to the state of division it is in when dominated by Hate.
While in its state of unity, the universe is perfectly round, delighting in its
j oyful immobility. In the philosophical tradition, Empedocles' Sphairos
had become the symbol of the sage, " completely within itself, well
rounded and spherical, so that nothing extraneous can adhere to it,
because of its smooth and polished surface, " in the words of Horace.15
1 20
Such an image corresponds to the ideal of the inner citadel, invincible

and impenetrable (VIII, 48, 3 ) , which represents the self that has delim
ited itself.
At the end of this passage, Marcus alludes to our inner daimon, which,
for him, is identical with the self, the guiding principle, or the faculty of
reflection. I shall return below to this notion of the daimon.
As we can see, this delimitation of the self is, in the last analysis, the
fundamental exercise of Stoicism. It implies a complete transformation of
our self-consciousness, of our relation toward our body and toward
external goods , and of our attitude toward the past and the present. It
calls for concentration on the present moment, an asceticism of detach
ment, the recognition of the universal causation of Destiny, in the midst
of which we are plunged, and the discovery of the power we possess to
judge freely, that is, to give things whatever value we wish to give them.
Thus, the process of the delimitation of the self brings about a distinc
tion between two elements. On the one hand, there is what we believe
to be our true self our body, but also our soul-the vital principle
together with the emotions that it feels. On the other hand, there is our
power to choose. That which we think is our true self is imposed upon
us by Destiny, but in fact our genuine self is situated high above Destiny.
This opposition between our two " selves " appears quite clearly in a
passage where Marcus Aurelius confesses that he is slow-minded. This
trait, he writes, is inborn in him; it belongs to his character and his
physical constitution, and therefore does not depend upon him, any
more than do his size or the color of his eyes. What does depend on him,
by contrast, is his freedom to act in a moral way (V, 5 ) :
S o it's not likely that they're going t o admire your quick-witted
ness. So be it! But there are many other matters about which you
cannot say that you are not gifted; these are the things that you must
display, because they are completely within your control: avoiding
duplicity; being serious; putting up with suffering; having contempt
for pleasure; not complaining about Destiny; having few needs;
being free, benevolent, and simple; avoiding idle chatter; possessing
greatness of soul. Can't you feel how many things there are which
you are capable of displaying, and for which the absence of talent
and natural capacities can no longer serve you as an excuse?
Two things are opposed in this passage: the awareness by means of
which one discovers one's psychological self, with its qualities and its
defects, and such as it is determined by Destiny. Over and against this, we
121
see the awareness o f one's self qua guiding principle, and therefore capa
ble of acceding to the sphere of morality. We thus have to do with two
aspects of the faculty of reasoning and thinking. Although reason is
inherent in every human being, it is only equally present in all human
beings in its role as a faculty ofjudgment and of moral decision-making.
This, however, does not prevent the existence of qualitative differences
in speculation and in expression, according to one's individual particu
larities.
Let us be clear: the self, whether envisaged as a principle of freedom
capable of acceding to morality, or as a guiding principle, is not, by itself,
either good or evil. It is indifferent. To be able to choose means being
able to choose between good and evil; consequently, it means being able
to be either good or evil. For Marcus, rationality is not good in and of
itself, as it was for Plato. Reason can be utterly depraved (X, 1 3 ) :
Men commit [these evil actions] not with their hands o r feet, but
with the noblest part of themselves. If it so wishes, however, this
same part may become faith, modesty, truth, law, or a good daimon.
This delimitation of the self, as a potential for liberty which transcends
Destiny, is equivalent to the delimitation of the faculty I possess to judge,
and either to give or to withhold my assent from my value-judgments. I
may be constrained by Destiny to have a body; to be sick or poor; to be
hungry; or to die on such-and-such a day; but I can think whatever I
please about such situations. I can refuse to consider them as misfortunes,
and no one can tear this freedom of viewpoint away from me.
In the name of what, however, or in virtue of what shall I judge that
the only good is moral good, and the only evil moral evil? This is where
the mystery of freedom comes in. As Marcus says, the self, in its capacity
as the power ofjudging and choosing, can also become " faith, modesty,
truth, law, or a good daimon, " as well as the contrary of any of these .
Thus the self, if i t s o desires, can identify itself with universal Reason, o r
the transcendent Norm which posits the absolute value o f morality. This
is precisely the level at which Marcus was situating himself when he
wrote his spiritual exercises; in other words, he was identifying himself
with this universal Reason or transcendent Norm. This is what Epictetus
used to call " the Other" (I , 3 0 , l ) :
When you go to see some important personage, remember that
there is an Other, watching what happens from above, and that it is
better to please this Other than that man.
1 22
Like an inner voice, this Other has a dialogue with the guiding principle
in the discussion which Epictetus imagines following this passage. It is,
moreover, this same transcendent Other with whom Marcus Aurelius
carries on a dialogue in the Meditations.
It can thus be said-although Marcus does not make the distinction
explicitly-that there is a difference between two kinds of freedom. On
the one hand, there is freedom of choice, by virtue of which the guiding
principle has the possibility of rendering itself either good or evil. On the
other, there is realfreedom, thanks to which the guiding principle chooses
moral good and universal Reason, and thereby ensures that its judgments
are true, its desires fulfilled, and its acts of will efficacious. Only real
freedom is freedom in the full sense of the term.
Thus, the guiding principle is an " inner citadel, " already impregnable
in its guise as freedom of choice, which cannot be forced if it refuses.
This citadel is still more impregnable , however, in its guise as real free
dom-that is, if it manages, thanks to its identification with universal
Reason, to liberate itself from all that could possibly subjugate its judg
ments, desires, and its will (VIII, 48) :
Remember that the guiding principle becomes invincible when it
turns itself toward itself, and is content with not doing that which it
does not wish to do , even if its resistance is unreasonable .
What shall happen, then, if it surrounds itself with circumspec
tion and reason when it emits a judgment? This is why the intellect,
when freed from the passions, is a citadel; for mankind has no
stronger fortress than this. If we take refuge within it, we will be in
an impregnable position from now on.
When the guiding principle thus discovers that it is free in its judg
ments, that it can give whatever value it pleases to the events which
happen to it, and that nothing can force it to commit moral evil, then it
experiences a feeling of absolute security. From now on, it feels, nothing
can invade it or disturb it. It is like a cliff against which the crashing surf
breaks constantly, while it remains standing unmoveably as the waves
come, bubbling, to die at its feet (IV, 49, l ) .
I n the passage from Marcus which I have discussed at length above,
one can observe a complete equivalence between five terms:
r . the self;
2 . intellect (nous);
1 23
3 . the power of reflection (dianoia);

4. the guiding principle (hegemonikon); and
5 . the inner daimon.
All this is in complete conformity with Stoic tradition, including the idea
of the daimon, which seems clearly to turn up in the writings of Chrysip
pus.16 The definition of the happy life, according to Chrysippus, is that in
which everything is done " in accordance with the harmony between the
daimon within each one of us and the will of the governor of the uni
verse. "
It is not difficult for modern readers to understand this identification of
the self with the intellect, the power of reflection, or the guiding princi
ple; but the idea of the daimon may seem more obscure. It is a very old
notion: in the Homeric poems, daimon often evokes the idea of individ
ual destiny, or more generally, a diffuse divine power. Everyone is famil
iar with Socrates' daimon, which Plato presents as an inner voice; but we
ought not to forget that Plato himself, when he speaks near the end of
the Timaeus (9oa) of the rational soul " which is the sovereign soul within
us, " asserts that " the god has given it to each one of us as a present, as ifit
were a daimon. " A few lines later (9oc) , Plato adds that whoever has
succeeded in touching true reality " renders ceaseless worship to the
divinity, and keeps the daimon which lives within him in good state. " For
Aristotle, the intellect within us is something divine.17
Might not this daimon within us be a power which transcends the self,
and which cannot therefore be identified with the self? And yet, even
though for Plato we are the rational soul, he nevertheless tells us that we
must keep this daimon "in good state. " This is probably a reference to the
statue of a god, to which worship must be offered.
We find the same ambiguity in Marcus Aurelius. Sometimes he tells us
that we must conserve this inner divinity and preserve it from all con
tamination, as if it could be stained (II, 1 3 , l ; II, 1 7, 4; III, 1 2 , l ; III, 1 6 ,
3 ) . Elsewhere, however, Marcus asserts that w e must carry out the will of
the daimon which God has given to us, as though we had to do with a
reality which transcends us (III , 5 , 2 ; V, 27) .
In fact, however, such assertions do not mean that Marcus thinks of
the daimon as something different from the intellect or the power of
reflection. For instance, he says of the power ofreflection (III, 7, 4)-just
as he says of the daimon-that we must take care all our lives " to preserve
it from a deformation which would not be fitting for a being which
thinks and lives in community with other human beings . "
1 24
Everything becomes clear if we replace the word daimon by " reason. "
On the one hand, reason for the Stoics is a part of universal divine
Reason; it was given to us by the latter, and we must do what reason
wishes. On the other hand, however, our reason may become corrupted,
and we must therefore take care to preserve it against every attack. This
celestial gift is a fragile one.
What, however, is the precise relationship between this daimon and the
self? To be sure, it corresponds to the transcendent Norm, which, as we
have seen, was equivalent to Reason. It also corresponds to the " Other"
mentioned by Epictetus: a kind of inner voice which imposes itself upon
us. Here, however, we come face to face with the paradox of moral life,
for the self identifies itself with a transcendent Reason which is simulta
neously above it and identical with it; it is a case of " Someone within me,
more myself than mysel "18 As Plotinus19 said of the Intellect, by virtue
of which we lead a spiritual life : " It is a part of ourselves, and we ascend
toward it. "
Although the self may thus raise itself to a transcendent level, it is very
difficult for it to keep itself there. The figure of the daimon allows Marcus
Aurelius to express, in religious terms, the absolute value of moral intent
and the love of moral good. No value is superior to virtue and the inner
daimon (III, 6, r-2) , and everything else, compared to the mysteries
which honor the eminent dignity of the inner daimon, is worthless petty
mindedness (III, 6, 3 ) .
There is something quite remarkable in this Stoic affirmation of the
transcendence of the realm of moral intent, compared to all other reality.
It could be compared to the distinction between the three orders which
we find in Pascal: the order of the " flesh " ; that of the " spirit" ; and that of
the " will. "20 Above all, it can be compared to Pascal's distinction be
tween the triad of "bodies, " " spirits, " and " charity. " Each order tran
scends the others to an infinite degree:21
One little thought could not be made to arise from all bodies taken
together, for this is impossible and they are of different orders. One
single movement of true charity could not be derived from all
bodies and all spirits; for that is impossible. It is of another order,
and is supernatural.
In Pascal, this idea is intended to allow us to understand that Jes us Christ
has neither the splendor of physical grandeur, nor that of intellectual
genius. There is nothing more simple than He, and yet more hidden. His
1 25
grandeur is of another order. Similarly, for the Stoics, the order of good
will and moral intent infinitely transcends the order of thought and of
theoretical discourse, as well as that of physical magnitude. What makes
humankind equal to God is reason, when it chooses moral good.
" Everything is a matter ofjudgment"
The discipline of assent, then, orders us to consent only to comprehen
sive representations, and it represents logic as the latter is lived and put
into practice . It might therefore appear that this discipline is exercised
only in a limited and determinate area-the rectitude of our inner dis
course-and that it does not interfere with the other areas of exercise,
namely those of desire and of action.
In fact, however, this is by no means the case. In the first place, the
discipline of assent is not exercised only with regard to inner discourse,
but also with regard to outer discourse. In other words, part ofit consists
in not lying, either to oneself or to others. It is for this reason that Marcus
calls the virtue which corresponds to this discipline " truth " (IX, I , 2) .
Above all, however, as we have seen throughout this chapter, there is a
sense in which the discipline of assent embraces all the other disciplines,
which can only be practiced through the perpetual rectification of our
inner discourse-that is, what we say to ourselves about things. On the
one hand, the discipline of assent is the same thing as the criticism of our
value-judgments, and to practice it presupposes that we accept a funda
mental Stoic principle of action: that the only good is moral good, and
the only evil is moral evil. On the other hand, practicing the disciplines
of desire and of action consists essentially in rectifying the judgments
which we bring to bear upon things. Leaving aside doctrinal refinements
and quarrels within the school, we can say that for the Stoics in general,
desire and impulses to action are essentially acts of assent.22 It is no doubt
true that their notion implies that of "movement-toward, " but this
movement is inseparable from our inner adherence to a specific judg
ment or discourse which is uttered about things.
Thus, we can say that, for Marcus, " everything is a matter of value
judgments. " This does not imply any kind of subj ectivism or skepticism,
but is the simple application of what we could call Stoic "intellectual
ism. " Inherited from Socratism, this doctrine proclaims that all virtue is a
kind of knowledge,23 and that all vice is ignorance. Whatever the precise
meaning of this Socratic doctrine may have been, it is clear that it is not a
question of theoretical or abstract knowledge and ignorance, but of a
1 26
knowledge and a non-knowing which engage the individual. The kind

of knowledge at issue does not have to do with judgments of existence,
but with value-judgments, which bring into question one's entire way of
living. This nuance is conveyed well by the term " realize. " A person
who commits a fault does not " realize " that his action is bad. He thinks it
is good, by means of a false value-judgment. A good man, by contrast,
" realizes " that moral good is the only good, which is the same as to say
that he understands the kind of life to which his value-judgment com
mits him. There is implied within this doctrine the idea that every person
has a natural desire for the good, and that he can only fail to achieve it by
being mistaken about the nature of the good. As Rene Schaerer24 has
correctly observed, this is the postulate upon which Socratic and Platonic
dialectics are based: " No discussion is possible if one's adversary refuses to
admit that good-in one form or another-is better than evil. "
It is from the viewpoint of this "intellectualism " that we can say that
" no one is evil voluntarily" ; for the apparently evil person, although he
naturally desires the good, is simply mistaken by the value-judgment he
brings to bear upon the nature of the good. As Epictetus and Marcus
Aurelius both say, following Plato : " each soul is deprived of the truth
involuntarily. "
Epictetus elsewhere gives forceful expression to this doctrine (II , 26) :
All errors imply a contradiction, for since he who errs does not wish
to err, but to succeed, it is obvious that he is not doing what he
wishes. What does the thief want to do? That which is profitable to
him. If therefore, theft is a harmful thing for him, then he is not
doing what he wishes. Now contradiction is, for every rational soul,
naturally abhorrent. So long as the soul is not aware that it is in
volved in a contradiction, nothing prevents it from doing contra
dictory things. Once it has become aware, however, it is absolutely
necessary that it desist from contradiction and flee, just as in the case
of error. He who notices his error is obliged by harsh necessity to
renounce it; but as long as the error does not appear, he adheres to it
as if it were the truth. He who is able to show each person the
contradiction which is the cause of his error, and to make clear to
him in what sense he is not doing what he wants, and is doing what
he does not want, is therefore a skilled talker, and knows how to
refute and persuade at the same time. Indeed, if a person can be
shown this, then he will retreat of his own accord. As long as you
do not show this, however, do not be surprised if he persists in his
1 27
error, for he does what he does because he believes it is a good

action. Socrates was full of confidence in his ability to do this, and
that is why he used to say: " I don't usually quote authorities to back
up what I say, but am always satisfied with my interlocutor. It is he
whose vote I take, and him I call forth as a witness, and he alone
replaces all the others for me. " For he knew that once the rational
soul is set in motion, like a scale, it is going to tip whether people
want it to or not. Point out a contradiction to the guiding principle ,
and i t will give i t up . If you d o not, then i t i s yourself you should
accuse, rather than the person you cannot persuade.
"Everything is a matter of value-judgment, " says Marcus (II, I 5 ; XII ,
2 6 , 2) , whether the subj ect i s the discipline o f assent, the discipline of
desire, or that of action. Can the last two, then, be reduced to the first?
The descriptions given by Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus incline us to
think that they apply to different domains, in accordance with the vari
ous relationships with reality into which we enter. My relationship to
universal Nature and the cosmos is the subj ect of the discipline of desire;
my relationship to human nature is that of the discipline of action; and
my relationship with myself-insofar as I am a power of assent-is the
domain of the discipline of assent. Nevertheless, it is the same method
which is used in the three disciplines. It is always a matter of examining
and criticizing the judgments which I bring to bear, either on the events
which happen to me, or on the actions which I want to undertake. From
this point of view, as E mile Brehier has said, "logic penetrates the whole
of our conduct. "25
T H E D I S C I P L I NE O F D E S I RE ,
OR
A M O R FA T I
Discipline of desire and discipline o f the impulses

The ancient Stoics distinguished two main functions of the guiding prin
ciple: assent, which is concerned with the areas of representation and
knowledge, and active impulse (horme) or the will, which is concerned
with the area of the motor functions, or of the movement toward objects
which is caused by our representations. 1 After them, Epictetus and Mar
cus Aurelius are the only Stoic thinkers who distinguish not two, but
three functions: assent, desire, and active impulse, to which the three
disciplines of assent, desire, and impulse correspond. It is interesting to
note that we find in Marcus Aurelius a systematic description of reality,
which justifies this opposition between desire and impulse in a way that
is much more precise than anything to be found in the sayings of
Epictetus as reported by Arrian.
Desire and active impulse represent a reduplication of the notion of
the will. Desire is, as it were, an ineffective will, whereas active impulse
or tendency is will which produces an action. Desire is related to affectiv
ity, while tendency is related to the motor functions. Desire is situated in
the area of what we feel-pleasure and pain-and of what we wish to
feel: it is the domain of passion, in the double sense of a state of the soul
and of passivity with regard to an external force which imposes itself
upon us. Tendency, by contrast, is situated in the domain of what we
want or do not want to do . It is the domain of action and initiative, and
implies the idea of a force within us which wants to exercise itself
For Marcus, desire and aversion presuppose passivity. They are pro
voked by external events, which are themselves the product of a cause
which is external to us; the tendency to act or not to act, by contrast, is
the effect of that cause which is within us (IX, 3 r ) . For Marcus, these two
causes correspond respectively to common and universal Nature, on the one
hand, and to our nature, on the other (XII, 3 2 , 3 ) :
The Discipline of Desire
1 29
Don't imagine that anything is important except that you act as your
own nature leads you, and that you suffer as common Nature ordains.
Elsewhere, Marcus writes (y, 25) :
At this moment, I have what common Nature wants me to have in
this moment, and I'm doing what my own nature wants me to be
doing at this moment.
And again (yl , 5 8) :
No one is going to stop you from living according to the reason of
your own nature, and nothing will happen to you contrary to the
reason of common Nature.
By opposing external and internal causes, common Nature and one's
own nature, Marcus provides an ontological foundation for the disci
plines of desire and of impulse. The farmer's obj ect is my relationship
with the immense, inexorable, and imperturbable course of Nature, with
its ceaseless flux of events. At every instant, I encounter the event which
has been reserved for me by Destiny; that is, in the last analysis, the
unique, universal, and common Cause of all things. The discipline of
desire will therefore consist in refusing to desire anything other than
what is willed by the Nature of the All.
The obj ect of the second discipline-that of active impulses and the
will-is the way in which my own minuscule causality inserts itself
within the causality of the world. In other words, this discipline consists
in wanting to do that which my own nature wants me to do.
We saw earlier that the discipline of assent constitutes, as it were, the
fundamental method of the other two disciplines, since both desire and
impulse depend on the assent which we either give to, or withhold from,
our representations.
If this is the case, and the discipline of assent is somehow implied by
the two others, then one can say that the practice of the philosophical life
can be summed up in the two disciplines of desire and the active will
(Marcus Aurelius, XI, 1 3 , 4) :
What evil can there be for you, if you do that which, in this present
moment, is appropriate to your nature;
and if you accept that which, in this present moment, comes at the
moment which is opportune for the Nature ef the All?
130
What precisely is meant by these two natures? " My " nature is not my
particular individual character, but my nature as a human being and my
reason, which I have in common with all human beings. Thus, it corre
sponds to that transcendent self which we have seen in the context of the
discipline of assent: that divine principle or daimon which is within us 0/,
I O , 6) :
Nothing will happen to me which is not in accordance with the
Nature of the Whole, and it is possible for me to do nothing which
is contrary to my god and my daimon.
" My " nature and the common Nature are not opposed, nor external
to each other, for " my" nature and " my" reason are nothing other than
an emanation from universal Reason and universal Nature, which are
immanent in all things. Thus, these two natures are identical (VII, 5 5 , 1 ) :
Keep looking straight ahead, i n order to see where nature is leading
you; both the nature of the All, by means of the events which happen
to you, and your own nature, by means of that which you must do.
These ideas go back to the Old Stoa, and can be traced at least as far
back as Chrysippus.2 While defining the moral goal as life in conformity
with nature, Chrysippus specified that he understood by this term both
universal Nature and that nature which is peculiar to humankind. The
identity between " nature " (physis) and " reason" ogos) is, moreover,
attested throughout the Stoic tradition.3 The fact that these two terms are
identical means that the world, together with all beings, is produced by a
process of growth (in a sense, this is the meaning of the word physis) ,
which has within itself its own method, rational law of cause and effect,
and organization (this is the meaning of the word logos) . Human beings,
as rational animals, live according to nature when they live according to
that inner law which is reason.
We constantly return to the fundamental intuition of Stoicism: self
coherence, which is at the same time the law which generates reality and
that which regulates human thought and conduct. The two disciplines of
desire and impulse thus consist, in the last analysis, in remaining coherent
with oneself; and this is the same thing as remaining coherent with the
Whole of which we are only a part (IV, 29, 2) :
He who flees the reason of the human community is a fugitive . . . .
He who separates and distances himself from the Reason of com-
13I
man Nature, and complains about what happens to him, is an

abscess upon the world . . . He who splits off his own particular soul
from the soul of other rational beings is like an amputated limb of
the city, for the soul is one.
By means of the discipline of desire, we are to desire only that which is
useful to the All constituted by the world, because that is what universal
Reason wants. By means of the disciplines of the will and of our im
pulses, we must want only that which serves the Whole constituted by
the human city, because that is what is wanted by right reason, which is
common to all humankind.
Circumscribing the present

As the reader has perhaps already noticed, what characterizes the presen
tation of the three exercise-themes in Marcus Aurelius, and differentiates
it considerably from the analogous expositions found in the sayings of
Epictetus as written down by Arrian, is the insistence with which Marcus
emphasizes that these exercises are concerned with the present. In the
case of the discipline of assent, they are concerned with our present
representations. In the discipline of desire, these exercises are directed
toward the present event; and in the discipline of active impulse what
counts are our present actions. We have already seen that the exercise
intended to delimit and circumscribe the self was, simultaneously and
indissolubly, an effort to concentrate upon the present.
This process of delimiting the present is entirely analogous to the
process by means of which we hold fast to the facts and to reality in our
obj ective and adequate representations, and refuse to add value-judg
ments to them. There is, after all, a sense in which the value-judgments
which trouble us are always related either to the past or to the future. We
become agitated about the consequences which a present event-or
even something that happened long ago-may have for us in the future;
or else we are afraid of some future event. In any case, instead of sticking
exclusively to what is happening right here and now, our representations
constantly overflow toward the past and the future-in other words,
toward something which does not depend on us, and is therefore indif
ferent (VI , 3 2 , 2) :
Everything other than its own activity is indifferent to the faculty of
reflection (dianoia). Everything that is its own activity, however, is
within its power. Moreover, even among these latter activities, the
IJ2
reflective faculty concerns itself only about the present; for even its
past or future activities are now indifferent to it.
Only the present is within our power, simply because the only thing
that we live is the present moment (II , 1 4; III, r o , r ; XII , 26, 2) . Becom
ing aware of the present means becoming aware of our freedom.
For the present is real and has value only if we become aware of it; that
is to say, if we delimit it by distinguishing the present action or event
from the past and from the future. We must therefore recognize that our
real lives are limited to a minuscule point which, by the intermediary of
the present event or action, places us in constant contact-whether ac
tively or passively-with the overall movement of the universe. " To
circumscribe that which is lived in the present" means simultaneously to
isolate oneself with regard to the past and to the future, and to recognize
our pumness.
The delimitation of the present has two principal aspects. On the one
hand, its goal is to make difficulties and hardships bearable, by reducing
them to a succession of brief instants. On the other, it is a matter of
increasing the attention we bring to bear upon our actions, as well as the
consent which we grant to the events that happen to us. These two
aspects can, moreover, be reduced to one fundamental attitude, which
consists, as we can already glimpse, in transforming our way of seeing
things, and our relationship to time.
The first of these aspects appears very clearly in the following passage
(VIII, 3 6) :
Don't trouble yourself by representing to yourself the totality of life
in advance. Don't try to go over in your mind all the painful
hardships, in all their varying intensity and number, which might
possibly happen. Rather, when each of them occurs, ask yourself:
"What is there about this situation that is unbearable or intoler
able ? " , for you will be ashamed if you answer affirmatively. In
addition, remind yourself that it is not the present, nor the past,
which weighs upon you, but always the present; and this present
will seem smaller to you if you circumscribe it by defining and
isolating it, and if you make your reflective faculty ashamed at the
fact that it cannot put up with such a small, isolated little matter.
We always encounter the same method of the criticism of repre
sentations and value-judgments, which consists in tearing away from
133
things their false appearance-which is what frightens us-and in defin

ing them adequately, without mixing in any representations which are
alien to the initial, obj ective representation we have of them. This is
what I have called the method of physical definition. For Marcus, it
consists not only in reducing a given reality to what it is, but also in
decomposing it into its parts, in order to discover that it is only an
assembly of its parts, and nothing else. No obj ect can make us lose our
mastery over ourselves, if we submit it to this method of division (XI, 2) :
A seductive melody . . . you can despise it if you divide it into each
of its sounds, and if you ask yourself if you are lesser than each one
of them taken separately; if you are, you would be filled with
shame. The same thing will happen if you repeat this procedure in
the case of the dance, by decomposing it into each movement or
each figure . . . . In general, then, and with the exception of virtue
and its effects, remember to head as quickly as you can for the parts
of a process, in order, by dividing them, to get to the point where
you have contempt for them. Transpose this method, moreover, to
life in its entirety.
Either because of his reading of Marcus Aurelius, or as a result of a
personal experience, Anatole France wrote something similar:4
My mother used to say that when you went over them one by one,
there was nothing extraordinary about Mme. Gance's features.
Every time my mother expressed this opinion, however, my father
used to shake his head in disbelief No doubt, my worthy father was
doing the same thing I was: he wasn't going over Mme. Gance's
features one by one; and whatever they may have been like m
detail, their total effect was charming.
In any case, the reader will not have failed to notice Marcus' conclud
ing remark: " Transpose this method to life in its entirety. " Here we
recognize the methods of definition and delimitation of the present
instant, which I have just discussed. We must not, says Marcus, lose our
self-control because of a song or a dance, since these things can ulti
mately be resolved into a series of notes or movements which are noth
ing but so many successive instants. Similarly, we must not let ourselves
become discouraged by the global representation of the whole of life
that is, of all the hardships and difficulties which await us. Like a song or
134
a dance, our lives are divisible into smaller units, and consist only of such
units. In order to execute a song or a dance step, we need to perform
each one of these units in succession. Life, too, consists only of a series of
such instants which we live in succession, and the better we are able to
isolate each one and define it precisely, the better we shall be able to gain
control over the entire series.
The other intention of the exercise of defining the present is to inten
sify the attention we bring to bear upon what we are doing or experienc
ing. Here, we are no longer concerned with diminishing hardships or
suffering; on the contrary, our goal is to exalt the consciousness of our
existence and our freedom. Marcus does not expand upon this theme,
but we can sense it in the insistence with which he returns to the
necessity of concentrating upon our present representations, our present
actions, and the present event, as well as the necessity of avoiding worry
about the past or the future (XI I , r , r -2) :
All the happiness you are seeking by such long, roundabout ways:
you can have it all right now . . . . I mean, if you leave all of the past
behind you, if you abandon the future to providence, and if you
arrange the present in accordance with piety and justice .
It should be pointed out here that, fo r Marcus, "piety" represents that
discipline of desire which makes us consent "piously" to the divine will,
as the latter is made manifest in events. Likewise, "justice " corresponds
to the discipline of action, which makes us act in the service of the
human community.
Marcus repeats the same exhortation elsewhere (XII , 3 , 4) :
If you apply yourself to living only that which you are living-in
other words, the present-then you can live the rest of your life
until your death in peace, benevolence, and serenity.
What is required is that we dedicate ourselves, completely and whole
heartedly, to what we are in the process of doing at a given instant,
without worrying about either the past or the future (VI, 7) :
Take j oy and repose in one thing only: to pass from one action
accomplished in the service of the community to another action
accomplished in the service of the community; all this accompanied
by the remembrance of God.
135
There is also a feeling of urgency about this attitude, for death can
arrive at any moment (II, 5 , 2) :
Each of life' s actions must be performed as if it were the last.
When we view things from the perspective of death, it is impossible to
let a single one of life's instants pass by lightly. If, like Marcus and the
Stoics, we believe that the only good thing is moral action and a perfectly
good and pure intent, then we must transform our way of thinking and
of acting in this very instant. The thought of death confers seriousness ,
infinite value, and splendor t o every present instant of life. " To perform
each oflife's actions as ifit were the last" means to live the present instant
with such intensity and such love that, in a sense, an entire lifetime is
contained and completed within it.
Most people are not alive, because they do not live in the present, but
are always outside of themselves, alienated, and dragged backwards and
forwards by the past and by the present. They do not know that the
present is the only point at which they are truly themselves and free. The
present is the only point which, thanks to our action and our conscious
ness, gives us access to the totality of the world.
In order to fully comprehend Marcus' attitude toward the present, we
must recall the Stoic definition of the present, as it is given in a summary
of Stoic philosophy:5
Just as the entire void is infinite in every direction, so all of time is
infinite in both directions. Both the past and the future are infinite.
He [i. e . , Chrysippus] states very clearly that, in general, time is
never present, for since that which is continuous is divisible ad
infinitum, then in accordance with this division all of time is also
divisible ad infinitum. Therefore, there is no present time, in the
proper sense of the term; rather, it is spoken of in an extended sense
(kata platos) . Chrysippus says that only the present " actually be
longs " (hyparchein) [to a subject] ; whereas the past and the future are
realized (hyphestanai), but " do not at all belong actually [to a sub
j ect] , " just as it is said that only those predicates which really occur
" actually belong. " For instance, " walking" belongs to me actually
when I am walking, but does not belong to me actually when I am
lying or sitting down . . .
Here we are faced with two diametrically opposed conceptions of the
present: the first considers the present as the limit between the past and
1 36
the future, within a time which is continuous, and hence infinitely

divisible. From this quasi-mathematical point of view, the present does
not exist. According to the second conception, the present is defined in
relation to the human consciousness which perceives it, as well as to the
unity of the intention and attention which I bring to bear upon it. It is,
on this analysis, that which I am currently doing, expressing, and feeling.
From this point of view, the present does have a certain duration or
" thickness " which admits of greater or lesser degrees (kata platos). In this
sense, the Stoic definition of the present is entirely analogous to that of
Henri Bergson, who in La Pensee et le mouvant drew a distinction be
tween the present as a mathematical instant, which is nothing but a pure
abstraction, and that present which has a certain thickness or duration,
which is more or less defined and delimited by my attention. 6
In attempting to understand the opposition introduced by Chrysippus
between, on the one hand, the present, and on the other the past and the
future, the reader will no doubt have been willing to grant that the
present is " that which currently belongs to me, " but may have been
quite astonished to read that the past and the future " are realized. "
Without entering into Chrysippus' technical refinements, which already
seemed exaggerated to the writers of antiquity, one can say in response
that what is important in the passage discussed above is not so much the
opposition between the two Greek terms which Chrysippus chose to
use-hyparchein and hyphestanai, elsewhere hyphestekenai, both of which
mean " to exist, " "to be real"-but rather their difference of tense. The
word hyparchein, when used with relation to the present, means " to be
real qua current process " ; whereas the word hyphestanai, used with regard
to the past and the future, means " to be real qua something determined
and definitive. " The former has an inchoative and durative force: it
denotes that which is happening right at this moment. The latter, by
contrast, has a definitive value. The reader may, moreover, be willing to
grant that the past has a definitive value. But the future?
Here we must recall that, for the Stoics, the future was just as much
determined as the past.7 For Destiny, there is neither future nor past, but
everything is determined and definite.8 Chrysippus chose the verb hy
parchein because it was a technical term of logic, which Aristotle fre
quently used to designate the inherence of an accident or an attribute in a
subj ect; thus it is a word which denotes a relationship to a subj ect.
Walking is "present "-that is, it belongs to me currently-when I am
walking. The past and the future, by contrast, do not currently belong to
me. Even if I think about them, they are independent of my initiative
and do not depend on me. Therefore, the present has reality only in
13 7
relation to my consciousness, thought, initiative, and freedom. It is these

which give it a kind of thickness and duration, which in tum is linked to
a series of unities: of the meaning of the discourse which I utter, of my
moral intention, and of the intensity of my attention.
When Marcus speaks of the present, he is always talking about this
durative present, which has a kind of thickness. Clearly, it is within this
present that I situate the representation which I am having at this mo
ment, the desire I am feeling at this moment, and the action which, at
this moment, I am performing. It is also this " thick" present, however,
which I can lessen by circumscribing and delimiting it, in order to make
it more bearable. Such a " shrinkage " of the present does not imply, as
Goldschmidt thought, 9 that the lived present would then be reduced to a
mathematical, infinitely divisible instant. Goldschmidt thought he could
percieve two attitudes toward the present in Marcus: one which de
nounced the unreality of the present instant, and another which be
stowed reality upon the present instant via the initiative of a moral agent.
On the contrary: we have seen how Marcus compared life to songs and
to dance. Songs and dance are made up of units-notes and move
ments-which do have a certain thickness, however slight it may be.
Now, a succession of unreal entities can never be put together so as to
give rise to a dance, a song, or a life . Moreover, when Marcus speaks of
the present in terms of a point within infinity, we can tell from the
context that he is still talking about a lived present, which has a certain
thickness (VI, 3 6 , r ) :
Asia and Europe are comers o f the world. The sea i s a drop o f the
world. Athas is a lump of earth, and all present time is a point
within infinity. Everything is tiny and unstable, and everything
vanishes (in immensity) .
Here, Marcus is not affirming the unreality of Asia, of the sea, or of
Mount Athas, and hence not of the present, either. Rather, he is
affirming-in a very scientific way, so to speak-their relative smallness
within the immensity of the Whole, and not their nonexistence.10 Once
again, we are dealing with the method of " physical" definition.
Events, the present, and cosmic consciousness

According to Epictetus, the goal of the discipline of desire was that we
not be frustrated in our desires, nor fall into that which we had been
trying to avoid. In order to realize this goal, we had to desire only that
which depends upon us-that is, the moral good-and flee only from
that which depends on us: in this case, moral evil. That which does not
depend on us is the realm of the indifferent: we must not desire it, but we
must not flee from it either, for if we do we risk " falling into what we are
trying to avoid. " Epictetus, we noted, linked this attitude to our consent
to Destiny.
Marcus Aurelius takes up this doctrine point for point, yet in his
writings its implications and its consequences appear more clearly and
explicitly. Above all, the discipline of desire in Marcus is related first and
foremost to the way in which we are to greet the events which result
from the overall movement of universal Nature, which are produced by
what Marcus calls the " exterior cause" (VIII, 7) :
Rational nature (that is, the nature peculiar to human beings) fol
lows the path which is appropriate to it . . . if it has desires and
aversions only for that which depends upon us, and if it greets with
j oy all that common Nature allots to it.
What is thus allotted to human nature is nothing other than the events
which happen to it (III, 1 6, 3 ) :
The proper characteristic of the good man is to love and to greet
j oyfully all those events which he encounters (ta sumbainonta), and
which are linked to him by Destiny.
We have already seen that, for the Stoics, what is present for me is that
which is currently happening to me: in other words, not merely my
current actions, but also the present event with which I am confronted.
Here again, as in the case of the present in general, it is my thought and
my attention which singles out from the flux of things that which has
meaning for me; at which point my inner discourse will declare that
such-and-such an event is happening to me. Moreover-whether I
know it or not-the overall movement of the universe, set in motion by
divine Reason, has brought it about that I have been destined, from all
eternity, to encounter such-and-such an event. This is why I have trans
lated the word sumbainon (etymologically " that which goes together
[with] ") , which Marcus customarily uses to denote that which happens,
by the phrase " the events which we encounter. " To be still more precise,
one would have to translate this as " the event which adjusts itself to us, "
1 39
but such an expression cannot always be used. This is, however, precisely
the meaning which Marcus gives to the word sumbainon (V, 8 , 3 ) :
We say that events are fitting to u s (sumbainein), just as masons say
that the square stones they use in walls or in pyramids " fit each
other" (sumbainein), when they are well-adapted to each other in a
given combination.
The imagery of the construction of the edifice of the universe is
reinforced by that of weaving. The interweaving of the woof and the
warp was a traditional, archaic image, linked to the figure of the Moirai,
who, as early as Homer, spun the destiny of each human being. 1 1 The
three Parcai, named Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos, appear-first in the
Orphic Derveni papyrus, 12 and then in Plato13 and the Stoics-as the
mythical figures of the cosmic law which emanates from divine Reason.
The following is a testimony to the Stoic doctrine:14
The Moirai (or " Parts ") are so named because of the process of
separation (diamerismos) which they carry out: Clotho (" the spin
ner") , Lachesis (" she who distributes the lots ") , and Atropos (" the
inflexible one ") . Lachesis is so called because she distributes the lots
which individuals have received according to justice; Atropos [gets
her name] because the division of the parts is unchangeable in any
of its details, and is immutable since eternal time. Finally, Clotho is
so named because the distribution takes place in accordance with
Destiny, and that which occurs reaches its end in conformity with
what she has spun.
Another testimony gives voice to approximately the same repre
sentations : 15
The Moirai get their name from the fact that they distribute and
assign things to each one of us. . . . Chrysippus suggests that the
number of the Moirai corresponds to the three times in which all
things have their circular movement, and by means of which all
things achieve their completion. Lachesis is so called because she
attributes to each human being his or her destiny; Atropos is so
called because of the immutable and unchanging character of the
distribution; and Clotho is so called because of the fact that all things
are woven and linked together, and that they can travel only one
path, which is perfectly well-ordered.
The " events which I encounter, " and which " adjust themselves to
me " have been woven together with me by Clotho, the figure of Des
tiny or universal Reason (IV, 3 4) :
Abandon yourself willingly to Clotho; let her weave you together
with whatever event she pleases.
Marcus Aurelius is fond of mentioning this interweaving:
This event which you are encountering . . . it happened to you; it
was coordinated with you; and was in relation to you, since it was
woven together with you, from as far back as the most ancient of
causes (V, 8, 1 2) .
S o something has happened t o you? Good! Every event that you
encounter has been linked to you by Destiny, and has, since the
beginning, been woven together with you from the All (IV, 26) .
Whatever happens to you has been prepared for you in advance
from all eternity, and the interweaving of causes has, since forever,
woven together your substance and your encounter with this event
(X, 5) .
While this motif is strongly emphasized by Marcus, it is not absent
from Epictetus' sayings, as recorded by Arrian (I, 1 2 , 25) :
Will you be angry and unhappy with what Zeus has ordained? He
defined and ordained these things together with the Moirai, who
were present at your birth and wove your destiny.
For the Stoics, events were predicates, as we saw in the case of "walk
ing, " which is present to me when " I am walking. " If, then, an event
happens to me, this means that it has been produced by the universal
totality of the causes which constitute the cosmos. The relationship be
tween myself and such an event presupposes the entire universe, as well
as the will of universal Reason. We shall have to examine later whether
this will defines the event in all its details, or merely gives it an initial
141
impulse . F o r the moment, i t i s sufficient t o note that whether I am ill, o r

lose my child, o r am the victim o f a n accident, i t i s the entire cosmos
which is implicated in the event.
This interconnection or interweaving-the mutual implication of all
things in all things-is one of Marcus' favorite themes. For him, as for
the Stoics in general, the cosmos is but a single living entity, endowed
with a unique consciousness and will (IV, 40) :
How all things cooperate to produce everything that is produced;
how everything is linked and wound up together
in order to form a " sacred connection " (IV, 40; VI, 3 8 ; VII , 9) .
Thus, each present moment, the event which I encounter within it,
and my encounter with this event, imply and potentially contain all the
movement of the universe. This notion is in agreement with the Stoic
conception of reality as total mixture, or the interpenetration of all things
within all things . 16 Chrysippus used to speak of a drop of wine which first
becomes mixed with the entire sea, and thence is extended to the whole
world.17 Similar world-visions are not, moreover, out of date: Hubert
Reeves, for example, speaks of E. Mach's notion according to which
" the whole universe is mysteriously present in each place and at each
instant of the world. "18 I am not trying to claim that such representations
are based upon science; rather, they are based upon an original, funda
mental, existential experience, which can be expressed in poetic form, as
it is in these verses by Francis Thompson:
All things
Near and far
Are linked to each other
In a hidden way
By an immortal power
So that you cannot pick a flower
Without disturbing a star. 19
Here again, we encounter the fundamental intuition of the cohesion
and coherence of reality with itself, an intuition which led the Stoics to
perceive love of self and accord with oneself in each movement of a
living being as much as in the movement of the universe as a whole, or in
the perfection of the sage. This is what Marcus expresses in passages like
the following (X, 2 1 ) :
1 42
The Earth loves! She loves the rain! And the venerable Ether? I t loves
too ! The World, too, loves to produce that which must occur. And I
say to the World: I , too, love--along with you. Don't we say:
" such-and-such loves to happen"?
Everyday language, which could use the verb " to love " to signify " to
be accustomed to, " is here congruent with mythology, which gives us to
understand, in its allegorical way, that it is characteristic of the All to love
itself What Marcus is alluding to here is the grandiose image of the hieros
gamos between the sky (or Ether) and the earth, such as it is described by
Euripides:
The Earth loves! She loves the rain, when the waterless field, sterile
with dryness, needs moisture. The venerable Sky, too, when filled
with rain, loves to fall upon the earth, by the power of Aphrodite .20
This myth allows us to glimpse that such self-love is not the solitary,
egoistic love of the Whole for itself, but rather the mutual love, within
the Whole, of the parts for each other, of the parts for the Whole, and of
the Whole for the parts. Between the parts and the Whole, there is a
" harmony" or " co-respiration, " which puts them in accord with one
another. Everything that happens to the part is useful for the Whole, and
everything that is "prescribed" for each part is, almost in the medical
sense of the term, "prescribed" (V, 8) for the health of the Whole, and
consequently for all the other parts as well.
The discipline of desire therefore consists in replacing each event
within the perspective of the Whole, and this is why it corresponds to
the physical part of philosophy. To replace each event within the per
spective of the Whole means to understand two things simultaneously:
that I am encountering it, or that it is present to me, because it was
destined for me by the Whole, but also that the Whole is present within
it. Since such an event does not depend upon me, in itself it is indifferent,
and we might therefore expect the Stoic to greet it with indifference.
Indifference, however, does not mean coldness. On the contrary: since
such an event is the expression of the love which the Whole has for itself,
and since it is useful for and willed by the Whole, we too must want and
love it. In this way, my will shall identify itself with the divine Will
which has willed this event to happen. To be indifferent to indifferent
things-that is, to things which do not depend on me-in fact means to
make no difference between them: it means to love them equally, just as
Nature or the Whole produces them with equal love. It is the Whole
1 43
which, through and by me, loves itself, and it is up to me not to destroy

the cohesion of the Whole, by refusing to accept such-and-such an
event.
Marcus describes this feeling of loving consent to the will of the
Whole and identification with the divine will in terms of the need to
" find satisfaction" in the events which happen to us. He writes that we
must " greet them j oyfully, " " accept them with pleasure, " "love " them
and " will" them. The Manual of Epictetus, as written by Arrian, ex
pressed this same attitude in striking terms which encapsulate the entire
discipline of desire (chap . 8) :
Do not seek for things to happen the way you want them to; rather,
wish that what happens happen the way it happens: then you will be
happy.
This entire attitude is admirably summed up in Marcus' prayer to the
World (IV, 2 3 ) :
All that i s in accord with you i s in accord with me, 0 World!
Nothing which occurs at the right time for you comes too soon or
too late for me. All that your seasons produce, 0 Nature, is fruit for
me. It is from you that all things come; all things are within you,
and all things move toward you.
This brings us back to the theme of the present. A particular event is
not predestined for me and accorded with me only because it is harmo
nized with the World; rather, it is so because it occurs in this particular
moment and no other. It occurs in accordance with the kairos (" right
moment" ) , which, as the Greeks had always known, is unique. There
fore, that which is happening to me at this moment is happening at the
right moment, in accordance with the necessary, methodical, and har
monious unfolding of all events, all of which occur at their proper time
and season.
To will the event that is happening at this moment, and in this present
instant, is to will the entire universe which has brought it about.
Amor fati
I have entitled this section "amor Jati. " Marcus Aurelius, who wrote in
Greek, obviously did not use these two Latin words; what is more, they
are not, as far as I know, used by any Latin writer in antiquity. The phrase
1 44
is Nietzsche's, and my intention in alluding to the love of Destiny of

which Nietzsche speaks is to help us better to understand, by means of
analogies and contrasts, the spiritual attitude which, in Marcus, corre
sponds to the discipline of desire. Nietzsche writes, for example:
My formula for what is great in mankind is amorJati: not to wish for
anything other than that which is; whether behind, ahead, or for all
eternity. Not just to put up with the inevitable--much less to hide
it from oneself, for all idealism is lying to oneself in the face of the
necessary-but to love it. 21
Everything that is necessary, when seen from above and from the
perspective of the vast economy of the whole, is in itself equally
useful. We must not only put up with it, but love it . . . . Amor fati:
that is my innermost nature.22
" To wish for nothing other than that which is " : Marcus Aurelius
could have said this, just as he could have concurred with the following:
The main question is not at all whether or not we are satisfied with
ourselves, but whether, more generally, there is anything at all with
which we are satisfied. Let us suppose we said Yes to one single
instant: we have thereby said Yes not only to ourselves, but to the
whole of existence. For nothing is sufficient unto itself-neither in
ourselves, nor among things-and if, just one single time, our soul
has vibrated and resonated with happiness, like a stretched cord,
then it has taken all of eternity to bring about that single event. And,
at that unique instant of our Yes, all eternity was accepted, saved,
j ustified, and affirmed. 23
For Marcus, as for Epictetus, there is no link between this loving
consent to the events which happen to us and the Stoic doctrine of the
Eternal Return. This doctrine asserted that the world repeats itself eter
nally, for the rational Fire which spreads throughout the world is subj ect
to a perpetual alternation of diastoles and systoles, which, in their succes
sion, engender a series of periods all of which are unique, and during
which the same events repeat themselves in a completely identical man
ner. For the Stoics, the ideas of Providence and Destiny, together with
the concepts of the complete interpenetration of all the parts of the
world, and of the loving accord between the Whole and all its parts,
1 45
were enough to justify that attitude ofloving acceptance in the face of all
that comes from Nature which constitutes the discipline of desire.
Nietzsche, by contrast, links the love of Destiny to the myth of the
Eternal Return. To love Destiny thus means to want that what I am
doing in this moment, as well as the way in which I live my life, should
be eternally, identically repeated. It means to live any given instant in
such a way that I want to relive again this instant I am now living,
eternally. This is where Nietzsche's amor fati takes on a highly idiosyn
cratic meaning:
The highest state which a philosopher can attain: to have a
Dionysiac attitude toward existence. My formula for that is amor
fati . . . .
For this, we must conceive of the heretofore denied aspects of
existence not only as necessary, but as desirable : and not only desir
able with regard to the aspects which have been approved up until
now (as their complements, for example, or as their presupposi
tions) , but in themselves, as the aspects of existence which are more
powerful, more fertile, and more true, in which its will expresses
itself most clearly. 24
As we shall see, Marcus did indeed consider the repulsive aspects of
existence as necessary complements or inevitable consequences of the
initial will of Nature. Nietzsche, however, goes much further: in fact, an
abyss appears between his views and those of Stoicism. Whereas the Stoic
"yes " means a rational consent to the world, the Dionysiac affirmation of
the world of which Nietzsche speaks is a "yes " given to irrationality, the
blind cruelty of life, and the will to power which is beyond good and
evil.
We have wandered far from Marcus; yet this detour has perhaps al
lowed us to arrive at a better definition of that consent to Destiny which
is the essence of the discipline of desire.
As we have seen, the exercises of definition of the self and concentra
tion on the present, together with our consent to the will of Nature as it
is manifested in each event, raise our consciousness to a cosmic level. By
consenting to the present event which is happening to me, in which the
whole world is implied, I want that which universal Reason wants, and
identify myself with it in my feeling of participation and of belonging to
a Whole which transcends the limits of individuality. I feel a sensation of
intimacy with the universe, and plunge myself into the immensity of the
cosmos. One thinks of Blake's verses:25
To see the World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
Thus the self qua will or liberty coincides with the will of universal
Reason, or the logos which extends throughout all things. The self as
guiding principle coincides with the guiding principle of the universe.
If, then, the self's awareness is accompanied by a consent to events, it
does not become isolated, like some tiny island, in the universe. On the
contrary: it is opened up to the whole of cosmic becoming, to the extent
that the self elevates itself from its limited situation and partial, restricted
individual viewpoint, toward a universal perspective. Thus, my con
sciousness is dilated until it coincides with the dimensions of cosmic
consciousness. In the presence of each event-no matter how banal
my vision now coincides with that of universal Reason.
When Marcus writes (IX, 6) : "Your present inner disposition is
enough for you, as long as it finds its j oy within the present conjuncture
of events, " the expression " is enough for you " has two meanings. In the
first place, as we have seen, it means that we possess the whole of reality
within this present instant. As Seneca said, 26 at each present moment we
can say, with God, "Everything belongs to me. " This, however, means
that if my moral intentions are good in this present moment, and I am
consequently happy, neither all the duration of life nor all eternity could
bring me one iota more of happiness. In the words of Chrysippus:27 " If
one has wisdom for one instant, he will be no less happy than he who
possesses it for all eternity. " Elsewhere, Seneca28 writes: " The measure of
the good is the same, although its duration may vary. Whether one draws
a large circle or a small one does not depend on its shape, but on the
surface which they enclose. " A circle is a circle, whether it is large or
small. Similarly, moral good, when it is lived within the present moment,
is an absolute of infinite value, which neither duration nor any other
external factor can affect. Once again, I can and I must live the present
which I am living at this moment as if it were the last moment of my life;
for even if it is not followed by any other instant, I will be able, because
of the absolute value of moral intention and of the love of the good
which I have lived in this instant, to say in that very instant: I have
1 47
realized my life, and have gotten everything I could have expected out of
it.29 It is this that enables me to die. As Marcus says (XI, 1 , 1 ) :
The rational soul . . . attains its proper end wherever it achieves the
limit of its life. It is not like the dance or the theater or other arts of
that kind, in which all the action is incomplete if they are inter
rupted. On the contrary: the action of the rational soul, in each of
its parts, and at whatever point one considers it, carries out for itself
what it was planning fully and without fault, so that it can say, " I
have reached my fulfillment. "
Whereas a dance or the reading of a poem reach their goal only when
they are finished, moral activity reaches its goal in the very instant when
it is accomplished. It is therefore entirely contained within the present
moment, which is to say, within th e unity of the moral intention which,
in this very moment, animates my actions or my inner disposition. Once
again, we note that the present instant can thus immediately open up the
totality of being and of value. One thinks of the words of Wittgenstein:
" If we understand by " eternity" not an infinite temporal duration, but a
lack of temporality, then he who lives within the present lives eter
nally. "30
Providence or atoms?
Marcus asks, rather enigmatically (IV, 3 , 5 ) :
Are you unhappy with the part o f the All which has been allotted to
you? Then remember the disjunction: either providence or atoms.
In the first sentence, we recognize the problematic characteristic of the
discipline of desire: we must accept, and even love, that part of the All
which has been allotted to us. If, says Marcus, we are initially unhappy at
and irritated by events, then we must remember the disj unctive dilemma:
either providence or atoms. Marcus is here alluding to an argument, and
it is enough for him to cite its first proposition-either providence or
atoms-in order to remind his readers of the entire thing. This dilemma
reappears throughout the Meditations, often accompanied by the argu
ment, or by variations on the argument, which remains implicit in this
first quotation.
Before we try to understand its meaning, it is necessary to spend some
time clarifying this initial proposition, which opposes two factors : on the
one hand, providence-elsewhere identified with Nature, the gods, or
with Destiny-and on the other hand, atoms. These two opposing con
cepts correspond respectively to the models of the universe set forth by
Stoic and by Epicurean physics . Marcus uses a variety of images to
describe these alternatives: there is either a well-ordered world or a
confused one; there is either union, order, and providence, or else a
formless mess, the blind linking up of atoms, and dispersion (IV, 27, l ;
VI, I O , l ; IX, 3 9 , l ) .
Marcus thus opposes two models of the universe: that of Stoicism and
that of Epicureanism. His reason for doing so is to show that, on any
hypothesis, and even if one were to accept, in the field of physics, the
model most diametrically opposed to that of Stoicism, the Stoic moral
attitude is still the only possible one. If one accepts Stoic physical the
ory-that is to say, the rationality of the universe-then the Stoic moral
attitude-that is, the discipline of desire, or rational consent to the events
brought about by universal Reason-does not raise any difficulties: one
must simply live in accordance with reason. If, however, one accepts the
Epicurean physical theory-a model where the universe is a dust of
atoms produced by chance and lacking unity-then the grandeur of
humankind consists in our introduction of reason into this chaos:
If the All is God, then all is well. But if it is ruled by chance, don't
you, too, be ruled by chance (IX, 28, 3 ) .
Consider yourself fortunate i f, i n the midst o f such a whirlwind,
you possess a guiding intelligence within yourself (XII, 14, 4) .
On either hypothesis, then, we must maintain our serenity and accept
events the way they are. It would be just as crazy to blame atoms as it
would be to blame the gods (VI, 24) .
This serenity must especially be maintained in the face of death.
Whether one accepts the Stoic or the Epicurean model, death is a physi
cal phenomenon (VI , 24) :
After their deaths, Alexander of Macedon and his mule-driver
wound up in the same state: either they were taken back up into the
rational forces which are the seeds of the universe, or else, in the
same way, they were dispersed among the atoms.
1 49
Our choice of a model of the universe thus changes nothing with

regard to the fundamental Stoic disposition of consent to events, which is
nothing other than the discipline of desire (X, 7, 4) . If we rej ect the
hypothesis of rational Nature, says Marcus, and choose to explain the
transformations of the parts of the universe by saying that " that's just the
way things are " (that is, that things occur by virtue of some kind of blind
spontaneity) , then it would be ridiculous to affirm, on the one hand, that
the parts of the All can thus spontaneously transform themselves, and yet,
at the same time, to be surprised and angry at these transformations, as if
they were something contrary to nature.
Such arguments are obviously not Marcus' inventions. When he first
speaks about them (IV, 3 ) , he makes only a brief allusion to them, as ifhe
were speaking of a well-known school-doctrine (" Remember the dis
junction . . . ") , without bothering to set forth the entire chain of reason
mg.
There is nothing in Epictetus which coincides word-for-word with
Marcus' formulations; yet we do find an argument of the same kind as
that set forth by Marcus in Seneca. The latter says roughly: "Whichever
hypothesis we accept-whether God or chance-we must philosophize;
that is, we must either lovingly submit to the will of God, or proudly
submit to the will of chance. "31
Whatever modern historians may claim, the dilemma " either provi
dence or chance, " when used by Seneca or by Marcus Aurelius, does not
signify either the renunciation of Stoic physical theories or an eclectic
attitude which refuses to decide between Epicureanism and Stoicism.32
In fact, we can see that Marcus has already made his choice between
Epicureanism and Stoicism, by the very way in which he describes the
Epicurean model with a variety of pejorative terms: " confused mixture "
or " formless mess, " for example. More important, Marcus refutes the
" atoms " explicitly and repeatedly, notably in IV, 2T
Should we accept the hypothesis of an ordered world, or that of a
confused mixture? -Why, quite obviously, that of an ordered
world. 33 If not, it would be possible for there to be order in you, and
for disorder to reign over the All , even though all things are so
distinguished from one another, and so deployed compared to one
another, and so much in sympathy with one another.
A similar refutation occurs in Book XI, I 8, 2 of the Meditations, where,
in order to remind himself of his duty to love other human beings,
1 50
Marcus utilizes the Stoic principle which affirms the cohesion and accord
with itself of Nature, all of whose parts are related to one another.
Marcus arrives at this principle by rej ecting the other branch of the
dilemma-that is, the Epicurean model:
Go back farther up from the following principle: if we rej ect the
atoms, then it is Nature which governs the All . If this is so, then the
inferior beings exist for the sake of the superior beings, and the latter
exist for each other.
One the one hand, then, Epicurean physics is impossible to uphold, in
the face of both inner and exterior experience. On the other hand,
Epicurean ethics, which could follow from Epicurean physics, is impossi
ble to defend from the viewpoint of inner moral demands. If all that
exists are atoms, disorder, and dispersion, then (IX, 3 9 , 2) :
What are you worried about? All you have to do is say to your
guiding principle: "You are dead; you are destroyed. You've be
come a wild beast; you defecate, you mingle with the flocks, and
you graze.
With caustic irony, Marcus thus implies that in a world without reason,
human beings become irrational beasts.
When, in other passages, Marcus seems to imply that the Stoic moral
attitude would be the same, whichever model of the universe one uses,
and whichever physics one accepts, he is trying to demonstrate that, on
all possible hypotheses, it is impossible not to be a Stoic. Aristotle af
firmed that even when we say that we must not do philosophy, we are
still doing philosophy.34 Similarly, the arguments of Seneca and Marcus
Aurelius run as follows: even if we agree with the Epicureans, and say
that there is no universal Reason, and that therefore Stoicism is false, in
the final analysis we must nevertheless live like Stoics; that is to say, in
accordance with reason. " If everything is random, don't you, too, act at
random" (IX, 2 8) . This does not by any means signify the abandonment
of Stoic physics, which Marcus elsewhere fully accepts and recognizes as
the foundation of moral choice . What we have here is instead a kind of
thought-experiment, which consists not in hesitating between Epicure
anism and Stoicism, but rather in demonstrating the impossibility of not
being a Stoic. Even if Epicurean physics were true, we would still have to
renounce the Epicurean idea that pleasure is the only value. We would
151
still have to live like Stoics; which means recognizing the absolute value
of reason, and consequently the indifferent nature of those events which
are independent of our will. In any event, we will still have to practice
the discipline of desire, which, as we have seen, consists in making no
distinction between indifferent things, which do not depend upon us.
Again and again, we find ourselves returning to the same central
theme: the incommensurable value of moral good chosen by reason, and
of true freedom, which are values compared to which nothing else has
value. This affirmation of the virtually infinite value of autonomous
moral reason does not, however, prevent the Stoic-precisely because he
does attribute this value to reason-from concluding that it would be
highly implausible for us to possess reason, and yet for the All of which
we are only a part not to possess it. Either providence-in which we case
we must live like Stoics-or else atoms-in which case we still have to
live like Stoics. In the last analysis, however, the fact that we do live like
Stoics proves that there are no atoms, but rather universal Nature . We
must therefore always live like Stoics.
The disjunction I have just discussed, which was used to prove that,
whatever our hypotheses, we have to live as Stoics, was a traditional part
of a more vast and developed argument sketched by Seneca. 35 This argu
ment took into account all possible hypotheses on the ways in which
events may be brought about, in order to prove that, on all these hy
potheses, the Stoic philosopher's moral attitude remained unchanged.
The accompanying diagram presents these hypotheses schematically; in
this regard, the following passage from the Meditations is highly sig
nificant (IX, 2 8 , 2; numbers in parentheses refer to subdivisions of the
diagram) :
Either the universe's thought exercises its impulse upon each indi
vidual (5) . If this is so, then accept this impulse with benevolence .
Alternatively, i t gave its impulse once and fo r all (4) and every
thing else occurs as a necessary consequence (J) . Why, then, should
you worry?
Finally, if the all is God (2) , then all is well. If it is random ( 1 ) ,
don't you, too, act a t random.
As we can see, each of the hypotheses presented brings us back to the
fundamental attitude of the discipline of desire .
In the diagram, we note that the disjunction-a fundamental and
absolute opposition-is situated between the affirmation of chance
(= Epicureanism) , and the negation of chance (= Stoicism) , which im

plies the affirmation of providence. All of the subdisj unctions, by con
trast, are compatible with the Stoic system. This schema, however,
which makes explicit the logical structure of Marcus' text, shows us that
the affirmation of providence contains a great many nuances, and that the
events which result from the action of providence can have widely
varying relationships with this providence. The initial opposition be
tween chance and non-chance, or chance and providence, is, as Marcus
himself affirms, a disjunction, which is to say that one of the alternatives
completely excludes the other. They are absolutely incompatible.
The remaining oppositions, however, are not true disjunctions, but
are what historians of logic call " subdisjunctions. "36 In this case, exclu
sion is not absolute, but relative: this means that, according to Marcus, in
the same world, some things may be brought about by the direct action of
providence (= hypothesis 2) , while others may be produced in a way
which is merely indirect and derivative (= hypothesis 3 ) . Alternatively,
we could say that, in the same world, some things may be brought about
either by a one-time general impulse on the part of providence (= hy
pothesis 4) , or by a specific impulse which relates to rational beings
(= hypothesis 5 ) .
Things are produced
either by
chance (1)
disjunction
[or not by chance]
either by
providence (2)
subdisjunction
subdisjunction
or by an impulse
or by an actual
or in some derivative
way, as the necessary
and particular
given once and
accompaniment of
impulse exercised
for all at the
specifically
beginning of the world,
providence's decision
hence in the past (4) ,
upon rational
(kat' epakolouthesin);
neither by chance nor
beings, and hence
directly by providence (3) .
in the present (5) ,
=
153
The distinction between hypotheses 2 and 3 is o f capital importance as

far as the discipline of desire is concerned (VI , 3 6, 2) :
Everything comes from above, either under the impulse of the
common guiding principle (2) , or else as a consequence (3) (kat'
epakolouthesin). Thus, the gaping jaws of a lion, poison, and every
thing which is unpleasant, such as thorns or mud, are only the
accidental consequences (epigennemata) of these things from above,
which are venerable and beautiful. Therefore, do not represent to
yourself these things which happen as a consequence (3 ) as alien to
that which you venerate; rather, rise up in your thought to the
source of everything (2) .
All things and events, therefore, are the results of universal Reason,
but in two different ways: either directly, in accordance with the will of
universal Reason, or else indirectly, as consequences which have not
been willed by universal Reason.
This distinction goes back to Chrysippus37 himself
The same Chrysippus, in the fourth book of his On Providence, treats
and examines a question which he thinks worthy of being asked:
" Whether human illnesses come about in accordance with Nature. "
In other words, did that very Nature of things, or providence ,
which has produced the system o f this world a s well a s the human
race, also produce the illnesses, sicknesses, infirmities, and bodily
suffering which people endure? He thinks that it was not Nature's
primary intention to arrange things so that people should be ex
posed to illnesses, for such a goal has never been compatible with
Nature, the creatrix and mother of all good things. However, he
says, while Nature was engendering and bringing into the world a
large number of great, appropriate, and useful things, other incon
venient things which were linked to these great things she was
accomplishing came to be added accessorily. Thus, he says that these
obstacles were not produced by Nature, but as a result of certain
necessary consequences which he calls kata parakolouthesin. For ex
ample, the construction of the human body required that the head
be formed of very small and thin bones. Thus, an inconvenient
side-effect-the weakness of the head-came about as a result of
the interest of the principal task.
1 54
This theory of accessory consequences plays a very important role in

Marcus' discipline of desire, since it is intended to justify our love for
things and events which may seem painful or repulsive to us. If universal
Reason has laid down the laws of Nature which ensure the health and
the conservation of the entire universe, then
I must therefore j oyfully accept and love that which happens to me
as a consequence of them (kat' epakolouthesin) (VI, 44, 3 ) .
That which could b e called a n accidental and blind consequence of
Nature's initial will is the fact that a given natural phenomenon-a
plague, for example, or an earthquake-should happen to strike me in
particular; it is also the fact that certain natural phenomena---such as
lions, thorns, or dirt---seem to me to be terrifying or repulsive. The
notion of " accidental consequence " is, then, intimately linked to subjec
tivity. The reason I think that an accident cannot be the work of a
benevolent Providence is because it is happening to me, is present to me,
and is perceived by me, or because I represent to it to myself as repulsive or
terrifying. I may then rebel, criticize Reason and universal Nature, and
refuse to accept it. Consequently, the discipline of desire consists in
rectifying this false judgment, by discovering that the event in question is
indeed the result of the benevolence of Nature, although without having
been willed directly by her. This has two implications: on the one hand,
the initial will of Nature was not to harm me. In the words of Cicero,38
" If drought or hail do harm to a landowner, that is no business of
Jupiter's. " In other words, " natural " phenomena do not pick and choose
among individuals.
Second, Nature's initial will was not to produce something cata
strophic, repulsive, dangerous, or ugly. Everything is natural, but it is an
accidental consequence of Nature's will that such natural phenomena as
lions, poison, and thorns may possibly represent a danger for human
beings, or at least appear to be a threat to them.
Here again, the discipline of desire is based upon a physical definition:
that which, setting aside all-too-human value-judgments, restricts itself
to the objective, adequate representation of its obj ect. Such a definition
sees reality as if human beings were not a part of it.
Precisely because Stoic providence is rational, it is not omnipotent.
Chrysippus told us that providence was constrained, in its construction of
the human body, to give the bones of the head a dangerous thinness.
Stoic Nature, like its Aristotelian counterpart, acts like a good adminis-
1 55
trator o r craftsman, who gets the best she can from the available materi
als. This has less to do with any defect of matter than with the very nature
of Reason. Reason demands a determinate, and therefore finite, obj ect.
The possibilities open to it are limited, and it must choose between quite
determinate contrary solutions, each of which have their drawbacks and
advantages. The result is not only a determinate universe which cannot
be other than the way it is-this is but another aspect of the doctrine of
Destiny-but also " such-and-such"39 a universe, which unfolds " such
and-such " an evolution from beginning to end, and repeats itself eter
nally.
When universal Reason produces the world, it engraves certain laws
into the coming-into-being of things. It is a law, for instance, that the
elements are in constant transformation, and yet that the beings brought
about by the transformation of the elements tend to preserve themselves.
The result of these fundamental laws, however, can be phenomena
which, on a subj ective level, seem to us to be repulsive, terrifying, or
dangerous. The law of the perpetual metamorphosis of the elements, for
example, has among its results death, dust, and mud; while the law of
self-preservation results in such defensive elements as a rose's thorns or a
lion's teeth. All these are incidental consequences of Nature's initial
decision.
The notion of necessary and incidental consequences is thus intimately
linked to the idea of a Providence which gives a one-time, originary
impulse (see hypothesis 4 above) . Everything then happens by way of a
necessary chain of events (kat' epakolouthesin), of which the effects that are
painful to humankind were not willed by the original impulse (hypothe
sis 3 ) . The two notions of originary impulse and consequential linkage,
then, strictly imply each other.
At the origin of everything is a single, universal impulse, which is the
work of Nature/Reason. We must not, however, imagine this impulse as
a "fillip, " to use Pascal's tenn40 when he said that the God of Descartes
does nothing more than snap his fingers in order to set the universe in
motion. We are not talking about an impulse imposed from outside by
some being different from the world, which then allows the world to roll
along like a billiard ball. On the contrary: the impulse Marcus speaks of is
imposed by a force which is within the world: the soul or mind of the
world. This must not be imagined in accordance with a model which is
mechanical, but rather according to an organic one; for the Stoics see the
development of the universe as like that of a living being, developing
from a seed. A seed has two aspects: on the one hand, it contains within
1 56
itself a force which exerts pressure or an impulse . On the other, it

contains programmed within itself all the stages of the living being's
development. Since this program proceeds methodically, it is " rational, "
and this is why the Stoics call the forces which bring forth living beings
" seminal reasons. "41 God, who is identical with Reason and Nature, is
the source of all beings; but he is himself a seminal reason containing
within himself all other seminal reasons.42 This is why Marcus Aurelius
(IX, I , I O) can speak of
. . . the ancient impulse of providence, by means of which, starting
from a particular beginning, it gave the impulse so that this arrange
ment of the world might be brought about. Prior to this, it had
gathered together some productive reasons of things which are to
come, and determined the forces which would engender births,
transformations, and successions of such-and-such a kind.
We are to picture this originary impulse as the effect of a force which,
from within, sets in motion the process of the expansion and deployment
of the universe. More exactly, what Marcus has in mind is a movement
of relaxation and expansion, which somehow causes the original energy
to explode. Thus, this universe contains within itself its rational laws of
development and organization. In this evolutionary process, as in the
growth of a living being, everything contributes to the welfare of the
entire organism, and everything is brought about as a necessary conse
quence (kat' epakolouthesin) of the initial impulse, and the rational pro
gram which the latter sets in motion. As we have seen, however, it may
be that these necessary consequences appear as evils to any given part of
the Whole, and it may seem that they have been " willed" by this devel
opmental law.
This theory of the originary impulse thus corresponds to the idea of an
impersonal, immanent providence, within the development of the uni
verse as a whole. The fact that the world is rational does not mean that it
is the result of the deliberation, choice, or calculation of some craftsman
exterior to his work. Rather, it means that the world possesses its own
internal law.
This image of an impersonal providence (hypothesis 4 above) seems
utterly opposed to that of a particular providence taking care of the
human race, and of some specific human beings in particular (hypothesis
5) . We now find the physical model of an impersonal law of nature,
which runs the risk of crushing individuals, replaced by the images of
1 57
gods who care fo r human beings, who can be prayed t o , who are suscep
tible to pity, and who concern themselves with the smallest details oflife .
These two representations appear t o be completely incompatible, and
one might think that Marcus brings up the idea of a providence suscepti
ble to pity in the same way as he brought up the dilemma "providence or
atoms " : in order, that is, to show that we must maintain the same Stoic
attitude, no matter which hypothesis is true (XII , 1 4) :
Either the necessity of Destiny and unbreakable order, or else provi
dence capable of pity, or else directionless chaos.
If it is inflexible necessity, why do you resist?
Is it providence susceptible to pity? Then make yourself worthy
of divine assistance.
Directionless chaos? Then consider yourself fortunate that, in
midst of such a whirlwind, you possess within yourself a guiding
intelligence .
The very idea o f a providence capable o f pity does not seem compat
ible with the principles of Stoicism, insofar as it seems to imply that
universal Reason could deviate from its initial movement. Seneca em
phasizes this point: " If divine maj esty had done something which it later
had to modify, it would be an affront and the admission of an error. "43
God himself cannot change the course of destiny, because it is the neces
sity and the law which he has imposed upon himself. God is his own
necessity unto himself.
Nevertheless, the opposition between the unique initial impulse and
individual providence is not as radical as it appears at first glance. In order
to discover the true meaning of this opposition, we must simply take into
account religious attitudes, as well as the mythical language which ac
companies them.
It is certain that the theory of an individual providence is a response to
the need to personalize our relationship with the world and with Nature,
as well as to the need to sense God's presence, his goodness, and his
paternity. Such a need had been felt since the very beginnings of Stoi
cism; the famous Hymn to Zeus by the Stoic Cleanthes is a striking
testimony to it, since it requests the god's spiritual assistance: " O Zeus,
giver of all good things . . . save men from sorry ignorance. Chase it, 0
Father, far from our hearts . . . "44 Generally speaking, the figure of Zeus
is intended to provide a face for the impersonal force of the logos, Nature,
or the first Cause . Such an identification is clearly apparent in Seneca:
158
" The Ancients did not believe that the Jupiter [= Zeus] we adore on the
Capitol and in the other temples sent bolts of lightning with his own
hand. "45 On the contrary: by "Jupiter, " they meant the soul and mind of
the world.
All names are appropriate to him.
Do you want to call him Destiny? You won't be wrong, for it is
from him that all things are suspended; he is the cause of causes.
Do you want to call him Providence? You will speak rightly, for it
is by his counsel that the needs of the world are provided for, in
order that it may reach its appointed term without impediment, and
that it may unfold all its movements.
Nature? You will not be in error, for it is from him that all things
are born, and thanks to whose breath we live.
The World? You will not be wrong, for he is all that you see; he is
present in all of his parts and he conserves both himself and his
parts. 46
The rest of this passage applies the theory of the unique initial impulse
to Zeus-Jupiter:
Lightning-bolts are not hurled by Jupiter, but all things have been
so disposed that even those things which are not done by him do
not happen without that Reason which belongs to Jupiter . . . For
even if Jupiter does not now do these things himself, yet he has
caused these things to happen. 47
For the Stoics, the figures of the other gods correspond to the ele
ments which make up the world, and they represent the phases of the
general movement of the universe . Epictetus (III, r 3 , 4-8) mythically
depicts Zeus-that is to say, Reason or Nature-at the moment when
the universe, after a phase of expansion (diastole) followed by concentra
tion (systole) , is returned via a general conflagration to its seminal state: in
other words, the moment when Reason is alone with itself Will Zeus
cry out: " Oh unhappy me! I have neither Hera, nor Athena, nor
Apollo . . . "? " No, " says Epictetus: " Z eus then keeps company with
himself, and rests within himself . . . he entertains himself with thoughts
worthy of himself "
All this corresponds, then, to a religious need: the need to personalize
that power, to the will of which the discipline of desire instructs us
1 59
complacently to consent. This is why Marcus Aurelius, like Epictetus,

often employs the expressions " follow the gods " or " obey the gods "48 to
describe this attitude of consent.
Marcus also feels the need to perceive the attention which the gods
pay to him. In the first book of his Meditations (I, 1 7) , he thanks them and
enumerates all the benefits they have accorded to him. In particular, he
mentions the dreams they have sent to him about his health, or the
communications, support, and inspiration which he has received from
them in his philosophical life. We may say that this corresponds to what
Christian theology calls "present graces. " Thus, not only do the gods
help humankind in the realization of their moral life, but they also take
the trouble to help them to obtain those indifferent things (such as
health, wealth, and glory) which human beings seek (IX, I I , 2; 27, 3 ) .
I have spoken o f a religious need; but the problem is j ust as much
sociopolitical, since the daily life of people in antiquity was punctuated
by religious ceremonies. Moreover, prayers and sacrifices would have no
meaning if there were no current and individual providence (VI , 44, 4) :
If the gods do not deliberate about anything-to believe this would
be impious; or else let us make no .more sacrifices, prayers, oaths,
nor let us carry out any of the other rites which we practice, as if the
gods were present and lived with us . . .
This religious need thus corresponds to the desire to have a relation
ship with some personal being who can, as it were, enter into a dialogue
with humankind. Another response to this same aspiration is the concep
tion of the daimon, which is, moreover, traditionally nothing more than a
particular element of the more general theory of providence.49 In this
regard, the following words of Epictetus are significant (I, 1 4 , 1 2) :
God has placed next to each person, as a guardian, his own daimon,
and he has entrusted each person to its protection . . . . When you
close your doors . . . remember never to say to yourselves that you
are alone . . . for God is within you.
In fact, however, such conceptions of gods mixing with human beings
and of the inner daimon do not fundamentally alter Stoicism's rational
demands. What I mean by this is that the figures of the gods deliberating
over the fate of an individual, or the figure of the daimon, are nothing but
mythical, imaginative expressions, intended to render the Stoic concep-
1 60
tions of Reason and Destiny more alive and personal. We can observe
this process at work, for example, in the following passage from Marcus
Aurelius 0/, 27) :
H e lives with the gods who constantly shows them a soul which
greets that which has been allotted to it with j oy; it does everything
that is willed by the daimi5n which Zeus has given each person as an
overseer and a guide, and which is a small parcel of Zeus. It is
nothing other than each person's intellect and reason.
Here, then, the daimi5n is straightforwardly identified with humankind's
inner reason or the proper nature of humankind, which is a part of
universal Nature and Reason.
Once we disengage the hypothesis of special and individual provi
dence from its mythical formulation, it can perfectly well be integrated
within the overall scheme of the Stoic theory of providence. The Stoics
not only thought that universal Reason had, by means of its initial im
pulse, set in motion a law of the development of the universe which has
as its goal the good of the Whole; but they also admitted that this
fundamental law of the universe has as its primary goal the good of
rational beings (V, 1 6, 5) :
Inferior beings are made for the purposes of superior ones, and
superior beings are made for one another.
Providence, then, is exercised directly, especially upon reasonable beings,
and by way of consequence it is also exercised upon other beings (VII ,
75) :
The Nature of the All gave the impulse in the past [= hypothesis 4] ,
so that the creation of the world might come about. Now, how
ever, either everything that happens happens as a consequence (kat'
epakolouthesin) of that [= hypothesis 3 ] , or else there is a tiny number
of things (oligista)-and these include the most important ones
which are the obj ect of a particular act of will [= hypothesis 5] on
the part of the world's guiding principle.
This " tiny number of most important things " refers to rational beings .
There is thus a general providence for the entire universe, which corre-
161
sponds t o the " initial impulse " which Marcus mentions here. There is
also a special providence for rational beings: it is a particular act of will,
which " exercises its impulse upon each individual, " as Marcus had said
elsewhere (IX, 2 8 , 2) . These two notions are not, however, mutually
exclusive, for the general law, which is immanent within the universe
and results from the initial impulse, wants rational life to be the end that
justifies the universe. Origen50 attributes this doctrine explicitly to the
Stoics:
Providence made all things primarily for the good of rational beings.
Rational beings, since they are the most important, play the part of
children who have been brought into the world. Non-rational and
inanimate beings play the part of the placenta which is produced at
the same time as the child. . . . Providence looks primarily to the
needs of rational beings, but non-rational beings also profit, by way
of accessory consequence, from what is made for human beings.
This text should not, however, be opposed to that in which Cicero
states that Jupiter does not care about the damage caused by hail in some
landowner's garden; for what counts from the Stoics' point of view is not
such morally indifferent things as harvests. For them, the only important
thing is humankind's moral elevation and its quest for wisdom. Divine
providence, creative and nurturing toward inferior creatures, becomes
the educator of human beings. Henri Bergson used to call the world " a
machine fo r making gods ";51 but the Stoics would gladly have called it a
machine for making sages.
Indeed, sages seem to be the privileged obj ects of this individual provi
dence. Note, for example, the following passage from Epictetus (III, 26,
28) :
Could God become so disinterested in his masterpieces, his servants,
and his witnesses: those he places as examples before people without
any moral training?
There is also this text from Cicero:52
The immortal gods do not only cherish the human race, but also
particular men . . . who could not have been what they were with
out divine assistance.
1 62
For Marcus Aurelius, the main interest of this theory of providence's

various modes of action is that it specifies the way in which we should
practice the discipline of desire. We can look at events from two different
and yet convergent viewpoints, according to whether we place ourselves
in the perspective of the initial impulse, or in that of individual provi
dence.
On the one hand, from the perspective of universal Nature and gen
eral providence, things which can seem repulsive, unpleasant, ugly, or
terrifying, such as the thorns of a rose, the jaws of ferocious beasts, mud,
or earthquakes, will seem to be physical phenomena which are com
pletely natural: they are not directly programmed by the initial impulse,
but are the accessory and necessary consequences thereof If these inevi
table consequences of the order of the world personally affect the unfor
tunate vineyard-owner of whom Cicero speaks, and he considers this to
be a misfortune for him, then it does not follow that "Jupiter" has willed
him to consider this phenomenon as a misfortune. The vineyard-owner
is free to represent events to himself as he pleases; in fact, however, such
events are only the accessory consequence of physical laws which result
from the initial impulse. If Cicero's vineyard-owner is a Stoic, he will say
"Yes! " to this universal order. He will say "Yes! " to the world, and will
love everything that happens. He will consider that the loss of his prop
erty is morally neither good nor bad, but pertains to the order of indiffer
ent things. Indifferent things do not concern Jupiter, and have no mean
ing within a universal perspective. They correspond only to a subjective
and partial point of view.
Nevertheless, from the perspective of particular providence, the
events that happen to me are individually destined for me. Clotho-that
is, the course of the universe, which has issued from the original im
pulse-has woven them together with me since the origin of the world
(IV, 34; V, 8 , 1 2 ; IV, 26; X, 5 ) . Everything that happens to me is destined
for me, in order to give me the opportunity to consent to what God
wants for me, in precisely this moment, and in precisely this form. I am
to accept " my" own particular destiny, which the entire universe has
reserved for me alone (V, 8) :
A phrase like "Asclepius ordered him to practice horseback-riding,
or cold baths, or walking barefoot" is analogous to this one: " The
Nature of the All ordered for him an illness, a deformity, a loss or
something else of the sort. " For in the first phrase, " ordered " means
1 63
" he prescribed that for him, since it corresponded to the state of his
health. " In the second phrase, the event which comes to each
person has been assigned to him because it corresponded to his
destiny. . . . Let us therefore accept these events, just as we accept
the " orders " of Asclepius.
On the one hand, says Marcus, this event has happened especially for
you; it was " ordered " for you, was related to you, and was woven
together with you by the most ancient of causes. On the other hand, that
which was " ordered" for you in this way was the condition for the
efficient working and the very existence of the universe. 53
These two outlooks are not mutually exclusive, since each event is at
the same time the result of the general law of the universe, taken by itself,
and of this same general law of the universe, when applied to the good of
rational creatures.
Depending on which perspective one adopts, however, the practice of
the discipline of desire can take on different tonalities. One may be more
impersonal, tending as it does to eliminate all subj ectivity in the admiring
contemplation of the ineluctable laws of a maj estic but indifferent Nature
(IX, l ) . The other may be more personal, since it gives the individual the
feeling of contributing to the general good of the All , as he fulfills the
task, role, and destiny for which Nature has chosen him (VI, 42) :
We are all contributing to the accomplishment of a single result.
Some of us know this and cooperate consciously, whereas others do
so unconsciously. I think it was Heraclitus who said that those who
sleep are the workers and collaborators of what happens in the
world. . . . He who governs the universe will, in any case, know
perfectly well how to use you; he will know how to make you a
collaborator.
Pessimism?
" His j oyless, disillusioned Meditations are penetrated by a profound pes
simism . . . they are an authentic testimony to the solitude of an intellec
tual. " These extracts from the catalogue54 of an exposition dedicated to
Marcus Aurelius in 1 98 8 provide a good summary of the idea most
historians since Renan have had of our philosopher-emperor. It is true
that there is no lack of seemingly pessimistic declarations throughout the

pages of his book (VIII, 24) :
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, filth, sticky water, and
all kinds of disgusting things-such is each part of life, and every
obj ect.
Or again (IX, 3 6) :
The decomposition of matter which underlies each one of us:
water, dust, bones, stench.
Sometimes, this disgust seems to be accompanied by a feeling of bore
dom which reaches the point of nausea (VI, 46) :
What you see in the amphitheater and similar places makes you
sick: it's always the same thing, and such uniformity makes the
spectacle tedious; you feel the same way about the totality of life.
From top to bottom, it is always the same thing, made up of the
same things. Where will it all end?
Nevertheless, we must not rush into thinking that Marcus is here
giving us his personal impressions, or the expression of some incurable
sadness. We know, in fact, that he is embroidering upon a canvas already
prepared for him. His meditations are exercises which he practices in
accordance with a quite determinate method, while following pre-exist
ing models. Our task, therefore, is to try to understand the true meaning
and range of such traditional formulas.
In the first place, in many of these declarations we can recognize the
method of physical definition which we have encountered earlier. We
recall that this method is intended to make us rely upon our objective
representations, thereby avoiding the false and conventional value-judg
ments which people tend to emit about obj ects. This method, says Mar
cus (III, I I , 2) , must be applied to all obj ects which present themselves to
us in life, so that we may " see everything that happens in life with
exactness and from the perspective of Nature " (X, 3 I , 5 ) . Such a method
of physical definition will strip things naked (VI, I 3 , 2; III, I I , I ) ; it will
" make it clear how little value they have, and will strip from them that
appearance of which they are so proud" (VI, I 3 , 3 ) . When speaking of
1 65
the method which defines things by reducing them to their parts (XI, 2 ,
2) , Marcus gives the following advice:
Except for virtue and that which relates to virtue, remember to get
right down to the parts which you've divided, and get to the point
where, by means of this division, you despise them. Then, transpose
this method to the whole of life .
Marcus' goal i s thus t o denounce false values, and t o s e e things i n their
naked, "physical " reality. Fancy foods are only cadavers; purple vest
ments are only sheep's hair; sexual union is only two bellies rubbing
together (VI , 1 3 , l ) . The war Marcus is waging, he says, is a hunt
analogous to that of the spider and the fly (X, I O, l ) , while social and
political life are not worth much (V, 3 3 , 2) :
Everything by which people set so much store in life is emptiness,
putrefaction, pettiness; little dogs nipping at one another; little chil
dren who laugh as they fight, and then suddenly burst into tears.
The same method is to be applied to people who think themselves
important (IX, 9) :
Imagine them as they are when they are eating, when they are
sleeping, when they are making love, or going to the bathroom.
Then imagine them when they are putting on airs; when they make
those haughty gestures, or when they get angry and upbraid people
with such a superior air.
We must always look to the "physical " reality; this also holds true for
fame, and the name which one leaves to posterity (V, 3 3 ) :
I t is nothing but a simple sound, as weak as an echo .
Likewise, by the method of dividing a whole into its parts, we may strip
life of its false appearances and reduce it to one of its moments:
Just as your bath appears to you-oil, sweat, filth, sticky water, and
all kinds of disgusting things--such is each part of life, and every
obj ect (VIII, 24) .
166
Always consider human affairs as ephemeral and without any value:

yesterday, you were a bit of phlegm; tomorrow, you will be ashes or
a mummy (IV, 48, 3 ) .
I n the midst o f a series o f "physical" definitions, Marcus' definition of
death reveals once more the lack of value of our physical existence (IX,
3 6) :
The decomposition of the matter which forms the foundation of
the being of each one of us: water, dust, bones, stench. Or consider
marble: it is only a concretion of the earth. Gold and silver? They
are the dregs of the earth. Clothing? Mere animal hair. The purple?
Just some blood; and so forth . . .
Here we can catch Marcus as he trains himself to give physical defini
tions of the most diverse obj ects, and we can legitimately suppose that
the definition of the decomposition of matter is no more charged with
emotional and personal power than are those of marble or of gold.
Instead, we are dealing with a (slightly artificial) method for finding
striking formulas. The goal of the whole exercise, however, is to de
nounce false values, and this is the task of the discipline of desires.
Some historians55 have thought they could discern in these passages a
genuine attitude of repulsion on Marcus' part toward matter and physical
obj ects. According to them, Marcus thereby abandoned the Stoic doc
trine of Reason's immanence in matter, and the admiration which
Chrysippus had felt for the sensible world can no longer be found in
Marcus. This seems to me quite incorrect.
In the first place, when Marcus speaks about the " decomposition of
matter, " he does not mean that matter itself is putrefaction, but that the
transformation of matter-which corresponds to death-is a natural
process necessarily accompanied by phenomena of decomposition
which, though they may appear to us to be repulsive, should nevertheless
be exactly and physically defined.
Marcus does not by any means abandon the Stoic doctrine of the
immanence of Reason in matter. He speaks of the Reason which gov
erns substance (ousia)-that is to say passive matter-as well as of that
Reason which spreads throughout all substance (VI, 1 ) , and molds all
beings with the help of substance (VII , 23) . He also speaks of the con
structive force within natural creatures (VI , 40) , which is to be revered.
To be sure, Marcus also speaks of the "weakness of matter" (XII , 7) , but
this " weakness " is nothing other than its " fluid" nature--that is, its
constant susceptibility to passive change and inability to act by itself,
which characterize Stoic matter.
It is also true that Marcus sometimes speaks of the body in terms of a
corpse (IX, 24; X, 3 3 , 6) ; but he himself tells us that he has learned this
from Epictetus (IV, 27) :
" You are nothing but a little soul carrying a cadaver, " as Epictetus
said.
A glance at the Discourses as collected by Arrian does indeed reveal that
Epictetus used this expression several times (II , 1 9 , 27; III, ro, 1 5 ; 22, 4 1 ) ;
especially when h e wonders if his corpse i s his " self" (IV, 7, 3 1 ) . Else
where, Epictetus sometimes adds, as does Marcus, that the body is made
only of earth (III, 22, 4 1 ) . These expressions, then, which could be
classified as pejorative, are not Marcus' original invention.
Finally, when Marcus compares life to bath-water, together with the
oily dirt which it contains, he is doing nothing other than practicing the
method of physical definition of which I have spoken. If we want to see
things for what they are, we must also learn to see as they are the realities
which are indissolubly linked to everyday life, such as the physical and
physiological aspects of our bodily functions. We must also become
accustomed to the constant transformation of things within and around
us, including dust, filth, bad odors, and stenches. Such a realistic view
will enable us to face life as it really is. One is reminded of the words of
Seneca:
It is no less ridiculous to be shocked by these things than it is to
complain because you get splashed in the baths, or get shoved
around in a public place, or that you get dirty in muddy places.
What happens in life is exactly like what happens in the baths, in a
crowd, or on a muddy road . . . Life is not made for delicate souls. 56
Such a pitiless vision will strip life's obj ects of all the false values in
which our judgments wrap them up . The true reason for this alleged
pessimism is, then, that Marcus considers everything vile and petty in
comparison to that unique Value constituted by the purity of our moral
intention and the splendor of virtue. From this perspective, life is a
" stain" (VII , 47) . At the same time, however, such a way of looking at
life invites us to reflect on the relative and subj ective character of our
168
ideas of " stain" and of " repulsive things. " What is really repulsive is not
certain aspects of matter, but the passions and the vices.
In fact, the reason we consider certain aspects of physical reality " re
pulsive " is that we are the victims of a prejudice, and we therefore do not
know how to resituate such aspects within the vast perspective of univer
sal Nature. All these aspects are, in fact, the necessary but accessory
consequences of the original impulse which Nature once gave to the
origin of things (VI, 3 6 , 3 ) :
The gaping jaws o f a lion, poison, and everything unpleasant
mud, thorns, and so forth-are accessory consequences of these
sacred and venerable things on high. Don't imagine, then, that these
things are foreign to the principle which you venerate, but rather
rise up by your rational power to the source of all things.
Mud, dust, and dirty bath-water-all phenomena which we judge to
be repugnant-are in fact intimately linked to the processes, course, and
development of the world, which in turn can be traced back to universal
Reason. Marcus goes farther still (III , 2) :
We must also bear in mind things like the following: even the
accessory consequences of natural phenomena have something
graceful and attractive about them. For instance: when bread is
baked, some parts of it develop cracks in their surface . Now, it is
precisely these small openings which, although they seem somehow
to have escaped the intentions which presided over the making of
the bread, somehow please us and stimulate our appetite in a quite
particular way. Or take figs as an example: when they are perfectly
ripe, they split open. In the case of ripe olives, it is precisely the
proximity of rot which adds a unique beauty to the fruit. Ears of
corn which bend toward the earth; the lion's wrinkled brow; the
foam trailing from the mouth of boars: these things, and many
others like them, would be far from beautiful to look at, if we
considered them only in themselves. And yet, because these secon
dary aspects accompany natural processes, they add a new adorn
ment to the beauty of these processes, and they make our hearts
glad. Thus, if one possesses experience and a thorough knowledge
of the workings of the universe, there will be scarcely a single one
of those phenomena which accompany natural processes as a conse
quence which will not appear to him, under some aspect at least, as
pleasant. Such a person will derive no less pleasure from contem

plating the actual gaping jaws of wild beasts than he does from all
the imitations which painters and sculptors provide thereof. His
pure eyes will be able to see a kind of flourishing maturity in aged
men and women, as well as a kind of amiable charm in children.
Many such cases will occur, and it is not just anyone who can derive
pleasure from them. Rather, only that person who has become truly
familiar with Nature and her works will do so.
It is worthwhile to compare these lines with Aristotle's preface to his
Parts efA nimals (644b3 rff.) :
In fact, some of the creatures in this world do not have a pleasant
appearance . Nature, however, who has created them, provides
whoever contemplates her with marvelous enj oyments, as long as
one is able to recognize the principles of natural phenomena, and is
of a philosophical nature. It would, moreover, be illogical and ab
surd if we took pleasure in contemplating reproductions of such
creatures-since, as we contemplate them, we simultaneously ad
mire the talent of the artist, be he painter or sculptor-and yet did
not feel still more j oy while contemplating the very beings which
Nature has created-at least when we are able to discern their
principles . This is why we must not yield to any kind of childish
repugnance when we are examining some of the less noble animals,
for there is something wonderful in all that is natural.
It is the creatures themselves, as produced by Nature, which interest
Aristotle. According to the Stagirite, even if these creatures have a terri
fying or repulsive appearance, the philosopher, insofar as he recognizes
the creative power of Nature within them, can discover their beauty. For
Marcus, by contrast, as we have seen, such creatures are to be explained
as the consequences, both necessary and accessory, of the natural phe
nomena which result from the initial decision, yet seem to humankind to
be contrary to Nature's intentions-snake venom, for instance, or the
thorns on roses. In the final analysis, however, Marcus also recognizes in
these consequences the creative power of Nature. Even though such
consequences do not fit within the classical canon of beauty, they never
theless, insofar precisely as they are the consequences of natural phenom
ena, " have something charming and attractive about them. "
Our baker would like to have given his bread a perfectly regular form.
When it is baked, however, the bread takes on unforseeable forms, and

cracks in unexpected ways. Likewise, the general movement of the uni
verse should be completely rational, and yet, when this movement oc
curs, there also occur concomitant, accessory phenomena which go
above and beyond Nature's intentions, and the impulse which she gave
at the beginning. Just as in the case of the bread, however, it is precisely
such anomalies and irregularities-these cracks in the crust, if you will
which make us sense that the bread is crusty, and stimulate our appetite.
For Aristotle, only the philosopher could perceive the beauty of the
products of Nature, for it was he who could discover Nature's plan: a
force which ensured the growth of beings from within. Marcus, too,
holds that only the philosopher or the sage-someone who possesses
experience and a deep understanding of the processes of the universe
can feel the beauty and grace of the phenomena which accompany
natural processes. This is because only he can perceive the link between
these natural processes and their necessary accompaniments.
In the place of an idealistic aesthetics, which considered beautiful only
that which manifested the ideal form and the canons of proportion,
Aristotle, Marcus, and the entire Hellenistic period substituted a realistic
aesthetics. For them, living reality, in its nudity and even in its horror, is
more beautiful than beautiful imitations. "An ugly man, " as Plotinus57
was to say, " if he is alive, is more beautiful than a man represented in a
statue, however beautiful he may be. "
Here the perspective has been utterly transformed. Things which used
to appear repulsive, disgusting, or terrifying now become beautiful to the
eyes of the person familiar with Nature, precisely because they exist, are
natural, and are part of the natural processes which flow indirectly from
Nature's intentions.
Like Nature (IX, r , 9) , we must not make any distinctions between
indifferent things, which depend not upon us, but on universal Nature.
Dirt, mud, thorns, and poison come from the same source and are just as
natural as roses, the sea, or spring. In the eyes of Nature, and of people
familiar with Nature, there is no difference to be made between bath
water and the rest of life : everything is equally " natural. " We are fairly
close to Nietzsche here: "Everything which is necessary, when seen from
above and from the point of view of the vast economy of the whole, is in
itself equally useful. We must not only put up with it, but love it. "58
Familiarity with Nature is one of the fundamental attitudes of one
who practices the discipline of desire. Being familiar with Nature means
recognizing things and events as familiar, and realizing that they belong
171
t o the same world, and come from the same source, a s w e do. It thus
means " doing physics " in the sense of becoming aware of the unity of
Nature and its accord with itself He who is familiar with Nature associ
ates himself with Nature's self-accordance; in Marcus' words, he is " no
longer a stranger in his homeland, " and is " a man worthy of the world
which has engendered him" (XII , l , 5) .
It is only when one considers the things in life from a cosmic perspec
tive that they can appear both beautiful and valueless: beautiful, because
they exist, and yet valueless because they cannot accede to the realm of
freedom and morality. Instead, they vanish rapidly into the infinity of
space and time, and the uninterrupted flux of becoming (VI , 1 5 , 2) :
In the midst of this river, in which one cannot stand still, who could
attach any value to any of the things which flow past?
Marcus never tires of contemplating the great laws of Nature. He is
particularly fascinated by the perpetual metamorphoses of all things, and
this is what he is constantly trying to contemplate:
Acquire a method for contemplating how all things are transformed
into each other: concentrate your attention on this ceaselessly and
exercise yourself on this point (X, l l ) .
When you regard each substance, imagine that it is already being
dissolved, is in the midst of transformation, in the process of rotting
and being destroyed (X, 1 8) .
Thus, Marcus tries to perceive the process of dissolution already at
work in the people and obj ects which surround him. He would certainly
have approved of Princess Bibesco, who, in order to meditate upon
death, had only to contemplate a bouquet of violets. 59 Marcus recalls the
imperial courts of the past-that of Augustus, for example-in order to
realize that all these people who have, for an instant, come back to life in
his memory are in fact long dead. This is no more a case of obsession
with death or morbid complacency than when, in the film The Dead
Poets ' Society, Robin Williams, who plays a teacher of literature, makes
his students carefully study a picture of the school's old boys. In order
that his students appreciate the value of life, the teacher wants them to
become aware that all the boys in the picture-apparently so alive-are
now dead. He hopes they will thereby discover life's preciousness, as he
1 72
instills in them Horace's saying Carpe diem (" Seize the day! ") . The only
difference in these two outlooks is that for Marcus the only value is not
just life itself, but moral life.
Marcus' vision of universal metamorphosis teaches us not to fear
death, which is only a particular instance of such metamorphosis (II, 1 2 ,
3 ) , and not t o attribute any value t o transitory things (IX, 2 8 , 5 ) . A t the
same time, however, it sweeps the soul along toward the contemplation
of the grandiose spectacle of Nature, which constantly transforms all
things " so that the world may always be new" (VII , 2 5 ) .
In the immensity of the universe, and the infinity of time and space,
Marcus annihilates himself in a kind of intoxicated vertigo, as many
others had done before him.
Such a vision of the totality of substance and of time can be obtained
by a view from above:60 that is, the soul's flight above all things, in the
immensity of the universe (IX, 3 2) :
You will open up a vast field fo r yourself as you embrace the totality
of the cosmos in your thought, conceive everlasting eternity, and
consider the rapid metamorphosis of each individual thing.
Marcus allows himself to be swept along by the revolutions of the
stars, and the torrential metamorphosis of the elements (VII , 4 7) :
For such images purify us from the stains of terrestrial life.
Marcus plunges in thought into a universe which conforms to the
Stoic model: a universe, that is, which is finite within the immensity of
the surrounding void, and which ceaselessly repeats itself within the
infinity of time (XI, l , 3 ) :
The soul traverses the entire world and the void which surrounds it,
as well as its form; it extends itself throughout the infinity of eter
nity, and it embraces and conceives the periodic rebirth of the
universe.
Human beings are made for infinity, and their true city and fatherland
is the immensity of the whole world. In the words of Seneca:61
How natural it is for man to extend his spirit throughout all immen
sity . . . The only limits which the human soul allows are those
The Discipline ofDesire
1 73
which it shares with God himself . . Its fatherland is everything

which the sky and the world contain.
One of the things, says Marcus, which is peculiar to mankind, and which
fills him with j oy, is to contemplate the Nature of the All , as well as
everything which happens in conformity with what Nature has willed
(VII I , 26) .
The first result of this spiritual exercise of the view from above or
cosmic flight of the soul is to reveal to people both the splendor of the
universe and the splendor of the spirit. Another of its effects, however, is
that it furnishes powerful instigations for practicing the discipline of
desire. Human affairs, when seen from above, seem very tiny and puny;
they are not worthy of being desired, nor does death appear as something
to be feared.
From such a perspective, Asia and Europe are nothing but a tiny
comer of the world; the sea is a drop of water; Mt. Athos is a mound of
earth; and the present moment nothing more than a point (VI, 3 6) .
Mankind's place and role are minuscule amidst such immensity (XII , 3 2) .
And what o f the minuscule swarms of human beings crawling all over
the earth?
Crowds, armies, farmers; weddings, divorces, births, deaths; the
hubbub of the courts; deserted places; the diversity of the customs
of barbarous peoples; celebrations, lamentations; marketplaces: what
a hodgepodge! And yet, there is the harmony of contraries (VII ,
48) .
This effort to look at things from above thus allows us to contemplate
the entire panorama of human reality in all its aspects-social, geographi
cal, and emotional-and to resituate them within the immensity of the
cosmos and the human species, swarming anonymously over the earth.
When we look at things from the perspective of universal Nature, those
things which do not depend on us, and which the Stoics called " indiffer
ent"-health, glory, wealth, and death, for example-are brought back
to their true proportions.
When this theme of the view from above assumes this specific form of
observing people on earth, it seems particularly to belong to the Cynic
tradition. We find it used abundantly by the satirist Lucian, a contempo
rary of Marcus Aurelius, who was strongly influenced by Cynicism. In
Lucian's dialogue Icaromenippus, or " The Man Who Rose Above the
1 74
Clouds, "62 the Cynic Menippus tells a friend how, discouraged by the
disagreement among philosophers about the ultimate principles of the
universe, he decided to go up to the heavens himself, in order to see how
things really were. In order to fly, Menippus fixed himself up with wings:
the right wing was that of an eagle, and the left that of a vulture. He then
took off in the direction of the moon. Once there, he could see the
entire earth from above, and just like Homer's Zeus, he says, he could
observe now the land of the Thracians, now that of the Mysians-even,
if he wished, the lands of Greece, Persia, and India. Such variety fills him
with pleasure, but he also observes the people:
The whole of human life appeared to me; not only the nations and
the cities, but every individual: some were sailing ships, others
waging war, and others on trial.
Menippus observes not only what is going on out in the open, but also
what is happening behind closed doors, where everyone thought they
were perfectly well hidden.63 After a lengthy enumeration of the crimes
and adulteries which he sees being committed inside the houses, Menip
pus resumes his remarks, calling everything a hodge-podge, a cacophony,
and a ridiculous spectacle. In his view, the most ridiculous thing of all is
to see people quarreling over the borders of a nation, since the earth
appears minuscule to him. The rich, says Menippus, have darned little to
be proud about. Their lands are no bigger than one of Epicurus' atoms,
and when people gather together they resemble a swarm of ants. Menip
pus finally leaves the moon and travels among the stars until he reaches
Zeus, where he is amused at the ridiculously contradictory nature of the
prayers which human beings send up to this god.
In another of Lucian's dialogues, entitled Charon or The Overseers, we
find Charon, ferryman of the dead, asking for a day off in order to go up
to the surface of the earth and see what life is like-this life which the
dead miss so much when they arrive in Hell. With the help of Hermes,
Charon piles several mountains on top of each other and climbs up on
them in order to observe human life. We then have the same kind of
description which we have already encountered in the Icaromenippus or in
Marcus Aurelius: an enumeration of sailing ships, armies at war, trials,
farmers working their fields-a wide variety of activities, but everywhere
life is full of torments. As Charon remarks, " If people realized from the
beginning that they are mortal, and that, after a brief soj ourn in life, they
must leave it as they would a dream, and leave everything upon this
1 75
earth, then they would live more wisely and die with fewer regrets. "
But, continues Charon, people are unaware of their condition, like the
bubbles produced by a raging stream, which vanish as soon as they are
formed.
This look from above at man's earthly life takes on a form peculiar to
Cynicism. One sign of this is the fact that the dialogue Charon bears the
Greek title Episkopountes, or " Those who watch. " The Cynic philoso
pher, for his part, believes that his role is to watch over people's actions.
He is a kind of spy, lying in wait for mankind's defects in order to
denounce them, as Lucian himself says .64 It is the Cynic's j ob to watch
over other men; he is their censor, and he observes their behavior as if
from the heights of an observatory. The Greek words episkopos (" over
seer") and kataskopos (" spy") , moreover, traditionally designate the Cyn
ics in the ancient world. 65 For them, the view from above was meant to
denounce the senseless way in which people led their lives. It is no
accident that, in this dialogue, it is precisely Charon, ferryman of the
dead, who thus looks at human affairs from above; for looking at things
from above means looking at human affairs from the point of view of
death. Only this point of view can give us the detachment, elevation, and
distance which are indispensable in order for us to see things as they
really are.
The Cynics denounced that form of human madness which attaches
itself so passionately to things, such as luxury and power, which people
will inevitably have to abandon. This is why they urge them to rej ect
superfluous desires, social conventions, and artificial civilization-all of
which are the source of their worries, cares, and sufferings-and encour
age them to return to a simple, purely natural style of life .
Thus, our philosopher-emperor coincides with Lucian, the ancient
equivalent of Voltaire, in this imaginative exercise of the view from
above, which is also a view of things from the point of view of death. It
is, moreover, a merciless view, which strips false values naked.
Among these false values is fame. Marcus came up with remarkable
formulas to denounce our desire to be known, either by our contempo
raries or by posterity:
Short is the time which each of us lives; puny the little comer of
earth on which we live; how puny, finally, is even the lengthiest
posthumous glory. Even this glory, moreover, is transmitted by little
men who'll soon be dead, without even having known themselves,
much less him who has long since been dead (III, r o , 2) .
Are you obsessed with a little bit of glory? Turn your eyes to the
rapidity with which everything is forgotten. Think about the abyss
of eternity, infinite in both directions; and about the vanity of the
echo which reaches us. Think about how quickly those who now
seem to be applauding change their minds, and have no judgment;
think also about the narrowness of the space by which your fame is
circumscribed. The whole earth is no more than a point, and of this
point only the tiniest part is inhabited. From such an origin, how
many people will there be to sing your praises, and of what charac
ter? (IV, 3 , 7-8) .
Soon, you will have forgotten everything; soon, everyone will have
forgotten you . . . (VII , 2 1 ) .
In a short time, you will no longer be anything or anywhere . .
(VI , 3 7) .
While the view from above reveals that human affairs are only an
infinitesimal point within the immensity of reality, it also allows us to
discover what Marcus calls to homoeides, which we could render as both
the identity and the homogeneity of all things. This is an ambiguous
notion: it can mean, for example, that in the eyes of one who plunges his
gaze into the cosmic immensity, everything is within everything else.
Everything holds itself together, and the entire universe is present in each
instant of time, as well as in each part of reality (VI , 3 7) :
He who has seen the present has seen everything: all that has oc
curred from all eternity, and all that will occur throughout infinity,
for everything is homogeneous and identical in form.
Death, then, will not deprive me of anything, since I have already, within
each instant, had everything. At any moment at which the limits of its life
cease, the soul attains its end. Within each present moment, I possess
everything I can expect from life : the presence of the entire universe and
presence of universal Reason, which is the presence of one and the same
thing. At each moment, I possess all of Being, present in the least of
things.
If, however, we are afraid to die, because we would like to continue
enj oying life, honors, pleasures, and all other false human values, then to
homoeides, or homogeneity, takes on a different meaning. For one who
1 77
has discovered true value-that of Reason, which rules within us and

within the entire universe-these elements oflife, which endlessly repeat
their pettiness and banality, are just as disgusting as the games in the arena
(VI , 46) .
When human affairs are viewed from above, we are able to imagine
the past as well as the future, and this view reveals that even if individuals
disappear, the same scenes are repeated throughout the centuries . The
soul which extends itself throughout the immensity of space and time
sees that those who will come after us will see nothing new, and
that those who came before us saw nothing more than we did.
Rather, there is a sense in which a man offorty, if he has some slight
measure of intelligence, has seen everything there has been, and
everything that will be, because of the uniformity of things (XI,
I, 3).
Marcus returns to this idea frequently and insistently (XII , 24, 3 ) :
Each time you are elevated in this way, looking at human affairs
from above, you would see the same things: uniformity and brevity.
And to think that this is what men brag about!
Marcus imagines the imperial courts of his predecessors: Hadrian and
Antoninus Pius, for example; or those of former times : Philip, Alexan
der, or Croesus:
All these uniform scenes and dramas, whether you have come to
know them through personal experience or through ancient his
tory . . . All these spectacles were the same, and only the actors
were different (X, 27, r-2) .
For the ancients, history always repeats itself. This, moreover, is the
reason why historians of that time wrote history. As Thucydides declared
in his Histories (I, 22, 4) : " For all those who wish to have a clear idea both
of past events and of those in the future which, because of their human
character, will bear similarities or analogies to them, this exposition will
be useful, and shall suffice. " From this point of view, it must be admitted
that Thucydides' work was an extraordinary success, for his description
of the hypocrisy of the victorious and the strong remains appallingly
relevant.
Marcus, for his part, would no doubt have approved of Schopen

hauer's views on history:
From beginning to end, it is the repetition of the same drama, with
different costumes and names . . . This identical element, which
persists throughout all changes, consists in the basic qualities of the
human heart and head-many of them are bad; a few of them good.
History's overall motto ought to be Eadem, sed aliter. One who has
read Herodotus has, from a philosophical point of view, already
studied enough history, for his work already contains everything
which constitutes the subsequent history of the world. 66
When Marcus mentions this uniformity, by contrast, he has not the
slightest intention of elaborating a philosophy of history. On the con
trary, we ought rather to say that the view from above which he takes of
human affairs leads him to evaluate them: in other words, to denounce
their pseudo-value, especially when considered from the point of view of
death.
These spectacles which repeat themselves identically throughout one's
life and throughout the ages are almost always scenes of human evil,
hypocrisy, and futility. It makes no difference whether one sees them for
forty years, or for ten thousand (VII , 49, 2) . Death will deliver us from
this spectacle, as tiring as the games of the amphitheater (VI , 46) ; or at
least it will not make us miss anything, since it is impossible for anything
new to happen.
The Epicurean Lucretius had already placed a similar argument in the
mouth of Nature, as she tried to console mankind with regard to the
inevitability of his death: " I cannot think up some new invention to
please you, for things are eternally the same . . . you must always expect
the same things, even if you were never to die. "67
Once again, we can see that the declarations contained in the Medita
tions, which modern historians have classified as pessimistic, do not cor
respond to Marcus Aurelius' impressions or experiences. The only per
sonal experience which seems to be expressed in his work is that of
disappointment with regard to his entourage, but I shall return to this
point later. When Marcus says that human affairs are as nothing within
the immensity; that they are vile and petty; or that they repeat themselves
until one is sick of them, he is not expressing some negative experience
of his own. Instead, he is engaging in exercises, both spiritual and literary.
Sometimes, we feel that some of his wonderfully striking formulas are
1 79
even a bit artificial, since all they do is reproduce traditional themes of

ancient philosophy. In the final analysis, however, what inspires all this is
the love and fascination which Marcus feels in the depths of his being for
that unique Value, which is the only thing necessary. Does human life ,
h e asks, contain " anything more valuable than Justice, Truth, Temper
ance, and Bravery" (III, 6, r ) ? The good worth more than anything else
is the feeling of inner joy which occurs when the guiding principle or
thought " is content with itself (in those things in which it is possible to
act in accordance with right reason) , and is content with Destiny (in
those things which are allotted to us, independently of our will) . . .
Choose this greatest of all goods, and never let it go " (III, 6, 6) .
This superior good is, in the last analysis, the inner God, which must
be "preferred to everything" (III, 7, 2 ) , and revered, since it is of the
same substance as the guiding principle which governs the world 0/, 2 I ) .
Your only joy, and your only rest: let it be to pass from one action
performed in the service of the community to another action per
formed for the service of the community, together with the remem
brance of God 0/I , 7) .
It is this unique Value that brings joy, serenity, and rest to Marcus' soul.
Compared to this unique, transcendent Value, human affairs are petty
indeed; they are like a point within the immensity of the universe. In
fact, the only thing which is great compared to the latter is the purity of
moral intent. As Pascal would agree, moral good is infinitely greater than
physical size.
To anyone who has contemplated the immensity of the universe,
human affairs-to which we attach so much importance-seem petty,
unimportant child's play. As Marcus likes to repeat: "Everything is vile
and petty. " Yet since human affairs are almost always alien to the moral
good, dominated as they are by passions, hatred, and hypocrisy, they
seem not only puny, vile, and petty, but also disgusting in their monoto
nous baseness. The only greatness in earthly life-but also the only
j oy-is therefore the purity of moral intent.
The Levels of Cosmic Consciousness

Earlier I spoke of the stages of consciousness of the self as a faculty of
freedom and moral choice . We can now return to this theme, in order to
1 80
see how the various levels of self-consciousness correspond to different

levels of cosmic consciousness.
As long as the self has not yet gained awareness of its potential free
dom, and has not yet carried out the delimitation or circumscription of
this potential freedom in which the guiding principle consists, it believes
itself to be autonomous and independent of the world. In fact it is, as
Marcus says, a " stranger to the world" (IV, 29) , and it is swept along
against its will by Destiny. In the course of the movement by which it
becomes aware of the fact that it is not identical with the body, the vital
breath, or involuntary emotions, however, the self discovers that, up
until then, it had been unconsciously and passively determined by Des
tiny: it had been nothing but a tiny point in the immensity of space, or a
little wave in the immense tide of time. The moment freedom becomes
aware of itself, however, it becomes aware of the fact that that self which
is determined by Destiny is only an infinitesimally tiny part of the world
(XII , 3 2) :
What a tiny part of the gaping abyss of infinite time is assigned to
each one of us! For it disappears so quickly into the everlasting.
What a tiny portion of universal substance, what a tiny part of the
universal soul! On how tiny a part of the entire earth do you crawl!
Our perspective is changed once again when the self, as a principle of
freedom, recognizes that there is nothing greater than the moral good,
and therefore accepts what has been willed by Destiny, that is to say,
universal Reason. If the self accepts itself as a principle of freedom and of
choice, it also accepts the portion which Destiny has allotted to it, as the
ego which has been determined by Destiny. As the Stoics used to say, the
self accepts the role which the divine director has reserved for it in the
drama of the universe;68 in Marcus' case, for instance, this role was that of
emperor. As the self accepts this role, however, it becomes transfigured:
for what the free self wills is all of Destiny, the entire history of the world,
and the entire world, as if the self were that universal Reason which is at
the origin of the world, or universal Nature. At this point, the self as will
and as freedom coincides with the will of universal Reason and of the
logos dispersed throughout all things.
The realization of one's self as identical with universal Reason, then, as
long as it is accompanied by consent to this will, does not isolate the self
like some minuscule island in the universe. On the contrary, it can open
the self to all cosmic becoming, insofar as the self raises itself from its
181
limited situation and partial, restricted, and individualistic point of view

to a universal and cosmic perspective. At this point, self-consciousness
becomes consciousness of the world, and consciousness of the divine
Reason which guides the world. Finally, we may say that the self, by
means of this process of realization, discovers both its limitation and its
transcendence. It discovers the limitation of its individuality within the
immensity of the universe-this is a theme which recurs frequently in
Pascal's Pensees: " I am nothing but an unimportant thing in the abyss of
time and space"-and this is the limitation of the self as determined by
Destiny. At the same time, however, it discovers the transcendence of
the self as moral conscience , whose value is somehow infinite with
regard to the merely physical domain.
We find this opposition between the self caught up in the web of the
universe and of Destiny and the self which identifies itself with universal
Reason already in Epictetus (I, 1 2 , 26) :
Don't you know how tiny a part you are, compared to the All?
With regard to your body, that is; for with regard to your reason,
you are not worse nor lesser than the gods. The size of reason
cannot be measured by length or height, but by the value ofjudg
ments (dogma; or " of principles of action") .
Perhaps I may be allowed here to refer to a similar opposition, be
tween the puniness of the empirical self, plunged in the immensity of the
world, and the incommensurable grandeur of the moral self as the legisla
tive power of reason, which we find in the last pages of Kant's Critique ef
Practical Reason:
Two things fill the soul with ever-new and ever-growing admira
tion and awe, the more frequently and constantly one applies one's
reflection to them: the starry sky above me and the moral law within me.
These are two things which I have neither to search for, nor simply
to presuppose, as if they were shrouded in darkness or plunged
within a transcendent region, beyond my horizon: I can see them in
front of me and I attach them immediately to the consciousness of
my existence. The former begins at that place which I occupy within
the sensible world, and extends my connection to that which is im
mensely large, with its worlds upon worlds and its systems of sys
tems, in addition to the unlimited times of their periodic move
ment, their beginning and their duration. The latter begins at my
1 82
invisible self, or personality, and it represents me within a world

which possesses a genuine infinity, but which can be detected only
by the understanding, and with which (and thereby also with all
these visible worlds) I realize that I am in a relationship of . . .
universal and necessary linkage. The first spectacle, that of an innu
merable multitude of worlds, somehow annihilates my importance
qua that of a bestial creature which must return to the planet-a
mere point in the universe-the matter out of which it was formed,
after having been-one knows not how-provided with vital force
for a brief span of time. The second spectacle, by contrast, increases
my value in.finitely, qua that of an intelligence, thanks to my personal
ity within which the moral law displays to me a life independent
with regard to animality, and even with regard to the entire sensible
world.69
Obviously, Marcus Aurelius would not have accepted this Kantian
distinction between a sensible and an intelligible world. For him, as for
all the Stoics, there is one single world, just as, he says, there is one single
law which is that reason common to all intelligent beings (VII, 9) . For
Marcus and the Stoics, however, it is the self's awareness of itself which
transforms it, making it pass in succession from the domain of necessity to
the domain of freedom, and from the domain of freedom to the domain
of morality. The self-that infinitesimal point within the immensity-is
thereby transformed, and made equal to universal Reason.
THE D I S C I P L I NE O F AC T I O N , OR
A C T I O N I N T H E S E RV I C E O F M A N K I N D
The discipline of action

The result of the discipline of desire, as we saw, was to bring people inner
serenity and peace of mind, since it consisted in the j oyful consent to
everything that happens to us through the agency of universal Nature
and Reason. AmorJati, or the love of fate, thus led us to want that which
the cosmos wants, to want what happens, and to want what happens
to us .
This fine serenity risks being disturbed by the discipline of active
impulse and action, since in this case it is a matter of acting, not accept
ing. We now must engage our responsibility, not just consent; and we
must enter into relations with beings-our fellow creatures-who pro
voke our passions precisely because they are our fellow creatures: beings
whom we must love, although they are often hateful.
Here again, the norm will be found to be conformity with Nature:
not, this time, that universal Nature which we know in general to be
rational, but one of the more specific and determinate aspects of this
universal Nature: human Nature, the Nature of the human race, or that
Reason which all people have in common. This is a particular norm,
which is the basis of precise obligations: insofar as we are parts of the
human race, we must
( r ) act in the service of the whole;
(2) in our actions, respect the hierarchy of values which may exist be
tween different types of action; and
(3 ) love all human beings, since we are all the members of one single
body.
Another way of putting it would be to say that humankind is ruled by
the laws of four natures. In the first place, people, as parts of the All , are
ruled by universal Nature. They must consent to the great laws of this
Nature-in other words, to Destiny and to the events willed by this
universal Nature. For the Stoics, however, who had developed an entire
theory of the lower levels of Nature, the Greek word physis which we
translate as " nature " can also , when used without a qualifier, mean the
faculty of growth which is peculiar to each organism. Plants possess
nothing but this faculty of growth, while human beings have it within
them, alongside other faculties. It is this faculty, for instance, which
forces people to feed themselves and to reproduce . We must, says Marcus
(X, 2) also observe the demands of this law of vegetative " nature . " For
instance , we have the " duty"-1 shall return to the meaning of this
term-to conserve ourselves by nourishing ourselves, as long as the
satisfaction of this demand has no negative effects upon the other internal
faculties which we have within us. For human beings are not only a
" faculty of growth" (physis), but also a " faculty of sensation " : this is a
higher level, which also goes into the constitution of humankind. Mar
cus (X, 2) calls it a " force " or " nature " of the animal. This law of
animality also has its own demands with regard to humankind: in this
case, self-conservation is achieved through the vigilance of the senses.
Here again, we have the duty to carry out our functions as animals
provided with sensation, as long as the higher inner faculties are not
thereby damaged. To exaggerate the role of sensation would mean com
promising the workings of Nature, that faculty higher than sensation
which is also called reason.
All this, then, corresponds to the discipline of action, which implies all
the acts and movements which respond to the requirements of integral
human nature. As we have seen, this nature is, at the same time, the
faculty of growth, of sensation, and of reason. Marcus is then quick to
add (X, 2) : " The rational faculty is simultaneously the faculty of social
life " ; in other words, the law of human and social reason demands that
we place ourselves entirely in the service of the human community.
In many of his Meditations, Marcus emphasizes the symmetrical oppo
sition which arises between the discipline of action and the discipline of
desire. For example:
Act as your own nature commands you; put up with whatever common
Nature brings to you (XII, 3 2 , 3 ) .
Am I really carrying out an action? I am carrying it out, when I relate
it to the good of humankind. Is something happening to me? I greet
The Discipline of Action
it by relating what happens to me to the gods and to the source of all

things, whence the web of all events has its origin (VIII, 2 3 ) .
Impassivity (ataraxia) with regard to the events, brought about by the

exterior cause. Justice (dikaiosyne) in the actions brought about by the
cause that is within you. In other words, let your impulse to act and
your action have as their goal the service of the human community,
because that, for you, is in conformity with your nature (IX, 3 1 ) .
H e gave himself over entirely to justice, insofar a s the actions which
he carried out are concerned, and to universal Nature with regard to
everything which happens to him (X, 1 1 , 2 ) .
For Marcus Aurelius, then, as for Epictetus, the goal of our actions
must be the good of the human community, and the discipline of action
will therefore have as its domain our relations with other people. In tum,
these relations will be ruled by laws and the duties imposed by human,
rational nature and reason, which are fundamentally identical to universal
Nature and Reason.
The seriousness of action

The discipline of action, like the other disciplines m the domains in
which they are exercised, will therefore begin by imposing the norms of
reason and reflection upon human activity:
In the first place: nothing at random, and nothing that is not related
to some goal. Second: do not relate your actions to anything other
than a goal which may serve the human community (XII , 20) .
The human soul dishonors itself when it does not direct its actions
and impulses, as much as possible, toward some goal, but instead,
whatever it does, it does inconsiderately and without reflection,
whereas the least of our actions ought to be accomplished by being
related to its goal. And the goal of rational beings is to obey the
Reason and the Law of the most venerable of Cities and Republics
(II , 1 6 , 6) .
In all that you do, make sure that you do not act at random, or
otherwise than Justice herself would act (XII , 24, 1 ) .
1 86
The vice which is opposed to the discipline of action is thus frivolity

(eikaiotes) . It is the opposite to that seriousness or gravity with which all
human actions should be accomplished. This human frivolity or lack of
reflection does not know how to submit to the discipline of action; it is
the agitation of a jumping jack, a puppet, or a top :
Stop letting the guiding principle within you be tugged around like
a marionette by the strings of selfish impulses (II , 2, 4) .
Cease this puppet-like agitation (VII , 29, 2) .
Stop spinning around like a top; instead, on the occasion of every
impulse to act, accomplish what is just, and whenever a repre
sentation presents itself, confine yourself to what corresponds ex
actly to reality (IV, 22) .
Acting seriously means, in the first instance, acting with all one's heart
and soul (XII , 29, 2) :
With all your soul, do what is just.
Marcus is here alluding to Epictetus, who reproached his apprentice
philosophers with failing to engage themselves seriously in the philo
sophical life; like children, he says,
. . . one minute you are an athlete, then a gladiator; the next a
philosopher, then a rhetor; but you are nothing with all your soul
. . . because you haven't undertaken anything after having exam
ined it, looked at the matter from all angles, and thoroughly tested
it; instead, you've engaged yourself casually and with a desire that
has no warmth in it (III, I 5 , 6) .
Marcus wanted to bring this warmth of the heart to his consent to the
will of universal Nature (III , 4, 4) as well as to his love of the Good (III,
6, l ) , or his practice ofjustice (XII , 29, 2) .
To act seriously is also to become aware of the infinite value of each
instant, when one thinks of the possible imminence of death (II , 5 , 2) :
Carry out each action of your life as if it were the last, and keep
yourself far from all frivolity.
And again (VII, 69) :

What brings perfection to one's way of life is to spend each day as if
it were the last; without agitation, without indolence, and without
role-playing.
The idea of death strips actions of their banality, and uproots them
from the routine of daily life. From this perspective, it is impossible to
accomplish any action without reflection or attention, for one's being
must be fully engaged in what may perhaps be the last opportunity it has
to express itself One can no longer wait or postpone purifying one's
intentions, in order to act " with all one's soul. " Even if the action which
we are carrying out were in fact interrupted by death, this would not
make it incomplete; for what gives an action its completeness is precisely
the moral intention by which it is inspired, not the subject matter on
which it is exercised.
Acting seriously also means not dispersing oneself in feverish agitation.
In Meditations, IV, 24, Marcus quotes an aphorism by Democritus: "Act
little, if you want to maintain serenity. " But Marcus immediately corrects
this statement, as follows:
Wouldn't it be better to say: Do what is indispensable, and do what
you are ordered to do by the reason of a naturally political animal,
and do it in the way you are ordered to do it? For that is what brings
serenity: not only because one acts well, but because one acts little.
For since the majority of our words and actions are not necessary, if
we cut them off, we will have more leisure and peace of mind.
Concerning each action, therefore, we must remind ourselves of
this question: Is this action not one of those which are not indispen
sable? It is not only unnecessary actions which have to be elimi
nated, however, but also unnecessary representations; if we elimi
nate these, the actions to which they would give rise will not follow
either.
It is not, as Democritus seems to say, the mere fact of reducing the
number of one's actions which brings serenity, or the fact of not getting
involved in many things, but the fact of limiting one's activities to that
which serves the common good. This is the only thing necessary, and it
alone brings j oy, because everything else causes only troubles and wor
nes.
r88
When he adds that this principle of action allows us to find leisure,

however, Marcus is not taking his own experience into account. Fronto,
Marcus' friend and rhetoric teacher, when urging him to take a rest at
Alsium on the seashore, speaks of the days and nights without interrup
tion which Marcus used to spend at his judicial responsibilities, and of the
scruples which tormented him: " If you condemn someone, you say: 'it
looks as though he wasn't given enough guarantees. "'1
I will have more to say about the worries and uncertainties brought
about by action. In any event, Marcus repeats throughout the Meditations
that we can save a great deal of time by eliminating useless activities, such
as trying to find out what other people have done, said, or thought (IV,
1 8) :
D o not spend any more time than 1s necessary o n insignificant
matters (IV, 3 2 , 5 ) .
I n a sense, becoming aware o f the seriousness which w e must bring to
every action is precisely the same thing as becoming aware of the infinite
value of each instant, from the perspective of death (VII I , 2) :
On the occasion of each action, ask yourself this question: What is it
to me? Will I not regret it? In a short time, I will be dead, and
everything will disappear! If I now act as an intelligent living being,
who places himself in the service of the human community and
who is equal to God, then what more can I ask?
If we become aware of the value of the slightest instant, and if we
consider our present actions as the last ones of our life, how could we
waste our time in useless and futile acts?
" Appropriate actions "
(ta kathekonta)
Epictetus often repeats that the exercise-theme whose obj ect is active
impulses and actions corresponds to the domain of what the Stoics called
the kathekonta, usually translated as " the duties. " Marcus Aurelius is not
explicit on this point, but when, in the context of this exercise-theme, he
speaks of actions performed "in the service of the human community"
(IX, 6; XI, 3 7) , he is using Epictetus' terminology, and thereby shows his
familiarity with the latter's doctrine . Within the Stoic system, moreover,
human actions necessarily belong to the domain of the kathekonta.
Let me briefly resituate this notion within the totality of Stoic teach
ing. Its fundamental principle, as we have seen, is that there is no good
but the moral good. What is it, however, that makes a good a moral
good? In the first place, the fact that it is located within humankind, and
the things which depend on us: thought, active impulses, and desire.
Second, our thought, active impulse, and desires must wish to conform
to the law of Reason. There must be an effective will, wholly oriented
toward doing the good. Everything else, therefore, is indifferent, which
means it is without intrinsic value. As examples of indifferent things, the
Stoics enumerated life, health, pleasure, beauty, strength, renown, and
noble birth-as well as their opposites: death, sickness, pain, ugliness,
weakness, poverty, obscurity, and humble birth. All these things do not,
in the last analysis, depend on us, but on Destiny, and they do not
provide us either with happiness or with unhappiness, since happiness is
located only in our moral intentions. Here, however, a twofold problem
arises: on the one hand, it is not enough to want to do good; we must also
know what concrete acts to undertake. On the other hand, how should
we live and orient ourselves in life, if everything that does not depend on
us is neither good nor bad? This is where the theory of " duties " or
" appropriate actions "2 (kathekonta), or of " suitable things, "3 comes in. It is
intended to provide a field for exercising our good will, and to provide
us with a practical code of conduct which would, in the last analysis,
allow us to make distinctions between indifferent things, and to accord a
relative value to things which are, in principle, without any value.
Here, we can glimpse the "physical " roots of Stoic ethics. In order to
determine what concrete actions must be performed, the Stoics take as
their starting-point a fundamental animal instinct, which expresses the
will of Nature. By virtue of a natural impulse which impels animals to
love themselves and to accord preference to themselves, they tend to
preserve themselves and to rej ect whatever threatens their integrity. It is
in this way that what is " appropriate " to nature is revealed to natural
instinct. With the appearance of reason in human beings, natural instinct
becomes reflective choice.4 At this stage, we recognize rationally which
things have "value, " since they correspond to the innate tendencies
which nature has placed within us. Thus, it is " natural " for us to love life ,
for parents t o love their children, and that human beings, like ants and
bees, should have an instinct of sociability: that is, that they should be
prepared by nature to form groups, assemblies, and cities. Getting mar
ried, engaging in a political activity, serving one's country, are all " appro
priate " to human nature and therefore have a " value. " Nevertheless,
from the point of view of the fundamental principles of Stoicism, all

these things are indifferent-nether good nor bad-since they do not
depend entirely upon us.
Thus, we can see what the Stoics meant by " appropriate actions "
appropriate, that is, to Nature-and " duties " (kathekonta) . They are ac
tions, hence something which depends upon us; and they presuppose an
intention, either good or evil. They cannot, therefore, be accomplished
indifferently. These actions are related to a subj ect matter which is, in
theory, indifferent, since it does not depend exclusively upon us, but also
on other people and on circumstances, external events, and, in the last
analysis, on Destiny. This indifferent subj ect matter can, however, rea
sonably and with some probability be judged to be in conformity with
the will of Nature, and thereby to acquire a certain value, either by
virtue of its content, or by virtue of its circumstances.
Such " appropriate actions " are also " duties " ; more precisely, they are
social and political obligations linked to human life in a city. As we have
seen, they include the duty not to do anything which is not in the service
of human groups, be they one's city or family; the duty to participate in
political activity and in the responsibilities of a citizen; to defend one's
country; to procreate and raise children; and to respect the bonds of
marriage. Epictetus enumerates some of these " duties " when he reviews
the actions which permit us to recognize the true philosopher (III, 2 1 ,
4-6) :
A carpenter doesn't come to you and say, " Listen to me discourse
on the art of carpentry" ; but he draws up a contract to build a
house, builds it, and thereby shows that he possesses the carpenter's
art. Do as he does: eat like a human being, drink like a human
being, get spruced up, get married, have children, lead the life of a
citizen, learn how to put up with insults, tolerate an unreasonable
brother, father, son, neighbor, or traveling companion. Show us
these things, so that we can see if you really have learned anything
from the philosophers.
Uncertainty and worry

In the context of the discipline of action, along with such " duties, "
" appropriate actions, " and " suitable things, " uncertainty and worry are
liable to creep into the philosopher's soul. In the first place, the result of
such actions-the initiative for which depends on us, but the result of
191
which does not-is far from being a sure thing. T o the question, " Ought
we to do good to someone who may be ungrateful? " Seneca5 replies as
follows:
When it comes to action, we can never wait until we have an
absolutely certain understanding of the entire situation. We only
take the path down which we are led by probability. Every " duty"
(efficium) must follow this path; for this is how we sow, sail, make
war, get married, and have children. In all these things, the result is
uncertain, but we nevertheless decide to undertake those actions
which we think have some hope of succeeding. . . . We go where
reason-and not the absolute truth-leads us.
According to Epictetus (II , 6, 9) :
Chrysippus was quite right to say, so long as the consequences
remain hidden from me, I remain attached to the things which are
best able to permit me to obtain that which is in conformity with
nature, for God himself has made me able to choose between things
of this kind. If, however, I knew for a fact that Destiny had reserved
sickness as my fate, then I would head toward it; for if the foot had
any intelligence, it would head toward the mud. "
Thus, the Stoics do not only say " I don't know whether my action
will succeed. " Rather, they also say: " Since I don't know in advance
what the results of my actions will be, and what Destiny has in store for
me, I have to make such-and-such a decision in accordance with prob
ability and a rational estimate, without any absolute certainty that I am
making the right choice or doing the right thing. "
One of the most dramatic choices which a Stoic could face was that of
suicide. Stoicism considered that suicide-in specific circumstances and
for good reasons; in other words, according to rational probability-was
a choice open to the philosopher. Thus, even though life would seem to
be more in conformity with nature, circumstances can bring us to choose
death. Similarly, as we have just seen, Chrysippus used to say that the sage
would choose sickness rather than health, if he knew with certainty that
such was the will of Destiny.
In the area of rational and probabilistic choice, the Stoics tried to
define what ought to be done in various possible situations. Their trea
tises entitled On Duties were, at least in part, manuals of casuistry, and
1 92
one can see from the differences in the judgment of particular cases that
existed between the leaders of the various schools that their " rationally
justified" choices could only be based upon probability. Here are some
examples, preserved by Cicero in his treatise On Duties, 6 of the cases
which were discussed in the schools, and of the divergent responses to
them. Is a man who sells his house obligated to disclose all of its defects to
a potential buyer? Yes, said Antipater of Tarsus; no, said Diogenes of
Babylon. During a food shortage, a businessman had bought wheat in
Alexandria, and was transporting it by boat to Rhodes. He knew that
other boats were following him, and that the price of grain would soon
go down. Should he say so? Yes , said Antipater; no, said Diogenes of
Babylon. Obviously, the position of Antipater is closer to the fundamen
tal principles of Stoicism, and the arguments he uses to j ustify his position
are the same ones used by Marcus Aurelius to found the discipline of
action:
You must care for the salvation of all human beings, and serve the
human community. Nature has fixed as a principle that your par
ticular usefulness should be the common usefulness; and, recipro
cally, that the common usefulness should be your particular useful
ness . . . You must remember that there is a community between
human beings, which has been formed by Nature herself7
It seems as though Epictetus-and therefore, in all probability, Marcus
Aurelius, who follows him-pictured himself as representing the more
orthodox tradition which, starting with Chrysippus, went on through
Antipater of Tarsus and Archedemus. Still, the fact that different Stoics,
while remaining faithful to the fundamental principles of the school,
could nevertheless propose completely different ethical choices in the
cases we just observed is a good indicator of the fact that there existed
some degree of uncertainty concerning the relationship between the
moral end-which was unanimously agreed upon-and the " appropriate
actions " which ought to be undertaken in order to attain it.
Stoicism is often regarded as a philosophy of certainty and intellectual
self-confidence . In fact, however, it was only to the sage-that is, to an
extremely rare being who represented more an inaccessible ideal than a
concrete reality-that the Stoics attributed infallibility and perfect sound
ness of judgment. Most people, including philosophers-who, in their
own view, are precisely not sages-must painfully orient themselves
1 93
within the uncertainty of everyday life, making choices which seem to

be j ustified reasonably-in other words, probabilistically.8
Moral intent, or the fire fed by all matter

Action thus risks introducing worry and care into the Stoic's life, to the
same extent to which he does good, and where he intends to do good.
By means of a remarkable reversal, however, it is precisely by becoming
aware of the transcendent value of doing good that the Stoic can regain
peace of mind and serenity, which will enable him to act effectively.
There is nothing surprising about this, for it is precisely within the moral
good-that is to say, the intention of doing good-that the good is
situated for the Stoics.
For the Stoics, intentions bear within themselves a value which
infinitely transcends all the obj ects and " matters " to which they are
applied, for these obj ects and matters are in themselves indifferent, and
only assume a value to the extent that they provide an opportunity for
intentions to be applied and become concrete. In sum, there is only one
will, profound, constant, and unshakable, and it manifests itself in the
most diverse actions, on the most diverse occasions and obj ects, all the
while remaining free and transcendent with regard to the subj ect matters
upon which it is exercised.
In Marcus Aurelius, but also in Epictetus and in Seneca,9 the vocabu
lary of the discipline of action includes a technical term meaning " to act
'with a reserve clause"' (Greek hypexairesis; Latin exceptio) , which implies
the transcendence of intention with regard to its obj ects. The idea of a
" reserve clause " reminds us that, for the Stoics, act and intention to act
are fused into an inner discourse which enunciates, as it were, the plans
of the agent. According to Seneca, 10 the sage undertakes everything
" with a reserve clause, " insofar as he says to himself
" I want to do thus and so, as long as nothing happens which may
present an obstacle to my action. "
" I will sail the across the ocean, if nothing prevents me. "
Putting matters this way may seem banal and useless; from the Stoic
point of view, however, it is full of meaning. In the first place, it reveals
to us the seriousness of Stoic "intention. " To be sure, Seneca's formula
could be reduced to the following: " I want to do x, if I can " ; and it
1 94
would be easy to j oke about such a " good intention, " which quickly
gives up its goal at the first difficulty that arises. In fact, however, the
contrary is true. Stoic intentions are not " good intentions " but " inten
tions that are goo d" in other words, firm, determined, and resolved to
overcome all obstacles. It is precisely because the Stoic refuses to give up
easily on his decision that he formulates a reserve clause, in quasi-judici
ary terms. In the words of Seneca: 1 1
-
The sage does not change his decision, i f everything remains en

tirely what it was when he took it. . . . Elsewhere, however, he
undertakes everything " with a reserve clause " . . . in his most stead
fast decisions, he allows for uncertain events.
Our intention to perform a certain action, therefore, after we have
weighed and pondered it at length, is firm and stable . This is one of the
examples that Marcus Aurelius had retained from his adoptive father,
Antoninus Pius (I, 1 6 , l ) : " Firm perseverance in decisions which are
taken after mature reflection. " The " reserve clause " means that this firm
decision and intention always remain integral, even if an obstacle should
arise which prevents their realization. Such an obstacle is a part of what
the sage has foreseen, and it does not prevent him from willing what he
wants to do . In the words of Seneca:12
Everything succeeds for him, and nothing unexpected happens to
him, for he foresees that something may intervene which prevents
that which he has planned to carry out.
This Stoic attitude reminds one of the saying embedded in popular
wisdom: "Do what you must; let happen what may. " We must under
take what we think is good, even if we foresee the failure of our under
taking, because we must do what we must do . Stoicism, however, also
contains the idea that carrying out a certain action is not an end in itself
Here we see the emergence of an extremely important distinction:
that which opposes goal (skopos) and end (telos) . Whoever has the firm,
fixed moral intention to carry out a given action is like an archer aiming
at a target (skopos) . It does not depend entirely on him whether he hits
the target or not; likewise, he can only wish for the " goal" (skopos) with a
" reserve clause " : namely, on the condition than Destiny also wills it. In
the words of Cicero : 13
1 95
The shooter must do everything he can to hit the target (skopos),

and yet it is this act of doing everything in order to hit the target and
realize his plan, which is, if I may say, the end (telos) that the shooter
is seeking. It is this that corresponds to what we call the sovereign
good in life, whereas hitting the target is only something that can be
wished for, but is not something worthy of being sought after for its
own sake.
We encounter the same fundamental principle again and again: the
only absolute value is moral intention, and it alone depends entirely upon
us. It is not the result that counts-for this does not depend on us, but on
Destiny-but rather the intention one has when seeking this result. We
find this theme in Epictetus (II , 1 6, 5 ) :
Show m e a man who i s anxious t o know how h e does something,
and is not worried about getting something, but about his act itself
. . . who, when he deliberates, worries about the deliberation itself,
and not about obtaining what the deliberation was about.
If our activity is animated by the perfectly pure intention of wishing
only for the good, it attains its goal at every instant, and has no need to
wait for its achievement and result to come from the future. Insofar as the
very exercise of action is an end in itself, one could compare moral action
to dance. In dance, however, the action remains incomplete if it is
interrupted. Moral action, by contrast, is perfect and complete at every
instant, as Marcus Aurelius remarks (XI, r , r-2) :
The rational soul achieves its proper end, wherever the limit of its
life may be. It is not as in dance or the theater or other such arts, in
which, if something comes along to interrupt them, the entire
action is incomplete. The action of the rational soul, by contrast
in all of its parts, and wherever it is considered-carries out its
proj ects fully and without fail, so that it can say: " I have achieved
my completion. "
Elsewhere, Marcus writes (VIII, 3 2) :
You must set your life in order by accomplishing your actions one
by one; and if each of them achieves its completion, insofar as is
possible, then that is enough for you. What is more, no one can
prevent you from achieving its completion.
Here we can grasp-in the flesh, as it were-the fundamental Stoic
attitude. In the first place, the Stoic " composes " his life, by accomplish
ing his actions one by one. In other words, he concentrates upon the
present instant and the action he is accomplishing right now, without
allowing himself to be troubled by the past or the future. As Marcus says
(VII , 6 8 , 3 ) :
For me, the present i s constantly the matter o n which rational and
social virtue exercises itself
Second, this concentration on the present introduces order into one's
life, allowing problems to be arranged in a series, so that " one is not
troubled by the representations of an entire life " and by the difficulties
which one may encounter (VIII, 3 6, 1 ) . It gives a harmonious form to
life, just as, as in a dance movement, one passes from one graceful
movement to another (VI, 7) :
Your only j oy, and your only rest, is to pass from one action per
formed in the service of the human community to another action
performed in the service of the human community, together with
the remembrance of God.
Third, each action upon which good intentions and good will are
focused finds its completion and its plenitude within itself, and no one
can prevent us from completing it and succeeding in it. This is the
paradox mentioned by Seneca, to the effect that even if the sage fails, he
succeeds. Marcus takes up this theme, by saying that no one can prevent
him from giving his own actions their completion and plenitude (VIII,
3 2) :
No one can stop you from having it attain its completion.
-But surely something external will prevent it from being com
pleted!
-Be that as it may, no one can stop you from acting with justice,
temperance, and prudence.
-But perhaps some other one of the action's effects will be
prevented?
1 97
-Perhaps, but if you adopt an attitude of serenity with regard to

such an obstacle, and if you know how to return prudently to that
which you are able to do, then another action will instantly take the
place of the first one, and it will fit in with the harmony we are
talking about.
No one-that is, no power in the world-can prevent us from the
following actions: in the first place, from wishing to act with justice and
prudence, and therefore from practicing the virtue which we intend to
practice by making the decision to perform such an action. Yet Marcus
obj ects: what if the result of the action which we wished to perform
cannot be realized? Then the action will fail. Reason then replies: but
this will just provide the opportunity to practice another virtue: that of
the consent to Destiny, and perhaps also of choosing another action,
more appropriate to the situation. In turn, this new action will insert
itself into the ordered series of actions which embellishes our life .
With the mention o f serene consent t o Destiny, w e return t o the
discipline of desire. When we can no longer act as we wished, we must
not allow ourselves to be troubled by vain desires to do the impossible.
Instead, we must willingly accept the will of Destiny. Then we shall have
to return to action and the discipline of action, prudently taking all new
information into consideration. In the last analysis, then, a good person
can always find completion and plenitude, even if his action is inter
rupted or impeded by some external cause, because it is perfect at each
instant, and in the very act of its exercise. Even if an obstacle should arise,
action makes of it a new source of exercises. This is what Marcus calls
" turning an obstacle upside down " (V, 20, 2 ) :
People can perfectly well prevent me from carrying out such-and
such an action. Thanks, however, to action " with a reserve clause "
and to " turning obstacles upside down, " there can be no obstacle to
my intention (horme), nor to my disposition. For my thought (di
anoia) can " turn upside down " everything that presents an obstacle
to my action, and transform the obstacle into an obj ect toward
which my impulse to act ought preferably to tend. That which
impeded action thus becomes profitable to action, and that which
blocked the road allows me to advance along the road.
When he speaks of " turning obstacles upside down, " Marcus means
that if something becomes an obstacle to what I was doing, and thereby
to the exercise of a certain virtue that I was practicing, I can find in that
very obstacle the opportunity to practice another virtue . For example, if
someone were to devote himself to the service of the human commu
nity, and thereby devoted himself to exercising the virtue ofjustice, then
a sudden illness would constitute an obstacle to this virtue, but it would
also provide the opportunity to exercise oneself in consenting to the will
of Destiny. At each instant, the good person tries to do what seems to
him in reasonable conformity with that which Reason wants. If, how
ever, Destiny reveals its will, then he accepts it wholeheartedly (VI, 5 0) :
First try to persuade them, but act against their will, if the reasonable
order ogos) of justice leads you that way. If, however, someone
violently stands in your way, then shift over to that disposition
which greets that which does not depend on us serenely and with
out regrets, and use this obstacle to practice another virtue. And
remember that your impulse to act was always " with a reserve
clause, " for you did not desire the impossible . What, then, did you
desire? Nothing other than to have such an impulse; and that you
have achieved.
Thus, we always come back to the fundamental will and intention to
be in conformity with reason. It is thanks to them that we have complete
inner liberty with regard to the obj ects of our action. The failure of a
given action does not trouble our serenity, for such a failure does not
prevent the action from being perfect in its essence and intention, and it
gives us the opportunity either to undertake a new action, better adapted
to circumstances, or else to discipline our desire by accepting the will of
Destiny. Thus, our basic intention and will find new fields for exercise
(IV, 1 ) :
If the principle which commands within us is in conformity with
Nature, it is always ready, when anything happens, to adapt itself
without difficulty to what is possible and what has been granted to
it. It does not like to restrict itself to one subj ect matter. No doubt it
directs its intention-"with a reserve clause "-toward obj ects wor
thy of being preferred; but if something else is substituted for these
obj ects, then it turns it into matter for itself, just like fire, which
triumphs over everything thrown upon it, by which a feeble flame
could easily be extinguished. A quick and violent fire, by contrast,
1 99
quickly assimilates and consumes all that is brought to it, and it is

thanks to these very obj ects that it rises to such great heights.
The paradox of fire, which grows stronger the more things are
brought to it which could smother it, or at least present an obstacle to it,
is the same as the paradox of the good will. The latter is not content with
one field of exercise, but assimilates all obj ects, including the most di
verse goals, communicating its goodness and perfection to all the events
to which it consents. Fire and the good will are thus utterly free with
regard to the matter they use; their matter is indifferent to them, and the
obstacles which are set in their way do nothing but feed them. In other
words, nothing is an obstacle for them (X, 3 I , 5 ) :
What kind o f matter o r exercise-theme are you fleeing! What is all
that, after all , if not exercises for your reason, which has seen, with
precision and an exact knowledge of Nature, the phenomena of
life? Hold fast, then, until you have assimilated these things as well,
as a robust stomach assimilates everything to itself, or as a bright fire
transforms everything thrown into it into flames and light.
Seneca, using a different metaphor, had already said:
A good person dyes events with his own color . . . and turns what
ever happens to his own benefit.14
The paradox of fire is also that of divine Reason or universal Nature,
which the Stoics conceived as a spiritual fire (VIII, 3 5) :
Just as universal Nature has communicated to each rational being its
other powers, so we have received from her the following power:
just as she takes everything which bars her route and resists her, and
turns it around in her favor, reinserts it within the order of Nature,
and transforms it into a part of herself, in the same way rational
beings can turn everything which presents an obstacle to them into
their own matter, and use it, no matter what goal their intention
was first directed toward.
Let us note one thing from this comparison between divine action and
the sage's action: the idea of one unique intention, which transcends all
the subj ect matters to which it is applied. The unique intention of God,
200
which is at the ongm of the world, wants the good of the All ; in
particular, it wants the good of that summit of the All constituted by
rational beings. With a view to this end, God's good intention makes
everything-even obstacles and resistances-turn out for the best. The
unique intention of the sage comes to identify itself with this divine
intention, by wanting only what divine goodness wants: primarily, the
good of other rational beings. It, too , transforms every obstacle which
opposes the realization of a given action or a specific goal into good,
insofar as it utilizes such obstacles in order to consent to the will of God
or of universal Nature. Thus, for the good will, everything is good.
Inner freedom with regard to actions: the purity and

simplicity of intentions
Ancient philosophy had long reflected on how to do good to others, and
in particular on the psychological problems caused by the relation be
tween benefactor and beneficiary. It was traditional to tell the story of the
Academic philosopher Arcesilaus, who had a friend who was poor, but
tried to conceal his poverty. One day when his friend was sick, Arcesilaus
slipped a small purse, which would allow him to provide for his needs,
under his pillow. 15 For the Stoics, benevolence was a part of the " duties "
or actions which were " appropriate " to our human nature. Seneca used a
work by the Stoic Hecaton to compose his treatise On Benefits, in which
he repeatedly affirmed that the benefactor should not consider that the
person receiving his benefits was in his debt. 16
Marcus Aurelius also returns to this theme several times. For him,
however, it represents the opportunity to insist forcefully upon the purity
of intention which must inspire our actions (VII, 73-74; XI, 4) :
When you have done something good, and thus, from another
point of view, you have thus been benefited, why do you look for a
third thing besides these, as idiots do; I mean, besides appearing to
have done good or getting paid back in return?
Nobody gets tired of being benefited. It is beneficial to act in
conformity with nature. Therefore, do not tire of being benefited,
by being beneficial to others.
I did something in the service of the human community; therefore,
I have been beneficial to myself
201
The first reason why we must do good unto others, without asking for
anything in return, is that, by virtue of the principle " what is good for the
whole is good for the part, " doing good unto others is the same as doing
good to oneself To this we can add the fact that performing such an
action brings j oy: the j oy of doing one's duty, but also, and more impor
tant, the j oy of feeling that human beings are not only the parts of one
single whole, but the limbs of one single body. If, as Marcus says, you
have not yet understood that you are a member of the body made up of
rational beings (VII, 1 3 , 3 ) ,
. . . then you do not yet love human beings from the bottom of
your heart; you do not yet rej oice purely and simply in doing good,
and, moreover, you only do good for appearance's sake, not yet
because you do good to yourself in this way.
Up until this point, it might justifiably be thought that the motivation
of actions performed in the service of the human community is not
entirely pure, for one still expects some usefulness out of it for oneself In
other words, one still hopes to gain from such actions some kind of
happiness, however disinterested it may be. This is the noble Stoic prin
ciple that "virtue is its own reward, " which would later be taken up by
Spinoza.17 Nevertheless, one does still speak of a " recompense, " and one
is conscious of doing good. Therefore, one runs the risk of watching
oneself do good.
Marcus goes farther in his demands for purity, when, in order to
provide a foundation for the disinterested nature of good actions, he
introduces the notion of natural functions (IX, 42, 1 2) :
What more do you want when you have benefited some human
being? Isn't it enough for you to have done something in conform
ity with your nature? Do you want to get paid for that? It's as if an
eye were to ask for compensation because it sees, or the feet because
they walk . . .
Elsewhere, Marcus tells us that there are three types of benefactor: he
who openly considers the recipient of his benefits as his debtor; he who
only thinks this, and knows that, nevertheless, he did good for the other's
sake; and finally, he who does not know what he has done (V, 6, 3 ) :
H e i s like a vine which bears grapes and does not seek anything
more, once it has given its own fruit; or like a horse which runs, a
202
dog which hunts; or a bee which makes its honey. Thus, the person
who does good does not know it, but he moves on to another
action, as the vine will give its grapes again when the proper season
comes. We must therefore be like those who, in a way, do good
unconsciously.
Here we can see the Stoic notion of " action in conformity with
nature " taking on a new meaning. Each species has an inborn instinct,
given to it by nature, which impels it to act in accordance with its
structure and its constitution: thus it impels the vine to produce grapes,
the horse to run, and the bee to make honey. Thus, every species acts in
accordance with its nature. That which corresponds to instinct within
the human species is the impulse to act (horme); that is, the will and
intention to act in accordance with reason, which defines the human
constitution. Acting in accordance with reason means preferring the
common interest-that of humanity-to one's own interests. Thus, act
ing in accordance with reason means acting in conformity with nature.
Just as bees and vines do the work which is proper to bees and vines, so
human beings must do the work which is proper to human beings.
Precisely because doing good is the same thing as acting naturally, how
ever, good actions must be accomplished spontaneously, purely, and
almost unconsciously. Animal instinct, like a force which never exhausts
itself in its manifestations, somehow transcends all the actions which it
accomplishes, as it passes spontaneously from one action to another; it
does not linger to take pleasure in any specific action. In the same way,
moral intention transcends all the actions which it inspires, and passes
" from one action to the next, "18 without considering these actions as
ends in themselves, without claiming ownership of them, and without
wanting to derive any benefit from them. It therefore remains com
pletely free with regard to its actions, and it accomplishes them natu
rally-that is to say spontaneously, and in a way unconsciously. As Christ
had said: "When you give alms, let your left hand not know what your
right hand is doing. "19
Later, Plotinus20 would affirm that
it is not at all necessary for a brave person to be conscious of the fact

that he is acting courageously and in conformity with the virtue of
courage . . . One could even say that consciousness seems to trouble
and weaken the activities and acts of which it is conscious. If these
20 3
acts are not accompanied by consciousness, it is then that they are

pure, and that they are as intense and as alive as they can be.
Marcus Aurelius' reflections already point in this direction. A genu
inely good action, he says, must be spontaneous and unconsidered, like
animal instinct. It must come without effort, and from one's very being,
for consciousness disturbs the purity of the act. Being conscious of doing
good means to assume an attitude-to take pleasure in such affectation,
and not to devote all one's energy to the act itself
There is a most profound idea behind this criticism of the conscious
ness of doing good: goodness cannot be anything other than complete
generosity, without any return upon or complacency in itself It must be
wholly directed toward others. It is perfectly disinterested, inwardly free,
and is not attached to what it is accomplishing.
Marcus, however, is quite aware that such an attitude seems to go
against the Stoic's fundamental disposition of attention to oneself and
acute consciousness of what one is doing. Thus, he introduces an obj ec
tor to remind him of this (y, 6, 6) :
It is characteristic of a person acting in the service of the community
to be aware of the fact that he is acting in the service of the commu
nity, and, by God, to want his neighbor to know it too.
Marcus does not, moreover, attempt to resolve the contradiction.
" That is true, " he replies, "but you don't understand what I mean. "
What Marcus " means " here, in all probability, is that moral life is the art
of reconciling such opposing attitudes as, on the one hand, attention to
oneself and the awareness of duty, and, on the other, spontaneity and
complete disinterestedness.
The freedom of moral intention with regard to the actions it under
takes is also manifested on the occasion of another problem which crops
up in the discipline of action. We have seen that this discipline requires
that decisions be carefully considered, so that, in theory, nothing could
cause a person to change his mind once he has made his decision. Here
too, however, the agent must not attach himself blindly to his decision to
undertake a given action: he must be able to change his mind, if someone
gives him valid reasons to do so (VIII, 1 6) :
Remember that changing your mind and following one who can
lead you back onto the right track is another sign of inner freedom.
204
For such an action is still yours, since it is accomplished in conform

ity with your will, your judgment, and, finally, with your intellect.
To reiterate: what matters is not the fact of performing a specific
action, and then to appropriate it as something belonging to us. Rather,
what matters is to conform our intentions to reason and to reasonable
nature. This is equally true when we listen to the advice of a counselor
whose reasons seem to us to be well founded (IV, 1 2 , 2) . The same holds
true if we are not able to accomplish an action by ourselves (VII, 5, 3 ) :
Whatever I do, whether alone o r with some other, I must aim at
one single goal: that which is useful to the human community and is
in accord with it.
The " reserve clause " and exercices to prepare oneself to

encounter difficulties
As we have seen, when Marcus discusses the discipline of action, he often
brings up the idea of a " reserve clause. " This is particularly true when he
quotes this text from Epictetus (XI, 3 7) which defines the three exercise
themes:
In the exercise-theme which deals with the impulses which lead us
to action, we must never relax our attention, so that these impulses
may be accompanied by a reserve clause, that they may have as their
goal the service of the community, and that they may be propor
tionate to value.
This " reserve clause " corresponds to the formula "if nothing prevents
me. " That which can prevent an action from being carried out is Des
tiny, and therefore the will of universal Nature and Reason, and hence
the will of God or of the gods. The exercise-theme which deals with
impulses and intentions to act thus becomes confused with the exercise
theme which deals with the desires, since when an obstacle comes up
which prevents an action, the only thing left for us to do is to wish-in
vain-for the act to succeed in spite of everything. Therefore, we must
desire nothing other than what is willed by the All, or universal Nature.
This j oyful consent which Marcus demands of us, however, is not easy.
20 5
We must practice it and prepare ourselves for it; in particular, we must

foresee the difficulties and the setbacks which we will have to confront.
Acting " with a reserve clause" means precisely to prepare oneself for
such setbacks. In the words of Seneca:21
Nothing happens to the sage contrary to his expectations, for he
foresees that something may intervene to prevent what he has
planned from being carried out.
All things happen to him, not according to his wish, but according
to what he has thought. What he thinks above all is that something
can always oppose his plans. But the pain caused by an unsatisfied
desire must be lighter for one who has not promised success to
himself beforehand.
This last sentence shows us that we can distinguish two aspects in the
exercise intended to prepare us for encountering hardships . In the first
place, there is a psychological aspect: blows that are not unexpected, but
foreseen, strike us less hard, and wound us less deeply, than those which
strike unexpectedly. Greek wisdom had long since made this observa
tion. 22 The Stoics had made it a part of their system, and we probably
have an echo of this Stoic theme in the following passage from Philo of
Alexandria:23
They do not bend under the blows of fate, because they have
calculated its attacks in advance. For of the things that happen
against our will, even the most painful are alleviated by foresight.
Then, thought no longer encounters anything unexpected in
events, but the perception of them is dulled, as if it were dealing
with old and worn-out things.
In his ninety-first letter to Lucilius, Seneca imagines in a somewhat
grandiloquent fashion all the wars, earthquakes, fires, mud slides, tidal
waves, volcanic eruptions-in a word, every catastrophe that could pos
sibly occur. If we leave such rhetoric out of consideration, what Seneca
means is essentially that we must always be ready for everything.
Marcus does not give us such lengthy descriptions of every possible
calamity. He does, however, constantly remind himself of the great law
of nature called universal metamorphosis, or the swift course of the
movement of things. He practices seeing beings and things concretely, in
206
their perpetual movement and transformation. Once, he evokes the van

ished cities of Helice, Pompeii, and Herculanum. Above all, he tries to
place himself within the fundamental disposition of constant vigilance
and readiness for anything that is characteristic of such Stoics as Epictetus
(see III, 24, 86) . Marcus sums up Epictetus' thought in the following
terms (XI, 3 4) :
When you kiss your child, you must say to yourself in your mind:
" Perhaps you will be dead tomorrow. "
It must be admitted, however, that this kind of exercise is not easy to
practice . Do we not run the risk of being troubled, overwhelmed, and
discouraged by imagining everything that might happen in this way? Is
there not a criticism of this exercise in the following passage?
Don't let yourself be troubled by the representation of your entire
life. Don't try to add up in your mind all the painful difficulties that
are likely to happen, in all their intensity and numbers (VIII, 3 6) .
The way to avoid this, Marcus continues, is to concentrate o n the pre
sent and the present action, as well as on present difficulties, which are
easier to bear if they are isolated. Is there not a contradiction between the
exercise of concentration on the present, which Marcus is talking about
here, and the exercise which consists in imagining future difficulties?
In fact, what M;ircus is criticizing here is the same thing that Seneca
attacks in several of his letters: the " anguished imagination of the fu
ture ";24 that is to say, imagination when it is not controlled by reason. As
Seneca says, "A soul obsessed with the future is miserable indeed; it is
unhappy even before any mishaps. "25
The exercise of preparing oneself for hardships is intended to help us
avoid not only being unhappy during mishaps, but also being " unhappy
before any mishaps. " It does this in two ways: in the first place, it makes
us understand that future misfortunes-misfortunes, that is, which are
merely possible--are not misfortunes for us . Second, it reminds us that,
according to Stoic principles, misfortune itself-which may perhaps oc
cur-is not really a misfortune.
Future misfortunes are not misfortunes. When Marcus writes, "Don't
let yourself be troubled by the representation of your entire life , " he is
practicing not only the exercise of concentration on the present, but also
the exercise of foreseeing misfortunes, such as it ought to be practiced.
207
He thinks about future misfortunes, but only in order to add right away
that it does no good to worry about them in advance. This implies that
misfortunes which exist only in the future are not genuine misfortunes:
It is not the past or the future which weigh upon you, but only the
present.
Besides, Marcus knows that if one concentrates on the present, and
circumscribes misfortunes at the moment when they occur, it will be
easier to put up with them one instant at a time. The exercises of
concentration on the present and of preparation for misfortune are thus
intimately linked and mutually complementary.
The evils that we fear are, moreover, not really " evils " in the toic
sense of the term. The preparation for difficulties and hardships consists
essentially in recollecting the fundamental principles of Stoicism, while
still thinking about the future. The first principle we must recall is that
what we consider an evil is really an event willed by Destiny. Conse
quently, it must be resituated within the overall movement of the
Whole, and be given the "physical " definition of which I have spoken.
In other words, apparent evils must not be considered anthropomorphi
cally, but as natural phenomena.
It is from this perspective that we may interpret the exercise of fore
seeing misfortunes, as we found it in the passage from Epictetus which
Marcus cites: "When you kiss your child, you must say to yourself in
your mind: 'Perhaps you will be dead tomorrow. "' Epictetus continues
by imagining the following dialogue (III, 24, 86-87 = Marcus Aurelius,
XI, 3 4) :
" Those are words of ill omen. "
-" They are not ill-omened at all; rather, they are words which
mean nothing other than a natural process. Or would it be 'ill
omened' to say that grain will be harvested? "
Marcus himself often returns to this theme; as we have seen, he affirms
that the things which seem unpleasant and painful to us are only the
necessary consequences of natural laws.
Finally, the exercise of preparation consists in remembering the Stoic
dogma that will enable us to understand that whatever difficulties, obsta
cles, trials, and sufferings may happen to us are not evils, since they do
not depend upon us and fall outside the realm of morality.
208
The recollection of Stoic principles is not just for dramatic circum

stances, but is also effective against the difficulties of everyday life (II , 1 ) :
At the break of dawn, say to yourself, " I am going to encounter a
busybody, an ingrate, an insolent person, a crook, an envious per
son, and an egotist. All this happens to them from their ignorance of
the distinction between goods and evils. "
Marcus then continues by recalling the principles which define good and
evil, but which also define the community among human beings. Since
people participate in the same intellect, and belong to the same divine
race, says Marcus, I cannot suffer any damage at their hands and I cannot
get angry with them.
Here we can see that the exercise of preparation for difficulties-a
kind of examination of conscience in advance-does not concern only
the discipline of desire and the acceptance of the will of Destiny. Rather,
it is an integral part of the discipline of the will and of action. In this latter
case, its function is to motivate a specific type of conduct toward other
human beings. Throughout the Meditations, Marcus Aurelius returns sev
eral times to this exercise, which consists, on the one hand, in expecting
to encounter resistance and ill will on the part of his collaborators and
subj ects, and, on the other, in preparing to assume an attitude which is
firm but benevolent, indulgent, and even loving, toward those who
oppose him.
The exercise of rational foresight will not only prevent us from being
" unhappy before mishaps "-that is, victims of a false representation of
future evils-but it will also allow us not to be unhappy in misfortunes,
by means of a twofold process of psychological preparation. First, as we
have seen, we will practice confronting in our minds the future trials
which may happen to us, so that they do not take us by surprise. Second,
we will accustom ourselves to remain inwardly free with regard to what
may be beyond our control in our daily lives. As Epictetus says (IV, I ,
I 1 2) :
Begin with the little things: a pot, a cup, and then continue in the
same way as far as a little tunic . . . as far as a piece of land. From
there, move on to yourself, your body, the parts of your body, your
children, your wife, and your brothers . . . . Purify your judgments
so that nothing which does not belong to you becomes attached to
209
you or becomes as one with you, so that it causes you suffering if it

is torn away from you . . . for this is true freedom.
Resignation?
As we have seen, when our action fails or encounters an obstacle, the
Stoics-and Marcus Aurelius the Stoic-seem to tell themselves: "My
intentions were good, and that's what really counts. Destiny has decided
otherwise. I must accept its will and resign myself; the virtue I must
practice now is not justice but the virtue of consent. I must switch from
the exercise of the discipline of action to that of the discipline of desire . "
This posed a problem for the Stoics. Marcus does not articulate it
explicitly, but it was very real for him; it might even be called the drama
of his life.
How can we avoid having our consent to the will of universal Na
ture-that will which is preventing our action from being accom
plished-transformed into fatalistic resignation and nonchalance? How
can we not be overcome by worry and even by anger, when our collabo
rators impede our action or when Destiny-by means of plagues, wars,
earthquakes, or flo ods-prevents us from achieving the happiness of the
Empire? Above all, what should we concretely do, when the obstacles,
difficulties, and trials which Destiny has willed turn up?
Epictetus had devoted one of his Discourses (II , 5) to the problem:
" How can concern coexist with greatness of soul? " By " greatness of
soul, " Epictetus meant " serenity, " while by " concern" he meant "being
concerned about acting well. " This is the same problem that we are
facing now.
In order to reply to it, Epictetus used a comparison taken from dice
games. It does not depend upon me, he reasoned, that a particular die
should fall. Likewise, the fact that I am in a certain situation, or that
circumstances present an obstacle to my action, does not depend upon
me, but upon Destiny. I must accept my situation with serenity, and
consent to it. In a dice game, however, it does depend on me to play the
die that does fall with concern, care, and skill. Similarly in life: it does
depend on me to use the die which has fallen-that is, the circumstances
of my action such as they have been willed by Destiny-with care,
attention, and skill.
We find this conception of action-at least implicitly-in a passage by
Marcus which has the merit of recapitulating the various situations in
which the Stoic may find himself when he undertakes an action (X, 1 2 ) :
210
What good is it to suppose, when you can clearly see what must be
done? If you see this, you must travel that path, benevolently, but
without turning around.
Marcus emphasizes that such an energetic, firm, and unshakable decision
must not impede our benevolent dispositions. He repeats this motif in
another passage (VIII, 5 , 2) :
Do what the nature of man demands, without turning aside from
the path you have entered upon, in accordance with what seems
most just to you. Only do it with benevolence and discretion,
without any posing.
One can, of course, have doubts about what one ought to do
(X, 1 2 , 1 ) :
If you cannot see what must be done, then suspend your judgment
and use your best advisers.
Obstacles-willed by Destiny-can also arise:
If other things oppose your plan, then keep advancing, and, after
having considered things at length, use whatever resources are avail
able to you, while holding firmly to that which seems just to you.
The " resources " which we can find in any given situation are the
possibilities which we must be able to exploit in our dice game. They
must, however, be exploited in a rational and thoughtful way, so that
two apparent opposites may be reconciled: the serenity of the sage, who
is not troubled by dramatic situations, but accepts reality for what it is;
and the concern of the man of action, who pursues whatever action he
has undertaken, in spite of all obstacles and difficulties, modifying it in
accordance with circumstances, yet always remaining aware of the goal
which must be his: justice and the service of the human community.
After all , isn't inner peace the surest guarantee of effective action?
Altruism
As we have seen, the discipline of action consists essentially in acting for
the good of the community. Once again, divine action is the model for
human action (V, 3 0) :
21I
The Intellect o f the All cares about the common good o f the All
(koinonikos) . This is why it has done the lower things for the sake of
the higher, and has set the higher things in harmony with one
another. See how it has introduced subordination and coordination;
how it has distributed to each thing its portion, in accordance with
its value; and how it has brought the most excellent things together
into a state of mutual concord.
Here the Intellect of the All appears like a good king who watches
over the health of the City. He cares about the well-being of his subj ects,
the other rational beings, and places inferior things-that is, animals,
plants, and inanimate things-in their service. He institutes community,
harmony, and concord among rational beings, and distributes goods with
justice. Such an anthropomorphic and "political" representation of the
City of the World should not, however, make us forget that the relation
ship between the Intellect and intelligent beings is based upon Nature
herself The City of the World is first and foremost the common City of
rational beings-gods and men-ruled by that law which is at the same
time common and particular to each of these beings . It is also simultane
ously Reason and Nature, since their nature is reasonable. The very
definition of " man " is " rational animal" (VII , I I ) :
For rational animals, action in confonnity with nature is at the same
time in conformity with reason.
The goal of rational animals is to obey Reason and the Law of the
most venerable city (II , 1 6 , 6) .
This most venerable City is the City on high, of which man is the
citizen and " of which the other cities are mere houses " (III, I I , 2) .
"What is a man? " Epictetus had asked (II , 5 , 26) .
A part of a city. Of the first city, that is, which is made up of gods
and men; then of that which is so called in order to come as close as
possible to it, and which is a tiny image of the whole.
As Emperor, Marcus could not fail to be attentive to such a doctrine,
which placed his entire life in question, as we can see in the following
Meditation, which forms, as it were, his motto or his rule of life (VI ,
44, 6) :
2 12
My City and my Fatherland, insofar as I am an Antonine, is

Rome.
My City and my Fatherland, insofar as I am a man, is the world.
Everything that is useful to these two Cities is, for me, the only
good.
It is, says Marcus (IV, 4, 2) , from the City of the World, or the City on
high, which is the City of reasonable beings, that we receive intelligence,
reason, and law. This equation is not without significance . Intelligence
and reason are common to all reasonable beings; hence they are univer
sal. This is why they are that common and universal law which is within
all rational beings, for by virtue of their universality which transcends
individuals, they allow us to shift from the egocentric viewpoint of the
individual to the universal perspective of the All . This is why intelligence
and reason tend naturally to envisage the good and the interests of the
Whole. Logikon (" rational") and koinonikon ("caring about the common
welfare ") are inseparable (VII, 5 5) :
Each being must act in conformity with its constitution. By their
constitution, the other beings are made for rational beings . . . and
rational beings are made for one another. The primary constituent
in the makeup of human beings is therefore the tendency to act for
the common good.
It has often been held that Stoicism was fundamentally a philosophy of
self-love, since the point of departure both for its physics and for its ethics
is the tendency to self-preservation, and to remain in a state of coherence
with oneself In fact, however, the fundamental tonality of Stoicism is to
a much greater extent the love of the All , for self-preservation and
self-coherence are possible only by virtue of complete adherence to the
Whole of which one is a part. To be a Stoic means to become aware of
the fact that no being is alone, but that we are part of a Whole made up
of the totality of rational beings and that totality which is the Cosmos.
The reason the divine Intellect cares about the common welfare of the
All is that it unfolds itself within this All . It is at the same time itself and
all things, by virtue of a dynamic identity. If it has set in harmony the
beings which participate in the Intellect, this is because all such beings are
parts of it, and all have communion within it. It communicates its inten
tion to realize the common good of the Whole to all beings, insofar as it
is present within them. Like the Intellect, all rational beings are koi-
2 13
ni5nikoi: that is, they tend naturally to place themselves in the service of
the All , and to ensure the unity of the All .
In a particularly beautiful Meditation, Marcus evokes the great " uni
ties " which reveal to us the fundamental unity of all things (XII , 3 0) :
" The light of the sun is one, " even if walls present an obstacle to it. " One
is the common substance, even if it is divided among thousands of bodies
which possess individual qualities. " " One is the intelligent soul, " even if
it seems to divide itself If there is a force of unity in all things, albeit an
unconscious one, then, by contrast, in the unity constituted by the intel
ligent soul-constituted, that is, by all the intelligent souls which partici
pate in it and which are one with it-there is this particular privilege to
tend consciously " to j oin that which is akin to it and to unite with it. "
" This passion for community knows no obstacles. "
Here we can glimpse, beyond the unifying forces which cause bodies
to be held together, a universe of transparency and innerness where
minds tend toward one another in reciprocal community and intimacy.
Rational beings are linked together, insofar as their intention, like that of
the divine Intellect, wills the good of the All ; and hence to the extent
that their intentions coincide with the end willed by the divine Intellect.
Such a spiritual universe is thus one of concordant wills. From this point
of view, moral intention becomes an absolute value and a goal in itself,
which transcends all the particular goals to which it may be applied, and
each rational being, insofar as it is free to have this moral intention,
becomes in turn an end for itself and for others. Marcus never tires of
repeating this (see, for example, IX, 1 ) :
Universal Nature has made rational beings for the sake of one
another.
In a sense, then, it could be said that this community of rational beings
which the divine Intellect unites around itself reminds one of the " king
dom of ends " discussed by Kant. For Kant, this "kingdom of ends "
corresponds to the community of rational beings, insofar as it is linked
together by the law which each person postulates and accepts for himself
This law prescribes that each rational being must be an end in itself, both
for itself and for others, by virtue of the moral freedom within it.26 It is
because rational beings postulate the moral end for themselves as a law
that they are themselves an end in themselves. As Marcus said, such an
end is to be preferred above all else (XI, 1 , 4) :
2 14
I t is the property of the rational soul to love its neighbor . . . and to

prefer nothing to itself, which is also the property ef the law.
Most people, however, are unaware of this City of the World, and of
Reason. They live in egotism, which is just as pernicious to the City of
the World as it is to the city here below (IX, 23 , 2) :
Each of your actions which is not related either distantly or imme
diately to an end which serves the common good tears life apart,
and prevents it from being one . It is a seditious act, as when, within
a nation, someone separates his party from the concordant union of
all citizens.
Egotism is harmful not only to the State, but also to the individual.
Egotism isolates him, and as Epictetus had said (II , 5 , 26) :
When he is isolated, man will no longer be a man, any more that a
foot would be a genuine foot. For what is man? A part of the
state . . .
Marcus Aurelius takes up the same metaphor (VIII, 3 4) :
Have you ever seen a lopped-off hand, foot, o r head, lying sepa
rated from the rest of the body? That is what one does when he
does not accept what happens, and thereby separates himself from
the All, or who commits any act inspired by egotism. You yourself
have excluded yourself from the unity of Nature, for you had
grown within the Whole like a part, and now you have cut yourself
off from it.
The two disciplines are brought up here: that of desire, implying that
one must accept everything that happens, and that of action, which
prescribes that we act for the common good. It is clear from the passages
quoted above that they both correspond to one and the same attitude:
that of becoming aware that we are only a part of the Whole, and that we
live only by and for the Whole. What other beings do " naturally, " man
must do " rationally" ; yet in the last analysis this is the same for him as
acting " naturally, " since his nature is reason and freedom. Mankind
therefore has the strange power (VIII, 3 4, 3-5) to be able, by means of his
intentions, his freedom, and his reason, to separate himself from the
2 15
Whole by refusing his consent to what happens, and by acting egotisti

cally. He thus has the uncanny power, in a sense, to annihilate himself
spiritually. And yet, says Marcus, by means of an even more marvelous
power, mankind can return to the Whole after having cut himself off
from it. He can convert and transform himself, and change from egotism
to altruism.
Action and value; justice and impartiality

In his definition of the discipline of action which is cited by Marcus
Aurelius (XI , 3 7) , Epictetus enumerates three characteristics which dis
tinguish active impulses (hormai), if they are good. First, they must be
accompanied by a " reserve clause, " and their goal must be the service of
the common welfare. I have already discussed these first two points.
They must also, says Epictetus, be in accordance with value (kat' axian) .
This terminology seems vague and imprecise; are we talking about the
value of the obj ects upon which our action is exercised, or about the
people affected by such action? Marcus himself often uses the term kat'
axian; in fact it is a terminus technicus, current in the Stoic schools of
Marcus' time. Its meaning was obvious to contemporary initiates, but
today we must try to explain it.
The Stoics had long since developed a rather elaborate theory of
"value. "27 To summarize this doctrine-albeit in simplified form-we
may say that they distinguished three degrees of value. First came those
things which are an integral part of "life according to nature "-that is, of
virtue-for instance, the exercises consisting in the examination of con
science and in attention to oneself, which contribute to the practice of
moral life. The value of these things was considered to be absolute. In
second place came those things which could help the practice of virtue in
a secondary way. Taken by themselves, these things are neither good nor
bad, but are indifferent with regard to moral good. Possessing them and
exercising them, however, allows us to practice better the virtuous life .
Examples would include health, which makes i t possible for u s t o d o our
duty; and wealth, if it allows us to come to the aid of our fellow man.
These second-rank values do not have the absolute value which pertains
only to the moral good, but they can be ranked in hierarchical order
according to the closeness of their relationship to the moral good. Finally,
in last place came those things which, under certain circumstances, could
be useful to virtue. Such things have no value in and of themselves, but
can be exchanged for some good.
216
To recognize the exact value of a thing was thus a very important

exercise, and a part of the discipline of judgment. Not only must we
always try to see each obj ect as it appears in its naked reality, says Marcus
(III, r r , r-2) , but we must also become aware of its place within the
universe, and of
the value it has in relation to the Whole and in relation to mankind,
insofar as mankind is a citizen of the highest City, of which the
other cities are like mere households.
As we have seen, the discipline ofjudgment is intimately linked to the
discipline of action. Once we have seen the value of things in this way,
we must act in consequence (VIII, 29) :
I see all things as they are, and I use each of them in accordance
with its value (kat' axian) .
What Marcus means by this is that, when faced with each event and each
situation, he tries to recognize the benefit he can derive therefrom for his
moral life, and thus to use it in the best possible way (VIII, 43 ) :
What brings me j oy is to keep the guiding principle within me
healthy, so that it has no aversion for any human being, nor for
anything that can happen to them, but can look at all things with
benevolent eyes, and know how to receive and to utilize each thing
in accordance with its value.
The discipline of actions thus demands that we be able to recognize
the value of obj ects, and be able to distribute the intensity of our acts
proportionately. Seneca28 had defined the discipline of action as follows:
in the first place, judge the value of the matter in question; then adjust
our active impulses to this value; finally, bring active impulse and action
into harmony, so that we may always remain in accord with ourselves.
This, then, is the first meaning that can be given to Epictetus' phrase
kat' axian. Yet the consideration of value is not situated only on the level
of individual conduct, but also at the level of social life.
It is here, moreover, that a grave problem arises for the Stoic, for he
does not have the same scale of values as other people. Others attribute
an absolute value to things which, to the Stoics, are indifferent, and
therefore can only have a relative value. Conversely, the Stoic attributes
217
an absolute value to moral good, which is of no interest to most people.

Marcus seems to allude to this conflict when he writes, a propos of the
topic of helping others (V, 3 6) :
Don't let yourself b e completely carried away by their repre
sentation.29 Instead, help them as far as possible, and in accordance
with the value of the matter at hand. If they incur a loss in the
domain of indifferent things, do not say to yourself that they have
suffered harm, for that is a bad habit.
What is needed is to help others, and therefore also to help them in the
domain of indifferent things, which seem so important to them. Yet we
must still bear in mind the real value of things-their moral finality
without sharing other people's judgments about the value of things. Nor
must we pity them, as if what happens to them were a genuine misfor
tune.
This is the problem that Marcus faced as Emperor: he had to seek the
happiness of his subj ects in the domain of indifferent things, which had
no value in his eyes. Yet by so doing, he would be imitating the divine
example:
The gods help mankind in every possible way: through dreams and
through oracles; and yet it is in order to obtain things which have
value only in the eyes of mankind (IX, 2 7 , 3 ) .
The gods themselves wish the best fo r mankind, fo r such i s their
goodness that they often help them to obtain health, wealth, and
glory (IX, I I , 2) .
Thus, the gods place themselves within mankind's reach, and provide
them with that which, in itself, has only a very relative value. The same
thing must therefore apply to the Emperor. When defining his attitude to
his fellow human beings-whom Marcus declares to be his relatives and
his associates, even if they do not practice virtue-Marcus declares (III,
I I , 5) :
I behave with benevolence and justice toward them, in conformity
with the natural law which founds the human community. At the
same time, however, I share their quest for what has value among
indifferent things.
218
In addition to one's inner dispositions of benevolence, then, we here

have concrete action, which obliges the Emperor to occupy himself with
things which people consider to be values. In his eyes, too, they can have
a certain value: insofar as they allow for eventual moral progress.
Such, then, is the second meaning we can attribute to the allusion to
axia, or value in Epictetus' definition of the discipline of action.
There is, however, another meaning of the word " value. " Here, the
word no longer designates the value of an obj ect, but that of a person,
and it is synonymous with his or her merit. For Marcus, as for the Stoics
in general, j ustice consists in giving to all people what they deserve
according to their value or merit.30 We cannot, however, assert that this
new sense of the word "value " could also be reconciled with Epictetus'
definition of the discipline of action, as discussed above. Curiously
enough, we find very few allusions to the virtue of justice in the dis
courses of Epictetus as recorded by Arrian, and no definition of it. In
Marcus, by contrast, the virtue of justice is so important that it is some
times sufficient to define the discipline of action, as for instance in VII,
54: " To conduct oneself with justice with regard to the people present. "
Is it because Marcus was conscious of his responsibilities as Emperor
that he attributed such importance to justice? In any event, he alludes to
the definition of this virtue when, speaking about the emperor Anton
inus Pius, his adoptive father, Marcus says (I, r 6 , 5) that " he distributed
goods to each person, without letting himself be influenced. " This means
in particular that he distributed duties and responsibilities without favor
itism, taking into consideration only the individual's merits and value, as
well as his ability to carry out the tasks in question. It certainly also means
that he rendered justice with impartiality.
"Value " and " merit, " moreover, do not necessarily mean Stoic moral
value, but can mean either the ability to carry out a specific task, or else,
in judicial matters, guilt or innocence. According to the historian Cassius
Dio, Marcus did not demand perfection of those to whom he entrusted a
miss10n:
If someone did something good, he praised him for it, and he used
him in the task in which he excelled; but he did not take the rest of
his conduct into consideration. He used to say that it was impossible
to create men the way one would like them to be, but that it was
fitting to use men such as they are for the tasks in which they are
useful.31
2 19
The people who have value are those who carry out their " duties "
conscientiously. They are those who, in the domain of political and
everyday life-which is also the domain of indifferent things-do what
needs to be done, even if they do not do it in a Stoic spirit (that is,
considering that the only absolute value is the moral good) .
The model of this j ustice which distributes goods as a function of
personal merit, without favoritism, and in all impartiality, is divine ac
tion. There is nothing surprising about this, for mankind's moral action
proceeds from his rational nature, which is a part of or an emanation
from divine rational nature. Marcus says of this divine nature (VIII, 7, 2) :
It has no obstacle; it is intelligent and just, since it carries out a
distribution-equal and in accordance with value (kat' axian)-of
time, of substance, of causality, of activity, and of the conjunctions
of events.
One might think that an " equal " distribution cannot be " in accord
ance with value " ; but we must recall that, since Plato and Aristotle,32
political equality had been a geometrical equality-in other words, it had
been a proportion in which it was fitting to attribute a superior good to a
superior value, and an inferior good to an inferior value. Distribution was
proportionate to arete, which once designated aristocratic nobility, but
which for the Stoics meant nobility of the soul, or virtue. Stoic justice,
then, was aristocratic : not in the sense that it consisted in giving wealth
and power-that is, indifferent things-to the aristocratic class, but in the
sense that it made the consideration of value and of moral responsibility
enter into every decision of political and private life . The historian
Herodian relates that when it came time for Marcus Aurelius to marry off
his daughters, he did not choose patricians or rich personages for them,
but men of virtue . Wealth of the soul, Herodian continues, was, in
Marcus' eyes, the only genuine, proper, and inalienable wealth.33
Divine action, then, is " without obstacle " and "just" because it is
supremely rational, which means that it imposes an order upon itself. In
the first instance, such an order subordinates particular goals to one
unique end: the intention to ensure the good of the Whole. This is why
divine action has no obstacles: because it aims at one thing only through
out all the particular goals, and knows how to make all the obstacles
which seem to oppose it cooperate toward this unique end. Divine
action also introduces an order and a hierarchy of values among the
particular goals it assigns to itself. Inferior beings-minerals, plants, and
220
animals-are at the service of rational beings, and rational beings them

selves are ends for one another. From the perspective of such a hierarchy
of values, then, divine action distributes time, matter, and causality as a
function of the value of each thing. That is why it is just.
The justice of rational Nature is at the same time the justice of the
Intellect of the Whole (V, 3 0) , " which has introduced subordination and
coordination into the Whole, " and which " distributes to each its por
tion, in accordance with its value. " It is, moreover, the justice of the
Nature of the Whole (IX, I , 1 ) , " which has fashioned rational beings for
each other's sake, so that they may help each other mutually, in accord
ance with their value and their merit. "
Everyday experience could, of course, inspire doubts about such a
divine justice . Indeed, experience seems (IX, I , 6)
to carry out a distribution which is contrary to merit (par' axian) in
the case of good and of evil men, for evil men often live in pleas
ures, and obtain the means to do so, while the good encounter only
misery, and that which causes misery.
This, however, is the judgment of people who consider pleasures to be
good, and who do not understand that life and death, pleasure and pain,
glory and obscurity, are neither good nor bad, when what one is search
ing for is the moral good. On the contrary, says Marcus (IV, I O) :
Everything that happens, happens in a just way. If you examine this
attentively, you will see that it is true. I am not just saying that " that
happens by way of necessary consequence, " but that " that happens
in accordance with justice, " just as if it was brought about by some
one who distributed to each his portion, in accordance with his
merit.
In the context of the discipline of desire, we have already caught a
glimpse of the problems posed by the mode of action of Nature or
universal Reason. Did the latter start the cosmic process in motion by
one unique initial impulse, with all things then happening by way of
" necessary consequence"? Or rather, did Nature or Reason pay attention
to each individual, " distributing to each his portion, in accordance with
his merit " (IV, r n) ? We saw that, in the final analysis, these two hypothe
ses did not exclude each other, since the general law of the universe
somehow assigned to each person the role he or she had to play within
22 1
the universe. Divine action is a unique action, which seems to adapt itself
marvelously to each particular case. It is, then, as if " it was brought about
by someone who distributed to each his portion, in accordance with his
merit" (IV, r o) . This holds true for the lower beings, which, as Marcus
said (VII I , 7, 2) , receive their portion of duration, substance , and causal
ity in accordance with their value in the hierarchy of beings. Yet it is still
more true in the case of rational beings. Destiny distributes to each
person that which corresponds to his or her being and value. Each event
is in perfect conformity with the person to whom it happens:
Love only the event which happens to us, and which is linked to us
by Destiny. After all, what could be better suited to us? (VII , 5 7) .
Such-and-such an event happened to you, was coordinated with
you, was set in relation to you, was woven together with you, from
the beginning, starting from the most ancient of causes (V, 8, 12) .
Has something happened to you? Good! Every event that comes
your way has been linked to you by Destiny, and has been woven
together with you, starting from the Whole, since the beginning
(IV, 26, 4) .
Whatever happens to you was prepared for you in advance from all
eternity, and the network of causes has woven together your sub
stance and the occurrence of this event for all time (X, 5) .
Everything that happens, then, happens in a just way, because every
thing that happens to us brings us that which belongs to us and was owed
to us-in other words, that which suits our personal value-and there
fore also contributes to our moral progress. Divine justice is an educator.
The end it aims for is the good of the Whole, as ensured by the wisdom
of reasonable beings.
The Stoic Diogenes of Babylon34 said that, in the definition ofjustice
as that virtue which gives to each person the portion corresponding to
his or her value, the word "value" (axia) meant " the portio n: due to each
person" (to epiballon) . The mystery of divine justice shows itself in such
nuances of vocabulary. Marcus Aurelius, for instance, speaks (X, 25) of
"He who administers all things, " that is to say, he adds, " who is the Law
(nomos) which distributes (nemon) to each person that which is due to him
(to epiballon) . " "What is distributed according to the laws is equal for all "
222
(XII , 3 6, r ) . When, therefore, the divine Law gives to each person the
portion which corresponds to his value, this means at the same time the
portion which is due to that person as a function of his merit and of what
he is, and the portion which falls to his lot or is given to him by fate or
Destiny. It is thus at the same time what people choose to be their own
moral decision, and what the Law, by means of its initial decision, chooses
that they should be. In the same way, the daimon (that is, individual
destiny) , which according to Plato is attached to each soul, is assigned to
it by fate, and yet is chosen by it. 35
Such, then, was the ideal of j ustice which his Stoic faith proposed to
Marcus, and if he could, he would certainly have realized on earth such a
justice which takes only moral value into consideration, which has no
other obj ective than human moral progress, and for which " indifferent"
things have value only as a function of the assistance they may provide for
moral progress. We shall see that Marcus did not have many illusions
about the possibility of what he ironically called " the realization of
Plato's Republic . "
Such an ideal ofjustice could, however, inspire an overall inner dispo
sition, which imitated both the impartiality of universal Reason, which
imposes the same law upon all, and the attentive solicitude of provi
dence, which seems to adapt itself to each particular case and take care of
each individual, taking into consideration the individual's particular
strengths and weaknesses.
In order to describe this attitude, one might quote a passage from
Louis Lavelle,36 who, without wishing to give an account of Stoic doc
trine, gives quite exact expression to the spirit ofjustice according to the
Stoics:
There is a sacred indifference: it is that which consists in according
no preference to any of the beings upon our path, but in giving
them our entire presence, and responding with precise faithfulness
to the call they utter to us. This is positive indifference, which is the
converse of negative indifference, with which it is often confused.
Positive indifference only requires us to reserve for all the same
luminous greeting. We must keep the balance between them equal:
may there be in us neither prejudice, nor predilection to cause the
beam to sway. It is then that, in our conduct toward them, we
become capable of introducing the most subtle differences; all the
while giving to each person what he expects, requires, and is fitting
223
for him. Here, the most perfect justice becomes one with the purest
love, and we cannot tell whether it abolishes all choice , or whether
it is everywhere the same loving choice.
We all know that " not making any distinction " is the same thing
as being just; it means applying the same rule to all, without intro
ducing any exception or favor into our judgment. It is to place
ourselves in the point of view of God, who embraces all beings in
the simplicity of one single glance. Yet this glance is the opposite of
an insensitive glance; it is a loving glance which distinguishes,
within each individual being, precisely what he or she needs: the
words that touch him, and the treatment that he deserves.
Pity, gentleness, and benevolence

In the context of the discipline ofjudgment, we have seen that although
the Stoics held that the majority of humanity was in an evil state, they
were in this state against their will, simply out of ignorance of the defini
tion of true good and true evil. This is the great Socratic tradition, which
thus extends, through Plato and Aristotle, as far as Stoicism. " No one is
voluntarily evil. "37 Such Platonic assertions are based upon the Socratic
idea that virtue is a " science " ; in other words, that it consists essentially in
knowing, with all one's soul, where the good is and what the true good
is. After all, the human soul naturally desires the good, and spontaneously
tends toward that which seems to it to be good. If it seems to become
evil, this is because it allows itself to be deceived by the appearance of the
good; but it never desires evil for evil's sake. It was all the more easy for
the Stoics to take up this doctrine, in that for them, " everything is a
matter of judgment, " and the passions themselves are judgments. In his
treatise On Becoming Aware ef Psychic Defects, 38 the physician Galen gives
excellent expression to this Stoic doctrine: " The principle of many de
fects is the false judgment which is brought to bear upon the goal which
ought to be assigned to one's own life. "
The great Socratic tradition which runs from Platonism and Stoicism
through Neoplatonism is united by its faith in the eminent dignity of
human nature, which is based on the natural and unconscious desire for
the good which every human being possesses.
Epictetus also fits within this tradition, as he makes an explicit allusion
(I, 2 8 , 4--9) to the teachings of Plato:
22 4
When someone gives his assent to error, know that it was not done
on purpose, for " every soul is deprived of the truth against its will, "
as Plato says. Rather, what was false seemed to him to be the truth.
Epictetus goes on to remark that what corresponds to truth and error in
the area of action is duty and its contrary, as well as the advantageous and
its contrary. We cannot not choose what we think is duty, or what is
advantageous. The mistake is therefore an error, and as long as the soul
has not been shown the error of its ways, it cannot behave otherwise.
Why, then, should we be angry at it?
Shouldn't you rather have pity for those who are blind and muti
lated with regard to what is most important, as we have pity for the
blind and the lame?
This gives Epictetus the opportunity to describe the ideal attitude which
the Stoic must exhibit toward his fellow man (II , 22, 3 6) :
With regard to those who are different from him [by the principles
of their life] , he will be patient, gentle, delicate, and forgiving, as he
would toward someone in a state of ignorance, who missed the
mark when it came to the most important things. He will not be
harsh to anyone, for he will have perfectly understood Plato's
words: "Every soul is deprived of the truth against its will. "
Following Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius also felt tremendous respect for
the unconscious desire for the truth and the good, which constitutes the
most profound wellspring for mankind's rational nature. Marcus takes
pity on the illness of those souls which, against their will, are deprived of
what they obscurely desire:
"Every soul, " says Plato, " is deprived of the truth against its will. "
And the same holds true of j ustice, temperance, benevolence, and
all such virtues. It is therefore absolutely necessary to remind your
self of this constantly. Thus, you will be more gentle with others
(VII , 63 ) .
If they do not act rightly, it is obviously against their will and out of
ignorance. For " every soul is deprived, against its will, of truth " just
22 5
as much as of the possibility of behaving toward others in an appro

priate way (XI, 1 8 , 4-5) .
Here, Marcus reveals himself as a faithful student of Epictetus. As he
quotes Plato, he does not follow the text of Plato, but instead he repeats
the literal form of the quotation in the deformed state in which it is to be
found in Epictetus. Above all, he draws the same moral consequences
from it.
This ignorance of genuine values in which people are submerged, says
Marcus, is " in a sense, worthy of pity" (II , 1 3 , 3 ) . We will feel this if we
attempt to understand the error in judgment which explains their mis
deeds (VII, 26, 1 ) . " In a sense, worthy of pity " : this qualification is an
allusion to the traditional Stoic critique of pity, which the Stoics consid
ered a passion. " Pity, " said Seneca, 39 "is an illness of the soul produced by
the sight of the suffering of others, or a state of sadness caused by the
misfortunes of others. But no illness affects the soul of the sage, who
always remains serene. "
Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus remain faithful to Stoic doctrine, inso
far as what they call "pity" is not a passion or an illness of the soul, but is
instead defined negatively as the lack of anger and hatred toward those
who are ignorant of genuine values. It is not enough, however, to have
pity on people or to be indulgent with them. We must above all try to
help them, by informing them about their error, and teaching them
genuine values (IX, 42 , 6) :
In general, it is within your power to instruct the mistaken person
so as to make him change his mind, for whoever commits a misdeed
is a person who misses what he was aiming at, and goes astray.
We must, then, try to reason with the mistaken person (V, 2 8 , 3 ; VI,
27, 3 ; VI, 50, 1 ; IX, 1 1) . If we fail in our efforts, then it will be time to
practice patience, forgiveness, and benevolence. Marcus likes to present
our duty toward our fellow men in the form of a dilemma:
People were made for one another; so either instruct them or put
up with them (VIII, 59) .
I f he is wrong, instruct him to that effect with benevolence, and
show him what he has overlooked. If you do not succeed, then be
mad at yourself; or rather not even at yourself (X, 4) .
226
Epictetus (II, 1 2 , 4 ; II, 26, 7) had said that we must, like good guides,
set those who have gone astray back on the right track again, without
mocking them or insulting them. If we do not succeed, we must not
make fun of the person who has gone astray, but rather must become
aware of our own inability and accuse ourselves, rather than the person
whom we cannot persuade. As we have just seen, Marcus adds to this
that we must not even be upset with ourselves, for it could be that some
people are incorrigible, and " it is necessary that there be some such
people in the world" (IX, 42, 2) .
Be that as it may, we must try to convert those who go astray and are
ignorant of genuine values. Above all, however, we must do this without
getting angry (VI, 27, 3 ; V, 2 8 , 3 ) . What is more, we must display an
infinite delicacy. It seems as though Marcus was extremely sensitive to
the tact and gentleness with which souls must be treated, and with which
we must try to change their way of perceiving the world and the things
within it. I must address others
without humiliating them, and without making them feel that I am
merely putting up with them, but with genuineness and goodness
(XI, 1 3 , 2) .
. . . without irony, without humiliation, but with affection, and a
heart free from bitterness; not as one would act in school, nor in
order to be admired by some bystander, but truly one on one, even
if others are present (XI, 1 8 , 1 8) .
There is a great wealth of psychological observation in these remarks,
and a remarkable sense of the purity of intention. The paradox of gentle
ness is that it ceases to be gentleness if we make an effort to be gentle: any
artifice, affectation, or feeling of superiority will destroy it. Delicacy only
acts insofar as it does not seek to act, with an infinite respect for beings,
and without any shadow of violence, be it only spiritual. Above all, we
must not do violence to ourselves in our attempt to be gentle. Gentleness
must possess an almost physiological spontaneity and sincerity. Marcus
expresses this in a striking way (XI, 1 5) , as he satirizes those people who
begin their conversation by saying, " I 've decided to be frank with you. "
What good are these words? asks Marcus:
If you are sincere, it must be written on your forehead, ring out
instantly in your voice, and shine from your eyes, just as a beloved
person immediately sees his lovers' feelings in their eyes . . . The
22 7
person who is good, without duplicity, and gentle, has these quali
ties in his eyes, and everybody can see them.
Even more strikingly, Marcus states that goodness can be sensed when
one approaches a good person, just as, whether one likes it or not, one
immediately smells the odor of someone who smells bad. This pure
gentleness and delicacy have the power to change people's minds, to
convert them, and to make those who are unaware of genuine values
discover them:
Goodness is invincible, if it is sincere, without a phony smile, and
without affectation (XI, 1 8 , 1 5) .
Far from being a weakness, goodness is a strength:
It is not anger that is manly, but gentleness and delicacy. It is because
they are more human that they are more manly; they possess more
strength, more nerve, and more virility, and this is precisely what is
lacking in the person who gets angry and loses his temper (XI , 1 8 ,
21).
What underlies its strength is the fact that gentleness is the expression
of a profound urge of human nature, which seeks harmony between
people. In addition, its strength resides in the fact that it corresponds to
the domination of reason, whereas anger and ill-temper are mere illnesses
of the soul.
In the words of Louis Lavelle,
Gentleness is so far removed from weakness that it alone possesses
genuine strength. . . . All wills become tense when one tries to
defeat or break them; but gentleness can persuade them. Only it can
triumph without a combat, and transform an enemy into a friend. 40
One might say that only gentleness has the power to reveal to people
the good of which they are unaware, although they desire it with all their
being. It acts both by its persuasive force and by the unexpected experi
ence that encountering it represents for those who know only egotism
and violence. It brings with it a complete reversal of values, by making
those who are its obj ect discover their dignity as human beings, since
they feel themselves to be deeply respected as beings who are ends in
themselves . At the same time, gentleness reveals to them the existence of
228
a disinterested love of the good, which inspires gentleness and which

addresses itself to them.
Despite this, gentleness toward others must not be allowed to exclude
firmness (VI, 50, l ) :
Try t o persuade them, but act even against their will, when that is
required by the rational order ofjustice.
Here, then, we finally discover a whole new aspect of the discipline of
action: our duty to help our neighbor spiritually, by revealing genuine
values to him, calling attention to his defects, and correcting his false
opinions. To what extent did Marcus really fulfill this role? We do not
know. We can, however, suppose that he attempted to promulgate
around him a Stoic vision of life and of the world. There must be an
allusion to this in the following passage, in which Marcus imagines what
will happen after his death. Someone will say (X, 3 6 , 2) :
Now that that schoolteacher is gone, we can breathe freely.
Granted, he wasn't hard on any of us; but I could feel that he was
criticizing us in silence.
Until now, we have looked only at the first part of the dilemma which
Marcus formulated: " Instruct them. " We can now understand this as
follows: " Instruct them with gentleness, and by means of gentleness. "
Now we are in a position to complete the second part of the dilemma
as well: " Put up with them gently. " For gentleness is not reserved for
those whom we want to convert, but is also intended for those whose
minds we have not succeeded in changing:
If you can, make them change their minds. If not, remember that it
is precisely for such situations as these that benevolence was given to
you. Besides, the gods themselves are good to such people (IX,
l l , l) .
There is one thing in this world which is of great value : to spend
our life in truth and in justice, all the while remaining benevolent to
liars and to the unjust (VI , 47, 6) .
Do not let those who present an obstacle to you in your progress in
right reason turn you away from healthy action, nor let them suc
ceed in making you lose your gentleness toward them (XI , 9, l ) .
22 9
Liars, unjust people, and all those who persist in error nevertheless
retain-at least in their essence-their rational nature and the uncon
scious desire for the good which is inscribed in it. They must therefore
be treated with respect and gentleness:
I cannot be angry with one who is related to me, nor hate him, for
we were made to cooperate (II, I , 3 ) .
Imagine that they are akin t o you, that they sin out o f ignorance and
against their will (VII , 2 2 , 2) .
It is just as much a sign of weakness to get angry at them as it is to
give up an undertaking you have begun . . . both the man who
allows himself to be frightened, and he who denies the person
whom nature has given him to be a friend and a kinsman, are
equally deserters (XI, 9, 2 ) .
Such an attitude, based on the idea of the community between rational
beings, finally leads to the doctrine of the love of one's neighbor, which
extends even to those who commit injustices against us.
Loving our neighbors

A proprium of humankind is to love even those who make mistakes.
This will happen if you realize that they are akin to you and that
they sin out of ignorance and against their will (VII, 22, 1 -2 ) .
This transcendence ofjustice, not only in the direction of pity or indul
gence, but in that of love, was implied by the arguments which invited
the Stoic to reflect, on the one hand, on the indestructible urge which
moves each person toward the good, and, on the other, on the solidarity
which unites all rational creatures together.
Thus, the discipline of action attains its culminating point in the love
of one's neighbor. All the logic of human action tends to reveal that the
prime motive of our activity must be the love of other people, since this
love becomes fused with the deepest urges of human nature (XI, I , 4) :
It is a proprium of the soul, if it is rational, to love its neighbor, which
corresponds both to truth and to respect.
23 0
The reason for this is that human beings, if they live in accordance
with reason, become keenly aware that they belong to one great body:
that of all rational beings. Insofar as he is part of this All, man is every
body else, as much as he is himself (VII , 1 3) :
As are the limbs o f the body in organic unities, such is the relation
ship between rational beings , who, although they exist within sepa
rate bodies, are nevertheless constituted in order to realize one
single and harmonious activity.
This concept will impress itself better within you if you often
repeat to yourself I am a limb (melos) of the organism (sustema)
formed by rational beings. But if you only use the letter rho, saying
that you are a part (meros), then you do not yet love mankind from
the bottom of your heart. You do not yet find your j oy, without
seeking anything else, in the simple fact of doing good to others.
Moreover, you are acting for the sake of mere appearance, not yet
because when you do good, you are doing good to yourself
This feeling of belonging, and of identification with a kind of " mysti
cal body " which Kant was to call the kingdom of ends, j oins the almost
mystical feeling of belonging to the cosmic Whole. The unity of the
latter, like that of the "body of rational beings, " is ensured by the univer
sal presence of Reason-that is to say, of God himself
The Stoic 's fundamental attitude is thus the love of those realities in
whose presence he is constantly placed by the All, which are intimately
linked to him, and with which he somehow identifies himself (VI, 3 9) :
Harmonize yourself with the things to which you are linked by
Destiny.
As for the people to whom you are linked by Destiny: love them,
but genuinely.
For the basis of reality is love . In order to express this idea, Marcus
appeals to the grandiose mythical image of the marriage of Heaven and
Earth (X, 2 1 ) :
The Earth loves! She loves the rain! And the venerable Ether? I t loves
too ! The World, too, loves to produce that which must occur. And I
say to the World: I , too, love--along with you. Don't we say:
" such-and-such loves to happen? "
23 1
What fascinates Marcus here is that this mythical image means that
natural processes are, in the last analysis, processes of union and of love.
He notes that language itself seems to express this vision, since in ancient
Greek, in order to designate a thing which habitually occurs or tends to
happen, one says that it "loves " to happen. If things love to happen, we
too must love that they happen.
Thus, the ancient image of the hieros gamos allows us, in a mythic way,
to glimpse the grandiose perspective of the universal love which the parts
of the Whole feel for one another, as well as the comic vision of a
universal attraction which becomes more intense the higher one climbs
on the scale of beings, and the more conscious they become (IX, 9) . The
closer people get to the state of wisdom-in other words, the closer they
approach to God-the more the love which they feel for one another
for all other human beings, as well as for all beings, even the most
humble-grows in depth and in lucidity.
It cannot, then, be said that "loving one's neighbor as oneself" is a
specifically Christian invention. Rather, it could be maintained that the
motivation of Stoic love is the same as that of Christian love. Both
recognize the logos or Reason within each person. Even the love of one's
enemies is not lacking in Stoicism:
When he is beaten, the Cynic [for Epictetus,41 the Cynic is a kind of
heroic Stoic) must love those who beat him.
We have seen Marcus assert that it is proper, and therefore essential, to
human beings to love those who make mistakes. One could say, how
ever, that the tonality of Christian love is more personalized, since this
love is based on Christ's saying: "What you have done to the least of my
brethren, you have done to me. "42 In the Christian view, the logos is
incarnate in Jesus, and it is Jesus that the Christian sees in his fellow man.
No doubt it was this reference to Jesus which gave Christian love its
strength and its expansion. Nevertheless, Stoicism was also a doctrine of
love. As Seneca43 had said:
No school has more goodness and gentleness; none has more love
for human beings, nor more attention to the common good. The
goal which it assigns to us is to be useful, to help others, and to take
care, not only of ourselves, but of everyone in general and of each
one in particular.
V I RT U E A N D J O Y
The three virtues and the three disciplines

The Meditations as a whole are thus organized in accordance with a
threefold structure-one could even call it a system-which was devel
oped, and perhaps invented, by Epictetus. This threefold structure or
system has an internal necessity, in the sense that there can be neither
more nor fewer than three exercise-themes for the philosopher, because
there can be neither more nor fewer than three acts of the soul. The
exercise-themes which correspond to them are related to three forms of
reality: Destiny, the community of rational beings, and the individual's
faculties ofjudgment and assent. These forms, too, cannot be either more
or fewer in number, and they are respectively the subj ects of the three
parts of the system formed by philosophy: physics, ethics, and logic.
What is quite remarkable is that in Marcus Aurelius, we can see
another structure, which had been traditional since at least the time of
Plato, that of the four virtues-prudence, justice, strength, and temper
ance-take on, under the influence of this systematic structure, a three
fold structure as well, insofar as Marcus makes the virtues correspond to
each of the disciplines I have mentioned.
The scheme of the four virtues was very ancient. We should recall that
the Greek word arete, which we translate as "virtue, " originally had a
quite different meaning from our word "virtue. " The term went back to
the aristocratic ethic of archaic Greece, and consequently did not at all
signify a good habit or a principle which leads us to behave well. Rather,
it meant nobility itself, excellence, value, and distinction. We may sup
pose that this ideal of excellence and value always remained present in
the mind of the philosophers. For the Stoics, arete is absolute value, based
no longer on warrior nobility, but on the nobility of soul represented by
the purity of our intentions.
Virtue and Joy
233
Since very early times, it seems that there existed a model or a canon
of the four fundamental virtues. In the fifth century B.c., Aeschylus, in
his tragedy The Seven Against Thebes (verse 6 r n) , enumerates four basic
values when discussing Amphiaraos: he is wise (sophron), just (dikaios),
brave (agathos), and pious (eusebes). Wisdom consists in knowing, with
reserve (aidos), one's place in society and in the world-in other words,
in having a sense of mankind's limits. Justice consists in behaving well in
social life. Bravery, of course, is courage in the face of difficulties, and
especially in combat. Piety, in the case of Amphiaraos, who is a seer,
corresponds to the knowledge of things divine and also human. In the
fourth book of Plato's Republic (427e ff. ) , there appears a systematization
and justification of this enumeration of the four virtues. Plato distin
guishes three parts of the soul: " reason, " " anger" (to thumoeides), which
means that part which urges people on to fight, and " desire " (epithumia).
Three virtues correspond t o these three parts o f the soul: prudence o r
wisdom t o reason, courage t o anger, and temperance t o desire. It i s u p to
justice to ensure that each part of the soul carries out its function: that
reason is prudent, anger courageous, and desire temperate. The three
parts of the soul, moreover, correspond to the three social classes of the
Republic: reason is the distinctive feature of the philosophers, anger of the
guardians, and desire of the workers. In the State as in the individual,
then, justice will be realized if each class and each part of the soul fulfills
its function perfectly. This systematization, which is linked to a specific
political model, and which makes justice the virtue which contains the
three others, is not to be found in the rest of Plato's dialogues, where the
four virtues are enumerated in various contexts, and without any par
ticular theorization.1
In their description of moral life, the Stoics also allude to the four
virtues.2 Here, however, they are not subordinate to one another, but are
all on the same level. They mutually imply one another, as do the parts of
philosophy. It is enough to practice one in order to practice them all.
Nevertheless, it is difficult to find in our surviving summaries of Stoic
doctrine the real reason why it is necessary that there be only four
fundamental virtues. The definitions of the various virtues are rather
divergent, but we may note the following: prudence is the science of
what ought and ought not to be done; courage is the science of what
ought and ought not to be tolerated; temperance is the science of
what ought and ought not to be chosen; and justice is the science of what
ought and ought not to be distributed. Unlike Plato, the Stoics do not
appear to link the four virtues to the parts of the soul.
234
From this perspective, it is of great interest to observe the transforma

tions which the system of three disciplines caused the classification of
virtues in Marcus' Meditations to undergo. Let us begin by noting that the
philosopher-emperor often summarizes the three disciplines-of assent,
of desire, and of action-by making the names of virtues correspond to
them. Thus the discipline of assent takes on the name of the virtue of
" truth " ; the discipline of desire acquires the name of the virtue of " tem
perance "; and the discipline of action, that of the virtue of "justice. " In
itself, the substitution of the notion of " truth " for that of "prudence "
should not surprise us, fo r Plato had already once (Republic, 487a5) given
the four virtues the names of " truth, " "justice, " " courage, " and " temper
ance. "
The substitution of " truth " for "prudence " can, however, be perfectly
well justified from the perspective of Marcus Aurelius . This is shown by
the following lengthy passage (IX, r ) , which must be cited for two
reasons: first, we can see in it the establishment of an exact correspon
dence between the discipline of action and justice, the discipline of assent
and truth, and the discipline of desire and temperance. Second, it offers
an admirable summary of the three exercise-themes.
Justice and the discipline of action
He who commits an injustice commits an impiety. For since universal
Nature has constituted rational animals for the sake of each other, so
that they might help each other in accordance with their respective
merit and never harm each other, he who transgresses the will of
Nature most obviously commits an impiety against the most vener
able of gods.
Truth and the discipline of assent
He who lies, moreover, also commits an impiety toward the same
Goddess. For Universal Nature is the nature of beings; now beings
have a relationship of affinity with true attributes [that is, with what
can be truly said of them] . Moreover, this Goddess is also named
truth, and she is the first cause of all that is true. Therefore, he who
willingly lies commits an impiety, in so far as he commits an injus
tice by deceiving. And he who lies involuntarily also commits an
impiety, insofar as he is in disaccord with universal Nature, and he
Virtue and Joy
23 5
disturbs order insofar as he is in a state of incompatibility with the

Nature of the world. For that person is in a state of incompatibility
who, of his own free will, tends toward that which is contrary to the
truth. He has received from Nature dispositions to know the truth,
but since he has neglected them, he is now no longer capable of
distinguishing the true from the false.
Temperance and the discipline of desire

Finally, the person who pursues pleasures as goods and who flees
pains as evils also commits an impiety. For such a person must
necessarily often reproach universal Nature, for Nature attributes a
particular lot to the bad and to the good, contrary to their merit; for
the bad often live in pleasures and possess that by which they may
procure them, while good people encounter only pain and that
which is its cause. What is more, he who fears pain will one day
come to fear one of the things which must happen in the world, and
this is already impious. Nor will he who pursues pleasures be able to
keep away from injustice; and this is clearly impious. Concerning
things with regard to which universal Nature is equally disposed
(for she would not produce both, if she were not disposed toward
them in an equal way) : with regard to these things, those who wish
to follow Nature, and be in perfect community of sentiments with
her, must also be in a disposition of " equality. " Therefore, as far as
pain and pleasure are concerned, death and life, glory and obscurity,
which universal Nature treats in an " equal " manner, he who does
not behave in an " equal " manner obviously commits an impiety.
Here it is easy to recognize the three disciplines: that of action, which
ordains that people should help one another; that of assent, which con
sists in distinguishing the true from the false; and that of desire, which
consists in accepting the lot which universal Nature has reserved for us.
To these three disciplines correspond three virtues. In the discipline of
action, we must respect the value hierarchy of people and of things, and
thus act in accordance with justice. According to the discipline of assent,
our discourse must be true, and the virtue particular to this discipline is
truth. He who knowingly lies commits a twofold sin: in the area of assent,
since his discourse is not true, and in the area of action, since he is
committing an injustice with regard to other people. As for the person
who lies involuntarily-in other words, who deceives himself-it is be

cause he has not succeeded in criticizing his judgments and in becoming
the master of his assent that he is no longer capable of distinguishing the
true from the false. Finally, in the discipline of desire, we must desire
only that which universal Nature wants, and we must not desire pleasures
or flee sufferings. This discipline is characterized by temperance.
Here, then, Nature appears to us in three aspects. She is the principle
of attraction which urges human beings to help one another and to
practice justice, and is therefore the basis ofjustice. She is also the basis of
truth; that is to say, the principle which founds the order of discourse, and
the necessary relationship which must exist between beings and the true
attributes which are said about them. To speak falsely, whether voluntar
ily or involuntarily, is therefore to be in disaccord with the order of the
world. Finally, universal Nature, since she is indifferent to indifferent
things, is the basis of temperance, in other words of that virtue which,
instead of desiring pleasure, wants to consent to the will of universal
Nature.
Marcus here portrays universal Nature as the most ancient and august
of goddesses, in such a way that any lapse with regard to the virtues
justice, truth, and temperance-of which this goddess is the model and
the principle, is an impiety. The Stoics traditionally identified God, Na
ture, Truth, Destiny, and Zeus. In Marcus' time, there were hymns
which presented Nature as the most ancient of goddesses. For example,
an Orphic hymn3 invokes her in the following terms:
Goddess, mother of all things, celestial mother, very ancient (pres
beira) mother.
A hymn by Mesomedes, one of Hadrian's freedmen, which also dates
from the second century A.D., begins:
Principle and origin of all, very ancient Mother of the world,
Night, Light, and Silence.4
In our long passage from Marcus, we can note a certain tendency to
privilege the importance of justice as compared to the other virtues.
Impiety toward Nature consists in injustice, not only if one refuses to
practice justice toward other human beings, but also if one lies to them,
and even if, involuntarily, one cannot distinguish the true from the false.
For then one destroys the order of Nature, and introduces a discordant
Virtue and Joy
23 7
note into universal harmony. Likewise, if we accuse Nature of injustice

in her distribution oflots among good and evil people, then we ourselves
are committing an injustice. We find a similar idea expressed in XI, I O, 4 :
Justice cannot be preserved if we attribute importance to unimpor
tant things, or if we are easily deceived; if we give our assent too
rapidly, or if we change our mind too often.
To give importance to unimportant things is not to practice the disci
pline of desire, and hence to sin against temperance; whereas to be easily
deceived, or to be too rapid or changeable in our judgments, means not
to practice the discipline of assent, and hence to sin against truth.
Truth, justice, and temperance can thus designate the three disciplines,
as in XII , 1 5 :
Whereas the flame of a lamp shines until it goes out, and does not
lose its luster, will the truth, justice, and temperance which are
within you be extinguished before their time?
Elsewhere (XII , 3 , 3 ) , the soul's guiding principle, when it frees itself
of everything foreign to it,
does what isjust, wills the events which happen, and tells the truth.
Nothing, says Marcus (VIII, 3 2 , 2) , can prevent us from acting
in accordance with justice, temperance, and prudence.
Sometimes, as in this last example and the following one, we find
some variations in the names of the virtues; yet the tripartite scheme is
retained (III, 9, 2) :
Absence of hurry in judgment, a feeling of kinship toward other
human beings, and obedient consent to the gods.
Alongside this triad of virtues, we sometimes find the traditional
quaternium, adapted and brought into line with the tripartite structure
(III, 6, l ) :
If you find something in human life better than justice, truth, tem
perance, and bravery . . .
In fact, the continuation of this passage reduces these four virtues to
the disciplines of desire and of action (III, 6, r ) , when it becomes appar
ent that they consist
in thought which is content with itself (in those things in which it is
possible to act in accordance with right reason) , and which is con
tent with Destiny (in those things which are allotted to us, inde
pendently of our will) .
The virtues are linked to the functions of the soul: truth and the
intellectual virtues are linked to reason; justice to active impulses; and
temperance to desire. Where, then, can we find a place for courage? It
seems to be shared between temperance, qua strength in adversity and
suffering, and justice, qua active force.
We find no trace of this theory of the virtues in the Discourses of
Epictetus, as reported by Arrian. This does not prove, however, that it
did not exist. As I have said, it was impossible for Arrian to have trans
mitted all of the teachings of Epictetus; moreover, the discourses which
he did note down do not correspond to a systematic exposition of the
whole of philosophy.
Be that as it may, a first sketch of this doctrine may be glimpsed well
before Epictetus. In Cicero's treatise On Duties, 5 which in its first book
reproduces the teachings of Panaetius, the ancient virtue of prudence
becomes " the knowledge of truth " ; justice is based on the social links
between human beings; strength becomes greatness of soul, linked to
scorn for the things which do not depend on us; and temperance submits
our desires to reason. In a way, then, Panaetian strength and temperance
correspond to the discipline of desire in Marcus Aurelius. In the last
analysis such comparisons are rather tenuous, but they do allow us to
glimpse an evolution of the Stoic doctrine of the virtues, which culmi
nates in the synthesis attested in Marcus.
J oy
In Marcus' view, these three disciplines and virtues bring to the soul the
only true j oy which exists in the world, since they place the soul in the
possession of all that is necessary: the one absolute value .
Virtue and Joy
23 9
Living beings experience j oy when they fulfill the function fo r which

they are made, and act in accordance with their nature. As we have seen,
man fulfills his function qua man, and follows his nature as well as univer
sal Nature, when he consents to order: the order of the universe as fixed
by Destiny; the order of the City of the World and of human beings,
based as it is upon the mutual attraction of rational beings, and hence on
the proper nature of mankind; and finally to the order of discourse,
which reproduces the relation which Nature has established between
substances and attributes, and above all between events which necessarily
follow upon one another. It is therefore by practicing the three disci
plines that man follows Nature, and finds his j oy:
Philosophy wants only that which your nature wants. You, how
ever, wanted something else, which was not in accordance with
nature. And yet, what is more attractive than what is in conformity
with nature? Is this not how pleasure leads us astray?6 Look and see,
however, if there is anything more attractive than greatness of soul,
freedom, simplicity, benevolence, and piety; for what is more at
tractive than wisdom itself? (V, 9, 3-5) .
You must consider the activity which it is possible for you to carry
out in conformity with your own nature as a delight-and that is
always possible for you (X, 3 3 , 2) .
For the person who strives at every moment to live, act, will, and
desire in conformity with his rational nature and with universal Nature,
life is constantly renewed happiness. In the words of Seneca:7 " The effect
of wisdom is a continuous j oy . . . and only the strong, the just, and the
temperate can possess this j oy. " Marcus Aurelius often returns to this
theme:
To do what is just with all one's soul, and to tell the truth. What
remains for you to do but enj oy life, linking each good thing to the
next, without leaving the slightest interval between them? (XII ,
29, 3).
Enj oy and take your rest i n one thing only: t o pass from one action
carried out in the service of the human community to another
action accomplished in the service of the human community, to
gether with the remembrance of God (VI, 7) .
For man, j oy consists in doing what is proper to man. What is

proper to man is benevolence toward other human beings, who are
his relatives; disdain for movements based on sense-perception;
criticism of deceptive representations; and the contemplation of
universal Nature, and of that which happens in conformity with its
will (VIII, 26) .
Joy, then, is the sign of an action's perfection. It is only when we love
human beings from the bottom of our hearts, and not merely out of duty,
that we feel pleasure in benefiting them (VII , 1 3 , 3 ) , just because we then
have the feeling of belonging to the same living organism, and of being
the limbs of the body of rational beings.
Unlike Epicurean pleasure, Stoic j oy is not the motive and the end of
moral action: rather, virtue is its own reward. Virtue seeks nothing above
and beyond itself; instead, for the Stoics, joy, like Aristotelian pleasure,
comes along as an extra surplus in addition to action in conformity with
nature, "like beauty for those in the flower of youth. "8 In the words of
Seneca:9
Pleasure is not a reward for virtue, nor its cause, but is something
added on to it. Virtue is not chosen because it causes pleasure; but if
it is chosen, it does cause pleasure.
The j oy which arises from virtue . . . like happiness and tranquillity
. . . are consequences of the greatest good, but they do not consti
tute it. 10
Such j oy is not, moreover, an irrational passion, because it is in conform
ity with reason. According to the Stoics, it is rather a " good emotion " or
a " good affection. " 1 1
The j oy produced by action accomplished in accordance with Nature
is a participation in Nature's love for the All that she has produced, and
in the mutual love of the parts of the Whole.
For mankind, to be happy means feeling the sentiment of participating
in an ineluctable movement, issuing from the impulse given to the All by
original Reason, in order to realize the good of the All. In the word
physis, which we translate as " nature, " the Greeks perceived the idea of a
movement of growth, of unfolding, and, as the Stoics used to say, of
" swelling"12 (emphysesis) . To be happy meant to embrace this expansive
Virtue and Joy
movement, and thus to go in the same direction as Nature, and to feel, as

it were, the j oy which she herself feels in her creative movement.
This is why Marcus, when he describes joy, uses images which evoke
progress on the right path and in the right direction, and the accord of
our desires, wills, and thoughts with the path of Nature. It is then that
" rational nature follows the path that is proper to it" (VIII, 7, r ) . The
Stoics13 defined happiness as euroia biou, " the good flowing of life. " Mar
cus likes to link this image (II, 5 , 3 ; V, 9, 5 ; X, 6, 6) to that of "progress in
the right direction "-that is, in the direction of Nature (V, 3 4, 1 ) . While
the material elements move up, move down, or tum in a circle,
the movement of virtue does not resemble any of these physical
motions, but is something divine, and it proceeds along the right
path, which it is hard for us to imagine (VI, 1 7) .
This right path is the " straight line " o r " right road"-that of Nature
herself, whose way is always straight ahead (X, I 1 , 4) . Her way is short
and direct (IV, 5 1 ) :
Get t o the end o f your race i n a straight line, following your own
nature and universal Nature, for both of these follow the same way
(V, 3 , 2) .
Here, Marcus is reviving an ancient image which had been used by
Plato: 14
The God who, as ancient tradition will have it, holds the beginning,
end, and middle of all things, gets to the end ef his race in a straight line,
in accordance with the order of nature.
Already in Plato, then, the order of nature appears as a triumphant
movement which reaches its end without ever allowing itself to be
distracted from the rectitude of its decision and its intention. According
to Marcus, the movement of the governing part of the soul-the move
ment of the intellect-also proceeds in a straight line, like the sun, which
illuminates that which is in its way, and in a sense assimilates it to itself
(VIII, 5 7) . For the Stoics, all moral action reaches its goal straightaway,
insofar as it is its own end, and insofar as it finds its perfection in its very
activity. A propos of this topic, Marcus recalls the technical expression
2 42
katorthosis, which the Stoics used to designate such actions: it means that
they follow a straight way (V, 1 4) .
Joy has its roots in that profound tendency of living beings which
impels them to love that which makes them exist, and this means not
only their own structure and unity, but the All, without which they
would be nothing, and of which they are integral parts. It also means
Nature and her irresistible movement, of which they are but a tiny
moment, but with which they identify themselves wholly, by means of
their moral will.
Finally, and most important, j oy is based on the recognition of the
unique value of the one necessary thing that can exist in this human
world: the purity of moral intention. We cannot find
in human life, a good superior to justice, truth, temperance, and
strength (III, 6, 1 ) ,
and this, therefore, i s the good which w e must enj oy (VI, 47, 6) :
Only one thing has value down here: to spend one's life in truth and
justice, all the while remaining benevolent to liars and to the unjust.
10
MAR C U S AURE L I U S I N
H I S ME D I TA T I O N S
The author and his work

In interpreting the writings of antiquity, and particularly those of Marcus
Aurelius, we must be on our guard against two errors which are diamet
rically opposed, but equally anachronistic. One of these, inherited from
Romanticism but still very much alive, consists in believing that an
author expresses himself totally and adequately in the work which he
produces, and that the work is therefore completely in the image and
resemblance of its creator. The other, which is very fashionable today,
holds that the idea of an " author" is passe; the work has its own auton
omy and its own life, and it can be explained without our having to find
out what the author wanted to do or say.
In fact, ancient authors were subj ect to strict rules, which were not of
their choice. Some of these rules regulated the way in which one should
write; these include the rules of literary genres as defined by rhetoric,
which prescribed in advance the plan of exposition, style, and the various
figures of thought and elocution which must be used. Other rules regu
lated the subj ect matter itself: what was written, the themes with which
the author must deal (which, in the case of the theater, were supplied to
him by mythical or historical tradition) . Philosophers were also situated
within a school-tradition, which imposed upon them a list of questions
and problems to be discussed in a specific order, a method of argumenta
tion which had to be followed scrupulously, and principles which had to
be adopted.
In the case of Marcus Aurelius, we have seen that the spiritual exer
cises which he wrote down were prescribed by the Stoic tradition, and in
particular by the form of Stoicism defined by Epictetus. Canvas, themes,
arguments, and images were provided for him in advance. For Marcus,
the essential thing was not to invent or to compose, but to influence
2 44
himself and produce an effect upon himself Even if this effect was
efficacious at one moment, however, it would soon lose its strength, and
the exercise would have to be begun again in order constantly to revive
the certitude derived from the striking formulations of the principles and
rules oflife.
This state of affairs will thus lead us to question the attempts of psy
chological history, on the basis of the text of the Meditations, to arrive at
conclusions about " the Marcus Aurelius case "-for instance, about his
stomach ailments or his opium addiction.
This does not mean, however, that Marcus is totally absent from the
Meditations, or that any Stoic who happened to be in Marcus' situation
could have written approximately the same work. It is true that the
Meditations attempt, as it were, to eliminate the point of view of indi
viduality, in order to rise up to the level of universal and impersonal
Reason; yet Marcus the individual still shines through, in this ever-re
newed and never finished effort to assimilate the principles of Reason, in
order to apply them to his particular circumstances. In the last analysis,
this apparently impersonal work is highly personalized. Marcus has a
favorite style and themes; he sometimes has obsessions and lacerating
preoccupations, which arise from his carrying out the business of an
emperor. We know very well what Marcus wanted to accomplish by
writing this work: to act upon himself, place himself in a certain state of
mind, and respond to the concrete problems which the various situations
of daily life posed for him.
The limits of psychological history

The Marcus Aurelius case
What I have said about the " impersonal " nature of ancient works in
general and of Marcus Aurelius' spiritual exercises in particular must
incite us to the greatest prudence in any effort we might be tempted to
make to reconstruct the psychology of the philosopher-emperor. As far
as I know, it was Ernest Renan who was the first to attempt to sketch a
portrait of Marcus. He ended up, moreover, with a portrait that is rather
incoherent. Sometimes, he insists on the emperor's disillusioned seren
ity: 1
The most solid goodness is that which is based on perfect boredom,
and the clear view of the fact that this whole world is frivolous and
24 5
lacking any true substance . . . The goodness of the Skeptic is the

most certain, and the pious emperor was more than skeptical. The
movement oflife in this soul was almost as quiet as the tiny noises in
the intimate atmosphere of a coffin. He had attained Buddhist nir
vana, or the peace of Christ. Like Jesus, Shakya-Muni, Socrates, St.
Francis of Assisi, and three or four other sages, he had utterly con
quered death. He could smile at it, because it truly had no more
meaning for him.
Elsewhere, by contrast, Renan discovers in Marcus a tormented soul:2
The desperate effort which was the essence of his philosophy, this
frenzied renunciation, sometimes pushed as far as sophism, finally
conceals an immense wound. One must have said farewell to happi
ness to arrive at such excesses! We shall never understand all that
this poor withered heart had suffered, and how much bitterness lay
hidden by his pale visage, always calm and almost smiling.
Here, far from having attained Buddhist nirvana or the peace of Christ,
Renan's Marcus seems " consumed" by an inner sickness:
This strange sickness, this worried study of himself, this demonic
scrupulousness, this feverish perfectionism, are the signs of a nature
less strong than it is distinguished. 3
What he lacked was the kiss of a fairy at his birth, which is, in its
way, a very philosophical thing. What I mean is the art of yielding
to nature: that gaiety which learns that abstine et sustine is not every
thing, and that life must also be able to be summed up by the
formula " smile and enj oy. "4
This portrait of Marcus by Renan gave rise to what must be called the
obstinate and tenacious myth which turns Marcus into a disillusioned
pessimist. In the twentieth century-the century of psychology, psycho
analysis, and suspicion-the Renanian representation of the philosopher
emperor has had a tremendous influence. P. Wendland5 speaks of Mar
cus' " mournful resignation. " More recently, ]. M. Rist6 has spoken of the
philosopher-emperor's " extreme Skepticism, " and of his " penchant for
doubt. " Paul Petit7 speaks of a " rather negative despair. " What I have said
about the alleged pess1m1sm of the Mediations ought, I think, to be

sufficient to refute such affirmations.
According to E . R. Dodds,8 the emperor considered human activity to
be not only unimportant, but in a way almost unreal. It seems very
difficult to reconcile such an interpretation with what Marcus says about
the discipline of action. Dodds insists on the perpetual self-criticism to
which Marcus subj ects himself, and on the need which the emperor feels
to be " another. " Dodds relates this tendency to a dream which, accord
ing to Cassius Dio and the Historia Augusta, Marcus had at the age of
seventeen, on the night of his adoption by the emperor Antoninus.
Marcus dreamed that he had ivory shoulders, and this suggests to Dodds
that Marcus suffered from an acute form of what modern psychologists
would call an identity crisis.
Here we have a typical example of the dangers of historical psychol
ogy. Dodds gives a poor definition of what it means to " desire to be
something other than one is. " It is true that Marcus aspired to be another
man and to begin another life (X, 8, 3 ) . But as the context shows, what
he means by this is that he wants to acquire truth, prudence, and nobility
of soul (X, 8, r ) . I think that every normal person also desires to be
someone else in that sense, and if that is an identity crisis, then every
person has an identity crisis. I cannot, moreover, see how " so much
self-reproach " presents a " morbid" aspect, as Dodds maintains.9 On this
theme, Dodds attributes to Marcus the formula " It is difficult for a man
to put up with himself, " which, we are to believe, lets us infer either that
Marcus wz.s unbearable to himself, or that, more generally, human nature
taken in itself is unbearable to itself. In fact, however, Dodds completely
deforms the meaning of Marcus' text 0/, I O , 4; not V, I O , I as is incor
rectly indicated in Dodds's note) . Marcus' actual tone is the following:
Also consider the ways of life of the men who live with you; the
most pleasant of them is difficult to put up with, not to say that he
can scarcely put up with himself.
Thus, the issue is not at all Marcus' relationship with his own self, but
a wholly other problem, to which I shall return. Neither is this Marcus'
personal experience; rather, it is a description, traditional within Stoicism
and even within the other schools, of the misery of a person who does
not live as a philosopher, does not devote himself to the unique value of
the moral good, and who is therefore in contradiction and at war with
himself. To live philosophically-that is to say, to live " according to
247
nature "-is to be coherent with oneself In all this, no "identity crisis "
on the part of Marcus can be discerned.
Moreover, when discussing Marcus' dream, Dodds does not give a
complete report of what the ancient historians had to say. The Historia
Augusta, 10 for example, tells us that not only did the young man dream
that he had ivory shoulders, but that he wondered if they would be able
to support a burden, whereupon he discovered that they were extraordi
narily stronger. Cassius Dio,1 1 writing shortly after Marcus' death, spe
cifies that in his dream, Marcus could use these shoulders just as easily as
the other parts of his body. In fact, however, the question is not what
such a dream might represent to a person of modem times, but what it
may have meant to a person of antiquity. The mistake made by some
kinds of psychological history is to proj ect back onto the past our mod
em-day representations, according to which shoulders which are " other"
must correspond to " another" man. What we must try to understand is
what the images which appeared to the people of antiquity in their
dreams could represent within their collective mentality. As Pierre Gri
mal12 has shown, for them ivory shoulders immediately brought to mind
the story of Pelops. Pelops' body, tom to pieces by his father Tantalus,
had been served to the gods for dinner. Demeter, still grieving over the
death of her daughter Persephone, was the only one not to recognize the
dish, and she ate Pelops' shoulder. Clotho, goddess of Fate, replaced it
with an ivory shoulder and revived the young Pelops. According to the
Images by Philostratus, who wrote a few decades after the death of Mar
cus, Poseidon was dazzled by the sight of this ivory shoulder, and he fell
in love with Pelops. "When the night covered the earth, the young man
was illuminated by his shoulder, which shone like the evening star in the
midst of the darkness. "13
To have ivory shoulders was thus to be the obj ect of divine solicitude
and grace; it was to be protected by Fate, as personified by Clotho. In the
situation of increased responsibility announced by his adoption, the ivory
shoulders announce the help from the gods and from Fate which will
make Marcus strong enough to assume his task. This, for a man of
antiquity, is the true meaning of Marcus' dream.
The psychosomaticist R. Dailly and H. van Effenterre have under
taken collaborative research in order to diagnose what they call " the
Marcus Aurelius Case. "14 In particular, they sought to know the reason
why, in a kind of contradiction with his principles, this emperor sur
rounded himself with highly dubious characters. He chose as co-ruler his
adoptive brother, Lucius Verus; he entrusted the position of Commander
in Chief over the entire East to Avidius Cassius, the general who later
took up arms against him; and finally, he chose as his successor in the
imperial dignity his son Commodus, who was to become a tyrant com
parable to Nero . " These were three fine male specimens, " write the
authors of this article, "who had a definite ability to enchant the crowds;
and we are entitled to wonder whether they did not also exert a kind of
unconscious fascination upon Marcus Aurelius . " Thus, right at the be
ginning of the article, we encounter the thesis which the two authors
mean to defend: the philosopher-emperor was a weak man, lacking in
virility, who felt the need to compensate for his doubts and hesitations by
surrounding himself with strong, self-confident men. Here we can
glimpse the inner workings of this kind of psychological explanation:
people believe they have uncovered a highly characteristic symptom,
which is not in fact the symptom of anything, since it is not even a
symptom. Nothing proves that Marcus chose these individuals out of
attraction toward their virile force. The elections of Lucius Verus,
Avidius Cassius, and Commodus were dictated by complex political
reasons, which historians have analyzed thoroughly. Nor is there any
thing to prove that these " fine male specimens " (were they indeed so
fine?) were really so sure of themselves. Since, however, the subj ect of
this book is the Meditations, I do not wish to allow myself to be dragged
into the domain of history. I wish simply to affirm, most firmly, that the
Meditations do not, either in their goal or in their content, permit us
either to affirm or to deny that Marcus was a weak man, that he lacked
virility, or, as our two authors would have it, that he had a stomach ulcer.
They arrive at this last diagnosis on the basis of the following passage
from the historian Cassius Dio:15
[During the Danubian campaign] , he became physically very weak,
to the point that, at the beginning, he could not stand the cold, and
after the soldiers had been assembled on his order, he had to retire
before having spoken to them . . . . For it was not his custom to eat
anything during the day, with the exception of the medicine called
theriac. He took this not because he was afraid of anything, but
because his stomach and his chest were in poor shape. And it is said
that it was because of this medicine that he was able to resist this
illness, and others as well.
This text makes no mention of any chronic illness, but rather refers to
Marcus' state during the Danubian campaign. Elsewhere, Cassius Dio
249
bears witness to the fact that the Emperor was vigorous in his youth, and
that he took part in violent sports like hunting.16 According to Dio, it
was the worries of his office and his ascetic ways that weakened his body.
Be that as it may, our two authors, after having diagnosed a gastric ulcer,
move on to the psychological correlates of this illness:
The ulcerous man . . . is he who is essentially withdrawn into him
self, worried and preoccupied . . . His neighbors are masked from
him by a kind of hypertrophy of the self: it is himself, in the last
analysis, that he seeks in others . . . Conscientious to the point of
minutiae, he is more interested in the technical perfection of ad
ministration than in those human relations of which administration
should be only the sum total. If he is a thinking man, he will incline
to seek for justifications, to compose superior personalities, and to
adopt Stoic or Pharisaic attitudes. In the area of ethics, he will be
virtuous by effort, good by application, and a believer by force of
will.17
I am not qualified to debate the scientific value of the psychological
portrait which these two authors trace of these " gastropaths, " although it
would be interesting to ask them if they recognized themselves in this
dark portrait. What I question is the possibility of deriving from the
Meditations even the slightest hint which might confirm or invalidate this
description of Marcus Aurelius' psychology. The authors are completely
mistaken as to the nature of this work when, to justify their diagnosis,
they claim that the Meditations respond to a need for "justification in his
own eyes, " and constitute " a long series of exhortations to persist in the
path chosen beforehand. " As we have seen, the Meditations do not repre
sent an exceptional phenomenon, proper to Marcus. Such written medi
tation was highly recommended by Stoic masters, and is, moreover, still
practiced today by people who do not have a stomach ulcer, but who are
simply trying to live in a somewhat human way. And this is not a case of
self-justification, but rather of an attempt at self-criticism and self-trans
formation. These variations on themes supplied by Epictetus cannot
inform us about the Emperor's gastric ulcer, and can tell us nothing
decisive about the Marcus Aurelius " case. " Here we have a good exam
ple of the dangers of psychological history when applied to ancient texts .
Before we present the interpretation of a text, we should first begin to
distinguish between, on the one hand, the traditional-one might almost
say "prefabricated"-elements used by the author, and, on the other,
250
what he or she wishes to do with them. If we do not make this distinc

tion, we will consider as symptomatic formulas or attitudes which are not
at all such, because they do not emanate from the author's personality but
are imposed upon him by tradition. We must try to find out what the
author wants to say, but also what he can or cannot say, and what he must
or must not say, as a function of the traditions and the circumstances
imposed upon him.
Was Marcus an opium addict?

This is what T. W. Africa should have investigated, before he claimed to
discover the symptoms of Marcus' alleged opium addiction in the Medi
tations.
Africa bases his claim on three pieces of evidence. He takes up the
passage from Cassius Dio discussed above, which, while describing the
Emperor's state of health during the winter campaigns on the Danube,
told us that he did not consume anything during the day except an
antidote called theriac. He did this not because he was afraid of being
poisoned, as we saw, but in order to calm his chest and stomach. Else
where, Africa mentions a work by Galen entitled On Antidotes, which
describes the different ways of preparing theriac, the usefulness of this
medicine, and the way in which Marcus used it. Finally, Africa thinks he
can discover visions and psychic states produced by opium abuse within
the Meditations.
Here is how Africa summarizes the evidence of Galen18 on Marcus'
theriac consumption:
When he found himself getting drowsy at his duties, he had the
poppy juice removed [from the mixture] . . . But, then, he was
unable to sleep at night . . . . So he was obliged once again to have
recourse to the compound which contained poppy juice, since this
was now habitual with him.
If we read Galen's text19 through to the end, however, we find that it
says precisely the opposite of what Africa wants to make it say. In the
continuation of his text, Galen specifies two things. In the first place,
when Marcus took up the mixture containing poppy juice again, his
personal physician, Demetrius, made sure that it contained aged poppy
juice, which did not have the same soporific effect. Second, after the
death of Demetrius, Galen himself was responsible for preparing the
25 1
Emperor's theriac, and he is quite proud to be able to say that Marcus

was completely satisfied with the way he composed the antidote in
accordance with the recipe that was traditional among the physicians to
the emperors. Thus, according to Galen, the Emperor's sleepiness was
only a temporary accident which happened during the Danubian cam
paigns, and which did not happen again after aged poppy juice was used,
and especially after Galen intervened. That is what the latter's text actu
ally says.
In fact, the question is exceedingly complex, and we have no way of
determining the exact quantity and quality of the opium juice that went
into the theriac which the Emperor consumed. On the one hand, his
doctors took care to see that the opium juice was aged and weakened.
On the other hand, Galen, in the course of his treatise, speaks of three
kinds of antidotes which he had prepared for Marcus Aurelius: galene (the
antidote of Andromachus) , which contained sixty-four ingredients, one
of which was poppy juice; theriac of Hera, which contained no poppy
juice, but had equal parts of bituminous clover, Aristolochia rotunda,
mountain rue (Ruta halepensis), and ground vetch (Vicia Ervilia) . Finally,
there was an antidote consisting of one hundred ingredients, which con
tained very little poppy juice. Thus, the quantity of poppy juice was
highly variable.20
For his part, Galen saw a proof of Marcus' wisdom in this custom of
his:
Some people use this medicine every day, for the good of their
body, as we know personally from the case of the divine Marcus
who once ruled in respect of the laws, and who, thanks to the
consciousness he had of himself, observed the mixture of his body
with very precise attention. He used this medicine copiously, as if it
were nourishment. It was from him that theriac began to be fa
mous, and that its powerful effectiveness appeared among men.
Indeed, thanks to the fact that the Emperor's health improved be
cause of it, people's confidence in the usefulness of this medicine
increased considerably. 21
Thus, we can see from this body of evidence, taken from Cassius Dio
and from Galen, that nothing in any way allows us to infer that Marcus
was an opium addict.
This, moreover, is the conclusion which T. W. Africa himself
reaches,22 in a footnote to his article: "Admittedly the amounts of opium
2 52
could vary, and, on the basis of the antidote of the younger Antimachus
(Galen XIV 42) , a kyamos (Marcus' daily dose) would contain about
0.03 3 gram of opium, hardly sufficient for addiction. "
In that case, however, can we still speak of an opium addiction? Yes,
says Africa, because Marcus displays two symptoms: his " odd detachment
from domestic realities, " and the "bizarre visions " which we find in the
Meditations. The strange detachment mentioned by Africa is probably
for he never clarifies the point-what historians have always censured
Marcus for: his apparent indifference to the infidelities of his wife
Faustina and to the extravagances of his colleague Lucius Verus, as well as
the unfortunate choice he made of Commodus as his successor. As we
have already seen, however, the question with regard to Lucius Verus
and Commodus is very complex, and political motives must have played
a large role in determining Marcus' attitude . As for Faustina: she bore
Marcus thirteen children, and he mentions her briefly but very emotion
ally in the first book of the Meditations. Everything leads us to believe that
she was the victim of court gossip . Be that as it may, it is difficult to see
why Marcus' attitude was any more a symptom of opium addiction, as
Africa maintains, than it was of a stomach ulcer, as Dailly and van Effen
terre had thought.
There remain the "bizarre visions. " Here, bad historical psychology
reaches one of its summits; this is a piece worthy of an anthology. I quote
T. W. Africa:23
Marcus' vision of time as a raging river carrying all before it into the
abyss of the future was no school doctrine of life viewed from the
Porch, but an attempt to express the extended perspectives of time
and space which opium had opened up to him. Temporal and
spatial dimensions were accelerated until Europe was but a speck
and the present a point and men insects crawling on a clod. History
was no longer a reference but an actual pageant of the past. Marcus
shared the exacerbated sensations of his fellow opium-addict De
Quincey:24 " The sense of space , and, in the end, the sense of time,
were both powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, etc . , were
exhibited in proportions so vast as the bodily eye is not fitted to
receive them. Space swelled and was amplified, to an extent of
unutterable infinity. This, however, did not disturb me so much as
the vast expansion of time; I sometimes seemed to have lived for 70
or I oo years in one night; nay, sometimes had feelings representative
253
o f a millennium passed i n that time, or, however, o f a duration far

beyond the limits of any human experience. "
Let us now examine the passages from Marcus Aurelius to which
Africa refers in a footnote:
A river of events, a violent current: that is what eternity is. No
sooner has one thing been seen than it has already passed; another
one passes, and will, in its turn, be swept away (IV, 43 ) .
Think often about the rapidity with which beings and events pass
and disappear: for substance is like a river in perpetual flux; activities
are in constant transformation; and causes are in a myriad of modes.
Almost nothing is stable, even that which is close to you. Think also
of the infinite abyss of the past and of the future, into which every
thing is swallowed up (V, 2 3 ) .
Pace Mr. Africa, this theme is well attested in Stoicism, for instance in
Seneca:25
Represent to yourself (propane) the vastness of time and embrace the
universe, and then compare what we call human life to this immen
sity.
Time passes with infinite speed . . . . Everything falls into the same
abyss . . . . Our existence is a point, or less; but nature, by dividing
this minimal thing, has given it the appearance of a longer duration.
We find this ancient image in the following fine verses by Leonidas of
Tarentum:26
Infinite, 0 man, is the time before you came to the dawn; infinite is
that which awaits you in Hades. What portion of existence remains
to you, if it is not barely the value of a point, or still less?
Marcus' river is no doubt the Stoic river of substance, " which flows
ceaselessly, "27 but in the last analysis it is the river of Heraclitus-that
Heraclitus who Plato said compared beings to the flow of a river.28 It is
also the river of the Platonists, mentioned by Plutarch: "Everything
appears and disappears in one unique moment; be it actions, words, or
2 54
feelings; like a river, time sweeps everything away. "29 Finally, we also
encounter this river in Ovid: " Time flows in perpetual movement; like a
river, wave is pressed by wave. "30
When Seneca uses the expression propane, which means " represent to
yourself" or "place before your eyes the bottomless chasm of time, " he
emphasizes that he is speaking of an exercise of the imagination, which
the Stoic must practice. We find an exercise of the same kind in those
Meditations in which Marcus seeks to embrace the dimensions of the
universe by his imagination, or to see things from on high, in order to
reduce them to their true value:
Remember the totality of substance, of which you participate in

only the smallest portion; remember also the whole of eternity, of
which you have been assigned but a brief, tiny interval. Finally,
remember destiny, of which you are a part: but how tiny! (V, 24)
If you suddenly found yourself transported into the air, and con
templated human affairs and their variety from above, you would
have contempt for them, as you saw, in the same glance, how vast is
the domain of the inhabitants of the air and of the ether (XII, 24, 3 ) .
You can cut off many o f the superfluous things which present
obstacles to you, and which rest entirely on your value-judgment.
Thus you will clear for yourself a vast open field, by embracing the
entire universe in your mind; you will comprehend perpetual eter
nity, as you consider the rapid transformation of each individual
thing. How short is the time from birth to dissolution; how gaping
is the infinity before birth, and similarly the infinity after dissolution
(IX, 3 2) .
The soul traverses the entire world and the void which surrounds it;
it examines the form of the world; extends itself into the infinity of
eternity, and embraces and conceives the periodic rebirth of the
universe (XI, I , 3 ) .
Asia and Europe are corners o f the world; the entire sea i s a drop of
the world; Athas is a lump of earth in the world; all of present time
is a point in eternity; everything is tiny, fragile, and evanescent (VI,
36, 1).
25 5
We can immediately see the difference between these passages and

those by De Quincey. For the latter, the distention of duration and space
is an impression imposed upon the addict from outside, and he is in a
sense its passive victim. For Marcus, by contrast, the consideration of the
infinity of time and space is an active maneuver, as we can see from his
frequent admonitions to " represent to himself" or to " think" the totality.
Here again, we are in the presence of a traditional spiritual exercise,
which utilizes the faculties of the imagination. Moreover, De Quincey
speaks of a distention of the instant, which takes on outlandish propor
tions; whereas Marcus speaks of an effort to imagine the Infinite in its
totality, in order subsequently to see the instant, or the place, reduced to
infinitesimal proportions. This voluntary exercise of the imagination pre
supposes that Marcus adhered to the classical representation of the Stoic
universe: the universe is situated within an infinite void, and its duration
within an infinite time, within which the periodic rebirths of the uni
verse repeat themselves eternally. This exercise is intended to obtain a
vision of human affairs which resituates them within the perspective of
universal Nature.
A procedure such as this is the very essence of philosophy. Thus we
find it, always identical beneath the diversity of vocabularies, in all the
philosophical schools of antiquity. Plato defined the philosophical nature
by its ability to contemplate the totality of time and of being, and there
fore to hold human affairs in contempt.31 We find this theme again
among such Platonists as Philo32 or Maximus of Tyre, 33 in
Neopythagoreanism,34 among the Stoics,35 and even among the Epicure
ans. Representative of the last-named is the following saying by Metro
dorus:
Remember that, although you were born mortal and with a limited
life, you have nevertheless, by means of discussions about nature,
risen up to the eternity and infinity of things. You have also seen the
future and the past.36
In Cicero 's famous Dream of Scipio, 37 the grandson of Scipio Africanus
contemplates the world from the heights of the Milky Way. He sees the
earth so small that the Roman Empire seems imperceptible to him; the
inhabited portion of the world seems like a tiny island in the middle of
Ocean; and life seems to be less than a point. This theme was to remain
very much alive throughout the Western tradition. We have an echo of
it in Pascal's " two infinites " :38 " Let the earth appear to him as a point,
compared to the vast circle described by this star . . . " Was Pascal, then,
also an opium addict?
Marcus also transports this view from above onto the past (X, 27) :
Think constantly about this: how all events which are similar to
those which are happening now, have also happened in the past;
and think that they will happen again. Place entire dramas, and
homogeneous scenes, which you know through your personal ex
perience or through ancient history, before your eyes: for instance,
all of Hadrian's court; or that of Antoninus; the whole courts of
Philip, Alexander, or Croesus. For all of that was similar; only the
actors were different.
T. W. Africa has read De Quincey, and has noticed the fine page in
which the latter evokes the reveries in which there appeared to him the
luminous spectacle of the ladies of the court of King Charles I, or Paulus
Aemilius, surrounded by centurions, striding in front of the Roman
legions. Africa believes he finds an analogous phenomenon in Marcus
Aurelius. Once again, however, it is enough to read Marcus attentively
to recognize the difference. De Quincey's description is purely oneiric:
the dream is told for its own sake, as a strange and marvelous spectacle.
For Marcus, however, it is not a dream: the Emperor demands an imagi
native effort from himself, in order to try to represent to himself the
courts of the past. As Paul Rabbow has shown,39 this practice is carried
out in accordance with the rules which rhetoric prescribed when one
had to depict a scene or a circumstance in an expressive way. Moreover,
the picture was not there for its own sake, but only in order to provide a
highly austere conviction in the soul of the person practicing the exer
cise; namely, that human affairs are banal and ephemeral (VII , 49) :
Behold the past. So many changes of regime; and the future can be
predicted equally well. Things will be entirely homogeneous, and
we cannot escape the rhythm of what is happening now. That is
why there is no difference between studying human life for forty
years, or ten thousand years, or more: what more could one possi
bly see?
I believe I have sufficiently demonstrated the workings of a certain
type of historical psychology. Generally speaking, it is based upon igno-
257
ranee o f the modes o f thought and composition o f ancient authors, and it

anachronistically proj ects modern representations back upon ancient
texts. It would, moreover, be interesting to psychologize some historical
psychologists; I believe we could discover in them two tendencies. One
is iconoclastic : it takes pleasure in attacking such figures as Plotinus or
Marcus Aurelius, for example, who are naively respected by right-think
ing people. The other is reductionist: it considers that all elevation of the
soul or of thought, all moral heroism, and all grandiose views of the
universe can only be morbid and abnormal. Everything has to be ex
plained by sex or drugs.
Stylistic elegance
From everything that has just been said, we must not conclude that
Marcus is absent from his Meditations. Rather, he is present in them in
many ways, and the work has an autobiographical value which is limited,
but very real.
First and foremost, Marcus is present by virtue of his stylistic elegance .
We have already seen that the Emperor, who was writing fo r himself,
usually makes an effort to write with the greatest care, certainly because
he is aware of the psychological power of a well-turned phrase. The
procedures Marcus uses have been well analyzed by ]. Dalfen, 40 Monique
Alexandre,4 1 and R. B. Rutherford,42 who have also pointed out the
felicitous expressions in which they result. As Monique Alexandre has
shown, Marcus here reveals himself to be a true student of Fronto . It
appears that Fronto required his student to compose a saying (gnome)
every day, and above all to formulate it in different ways. As Fronto
writes,43 "Each time you conceive of a paradoxical thought, turn it over
within yourself, vary it with diverse figures and nuances, make trial of it,
and dress it in splendid words. " Throughout this book, we have been
able to admire Marcus' skill at developing multiple variations on the
same theme. Fronto also advised his student to make collections of say
ings for himself 44
It is difficult to add anything new to the remarkable studies that have
been carried out on Marcus' style. I think, however, that it may be useful
to cite some examples of the quest for stylistic elegance which appears in
some passages from his work.
The quest for conciseness often gives such passages a remarkable vigor,
and an almost enigmatic character:
Correct, not corrected! (VII , 1 2 ) .

Grow o n the same trunk, but don't profess the same doctrines! (XI,
8 , 6 : the opposition is between homothamnein and homodogmatein) .
Neither an actor nor a whore! (V, 2 8 , 4) .
For the stone thrown up in the air, it is neither bad to fall back
down, nor good to rise up (IX, 1 7) .
Receive without pride, let go without attachment (VIII, 3 3) .
Men have come into being fo r one another; so either teach them or
put up with them (VIII, 5 9) .
Leave the fault of another right where it is (IX,
20 ) .
A bitter cucumber? Throw it away! Brambles on the road? Avoid

them! (VIII, 5 0) .
We have already frequently encountered the brutal, explosive formu
las which Marcus uses to describe the ugliness of life when it is bereft of
moral value:
A mime (mimos) and a war (polemos); excitement (ptoia) and numb
ness (narka); the slavery (douleia) of every day! (X, 9) .
Note the assonances in this last passage, which are indicative of Marcus'
search for literary effect.
In how short a time, ashes or a skeleton! A mere name, or no longer
even a name. But a name is nothing but meaningless noise, or an
echo .
And everything to which people attach so much importance in
this life is empty, rotten, and petty: little dogs that nip at one an
other; kids who fight, laugh, and then suddenly burst into tears.
Faith, however, and Modesty, Justice, and Truth " have taken flight
toward Olympus, fleeing the road-furrowed earth " (V, 3 3 ) .45
The most striking fommlas deal with the brevity oflife, death, and the
vanity of fame:
2 59
Soon, you will have forgotten everything! Soon, everyone will have
forgotten you! (VII , 2 1 ) .
Everything is ephemeral; both that which remembers, and that
which is remembered (IV, 3 5) .
Soon you too will close your eyes, and someone else will have wept
for the person who laid you to rest (X, 34, 6) .
Yesterday, a bit of phlegm; tomorrow, ashes or a mummy (IV,
48 , 3 ) .
Marcus not only had a knack fo r turning concise phrases, but he also
knew how to tell of the beauty of things in few words, as in a passage
from the Meditations (II I , 2) cited earlier. There, Marcus evoked crusty
bread and ripe figs which split, and maturity, which is already almost
rottenness, which gives its beauty to the color of olives, and which also
gives a kind of flourishing to elderly men and women, and makes heavy
laden ears of com lean toward the earth. The "lion's wrinkled brow, " the
" foam dripping from the boar's muzzle, " and the " gaping jaws of wild
beasts " also have their own savage beauty.
Fronto had taught his imperial student to introduce images and com
parisons into his sayings and discourses, and Marcus learned his lesson
well:
On the same altar, there are many grains ofincense. One falls before
the others, another later. What difference does it make? (IV, 1 5) .
Dig within. That's where you'll find the source of the good, and it
can always burst forth anew, if you keep digging (VII, 5 9) .
A spider hunts down a fly, and thinks he is pretty hot stuff. One
man hunts down a little hare; another catches a sardine in his net;
another hunts boars, another bears, another Sarmatians . Aren't they
all thieves, if you examine the motives of their actions? (X, 1 0) .
Have you ever seen a hand which has been cut off, or a foot, or a
severed head lying somewhere apart from the rest of the body? That
is what a person does to himself . . . who does not wish for what
happens, and who separates himself from the All . . . (VIII, 3 4) .
260
I n certain Meditations, we also notice a striving after rhythm and the

harmonious balance of phrases, as for instance in the following prayer to
the World:
Everything which is in accord with you is in accord with me, 0
World! Nothing of what comes in an opportune way for you comes
either too soon or too late for me! All that your seasons produce, 0
Nature, is fruit for me (IV, 2 3 ) .
Elsewhere, a thought is developed in parallel and ascending formulas,
as in the following passage, of which I will cite only the beginning:
One is the light of the sun, even if it is divided by walls, moun
tains, or a thousand other things.
One is the common substance, even if it is divided into thousands
of bodies, each with its own individual qualities.
One is the soul, even if it be divided into thousands of faculties of
growth and individual differences.
One is the thinking soul, even if it seems divided . . . (XII, 3 0) .
I n these stylistic exercises, to which Marcus accorded all his attention,
one may, I believe, glimpse two characteristic features of his personality:
a great aesthetic sensitivity and an intense search for perfection.
It may be of interest to point out that W. Williams46 has carried out a
study of the style of Marcus' constitutions, and therefore of the juridical
texts which he wrote. According to this author, we can note in these
writings a meticulousness highly concentrated upon details, and an al
most exaggerated insistence on explaining points that are self-evident.
This seems to indicate a certain lack of confidence in the moral and
intellectual qualities of his subordinates, and a quest for purity in the use
of Greek and of Latin. Finally, it shows the scrupulous attention that
Marcus devoted to finding the most equitable, humane, and just solu
tions possible.
Chronological signposts
The reader of a literary work always likes to know at what moment of
the author's life it was written, and in what atmosphere. To be sure,
there is something atemporal about the Meditations, and it must be admit
ted that the attempts made by various historians to attach certain passages
to specific moments of the Emperor's life have been disappointing. As

we have seen, the Meditations are spiritual exercises, carried out upon a
canvas prefabricated by the Stoic tradition, which did not leave any room
for personal anecdotes. In order to suggest a date for their composition,
we possess only two pieces of obj ective evidence. B etween what is now
Book I and what is now Book I I of the Meditations, the editio princeps
contains a sentence which can be translated as follows: "Written in the
land of the Quadi, on the banks of the Gran, I . " Between what is now
Book II and what is now Book III, it contains the indication "Written in
Camutum. " It may have been the Emperor himself who added these
two specifications, as he made for himself a classification of the notes he
had written.
Camutum was a military base which the Romans had established
starting at the beginning of the first century B.c. on the Danube, not far
from Vienna, and it was home for several thousand legionnaires. A small
town had sprung up near the camp, with an amphitheater which was
built in the second century. It was there that Marcus established his
headquarters during his wars against the Quadi and the Marcomanni,
from 1 70 to 1 73 .
The river Gran is still called either by this name or by that of the Hron;
it flows from north to south through Slovakia, and j oins the Danube in
Hungary. Marcus' allusion to this river is invaluable: it reveals to us that
the Emperor was not content to direct operations from the fortified
camp at Camutum, but that he had crossed the Danube and had pene
trated the territory of the Quadi-a Germanic people who, together
with the Marcomanni, had invaded the Empire in 1 69-tO a distance of
more than 60 miles.
To what books of the Meditations do these two notations refer? The
allusion to the Quadi is placed between Books I and II, whereas the
mention of Camutum comes between Books II and III. In antiquity,
indications of this kind could appear either at the beginning or at the end
of a book. If these two notes were placed at the end, then the first one
refers to Book I, and the second to Book I I . If they were placed at the
beginning, then the first one refers to Book II, and the second to
Book III . Historians have adopted both views, without ever furnishing
decisive proo I am inclined to follow G. Breithaupt47 and W. Theiler48
in thinking that these indications were placed at the beginnings of Books
II and III respectively.
It is most interesting, and even moving, to note that at least a part of
the Meditations was written during the Roman operations carried out on
the Danube in 1 70-1 73-not only in the relative calm of a military

headquarters, but amidst the discomfort of an expedition into the land of
the Quadi. This situation may explain the distinctive tone of Books II
and I I I : the haunting presence of the theme of death. There is no more
time to read; it's not the moment to wander. I find it easy to believe that
this warlike atmosphere explains the decision Marcus seems to make in
Book II to concentrate on the practice of those spiritual exercises which
would help him finally to live the philosophical life which he should
have lived, and would have liked to live, all throughout his life.
Although I have no proof, I suspect that the manuscript which was
copied by the editio princeps contained other indications of this kind,
which were omitted by the editor. Thus, we do not know where the
other books were composed. Are we to suppose, with Breithaupt,49 that
the books which deal with the court and with speeches to the Senate
were written between November 1 76 and August 1 78 , after Marcus had
returned to Rome? But already at Carnutum, Marcus could very well
have thought in a general way about his life as an emperor. It is very
likely that Books IV to XII were written between 1 73 and 1 80, when
Marcus died.
Let us return to the indication placed between Books I and I I : "Writ
ten in the land of the Quadi, on the banks of the Gran, I . " How can we
explain the number I, if this indication refers to Book II? What is now
Book I, in which Marcus, in a style wholly different from that of the
Meditations properly so called (Books II-XII) evokes all that he has re
ceived from men and from the gods, seems to be a text in its own right,
which has its own unity, and which was placed at the beginning of the
Meditations, if not by Marcus himself, then at least by an ancient editor.
Thus, what is now Book II was in fact the first book of the Meditations
properly so called. 50 This would explain the number I after the indication
"Written in the land of the Quadi " ; it must have been introduced by an
editor or a secretary who had numbered the various groups of notes
which Marcus had written.
Moreover, it is legitimate to suppose-although it cannot be proved
with certainty-that what is now Book I was written very late in the
Emperor's life. This book gives the impression that it speaks only of
people who have died. Since the Empress Faustina, who is mentioned in
these pages,51 died in 1 76, it seems that this book was written between
1 76 and 1 80. Perhaps it was written at Rome between 1 76 and 1 7 8 , after
the revolt of Avidius Cassius, when Marcus returned from his great
eastern voyage; or perhaps it was at Sirmium, Marcus' headquarters from
1 78 to 1 80, when war with the Germans broke out again. It was probably
at Sirmium that Marcus died, on March 1 7, 1 80 . The present-day
Book I, which has a marked unity with regard both to its style and to its
overall structure, seems alien to the literary proj ect of the Meditations
properly so called (Books II-XII) . It is now located at the beginning like
a kind of introduction, but it is really more of a parallel work; it is
obviously related to the Meditations (in Book VI, 3 0 , for example, we can
discern an initial sketch of the portrait of Antoninus Pius) , but it repre
sents a wholly different psychic disposition. Book I is a prayer of thanks
giving, whereas Books II to XII are a meditation on the Stoic dogmas
and rule oflife. These latter books were composed on a day-to-day basis,
with each thought following without any connection to the previous
thought; whereas Book I was written at a precise moment, and in ac
cordance with a precise plan.
Books II-XII
As discussed previously, it is not certain whether the twelve books as we
have them today corresponded to twelve groups of meditations which,
in the eyes of their author, had their own unity, defined by one or more
dominant themes. In that case, they would allow us to glimpse some
thing of Marcus' personal preoccupations, or of what he happened to be
reading. Or is this grouping into twelve books purely accidental, perhaps
a result of the form and dimensions of the writing materials that were
used? Book I obviously represents a coherent whole in itself; it responds
to a very particular intention and is independent from the eleven other
books. What can we say about Books II-XII?
At first glance, the divisions between these groups of meditations seem
purely arbitrary. The same themes and expressions are repeated through
out them. The tripartite structure of the disciplines which I have de
scribed has no influ ence on the work's literary form; instead, it is re
peated in the most varied forms. A precise plan cannot be discerned in
any of these books, with the possible exception of Book III, which turns
out to be a kind of series of essays on the theme of the good man.
Nevertheless, a close examination allows us to discover some charac
teristics which are peculiar to each of these books : favorite themes,
special vocabularies, the greater or lesser frequency of the literary forms
that are used-whether they are sayings, for example, or rather short
dissertations. We are justified in supposing that if Marcus wrote his
Meditations on a day-to-day basis, and probably during the last years of his
life, then certain spiritual preoccupations or readings may have

influenced him in different ways at different moments in the process of
composition.
The preferred themes in a given book often appear by means of a
process that I would call " interwoven composition. " Marcus does not
gather together one after the other those meditations which deal with the
same subj ect; instead-probably on a day-to-day basis-he interweaves
them with other thoughts which deal with entirely different subj ects. In
other words, after an interruption, which may be very brief, he returns to
the theme which, for the time being, has retained his attention.
Throughout a given book, then, one or more precise themes reappear
intermittently, like a leitmotif
Books II and III are very close to each other. Within them, death is
sensed as imminent (II , 2; II, 5 ; II, 6; II, l l ; II, 1 2 ; II, 1 4 ; II, 1 7) , and
there is no more time to distract oneself by reading (II , 2; 3 ) . Marcus
decides not to write anything more which does not contribute to the
transformation of his moral life and to his meditation on Stoic doctrines
(III, 1 4) . It is urgent that he change his life, especially since he has
received so many reprieves from the gods (II , 1 4) . Only one thing
counts: philosophy (II , 1 7 , 3 ) , which consists of the three disciplines.
First, it means keeping the guiding principle of the soul (hegemonikon; II,
2 , 4) , or-another way of expressing the same thing-the soul (II , 6) or
else the inner daimon (II , 1 7, 4; II, 1 3 , 2 ) , free from the slavery of false
thoughts (II, 2, 4) . This is the discipline of thought or judgment. Second,
the soul must be kept pure of all irritation against events, and accept the
portion which has been attributed to it by destiny (II, 2 , 4; II, 1 6 , l -2 ; II,
1 7, 4) ; this is the discipline of desire. Finally, it must be kept pure of all
egoistic action, or actions which are undertaken lightly or without a goal
(II , 2, 4; II, 1 7; 4) ; this is the discipline of action.
Book III takes up exactly the same themes. We find in it the same
atmosphere of the imminence of death, and Marcus' decision to devote
himself exclusively to spiritual exercises intended to transform moral life:
Cease your wandering. Don't read your little notebooks any more
(III, 1 4) .
We also re-encounter the description of the one thing necessary, and the
only thing that counts in such an urgent situation: to maintain the purity
of one's daimon or guiding principle, in the areas of thought, desire, and
action.
It is very interesting, however, to observe how Book III attempts to

present these themes from Book II in a much more developed and
elaborate way, so that Book III is essentially made up of a series of short
dissertations which are all on the same topic: the description of the " good
man " as an ideal for life , and the enumeration of those precepts which
permit the realization of such an ideal (III, 9-1 1 ) . An initial attempt is
presented in III, 4 (in about forty lines) , then briefly taken up again in
III, 5 (for about ten lines) , and then finally set forth abundantly once
again in III, 6-8 (in about forty lines) . The " good man, " who has pre
ferred his inner daimon in every circumstance, and is in some way its
priest and its servant, attains the supreme level of human happiness,
which consists in acting in accordance with right reason (III, 7, 2) .
Books IV-XII are rather different from the two preceding books . First
of all, even if we do sometimes find short dissertations of the same kind as
those in Book III, especially in Books V, X, and XI, the maj ority of
meditations in these books appear in the form of short, striking sayings.
Marcus himself seems to theorize about this literary genre when he
mentions the " spiritual retreat into himself, " which consists precisely in
the act of concentrating on " short and fundamental " sayings which can
dissipate all grief and irritation (IV, 3 , 1-3 ) .
Some themes from Books I I-III are still present i n Book IV: for
instance, the theme of the imminence of death and the ideal of the " good
man" (IV, 1 7; c IV, 2 5 ; 3 7) :
Don't live as if you were going to live for ten thousand years. The
inevitable is hanging over you. As long as you are still alive, and as
long at it is still possible, become a good man.
As in the previous books, this sense of urgency does not allow Marcus to
waste his time by concerning himself with what others do or say (IV, 1 8) ;
rather, one must hasten toward the goal by the shortest path possible (IV,
1 8 ; 5 1) .
The notion of the daimon disappears almost completely in the later
books, and reappears in the Meditations only sporadically (V, I O, 6; V, 27;
VIII, 45 , 1; X, 1 3 , 2; XII , 3 , 4) . By contrast, new themes, which will be
found throughout all the following books, make their appearance . For
example, we find the dilemma " Providence or atoms " (IV, 3 , 6) , which I
have already discussed at some length.
In Book V, the themes which had dominated Books II and III disap
pear or become blurred once and for all. In particular, although death is
266
sometimes still mentioned as a possibility which might compromise our

efforts toward perfection, it is now also present as a liberation for which
we must wait with patience and confidence; for it will deliver us from a
human world in which moral life-the only thing that counts, and the
only value--is constantly frustrated (V, I O, 6; V, 3 3 , 5 ) .
I n another new theme, Marcus exhorts himself t o examine his con
science (V, I I ) :
Toward which goal am I using my soul in this moment? Ask myself
this question in every circumstance . . .
Similarly, he wonders (V, 3 I ) how he has behaved with regard to the
gods, his family, his teachers, his friends, and his slaves. Here we recog
nize the domain of " duties " (kathekonta), which are the subj ect of the
discipline of action. Marcus continues by sketching a kind of balance
sheet of his life (V, 3 1 , 2) , which, as in V, IO, 6 and V, 3 3 , 5, gives us to
understand that he can wait for death with serenity, since he has had
everything he could expect from life .
One particular notion, t o which Book II had made only a brief allu
sion (II , 9) , is amply and frequently developed in Book V: the distinction
between universal Nature and " my" own nature. As we have seen, this
distinction is the basis of the opposition between the discipline of desire,
which consists in consenting to the fact that I " suffer" owing to the
action of universal Nature, and the discipline of action, which consists in
" acting" by virtue of my own rational nature (V, 3 , 2; V, I O , 6; V, 2 5 , 2;
V, 27) :
In this very moment, I have what common Nature wants me to
have at this moment, and at this moment I am doing what my own
nature wants me to do at this moment (V, 2 5 , 2) .
As Marcus says, the road that these two natures follow is, in fact, the
same (V, 3 , 2) ; it is the straightest and shortest road. It is here, moreover,
that the notion of the daimon briefly reappears, and it is extremely inter
esting to observe an identification and an opposition between the
" outer" god, who is universal Nature or Reason, and the "inner" god
the daimon or hegemonikon-who emanates from it (V, I O , 6) :
Nothing will happen to me which is not in conformity with the
Nature of the All. It depends on me to do nothing which is contrary
to my god and my daimon.
This is why moral life can be defined as "a life with the gods " (V, 27) :
He lives with the gods who constantly shows them a soul which
greets what has been allotted to it with j oy, and, at the same time,
does everything wanted by that daimon which Zeus [i. e . , universal
Nature] has given to each person as a watchman and a guide, and
which is a parcel detached from himself This is nothing other than
the intellect and reason of each of us.
This theme of the two natures is found in other books (VI , 5 8 ; VII , 5 5 , l ;
XI, 1 3 , 4 ; XII , 3 2 , 3 ) , but never as frequently as in Book V.
Other themes also seem to be characteristic of Book V. For example, it
contains two allusions to a Stoic cosmological doctrine which Marcus
mentions very rarely: that of the eternal return. Usually, Marcus imagines
the metamorphoses of things and the destiny of souls within the "period "
o f the world i n which w e are now living, without worrying about the
eternal return of this period. This is what he does first, in V, 1 3 , where he
begins by affirming that each part of the universe, as it is born and dies, is
transformed into another part of the universe. Yet he remarks:
There is nothing to prevent one from talking like this, even if the
world is administered in accordance with determinate periods.
In this case, he means, all the parts of the universe will be reabsorbed at
the end of each period into the original Fire-Reason, before they are
reborn from this same Fire in the following period. Elsewhere, in V, 3 2 ,
w e get a glimpse o f the immensity o f the space that opens up before the
soul which " knows "-that is, which accepts Stoic doctrine:
It knows the beginning and the end, and the Reason which tra
verses universal substance, and which administers the All through
out eternity, in accordance with determinate periods.
We do not find another allusion to the eternal return until XI, l , 3 .
Finally, an important autobiographical theme also makes its appear
ance in Book V: the opposition, which constitutes a serious personal
problem for Marcus, between the court at which he is obliged to live,
and philosophy, to which he would like to devote himself entirely (V, 1 6 ,
2) . This theme will be taken u p again i n Book V I ( 1 2 , 2) , and i n Book
VIII (9) .
The first meditations of Book VI present a good example of the
268
" interwoven composition " of which I have been speaking. Chapter l

deals with the Stoic doctrine that explains the constitution of reality by
the opposition between the matter of the world-which is docile and
ready for any and all transformations, and in which there is therefore no
evil-and the "Reason which guides it, " in which there is similarly no
place for evil. After three very short meditations, which have no connec
tion with this problem, Marcus returns (VI , 5) to the theme of the
beginning: the action which the " Reason which guides " exerts upon
matter. The expression " Reason which guides/ governs " (dioikon logos),
which is attested in VI, l and 5 , is not found elsewhere in the Meditations,
with the exception of a quotation from Heraclitus in IV, 46, 3 . One
could say that it is as if this book's first meditations were inspired by a
reading which dealt with the goodness of that Reason which governs
matter.
Some personal features also appear in Book VI. For instance, Marcus
mentions (VI , 26) his own name, Antoninus, which he received after
having been adopted by Antoninus Pius. He also makes a distinction
within himself, as it were, between "Antoninus, " the Emperor whose
city is Rome, and the " man, " whose city is the World (VI, 44, 6) .
Marcus takes up this distinction between Emperor and man again in VI,
3 0 , and he advises himself not to " become Caesarized, " or let the impe
rial purple rub off on the man. He then turns to the model which
Antoninus Pius, his adoptive father, had represented for him. Advising
himself to "Do everything as a disciple of Antoninus, " Marcus describes
some of the qualities he admired in Antoninus, which may guide him in
his way of governing and living.
Even more than Book VI, Book VII gives a number of examples of
" interwoven composition. " Marcus returns to a few favorite, recurrent
themes, which, although they are present in other books as well, reap
pear with regularity from one end of Book VII to the other, separated
from each other only by a few meditations which deal with other sub
jects. Thus, he repeats several times that we have the power to criticize
and to modify the value-judgments which we apply to things (VII, 2, 2;
VII, 1 4; VII , 1 6; VII, 1 7, 2; VII, 68) ; that things are subject to rapid and
universal metamorphosis (VII , r n ; VII , 1 8 ; VII, 1 9 ; VII , 2 3 ; VII , 2 5 ) ; that
it is vain to seek for fame and glory (VII , 6; VII, r n ; VII , 2 1 ; VII, 62) .
Marcus also speaks of how we are to behave and the principles we must
recall when someone has committed a fault against us (VII, 22; VII, 26) ;
and finally, he exalts the excellence and the supremacy of moral life (that
is to say, of the three disciplines) , by comparison with all other qualities
(VII , 5 2 ; VII, 66-67; VII , 72) .
Chapters 3 l to 5 l are extremely interesting because they seem to have

preserved for us traces of the notebooks Marcus wrote for himself These
quotations from various authors-Democritus (VII , 3 l , 4), Plato (VII ,
3 5 ; VII , 44-46) , Antisthenes, and Euripides (VII , 3 8-42; VII, 50-5 1 )
are probably secondhand. For example , Marcus probably read the fol
lowing quote from Antisthenes, " To do good and yet to have a bad
reputation is something which kings can expect, " in the Discourses of
Epictetus as recorded by Arrian (see IV, 6, 20) . It was all the more likely
to attract Marcus' attention in that it may have seemed to him to reflect
his own experience. The quotations from Euripides, for their part, fre
quently appeared in collections of sayings. In another book (XI, 6) ,
Marcus composes a brief history of the dramatic art, alluding successively
to tragedy, old comedy, and new comedy. In the context of tragedy,
Marcus notes that tragedians gave useful moral lessons, and he quotes the
same three texts from Euripides-in which the Stoics recognized their
own doctrine-which we find in chapters 3 8 , 40, and 41 of Book VII :
I f the gods have abandoned me, as well as my children, there i s a
reason for that as well.
We must not become angry with things, for it is not their fault.
To harvest life like a swollen ear of grain; one exists; the other is no
more.
" Interwoven composition" is also used quite abundantly in Book VII I ;
I shall give only one very typical example. Book VIII marks the reap
pearance of a theme that we have already encountered: the short, straight
path which is proper to nature. Rational human nature follows its path
and heads straight for its goal if it practices the three disciplines (VIII, 7) .
In this book, however, the theme takes on a nuance which it did not
have in the others: now Marcus speaks of the rectilinear movement not
only of nature, but also of the intellect. Moreover, instead of describing
the movement proper to the intellect on one occasion, Marcus returns to
it three times in different chapters, and these occurrences are separated by
meditations which are unrelated to this subj ect. He first touches on the
theme in chapter 54, where he urges himself to breathe the intellect
which embraces all things as if it were the surrounding air: for the power
of the intellect, he writes, is diffused everywhere, like the air which beings
breathe. Then come two chapters-5 5 and 5 6-which are unrelated to
this theme. The theme reappears in chapter 5 7, where the movement of
the intellect is no longer compared to that of the air, but to that of the
light of the sun, which, says Marcus, is diffused everywhere and extends in a
straight line as it illuminates the obj ects it encounters, thus somehow
assimilating them to itself Then come two other chapters, which deal
with entirely different themes. In chapter 60, we return to our familiar
theme: here the movement of the intellect is compared to that of an
arrow. Like an arrow, the intellect moves in a straight line toward its goal
when it advances prudently and takes the trouble to examine things
attentively. Chapter 54 spoke only of the divine intellect in which we
participate, whereas chapters 57 and 60 describe the movement of our
intellect as it imitates the divine intellect. It is hard to imagine that
Marcus would have thus returned three times to a very specific theme
unless he had been under the influence of a particular reading, or at least
of a momentary preoccupation. Be that as it may, chapters 54, 57, and 60
are intimately linked to one another.
In Book VIII, the theme of universal metamorphosis takes on a very
particular form. Here, Nature has the power to use the detritus which
results from its vital activity to create new beings (VIII, 50) . Since it has
no space outside itself where it can throw this detritus, it transforms it
within itself and makes it into its matter once again (VIII, 1 8) . Intellectual
or rational nature, for its part, transforms the obstacles that oppose its
activity into a subject for exercises, which thereby permits it to attain its
goal by using that which resists it (VIII, 7, 2; VIII, 3 2 ; VIII, 3 5 ; VIII, 4 1 ;
VIII, 47; VIII, 54; VIII, 57) .
We can note a few autobiographical allusions in Book VIII, such as life
at court (VIII, 9) and speeches before the Senate (VIII, 3 0) . Figures of the
dead who were close to Marcus are evoked: his mother (VIII, 25) and his
adoptive brother (VIII, 3 7) . Encouragements to examine his conscience,
which had already occurred in Book V, reappear several times (VIII, 1-2)
and are linked to the theme of the imminence of death (VIII, i ; VIII, 8 ;
VIII, 2 2 , 2) .
Although Book IX, like Books IV, VI, VII, and VIII, is composed for
the most part of brief sayings, it does contain five rather long expositions,
which vary in length from about thirty to forty lines, and which have
either no parallels in the rest of Marcus' works, or at the very least few
parallels. In IX, 1 , Marcus demonstrates rigorously that the lapses one
commits in the three disciplines of action, thought, and desire constitute
faults of impiety and injustice with regard to Nature, the most venerable
of deities. In IX, 3 , we find an exposition on the theme of death: not
only does Marcus expect and wait for the dissolution of the body, but, as
in Book V, this dissolution is perceived as a liberation. When Marcus

speaks of the fatigue produced by discord in communal life (IX, 3 , 8) ,
and prays for death to come as soon as possible, we can perhaps detect an
autobiographical trait; I shall return to this point later. In IX, 9, reason
establishes that the higher up one rises in the hierarchy of beings, the
more mutual attraction is increased. In IX, 40, the problem of prayer is
examined. Finally, in IX, 42, we find a collection of considerations
intended as a remedy for the temptation of anger.
Book IX may also contain some further autobiographical allusions: for
example , the rapid evocation of Marcus' childhood (IX, 2 1 ) ; a possible
allusion to the plague which was then ravaging the Empire (IX, 2, 4) ; and
above all a highly important reflection on the art of governing (IX, 29) .
Book IX also has its own peculiarities of vocabulary. Nowhere else,
for instance, does Marcus use the expression ektos aitia (" outer cause ") to
designate the causality of Fate and of universal Nature (IX, 6; IX, 3 1) .
I n the entirely different context o f the relations between oneself and
others, Book IX is the only one to mention the paradigm of the gods,
who, despite the faults of mankind, maintain their benevolence toward
humans and help them in the area of things which, to the Stoics, are
indifferent and have no moral value, such as health and glory, for exam
ple (IX, I I ; IX, 27) . The Emperor, too, will consequently also have to be
attentive to those human desires which are not in conformity with phi
losophy.
Book IX likes to insist upon the necessity of "penetrating into the
guiding principle of other people's souls, " in order to understand the
motives which make them act in a certain way, and therefore excuse
them (IX, 1 8 ; IX, 22; IX, 27; IX, 3 4) .
I n Book X , the number of longer expositions (from thirty to one
hundred lines) clearly increases, and we find far fewer examples of "in
terwoven composition. " One should note, however, the recurrence of
the theme of a realistic vision of other people (X, 1 3 ; 1 9) . In order to
judge people in accordance with their true value, we must observe them
or imagine them when they eat, sleep, make love, and relieve them
selves.
When Marcus evokes the picture of people whispering around a sick
bed-which could be his own-we get the impression that the Emperor
is sharing a confidence with us when he makes them say: "At last that
schoolmaster is going to let us breathe! "
Book X is the only one to use the word theoretikon. It occurs in X, 9,
2, where the importance of the theoretic foundations of action is affirmed;
272
and again in X , l l , I , where Marcus exhorts himself to acquire a theoretic

method, in order to practice the spiritual exercise which consists in
recognizing the universal metamorphosis of all things; in other words,
this exercise must be based upon solid, well-assimilated dogmas. It is also
only in Book X that reason and the intellect, which take all events as
food for their moral life, are compared to a healthy stomach, which
assimilates to itself all kinds of food (X, 3 I , 6; X, 3 5 , 3 ) .
Book X I can b e divided into two parts: there are the first twenty-one
chapters, and then there are the final eighteen, which are a collection of
quotations and notes jotted down in the course of Marcus' readings,
comparable to the similar group which we encountered in the middle of
Book VII. Why is it here? It is impossible to say. At least eight of these
passages come from the Discourses of Epictetus, as collected by Arrian.
The rest consists of quotations from Homer and Hesiod, fragments from
the tragic poets, and other reminiscences from Marcus' readings.
In the first part of Book XI, long expositions (of which there are
fourteen) are much more frequent than short sayings (seven) . The phe
nomenon of " interwoven composition " scarcely appears, and there are
few recurrent themes, with the exception of the theme of the freedom
which we possess to criticize and to suspend our judgments on events
and things. We find this theme in two passages, almost identical in form
(XI, I I ; XI, 1 6, 2) :
Things do not reach us, but they remain immobile outside of us.
Several of the longer expositions have no parallel in the rest of Marcus'
work: the detailed description of the properties of the rational soul (XI,
l ) , for instance, or the method of division of obj ects and events (XI, 2) ;
the history of tragedy and comedy (XI, 6) , which I mentioned above; the
description of the luminous sphere of the soul (XI, 1 2) , as well as that of
true sincerity which one cannot help discerning immediately, like a
man's bad odor (XI, 1 5 ) . Finally, there is the long enumeration of the
dogmas which can cure us of anger (XI, 1 8) . By its content and its form,
then, Book XI is rather different from the other books of the Meditations.
Book XII also has its characteristic expressions. " Stripped of their
bark" (gumna ton phloii5n), for instance, recurs twice in it. On the one
hand, divine vision sees the guiding principles of souls " stripped of their
bark" (XII , 2 ) ; on the other, we must exercise ourselves in order to be
able to see the elements of those beings which have causal force-in
other words, none other than the guiding principles of souls-" stripped
2 73
of their bark" (XII , 8) . The theme of the separation of the center of the
soul from all its envelopes is, moreover, one of the major motifs of the
Meditations. We find it sketched as early as the first chapter, where we are
urged not to recognize anything but the hegemonikon, or guiding princi
ple of the soul, as the sole thing of value. The theme is developed in
chapter 2 (like God himself, see nothing but the hegemonikon) , and in
chapter 3 (separate everything foreign from the intellect, the faculty of
thought, and the guiding principle of the soul) . We find it again in
chapter 8 (see those elements which have causal value--that is, the guid
ing principles of souls--stripped of their bark) ; in chapter r 9 (become
aware of what is most noble and divine within us) ; and finally, in chapter
3 3 , where the Emperor asks himself about the use he is making of the
guiding part of his soul, for " Everything depends upon that. "
We have just encountered the notion of an " element having a causal
value " (aitiodes) . For Marcus, this concept is opposed to the notion of a
material element (hulikon) . As we have seen, this is one of the fundamen
tal oppositions of Stoic physics. For Marcus, however, it serves above all
to formulate a spiritual exercise which is described again and again in
Book XII : it consists in the intellect or guiding part of the soul becoming
aware of itself as a causal, guiding, determining element, so that it may
distinguish and separate itself from the material element. In other words,
it must separate itself not only from the body, but from everything that
does not depend upon us. This is why the theme of the opposition
between the " causal" and the " material" also recurs constantly in Book
XII (XII , 8; XII, r o; XII , r 8 ; XII, 29) .
The preceding brief analyses-no doubt somewhat tedious-should
allow the reader to glimpse the fact that in almost all the books of the
Meditations, a characteristic vocabulary and recurrent themes can be dis
covered. This leads us to suspect that each chapter forms a comparatively
autonomous unity. Although it is true that there are many literal repeti
tions throughout the Meditations, it is nevertheless also true that particu
larities can be observed that are proper to each chapter.
The final three chapters of Book XII , which are also those of the
entire work, are concerned with death. The last chapter, which is in the
form of a dialogue, thus seems particularly moving (XII, 3 6) :
0 man, you have played your part as a citizen in this great City!
What does it matter to you whether you have played it for five, or
for one hundred years? For that which is distributed in accordance
with the law is equal for all. What is there that is terrible if you are
2 74
sent away from this City, not by a tyrant or an unj ust judge, but by
that Nature who had put you on stage in the first place, as a praetor
dismisses an actor he has hired?
-But I acted only three acts, and not five!
-You are right; but in life three acts make up a complete play;
for what makes the play complete is determined by He who is the
cause both of constitution and of dissolution. You, by contrast, are
cause neither of the one nor of the other. Leave, then, in peace; for
He who dismisses you does so in peace.
It has been claimed52 that the Meditations deliberately end with the
word "peace. " Perhaps; but who placed it there? Was it Marcus, foresee
ing his imminent death? Was it the person who edited his meditations,
and removed one from its place to put it there? These words are, more
over, an echo of the first pages of Book II (3 , 3 ) : " Don't die murmuring,
but truly in peace, thanking the gods from the bottom of your heart. "
We can thus see-in an entirely hypothetical way-that some kind of
order and specific correspondences have perhaps been introduced among
these eleven books (II-XII) , which are groups of meditations written on
a daily basis. It could no doubt be obj ected that in a work in which the
thought of death plays so considerable a role, it is not surprising to
encounter it-whether in the first or the last lines-without this indicat
ing any kind of stylistic composition. One might also wonder, however,
why at the beginnings of Books III, VIII , X, and XII , we find examina
tions of conscience which are all analogously inspired by the imminence
of death. They are situated in a rather privileged position, as if the author
or editor had wanted to provide a kind of introduction to the following
meditations. In these examinations, Marcus exhorts himself to immediate
conversion, for he is afraid that even before death, his intellectual capaci
ties may be weakened to the point where they no longer allow him to
live a moral life. He is still far from having succeeded in becoming a
philosopher, and he recognizes that, in the last analysis, what he should
fear the most is not ceasing to live, but failing to begin to live (XII, r , 5) .
This is the source of Marcus' melancholy question at the beginning of
Book X:
0 my soul; will you ever be good and simple; one and naked; more
luminous than the body which surrounds you? Will you ever be
fulfilled, without need, neither regretting nor desiring anything . . .
2 75
Will you ever be happy with what 1s happening to you at the

present moment?
Generally speaking, a short saying is never placed at the beginning of a
book. Books II-XII always open with a relatively lengthy exposition,
which can vary from five to thirty-five lines. Books II and V both begin
with an exercise which is to be practiced in the morning: " At dawn . . . ";
" In the morning, when you have trouble getting up . . . " The compara
tively long dissertations on the rational soul (XI, 1 ) and on impiety with
regard to nature (IX, I) also seem to have been placed at the beginning of
these books because of the importance of the subj ect matter with which
they deal.
As I have said, the frequent repetitions which can be observed in the
Meditations allow us to suppose that they were composed on a day-to-day
basis. The slight indications which I have just enumerated, however,
perhaps allow us to glimpse some of Marcus' habits-for instance, that of
beginning a new notebook with a specific type of exhortation. In any
event, I have thought it worthwhile to point out such details in the hope
that they may inspire more in-depth research.
Remembering the dead

As we have seen, the Meditations are dominated, from one end to the
other, by the thought of death. Within the work, death appears succes
sively as an imminence which may prevent Marcus from finally raising
himself up to the level of the philosophical life; or as a phenomenon of
nature which is no more extraordinary than any other; and finally as a
liberation, which will deliver Marcus from a world where people are
ignorant of the sole value: that of virtue and the moral good.
From beginning to end, the Meditations are also an exercise of prepara
tion for death, which involves, among other things, evoking famous
figures of bygone times, who, in spite of their power, knowledge, and
renown, died like everybody else. Just like Franr;:ois Villon, Marcus thus
composes his Ballad ef the Lords ef Former Times. To be sure, it was too
early for Marcus to wonder: "But where is the knight Charlemagne? "53
Yet he does mention Alexander-as well as his mule-driver-Ar
chimedes, Augustus, Caesar, Chrysippus, Croesus, Democritus,
Epictetus, Eudoxus, Heraclitus, Hipparchus, Hippocrates, Menippus,
Philip, Pompey, Pythagoras, Socrates, Tiberius, Traj an, and all those
who are now no more than legendary names (VIII, 2 5 , 3 ) o r are men
tioned only rarely: Caeso, Volesus, Dentatus, Scipio, and Cato. He also
speaks of people who are less noble, but did have their moment of fame,
like the mimographers Philistion, Phoebus, and Origanion (VI, 47, 1 ) .
Marcus also thinks o f the whole crowd o f anonymous people: doctors,
astrologers, philosophers, princes, and tyrants of bygone days; as well as
the people of Pompeii (IV, 4 8 , 1 ; VIII, 1 , 2) and Herculaneum. Finally,
he thinks of all the people who lived in the time of Vespasian or Trajan:
they have all been swept away by death.
Marcus also thinks of the people he knew during his life. His adoptive
brother Lucius Verus, who reigned together with Marcus, died compara
tively young. He had married Lucilla, one of Marcus' daughters; but
before this marriage, when he was staying at Antioch, he had a mistress
named Pantheia. Pantheia was from Smyrna, and she was delightfully
portrayed by the satirist Lucian in 1 6 3 - 1 64. She figures in two of his
works: Images and the Defense ef Images. Was she really as beautiful,
cultivated, good-hearted, simple, sweet, and benevolent as Lucian says?
And yet, unless he was mocking her, Lucian could scarcely have made up
such details as that she sang while accompanying herself on the cithara;
that she spoke Ionic Greek; that she behaved modestly and simply to
those who approached her; and that she knew how to laugh at Lucian's
praise . What happened to Pantheia after the marriage of Lucilla? Did she
remain in the entourage of Lucius, who, if we can believe the gossip of
the Historia A ugusta, seems not to have had any qualms about bringing
back from Antioch to Rome a band of freed slaves, with whom he
caroused?54
In any event, it is rather touching to encounter the figure of Pantheia
in the Meditations. This allows us to suppose that she had remained close
to Lucius Verus until his death, and that she herself had died a few years
after her lover (VIII, 3 7) :
Are Pantheia and Pergamos [perhaps a male lover o f Lucius Verus?]
still sitting near the ashes of Verus?
Or Chabrias and Diotimos near those of Hadrian?
How ridiculous! [probably because they too were dead] .
And even if they were still sitting there, would the dead notice
them? And if the dead noticed them, would they derive pleasure
from their presence? And if the dead did derive some pleasure,
would those who were sitting there be immortal? Has it not been
fixed by Destiny that those who were sitting there should first
277
become old women and men, and finally die? What will happen to
the dead, when those who had been sitting near their ashes are dead
too?
This same Book VIII describes analogous situations, in which living
people weep for the dead, and are themselves wept over shortly after
wards (VIII, 25) : Marcus' mother Lucilla, who lost her husband Verus,
and then died in turn; Secunda, the wife of Maximus, one of Marcus'
friends and teachers, who died after having buried Maximus; Antoninus,
Marcus' adoptive father, who decreed the apotheosis of his wife Faustina,
and then did not survive her for long. Marcus also evokes Caninius
Celer, 55 one of his rhetoric teachers, who had been secretary to the
emperor Hadrian, and who had perhaps delivered the latter's funeral
oration. He too was dead by the time Marcus was writing. In this context
we also find a certain Diotimos, no doubt a freedman of Hadrian, and the
same person whom Marcus had pictured sitting near Hadrian' s funeral
urn in the description cited above (VIII, 3 7) .
Elsewhere, Marcus again causes all kinds o f characters whom h e has
known to come to life before our eyes; but it is difficult for us to identify
them.
It is especially in Book I that Marcus evokes the dead who had been
close to him: his parents, his teachers, Antoninus Pius, his adoptive
brother Lucius Verus, and the Empress Faustina. There is no melancholy
in these pages, which retain only the virtues of the beings whom the
Emperor has known and loved. Yet we cannot help feeling that the
Emperor is thinking nostalgically of those whom he has loved, and
whose departure has left him profoundly alone.
The " Confessions " of Marcus Aurelius

There is a sense in which Book I represents Marcus' " Confessions, " in
the way that there are " Confessions " of Saint Augustine: not the more or
less indecent confessions of a Jean-Jacques Rousseau, but an act of thanks
for the benefits one has received from gods and men. 56 The book ends
with the following formula:
All this requires the help of the gods and of Good Fortune.
This remark refers especially to chapter 1 7, which enumerates all the
special favors which the gods have granted; but it also applies to the
entire book, for it is thanks to the " help of the gods and of Good
Fortune " that Marcus thinks he has been lucky enough to have the
parents, teachers, and friends that he has had.
Book I has a most peculiar structure. In sixteen chapters of unequal
length, the Emperor evokes sixteen people to whom Destiny has related
him. They have each been the example for him of specific virtues, either
generally or in a given circumstance; or else they have given him a piece
of advice which has had a strong influence upon him. The seventeenth
chapter enumerates the benefits which the gods have showered upon
him throughout his life, by making him meet a certain person or experi
ence a particular event. There is thus often an echo between the first
sixteen chapters and the seventeenth.
The first chapters provide a sketch, as it were, of the history of a life
which has been a spiritual itinerary. First comes childhood, surrounded
by the tutelary figures of Marcus' grandfather, Annius Verus; his father,
who died so young; his mother; his great-grandfather, Catilius Severus;
his tutor; and a certain Diognetus.
Then we have the discovery of philosophy, with Junius Rusticus, and
Marcus' teachers Apollonius and Sextus. This part of his life is so impor
tant to Marcus that he inverts chronological order, by placing his gram
mar teacher, Alexander of Cotiaeum, and his rhetoric teacher, Fronto,
after the philosophers. Then Marcus moves on to his friends and loved
ones, whom he evokes because they have either been models for him, or
philosophy teachers: there was Alexander the Platonist, who was his
secretary for Greek correspondence; the Stoic Cinna Catulus; Claudius
Severus, of whom Marcus remembers especially what he learned from
him about the heroes of Republican Rome; and another statesman, the
Stoic Claudius Maximus. Chapter 16 contains a lengthy portrait of the
emperor Antoninus Pius. By living with him for twenty-three years
from the age of seventeen until he became emperor at the age of forty
Marcus had been able to observe his adoptive father at length, and to be
profoundly influenced by him.
In the course of the enumeration in chapter r 7 of the favors which the
gods have granted Marcus, some of these characters reappear, especially
Antoninus Pius, Marcus' relatives, his mother, and three philosopher
friends: Apollonius, Rusticus, and Maximus. He also evokes his grandfa
ther's concubine, and two " temptations " named Benedicta and Theodo
tus; as well as his adoptive brother Lucius Verus, and Marcus' wife, the
Empress Faustina.
In all likelihood, other people had also played a crucial role in Marcus'
2 79
life. One thinks, for example, of Herodes Atticus, the " ancient billion
aire. "57 This renowned rhetor, such a powerful figure in Athens, had
been Marcus' rhetoric teacher; but he does not appear in Book I. In this
particular case, there could be two reasons for such silence. In the first
place, Herodes was a shady character. Marcus had a great deal of affection
for him, and guided him through the two trials in which Herodes was
implicated, particularly in 1 7 4, when Hero des was summoned to the
Emperor's headquarters at Sirmium on charges brought against him by
the Athenians.58 Nevertheless, Marcus could hardly fail to recognize that
Herodes was scarcely a model for the philosophical life . Another reason
for Marcus' silence could possibly be that the Emperor seems to talk only
about the dead in Book I , whereas Herodes did not die until 1 79. We
might thus suppose that Book I was written between 1 76 and 1 79,
perhaps at Rome in 1 77 or 1 7 8 .
T o understand the way Marcus wrote Book I , i t will perhaps be
sufficient to examine how he evokes the figure of Fronto, his Latin
rhetoric teacher. When we read the correspondence exchanged between
Fronto and Marcus, we get the impression of an intimate friendship, with
a perpetual exchange of ideas, advice, and favors. Thus, one would
expect Book I to contain a lengthy couplet on Marcus' venerated
teacher. Yet the Emperor devotes only three lines to him, whereas he
uses thirteen lines to speak of his debt toward Rusticus. What has Marcus
retained from all those years of working intimacy with Fronto? Only two
things, which have nothing to do with rhetoric (I, 1 1) :
To have learned how tyranny leads to envious evil, to caprices, and
to dissimulation; and how, on the whole, those whom we call
"patricians " are somehow lacking in affectionateness.
Marcus' remark about the patricians is indeed attested in his corre
spondence with Fronto ; and this allows us to glimpse that behind each
one of Marcus' notes, there is certainly a precise matter of fact. For
instance, Fronto writes to the emperor Lucius Verus, in order to recom
mend to him one of his students, Gavius Clams. He praises Gavius'
conscientiousness, modesty, reserve, generosity, simplicity, continence,
truthfulness, and entirely Roman uprightness:
. . . I don't know if his affectionateness (philostorgia) is Roman, for in
all my life at Rome, there is nothing I have found less often than a
man having sincere affectionateness. I would not be surprised if,
280
since there is really no one to b e found at Rome who has affection

ateness, there is no Latin word to designate this virtue. 59
When he writes to the proconsul Lollianus Avitus to recommend
Licinius Montanus to him, Fronto uses an analogous enumeration: " He
is sober, honest, tender in his affections (philostorgus) . . . " And he notes
once again that there is no Latin word for that quality.60 When Marcus
writes to his teacher in Latin, he addresses him in Greek as philostorge
anthrope, as if there were indeed no Latin equivalent for this Greek
word.61 We may wonder whether this remark does not contain a hint of
resentment on the part of the provincial homo novus Fronto with regard
to the old Roman aristocracy. In any case, Fronto's remark struck Mar
cus, and we may suppose that he too sensed a lack of tenderness of the
heart in the ruling class. In the Meditations, Marcus exhorts himself sev
eral times to be affectionate (VI, 3 0 , 2; II, 5, r ; XI, r 8 , r 8) , while in Book
I he notes the philostorgia of his teacher Sextus.
With regard to Marcus' remarks on tyranny as a corruption of monar
chy which consists in profiting from power for one's own pleasure: we
possess no text by Fronto that might shed light on this allusion. It may
have come from a conversation they had, or from a Latin literary text
relative to this theme which Marcus had studied together with his
teacher. At any rate, the Emperor retained the idea that the egotistical
exercise of power leads to evil, inconstancy, and dissimulation. As R. B.
Rutherford has rightly pointed out,62 Marcus was particularly affected by
this idea because, as Emperor, he was the precisely the one who could
easily become a tyrant. Marcus was a "potential tyrant, " and on several
occasions the Meditations ask him to question himself in order to see
whether he does not have a tyrannical soul. This is particularly the case in
IV, 2 8 , which may be understood as a kind of description of the tyranni
cal character:
A dark character: effeminate, harsh, savage, bestial, puerile, cow
ardly, false, foolish, mercenary, and tyrannical.
Elsewhere, such tyrants as Phalaris and Nero appear as yanked about by
their disorderly tendencies, like wild, androgynous beasts (III, r 6) .
From his long familiarity with Fronto, then, Marcus either can o r will
retain no more than two items of moral instruction. He evokes no virtue
or character trait of Fronto's worthy of being mentioned.
This means that Book I is not a collection of recollections in which
281
the Emperor causes those h e has known t o live again j ust as they were.
Rather, it is a kind of precise record of those who have played a role in
his life. The very style of the book makes it resemble the inventory of an
inheritance, or an acknowledgement of debt.63 At the beginning of each
chapter, we first have a kind of label: " From my grandfather Verus . . . , "
" From my mother . . . , " " From Sextus . . . , " " From Fronto . . . " Then
the qualities Marcus admires are enumerated, as are the teachings he has
received and the exemplary actions performed. Grammatically, all this is
expressed by neuter adj ectives used substantively, or by an infinitive
proposition; there are hardly any personally inflected verbs. Marcus does
not say, " From my grandfather, I admired . . . , " or "I retained, " or " I
learned" ; but rather " From my grandfather Verus: good character and
lack of anger. " Thus, this balance-sheet concerns the virtues which Mar
cus saw practiced, the advice he heard, specific actions and significant
examples which made an impression on him, and finally the benefits
which he received.
In the case of some of the figures Marcus evokes, their personality
disappears completely behind the advice they have given to the Emperor.
Marcus mentions no particular virtue in the case of his tutor, or of
Diognetus, or of Rusticus, or of Fronto . This does not mean that they
did not possess any moral qualities, but that it was not by means of such
qualities that they influenced Marcus. What " made " Marcus Aurelius
were, for instance, the reprimands about his character addressed to him
by Rusticus, or the fact that he communicated to him Epictetus' Dis
courses.
In the case of some other figures, such as that of his mother, the
Emperor evokes only those virtues which were obviously exemplary for
him (I, 3 ) :
From my mother: piety; a disposition to give generously; and a
horror not only of doing evil, but even of thinking about doing evil.
In addition, frugality in my daily routine, far removed from the
life-style of the rich.
The same holds true for Claudius Maximus, whose entire personality
was exemplary for Marcus: self-mastery; peace of mind in adversity;
gentleness and dignity; reflection in the carrying out of a proj ect; har
mony between words, actions, and moral conscience; the quality of not
being surprised by anything, of fearing nothing, and of remaining self-
identical; beneficence; indulgence; veracity; spontaneity in action; and

the art ofj oking.
Finally, there are those of whom Marcus has remembered both the
teachings and the virtues, such as Severus, who was beneficent, liberal,
and free-speaking, but who also caused Marcus to discover the entire
philosophical tradition of resistance to tyranny.
Through this catalogue of virtues and of teachings, an outline of
Marcus' life itself is traced. Thus, thanks to his great-grandfather, he
benefited from instruction at home; thanks to his tutor, he learned not to
get caught up in the partisan battles of fans of the Greens and the
Whites-factions of the circus games-and not to get excited about any
particular group of gladiators. Diognetus turned him away from futilities,
superstitions, and playing with quails, and instilled in him a taste for a
Spartan life-style. Rusticus showed him the need to correct his character:
as he taught him philosophy, he also prevented Marcus from getting
carried away by enthusiasm for writing theoretical or hortatory philo
sophical tracts, and from falling into ostentatious asceticism. Rusticus
made him give up rhetoric and poetry, and taught him simplicity of style,
particularly by the example of a letter he had written to Marcus' mother.
He taught Marcus how to read philosophical texts, and, most important,
passed on to him some notes taken at the classes of Epictetus. More than
any precise teachings, the Emperor retained the examples of how to live
given him by his other philosophy teachers, Apollonius and Sextus.
From Alexander the grammarian, Marcus learned the art of repri
manding people without annoying them, and of making them aware of
their faults indirectly. By frequenting Alexander " the Platonist, " his sec
retary for Greek correspondence, the Emperor learned not to try to get
out of his duties toward other people by claiming that one has no time to
reply to letters. In the case of Marcus' three friends Catulus, Severus, and
Maximus, it was especially their virtues which were exemplary; but
Marcus owed Severus the discovery of an entire political attitude: the
monarchy's respect for the freedom of its subj ects. I shall return to this
point.
Finally, there was the encounter with Antoninus, who, in his entire
behavior, revealed to the future Emperor the features of the ideal ruler.
Chapter 1 7 , which celebrates the benefits which the gods have show
ered upon him, gives Marcus the opportunity to go over the stages of his
life once again. After the death of his father, the young Marcus lived
briefly in the house of his grandfather, Annius Verus. It seems that this
was a time of temptations for Marcus, and he thanks the gods for
not having been brought up for too long with my grandfather's

concubine; for having been able to maintain the bloom of my
youth; for not having reached manhood too soon, but having even
gone past the time for that.
Then comes youth, the time of Marcus' adoption by the emperor
Antoninus Pius, at the age of seventeen (in 1 3 8) . Once again, the main
discovery which Marcus made then was that of simplicity (I , 1 7, 5) :
to have been subj ect to a ruler who was to take away from me every
trace of pride, and give me the idea that it was possible to live at
court without any bodyguards, nor conspicuous dress, nor the
lamps and statues which go along with it; nor in general with any of
this kind of pomp; but that one may very well restrict oneself to a
kind of life very close to that of a private citizen, without thereby
becoming base or indifferent toward devoting oneself like a sover
eign to what must be done for the public good.
His adoption would give Marcus an adoptive brother, Lucius Verus (I,
6) ; and Marcus thanks the gods for having made him meet
l 7,
such a brother, who, by his character, could awaken me to take care

of myself, and who, at the same time, made me happy by his
deference and his affection.
Soon would come Marcus' marriage to Faustina (in 1 45) , which Mar
cus mentions further on. At the moment, he thinks of his children, " who
were neither ungifted nor misshapen. "
This was also the time of his rhetorical studies with Pronto and
Herodes Atticus, but Marcus makes no allusion to them in this chapter.
Too much success in this field would have taken him away from philoso
phy, but here again the gods were watchful (I, 1 7, 8) :
Not to have made too much progress in rhetoric, poetry, and the
other occupations, by which I might have been caught up, if I had
felt that I was making good progress in them.
In any case, Marcus has, thanks to the gods, done everything to repay
his teachers (I, 1 7 , 9) :
To have hurried to establish my teachers in the honorific positions

which it seemed to me they wanted, and not to have left them in
the mere hope that I would do it later, since they were still young.
Finally comes the main point: philosophy and its practice (I, 1 7, r n) :
To have known Apollonius, Rusticus, and Maximus. To have had
clear and frequent representations of the " life according to nature, "
so that, insofar as it depends on the gods and on the communica
tions, assistance, and inspirations which come from above, nothing
now prevents me from living " according to nature " ; but I am far
from that point by my own fault, because I pay no attention to the
reminders, or rather to the teachings, which come from the gods.
Thus, divine graces helped Marcus to practice philosophy, and also to
resist the temptations of luxuriousness and anger, as well as the fatigue of
the imperial life (I, 1 7, 1 2) :
That my body has resisted such a life for so long.
This brief remark perhaps allows us to glimpse the hardships which
Marcus endured while on the Danubian campaign.
Not to have touched B enedicta or Theodotus; and later on, when I
did fall prey to erotic passions, that I was cured.
Marcus was not the impassive Stoic that many have imagined. There
were, of course, his youthful infatuations with Benedicta and Theodotus,
about whom we know nothing; perhaps Marcus met them while living
with his grandfather. But there were also more mature passions, from
which he was able to be cured. We should recall, moreover, that after the
death of Faustina, Marcus took in a concubine, with whom he lived for
the last three years of his life.64
Although I often got angry with Rusticus, that I did not do any
thing extreme, which I would later have regretted.
There were thus stormy relations between the disciple and his director of
conscience; but Marcus does not say whether they were limited to the
period of his youth and philosophical education, or whether they contin-
28 5
ued after he became Emperor, when Rusticus became a highly influen

tial counselor to Marcus.
It was also a blessing from the gods that his mother, who died young,
was able to live with him for the last years of her life, at the court of
Antoninus. Another was that he was always able to help the needy. It was
another blessing for Marcus to have had such a wife, in the person of the
Empress Faustina, " so sweet, so affectionate, so lacking in artifice. " Fi
nally, it was a blessing that he was able to provide his children with a
good education.
Marcus then evokes the remedies against spitting blood and dizziness,
which were revealed to him in dreams.
Finally, Marcus returns to a theme he has already mentioned when
speaking of Rusticus: not the least of the gods' blessings was the fact that
he did not become interested in abstract philosophical discourse, either
logical or concerning the study of nature. Rather, we are to understand
that Marcus learned, above all, to live in a philosophical way. "All this, "
Marcus concludes, " requires the help of the gods and of Fortune. " In the
last analysis, " all this " is the entire content of the Meditations: all those
relatives, teachers, and friends who showered him with examples and
advice; but also the divine inspirations which helped him in his physical
and spiritual life. I have spoken earlier of the two viewpoints of the Stoic
conception of providence, and I have said that these two viewpoints-a
general law of the universe, indifferent to individual beings, and a par
ticular action on the part of the gods, which takes care of individuals
were not mutually exclusive. Book I can obviously be classified under
the second perspective: that of particular providence. In this book, Mar
cus sees his entire life in the peaceful light of the gods' solicitude for him.
The reader may be surprised that the author of the Meditations, reign
ing over an immense empire, overwhelmed with worries, but also used
to elevating himself to grandiose visions which embraced the immensity
of space and time, would thank the gods for things which may seem
mundane or even trivial, such as the fact that he did not make progress in
rhetoric. Other subj ects for thanks do not rise above the level of the
aspirations of an ordinary man: to raise his children well; to be in good
health; to have good parents and a loving wife .
Perhaps w e are touching here upon a particular aspect o f Marcus'
psychology. Thanks to his study of Epictetus and the Stoics, Marcus is
quite capable of meditating, in a remarkable style, upon highly elevated
themes. From his mother, however, as well as from Rusticus and Anton
inus, he learned to live at court the life of an ordinary man; for instance,
286
as we know from his correspondence with Fronto, he helped the farm

workers with the grape harvest. We do not find in Marcus an aristocratic
or rhetorical search for " great feelings " or geopolitical perspectives; in
stead, we find a highly characteristic attention paid to the realities of daily
life. This was, moreover, also the lesson taught by Epictetus. In order to
show that you are a human being, the latter used to say, " eat like a
human being; drink like a human being; get married; have children" (III,
21, 4-6) . In Marcus' case, we may add to the equation a certain candor,
naivete, and simplicity, which made him search, in the pitiless world of
the Roman aristocracy, for tenderness, affection, and warmth of feelings,
and the authenticity of simple human relations.
In the remaining books of the Meditations, we find only a very small
number of autobiographical references. There are a few allusions to
Marcus' name and his position as Emperor, and to his adoptive father,
Antoninus Pius, of whom Marcus traces a brief portrait (VI, 3 0) which
seems to be a sketch for the one that can now be read in Book I. There
are also a few words on Marcus' old age (II, 2, 4; II, 6) ; on his difficulty in
getting up in the morning (V, l ; VIII, 1 2) ; and on the repugnance he
feels for life at court (VIII, 9) and for the games of the circus (VI, 46) .
What is completely remarkable, both in Book I and throughout the
Meditations, is Marcus' consciousness of his own fallibility65-to the point
that his " Confessions " are also a kind of confession of his faults. This is an
eminently Stoic attitude (Epictetus, II, l l , l ) :
The starting-point of philosophy is our consciousness o f our weak
ness and our incapacity with regard to necessary things.
For Marcus, however, this attitude perhaps comes naturally. In the first
place, he admits that he has not really succeeded so far in living like a
philosopher (VII, l ) ; that his soul is not yet in the dispositions of peace
and love in which it should be (X, l ) ; that, despite reprieves and warn
ings from the gods, it is his fault that he does not yet live " according to
Nature, " that is, according to Reason (I, 1 7, I I ) . What is more, he
perceives within himself a disposition to commit errors (I, 1 7, 2; XI, 1 8 ,
7) ; and if h e does not commit a given error, it is only out of fear and of
what others will say. Basically, however, he is no different from those
whom he criticizes (XI , 1 8 , 7) . He also admits that he can be wrong, and
he accepts that his errors must be corrected (VI, 2 1 ; VIII, 1 6) . He knows
that he runs the risk of seeing defects where there are in fact none (IX,
3 8 ; XII , 1 6) ; and he willingly accepts assistance, like a lame soldier inca

pable of climbing up a wall (VII , 7; VII, 5 ) .
Marcus is, moreover, perfectly aware o f the limits o f his intelligence
(V, 5, r ) :
They can hardly admire your quickness of mind. So be it! But there
are many other things about which you cannot say, " I am not
gifted. " Show us, then, all these things that depend entirely on you:
being without duplicity, being serious . . . being free . . .
To be sure, we do not find in Marcus the fondness for self-accusation
which we find in Augustine, who is persuaded a priori of the corruption
of human nature. It does seem, however, that Marcus was gifted by
nature with an acute self-consciousness, and a considerable capacity for
self-criticism; or rather with the ability of examining himself with obj ec
tivity, in which he recognized his faults, but also his qualities. The fol
lowing brief remark is noteworthy (VIII, 42) :
I don't deserve to be ashamed of myself, for I have never voluntarily
harmed anyone.
Near to death, Marcus makes a summation of his life which is, in the
last analysis, confident and positive (V, 3 1 , 2) :
Remind yourself of what kinds of things you have gone through,
and what you have been able to bear. The story of your life is full,
and your service is complete. Remember all the fine things you
have seen; all the pleasures and sufferings you have overcome; all
the motives for glory which you have despised; all the ingrates to
whom you have been benevolent.
Renan66 was critical of Marcus' " Confessions, " especially as they ap
pear in Book I :
He could see the baseness o f humanity, but h e did not admit i t to
himself This way of voluntarily blinding oneself is the defect of
elite hearts. Since the world is not the way they would like it to be,
they lie to themselves, in order to see it as other than it is. The result
of this is a certain conventionality of judgment. In Marcus, this
conventionality is sometimes annoying: if we were to believe him,
288
his teachers-several of whom were fairly mediocre men-would

all, without exception, have been superior beings .
This judgment is far off the mark. In the first place, Marcus tried to
render to each person exactly what he or she was owed, and no more;
we have seen this in the case of Fronto. Let us also note what he says
about his adoptive brother, Lucius Verus-who, although his exact per
sonality is difficult to determine, can at least be said to have been ex
tremely different from Marcus. Marcus does not say that Verus was
perfect; on the contrary, when he saw Verus' life-style, Marcus was led to
watch himself so as not to imitate him. In the end, Verus' bad example
was a blessing from the gods; and all Marcus adds is that his brother
showed deference and affection for him. It also seems as though Marcus
made a careful choice of whom to mention and whom, since they had
not contributed anything to him, he could ignore.
Book I is simultaneously an act of thanksgiving and a confession; a
balance sheet of divine action and of Marcus' own resistance to divine
action. For Marcus, this action took place in the only important area: that
of moral value and virtue. He does not thank the gods for having ele
vated him to the Empire, nor for having granted him victory over the
Germans, but for having guided him toward the philosophical life, with
the help of a few men who were sent to him providentially.
Verus or fictus: " sincere " or " affected "

A passage from the Life ef Marcus Aurelius contained in the Historia
Augusta shows us that the Emperor's contemporaries wondered what his
real personality was:
Some also complained that he was affected (fictus) and not so simple
(simplex) as he seemed, or as Antoninus Pius and Verus had been.67
A play on words is involved here: Marcus' original name was Annius
Verus, and the word verus evokes sincerity. The emperor Hadrian, who
had known Marcus in his childhood, had even given him the nickname
Verissimus, " the very sincere. " Some of Marcus' detractors, then, appar
ently said that he should have been called not Verus but Fictus-that is,
not " Sincere " but "Affected. " This criticism probably came from the
historian Marius Maximus,68 who had begun his political career in the
last years of Marcus' reign. Maximus collected all the current gossip
about the imperial family, and the Historia Augusta often echoes him.
Cassius Dio, a historian who was more or less contemporary with
Marius Maximus, maintains a position that is diametrically opposed:
He obviously did nothing out of affectation (prospoietos), but every
thing out of virtue . . . he remained the same through everything,
and did not change on any point. To such an extent was he a truly
good man, and there was nothing affected about him. 69
To reproach Marcus with affectation was in fact to reproach him with
being a philosopher. The philosophical life he led caused him to have a
strange attitude, which was different from that of other people, and
therefore " affected, " in their view.
Cassius Dio, for instance, who recognized the Emperor's sincerity, was
astonished at the extraordinary clemency which he showed on the occa
sion of the rebellion by Avidius Cassius: " Nothing could force him to do
anything alien to his own character: not the idea of making an example
of someone, nor the magnitude of the crime. "70
In fact, however, we must go further, and recognize the genuine
difficulty of moral life. Whoever tries to control himself, to practice
spiritual exercises, to transform himself, and to act with conscientiousness
and reflection gives the impression of lacking spontaneity and of being
calculating. Here we confront the eternal problem of moral effort, and of
work by oneself upon oneself We know, for example, that Marcus, in
order to correct his own conduct, had investigations made concerning
what the public was saying about him; when the criticisms were justified,
he modified his behavior. 71
The Emperor was quite conscious of this danger, which may be insur
mountable. In Book I, he expresses his admiration for Claudius
Maximus, because he gave the impression of being a man who was
naturally " straight " and not one who has corrected or " straightened"
himself (I, I 5 , 8) . The same theme is present in other books of the
Meditations:
One must be straight, and not straightened (III, 5 ,
4;
VII, 1 2) .
When Marcus praises sincerity (XI, 1 5) , h e criticizes people who

begin by saying " I shall speak frankly to you, " and then obviously do
nothing of the kind. Frankness, says Marcus, is written on one's face; it
resonates in the voice and shines in the eyes. It is perceived immediately,

as the beloved perceives love in the eyes of his lover. Good, simple, and
benevolent people have their qualities in their eyes: they do not remain
hidden. Marcus demanded that moral action be perfectly natural, as if it
were unconscious, without any return upon itsel(
It is possible that the gods, to whom Marcus addresses his thanks at the
end of Book I, did not bestow upon him the supreme blessing, in the
sense of supreme ease and beauty: the ability to make others believe that
one does good deeds by nature. I think, however, that no one can deny
the good will and scrupulous conscientiousness with which Marcus at
tempted to do good. In this point, at least, he was scrupulously sincere.
The solitude of the emperor and of the philosopher

In the famous portrait of the philosopher which he sketches m the
Theaetetus ( 1 74e) , Plato did not forget to mention what the philosopher
thinks of kings and tyrants. What is a king? What is a tyrant? A shepherd
or a cowherd, who is happy if he can squeeze lots of milk from his herd.
In fact, however, he is not as fortunate as he seems, for the beasts he must
milk and pasture are much more unpleasant, difficult, sneaky, and treach
erous than those of a simple shepherd. Moreover, absorbed by the cares
of governing these disagreeable beasts called men, he has no more mental
freedom, and he is just as rough and uncultivated as the shepherds, " once
he has surrounded himself with an enclosure around his animal pen in
the mountains. "
This is precisely what Marcus the philosopher tells Marcus the em
peror: wherever he goes, he will be enclosed in the prison of power
alone, without any leisure, and confronted by the sneaky beasts men
tioned by Plato (X, 2 3 ) :
Let i t always b e clear t o you that your countryside i s the place
where you are living at this moment, and that everything here is
identical to what is on a high mountain or on the seashore, or
wherever you like; you'll immediately find there what Plato talks
about: " Surrounding himself with a pen in the mountains, " he says,
and " milking his flocks. "
What Marcus means is the following: wherever you go, you will find the
prison of power and the solitude in which you are enclosed by your
position as shepherd of men. Wherever you go, however, it will be
within you and only within you that you will find that countryside,
seashore, or mountain which can liberate you from the prison you find
everywhere (c IV, 3 , l ) . In other words, it is the emperor's inner
dispositions that will decide if he is imprisoned within his mountain
enclosure, like Plato's king, or if he will find pleasure and relaxation in
the mountains or the countryside, as he would like. No matter where we
go, we find-according to our wishes-servitude or freedom.
" Mountain " here has two meanings: it is the symbol of the enclosure
within which the tyrant/king lives as a prisoner together with the flock
of animals he exploits; but it is also the symbol of retreat within ourselves
and the inner freedom which we can find anywhere, as long as we want
it (X, 1 5 , 2) :
Live as if you were on a mountain. It doesn't matter whether one
lives in one place or another, as long as one lives everywhere as
within one's own City, which is the World.
And yet the philosopher's inner retreat, which is his philosophical life in
conformity with Stoicism, will provoke another solitude and rupture
between the flock and its shepherd: a serious disparity between the values
of both parties.
This uneasiness explains Marcus' repugnance with regard to life at
court, which he compares to a stepmother (VI, 1 2) , whereas his true
mother is philosophy, which allows him to put up with the court, and to
make himself bearable to those who live at court. Yet he blames himself
for this attitude (VIII, 9) :
Let no one hear you blame the life people lead at court any longer!
Let not you yourself hear yourself doing it!
Here we encounter once again what we could call the theme of life on a
mountain: wherever one can live, one can live well; that is to say,
philosophically. But it is possible to live at court; therefore, it is possible
to live well there (V, 1 6, 2) . Marcus gives this argument as an example of
the way in which the soul can suffuse itself with specific representations.
Marcus' repugnance for life at court was not, however, mere su
perficial annoyance: rather, the discord ran extremely deep. As he con
tinues this meditation on life " on a mountain"-that is to say, within the
City of the World-Marcus allows us to glimpse just how deep this
discord and this rupture go (X, l 5 , 3 ) :
2 92
Let people see and discover what a man who truly lives in accord
ance with nature is like! If they can't put up with you, then let them
kill you! That would be better than to live like them!
The conflict is situated in the profound difference between the two
parties' principles of life, and it is summarized by Marcus in a lapidary
formula which opposes the two Greek words homothamnein and homodog
matein (XI , 8 , 6) :
Grow on the same trunk, but don't profess the same principles.
These two duties are hard to reconcile: on the one hand, our duty to
love other human beings, with whom we form one single body, tree, or
city; on the other, our duty not to let ourselves be caj oled into adopting
their false values and maxims of life.
This is the drama of Marcus' life. He loves mankind, and wants to love
them; but he hates what they love. Only one thing counts for him: the
search for virtue and the purity of moral intention. This human world
from which this unique value is absent-provokes in Marcus an intense
reprobation and lassitude; yet he gets hold of himself, and attempts to
reintroduce gentleness and indulgence within himself
This disgust and lassitude make Marcus long for death, and he knows
that this is wrong. We know how important a part is played in the
Meditations by the " helps, " or arguments for preparing oneself for death.
Some are entirely philosophical, as for instance those which teach us to
consider death as a particular case of universal metamorphosis, or a mys
tery of nature (II, 1 2 , 3 ; IV, 5 ; IX, 3 , 1-4) . Some of them, however, are
not philosophical, but are coarse (idiotika) and vulgar, although highly
effective: for instance, those which consist in making a list of people who
hung on desperately to life, unwilling to let go, and who nevertheless
died (IV, 50) . A similar consideration, which Marcus admits (IX, 3 , 5) is
also completely unphilosophical (idiotikon), but which touches the heart,
consists in telling oneself that, in the last analysis, what one is leaving is
not really worth much. This method consists in
carefully examining the kinds of objects from which you are about
to separate yourself, and with what bad characters your soul will no
longer be mixed. To be sure, you must by no means be disgusted by
them; on the contrary, you must be filled with solicitude for them,
and put up with them gently. Nevertheless, you must also remem-
2 93
her that you must take leave of people who do not share your
principles. If it were possible, the only thing which could push you
back in the other direction and maintain you in life, would be if it
were possible for you to live in a society of people who had adopted
the same principles as you.
As things are, however, you can see how much you are filled
with lassitude at the discords of social life; to the point where you
say: " Hurry up, 0 Death, lest I too forget mysel "
One thinks of Baudelaire's cry, so expressive of fatigue with terrestrial
life and an aspiration for the infinite: " 0 Death, old captain . . . this land
is boring! Let us cast off! " Yet if Marcus calls on Death to come quickly,
it is less out oflassitude than out of fear of becoming similar to those who
forget themselves and live in a state of unconsciousness.
The disgust which Marcus feels for his entourage is certainly surpris
ing. Did he not surround himself with friends and counselors who were
also philosophers, like his beloved Rusticus and all those whom we were
able to glimpse thanks to the testimony of Galen? It could be supposed
that, by these last years of Marcus' life, his friends had disappeared, and
that he now misses the beginning of his reign. And yet we know from
Cassius Dio72 that Marcus admitted that no one could be perfect:
He used to say that it is impossible to create people as one would
like them to be, but that each one had to be utilized in the task
which he was capable of accomplishing.
He used to praise them for the service they had rendered, and he
paid no attention to the rest of their behavior.
Are we to suppose that he had become more intransigent in his old
age? Alternatively, can we perceive in these lines the disappointment
Marcus felt as he saw the development of the character of Commodus?
This was the view of Renan, especially a propos of another passage (X,
3 6) , which is also very striking in its expression of lassitude and disap
pointment:
No one is so well-favored by Destiny that, at the moment of his
death, he is not surrounded by people who will rej oice at this sad
event. The dead man was conscientious and well-behaved; yet
someone will finally turn up to say, " This schoolteacher (paidagogos)
2 94
will now finally let us breathe. To b e sure, he was not harsh with
any of us; but I could feel that he was condemning us in silence. "
Later on in the text, Marcus opposes the case of this good man to his
own situation. In a sense, however, when he speaks of this good man, he
is already thinking about himself; for he is well aware of the fact that not
only those around him, but also the entire Empire, knew that he was
trying to be a philosopher. An apocryphal letter from Lucius Verus to his
adoptive brother, preserved by the Historia Augusta, may reflect an opin
ion widespread in Marcus' time: it warns Marcus that Avidius Cassius,
who was to revolt against him near the end of Marcus' reign, spoke of
him as an " old woman who plays at being a philosopher. "73 Many people
must have had similar views of the Emperor; perhaps they had even
nicknamed him " the pedagogue. " In any case, Marcus uses this descrip
tion of the death of a good man as an a fortiori argument: if such a man
must expect such an end, then all the more must Marcus himself expect
similar reactions at the moment of his own death:
This is what people will say about a good man. In my case, how
ever, how many more reasons there are for there to be many people
to want to get rid of me . You'll have to think of that when you die.
You will leave life more easily, if you think: the life that I am
leaving is one in which my associates (koinonoi), for whom I have
fought so hard and prayed so much, for whom I have had so much
concern, want me to go away. Perhaps they hope for some relief
from my disappearance.
Who were these associates or companions (koinonoi) ? They could have
been the Emperor's counselors, who made up the imperial council and
who, in the words of the Emperor's contemporary Aelius Aristides, were
participants in power. Yet the expressions " I have fought so hard" and " I
have prayed s o much " imply a very special relationship between the
Emperor and these " associates. " It is hard not to think, with Renan, of
Commodus, Marcus' young son, who had been given imperial power in
1 77 , three years before the Emperor's death, and who was probably
already manifesting the disastrous tendencies that would develop during
his reign.
Be that as it may, Marcus transforn1s his meditation on the ingratitude
of others into a preparation for death. Unlike the preparation mentioned
above, this one is not philosophical, since it sins against the discipline of
action, which requires us to love our fellow human beings. Nevertheless,
29 5
it is powerfully effective, since it diminishes the anguish and suffering

caused by the loss of life:
Why should we try to prolong our stay in this place?
Yet Marcus corrects himself immediately (X, 3 6 , 6) :
And yet, don't go away for that reason less well-disposed toward
them. Rather, you must remain faithful to your own character, and
be friendly, benevolent, and merciful toward them.
This is the disposition in which we should always remain. Yet lassitude
and disappointment sometimes win the day, and Marcus implicitly rec
ognizes that they are not philosophical, but are a weakness, and perhaps
even a pass10n.
Such a complex sentiment appears to consist of several elements. In
the first place, we find in it a view of human frailty that is free of illusion.
Marcus had a sharp and highly realistic sense of both his own fallibility
and that of others, which sometimes went so far as to consider these
others incorrigible (VIII, 4) :
They'll still do the same things, even if it kills you!
As W. Williams has shown, this is why Marcus was always careful to
dot the i's and cross the t's of the official documents which expressed his
decisions. He seems to have feared that his subordinates might fail to
understand his orders, or refuse to carry them out in the way he wanted.
For instance, in one case a slave was set free by a will, but this might have
been contested because of the form of the will. Marcus, however, was in
favor of the " cause of freedom, " and always tended to make enfranchise
ment easier; thus he took the trouble to specify that his decision should
be not left as a dead letter, by bringing up some other motive, such as the
fact that the Treasury might claim the property left by the testator. As
Marcus writes,
Those who have our interests at heart must know that the cause of
freedom is to be placed before all financial advantage.74
One the one hand, we can perceive here the importance of the hu
man, moral point of view for Marcus. On the other hand, we can also
glimpse a certain lack of confidence in the intellectual and moral qualities
of his subordinates. These difficulties with his entourage, moreover, took

on greater proportions as a result of Marcus' undeniable propensity to
ward anger, which the Emperor made no attempt to conceal; he was
aware that becoming angry constituted a weakness (XI, 9, 2) .
The main cause of Marcus' lassitude, however, was his passionate love
for moral good. A world in which this absolute value was not recognized
seemed to him an empty world, in which life no longer had any mean
ing. As he grew old in such an enormous empire, in the huge crowds
which surrounded and acclaimed him, in the atrocious Danubian war as
well as in the triumphal parades of the city of Rome, he felt himself
alone. Marcus felt a void around himself, since he could not realize his
ideal (IX, 3 , 7) : to live in community with others, in search of the only
thing necessary.
Political models
Marcus does not propose any specific governmental program in the
Meditations. This should not surprise us, for he is less concerned with
what must be done than with how it must be done. Nevertheless, Book I
does contain some allusions to political practice . Through Claudius
Severus, Marcus writes (I, 1 4) , he has come to know Thrasea, Helvidius,
Cato, Dio, and Brutus. This list of names has a quite precise meaning.75
Paetus Thrasea was the famous senator who, in the year 66, was forced
to commit suicide because of his outspoken opposition to the emperor
Nero. Helvidius Priscus, Thrasea's son-in-law, was assassinated in the
reign of Vespasian, probably in the year 7 5 . Both were opponents of the
emperors, and this attitude was a kind of family tradition, in which the
women also often took part. The portraits of these martyrs were kept
within the great aristocratic families, and their biographies were written.
Under some emperors, however, writing such works also meant risking
death. At the beginning of his Life of Agricola, Tacitus evokes the happi
ness which the emperor Nerva brought to Rome by establishing a reign
which, says Tacitus, reconciled monarchy and freedom. Under Nerva's
predecessor Domitian, by contrast, it had been forbidden to write the
biographies of opponents of the emperor.
Arulenus Rusticus wrote a panegyric of Paetus Thrasea, and Heren
nius Senecion wrote one of Helvidius Priscus: both paid with their
lives . . . It was thought that the voice of the Roman people, the
29 7
free speech ibertas) of the Senate, and the conscience of the human
race could be stifled.
It was almost fifty years after these events that Marcus Aurelius,
through the intermediary of Claudius Severus, discovered this tradition
of opposition. In turn, however, these opponents of the Empire had
maintained the cult of other, older martyrs, who had lived in the last
stages of the Republic, under Caesar. When Juvenal, a contemporary of
Tacitus, speaks in his Satires 0/, 3 6) of the high quality of a wine, he
writes that it is similar to that which Paetus Thrasea and Helvidius Priscus
drank on the birthdays of Brutus and Cassius, the murderers of Caesar.
According to Marcus, Claudius Severus had also told him about the
figure of Brutus, who lived in the first century B.C. (8 5-42) , and about
Cato. The figure in question is obviously Cato of Utica (95-46) , who, as
an opponent of Caesar, committed suicide upon the approach of the
latter's troops.
Did Claudius Severus provide Marcus with the biographies of
Thrasea, Helvidius Priscus, Brutus, and Cato? Thrasea had written a life
of Cato, and Helvidius a life of Thrasea, while Herennius Senecion had
composed a life of Helvidius. Did Claudius also have Marcus read the
parallel lives of Brutus and Dio of Syracuse, written by Plutarch, who
had also composed the parallel lives of Phocion and Cato of Utica? It is in
any case surprising to see, in the list of Romans enumerated by Claudius
Severus, a Greek, who lived from about 409 to 3 54 B.c. : namely Dio,
who deposed the Syracusan tyrant Dionysius, but who was in turn him
self assassinated.76 It is highly unlikely that the Dio mentioned here could
be Dio Chrysostom, the rhetor and philosopher who was exiled under
Domitian but later recovered imperial favor. The rest of the list consists
of only statesmen, so that Dio Chrysostom would be an exception, and
he was not really a " martyr" of opposition to the Empire.
Claudius Severus may very well have spoken of these figures in a
conversation in which he emphasized the common element that linked
them all together: the link between philosophy and a specific conception
of politics; that is to say, the hatred of tyranny. Dio had been a disciple of
Plato, and according to Plutarch,77 he practiced the philosophical virtues
of frankness of speech, greatness of soul, gravity, clemency toward his
enemies, and frugality. By deposing Dionysius, Dio brought freedom
back to Syracuse and abolished the tyranny, but he supported a middle
path between tyranny and democracy: a monarchy subj ect to laws,
which is the governmental program set forth in the Eighth Letter, attrib
uted to Plato.
Brutus, a Roman, was also a Platonist. He followed the tendency
which was fashionable in his time: that of Antiochus of Ascalon, strongly
tinged with Stoicism. Brutus had written treatises entitled " On Duty, "
" On Patience, " and " On Virtue. " He was both the assassin of Caesar and
the man who killed himself after having been defeated in the civil war
which followed Caesar's assassination. Like Dio, Brutus was an enemy of
tyranny, and he fought for public liberty.
In the eyes of Seneca, Cato was one of the rare incarnations of the
ideal of the Stoic Sage.78 Before his suicide, Cato discussed the Stoic
paradox according to which only the Sage is free. Then, he read Plato's
Phaedo. 79 His whole way oflife was that of a philosopher, who tried at the
same time to revive the rigorous life of the ancient Romans. He trained
himself for physical endurance, traveled on foot, went against current
fashions, affected disdain for money, and refused any form of connivery
or complicity with the exactions carried out by powerful Romans.
Brutus and Cato were republicans. Freedom, for them, was above all
that of the Senate: in other words, the right to govern of a ruling class
which opposed the arbitrariness of the tyranny of one man. Cato also
wished to introduce moral or philosophical rigor into the senatorial class.
Under the Empire, Thrasea and Helvidius dreamed of a return to the
ancient institutions of the Roman Republic; in other words, they wished
to restore political authority to the Senate. Both were Stoics, and within
the Stoic tradition-particularly in Epictetus80-they would remain as
examples of constancy, mental firmness, and indifference to indifferent
things. Epictetus himself knew this opposition to imperial power well,
thanks to his teacher Musonius Rufus, who had been closely linked to
Thrasea.
All these memories were awakened by the reign and the persecutions
of Domitian, as we can see from the numerous allusions to this somber
period which can be found in the letters of Pliny the Younger. With the
total change of atmosphere brought about by the accession of the em
peror Nerva, which was prolonged under his successors Trajan, Hadrian,
and Antoninus, both Senators and philosophers had the impression that
the Empire had somehow become reconciled with the spirit of these
supporters of the republican ideal and of Stoicism. This is certainly the
meaning of the remarks by Claudius Severus on the martyrs who gave
their lives in the fight against tyranny. 81
By evoking these almost legendary figures, Claudius Severus gave
2 99
Marcus a glimpse of the principles of political conduct (I, 1 4, 2) . It is to

Claudius, writes Marcus, that he owes the
fact of having had a representation of a State (politeia) in which the
laws are equal for all , administered on the basis of equality and
freedom of speech, and of a monarchy which respects the freedom
of its subj ects above all else.
The idea of a law that is equal for all goes back to the Eighth Letter,
attributed to Plato . The equality in question is geometrical, and it distrib
utes benefits to each person in accordance with his or her merit. This is
precisely the Aristotelian and Stoic definition ofjustice : it accords advan
tages in proportion to merit.
The ideas of equal rights, of equal rights to speech, and of freedom had
been extremely closely linked since the most ancient period of Greek
democracy. However, when Tacitus, writing under the Empire, spoke of
the reconciliation between monarchy and freedom brought about by
Nerva, the idea of freedom had lost much of its content. It no longer
meant the citizen's possibility to participate unhindered in political life.
Rather, it included such notions as the protection and safety of individu
als, and individual freedom (the right to express oneself, for example, or
to move freely) . For the cities, it meant the possibility of preserving their
traditions and a certain degree of municipal autonomy; but above all , for
the Senate, it meant the ability to influence the Emperor's decisions to a
greater or lesser extent.
Claudius Severus taught the future sovereign that freedom is compat
ible with monarchy, if one understands by " monarchy " a regime that
respects the laws and the citizens. In fact, since he was so close to the
Emperor Antoninus, who exercised this kind of moderate power him
self, Marcus could not fail to be familiar with this way of governing.
Claudius Severus thus did not cause Marcus to discover it; instead, he
probably revealed to him the historical roots of this conception of mon
archy: the opposition to tyranny of the philosopher-martyrs.
Claudius thus made Marcus aware of the principles of conduct that
must guide an enlightened monarch: respect for the law, recognition of
the rights of the Senate, attendance at its sessions, participation in its
deliberations, and recognition of the right to speak, not only for the
prince's council or the Senate, but also for simple citizens, when they
addressed the Emperor.
The ancient historians have given us some examples of the way Mar-
3 00
cus applied these principles. I n order to finance the Danubian war, he

took the trouble to ask the public treasury for funds. It was not, as Cassius
Dio notes, 82 as if these funds were not at the Emperor's disposition; yet
Marcus insisted on acknowledging that they belonged to the Senate and
the Roman People. Speaking to the Senate, Marcus said:
We possess nothing of our own, and it is in your house that we live.
According to the Historia Augusta, 83 Marcus always deliberated with
his council before undertaking anything, whether in war or in peace; for
his motto was:
It is more j ust for me to follow the advice of my friends, than that
the multitude of my friends should follow my will alone .
Marcus was extremely careful t o take the Senate's opinion into con
sideration. He let the mime-writers criticize him openly. The historian
Herodian specifies that Marcus entertained all requests, and forbade his
guards to bar the way to people who wished to approach him. 84 The
Historia Augusta sums up Marcus' entire attitude in the following terms:
Toward the people, he behaved exactly as ifhe were acting in a free
State. 85
The portrait of Antoninus Pius which Marcus gives in Book I serves in
part to illustrate these principles of government. In a sense, it sketches the
features of the ideal prince, with whom the Emperor would like to
identify himself. We find a trace of this portrait in the Meditations (VI,
3 0) , where Marcus exhorts himself not to become " Caesarized" and not
to let the imperial purple rub off on him: instead, he is to become a true
disciple of Antoninus. Marcus takes particular care to describe the moral
qualities that Antoninus showed in his way of governing, which Marcus
intended to imitate. When, after due reflection, Antoninus had made a
decision, he held firmly to it: he was identical in every circumstance. He
never abandoned a question without having examined it thoroughly. He
put up with people who reproached him unjustly. He never hurried, did
not listen to calumnies, and could fathom people's morals and actions
with penetrating acuity. He did not seek to humiliate; neither did he fear
nor scorn anyone. Nor was he a sophist: he led a simple life, and was
content with little with regard to his lodging, his clothing, his food, and
his household servants. He was patient and hardworking, loyal and con-
301
stant i n his friendships. He tolerated being contradicted with great frank

ness, and he was happy to hear a better solution proposed. He was pious,
but not superstitious.
In this initial portrait of the ideal prince, which was to be partially
taken up again in Book I , we note some forms of behavior that Marcus
often exhorts himself to practice throughout the Meditations: for instance,
to allow his counselors to have different opinions from his, and to agree
to their opinion if it is better (IV, 1 2 ; VIII, 1 6) ; not to humiliate people
(XI, 1 3 , 2; XI, 1 8 , 1 8) ; and to remain identical with himself throughout
his entire life (XI , 2 1 ) .
In the middle o f the Meditations, this portrait o f Antoninus appears like
a foreign body; it is surprising that Marcus should have taken the time to
produce such a sketch, apparently so distant from the exhortations with
which he showers himself elsewhere. Yet its presence confirms an im
pression we may already have received while reading the work: the
Meditations are addressed not only to Marcus the man, but to Marcus the
man who exercises the imperial function. Hence, the model of Anton
inus acquires a capital importance.
The features of Antoninus which are sketched in Book I (chapter 1 6)
are more numerous and more precise: they are both memories and
examples, and they often correspond to the canon of the ideal prince,
which philosophical reflection, in accordance with an immemorial tradi
tion, had attempted to formulate.86
Let us leave aside for the moment Marcus' remarks on his adoptive
father's moral qualities, and concentrate on some of the characteristic
political attitudes in this portrait.
First, as far as the relations between sovereign and people are con
cerned, we find the rejection of all demagogy; a total lack of currying
popular favor or gratitude; disdain for vain glory; and the refusal of
acclamations. Antoninus knew when to keep a tight rein, and when to
slacken it; and he practiced rigorous justice, which meant " inflexibly
distributing to each person what was due to his or her merit. "
More broadly, he was constantly attentive to the general needs of the
Empire, and he was extremely thrifty when it came to public expendi
tures. People made fun of him for this, but he was very tolerant with
regard to such criticisms. In particular, he thought long and hard before
offering spectacles to the public, building monuments, or distributing
gifts. Above all, he thought about what it was right to do, and not about
the glory he could derive from his acts. He thus tried-without making a
show of it-to remain faithful to his ancestral customs.
Antoninus showed a great deal of gentleness in his way of governing;
3 02
there was nothing hard, inexorable, or violent about him. He used me

ticulous care in resolving the most minor affairs, and in using foresight
with the utmost detail. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it, and
would not allow himself to be moved. He had few secrets. He listened
attentively to his counselors-traditionally called the "Emperor's
friends "-and he accorded them a great deal of freedom; yet he enj oyed
their company.
We can detect an implicit criticism of Antoninus' predecessors in this
portrait, and in particular of Hadrian.87 If the Emperor took the trouble
to emphasize that his adoptive father put an end to " the love of young
boys, " this was certainly an allusion to what went on in the courts of
Trajan and Hadrian. If he insisted on the fact that Antoninus liked to stay
in the same place, this was probably in order to criticize Hadrian's many
trips to every corner of the Empire. When Marcus spoke of Antoninus'
prudent frugality with regard to expenditures incurred by organizing
spectacles and building monuments, he probably had in mind Hadrian's
prodigality and love of fine construction. Finally, Marcus probably in
tended to contrast Antoninus' conservatism, and his wish to remain close
to ancestral customs-in other words, to old Roman traditions-with
Hadrian's innovations.
Marcus saw in Antoninus a true philosopher, comparable to Socrates,
who knew how to enjoy good things when they were present, and to
abstain from them when they were absent (I, 16, 3 0) . He evokes Anton
inus' perfect and invincible soul (I, 1 6, 3 l ) , as well as the tranquil con
science he displayed in his final hour (VI , 3 o, l 5) . We do not know if
Antoninus considered himself to be a philosopher, but it is quite remark
able that at the moment of his death, he gave the following password to
the tribune of the praetorian cohort: Aequanimitas, or " Serenity"-a
word which lets us glimpse an entire philosophical attitude.88 In any
event, we have every reason to suppose that when it came to sketching
the portrait of his adoptive father, Marcus did not simply collect a few
edifying features. Rather, he expressed his adherence to a quite specific
way of governing: that of Antoninus. The Historia Augusta89 summarizes
this continuity as follows:
From the beginning of their reign, Marcus Aurelius and Lucius

Verus behaved in a manner which was so benevolent and close to
the people (civiliter), that no one had cause to miss the gentleness of
Antoninus.
3 03
"Don't wait for Plato 's republic "

How ridiculous are these little men who play at being politicians,
and, as they think, deal with affairs of State like philosophers! Snotty
little men! Man, what must you do? Do what Nature asks you to do
in this very moment. Direct your will in this direction, if it is
granted you to do so, and don't look around to see whether anyone
will know about it. Don't wait for Plato's Republic! Rather, be
content if one tiny thing makes some progress, and reflect on the
fact that what results from this tiny thing is no tiny thing at all!
Indeed, who will change the principles upon which they guide
their lives? And yet, without a change in these principles, what else
is there but the slavery of people who moan as they pretend to
obey?
Go on, now, quote me some Alexander, some Philip, or some
Demetrius! Let them worry about whether they knew what Univer
sal Nature wanted, and if they educated themselves. But if they
were only acting, no one has condemned me to imitate them.
Don't push me into acting solemn (IX, 29) .
Who were these " ridiculous " and " snotty little men"? It is hard to say.
Perhaps they were people who considered themselves philosophers, and
criticized Marcus because he was not carrying out " great politics. " The
continuation of the passage allows us to suppose that he was accused of
two things: first, he had not realized Plato's Republic. As the philoso
pher-emperor, should he not refom1 the State completely, in accordance
with the principles of philosophy? Second, he had not, unlike Alexander,
Philip of Macedonia, or Demetrius Poliorcetes,90 the " taker of cities, "
carried out a politics of conquest, which would be glorious for him and
for the Empire.
No, replies Marcus: what is essential is to concentrate on present
political and moral action, however modest it may be. Do what Nature
(that is to say, reason) asks you to do in this very moment, and don't let
yourself be carried away by vast utopian views, to the point where you
believe you are in " Plato's Republic. "
" Plato 's Republic " was a proverbial expression, which had a very
precise meaning. It did not, properly speaking, designate the political
program set forth in the great philosopher's dialogue. Rather, more
generally, it referred to a state in which all the citizens would have
become philosophers, and therefore perfect. It was in this sense that
Cicero91 told how the Stoic Mucius Scaevola had pleaded the cause of
Rutilius Rufus " as it could have been pleaded in Plato's Republic "-in
other words, as if he were addressing only philosophers . Elsewhere,
Cicero says92 of Cato of Utica that he used to act as if he were living in
Plato's Republic, and not in the mud of Romulus. This is precisely what
Marcus means. It is extremely difficult to transform the human masses; to
change the values which fascinate them, and the opinions which cause
them to act; or to make philosophers of them. Unless one transforms
their way oflooking at things, completely changing the moral life of each
individual, any reform imposed without their consent would plunge
them into the slavery " of people who moan as they pretend to obey. "
This is the eternal drama of humanity in general and of politics in par
ticular. Unless it transforms people completely, politics can never be
anything other than a compromise with evil.
Marcus wants to be lucid and realistic: he has no illusions about the
general conversion of humanity, or the possibility of imposing upon
people some ideal state. Yet this does not mean that nothing can be done.
Just as Stoic philosophers knew that they would never be sages, but
nevertheless attempted gradually to progress toward this ideal, so the
statesman knows that humanity will never be perfect; yet he must be
happy if, from time to time, he manages to achieve some slight progress.
After all, even slight progress is no minor achievement: moral progress,
however minimal, takes a lot of effort and, above all, has a great deal of
value; for no moral progress is ever slight.
We can perhaps find an example of Marcus' political practice in his
attitude toward gladiatorial combats. Stoic philosophy was hostile to such
spectacles, because they went against the personal human dignity of the
combatants. As Seneca wrote,93
It is a sacrilege to teach men how to inflict and receive wounds.
Man, a sacred thing for man, is nowadays killed out of sport and by
way of pastime.
It is therefore false, I might add, to maintain as does G. Ville94 that the
Stoics were hostile to such spectacles only because they were degrading
for the spectators, but that these philosophers completely ignored the
drama of the victims. This is another example of the prejudice of certain
historians, who persist in attempting to minimize the importance of the
reversal of values represented by Stoic philosophy. Unfortunately for
3 05
them, however, the texts are there and they cannot be avoided: as Seneca
says, Homo sacra res homini.
I t would have been utopian to suppress the games, which were an
essential part of the people's life . Thus, when Marcus enrolled the gladi
ators to fight on the Danube, and the spectacles at Rome were inter
rupted, the people already began to murmur that the Emperor wanted to
convert them to philosophy by taking away their pleasures. 95 Be that as it
may, Marcus must have considered it a small but not negligible progress
to have achieved what we are told by the historian Cassius Dio:96
Marcus Aurelius was so averse to the killing that, at Rome, he
attended combats in which the gladiators fought like athletes, with
out danger. For he did not allow them to be given sharp weapons,
but they had to fight with blunt ones, with buttons on the point.
No utopia, then, but a realistic view of the possibilities and limits of
human nature, and a political policy that had only precise and limited
obj ectives as its goal. Moreover, the philosopher-emperor rej ected any
form of prestige politics: he had to do what was ordered by reason " at
that very moment, " and " not look around to see whether anyone will
know about it" (IX, 29, 4) .
It goes without saying that Marcus could be crushed by a comparison
with Alexander, Philip, or Demetrius (the person in question is De
metrius Poliorcetes, the " taker of cities ") . They were certainly great
conquerors, but Marcus could reply that they were also people domi
nated by their passions. Stoic tradition-for instance, Epictetus (II, 1 3 ,
24)-opposed to their brute material power the spiritual and moral
power of Diogenes, who did not hesitate to speak frankly to them. This
is, moreover, the meaning of one of Marcus' Meditations, which expresses
an analogous idea (VIII, 3 ) :
Alexander, Caesar, and Pompey: what are they compared t o Dio
genes, Heraclitus, or Socrates? The latter saw realities, causes, and
matter; and the guiding principles of their souls were sufficient unto
themselves . As for the others : so much pillage!97 so many people
reduced to slavery!
Alexander, Philip, and D emetrius may have been great conquerors;
but did they know what Nature or universal Reason wanted? Were they
masters, not only of the world, but also of themselves? Or were they,
3 06
instead, nothing but " tragic actors "? I n other words, were they people
who, by means of their conquests, were the cause of atrocious events,
worthy of being represented in a tragedy, and were they themselves
actors who took up false and solemn poses? Pace the " snotty little men"
to whom Marcus alludes, nothing can make him imitate them. He will
continue to do his j ob as an emperor and a true philosopher: that is to
say, by conforming at every instant to the will of Reason and Nature, not
with turgid solemnity but with simplicity.
For Marcus, philosophy does not propose a political program. Rather,
he expects that philosophy will form him and prepare him, by means of
the spiritual exercises which he performs, to carry out his political action
in a specific spirit and style. What one does matters less than the way in
which one does it. In the last analysis, the only true politics is ethics. It
consists, above all, in the discipline of action, which, as we have seen,
consists essentially in service to the human community, devotion to
others, and j ustice. Like the discipline of action, politics cannot be sepa
rated from the great human and cosmic perspectives that are opened up
for us by our recognition of a transcendent universality-Reason or
Nature-which, by means of its harmony with itself, founds both peo
ple's love for one another and their love for that Whole of which they
are the parts. It is hard not to think of the recent comments of Vaclav
Havel,98 as he discusses what he calls the " moral State " or the " spiritual
State " :
True politics-the only thing worthy o f the name, and the only
thing I will consent to practice-is politics in the service of our
fellow man, and in the service of the community. . . . Its basis is
ethical, insofar as it is only the realization of the responsibility of all
toward all . . . . [It] is nourished by the certainty, conscious or un
conscious, that . . . everything is inscribed forever; that everything is
evaluated elsewhere, somewhere " above us, " in what I have called
" the memory of Being " : it is that part which is indissociable from
the cosmos, from nature and from life which believers call God, and
to whose judgment all things are submitted . . . . To try to remain, in
all circumstances, courteous, j ust, tolerant, understanding; and at
the same time uncorruptible and infallible. In sum, to try and re
main in harmony with my conscience and with my better self.
CONCLUS I O N
At the beginning of this book I alluded to the extraordinary success

which Marcus Aurelius' Meditations have enjoyed throughout the centu
ries, beginning with the first edition in the sixteenth century. How can
we explain this phenomenon? Why does this work continue, even today,
to fascinate us to such an extent? Perhaps one reason is the consummate
art with which the Emperor chiseled out his aphorisms. In the words of
Nietzsche:
A good saying is too hard for the teeth of time, and all the millennia
are not enough to consume it, although it serves as food for every
epoch. It is thus the great paradox of literature: the imperishable in
the midst of the changing, the food which always is appreciated, like
salt, and again like salt, it never becomes insipid. 1
Yet the nutritive substance which we find in this work is, as we have
seen, the Stoic system, as it was set forth by Epictetus. Is it possible that it
could still serve as spiritual nourishment for us, people of the modern
era?
Ernest Renan,2 for one, did not think so. For him, the Meditations
went beyond Epictetus, Stoicism, and all definitive doctrines:
Fortunately, the little box which contained the Meditations on the
banks of the Gran and the philosophy ofCarnonte was saved. There
came out of it this incomparable book, in which Epictetus was
surpassed: this manual of the resigned life, this Gospel of those who
do not believe in the supernatural, which has not been able to be
understood until our time. A true eternal Gospel, the Meditations
will never grow old, for it affirms no dogma. The Gospel has grown
old in some of its parts: science no longer allows the naive concep-
3 08
tion of the supernatural which constitues its foundation. In the

Meditations, the supernatural is only a tiny, insignificant stain which
does not affect the wonderful beauty of the background. Science
could destroy God and the soul, but the Meditations would still
remain young with life and truth. The religion of Marcus Aurelius
is, like that ofJesus was at times, absolute religion: that which results
from the simple fact of a high moral conscience faced with the
universe. It is not of one race , nor of one country; no revolution,
no progress, no discovery will be able to change it.
These lines do an admirable job of describing the impression that may
be felt by Marcus' readers. They must, however, be qualified and made
more precise . Like many other historians who followed him, Renan was
wrong about the meaning which the famous dilemma " Nature or atoms "
had for Marcus. He thought it meant that Marcus was completely indif
ferent to the dogmas of Stoicism (Nature) or of Epicureanism (atoms) .
According to Renan-and this, he thought, was the secret of the eternal
youth of the Meditations-Marcus discovered that the moral conscience
is independent of all theories about the world and of all definite dogmas,
" as if, " in Renan's words,3 " he had read Kant's Critique ef Practical Reason. "
In fact, as I have noted, the meaning of this dilemma is entirely
different. In the first place, Marcus did not invent it: it was traditional
within the Stoic school. Moreover, the Stoics had elaborated this reason
ing in order to establish irrefutably that, even if Epicureanism were
true-a hypothesis which they excluded absolutely-one would still
have to live as a Stoic. In other words, one would still have to act in
accordance with reason, and consider moral good to be the only good,
even if, all around us, everything were nothing but chaos and chance .
Such a position does not imply skepticism-quite the contrary. Yet the
fact that the Stoics constructed such an argument is extremely interesting.
By imagining that their physical theories might be false, and yet people
would still have to live as Stoics, they revealed that which, in their eyes,
was absolutely essential in their system. What defined a Stoic above all
else was the choice of a life in which every thought, every desire, and
every action would be guided by no other law than that of universal
Reason. Whether the world is ordered or chaotic, it depends only on us
to be rationally coherent with ourselves. In fact, all the dogmas of Stoi
cism derive from this existential choice. It is impossible that the universe
could produce human rationality, unless the latter were already in some
Conclusion
way present within the former. The essence of Stoicism is thus the
experience of the absolute nature of moral conscience and of the purity
of intention. Moral conscience, moreover, is only moral if it is pure
that is to say, if it is based upon the universality of reason, which takes
itself as an end, not in the particular interest of an individual or a state. All
Stoics, and not just Marcus Aurelius, could have subscribed to the twin
Kantian formulations of the categorical imperative:
Act only in accordance with the maxim which is such that you can
wish, at the same time, that it become a universal law.
Act as if the maxim of your action were, by your will, to be erected
as a universal law of Nature.4
We must not say, therefore, that " Marcus writes as though he had read
the Critique of Practical Reason, " but rather that Kant uses these formulas
because, among other reasons, he has read the Stoics.
With these qualifications, Renan was right to say that we find in the
Meditations the affirmation of the absolute value of moral conscience.
Can we speak of religion here? I do not think so. The word " philoso
phy" is enough, I think, to describe the purity of this attitude, and we
ought to avoid mixing with philosophy all the vague and imprecise
implications, both social and mythical, which the notion of religion
brings with it.
An eternal Gospel? Renan thought that some parts of the Christian
Gospel had grown old, whereas the Meditations would always remain
young. And yet, are not some of Marcus' pages-the religious ones
also very distant from us? Isn't it better to say that all gospels grow old, to
the same extent that they have been fashionable-in other words, to the
extent that they have reflected the myths and collective representations
of the time and milieu in which they were written? There are some
works, however-among them both the Gospel and the Meditations
which are like ever-new springs to which humanity comes to drink. If
we can transcend their perishable aspects, we can sense in them an
imperishable spirit which calls us to a choice oflife, to the transformation
of ourselves, and to a complete revision of our attitude with regard to
human beings and to the world.
The Meditations call us to a Stoic choice of life, as we have seen
throughout this book. This obviously does not mean that the work is
capable of leading us to a complete conversion to the dogmas and prac-
] IO
tices of Stoicism. Yet, insofar as we attempt to give meaning to our lives,

the Meditations invite us to discover the transformation which could be
brought to our lives, if we were to realize-in the fullest sense of the
term-those specific values which constitute the spirit of Stoicism.
It could be said, moreover, that there is a universal Stoicism in human
ity. By this I mean that the attitude we call " Stoic " is one of the funda
mental, permanent possibilities of human existence, when people search
for wisdom. For instance, J. Gemet5 has shown how some aspects of
Chinese thought were related to what we call Stoicism. They obviously
developed without Greco-Roman Stoicism having exercised any
influence on them whatsoever. This phenomenon may be observed,
among other places, in Wang-Fou-chih,6 a Chinese philosopher of the
seventeenth century, who writes:
Vulgar knowledge (that which limits itself to what one has seen or
heard) is constituted in the egotism of the self and is far from the
" great obj ectivity" [ta kong, a term which has both a moral and an
intellectual meaning] .
We can glimpse that this " great obj ectivity" is entirely analogous to
Marcus' method of physical definition, which also consists in liberating
oneself from an egoistic point of view, and in placing oneself within the
perspective of universal Nature. As Gemet comments:
Morality and reason are one. Once the sage has enlarged his spirit to
the dimensions of the universe (ta sin: the exact equivalent of the
term megalopsuchia, or " greatness of soul") and " made his person an
obj ect of the world, " he is able to grasp the spirit of the " Great
Transformation "; that is, of the life of universal exchanges by which
the beat of the world is marked.
The sage's " great obj ectivity"-or, as we could say, the expansion of
his spirit to the dimensions of universal Reason-inspires a moral atti
tude which is entirely Stoic. We can see this in the following passage
from Wang-Fou-chih:7
The good man waits for what destiny reserves for him, and is not
saddened by death. He uses his particular capacities as far as he can,
and develops the good dispositions of his nature [which is a reflec-
Conclusion
3 11
tion o f the celestial principle of order] , s o that h e does not sm

against the relevant norms.
We can recognize another theme that we have encountered in Marcus
Aurelius in Tang Zhen, another Chinese philosopher of the same period
who has been translated by Gemet: the opposition between the puniness
of human beings, lost in the cosmos, and the transcendence of the moral
conscience, which makes it equal to the universe :
In the immensity of the space and time of the universe, man resem
bles a speck of dust blown by the wind, or a tiny spark of light.
What makes him equal to it, however, is the perfection of his
fundamental goodness, and the nobility of his moral effort.8
Among the numerous attitudes which human beings can adopt with
regard to the universe, there is one which was called " Stoic " in the
Greco-Roman world, but which could be called by many other names,
and which is characterized by specific tendencies.
In the first place, the " Stoic, " in the universal sense in which we
understand him, is conscious of the fact that no being is alone, but that
we are parts of a Whole, constituted by the totality of human beings as
well as by the totality of the cosmos. The Stoic constantly has his mind
on this Whole. One could also say that the Stoic feels absolutely serene,
free, and invulnerable, insofar as he has become aware that there is no
other evil than moral evil, and that the only thing that counts is the
purity of moral conscience.
Finally, the Stoic believes in the absolute value of the human person. It
is too often forgotten, and cannot be repeated too much, that Stoicism is
the origin of the modem notion of " human rights. " I have already cited
Seneca's fine formula on this subj ect:9 " man is a sacred thing for man. "
Yet how could I fail to cite also the remark of Epictetus, when someone
asked him how he should put up with a clumsy slave (I , 1 3 , 3 ) :
You are the slave! S o you can't put up with your brother, who has
Zeus as his ancestor, and who, as a son, was born from the same
seed as you and, like you, descends from on high . . . Don't you
remember whom you are ordering around? Your kinsmen, your
brothers by nature, and progeny of Zeus.
-But I 've got rights with regard to them because I bought them;
they don't have any with regard to me!
3 12
-Can you see where you are looking? You see the earth, a pit,
and you see only these miserable laws, which are the laws of the
dead. Don't you look to the laws of the gods?
Epictetus uses the mythical, imagistic representation of the filiation of
all human beings from God, which may seem antiquated to a modem
audience. Yet when he talks about Zeus-and, as we have seen, the same
thing holds true of Marcus Aurelius-he is thinking first and foremost of
reason. What Epictetus means is simply the following: this slave is a living
being like you, and, like you, a man gifted with reason. Even if human
laws refuse to recognize that he is your equal, the laws of the gods, which
are the laws of reason, recognize his absolute value . We people of mod
em times think that we have abolished these laws of the dead, but in the
last analysis they still dominate the world.
V. Goldschmidt10 was right to point out that another aspect of what
could be called " eternal Stoicism" is the exercise of concentration on the
present instant. This consists, on the one hand, in living as if we were
seeing the world for the first and last time; and, on the other, in being
aware that within this lived present of the instant, we have access to the
totality of time and of the world.
The reader may rightly obj ect at this point: the fact that there is a kind of
universal, perennial character to this peculiar attitude which we call
" Stoic " may perhaps explain why, despite the distance which separates us
from them, we can still understand the Meditations, and, better yet, find
rules for our thought and action in them. Yet this doesn't explain the
unique fascination that they exert upon us. Could we not say that if this
book is still so attractive to us, it is because when we read it we get the
impression of encountering, not the Stoic system, although Marcus con
stantly refers to it, but a man of good will, who does not hesitate to
criticize and examine himself, who constantly takes up again the task of
exhorting and persuading himself, and of finding the words which will
help him to live, and to live well? To be sure, these are spiritual exercises,
carried out in accordance with a specific method. Yet, in a sense, we are
present at them: we catch them in actu, in the very moment in which they
are being practiced.
In world literature one finds lots of preachers, lesson-givers, and cen
sors, who moralize to others with complacency, irony, cynicism, or
Conclusion
313
bitterness; but it is extremely rare to find a person training himself to live

and to think like a human being (V, I ) :
I n the morning, when you have trouble waking up, let the follow
ing thought be present to you: 'Tm getting up to do the job of a
human being. "
One must admit that there are few hesitations, fumblings, or search
ings in these exercises which follow a canvas that Stoic philosophy and
Epictetus have drawn in advance with precision. The personal effort
appears rather in the repetitions, the multiple variations developed
around the same theme, and the stylistic effort as well, which always
seeks for a striking, effective formula. Nevertheless, we feel a highly
particular emotion when we enter, as it were, into the spiritual intimacy
of a soul's secrets, and are thus directly associated with the efforts of a
man who, fascinated by the only thing necessary-the absolute value of
moral good-is trying to do what, in the last analysis, we are all trying to
do: to live in complete consciousness and lucidity; to give each of our
instants its fullest intensity; and to give meaning to our entire life . Marcus
is talking to himself, but we get the impression that he is talking to each
one of us.
A B B R E V I AT I O N S
Birley: A. R. Birley, Marcus Aurelius (London, 1 966) ; 1 9 8 72

Breithaupt: G. Breithaupt, De M. Aurelii Antonini commentariis quaestiones se
lectae (Gi::i ttingen, 1 9 1 3 ) .
Casaubon: Marci Antonini Imperatoris De Seipso e t A d Seipsum libri XII, Guil.
X ylander . . . Graece et Latine primus edidit, nunc vero . . . notas et emendatio
nes adjecit Mericus Casaubonus (London, 1 64 3 ) . Greek text with Latin transla
tion.
Dalfen: ]. Dalfen, ed. , M. Aurelii Antonini ad Se Ipsum Libri XII (Leipzig:
Teubner, 1 979, reprinted 1 98 7) . Greek text only. A critical edition with an
excellent index of vocabulary; but Dalfen, in my view, wrongly considers too
many passages to be interpolations.
Diels-Kranz: Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, Greek and German by Hem1ann
Diels, edited by Walther Kranz, 3 vols. (Berlin, 1 9 5 4-) . Contains the Greek text
with German translation of the pre-Socratic philosophers, such as Heraclitus,
Democritus, and Empedocles.
Farquharson: The Meditations of the Emperor M. Aurelius, ed. with translation
and commentary by A. S. L. Farquharson (Oxford, 1 968) . Greek text with an
English translation; rich commentary.
Fronto: cited simultaneously in two editions: M. Cornelius Fronto, Epistulae,
ed. M. J. P. van den Hout (Leipzig: Teubner, 1 9 8 8 ) ; The Correspondence efMarcus
Cornelius Pronto, ed. and trans. C. R. Haines, 2 vols. , Loeb Classical Library.
Galen, ed. Kuhn: Claudii Galeni Opera omnia, ed. C. G. Kuhn, 20 vols.
(Leipzig, 1 82 1-1 8 3 3 ) . Greek text with Latin translation. Some of Galen's works
have been published in newer editions by various editors; these are indicated in
the notes.
Gataker: Marci Antonini Imperatoris de rebus suis, sive de eis quae ad se pertinere
censebat libri XIII commentario perpetuo explicati atque illustrati, studio . . . Thomae
Gatakeri (Cambridge, 1 65 2) . Greek text with Latin translation. The Latin com
mentary is extremely rich, but sometimes a bit prolix.
Grimal: P. Grimal, Marc Aurele (Paris: Fayard, 1 99 1 ) .
Renan: E. Renan, Marc Aurele e t la fi n du monde antique (Paris, 1 8 82) . Often
3 16
Abbreviations
reprinted. The edition I cite is in the collection entitled " Le livre de poche, "
"Biblio/Essais, " no. 40 1 5 (Paris: Librairie generale frarn;:aise, 1984) .
Stobaeus Anthol. : K . Wachsmuth and 0 . Hense. , eds., Ioannis Stobaei Antholo
gium, 5 vols. (Berlin, 1 8 84-1 9 1 2) .
Stoidens: Les Stoidens, trans. E. Brehier, ed. under the direction o f P . M.
Schuhl; Bibliotheque de la Plfaade (Paris: NRF, 1 962) . Contains French transla
tions of texts by Cleanthes, Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, Cicero, Seneca,
Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius.
S VF: H. von Arnim, ed. , Stoicorum Veterum Fragmenta, 4 vols. (Leipzig, 1 9051 924) . Contains only Latin and Greek texts.
Theiler: W. Theiler, ed. , Kaiser Marc Aurel: Wege zu sich selbst (Zurich,
195 1-) . To date, this is the best edition of the Greek text of the Meditations, as
well as the best translation (in German) .
NOTES
1 . The Emperor-Philosopher
l . On these factories, see H. Bloch, I bolli laterzi e la storia edilizia romana

(Rome, 1 947 [1 9682]), especially pp. 204-2 1 0, 3 3 1 ; Margareta Steinby, " Ziegel
stempel von Rom und Umgebung, " in Paulys Realencyclopadie, Supplement,
XV, 1 978, col. 1489-l 59 r .
2 . On the relationship between these births, mintings of coinage, and impe
rial propaganda, see K. Fittschen, Die Bildnistypen der Faustina Minor und die
Fecunditas Augustae (Gottingen, 1 982) .
3 . Cf E. Champlin, Pronto and Antonine Rome (Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard
University Press, 1980) , pp. l 3 9-142 .
4. James F . Gilliam, " The Plague under Marcus Aurelius, " American Journal ef
Philology, 82 ( 1 96 1 ) : 22 5-25 r .
5 . Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 6 , 3 .
6 . F. Lot, La Fin du monde antique et le debut du Moyen Age (Paris, 1 9 5 l ) ,
pp. 1 98-1 99.
7. See the works of E. Renan, A. R. Birley, and P. Grimal.
8 . On this aspect of ancient philosophy, see P. Hadot, Exercices spirituels et
philosophie antique (Paris, 1 9923) [English translation: Philosophy As a Way of Life,
Chicago, 1 99 5 ) ; Hadot, preface to R. Goulet, ed. , Dictionnaire des philosophes
antiques, vol. I (Paris, 1 989) , pp. l l-16.
9. J. M. Rist, "Are You a Stoic? The Case of Marcus Aurelius, " in B. F.
Meyer and E. P. Sanders, eds . , Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. III (Lon
don, 1 9 8 3 ) , p. 23 .
r o . It is true that the Christian apologist Justin, a contemporary of Marcus
Aurelius (cf Andre Wartelle, Saint Justin, Apologies [Paris, 1 987) , pp. 3 1-3 2) , at
the beginning of his Apology, gives the title of "philosophers " to Marcus Aurelius
and to Verus. Melito of Sardis, another apologist (cf Eusebius of Caesarea,
Ecclesiastical History IV, 26, 7) associates Commodus with the philosophical repu
tation of his father, Marcus Aurelius. In both these cases, it was obviously
because of Marcus that his associates were dignified with this title. On the
notion of "philosopher" in the Imperial period, see the excellent work by
J. Hahn, Der Philosoph und die Gesellschajt (Stuttgart, 1 989) .
318
Notes to Pages 5-1 3
r r . Fronto, Ad Antonin. Imper. , De eloquentia, 2, 1 5 , p. 143 , 1 9 Van den Hout;

vol. II, p. 70 Haines.
1 2 . Historia Augusta, Marcus Aurelius (hereafter MA) , II, r : " Fuit a prima infantia
gravis. "
1 3 . Fronto, Ad Marc. Caes . , II, 1 6 , p . 34, 2 Van den Hout = vol. I, p . 1 50
Haines.
14. According to the Historia Augusta (MA IV, 9, vol. I) , Diognetus or Diogenetus was Marcus' painting teacher.
1 5 . See J. Taillardat, Les Images d'Aristophane (Paris, 1 962) , p. 268, 474; n. 2.
1 6 . Historia Augusta, MA , II, 6.
17. Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 1 8 , 5-7; 20, 9; Pliny the Younger, Letters, I , 22,
4; Musonius, 20, in A.-J. Festugiere, trans. , Deux predicateurs de l 'Antiquite, Teles
et Musonius (Paris, 1 978) , pp. 123-124.
18. Cf. Strabo, Geography, V, 47.
19. Cf. Polybius, Histories, I, 32, r; Plutarch, Agesilaus 2; Cleomenes I I , 3-4;
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Antiquities ef Rome, 2, 2 3 , 2, r .
20. Plutarch, Lycurgus, 1 6, 1 2 .
2 r . F . Ollier, Le Mirage spartiate, 2 vols. (Paris, 193 3-1943 ) . C f. E. N . Tig
erstedt, The Legend of Sparta in Classical Antiquity, 2 vols. (Stockholm, 1 9651 97 3 ) .
2 2 . Musonius, i n Festugiere, Deux predicateurs d e l'Antiquite, p p . 52; 1 24.
23 . Cf. Plato, Symposium, 2 1 9b; Xenophon, Memorabilia, I, 6, 2.
24. Historia Augusta, MA, III, 3 .
2 5 . Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 5 , r .
26. Themistius, Orationes quae supersunt, ed. G. Downey and A. F. Norman
(Leipzig: Teubner, 1 969-1 974) , vol. I (orat. 1 7) , p. 3 07, 28; vol. II (orat. 3 4) ,
pp. 2 1 8 , 6; 226, 9.
27. I. Hadot, Seneca und die greichisch-romische Tradition der Seelenleitung (Berlin,
1 969) , pp. 1 67- 1 6 8 .
2 8 . Epictetus, Discourses, IV, 8 , 1 2 .
2 9 . Fronto, Ad Antonin . Imper. , I, 2, 3 , p . 8 8 , 4 Van den Hout = vol. I I , p . 3 6
Haines.
30. Fronto, Ad Marc. Caesar. , IV, 1 3 , pp. 67-68 Van den Hout = vol. I, p. 2 1 4
Haines. O n the idea o f conversion, c f. A. D. Nock, Conversion: The Old and the
New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (Oxford, 193 3 ) ;
P . Hadot, Exercices spirituels, p p . 1 75-1 82.
3 r. It is highly improbable that Marcus, as a Caesar, should have been the
assessor of Aufidius.
3 2 . E. Champlin, "The Chronology of Fronto, " Journal of Roman Studies, 64
(1 974) : r 44ff
3 3 . R. B. Rutherford, The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius: A Study (Oxford,
1 989) , p. r o6 n. 4 1 ; H. Gargemanns, "Der Bekehrungsbrief Marc Aurels, "
Rheinisches Museum fur Philologie, 1 3 4 ( 1 99 1 ) : 96-109; P. Hadot, in Ecole Pratique
Notes to Pages 1 3-17
3 19
des Hautes Etudes, V' Section. Annuaire XCII ( 1 9 8 3-1 984) (hereafter Annuaire
EPHE) , pp. 3 3 1-3 3 6 .
34. H. Gorgemanns (" Der Bekehrungsbrief Marc Aurels, " p p . 1 02-108)
shows that this description contains an allusion to the wrath of Achilles in the
first book of Homer's fliad. The irony was intended by the young Marcus, in
order to attenuate the pain he was inflicting upon his teacher Fronto, by allow
ing him to glimpse his growing love for philosophy.
3 5 . Cf the formula "Silent leges inter arma " ("laws are silent during wars ") , in
A. Otto, Die Sprichworter (Hildesheim, 1 962) , p. 1 92, and cf Plutarch, Agesilaus,
30, 4.
3 6 . Les Stoidens, textes traduits par E. Brehier, edites sous la direction de P. M.
Schuh/ (Paris, collection de la Pleiade, 1 964) , p. 68 ( 1 6 3 ) ; cited in what follows
as Stoidens. On this philosopher, cf I. Ioppolo, Aristone di Chio e lo stoicismo antico
(Naples, 1 9 8 1 ) .
3 7 . C f S VF, vol. I, 3 8 3-403 .
3 8 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 94, 2; Cicero, On Ends, III, 50; IV, 43 ; 79.
39. On this point, correct what I said about Aristo in P. Hadot, Exercices
spirituels, p . l 30, and in Annuaire EPHE XCII .
40. Historia Augusta, Antoninus Pius, X , 4 .
4 r . [There i s a n untranslatable play o n words here, between the French
" tendu" and " detendu. " -Trans.]
42. Historia Augusta, Antoninus Pius, X, 5 .
43 . Historia Augusta, MA, III, 2.
44. Suidae Lexikon, ed. A. Adler, vol. I (Stuttgart, 1 9 7 1 2) , 23 5 , p . 3 4 r .
4 5 . Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, I I , 5 5 7 . This Lucius is obviously not
Lucius Verus, Marcus' adoptive brother, as is supposed by Grimal (p. 89) , but a
philosopher about whom Philostratus tells other anecdotes as well, within the
same context. Note Marcus' tolerance of Lucius' uninhibited speech; cf
Rutherford, Meditations, p. 89.
46. Fronto, Ad Antonin. Imper. , De eloquentia, I, 4, p. 1 3 5 , 3 Van den Hout =
47. Ibid., 2, l , p . 1 44, 2; 5 , 4, p . 1 5 1 , 22 Van den Hout = vol. II, pp. 66; 8 3
Haines.
48. See G. W. Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Empire (Oxford, 1 969) ,
pp. 5 3-54; Philostratus, Lives ef the Sophists, II, 5 , 5 7 r .
49. Historia Augusta, MA, III, 2 ; III, 3 .
5 0 . Galen, De praecognitione = Galen, On Prognosis, ed. , Engl. trans. , and
commentary by V. Nutton (= Corpus Medicorum Graecorum, V, 8 , l ) , Berlin,
1 979, p. 82, 6. In his review of R. MacMullen's Enemies ef the Roman Order
(Journal of Roman Studies, 59 [ 1 969] : 265) , 0. Murray puts forth the hypothesis
that Marcus' friend and teacher is the same Claudius Severus mentioned by
Galen-that is, Marcus' own son-in-law.
3 20
5 1 . On these sessions, see P. Moraux, Galien de Pergame: Souvenirs d'un medecin

(Paris, 1 9 8 5 ) , pp. 8 3 , I O I .
5 2 . Fronto, A d Amicos, I , 1 4 , p. 1 80, 2 Van den Hout = vol. I I , p. I O Haines.
5 3 . Fronto, Ad Anton. Imper. , De eloquentia, 2, 1 1 , p. 1 40, 6 Van den Hout =
vol. II, p . 62 Haines.
54. Fronto, De feriis Alsiensibus, 6, p. 2 3 0, 14 Van den Hout = vol. II, p. I O
Haines.
5 5 . Cf. Rist, "Are You a Stoic?"
56. Fronto, Ad Marc. Caesar. , V, 24, p. 73 , 7 Van den Hout = vol. I , p. 1 96
Haines.
57. Fronto, Ad Antonin. Imper. , I, 3 , 2, p. 9 1 , 21 Van den Hout = vol. 2, p. 1 20
Haines.
5 8 . Historia Augusta, MA , XXIII, 5 .
5 9 . O n Galen's testimony, see the remarks of V. Nutton in his commentary
on Galen, On Prognosis, pp. 1 63 ff , as well as Hahn, Der Philosoph und die Gesell
schaft, p. 29 n. 42; pp. 1 48ff (on philosophical life in Rome during Galen's time) .
On the careers of these personages, see G. Alfoldy, Konsulat und Senatorenstand
unter den Antoninen (Bonn, 1 977) ; Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman Em
pire, p. 82.
60. Persius, Satires, III, 54.
61. Galen, In Hippocrat. Epidem . , VI, ed. Wenkelbach/Pfaff (Berlin, 1 9 5 62) ,
p. 206 = vol. XVII B , p. 1 5 Kiihn. The conclusions drawn from this text by
Dailly and van Effenterre, in "Le cas Marc-Aurele, " Revue des Ctudes anciennes, 5 6
(1 954) : 3 6 5 , are risky t o say the least. Remarks o n Imperial fashions i n hairstyles
may be found in ]. Marquardt, Das Privatleben der Romer ( 1 8 86; reprinted
Darmstadt, 1 980) , vol. II, p. 602.
62 . Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 5 , 2.
2 . A First Glimpse ef the Meditations
1 . Cassius Dio, LXXII, 24, 1 ; cf. A. S. L. Farquharson, The Meditations of the

Emperor Marcus Aurelius (Oxford, 1 968), vol. I, p. xiv.
2. Themistius, Oratio 6 (Philadelphoi), 8 1 c.
3. Aurelius Victor, Book of the Caesars, 16, 9; Historia Augusta, Avidius Cas
sius, III, 6-7.
4. Nicephoras Callistos Xanthopoulos, Ecclesiastical History, III, 3 1 , in Mi
gne's Patrologia Graeca, vol. 1 4 5 , col. 960.
5. Suidae Lexikon, ed. A. Adler (Stuttgart, 1 967') , vol. III, 2 1 4, p. 3 2 8 , 24.
6. Arethae Scripta Minora, ed. L. G. Westerink (Leipzig [Teubner] , 1 968) , vol.
I, p. 3 0 5 .
7. Ibid., vol. I I , p. I 0 5 , 5 (= Meditations, I, 7, 7) ; Scholia i n Lucianum, ed.
H. Rabe (Leipzig [Teubner] , 1 906) , pp. 1 89, 207 (= Meditations, VIII, 2 5 ; 3 7) .
8 . C f. P . Meyer, "Des Joseph Bryennios Schriften, Leben und Bildung, "
321
Byzantinische Zeitschrijt, 5 ( l 896) : I O , who points out several literal citations from
Marcus in the writings of this fifteenth-century author.
9. Ioannis Reuchlin, De arte cabalistica libri tres (Hagenau, l 5 1 7) , p. xxxv
verso (quoting Meditations, IV, 3 6 , designated by the formula "in libro ad se ipsum
tertio, " as well as VII, 23); p . xlviii verso (quoting IV, 28, 2, where the verb
haploun is understood not in the sense of " to simplify oneself, " but " to get rid
of, " " to free oneself": explicare se) . On the manuscript of Marcus used by Reuch
lin, cf. L. Bergson, " Fragment einer Marc-Aurel-Handschrift, " Rheinisches Mu
seum, 1 29 ( 1 986) : l 5 7- 1 69.
I O . Marci Antonini Imperatoris de rebus suis, sive de eis quae ad se pertinere censebat
libri XII, commentario perpetuo explicati atque illustrati studio Thomae Gatak
eri, Cambridge, 1 6 5 2 .
l l . C f. P . Hadot, " Preface " t o the Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques, publish
ed under the direction of Richard Goulet, vol. I (Paris, 1 989) , p. I O .
1 2 . P . Moraux, Galien de Pergame: Souvenirs d'un medicin (Paris, 1 98 5 ) , p. 1 5 3 ;
L . Brisson, M.-0. Goulet-Caze, e t al. , Porphyre, La Vie de Plotin, vol. I (Paris,
1 982) , p. 2 8 3 .
1 3 . Arethae Scripta Minora, vol. I, p . 3 0 5 .
14. Anthologia Palatina, book XV, 23 , i n The Greek Anthology, XII, 1 3 5 : " If
you want to vanquish sadness, open this blessed book and go over it carefully;
with its help, you will easily persuade yourself of this oh so fruitful truth:
whether past, present or future, pleasures and pains are naught but smoke. "
1 5 . Suidae Lexikon, ed. A. Adler (Stuttgart, 1 9672) , 214, vol. III, p . 3 2 8 , 24.
16. See Meric Casaubon's edition of Marcus Aurelius: Marci Antonini Impera
toris De seipso et ad seipsum libri XII (London, 1 643), Prolegomena, pp. 1 2-14
(unnumbered pages) , citing the second edition of the Editio princeps ( 1 5 68) .
1 7 . See Casaubon, pp. 2-3 of his notes, which are at the end of the work.
1 8 . Gataker, p . 24.
19. Caspar Barthius, Adversariorum Commentariorum Libri LX (Frankfurt, 1 624) ,
Book I, ch. 2, pp. 22-24.
20. J.-P. de Joly, Pensees de l'empereur Marc Aurele (Paris, 1 773 2) , pp. xxxivxliii.
2 r . Farquharson, pp. lxiv-lxvii.
22. Renan, pp. 1 5 7-1 5 8 .
23 . G . Misch, Geschichte der Autobiographie, I, 2 (Bern, 1 95 1 2) , p. 449.
24. P. A. Brunt, "Marcus Aurelius in His Meditations, " Journal of Roman
Studies, 64 (1 974) : r .
2 5 . Fronto, Ad Marc. Caesar. , II, 8 , 3 , p . 29, 2 Van den Hout = vol. I , p . 1 3 8
Haines.
26. Brunt in Journal ef Roman Studies, 64, p. 3 n. 12; R. B. Rutherford,
Meditations, p. 29 n. 90.
27. Cf. Photius, Library, vol. II, codex no. 1 7 5 , pp. 1 70-1 7 1 Henry.
2 8 . Aulus Gellius, Preface, 2.
3 22
29. Plutarch, On the Tranquillity of the Soul, I, 464F.

30. Augustine, Soliloquies, ed. and trans. P. de Labriolle, in Oeuvres de saint
Augustin, 1 st series, V, Dialogues philosophiques, II, Dieu et /'Ame (Paris, 1 9 3 5 ) ,
p. 25.
3 I . Porphyry, Life ef Plotinus, 8 , 4 .
3 2 . See E . Arns, La Technique d u /ivre d'apres saint Jerome (Paris, 1 9 5 3 ) , pp. 4748 (quoting the Patrologia latina, vol. 2 5 , 1 1 1 8A) .
3 3 . Brunt in ]ournal of Roman Studies, 64: I , quoting Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 6,
2.
34. T . Dorandi, "Den Autoren iiber die Schulter geschaut: Arbeitsweise und
Autographie bei den antiken Schriftstellern, " Zeitschrift fur Papyrologie und Epi
graphik, 87 ( 1 99 1 ) : I I-3 3 , especially pp. 29-3 3 .
3 5 . O n the meaning of this term, see Arns, Technique du livre, pp. 1 8-22.
3 6 . J.-P. de Joly, Pensees de Marc Aurele, pp. xxxiv-xliii.
3 7 . Brunt, " Marcus Aurelius, " pp. 1-1 5 ; G. Cortasso, II Filosofo, i libri, la
memoria. Poeti e .filoso.fi nei Pensieri di Marco Aurelio (Turin, 1 989) , pp. 60; I a n. I I
(bibliography) .
3.
I . Epictetus, Discourses, I, 3 , 1 ; I, 1 8 , 20; II, 1 6 (title) ; III, IO, I .

2 . Victor Hugo, Quatre-vingt-treize, III, 2 , 7.
3. Stoi.ciens, pp. 48 ( I 00-- I 0 1 ) [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII , I O I-1 02] ,
271 [= Cicero, On Ends, III, 8 , 27ff] ; S VF, vol. III, 29-48; Epictetus, Dis
courses, IV, I , I 3 3 .
4 . I am following here the division of the text proposed by Theiler, but I
retain, with Dalfen, the reading mimos.
5. Stoi.ciens, p. 97 [= Plutarch, On Stoic Self- Contradictions, 9, I03 5Aff] =S VF,
vol. III, 68 .
6. Cicero, On the Laws, I, 7, 3 3 ; I, 1 2 , 3 3 , carries out the same linkage
between the idea of common law and that of the community among reasonable
beings.
7. Lucretius, On the Nature of Things, III, I 024-I052; F. Villon, Ballade des
dames du temps Jadis, in Villon, Poesies completes (Paris, Livre de poche, Lettres
gothiques, 1 9 9 1 ) , p. I I 7. Cf G. B. Conte, " Il trionfo della Morte e la galleria dei
grandi trapassati in Lucrezio III, I 024-I 05 3 , " Studi italiani di.filologia classica, NS,
3 7 ( 1 96 5 ) : I I 4- 1 3 2 , especially p. 1 3 1 n. 2.
8 . Stoii:iens, p . 5 8 ( 1 3 4) [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII, 1 3 4] ; S VF, vol. II,
299-3 0 5 .
9 . On the use o f Greek i n Rome, c f Quintillian, Instit. , I, I , 1 2 ; I. Hadot,
Arts liberaux et philosophie dans la pensee antique (Paris, 1 984) , p. 248 .
I O . As i s the view of]. M . Rist, " Are You a Stoic? " i n Meyer and Sanders,
eds . , Jewish and Christian Self-Definition.
I I . Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights, VII, I , 7; VII, 2, I .
4.
3 23
r . On quotations in Marcus Aurelius, see the excellent study by G. Cortassa,

fl Filosofo, i libri, la memoria. Poeti e .filosofi nei Pensieri di Marco A urelio (Turin,
1 989) .
2. See, for example, A. A. Long, " Heraclitus and Stoicism, " Philosophia, 5-6
( 1 975-1 976) : 1 3 3-1 5 3 .
3 . Cf M . Conche, Heraclite, Fragments (Paris, 1 986) , pp. 68-69 (fr. I I Con
che = fr. 73 Diels/Kranz) . See G. Cortassa, fl Filosofo, pp. 4 1-54. [Cf Charles H .
Kahn, The Art and Thought of Heraclitus (Cambridge, 1 979) , fr. v. , p p . 30-3 r .
-Trans.]
4. Cf Conche, p. 3 3 3 (fr. 96 Conche = 7 1 Diels/Kranz) [= fr. cvi, pp. 76-77
Kahn -Trans.] .
5 . Ibid. , p . 7 1 (fr. 1 2 Conche = 75 Diels/Kranz) [= fr. xci, pp . 70-7 1 Kahn] .
6. Ibid. , p. 65 (fr. I O Conche = 72 Diels/Kranz) [= fr. v, pp . 3 0-3 l Kahn] .
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid. , p. 297 (fr. 85 Conche = 76 Diels/Kranz) [= fr. xli , pp. 46-7 Kahn] .
9. We could add to this list the theme of the cosmic seasons: IV, 2 3 ; IX, 3 ;
IX, I O (a reminiscence of Heraclitus) ; cf Conche, p . 1 9 8 (fr. 5 1 = I OO
Diels/Kranz) [= fr. xlii, pp. 48---9 Kahn] .
IO. Cortassa, n Filosofo, pp. 6 5-70: Empedocles, frr. 27-28 Diels/Kranz. Cf
Horace's well-known remark about the Sage (Satires, II, 7, 86) : "And, round and
spherical, he finds everything within himself "
l r . Cf Cortassa, II Filosofo, pp. I 07-1 1 3 ; Democritus, fr. 3 Diels/Kranz.
Analogous criticisms of this dictum are to be found in Seneca, On Peace of Mind,
1 3 , l ; On Anger, III, 6, 3 ; as well as in Plutarch, On Peace of Mind, 465c.
12. Democritus, fr. I I 5 Diels/Kranz. Cf Cortassa, n Filosofo, pp. u 5-I I 7 .
l 3 . Democritus, testimony 4 9 Diels/Kranz = Galen, De elementis ex Hippocrate,
libri II, ed. G. Helmreich, Erlangen 1 878, I, 2, p. 3 , 20 (Vol. I, p. 4 1 7 Kiihn) .
14. This is the interpretation of Cortassa, fl Filosofo, pp. I 09-1 1 3 .
l 5 . This is the interpretation given by Theiler in his translation of this passage.
1 6 . Diogenes Laertius, VI, 8 3 . The translation proposed by L. Paquet, "Every
human undertaking is naught but smoke " (Les Cyniques grecs: Fragments et temoig
nages [Paris: Livre de Poche, 1 992] , p. 1 64) , certainly does not correspond to
what Marcus understood.
1 7 . It is not known to which precise anecdote Marcus is alluding; cf Cortassa,
fl Filosofo, p. 57.
18. Cortassa, n Filosofo, pp. 1 29-1 3 9
1 9 . Ibid. , p p . 141-145 .
20. On the possibility of moral progress, see I. Hadot, Seneca, pp . 76-77; and
on the difference in the seriousness of faults, ibid., pp. 1 44-1 52. Cf Seneca, On
Clemency, IV, 3 : "Peccavimus omnes, alii gravia, alii leviora. "
2 r . Cortassa, fl Filosofo, pp. 1 2 5-1 2 8 .
2 2 . Ibid. , p p . 147- 1 62.
3 24
23 . Cf. P. Hadot, '"Only the Present Is Our Happiness' : The Value of the
Present Instant in Goethe and in Ancient Philosophy, " in Philosophy As a Way of
Life, pp. 2 I 7-23 7.
24. Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights, I, 2, I-I 3 ; II, I 8, I I ; XV, I I , 5 ; XVII, I 9 , I ;
XIX, I , I 4.
2 5 . Lucian, The Ignorant Book- Collector, I 3 , in Loeb Classical Library edition,
vol. 3 , p. I 92 .
2 6 . Galen, De libris propriis, i n Opera omnia, vol. XX , p . 44, I O Kiihn.
27. Origen, Against Celsus, III, 54, 23 ; VI, 2, I 5 ; VII, 5 3 , I 3 ; 54, 24.
2 8 . Simplicius, In Epicteti Enchiridion, pp. 45, 3 5 ; I I 6, 48 Diibner.
29. Lucian, Demonax, 5 5 , in Loeb Classical Library edition, vol. I , p. I 6 8 .
30. See the excellent article b y S. Follet, "Arrien d e Nicomedie, " in
R. Goulet, ed. , Dictionnaire des Philosophes Anciens, vol. I (Paris, I 989) , pp. 597604; see also P. A. Stadter, Arrian of Nicomedia (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, I 98o) . Some of Arrian's works may be found in A. G. Roos and
G. Wirth, eds., Flavii Arriani quae extant omnia, vol. II: Scripta minora et fragmenta
(Leipzig: Teubner, I 968) .
3 I . P. A. Stadter, Arrian, p . I4; J. H. Oliver, "Arrian in Two Roles, " in
Hesperia, Suppl. XIX: Studies in Attic Epigraphy, History, and Topography presented
to Eugene Vanderpool (Princeton, I 982) , pp. I 22-I 29.
3 2 . Follet, in Dictionnaire des Philosophes Anciens, vol. I , p. 597; Suidae Lexikon,
vol. II, p. I I 7 Adler.
3 3 . A new edition of the Greek text is currently being prepared by G. Boter.
The text and English translation, ed. and trans. W. A. Oldfather, is available in
the Loeb Classical Library.
34. See Follet, p. 602 .
3 5 . Ibid. , p . 599.
36. Themistius, Oratio 34.
37. [A consul sujfectus was one elected upon the death or abdication of a
regularly elected consul. -Trans.]
3 8 . A summary of the various positions adopted, as well as a bibliography on
the question, may be found in Follet, in Dictionnaire des Philosophes Anciens, vol.
I, p. 602 .
3 9 . J. Souilhe, Epictete, Entretiens, vol. I, Introduction, p. xxix.
40. [The French words used here are "lecture " and "le<;:on" respectively; they
both derive from the Latin lectio, "reading. " -Trans.]
4 1 . Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights, I, 26, I-I I .
42 . Photius, Library, codex 250, I I I , vol. VII, p . I 89 Henry.
43 . This too often repeated opinion is refuted by I. Hadot, " Epictete, " in
Encyclopedia Universalis, p. 3 6 .
44. Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights, XIX, I , 14.
45 . Ibid. , I, 2, 6.
46. Farquharson, vol. II, p . 446.
Notes to Pages 66-80
3 25
47. On the quotations of Epictetus in the Meditations, see G. Breithaupt, De

Marci Aurelii Antonini commentariis quaestiones selectae (Gottingen, I 9 I 3 ) , pp. 4564.
48. H. Frankel, "Ein Epiktetfragment, " Philologus, So ( I 92 5) : 22 r .
49. In my forthcoming edition of Marcus Aurelius, I hope to return to
Frankel's demonstration, as well as to the more general problem of the fragments
of Epictetus in Marcus.
50. "La physique comme exercice spirituel, ou pessimisme et optimisme chez
Marc Aurele, " Revue de theologie et de philosophic ( I 972) , pp. 225-239, reprinted
with corrections in P. Hadot, Exercices spirituels, pp. r r 9-I 3 3 .
5 r . Philo of Alexandria, On the Special Laws, II, 46.
52. S VF, vol. I, 360 = Clement of Alexandria, Stromata, II, 2 I , I 29, 5 .
5 3 . I, 1 2 ; III, I , 2; III, I 6 , 2; VI, 22; VI, 26, 3 .
54. S VF, vol. I , 3 5 I-3 57; cf Stoii:iens, p . 6 8 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives,
VII, I 6o -Trans.] .
5 5 . H. Gorgemanns, "Die Bekehrungsbrief Marc Aurels, " Rheinisches Museum
fiir Philologie, I 3 4 ( I 99 I ) : r o 8 , is of the view that the name of Aristo-famous for
his eloquence and therefore nicknamed " the Siren"-is only emphasized in the
letter to Fronto which speaks of Marcus' " conversion" to philosophy in order
not to hurt Fronto's feelings. Fronto, on this hypothesis, would have been more
offended to hear of his rival Junius Rusticus or of the Discourses of Epictetus,
which Fronto's literary taste held in low esteem.
5 . The Stoicism ef Epictetus
I . E mile Brehier, Histoire de la philosophic, vol. I (Paris, I 92 8 ; reprinted I 99 I ) ,

p . 266.
2 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 20, 2-5 .
3 . S VF, vol. I, 1 79 (= Johannes Stobaeus, Anthologium, II, 7, 6, vol. II,
p . 7 5 , I I Wachsmuth) . On the transcendence of the accord with oneself in
comparison with the things with which the living being is in accordance, cf
Victor Goldschmidt, Le Systeme stoi"cien et l'idee de temps (Paris, I 9794) , p . I29.
4. S VF, vol. II, 62 5 ; 5 96-6 3 2 .
5 . C f P . Hadot, "La figure d u sage clans l'Antiquite greco-latine, " i n Les
Sagesses du monde, ed. G. Gadoffre (Paris, I 99 I ) , pp. I I-I S .
6 . Cf 0 . Luschnat, " Das Problem des ethischen Fortschritts in der alten
Stoa, " Philologus, r o2 ( I 9 5 8 ) : I 78-2 I 4; I. Hadot, Seneca, pp. 72-78.
7. Cf P. Hadot, "La division des parties de la philosophie clans l'Antiquite, "
Museum Helveticum, 3 6 ( I 979) : 20I-223 .
8 . Brehier, Histoire de la philosophic, vol. I, p . 266.
9. Cf Cicero, On the Limits ef Goods and Evils, III, 2 I , 72-73 .
r o . Plutarch, On Stoic Self- Contradictions, 9, r o3 5aff = S VF, vol. II, no. 42 =
Stoiciens, pp. 96-97.
3 26
Notes to Pages 8 l -99
l I . S VF II, no. 41 = Diogenes Laertius, VII, 40, 9-10.

1 2 . S VF II, 38 = Posidonius ap. Sextus Empiricus, Adversus mathematicos, VII,
19, l-2 = Against the Logicians, I , 1 9, vol. II, p. I O Bury.
1 3 . SVF II, 5 3 = Chrysippus ap. Plutarch, On Stoic Self- Contradictions, IX,
103 5e2-4.
14. Diogenes Laertius, VII, 4 I . See also ibid. , 39, where mention is made of
philosophical doctrine, and not ofphilosophy. Cf P. Hadot, " Philosophie, discours
philosophique et divisions de la philosophie chez les sto!ciens, " Revue internation
ale de philosophie (1991), pp. 205-2 1 9 .
l 5 . See Plutarch, On Stoic Self- Contradictions, 9, 1 0 3 5aff.
1 6 . E mile Brehier, in his " Preface " to A. Virieux-Reymond, La logique et
l'epistemologie des Stoi'ciens (Chambery, n.d.), p. v.
1 7 . A. Bonhoffer, Die Ethik des Stoikers Epictet (Stuttgart, 1 894; reprinted
1 968), pp. iii-iv; Bonhoffer, Epictet und die Stoa (Stuttgart, 1 890; reprinted 1 968) ,
p. v.
1 8 . Epictetus, Discourses, II, 1 7, 40; II, 19, 9; III, 2, 1 3- 1 6 ; 2 1 , 7.
1 9 . Epictetus, Manual, I , I .
20. [Throughout, the term which Pierre Hadot has rendered in French as
" domaine " or "forme" is the Greek word topos. Topos literally means "place, "
but the ancient rhetorico-philosophical discipline of topics (one thinks of the
works entitled " Topics " by Aristotle and Cicero) has been excellently defined as
follows by the Swiss philosopher A.-J. Voelke: "A discipline which permits the
orator to find what it is appropriate to say, in accordance with the situation in
which he finds himself, and the goal he has set himself In particular, topics
provided a repertoire of points of view, or places, susceptible of providing a basis
for a variety of forms of arguments. " La Philosophie comme therapie de l'ame: E tudes
de philosophie antique (Fribourg, Suisse/Paris, 1 99 3 ) , p. 2. -Trans.]
2 I . Plato, Republic, IV, 43 6bff
22. Plutarch, On Moral Virtue, III, 441 C-D.
23 . See Epictetus, Discourses, I, 4, 1 2 ; III, 2, I .
24. Stoi'ciens, p . 3 0 (3 9) [= Diogenes Laertius VII, 40, vol. II, p . l 50 Hicks
-Trans.] .
2 5 . Cf H. Throm, Die Thesis (Paderbom, 1 9 3 2) , pp. 8 8 , I I 8 ; P. Hadot,
"Philosophie, dialectique, rhetorique clans l' Antiquite, " Studia philosophica, 3 9
(1 980) : 1 47
26. A.-J. Voelke, L'Idee de volonte dans le stoidsme (Paris, 1 97 3 ) , p. 97.
27. This point, I believe, should suffice to refute the obj ections set forth by
D. Pesce, in his II Platone di Tubinga (Brescia, 1 990) , pp. 5 5 ff.
2 8 . S VF, vol. I I I , 6 8 [= Plutarch, O n Stoic Self- Contradictions, 9, 103 5 c Trans.] .
29. On these types of reasoning, see Stoi'ciens, pp. 1 3 3 9-1 3 40, notes to p. 824.
30. After a general introduction (chapter l), the reader proceeds to the disci
pline of desire (chapters 2-29) ; the discipline of action (chapters 3 0-5 l ) ; and the
Notes to Pages 99- 1 2 5
3 27
discipline of assent (which is only mentioned in passing; see chapter 52) . The
Manual then concludes with a series of sayings which must always be kept " at
hand" (chapter 5 3 ) ; cf. M. Pohlenz, Die Stoa, vol. 2 (Gottingen, 1 9 5 5) , p. 1 62.
3 I . On these attempts, cf. P. Hadot, Exercices spirituels, pp. 1 50-1 5 3 .
6 . The Inner Citadel, o r the Discipline efAssent
I . Stoidens, p. 32 (49) [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives of the Eminent Philosophers,

VII, 49. Cf. the translation of Long and Sedley vol. I , 3 3D, p. 1 96; 3 9A,
pp. 2 3 6-23 7 -Trans.] .
2. Ibid., p . 3 3 ( 5 1 ff.) [= Diogenes Laertius VII, 5 1 ff; cf. Long and Sedley
vol. I, 3 9A, pp. 2 3 6-23 7; 4oP; Q, p. 248 ; 3 9D, p. 2 3 8 ; 40A, pp. 24 1-2; etc.
-Trans.] .
3 . Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights, XIX, I , 1 5-20.
4. Stoi'ciens, p . 489 (= Cicero, On Fate, XIX, 43 ) .
5 . S VF I I , 98 (= Sextus Empiricus, Against the Logicians, II (= Adversus
Mathematicos, VIII) , 3 97, vol. II, pp. 446-447 Bury [Loeb Classical Library]) .
6 . Plutarch, On Moral Virtue, 3 , 44 1 c .
7. S VF I I , 846 (= Damascius, Commentary o n the Phaedo, 276, p . 1 67
Westerink) .
8 . Goldschmidt, Systeme stoi"cien, pp. 1 20-1 2 r .
9 . I base this translation of o u pantos on the versions of such previous transla
tors as A. Politian, W. A. Oldfather, M. Meunier, and W. Capelle.
IO. Sextus Empiricus, Adversus Mathematicos, VII, 234, 2 - 2 3 5 , 4 = Against the
Logicians, I, vol. II, 2 3 4-2 3 5 , p. 126 Bury (LCL) .
I I . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 78, 1 4.
1 2 . Seneca, On the Constancy of the Sage, X, 4.
I 3 . Seneca, On Anger, II, 4, 1
14. Ibid., I, I 6, 7.
1 5 . Empedocles frr. 27-28 Diels-Kranz; Horace, Satires II, 7, 86.
1 6 . Stoidens, p. 44 ( 88) = S VF vol. Ill, 4 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII, 88
-Trans.] .
1 7 . Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, X, 7, u 77b26.
1 8 . Paul Claudel, Vers d'exil ["Verses from Exile "] , VII.
1 9 . Plotinus, Enneads, I, I , 1 3 , 7.
20. Pascal, Pensees, 460, p . 544 Brunschvicg.
2 r . Ibid., 793 , p. 695 .
22. S VF Ill, 1 7 1 = Stoidens, p . 1 3 3 ad.finem [= John Stobaeus, Eclogae, II, 8 8 ,
1ff. Wachsmuth; C f. Long and Sedley 3 3 I, vol I p . 1 97 (translation) ; vol. I I
p . 200 (Greek text, commentary, and further literature) -Trans.] . Cf. Voelke,
L'Idee de volonte, pp. 50-5 5 .
23 . S VF III, 265 = Stoidens, p . 4 5 , 92 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII,
92-93 -Trans.] .
328
Notes t o Pages I 26-I 4 1
2 4 . R . Schaerer, La Question platonicienne (Paris-Neuchatel, 1 969) , p . I OO.

25. E . Brehier, " Preface" to A. Virieux-Reymond, La Logique et l'epistemologie
des Stoi'ciens, Chambery, p . v.
7 . The Discipline of Desire, or Amor Fa ti
1 . Cf. Voelke, L'Idee de volonte, pp. I 3 I-I 3 3 .

2 . Stoi'ciens, p . 44, 87-89 = S VF III, 4 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII,
87-89 -Trans.] .
3 . On the identity of living according to nature and living in accordance
with the logos (Marcus Aurelius VII, I I) , cf. Stoi'ciens, p . 44, 86 = S VF III, I 78
[= D.L. , Lives, VII, 8 5-86 -Trans.] .
4. Anatole France, Le Livre de mon ami, XI, in Oeuvres, vol. I (Paris, La
Pleiade), p. 5 I 5 .
5 . S VF, vol. II, 509 [= Johannes Stobaeus, Eclogae, I, 8 , 40, p . I 06, 5 ff. ed.
Wachsmuth = Arius Didymus, Epitome, Fr. Phys. 26, ed. H. Diels (Doxographi
Graeci, Berlin, I 879, pp. 46 I f.) = Long and Sedley fr. 5 IB, trans. vol. I, p. 3 04;
Greek text and commentary vol. II, pp. 3 0 I-302 -Trans.] . On this problem
atic, cf. ].-]. Duhot, La Conception stoi'cienne de la causalite (Paris, I989) , pp . 95I OO.
6. H. Bergson, La Pensee et le Mouvant (Paris, I 9 3 4) , pp. I 68-I 69.
7. Cf. Simplicius, Commentary on Aristotle 's Categories, p. 407, 3 Kalbfleisch:
"for them, the future is determined. "
8 . This interpretation of Stoic ideas about the present, the past, and the
future is based on that of E mile Brehier, La Theorie des incorporels dans l'ancien
stoi'cisme (Paris, I 9623), pp. 5 8-59.
9. Goldschmidt, Systeme stoi'cien, p . I 9 5
I O . Pace E . R . Dodds, Pagans and Christians in a n Age of Anxiety (New York,
I 970) , p. 9, and Rist, in Meyer and Sanders, eds., Jewish and Christian Self-Defini
tion, pp. 3 8-3 9.
I I . Homer, Iliad, XX, I 27; XXIV, 209, 5 2 5 ; Odyssey, VII, I 97I 2 . Cf. Pierre Boyance, "Remarques sur le Papyrus de Derveni, " Revue des
Etudes Grecques, 87 ( I974) : 9 5 .
I 3 . Plato, Republic, 6 I 7b ff
I4. S VF II, 9 I 3 [= Stobaeus, Eclogae, I, 79, I Wachsmuth -Trans.] .
I 5 . S VF II, 9 I 4 [= Diogenianus in Eusebius, Evangelical Preparation, VI, 8 , 9,
I-IO, 5 Mras. -Trans.] .
I 6. Good accounts of this theory are contained in E . Brehier, Chrysippe (Paris,
I 9 5 I ) , pp. I I 4-I 27; S. Sambursky, The Physics of the Stoics (London, I 9 5 9) ,
pp. I I-I7. Cf. Stoi'ciens, pp. I 67-I 69 (= Plutarch, On Common Notions, 3 7,
I 077-I 078) .
I 7 . Stoi'ciens, p . I 69 [= Plutarch, On Common Notions I 078D-E -Trans.] .
I 8 . Hubert Reeves, Patience dans l'azur (Paris, I 9 8 8 ) , p . 259.
Notes to Pages 1 41-1 52
3 29
1 9 . Francis Thompson, The Mistress ef Vision (Aylesford: St. Albert's Press,

1 966) .
20. Euripides, fr. 898, in A. Nauck, ed. , Tragicorum Graecorum Jragmenta
(Leipzig: Teubner, 1 8 89; repr. Hildesheim: Olms, 1 964) .
2 I . Nietzsche, Ecce homo. TVhy I am so Intelligent, I O [= Friedrich Nietzsche:
Siimtliche Werke, Kritische Studienausgabe herausgegeben von Giorgio Colli und
Mazzino Montinari (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1 9 8 8 ) , vol. 6, p . 297,
24-29; cf Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy ef Morals and Ecce Homo, ed.
and trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: Vintage Books, 1 967) , p . 258 Trans.] .
22. Nietzsche, Nietzsche Contra Wagner, Epilogue, I [= vol. 6, p . 436, 1 5- 1 9
Colli/Montinari; c f. The Portable Nietzsche, selected and translated b y Walter
Kaufmann (New York: Viking Press, 1 9 54) , p. 680 -Trans.] .
23 . Nietzsche, Posthumous Fragments, late 1 8 86-Spring 1 8 87, 7 (3 8) [= vol. 1 2 ,
p p . 3 07-3 08 Colli/Montinari; c f. Friedrich Nietzsche, The Will t o Power, translated
by Walter Kaufmann and R. J. Hollingdale, edited by Walter Kaufmann (New
York: Vintage Books, 1 968), pp. 5 3 2-5 3 3 (no. ro32) -Trans.] .
24. Nietzsche, Posthumous Fragments, Spring-Summer 1 8 8 8 , 1 6 (3 2) [= vol. 1 3 ,
p . 492, 3 l-493 , 7 Colli/Montinari; cf Kaufmann/Hollingdale, pp. 5 3 6-5 3 7
(no. r o4 1 ) -Trans.] .
2 5 . William Blake, "Auguries of lnnocence, " in G. Keynes, ed. , Blake, Complete Writings (London, 1 966) , p. 43 I .
26. Seneca, On Benefits, VII, 3 .
27. Stoi"ciens, p . 140 (= Plutarch, On Common Notions, VIII, r o62a) .
2 8 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 74, 27.
29. On these notions, see P. Hadot, " Only the Present, " in Philosophy as a
Way of Life, pp. 63-7 5 .
30. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, 6 . 4 3 l I .
3 I . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, l 6, 4 .
3 2 . This has been the view o f scholars from Renan t o J . M. Rist (in Meyer
and Sanders, eds . , Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, p. 29) .
3 3 . Here I am following the text of Theiler.
3 4 . Aristotle, Protrepticus, fr. 2, pp. 27-28 in W. D. Ross, ed. , Aristotelis Frag
menta Selecta (Oxford, 1 9 5 5 ) .
3 5 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 16, 4. I n this passage, w e can recognize several of
Marcus Aurelius' hypotheses: an impersonal providence (= hypothesis 4 in our
diagram) ; a personal providence (= hypothesis 5) ; and chance (= hypothesis l ) .
O n these various hypotheses, cf. W. Theiler, " Tacitus und die antike Schicksal
slehre, " in Phylloboliafiir Peter von der Miihll (Basel, 1 945), pp. 3 5-90 [reprinted in
Theiler's Forschungen zum Neuplatonismus (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1 966) Trans.] .
3 6 . Cf. M. Frede, Die Stoische Logik (Gottingen, 1 974) , pp . 98-roo; Aulus
Gellius, A ttic Nights, XVI, 8, 14.
3 30
Notes to Pages l 5 3 - 1 7 1
3 7 . Chrysippus, i n Aulus Gellius, A ttic Nights, V I I , l , 7-1 3 .

3 8 . Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods, III, 3 5 , 86. See also II, 66, 1 67: the gods
are concerned about great things, and neglect the minor ones. Cf Philo of
Alexandria, On Providence, II, r o2 : the cataclysms brought about by the natural
transformation of the elements are only accidental consequences of fundamental
natural processes.
3 9 . Cf Marcus Aurelius' use of the word toioutos in Meditations, V, 8 , 4, where
the cosmos is described as "such-and-such" a body, and destiny as " such-and
such" a cause. See also IV, 3 3 , 3 .
40. Pascal, Pensees, 77, trans. W. F. Trotter (New York: E . P. Dutton, 1 95 8) ,
no. 77, p . 2 3 .
4 r . [The word translated here as " reasons " is the Greek logos, which has a
wide variety of meanings, including " formula, " " definition, " "proposition, " and
" account, " to name but a few. -Trans.]
42. Stoidens, p. 59 ( 1 3 5-1 3 6) ; S VF vol. II, r o27 [= Diogenes Laertius,
Lives, VII, 1 3 5- 1 3 6 ; cf Long and Sedley no. 46B, vol. I, p. 275 (translation) ; vol.
II, p. 272 (Greek text and commentary) -Trans.] .
43 . Seneca, Natural Questions, I, Preface, 3 .
44. Cleanthes, Hymn to Zeus, translation by A.-J. Festugiere, La Revelation
d'Hermes Trismegiste, vol. 2 (Paris, 1 949) , p. 3 1 3 ; see also Stoidens, p. 8 .
45 . Seneca, Natural Questions, I I , 4 5 , r .
46 . Ibid., II, 4 5 , 2-3 .
47. Ibid. , II, 46.
48 . Epictetus, Discourses, I, 1 2, 8; I , 20, l 5; Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, III,
1 6, 3; X, l l, 4; XII, 27, 2; XII, 3 l , 2 (on the identity of following Reason and
following God) .
49 . Cf. P. Hadot, " Introduction" to Plotin, Traite 50 (Paris, 1990) , p. 68.
50. Origen, Against Celsus, IV, 74; cf S VF, vol. II, u 5 6-u 57.
5 l . H. Bergson, Les Deux Sources de la morale e t de l a religion, p. 343 (the phrase
quoted is the last sentence of this work) .
52. Cicero, On the Nature of the Gods, II, 66, 1 65-1 66.
5 3. On this passage from Marcus Aurelius, see the remarkable article by
Andre-Jean Voelke, " Sante du monde et sante de l'individu: Marc Aurele V, 8 , "
Revue internationale de philosophie, 1 99 1 , pp. 3 22-3 3 5 . These pages are all the
more moving in that, as he was writing them, the author was quite aware of his
own imminent death.
54. Kaiser Marc Aurel und seine Zeit, ed. Klaus Stemmer (Berlin, 1988), p. xii.
5 5 . R. B. Rutherford, Meditations, p . 6 8 .
56. Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, r o7, 2.
57. Plotinus, Enneads, Treatise 38 (VI, 7) , 22, 3 r .
5 8 . I n Nietzsche Contra Wagner, " Epilogue, " I .
59. Journal de l'abbe Mugnier (Paris: Mercure d e France, 1 9 8 5 ) , p. 22 1 [= the
diaries of the French clergyman Arthur Mugnier ( 1 8 5 3-1944) ; the princess in
Notes to Pages I 72-I 89
33 I
question is Mugnier's Romanian correspondent Martha Bibesco (c. I 8 8 7-I973)

-Trans.] .
60. Note the "view from above " mentioned in the citations from Nietzsche
quoted above. On the theme of the "view from above, " cf. R. B. Rutherford,
Meditations, pp. I 5 5- I 6 I , 25 I ; P. Hadot, "La terre vue d'en haut et le voyage
cosmique, " in ]. Schneider and M. Leger-Orine, eds . , Frontieres et conqutes
spatiales, Dordrecht, I 9 8 8 , pp. 3 I-3 9 [trans. in Pierre Hadot, Philosophy As a
Way ef Life (Oxford, I 995) , pp. 23 8-250 -Trans.] .
6 r . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, r o2, 2 r .
62. I n the Loeb Classical Library edition, ed. and trans. A . M . Harmon, vol. 2 .
63 . This was the theme of a well-known eighteenth-century novel, Le diable
boiteux, writen by Lesage [" The Limping Devil. " Alain Rene Lesage, author of
The Adventures of Gil Blas de Santi/lane, wrote this work in I 707. For an English
translation, see Asmodeus; or, The devil on two sticks (London, I 84I) -Trans.] .
64. Lucian, Dialogues ef the Dead, vol. 7 of the Loeb Classical Library edition
of Lucian. Charon is in vol. 2.
6 5 . Epictetus, Discourses, III, 22, 24; E . Norden, Beitriige zur Geschichte der
grieschischen Philosophic (= ]ahrbiicher fur classische Philologie, I 9 . Supplementband)
(Leipzig, I 893), pp. 3 7 5-3 8 5 .
66. Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation, trans. E . F. ].
Payne (New York: Dover, I 966) (first edition, I 9 5 8) , vol. 2, p . 444. [The Latin
motto may be translated "Always the same things, but in a different way. "
-Trans.]
67. Lucretius, On the Nature of Things, III, 944.
6 8 . See Epictetus, Manual, chap. IT "in the drama of the world, you play the
role the Director wants you to play. " On this theme, cf. Goldschmidt, Systeme
stoiden, pp. I 8off.
69. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason (Hamburg, r oth edition, I 990) ,
p. I 86 [emphasis by Hadot -Trans.] .
8. The Discipline efAction, or Action in the Service of Mankind
r . Fronto, Deferiis Alsiensibus, III, 7, p. 2 I 6, I I Van den Hout = vol. 2, p. I 2

Haines: " Si quempiam condemnas, parum cavisse videtur. "
2 . I have borrowed this translation from I . G. Kidd, " Posidonius on Emo
tions, " in A. A. Long, ed. , Problems in Stoicism (London, I 9 7 I ) , p. 20 I ; see the
article by Kidd in the same collection: " Stoic Intermediates and the End for
Man. " See also I. Hadot, Seneca, pp. 72-78; and in V. D'Agostino, Studi sul
Neostoicismo, the chapter entitled " I doveri dell' etica sociale in Marco Aurelio, "
pp. I 20--I 40; Goldschmidt, Systeme stoiden, pp. r 45-I 6 8 .
3 . Stoidens, p . 50 ("Le convenable ") [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, Book VII,
r o7-I I O -Trans.] .
33 2
Notes to Pages 1 89-2 1 9
4. See Cicero, On the Limits of Goods and Evils, III, 5 , r 6ff , together with the
remarkable commentary of Goldschmidt, Systeme stoi'cien, pp. 1 26-1 3 2 .
5 . Seneca, O n Benefits, IV, 3 3 , 2 .
6. Cicero, On Duties, I I I , r 3 , I 5ff. On these casuistic problems, see I . Hadot,
" Tradition stolcienne et idees politiques aux temps des Gracques, " Revue des
E tudes Latines, vol. 48, pp. 1 6 1- 1 7 8 .
7. Cicero, O n Duties, I I I , 1 2 , 5 1-5 3 .
8 . Cf Voelke, L'Idee de volonte, pp. 73-7 5 .
9 . Marcus Aurelius, IV, r , 2; V, 20, 2; VI, 5 0 , 2; Epictetus, Manual, 62, 2 ;
Epictetus, quoted by Marcus, XI, 3 7, r . For Seneca, see the texts cited i n the
following notes.
IO. Seneca, On Peace of Mind, XIII, 2-3 .
r r . Seneca, On Benefits, IV, 3 4, 4-5 .
1 2 . Ibid.
r 3 . Cicero, On The Limits of Goods and Evils, III, 6, 22.
14. Seneca, On Providence, II, r, 4.
r 5. Seneca, On Benefits, II, I O, r .
1 6 . Ibid. , II, I O, 3 .
1 7 . S VF, vol. III, 45 [= Servius, Commentary on Virgil's Aeneid, I , 604 Trans.] . Cf Seneca, On the Happy Life, IX, 4: " (virtus) ipsa pretium sui ";
Spinoza, Ethics, V, proposition XLII .
1 8 . Here, I am following the text o f Farquharson.
1 9 . Matthew 6: 3 .
20. Plotinus, Enneads, I 4, IO, 26ff
2 r . Seneca, On Benefits, IV, 34, 4; On Peace of Mind, XIII, 3 .
22. Cicero gives a history of this exercise in his Tusculan Disputations, III, r 3 ,
28ff; c f I . Hadot, Seneca, pp. 6o-6 r .
23 . Philo of Alexandria, On the Special Laws, II, 46, 6-I O .
2 4 . I owe this excellent expression t o Mireille Armisen-Marchetti, " Imagina
tion et meditation chez Seneque. L'exemple de la praemeditatio, " Revue des Etudes
Latines, 64 ( 1 986) : 1 8 5- 1 9 5 .
2 5 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 9 8 , 6 .
2 6 . Immanuel Kant, Foundations ef the Metaphysics of Morals, 2nd section.
27. Stoi'ciens, p. 49 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII, I 05-I07 -Trans.] . Cf
E. Brehier, E tudes de philosophie antique (Paris, 1 987) , pp. 1 3 5-1 3 8 .
2 8 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 89, 1 4 .
2 9 . " Their" representation. We can render the Greek text more explicit in
this way, both because of the context and because of the parallel in Epictetus,
Manual, 6 r .
30. S VF, vol. III, 262; Philo of Alexandria, Allegory of the Laws, I , 87; cf.
Marcus Aurelius, I, 1 6, 5 .
3 r . Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 4, 4.
32. Plato, Laws, VI, 75 6e-75 8a; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, V, 6, r r 3 r a-b.
Notes to Pages 2 1 9-240
333
3 3 . Herodian, History of the Empire, I , 2 , 2 . Herodian is thinking in particular

of the marriage of Lucilla, widow of the emperor Lucius Verus, with Claudius
Pompeianus. It appears that this marriage was pleasing neither to Lucilla nor to
her mother, Faustina.
3 4 . S VF, vol. III, 1 2 5 .
3 5 . Plato, Republic, 6 1 7e 1 ; 620d8 ; Phaedo, I 07d7.
3 6 . Louis Lavelle, L'Erreur de Narcisse (Paris, 1 9 3 9) , p. l I I [trans. W. T. Gaird
ner, The Dilemma ef Narcissus, London and New York, 1 973 . Lavelle (1 8 8 3 1 9 5 1 ) , professor o f philosophy a t the Sorbonne and the College d e France,
proposed a spiritual version of existentialism. -Trans.] .
3 7 . Socrates in Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, VII, 3 , 1 1 45b2 1-27; Plato, Pro
tagoras, 3 45d; Gorgias, 509e; Timaeus, 86d.
3 8 . Galen, De animi cuiuslibet peccatorum dignotione et curatione , ed. W. de Boer,
Galeni de animi cuiuslibet peccatorum dignotione et curatione (= Corpus medicorum
Graecorum, vol. 5 .4. r . 1 [Leipzig: Teubner, 1 9 3 7] ) , p. 53 De Boer = vol. V, p. 77
Kiihn.
3 9 . Seneca, On Clemency, III, 4.
40. Lavelle, L'Erreur de Narcisse, p. 1 96. C J. de Romilly, La douceur dans la
pensee grecque (Paris, l 979) .
4 1 . Epictetus, Discourses, III, 22, 54.
42. Matthew 25 :40.
43 . Seneca, On Clemency, III, 3 .
9 . Virtue andJoy
r . Protagoras, 3 25a; 3 29c; Republic, 487a5 ; Phaedo, 69b2; Laws, I, 63 0-63 l and
XII, 963 .
2. Stoidens, pp. 44-46 [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII, 87-9 3 ] ; 5 6-5 8
[= D.L. , Lives, VII, 1 25-1 3 1] ; S VF, vol. III, 262ff. ; 295ff.
3. Orphei Hymni, ed. G. Quandt (Berlin, 1 9 5 5 ) , Hymn IO.
4. K. Smolak, " Der Hymnus des Mesomedes an die Natur, " Wiener Human
istische Blatter, 29 (1 987) : 1-1 3 .
5 . Cicero, On Duties, I , 4 , I I ; I , 5 , 1 5 . These notions are developed through
out the bulk of Book I .
6. On apparent conformity with nature which i s linked t o pleasure, and leads
us astray, see Cicero, Laws, I, 3 l .
7 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 59, 1 6-17.
8 . Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, X, 4, 1 1 74b3 3 .
9 . Seneca, On the Happy Life, IX, 2 ; c[ Stoidens, p . 46 (94) [= Diogenes
Laertius, Lives, VII, 94 -Trans.] .
I O . Seneca, On the Happy Life, XV, 2 .
l r . Stoidens, p . 5 3 ( 1 1 6) [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII, I I 6 -Trans.] .
1 2 . Ibid. , p . 1 66 (= Plutarch, On Common Notions, 3 5 , I077b) .
3 34
Notes to Pages 241-2 5 3
l 3 . Ibid. , p . 4 4 ( 8 8 : the easy flow oflife) [= Diogenes Laertius, Lives, VII , 8 8

-Trans.] .
14. Plato, Laws, IV, 7 1 6a r .
10 . Marcus Aurelius in His Meditations
r . Renan, p . 274.
2 . Ibid. , p . 267.
3 . Ibid. , p . 30.
4. Ibid. , p . 34.
5. P. Wendland, Die hellenistische-riimische Kultur in ihren Beziehungen zu
Judentum und Christentum (Tubingen, 1 9724) , p. 23 8 .
6. J. M. Rist, Stoic Philosophy (Cambridge, 1 969) , p. 286.
7. P. Petit, La Paix romaine (1 9823) , p . 1 94: "Marcus Aurelius, a Stoic phi
losopher of the superstitious rather than the rational type, despite the traces of a
rather negative despair at the end of his life. "
8 . Dodds, Pagans and Christians, pp. 8 , 29 n. r .
9 . Ibid. , p . 29 n. r .
I O . Historia Augusta, MA , V, 2.
l l. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 6, l .
1 2 . Grimal, p . 5 3 .
1 3 . Philostratus, Imagines, I , 30, 4, 8-9 Benndorf/Schenkl.
14. R. Dailly and H. van Effenterre, "Le Cas Marc Aurele, " Revue des etudes
anciennes, 56 (1954) : 3 49-3 50.
1 5 . Cassius Dio, LXXI, 6, 3-4.
16. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 36, 2.
1 7 . Dailly and van Effenterre, in Revue des hudes anciennes, 56: 3 54.
1 8 . T. W. Africa, " The Opium Addiction of Marcus Aurelius, " journal of the
History ef Ideas, 1 96 1 , pp. 98---5)9 . See my refutation of this article, " Marc Aurele
etait-il opiomane? " in Memorial Andre]ean Festugiere (Geneva: Cramer, 1 984) ,
pp. 3 3-50.
19. Galen, De antidotis, I, lff., in Opera omnia, vol. XIV, p . 2ff. Kuhn.
20. Galen, ibid. , I, 7, p. 42 Kuhn; II, 1 7 , p. 20 1 ; II, 9, p. 1 5 5 ; cf P. Hadot in
Memorial Andre]ean Festugiere, p. 3 8 .
2 r . Galen, A d Pisonem de theriaca, 2 , vol. 14, pp. 2 1 6-2 1 7 Kuhn.
22. T. W. Africa, in journal of the History of Ideas, 1 96 1 , p. I 02, n. 7 8 .
23 . Ibid. , p . I O I .
24. Thomas D e Quincey, Confessions of a n English Opium-Eater (New York:
Heritage Press, 1 950; l st ed. : London, 1 82 1 ) , p. 60.
2 5 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 99, IO; 49, 3 .
26. Greek Anthology, book VII, 472.
27. S VF, vol. 2, 762 = Stoidens, p . 1 78 [= Plutarch, On Common Notions, 44,
I083B-D -Trans.] .
Notes to Pages 2 5 3-275
335
2 8 . Plato, Cratylus, 402a; cf A. A. Long, " Heraclitus and Stoicism, " Philosophia (Academy of Athens) , 5-6 ( 1 975-'76) , p. 1 5 3
29. Plutarch, On the Disappearance ef Oracles, 3 9 , 43 2a.
30. Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1 5 , 1 79 .
3 r . Plato, Republic, 486a, quoted b y Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, VII, 3 5 .
3 2 . Philo o f Alexandria, O n the Special Laws, I I I , l-2.
3 3 . Maximus of Tyre, XX.II, 6, p . 91 Diibner.
34. Ovid, Metamorphoses, XV, 1 47
3 5 . For example, Seneca, Natural Questions, I, praefatio, 7-1 3 .
3 6 . Metrodori Epicurei Fragmenta, fr. 3 7, ed. A. Korte, in Neue ]ahrbucher fur
classische Philologie, Supplementband, XVII (1 890) , p . 5 57.
3 7 . Cicero, Dream of Scipio, 3, 1 6 . Cf A.-J. Festugiere, La Revelation d'Hermes
Trismegiste, vol. II (Paris, 1 949) , pp. 44 1ff.
38. Pascal, Pensees, section II, 72.
39. P. Rabbow, Seelenfuhrung. Methodik der Exerzitien in der Antike (Munich,
1 954) , p. 8 5 .
40. ]. Dalfen, " Formgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den Selbstbetrachtun
gen Marc Aurels, " inaugural dissertation at the University of Munich (Munich,
1 967) .
4 r . M. Alexandre, "Le travail de la sentence chez Marc Aurele: philosophie et
rhetorique, " in La Licorne, Publications de la Faculte des lettres et des langues de
l' Universite de Poitiers, 1 979/3 , pp. 1 2 5-1 5 8 .
42. R . B. Rutherford, The Meditations, pp. 1 26ff.
43 . Fronto, Ad Antonin. Imper. , De eloquentia, 4, 8, p. 1 40, 8 Van den Hout =
44. Fronto, Ad Antonin. Imper. , IV, l , p. r o 5 , 4-6 Van den Hout = vol. I,
p. 3 0 5 Haines.
4 5 . [Here Marcus is quoting Hesiod, Works and Days, l 97ff. -Trans.]
46. W. Williams, " Individuality in the Roman Constitutions: Hadrian and the
Antonines, " Journal of Roman Studies, 66 ( 1 976) : 78-82.
47. Breithaupt, pp. 1 5-16, cites the parallel with the titles placed at the begin
nings of the third and fourth books of the Odyssey: Ta en Puloi; Ta en Lakedai
moni (" The things that happened in Pylos "; " The things that happened in
Lacedaemonia") . As far as Marcus' titles are concerned, this would correspond
to " That which was written at Carnutum. "
48 . Theiler, p . 3 07.
49. Breithaupt, p. 39.
50. Theiler, p . 3 07. Should we attach any importance to the fact that Reuch
lin, in 1 5 1 7 , cites a passage from book IV as ifit belonged to book III? Cf above,
Chapter 2, n. 9.
5 r . On the grammatical problem, see Theiler, p. 307.
52. Theiler, p . 347.
5 3. [Villon's poem La ballade des Seig neurs du temps Jadis consists of a series of
3 36
Notes to Pages 276-295
stanzas, each of which ends with the refrain "Mais ou est le preux Charle
maigne? " -Trans.]
54. Historia Augusta, Lucius Verus, VIII, 7-1 r .
5 5 . O n Caninius Celer, see G. W. Bowersock, Greek Sophists in the Roman
Empire (Oxford, 1 969) , p. 53 (c Historia Augusta, MA, II, 4, p. 1 3 6; Philostratus,
Lives of the Sophists, I, 524) . The Hadrian mentioned by Marcus cannot be the
rhetor Hadrian of Tyre, as Dalfen believes (p. 69) , for the rhetor Hadrian died
well after Caninius Celer, and was still alive when Marcus was writing (c
Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, 1 1 , 5 90) .
56. See P. Courcelle, Recherches sur les Confessions de Saint Augustin (Paris,
1 968) , pp. 1 2-29 .
57. C P . Graindor, Un milliardaire antique: Herode Atticus e t s a Jamille (Cairo,
1 9 3 0) ; W. Ameling, Herodes Atticus, 2 vols. (Hildesheim, 1 9 8 3 ) .
5 8 . On the documents w e possess about this trial, see ]. H. Oliver, "Marcus
Aurelius: Aspects of Civil and Cultural Policy in the East, " in Hesperia, Supple
ment XIII, 1 970. For a French translation of the documents, see S. Follet,
" Lettre de Marc Aurele aux Atheniens (EM 1 3 3 66) : nouvelles lectures et inter
pretations, " Revue de philologie, 5 3 (1 979) : 29-43 . On the first of these trials, see
Fronto, Ad Marc. Caesar, III, 3 ff ; p. 3 7, 5ff Van den Hout = vol. I, pp. 59ff.
Haines. On the relations between Marcus and Herodes Atticus, see Bowersock,
Greek Sophists, pp. 49, 94-100.
59. Fronto, Ad Verum Imper. , I, 6, p . I I I , 1 7 Van den Hout = vol. II, p. 1 54
Haines.
60. Fronto, Ad Amicos, I, 3 , p . 1 73 , 28 Van den Hout = vol. I , p. 280 Haines.
6 r . Fronto, De feriis Alsiensibus, 4, p . 234, 1 3 Van den Hout = vol. II, p . I 8
Haines.
62. R. B. Rutherford, Meditations, p . 229.
63 . On the first book of the Meditations, see the excellent book by F. Martinazzolli, La "Successio " di Marco Aurelio (Bari, 1 9 5 1 ) .
64. Historia Augusta, MA XXIX, I O .
65. See R. B. Rutherford, Meditations, p . 1 3 2.
66. Renan, p . 36.
67. Historia Augusta, MA XXIX, 6.
6 8 . On Marius Maximus, see R. Syme, Emperors and Biography (Oxford,
1 9 7 1 ) , pp. 1 1 3-1 14.
69. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 34, 4-5 .
70. Ibid. , 30, 2.
7 r . Historia Augusta, MA XX, 5 .
72. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 34, 4.
73 . Historia Augusta, Avidius Cassius, I, 8.
74. Institut. Justin. , III, I I , r, quoted by W. Williams, in Journal of Roman
Studies, 66: 80; c G. Cortassa, Scritti di Marco Aurelio (Turin, 1 984) , p. 5 74
,
3 37
(Greek and Latin texts with Italian translation of all the works of Marcus Aure
lius) .
7 5 . On these figures, see R. MacMullen, Enemies of the Roman Order (Cam
bridge, Mass. , 1 966) , pp. I---9 4
76. The emperor Julian compares the figures of Cato and Dio of Syracuse,
because of their unhappy fate ( To Themistius, 3 , 256a) .
77 . Plutarch, Dio, 5 , S , 96ob; 7 , r , 96oe; S , l , 96 1b; 1 7 , 6 , 965a; 47, l-9,
97S-9 79; 52, r-3 , 9So-9S i .
7 S . Seneca, On the Constancy of the Sage, VII, l ; On Providence, II, 9ff.
79. Plutarch, Cato the Younger, 67-6S, 792-793 .
So. Epictetus, Discourses, I , 2 , 1 9; IV, l , 123 .
S I . On these questions, see P. A. Brunt, " Stoicism and the Principate, " Papers
of the British School at Rome, 43 ( 1 975) : 7-3 5 ; R. B. Rutherford, Meditations,
pp. 5 9-So (an excellent study of " The Stoics and the Empire ") .
S2. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 3 3 , 2.
S3. Historia Augusta, MA, XXII, 3; VIII, I .
S4. Herodian, History of the Empire, I , 2 , 4; and cf F. Millar, The Emperor in the
Roman World (London, 1 977) , pp. 2 7 1-27 i . In his preface to the Loeb edition of
Herodian (p. lxxx) , C. R. Whittaker emphasizes the relations between the ide
ology of Herodian and the tradition which goes back to Claudius Severus.
S 5 . Historia Augusta, MA, XII, I .
S6. See P. Hadot, " Fiirstenspiegel, " Reallexikon fur Antike und Christentum,
vol. VIII, fasc. 60 (1 970) , pp. 5 5 5-6 3 2 .
S7. R. B. Rutherford, Meditations, p . r o S .
S S . Historia Augusta, Antoninus Pius, XII, 6.
S9. Historia Augusta, MA, VIII, I .
90. Since Alexander and Philip were great conquerors, the context forces us
to conclude that the Demetrius mentioned here is not the statesman and Aristo
telian philosopher Demetrius of Phaleron, but the Macedonian conqueror De
metrius Poliorcetes, the " taker of cities. " The reading " of Phaleron, " attested by
manuscripts A and T, is a gloss which has been incorporated into the text, as had
been suspected by H. Schenkl and G. Cortassa.
9 i . Cicero, Orator, I, 230.
92. Cicero, Letters to Atticus, 2, I, S ; Plutarch, Phocion, 3, 2, 742
93 . Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 9 5 , 3 3 .
94. G . Ville, La Gladiature en Occident des origines a la mort de Domitien (Rome,
l 9S2), pp. 462, 4S2.
95. Historia Augusta, MA, XXIII, 5 .
96. Cassius Dio, LXXII, 29, 3 .
97. Reading hose pronomeia (pronoia AT) .
9 S . Vaclav Havel, Meditations d'he (Paris, 1 992) , p . 1 3 7 [published in English
as Vaclav Havel, Summer Meditations, trans. Paul Wilson, New York: Vintage
Books, 1 993 -Trans.] .
Notes to Pages 3 07-3 1 2
Conclusion
I . Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human, II, 1 68; vol. 2, p. 446 Colli/Montanari.
2. Renan, p. 1 66.
3. Ibid. , p . 1 62.
4. Immanuel Kant, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, 2nd section
[= p. 42 1 in the edition of the Konigliche Preussische Akademie der Wissen
schaft (Berlin, 1 902-1 93 8) -Trans.] .
5 . ]. Gernet, Chine et christianisme (Paris, 1991 2) , p . 1 93
6 . ]. Gernet, " La sagesse chez Wang-Fou-tche, philosophe chinois du XVII0
siecle, " in Les Sagesses du monde (Paris, 1 99 1 ) , p . 1 03 .
7 . Ibid. , p . 103 .
8 . Tang Zhen, Ecrits d'un sage encore inconnu, trans. L. Gernet (Paris, 1 99 1 ) ,
p . 97.
9. Seneca, Letters to Lucilius, 95, 3 3 .
I O . Goldschmidt, Systeme stoi'cien, pp. 2 1 6-2 1 8 .
I NDEX
Acceptance, 3 5-3 6, 3 8 , 91--<) 2, 1 4 3 , 1 44- 1 4 5 ,

1 4 8 , 1 62
Accessory consequence. See Consequence, ac
cessory
Accord, 7 5 , 1 50, 2 1 3 , 308. See also Harmony
Action: appropriate, 72, 86, 94, 1 8 8- 1 90; and
community, 40, 1 84- 1 8 5 , 1 8<J-1 90, 2 3 5 ; and
completeness, 195-198; discipline of, 40, 68,
69, 1 3 4, 1 8 3-23 1 , 234, 2 3 5 , 238, 266, 3 06;
and discipline of desire, 1 84-1 8 5 , 204, 2 1 4,
266; elimination of, r 87-1 8 8 ; and Epictetus,
6 8 ; and freedom, 200; and good, I I 8 , 1 89;
and happiness, 240; indispensable, 1 87; and
j ustice, 1 3 4, 234, 23 5; and Nature, 201-202;
and obstacle, 204; and politics, 1 90, 3 06; and
present, l r 9 ; and Reason, 1 8 5 , 202; and
rules of life, 46; and Seneca, r 99, 2 1 6; and
soul, 8 3 , 86; and time, 1 96; and value, 2 1 52 1 6; and value-judgment, 1 27; and virtue,
2 3 8 ; whole-hearted, 1 86, 1 87. See also Duty;
Impulse
Adequacy, 84-8 5 , 8 8 , 1 04, 1 3 1
Aelius Aristides, 294
Aelius Caesar, r
Aeschylus: The Seven Against Thebes, 2 3 3
Aesthetics, r 70, 260
Affectionateness, 279-2 80
Africa, T. W. , 250, 2 5 r-25 3 , 2 5 6
Alexander ofDamascus, 1 9
Alexander the grammarian, 282
Alexander the Great, 275, 3 05-306
Alexander the Platonist, 16, 17, 282
Alexandre, Monique, 257
All, 92, 98-100, 1 29, 1 76, 2 1 1 , 2 1 2, 240, 242 .
See also Whole
Altruism, 44, 2 1 0-2 1 5
Amorfati, 1 43-147
Anachronism, 257, 308, 3 09
Anger, ro, 67, 23 3 , 271

Animal, 1 50, 1 84, 1 89, 280
Annius Verus, 282-28 3
Antipater o f Tarsus, 1 9 2
Antisthenes, 269
Antoninus Pius, r , 2, 6, r r , 1 5 , 246, 278, 298;
and impartiality, 2 1 8 ; as model, 1 7 , 268, 2 8 3 ,
299, 3 00-3 02; and reserve clause, 194
Apollonius of Chalcedon, 9, 1 4-1 5 , 37
Apollonius of Seleucia, 90
Appearance, 87, 1 3 3 , 1 64, 1 6 5
Arcesilaus, 200
Archedemus, 82, 192
Arethas, 22, 24
Arista (jurist) , 7
Arista of Chios, r l-14, 7 1-72; " Comparisons, " 1 3
Aristotelianism, 1 9 , 73 , 79
Aristotle, 7 3 , 74, 79, 1 2 3 , 1 69, 1 70, 2 1 9 , 223
Arrian of Nicomedia, 50, 6o-6 3 , 65, 98--<19
Art, 1 3 4, 147
Assent: and desire, 125, 1 29; and destiny, l 2 r ;
discipline o f, 87-8 8 , 9 1 , 9 3 , 97, r o r - 1 27,
1 3 1 , 234, 23 5-236; and Epictetus, 1 02-1 03 ;
and evil, 12 5; and good, 12 5; and guiding
principle, 1 2 8 ; and hierarchy, 9 3 ; and im
pulse, 1 2 5 , 1 29; and logic, 9 1 ; and present,
1 3 1 ; and reality, 232; and representation, 8 5 ,
87-8 8 , 97, 1 2 5 , 1 2 8 ; and truth, 1 2 5 , 234,
23 5-236; and value-judgment, 1 27. See also
Judgment
Athenagorus, 1 9
Atomism, 39, 4 3 , 5 5-56
Atoms vs. providence, 3 9-40, 147-163 , 265,
308
Attention, 1 3 2, 1 3 4, 1 3 7, 2 1 5 . See also Con
sciousness
Aufidius Victorinus, l r, r 3
3 40
Augustine, 2S7; Soliloquies, 3 3
Aulus Gellius, 4 , 3 4, 52-5 3 , 59, 63 -64, 6 5 , 1 02;
Attic Nights, 3 2 , 1 1 5 - 1 1 6
Aurelius Victor, 2 1
Autonomy, S 3 , l So
Aversion, S7, l 2 S . See also Desire
Avidius Cassius, 2, 2 1 , 24S , 262, 2S9, 294
Barth, Carl, 26, 2 7
Baudelaire, Charles, 293
Beast. See Animal
Beauty, 76, 1 69, 1 70, 1 7 1 , 259
Benevolence, 200-203 , 2 1 7, 2 1 S , 22S, 271
Bergson, Henri, 1 6 1
Body: and circumscription, l l 3 , l l 4, l2o; com
munity as, 230; as corpse, 1 67; and depend
ence, S 3 ; and emotion, 1 1 5- 1 16; freedom
from, 49; and humanity, 20 1 , 2 1 4; and intel
lect, 3 9 ; and self, l l 3 , l l 4, l 20, l So; and sen
sation, 1 0 1 ; and soul, 1 1 3 - 1 1 4
Bonhiiffer, A., S 2
Breath. See Vital breath
Brehier, E mile, 74, 7S, S2, 127
Breithaupt, G., 26 1 , 262
Brunt, P. : "Marcus Aurelius in his Meditations, "
27
Brutus, 297, 29S
Byzantium, 22
Carnutum, 261
Casaubon, Meric, 24, 2 5
Cassius Dio, 3 , S -\) , 2 0 , 2 1 , 2 1 S , 246, 247, 24S249, 250, 2S9, 293 , 3 00, 305
Cato of Utica, 297, 29S, 3 04
Cato the Younger, 4
Catulus. See Cinna Catulus
Cause: and choice, 1 1 4; and Chrysippus, 1 5 3 ;
and destiny, l 20; direct vs. indirect, 1 5 3 ; dis
tinguishment of, 40-4 1 ; and event, 47; and
exteriority, 1 06; external, 1 1 4, 1 2 S , 129, l 3 S ,
27 1 ; and freedom, I I 4; inner, 1 1 4, l 2 S , 1 29;
and matter, 40, 49; and Nature, 47, l 3 S , 27 1 ;
outer (ektos aitia, outer cause) , 2 7 1 ; and Rea
son, l 5 3 ; and rules of life, 46; and Stoicism,
79; as theme, 273
Champlin, E., 12, 1 3
Chance, l 5 l - 1 52
Chaos, l4S
Chapter-heads, 3 S-4 1 , 67
Choice: and accord with self, 7 5 ; and causality,
1 1 4; and destiny, l 2o; and justice, 222; and
morality, l 2 l ; and probability, 77, 1 9 1 - 1 92,
Index
193 ; and self-consciousness, l 79-1 So; and
soul, S 3 ; and Stoicism, S9
Christianity, l S - 1 9, 60, 1 59, 23 1
Chrysippus, S2, 1 2 3 ; and consequences, 1 9 1 ;
and cosmic unity, 1 4 1 ; and desire, 94; and direct vs. indirect causality, l 5 3 ; and educa
tion, So, S l; explication of, 6 3, 7 3 ; Fronto
on, l S ; and Moirai, 1 3 9- 1 40; and Nature,
94, l 30; and Plutarch, So; and present, 1 46;
and Reason in matter, 1 66; and repre
sentation, 1 1 0; and time, 1 3 5 , 1 3 6
Cicero, 9 , 1 4 , 4 3 , 5 2 , 99, 1 6 1 , 1 62, 1 94- 1 9 5 ,
304; Dream a[ Scipio, 2 5 5 ; O n Duties, 192,
23S
Cinna Catulus, 16-17, 19
Circumscription, 1 1 2- 1 2 5 , 13 l - 1 3 7
City: and Epictetus, 2 r r ; human vs. cosmic,
99; and Reason, 7 5 ; of World, 42-43 , 21 l 2 1 2 , 2 1 4, 239, 291
Claudius Max:imus, 1 6 - 1 7 , 1 9 , 2 S 1 -2S2
Claudius Severus Arabianus, 16-17, 1 9 , 2S2,
296, 297, 29S-299
Cleanthes, l S ; Hymn to Zeus, 1 5 7
Clotho, l 3 <r- l 40
Coherence, 75-76, 9 S - 1 00, 1 3 0- 1 3 1 , 2 1 2 , 246247. See also Harmony
Commodus, l , 2, 19, 22, 24S, 252, 293 , 294
Community: and action, 40, l S4- 1 S 5 , l SC)1 90, 2 3 5 ; as body, 230; conduct toward, 20S;
and Epictetus, 2 1 5 ; as form of reality, 232;
and good, 1 92, 2 1 0-2 1 1 , 2 1 5 ; and impulse,
S7, l 3 l; and indifference, S6; and love, 22923 l; and politics, 3 06; and reason, 40, 7S, S6,
2 1 l, 212, 2 1 3 , 229-230; and self-circumscrip
tion, I I S; service to, 46, 200, 20 1 ; as theme,
2 7 1 ; and wealth, 2 1 5 ; and will, 1 3 ! . See also
Society
Composition, interwoven, 264, 26S, 269, 27 1 ,
272
Concern, 1 90- 1 9 1 , 209, 2 1 0
Concord. See Accord
Conscience, 9 5 , l S l , 2 1 5 , 266, 274, 30S, 309,
311
Consciousness, l 1 2 , r r 6, 1 20, 1 3 7, 1 4 5 - 1 46,
l 79-1S2, 20 1 , 202, 203 . See also Attention
Consent: and desire, 1 4 5 , 1 49, l S 3 ; to Destiny,
44, 92, 1 4 5 , 197, 239; discipline of, 40; and
event, 1 44, 1 4 5 , 1 46; and present, 1 3 2 , 1 4 5 ,
1 4 6 ; and providence, 1 62; and reason, 1 4 5 ,
14S, 1 49: t o Whole, 1 43 ; t o World, 1 4 5
Consequence, 1 5 1 , 1 5 3 - 1 54, 1 5 5 , 1 5 6, l 6 S 1 70, 1 90- 1 9 1 , 220. See also Result
Index
Convention, 8, 5 5-56
Cosmos: and consciousness, 145-146, 1 79-1 82;
immensity of, 1 72-1 79, 1 80, 2 5 3 , 254, 2 5 5 ,
2 5 6 ; and love, 1 42; and Reason, 8 2 , 1 00; and
self, 1 80; unity of, l 1 9 , 1 4 1 . See also Uni
verse; World
Courage, 8 8 , 2 3 3
Court life, 267, 291-296
Crates, 57
Cynicism, 7, 8, 56, 57, 1 73-175
Dailly, R., 247-249, 252
Daimon, 76, 1 23-124, 1 3 0, 1 59-1 60, 265, 266
Dalfen, J., 2 5 7
Dance, 1 3 4, 1 47, 1 9 5
Danger, 1 5 5
Danubian campaign, 248, 250--2 5 1 , 262, 3 00
Dead Poets' Society, The, 1 7 1- 1 72
Death: and All , 1 76; and autobiography, 275277; and court life, 292-293 ; and Danubian
campaigns, 262; and Destiny, 40; of ele
ments, 5 5 ; Epictetus on, 66; and exercise,
275; and freedom, 275; and frivolity, 1 861 87; and homogeneity, 1 7 8 ; and imagina
tion, 47-48; and metamorphosis, 1 72; and
Nature, 275; and obstacle, 275; and perspec
tive, 1 7 5 ; and physical definition, 1 66; and
present, 1 47; and rules of life, 46; and seri
ousness, 1 8 8 ; and Socrates, 74; and Stoic vs.
Epicurean physics, 148; as theme, 264, 265266, 270--2 7 1 , 273-274; and time, 1 3 5-1 3 7,
1 86-1 87
Deception, 97
Definition, physical, 1 04-105, 1 3 3 , 1 3 7, 1 5 4,
1 64-1 66, 167
Delimitation. See Circumscription
Demetrius Poliorcetes, 250, 3 05-306
Demetrius the Cynic, 7
Democritus, 5 5-56, 1 87, 269
Dependence, 8 3 ; and body, 49, 8 3 ; and desire,
9 1 ; and event, 1 42; and evil, 86, 1 3 8 ; and
good, 1 3 8 ; and impulse, 87; and indiffer
ence, 1 0 8 , 1 5 1 ; and obstacle, 209; and self
circumscription, 1 1 4; and time, 1 3 1 ; and
value-judgment, l l l-1 1 2 . See also Freedom
DeQuincey, Thomas, 2 5 5 , 256
Derveni papyrus, 1 3 9
Descartes, l 5 5
Desire: and acceptance, 9 l -<)2; and action, l 97;
and All , 99, 1 29; and assent, 1 2 5 , 1 29; and
Chrysippus, 94; and coherence, l 30; and
consent, 1 4 5 , 1 49, 1 8 3 ; and dependence, 9 1 ;
341
and Destiny, 86, 1 29, 1 4 5 , 23 5 ; cliscipline of,
45, 68, 69, 9 1 -<)2 , 9 3 , 94, 99, 128-182, 1 8 3 ,
1 84-1 8 5 , 1 97, 204, 2 1 4, 220, 234, 2 3 5 , 236,
2 3 8 , 266; and discipline of action, 1 84-1 8 5 ,
204, 2 1 4, 266; and Epictetus, 1 3 7-1 3 8 , 1 4 3 ;
and event, 1 29; and exercise, 8 7 ; goal o f,
1 3 7-1 3 8 ; and good, 8 4 , 9 1 ; and guiding prin
ciple, 89; and indifference, l l 8, l 3 8; and in
ner discourse, 84; and merit, 220; and Na
ture, 9 5 , r 2 8-1 30; and pain, 1 2 8 ; and
passion, 1 2 8 ; and passivity, 1 2 8 ; and physics,
9 1 , 92, 94-97, 1 42; and piety, 1 3 4; and Plato,
2 3 3 ; and pleasure, 1 2 8 ; and present, 1 3 1 ; and
Reason, 92; and rules of life, 44; and soul,
86, 8 8 ; teaching on, 94; and temperance,
234, 2 3 5 , 236, 2 3 8 ; and value-judgment,
1 27; and virtue, 2 3 8 ; and will, 1 2 8 . See also
Aversion
Destiny: and assent, I2 l ; and attachment, l l 9;
and causality, 1 20; and choice, 1 20; and con
sent, 44, 92, i 4 5 , 197, 239; and death, 40;
and desire, 86, 1 29, 1 4 5 , 23 5 ; and determi
nate universe, 1 5 5 ; and event, 1 3 8 , 142; and
evil, 207; as form of reality, 2 3 2 ; and free
dom, 1 80; and guiding principle, 1 14-1 1 5 ,
l l 8; and indifference, l 89; and intention,
1 9 5 : and justice, 22 1 ; love of, 1 44, 1 4 5 ; and
necessity, l 57; and obstacle, 204, 209; and
providence, l 48; and self-circumscription,
I I 4-1 1 5 , 1 1 7-1 1 8 ; and self-consciousness,
1 80; and Stoicism, 1 44- 1 4 5 ; and three acts of
soul, 8 3 ; and time, i 3 6 ; and value, 22 1 ; and
will, l 80. See also Fate
Development, 1 5 5- 1 5 6
Dialectic, 4, 1 3 , 48-5 1 , 7 2 , 7 3 , 74, 7 7 , 78, 79,
80--82, 8 5 . See also Discourse
Dianoia (reflection) . See Reflection
Dice game, 209, 2 1 0
Dictation, 3 3
Difficulty, 1 3 2, 1 3 3 , 204-209. See also Misfortune; Obstacle
Dio, 297
Diogenes Laertius, 1 02
Diogenes ofBabylon, 192, 221
Diognetus, 5 , 6-7, 8 , 16, 282
Dionysiac, 145
Dionysius of Syracuse, 297
Discipline of action. See Action
Discipline of assent. See Assent
Discipline of desire. See Desire
Discipline of impulse. See Impulse
Discipline ofjudgment. See Judgment
3 42
Discourse, 79, 80, Sr, 82, 84-8 5 , 8<J-90. See
also Dialectic; Inner discourse
Discourses (Epictetus), 5, 14, 26, 3 7, 50; compo
sition of, 6o-64; content of, 64, 8 3 , 94-9 5 ,
1 1 6- 1 1 7, 2 3 8 , 269; quotations from, 66-69,
272
Diajunction, 3 9 , 43 , 147- 1 6 3
Distribution, o f portion, 2 1 8 , 2 1 9, 2 2 1 -222
Dodds, E . R., 246-247
Dogma, 3 6-43 , 50, 5 1 , 6 r , 67
Domitian, 60, 296, 298
Dorandi, Tiziano, 3 3
Duration, 1 3 6 , 1 3 7
Duty, 72, 1 84, 1 90, 224, 225-226, 228. See also
Action, appropriate
Education, 4, 63 -64, 74, 80-82, 96-<} 8 , r 6 r ,
225-227, 228
Egotism, 214, 2 1 5 , 280
Ektos aitia (outer cause) , 271
Eleusinian Mysteries, 2
Eloquence. See Rhetoric
Emotion, 1 1 5 - 1 1 7 , 1 80. See also Passion
Empedocles, 5 5, r r 9
Empiricism, r 8 r
Ends, kingdom of, 2 1 3
End (telos) vs. goal (skopos), 1 94- 1 9 5
Epakolouthesis (necessary but nonessential consequence) , 5 2
Epaphroditus, 60
Epictetus, 1 5 9; and assent, I 02- I 0 3 ; and body
as corpse, 1 67; and city, 21 r; and commu
nity, 2 1 5 ; and consequences, 1 9 1 ; and death,
66; and discipline of desire, 1 3 7- 1 3 8 , 1 4 3 ;
and disjunction, 1 49; and dogma, 3 6 ; and
duty, 1 8 8 , 1 90; and education, 226; and ego
tism, 2 1 4; and Epicureanism, 5 8 ; and evil,
1 26-127, 207, 223 -224; and exercise-theme,
82- I Oo, I O I ; and exteriority, I 06; and fallibil
ity, 286; and fault, 5 8 ; and foresight, 206; and
freedom, 208-209; and good, 1 26-1 27, 2 1 5 ;
and ignorance, 223 -224; and impulse, 2 1 5 ;
and indifference, r I O ; and intention, 1 9 5 ;
and judgment, 5 0 , 5 6 , I 07; and Junius Rus
ticus, 1 7; and man, 2 1 1 , 3 u -3 1 2 ; and Mar
cus Aurelius, 82, 1 2 8 , 1 3 1 ; and Moirai, 1 40;
and Nature, 66; and obstacle, 209; and
Other, 1 2 1 - 122, 1 24; and philosophy, 4, IO,
1 90, 286; and pity, 224; and Plato, 223 -224;
and providence, 1 6 1 ; and reason, 66, 1 5 8 ,
1 8 1 ; and representation, 5 5 , 5 6 , I 04, I 0 5 ,
r u ; and reserve clause, 1 9 3 , 204; and sage,
Index
r 6 r; and self-circumscription, r r 4; and self
extent, 1 8 1 ; and soul, 66, 8 8 , 1 1 4; and spiri
tual exercise, 50, 5 1 , 243 ; stature of, r r ; and
Stoicism, 1 6, 7 3 , 82- I Oo; teachings of, 5966, 82-IOo; and three rules oflife, 69-70;
and value, I 09, 2 1 5 , 2 1 8 , 3 u -3 1 2 ; and vir
tue, 23 8; and whole-hearted action, r 86;
Manual, 6r, 99, I 09, 1 1 4, 143 . See also Dis
courses (Epictetus)
Epicureanism, 5 8-59, 1 4 8 - 1 50, 1 5 1 - 1 52, 240,
308
Epicurus, 3 9 , 43 , 5 8-59
Equality, 2 r 9, 299
Eros, 76
Eternal Return, 75-76, 1 44, 1 4 5 , 267. See also
Repetition
Ethics, 73 -74, 77, 78, 79, 80-82, 89, 90, 9 1 , 94,
97. See also Morality
Eudemus of Pergamon, 1 9
Euripides, 1 42, 269
Event, 3 5 -36, 3 8 , 45, 47, 1 29, 1 3 8- 1 3 9, 1 401 4 1 , 1 42, 1 43 , 1 44, 1 4 5 , 1 46
Evil: apparent, 87; and Aristotle, 223 ; and as
sent, 1 2 5 ; and dependence, 86, r 3 8 ; and Des
tiny, 207; and Epictetus, 126- 1 27, 207, 223224; and freedom, I 07- I 0 8 ; and ignorance,
223-22 5 ; and judgment, 1 09, 223 , 225; and
justice, 220; moral, 36-37, 3 9 , 69, 7 3 , 84, 86,
I07- I 09, 125, 1 3 8 , 223-22 5 ; and Nature, 40;
and necessary consequence, r 56; and phys
ics, 94; and Plato, 223 ; and Reason, 8 8-89,
I 09; and Socrates, 74; and soul, ro8-I09;
source of, I 07
Exercise: and Danubian campaigns, 262; and
death, 275; dialectical, 48-5 r ; and difficulty,
204-209; and Epictetus, 50, 5 r , 243 ; intellec
tual vs. lived, 97; and obstacle, 270; philo
sophical, 86-<}8, 1 64; spiritual, 48-5 1 , I O I ,
243 -244, 2 5 5 , 3 1 2-3 1 3 ; and time, 1 3 1
Exercise-theme, 82-I Oo, I O I , 2 3 2
Experience, 220
Exteriority, I 06
Fallibility, 286-287, 293 , 295-296
Fame, 40, 1 6 5 , 1 7 5 - 1 76, 268. See also Glory
Family, 72
Farquharson, A. S. L., 27, 6 5
Fate, 4 5 . See also Destiny
Fault, 39, 5 7-5 8, 86
Faustina, r, 2, 252, 262, 2 8 3
Favorinus, 59
Favoritism, 2 r 8 , 2 r 9
Index
Fire, 74, 7 5 , 1 44, 1 99, 267
Flavius Boethius, l 9
Foresight, 20 5-206, 208
Formula, 2 5 8-2 5 9
France, Anatole, l 3 3
Frankel, H . , 68, 69
Freedom, 7 1 ; and action, 200; and attention,
1 3 4; and body, 49; and causality, 1 1 4; and
death, 275; and Destiny, 1 80; and Epictetus,
208-209; and evil, I07-I08; and foresight,
208; and good, 7 1 , 84, I07- I 0 8 ; and guiding
principle, 83-84, 89, I 07, I 0 8 , 1 22; inner,
29 l ; and inner discourse, I 06, I 07; and in
tention, 203 ; and judgment, 40, 4 7; kinds of,
! 22; and Nature, 54-5 5 ; and necessity, l I 2 ;
political, 2 9 8 , 299-3 00; and present, l 3 2 ;
and Reason, 1 9 8 ; and self-consciousness,
1 79-1 80; and soul, 8 3 , I 06-I 07; and Stoi
cism, 89; and value, 1 7 1 ; of viewpoint, I 2 l ;
and will, 1 99 See also Dependence
Frivolity, l 86-l 87
Franta, I O , 1 8 , 5 1 , 1 8 8 , 257, 259, 27g-280; cor
respondence, l -2, 4-5 , 6, 8, l l-12, 14, 1 6
Future, 206
Galen, 19, 60, 62; On Antidotes, 250-25 1 ; On
Becoming Aware of Psychic Defects, 223
Gataker, Thomas, 23, 24, 2 5
Gavius Clarus, 27g-280
Generosity: See Benevolence
Gentleness, 226-228, 229, 3 0 1-302
Gemet, J., 3 IO
Gesner, Andreas, 22
Gilliam, J. F. , 3
Gladiator, 3 04-3 05
Glory, 40, 268, 3 o r . See also Fame
Goal, 1 8 5 , 1 94- 1 9 5 , 241
God, 76, 95--g6, 1 5 6, 1 5 7, 1 79, 1 99-200. See
also Daimiin
Gods, 86, 1 4 8 , l 5 8 , 236, 271
Goldschmidt, Victor, l IO, l l l ' l 3 7 , 3 l 2
Good: and action, l l 8, l 89; and All , 240; apparent, 87; and Aristotle, 223 ; and assent,
I2 5; and circumscribed self, ! 20; common,
l 1 8 , 1 87; and community, 1 92, 2 1 0-2 u ,
2 1 5 ; and consciousness, 20 1 , 202; and de
pendence, 86, 1 3 8 ; and desire, 84, 9 1 ; and
disinterest, 20 1 ; and Epictetus, ! 26-1 27, 2 1 5 ;
and evil, 3 9 ; external, I 20; and freedom, 7 1 ,
84, I07-I08; and God, l 9g-200; and happi
ness, 86, 20 1 ; and impulse, 84, 2 1 5 ; and in
tention, 77, 1 9 3 , 1 94, 1 9 5 , l 96; and judg-
3 43
ment, ro9; and knowledge, 223-225 ; moral,
3 6-3 7, 3 9 , 7 1 , 84, I 07-I 09, 1 2 5 , 1 3 8 , 1 46,
1 89, 1 9 3 , 1 9 5 , 1 96, 20 1 , 2 1 0-2 I I , 308; and
natural function, 20 1 ; and Nature, 202 ; and
part, 20 1 ; perception of, 227; and physics,
94; and Plato, 1 26; and Reason, 7 8 , 8 8-89,
I 09; and Socrates, 73-74, 1 26, 223 ; and soul,
I 08-I09; source of, I 07; and Stoicism, 3 63 7 ; value of, 1 46 ; and whole, 1 60, 20 1 , 2 1 2 ,
2 l 9; and Zeno of C it ium, 7 5 . See also Be
nevolence
Good man, 3 5 , 46, 78, 263 , 265
Gorgemanns, H . , 1 3
Gran river, 26 1 , 262
Grima!, Pierre, 24 7
Guiding principle, 45, 49, 52, 70; and assent,
! 2 8 ; and cause, 49; and contentment, 1 79 ;
and desire, 89; and destiny, 1 1 4-I I 5 , 1 1 8 ;
and emotion, l 1 6-1 1 7 ; and freedom, 8 3-84,
89, I 07, I 0 8 , 1 22; and image, I 0 1 ; and im
pulse, 89, ! 2 8 ; and inner citadel, 1 22; and in
ner discourse, r o6; and intellect, l l 3; and
morality, 8 3-84; and Plutarch, I 0 8 ; and rep
resentation, 1 2 8 ; and self, 1 1 2, 1 2 1 ; and sen
sation, I I 6-1 1 7 ; soul as, I 06; as theme, 264,
266, 27 1 , 273 ; and value-judgment, I 09I I 0; and will , 1 2 8
Hadot, I . , 9
Hadrian, l , 298, 3 02
Happiness, 42, 86, 1 46, 1 79, 1 89, 20 1 , 2 3 8-242
Hardship, 1 3 2, 1 3 3 , 207. See also Misfortune;
Obstacle
Harm, 3 9
Harmony, 7 9 , 1 2 3 , 1 42- 1 4 3 , 1 96, 2 1 1 , 2 1 2 ,
227. See also Accord; Coherence
Hate, l 1 9
Havel, Vaclav, 3 06
Health, 7 1 , 2 1 5
Hellenism, 7 , 1 70
Helvidius Priscus, 296, 297, 298
Heraclitus, 5 4-5 5 , 73-74, 2 5 3 , 268
Herodes Atticus, 5 1 , 59, 65, 279
Herodian, 2 1 9, 3 00
Herrenius Senecion, 297
Hesiod, 272
Hierarchy, 8 8-89, 92--g3 , 1 8 3 , 2 1 g-220, 22 1
Hieros gamos (sacred marriage) , 1 42, 230-23 1
Historia Augusta, 7, 8, 1 5 , 2 1 , 246, 247, 276,
288, 289, 294, 3 00, 3 02
History, 4 1 , 1 77-1 78, 244-2 5 7
Holzmann, Wilhelm, 2 2 , 2 4 , 2 5 , 26
3 44
Homer, 1 23 , 1 3 9 , 272
Homoeides (identity; homogeneity) . See Homogeneity
Homogeneity, 4 1 , 79, 1 76-1 78
Honor, 8 3
Horace, l l 9
Horme, hormai (impulse). See Impulse
Hugo, Victor, 3 6
Humanity. See Man
Idea, 78, 79
Ignorance, 39, 223-225
Image (phantasia), ro1-ro2, ro3 . See also Repre
sentation
Imagery, 2 5 9
Imagination, 47-48, 206, 2 5 4 , 2 5 5 , 256. See also
Representation
Immensity, cosmic, 1 72-1 79, 1 80, 2 5 3 , 254,
2 5 5 , 256
Impartiality, 2 1 8 , 2 1 9
Impiety, 2 3 4, 23 5 , 270. See also Piety
Impulse: and assent, 1 2 5 , 1 29; and coherence,
1 3 0; and community, 87, 1 3 1 ; and depend
ence, 87; discipline of, 90, 9 3 , 94, 99, 1 3 1 ; as
dogma, 46; and Epictetus, 70, 2 1 5 ; and eth
ics, 90, 9 1 , 94; and good, 84, 2 1 5 ; and guid
ing principle, 89, 1 2 8 ; and hierarchy, 9 3 ; and
human nature, 1 29; and inner discourse, 84;
and justice, 238; originary, 1 54-1 56, 1 5 8 ,
l 60, l 68, 220; and present, l 3 l ; and reason,
2 3 8 ; and rules of life, 44; and society, 99; and
soul, 86, 8 8 ; and Stoicism, 70; teaching on,
94; and will, l 2 8 . See also Action; Will
Independence. See Freedom
Indifference, 86; and beauty, l 70; and commu
nity, 86; and dependence, ro8, 1 5 1 ; and de
sire, l 1 8 , I J S ; and Destiny, 1 89; and
Epictetus, no; and event, 1 42; and innate
tendency, 1 90; and intention, 1 9 3 ; and judg
ment, ro9; and Lavelle, 222-223 ; and moral
ity, 222; and Nature, 7 1 , 87; and politics, 7 172; and providence, 1 62; and society, 2 1 7;
and Stoicism, 71; and time, 13 l; and value,
215
Indispensability, l 8 7
Individual: and egotism, 2 1 4; and merit, 22022 1 ; and Providence, 1 5 6-1 6 3 , 220-22 1 ,
222, 2 8 5 ; value o f, 2 1 8-2 19; vs. universal,
212
Infallibility, l 92
Infinity, 40, 2 5 5-2 5 6
Innate disposition, 222
Index
Innate tendency, l 89-l 90, 202
Inner citadel, r o7, l 20, l 22
Inner dialogue, 88
Inner discourse, 89; and assent, 1 2 5 ; and desire,
84; and event, l 3 8; and false value, I I O; and
freedom, 106, ro7; and guiding principle,
ro6; and impulse, 84; and present, 1 3 8 ; and
representation, 84-86, ro3 ; and sensation,
ro2, ro4; and Stoicism, 50. See also Dis
course
Inner disposition, l 46, l 4 7, 29 l
Instinct, l 89, 202
Intellect: of All, 21 l ; and Aristotle, 1 2 3 ; and
body, 3 9 ; divine, 2 1 1 , 2 1 2; and guiding prin
ciple, l l 3 ; and judgment, r l 3 ; path of, 269270; and Plotinus, 1 24; and reflection, l 1 3 ;
as theme, 272; ofWhole, 220
Intention, 1 87, 193-200, 202, 203 , 2 1 3 , 242
Interwoven composition, 264, 268 , 269, 271 ,
272
Involuntary movement, l 1 6
Irrationality, 1 4 5
Jesus Christ, l 24, 202
Joly, Jean-Pierre de, 26-27, 3 4
Joy. See Happiness
Judgn1ent, 39, 84-86; and body, 49; discipline
of, 45, 47, 68, 69, 90, 9 3 , 99, 2 1 6 ; dogma of,
4 1 ; and Epictetus, 50, 56, ro7; and evil, ro9,
223 , 22 5 ; freedom of, 40, 47; and good, ro9;
and image (phantasia), ro3 ; and indifference,
109; and inner dialogue, 8 8 ; and intellect,
1 1 3 ; and logic, 90, 9 1 ; and morality, I 091 r o; and Nature, 72; and passion, 223 ; and
reality, 232; and Reason, 89, 99; and repre
sentation, 56, 9 3 , ro3 ; and rules of life, 44,
46; and Socrates, 74; as theme, 268; and
value, 2 1 6; and vanity, 56. See also Rational
ity; Reflection (dianoia); Value-judgment
Junius Rusticus, 5, 8-1 1 , 14, 1 6 , 1 7 , 19, 37, 59,
6 1 , 65-66, 282, 284-2 8 5
Justice, 2 1 8-223 ; and action, 1 3 4, 2 3 4 , 2 3 5 ; and
Aeschylus, 23 3 ; and Antoninus Pius, 3 0 1 ;
aristocratic, 2 1 9; and choice, 222; and Des
tiny, 22 1 ; and discipline of action, 1 3 4, 234,
235; divine, 2 1 9-223 ; and evil, 220; and im
pulse, 2 3 8 ; and merit, 299; and morality,
222; and Nature, 2 1 9, 234, 2 3 6-237; and ob
stacle, 2 1 9; and Plato, 8 8 ; and politics, 306;
and reason, 2 1 9; and rules of life, 3 5 , 44; and
service, 220; and Stoicism, 2 1 9 , 23 3 ; and
value, 2 1 8 ; as virtue, 2 3 2 . See also Law
Index
Justin: Apology, 1 9
Juvenal: Satires, 297
Kairos (right moment) , 143

Kalan (moral good) , 3 7. See also Good
Kant, Immanuel, l ro, 2 1 3 , 230, 3 09; Critique of
Practical Reason, 1 8 1- 1 8 2
Kataleptikos (comprehensive; adequate) , 84-8 5
Kathekon, kathekonta (duty; appropriate action),
86, 1 8 8 . See also Action, appropriate
Kephalaia (chapter-head), 3 8-4 1 , 67
Kingdom, of ends, 2 1 3 , 230
Knowledge, 42, 74, 77, 78, 79, 1 2 5-1 26, 22322 5 . See also Philosophy, parts of
Lachesis, l 39
Laconians. See Sparta
Language, 5 1-5 3 , 62
Lavelle, Louis, 222-223 , 227
Law, 42, 1 5 5-1 56, 1 8 3-1 84, 22 1 , 299. See also
Justice
Leonidas of Tarentum, 2 5 3
Liberty, 4 0 , 4 9
Life, 1 3 , 3 5-36, 43-47, 48, 6 6 , 68, 6 CJ-70, 8 182, 89-90
Life of Marcus Aurelius. See Historia Augusta
Logic : and Aristo, 72; and assent, 9 1 ; discourse
about, 89; and education, 97-98; and judg
ment, 90, 9 1 ; lived, 8 1-82, 89, 90-9 1 ; and
representation, 97, 98; and Stoicism, 79;
theme of, 97-98; theoretical vs. lived, 89, 909 1 ; theoretical vs. practical, 97-98; theory of,
8 1 ; and time, 80
Logos, 74, 79. See also Reason
Lot, Ferdinand, 3
Love, l 1 9 ; of All , 2 1 2; and community, 22923 l ; and cosmos, 1 42; of Destiny, 1 44, 1 4 5 ;
and event, 1 4 3 ; and happiness, 242; for hu
manity, 1 8 3 ; and Nature, 230-23 1 ; for neigh
bor, 229-23 l ; and providence, 1 62; and rea
son, 229-230, 23 1 ; and Seneca, 23 1 ; and
Stoicism, 23 1 ; and Whole, 1 42
Lucian, 59-60; Charon or The Overseers, 1 741 7 5 ; Episkopountes, l 7 5; Icaromenippus (" The
Man Who Rose Above the Clouds "), 1 731 74
Lucilla (daughter of MA) , 19, 276
Lucius, l 5-16
Lucius Gellius, 65
Lucius Verus, l, 2, 4, 1 9-20, 247, 248, 252,
276, 283 , 288, 294, 3 02
Lucretius, 52, 178
3 45
M. Vetulenus Civica Barbarus, 1 9
Mach, E . , 1 4 1
Malevolence. See Evil
Man, humanity: and All , 92; as beast, l 50; and
body, 20 1 , 2 1 4; conduct toward, 208; and
Epictetus, 2 1 1 , 3 r r-3 1 2 ; good, 3 5 , 46, 7 8 ,
263 , 265; and impulse, 1 29; love for, 1 8 3 ; na
ture of, 44, 1 29, 2 1 4, 239, 3 1 2; and reason,
76, 78, 1 5 1 , 2 1 1 , 3 1 2; unhappiness of, 42;
value of, J I r . See also Community; Society
Marcomanni, 2, 261
Marcus Annius Verus. See Marcus Aurelius
Marcus Aurelius: career, I-3 , I I , 1 7-20; correspondence with Fronto, l-2, 4-5 , 6, 8, 1 11 2 , 1 4, 1 6 ; and dream, 246-247; as Emperor,
2 1 7, 2 1 8 , 267, 268, 3 00; and Epictetus, 82,
1 2 8 , 1 3 1 ; family, l; intention of, 3 0-3 1 ; and
language, 5 1 ; and opium, 2 5 0-2 57; personal
ity of, 2 8 8-290; as philosopher, 3-20; psy
chology of, 244-2 57, 28 5-287; reputation,
1 8 ; on self, 1 1-12, 286-288; and sincerity,
28 8-290; and solitude, 290-296; and writing,
5 l , 53
Marius Maximus, 2 8 8
Marriage, sacred, 1 42, 2 3 0-2 3 l
Martins Verus, 2
Materialism, 7 3 , 74
Matidia, 1 8
Matter, 40, 46, 49, 1 66-1 67, 268, 273
Maximus. See Claudius Maximus
Maximus of Tyre, 2 5 5
Meaning, 107
Meditations (Marcus Aurelius), 2 1-34, 243-306;
autobiography in, 2 60-263 , 267, 268, 270,
2 7 1 , 275-288, 291-296; and chronology,
260-263 ; composition of, 26 1-26 3 ; as " Con
fessions , " 277-2 8 8 ; genre of, 2 3 , 24, 25-28 ,
29-3 4; and language, 5 1-5 3 ; a s personal
notes, 3 0-34; quotations in, 30; relevance of,
3 07-3 1 3 ; structure of, 263-275, 278; style of,
257-260; text of, 2 1-2 3 , 24-2 5 , 2 8-29;
themes in, 263-275; title of, 23-2 5
Menander, 56
Merit, 218, 2 1 9 , 220-22 1 , 299. See also Value
Mesomedes, 236
Metamorphosis, 40, 48, 55, 1 7 1-172, 205-206,
267, 268, 270, 272. See also Transformation
Meteorology, 6 1
Metrodorus, 2 5 5
Misch, G . : History o fAutobiography, 27
Misfortune, 206-207, 208
Moirai, 1 3 9-140
Index
1\1onarchy, 296, 299
1\1onimus the Cynic, 56
1\1orality, 8 ; and choice, 1 2 1 ; and dialectic, 8 5 ;
difficulty of, 289; and indifference, 222; and
judgment, r o9-1 ro; and justice, 222; and
Nature, 1 3 0; and physics, 64; and present,
1 3 7, 1 46, 1 47; progress in, 5 8 , 222, 3 04; and
repulsiveness, 1 6 8 ; and self, 1 20-1 2 1 , 1 8 1 ;
and Stoicism, 1 24; as theme, 268; and tran
scendence, 3 1 1 ; and value, 167, 1 7 1
1\1usonius Rufus, 7, 8 , 1 6 , 60, 298
Nakedness, 1 64, 1 6 5
Nature, 8, 3 9 ; and acceptance, 9 1 -<12; accord
of, 1 50; and action, 201-202; and All , 242;
and Aristotelianism, 1 5 4-1 5 5 ; and cause, 47,
1 3 8 , 2 7 1 ; and Chrysippus, 94, 1 3 0; and co
herence, 7 5-76; cohesion of, I 50; and death,
275; and desire, 9 5 , 1 28-1 3 0; divine, 2 1 9 ;
Epictetus o n , 6 6 ; and evil, 40; familiarity
with, 5 5 , 1 70-1 7 1 ; four kinds of, 1 8 3-1 84;
and freedom, 5 4-5 5 ; as goddess, 236; and
Good, 202; and happiness, 240-24 1 ; and har
mony, 79; and human nature, 1 28-1 30, 266,
267; and impiety, 234, 23 5, 270; and indiffer
ence, 7 1 , 87; and innate tendency, 1 89, 1 90;
judgment of, 72; and justice, 2 1 9 , 234, 236237; knowledge of, 42; and law, 56, 1 8 31 84; life according to, 2 1 5 ; and love, 2 3 023 r ; and morality, 1 3 0; and obstacle, 1 99;
and originary impulse, 1 54-1 56, 1 5 8, 1 60,
168; and perspective, I 12, 1 64, 168, 1 7 3 ; and
physical definition, r o 5 ; and Plato, 24 1 ; as
providence, 148; and reason, 78, I I 8, I 30,
2 I I ; and repetition, 41; and rules of life, 44;
and Stoicism, 43 , 1 54-1 5 5 ; and temperance,
2 3 5 , 236; as theme, 270; and truth, 23 4-23 5 ,
2 3 6 ; unity o f, 43 , 1 7 1 ; universal, 40, 43 , 86,
I 12, 1 2 8-1 3 0, 168, 173, 234-2 3 5 , 236, 266,
267; vegetative, I 84; and Whole, 220; will
of, 5 5 ; Zeus as, 1 5 8
Necessity, 74, r o7, 1 1 2, 1 5 7. See also Consequence
Neopythagoreanism, 2 5 5
Nero, 296
Nerva, 296, 298, 299
Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 1 44, I 45
Nonn, transcendent, 1 2 1 , 124
Object, 1 5 5 , 198. See also End; Goal
Objectivity, 44, r o 1 - r o4, 1 0 5 , r o9-1 u , 1 3 1 ,
1 64, 3 1 0-J l I
Obstacle: and action, 204; and death, 275; and

dependence, 209; and Destiny, 204, 209; and
Epictetus, 209; and exercise, 270; and justice,
2 1 9; and Nature, 1 99; and Reason, 270; and
resignation, 209; as virtue, 1 97-1 99. See also
Difficulty; Hardship; Misfortune
Old Academy. See Platonism
Old Stoa, 82, 1 3 0
Oilier, F. , 7-8
Opinion, 56
Orexis (desire) , 4 5 , 70, 83. See also Desire
Origen, 60, 1 6 1
Other, I 1 5 , 1 2 1-122, 1 24
Ovid, 254
Paetus Thrasea, 296, 297, 298
Pain, 3 9 , 83, 1 1 6, 1 2 8 , 1 54, 1 5 5 , 1 62
Pamphila, 3 2 , 3 4
Panaetius, 82, 23 8
Pantheia, 2 76
Parcai, r 3 9-140
Part, 1 3 3- 1 3 4 , 1 6 5 , 20 1 , 2 1 4 , 3 1 1
Parthians, 2
Pascal, Blaise, 1 24, 1 5 5 , 2 5 5-256; Pensees, 1 8 1
Passion, 86, 9 3 , 1 2 8 , 1 6 8 , 1 8 3 , 22 3 . See also
Emotion
Path, 24 1 , 269-270
Pelops, 247
Perception, 84, I O I , I 1 6, 1 3 7, 227. See also Sensation
Perseverance, 8
Person. See Individual
Perspective: and aesthetics, 1 70; and beauty,
1 7 1 ; and Cicero, 1 62; cosmic, 1 7 1 ; and cos
mic immensity, 1 72-1 79; and death, 1 7 5 ;
freedom o f, 1 2 1 ; o f God, 95-<16; individual
vs. impersonal, 162; individual vs. universal,
2 1 2 ; and Nature, 1 1 2, 1 64, 1 6 8 , 1 7 3 ; and
providence, 1 62; and repetition, 1 77-1 7 8 ;
and self-consciousness, 1 8 1 ; and value, 1 67168
Pessimism, 1 63-1 79, 245, 246
Petit, Paul, 245
Phantasia (image) . See Image
Phantasia (representation) . See Representation
Philip of 1\1acedon, 3 0 5
Philo, 2 5 5
Philo o f Alexandria, 7 1 , 205
Philosopher: and Aristotle, 1 70; and beauty,
1 70; education of, 96-<18, 1 6 1 ; and Epictetus,
1 90; idea of, 4-5 ; and sage, 77; and Socrates,
76; Stoic, 76-77
Index
Philosophy: and Antoninus Pius, 3 02; and Ar
rian of Nicomedia, 6 1 ; and coherence, 24624 7; and court life, 267, 29 l-296; discourse
on, 8 1 ; and education, 63-64, 74, 96-<18,
1 6 1 ; and Epictetus, 4, I O , 1 90, 286; Fronto
on, 1 8 ; initiation into, 9; language of, 52; as
lived, 5, 3 5 , 76-77, 8 1-82, 93 , 9 8 , 2 8 5 ; parts
of, 77-82, 89-<18; and Plato ' s Republic, 303304; teaching of, 79-82, 96-<18; as theme,
3 5; theory vs. practice, 98; training for, 86-8 8
Philostratus: Images, 247
Photius, 64
Physics: and Aristo, 72; and consequence, 1 681 70; and desire, 9 1 , 92, 94-97, 1 42; and edu
cation, 96-<17; and Epictetus, 64; and good
and evil, 94; and Heraclitus, 7 3 ; and life, 8 l82, 89-<10; and Marcus Aurelius, 72; and mo
rality, 64; and Platonism, 77; and Seneca,
1 5 0-1 5 1 ; and Stoicism, 49, 78-'79; Stoic vs.
Epicurean, 1 48-1 50, 1 5 1- 1 5 2 ; teaching of,
80-82; theory of, 8 l
Phy sis, meanings of, l 84, 240
Piety, l 3 4. See also Impiety
Pity, l 57, 224-22 5
Plato, 79, 1 2 3 ; and anger, 2 3 3 ; and Brutus, 298;
and contemplation, 255; and desire, 2 3 3 ; and
Dio, 297; and Epictetus, 223-224; and evil,
223; and good, 1 26, 223; and justice, 8 8 ; and
Nature, 24 1 ; and Parcai, 1 3 9; and political
equality, 2 1 9 ; and politics, 297; and reason,
89, 1 2 1 , 2 3 3 ; and Republic, 222, 3 03-306;
and soul, 8 8 , 23 3 ; and virtue, 2 3 2-2 3 3 , 234;
Works: Apology, 57, 74; Eighth Letter, 299;
Phaedo, 298; Republic, 57, 66, 88, 23 3 , 234;
Symposium, 76, 77; Theaetetus, 57, 290;
Timaeus, 1 2 3
Platonism, 5 7 , 7 7 , 79
Pleasure, 3 9 , 76, 8 3 , 1 1 6, 1 2 8 , 1 50, 240
Pliny the Younger, 7
Plotinus, 1 24, 1 70, 202-203
Plutarch, 34, 89, 1 0 8 , 25 3-254, 297; On Stoic
Self- Contradictions, 80; On the Tranquillity (
the Soul, 3 2
Pneuma (breath) . See Vital breath
Politics, 7 1-'72, 1 6 5 , 1 89, 1 90, 2 1 9, 23 3 , 2963 06
Portion, distribution of, 2 1 8 , 2 1 9 , 221-222
Posidonius, 82
Position, 8 3
Posterity, l 6 5
Poverty, 7 1
Present, I I 5 , l l 9; and action, l 96; and assent,
3 47
1 3 1 ; and attention, 1 3 7; and Chrysippus,
1 46; circumscription of, 1 3 1-1 3 7; concentra
tion on, 206, 207, 3 1 2 ; and consciousness,
1 3 7; and consent, 1 3 2, 1 4 5 , 1 46; and death,
1 47; and desire, 1 3 1 ; and event, 1 3 8 ; and
freedom, 1 3 2; and harmony, 1 96; and im
pulse, l 3 l; and inner discourse, l 3 8; and in
ner disposition, 1 46, 1 47; and kairos (right
moment) , 1 4 3 ; and morality, 1 3 7, 1 46, 1 47;
and politics, 3 0 3 ; and representation, 1 3 7;
and Seneca, 1 46; and Stoicism, 1 3 5 ; and
value-judgment, l 3 I . See also Time
Preservation. See Self, preservation of
Principle, guiding. See Guiding principle
Probability, 77, 1 9 1- 1 92, 1 9 3
Providence, 3 9 , 40, 1 59-1 60; and acceptance,
1 62; and consent, 1 62; constraint on, 1 541 5 5 ; and Destiny, 1 4 8 ; and Epictetus, 1 6 1 ;
general, 1 60-1 6 1 ; immanent, 1 56; imper
sonal, 1 5 6-1 6 3 , 2 8 5 ; and indifference, 1 62;
and individual, 1 5 6-1 6 3 , 220-22 1 , 222, 2 8 5 ;
and love, 1 62; and Nature, 1 4 8 ; and perspec
tive, 1 62; and pity, r 5 7; and representation,
1 62; and sage, 1 6 1 ; and Seneca, 1 5 7; and
Stoicism, 3 9 , 1 44- 1 4 5 ; and subjectivity, 1 62;
vs. atoms, 3 9-40, 147- 1 6 3 , 265, 308
Prudence, 2 3 2 , 2 3 3
Psychology, 205 , 226-227, 244-2 57
Pyrrho, 7 1
Pythagoreanism, 5 8
Quadi, 2, 26 1 , 262
Quintillian, 5 2
Rabbow, Paul, 2 5 6
Realism, 1 67, 1 70
Reality: and assent, 232; constitution of, 268;
and Destiny, 232; homogeneity of, 79;
knowledge of, 77; and representation, 1 04;
three aspects of, 82; three domains of, 44;
three forms of, 2 32; unity of, l 4 T
Reason, 1 24, 1 40, 1 5 9; accord with, 148, 149,
3 08-3 09; and action, 1 8 5 , 202; and All, 240;
and appropriateness, 86; and cause, 1 5 3 : and
city, 7 5 ; and coherence, 7 5 , 1 00; and com
munity, 40, 78, 86, 2 1 1 , 2 1 2 , 2 1 3 , 229-230;
and consciousness, I 1 6 ; and consent, 1 4 5 ,
148, 1 49; and cosmos, 8 2 , 1 00; and decep
tion, 97; and desire, 92; and determinate ob
ject, 1 5 5 ; deviation from, 76-"?7; and dia
logue, 74; divine, 78, 1 3 9; and emotion, l 16;
and Epictetus, 66, 1 5 8 , 1 8 1 ; and evil, 8 8-89,
Index
Reason (continued)
1 09; faculty of, 1 84; and freedom, 1 9 8 ; and
gentleness, 227; and God, 76, I 56; and good,
7 8 , 8 8-89, 109; as guide, 268; and happiness,
240; and harmony, 79; and imagination, 206;
immanence of, 1 66; and impulse, 2 3 8 ; inner,
r 59 ; and instinct, 1 89 ; and intention, 203 ;
and judgment, 89, 99; and justice, 2 1 9; kinds
of, 74-75 , 78, l 2 I ; law of, 42; and love, 229230, 23 1 ; and man, 76, 78, 1 5 1 , 2 1 1 , 3 1 2 ;
and matter, 1 66; and Nature, 78, I I 8 , 1 3 0,
2u; and necessity, 1 50-1 5 1 ; and obstacle,
270; opposition to , 54-5 5 ; and parts of phi
losophy, 78; path of, 269; and Plato, 89, 1 2 1 ,
23 3 ; and sage, 76, 77; and self, 1 2 1 , 1 46, 1 801 8 1 ; seminal, 1 56 ; and society, 7 5 ; as theme,
272; and three aspects of reality, 82; unity of,
74-75 , 7 8 ; universal, 40, 82, 99, 1 2 1 , 1 3 0,
145, 1 46, 148, 1 49, 1 5 1 , 1 5 3 , 1 80-1 8 1 , 3 083 09; and universe, 40; and Whole, 99;
and world, 40; Zeus as, 1 5 8 . See also Judg
ment
Rectitude, 3 5-36
Reeves, Hubert, 1 4 1
Reflection (dianoia), 102, r o 8 , 1 1 3 , 1 2 3 , 1 8 5 .
See also Judgment
Renan, E . , 27-2 8 , 244-245 , 287-2 8 8 , 293 , 294,
3 07-3 08, 3 09
Repetition, 40, 4 1 , 48-49, 5 1 , 7 5 , 1 77-1 78 . See
also Eternal Return
Representation, 3 7 , 4 3 , 44, 45, 50, 52, 70, 8 8 ;
adequate, 1 0 1 - 1 04, 1 0 5 , r osr--1 r r , 1 3 1 , 1 54;
and assent, 85, 8 7-8 8, 97, 1 2 5 , 128; and
Chrysippus, uo; comprehensive, 1 2 5 ; and
consequence, I 54; and cosmic immensity,
254, 2 5 5 ; criticism of, 1 3 2-1 3 3 ; and dogma,
50; and Epictetus, 5 5 , 56, 1 04, 1 0 5 , 1 1 1 ; and
exteriority, r o6; and guiding principle, 1 2 8 ;
and inner discourse, 84-86, 1 0 3 ; and judg
ment, 56, 93 , 1 0 3 ; and logic, 97, 98; objec
tive, 1 0 1 - 1 04, 1 0 5 , 1 09-1 1 1 , I J I , 1 64; and
passion, 9 3 ; and present, I 37; and provi
dence, 162; and reality, 1 04; and rhetoric,
256; and Seneca, 254; and sensation, 1 02;
and Stoicism, 50, 2 54; and time, I J I . See also
Image; Imagination
Repulsiveness, 1 5 4, 1 5 5 , 1 62, 1 6 8
Reserve clause, 193-194, 204-209, 2 1 5
Resignation, 209-2 1 0
Respect, 226, 229
Responsibility, 57, 1 8 3
Result, l 90-I 9 I , I 97. See also Consequence
Reuchelin, Johannes: De arte cabalistica,

22
Reward, 20 1
Rhetoric, ro, r 8
Rist, ]. M . , 245
River (metaphor), 2 5 2-2 54
Rogatianus, 4
Rule (kanon), 67
Rutherford, R. B . , 1 3 , 257, 280
Sage, 76, 77, 78; and beauty, 1 70; education of,
1 6 1 ; and emotion, 1 1 6, 1 1 7; and Empedo
cles , 1 1 9; and Epictetus, 1 6 1 ; and individual
providence, 1 6 1 ; and infallibility, 1 92; and
reason, 76, 77; and reserve clause, 1 9 3 , 1 94;
and Seneca, I 17, 1 94, 1 96, 205; and sensa
tion, 1 02- 10 3 ; and success, 1 94, 1 96. See also
Philosopher
Satisfaction, 143
Saying, 257, 265 , 270
Scaevola, 9
Schaerer, Rene, 1 26
Schopenhauer, Arthur, r 78
Seed, 1 5 5-1 5 6
Self, 1 2 3 , 1 24; attention t o , 203 , 2 1 5 ; and body,
I I 3 , 1 1 4, 1 20, 1 80; and choice, 7 5 , 1 79-1 80;
circumscription of, 1 1 2- 1 2 5 , 1 3 1 ; and coher
ence, 7 5 , 76, 1 3 0-1 3 1 , 2 1 2 ; and community,
1 1 8 ; and conscience, 1 8 1 ; and consciousness,
1 20, 1 7sr-1 80, 1 8 1 , 203 ; and cosmic immen
sity, 1 80; and Destiny, 1 1 4-1 1 5 , I I 7-I I 8 ,
I 80; discovery of, I I I-I I 2; and emotion,
I 80; empirical vs. moral, I 8 I ; and Epictetus,
I I 4, 1 8 1 ; extent of, 1 8 1 ; and freedom, 1 791 80; and good, 1 20; and guiding principle,
1 1 2, 1 2 1 ; limitation of, 1 8 1 ; and morality,
1 20-1 2 1 , 1 8 1 ; preservation of, 7 5 , 86, 87,
n4, 1 5 5 , 1 89, 2 1 2; and Reason, 1 2 1 , 1 46,
1 80-1 8 1 ; and Stoicism, 2 1 2 ; two kinds of,
1 20; and vital breath, I So
Seneca, 7, 9, 14, 52, 7 5 , 99; and action, 1 99,
2 1 6; and Cato, 298; and color, 1 99; and cos
mic immensity, 2 5 3 ; and disjunction, 1 49,
1 5 1-152; and emotion, 1 J 7; and Epicurean
ism, 5 8 ; and gladiators, 3 04, 3 0 5 ; and happi
ness, 239; and love, 23 r ; and obsession with
future, 206; and pity, 225; and present, 1 46;
and providence, I 57; and realism, 1 67; and
representation, 254; and reserve clause, 1931 94, 205; and sage, I 1 7 , 1 94, 1 96, 205; and
Stoic vs. Epicurean physics, 1 5 0-1 5 1 ; and
success, 1 94, 1 96; and time, I I 5 ; and value,
Index
2 1 6; and value of man, 3 1 1 ; and virtue, 240;
and wisdom, 239; and Zeus, 1 5 7-1 5 8
Sensation, r o r , 1 02-103 , 1 04, 1 1 6-1 1 7, 1 84.
See also Perception
Sensible world, 79
"Sentences ofDemocratus, " 5 5
Serenity, 3 5-36, 3 8 , 1 87, 1 9 8 , 209, 3 02
Sergius Paulus, 1 9
Seriousness, o f action, 1 8 5-1 8 8
Service, 1 8 3 , 1 87, 200, 20 1 , 220
Severus. See Claudius Severus Arabianus
Sextus Empiricus, ro6, r 1 4
Sextus ofChaeronea, 1 4-16, 3 7
Simplicius, 60
Sinnium, 262, 263
Skepticism, 7 1 , 1 1 4
Skopos (goal), 1 94- 1 9 5
Society: and appropriate actions, r 9 0 ; and dis
course, 82; and impulse, 99; and indiffer
ence, 2 1 7 ; and instinct, 1 89; and Platonism,
78; and Reason, 7 5 ; and soul, 23 3 ; and Stoi
cism, 78, 2 1 6-2 1 7; and value, 2 1 6-2 1 7 ; vs.
philosophy, 267. See also Community
Socrates, 57, 6 1 , 73-74, 76, 1 2 3 , 125-126,
223
Song, r 34
Souda, 1 5 , 22, 24, 26
Souilhe, J., 63
Soul: and action, 8 3 , 86; as air, ro6; and body,
r r 3-r 14; and choice, 8 3 ; and desire, 86, 8 8 ;
and Destiny, 8 3 ; and Epictetus, 6 6 , 8 8 , r 1 4 ;
and freedom, 8 3 , 1 06-1 07; and good/evil,
1 0 8- 1 09; greatness of, 209; as guiding princi
ple, ro6; and impulse, 86, 8 8 ; and Plato, 8 8 ,
2 3 3 ; and politics, 23 3 ; self-modifying, 1081 09; and sensation, ror-104; and society,
23 3 ; as theme, 272-273 ; three operations of,
44, 83-88; three parts of, 8 8 ; and three rules
of life, 70; of world, r 5 5
Sparta, and Stoicism, 7, 8
Sphairos, 5 5 , r 1 9
Spinoza, Baruch, 201
Statius Priscius, 2
Stoicism: and acceptance, 1 44- 1 4 5 ; and Aris
totle, 7 3 , 74, 79; and austerity, 7; and body
vs. soul, 1 1 3-1 1 4; and cause, 79; and choice,
89; and circumscription, l 20; and contempla
tion, 2 5 5 ; and cosmic immensity, 2 5 3 ; and
courage, 2 3 3 ; and Destiny, 1 44- 1 4 5 ; devel
opment of, 64; and dialectic, 7 3 , 78, 79; and
dogma, 3 7 , 6 1 ; and duty/appropriate action,
1 8 8-1 90; and Epictetus, r6, 7 3 , 82-roo;
3 49
and Epicureanism, 5 8-59; and ethics, 78,
79; and fallibility, 286-287; and fault, 57-5 8;
and freedom, 89; as fundamental, 3 r 0-3 1 2;
general characteristics of, 7 3--'77: and gladi
ators, 3 04; and goal, 24 1 ; and Helvidius Pris
cus, 298; and Heraclitus, 54-5 5 , 73 ; and im
pulse, 70; and indifference, 7 1 ; and inner
discourse, 50; and justice, 2 1 9, 2 3 3 ; and love,
23 1 ; and morality, 1 24; and Nature, 43, 1 54r 5 5 ; and Paetus Thrasea, 298; and Parcai,
1 3 9; and physics, 49, 78-79, 1 48-1 50, 1 5 11 5 2; and present, 1 3 5 ; and Providence, 3 9 ,
1 44-145 ; and prudence, 2 3 3 ; and repre
sentation, 50, 254; and responsibility, 57; and
self, 1 20, 2 1 2 ; and self-modifying soul, r o8 ;
and self-preservation, 2 1 2; and society, 7 8 ,
2 1 6-2 1 7; and Socrates, 73-74; and spiritual
exercise, 243 ; and temperance, 23 3 ; and
theme, 90; and three rules of life, 70; and
time, 59; and value, 2 1 5 ; and virtue, 79, 232,
233; and wisdom, 5 7-5 8 ; and world as city,
43
Strength, 2 32
Subdisjunction, r 5 2
Subj ectivity, 8 8 , 1 04, 1 0 5 , 1 09, 1 54, 1 62, 1 67168
Success, 1 94, 196
Suicide, r 9 l
Suitability. See Action, appropriate
Sumbainein, translation of, l 3 8- l 3 9
Syllogism, 72, 97, 98, 103
Tacitus, 299; Life ofAgricola, 296-297
Tang Zhen, 3 I I
Teaching, 80
Telos (end) , 1 94-1 9 5
Temperance, 8 8 , 232, 2 3 3 , 2 3 4 , 2 3 5 , 236, 2 3 7 ,
238
Tendency, innate, 1 89, 202
Theater, 1 47
Theiler, W. , 261
Theme. See Exercise, philosophical
Themistius, 9, 2 1 , 24, 6 1
Theophrastus, 5 7
Theophylactus Simocattes, 24
Theorema (dogma), 3 7
Theory, 42, 72, 79, 8 1 , 89-<)o, 9 3 , 97--<) 8 , 271272
Theriac, 250
Thompson, Francis, 141
Thought, 40, 49
Thucydides: Histories, r 77
3 50
Time, 1 1 9, 2 5 5 ; and action, 1 96; and Chrysip
pus, 1 3 5 , 1 3 6 ; circumscription of, 1 3 1-1 3 7 ;
and death, 1 3 5- 1 3 7, 1 86-1 87; and depend
ence, 1 3 1 ; and destiny, 1 3 6; and Epicurean
ism, 59; and exercise, 1 3 1 ; and indifference,
13 1; logical vs. psychological, 80; obsession
with, 206; and perception, 1 3 7; and rules of
life, 46; and Seneca, 1 1 5 ; and Stoicism, 59;
value of, 188. See also Present
Titus Arista, 1 2 , 1 4
Trajan, 2 9 8 , 3 02
Transcendence, 1 9 3 , 202, 3 1 1
Transcendent Norm, 1 2 1 , 1 24
Transcendent world, 79
Transformation, 74, 1 5 5 . See also Metamorpho
sis
Truth, 1 2 5 , 224, 2 3 4-23 6 , 2 3 7
Tyranny, 2 8 0 , 2 9 8 , 299
Uncertainty, 1 90-193
Unconsciousness, 54
Uniformity. See Homogeneity
Unity: of all things, 2 1 3 ; of consciousness, 1 1 6;
of cosmos, l 19, 141; of Nature, 43 , 1 7 1 ; of
reality, 1 4 1 ; and reason, 74-75 , 78; and sphai
ros, 1 1 9; of Whole, 230
Universal vs. individual, 212
Universe, 123; determinate, 1 5 5 ; rationality of,
40; and seed, 1 5 5- 1 5 6 ; transformation of, 74;
unity of, 1 1 9. See also Cosmos
Usefulness, 192
Value: and action, 2 1 5-2 1 6 ; degrees of, 2 1 5 ;
and Destiny, 22 1 ; and Diogenes o fBabylon,
22 1 ; and divine law, 22 1 ; and Epictetus, 1 09,
2 1 5 , 2 1 8 ; false, 1 1 0; and freedom, 1 7 1 ; and
good, l 46; and health, 2 l 5 ; hierarchy of,
1 8 3 , 2 1 cr-220, 22 1 ; and indifference, 2 1 5 ; of
individual, 2 1 8-2 19; and inner discourse,
1 1 0; and judgment, 2 1 6; and justice, 2 1 8 ;
and law, 22 1 ; o f man, 3 l l ; and metamor
phosis, 1 72; and morality, 1 67, 1 7 1 ; and per
spective, 1 67-1 68; pleasure as, 1 50; relative,
1 89; and Seneca, 2 1 6, 3 n ; and society, 2 1 62 1 7; and Stoicism, 2 1 5 ; and subj ectivity, 1 671 6 8 ; and wealth, 2 l 5 . See also Merit
Value-judgment, 52, 8 3 , 1 0 3 , 1 0 5 ; and action,
1 27; and assent, 1 27; criticism of, 1 2 5 , 1 3 21 3 3 ; and dependence, 1 1 1-1 1 2 ; and desire,
1 27; and guiding principle, 1 09-1 10; and
knowledge, 1 26; and pain, 1 1 6; and pleasure,
Index
I I 6; and present, 1 3 1 ; and sensation, I I 6;
and subjectivity, 1 09 . See also Judgment
Van Effenterre, H . , 247-249, 252
Vanity, 48, 56, 5 7
Vaticanus Graecus 1 9 5 0 (manuscript) , 2 2 , 28
Veracity, 3 5-3 6
Vice, 86, 1 25-126, 1 6 8
Viewpoint. See Perspective
Ville, G., 3 04
Villon, Franvois, 275
Virtue: and discipline of action, 238; and disci
pline of desire, 23 8; and Epictetus, 23 8; and
guiding principle, 2 3 7 ; and happiness, 86;
and knowledge, 1 25-126, 223 ; life without,
48; and MA ' s relationships, 278; and moral
evil, 69; and Nature, 2 1 5 ; obstacle as, 1 97199; as own reward, 20 1 , 240; and rules of
life, 4 5 ; and Seneca, 240; Socratic, 73-74;
and Stoicism, 79, 232, 23 3 ; and three disci
plines, 23 2-23 8
Vital breath, l l 3 ' l 14, I I 5- I I 6, l So
Voelke, A.-J., 92
Voltaire, 1 7 5
Wang-Fou-chih, 3 1 0-3 l l
Wealth, 7 1 , 74, 8 3 , 2 1 5
Weaving (as image) , 1 3 9-140, 1 4 1
Wendland, P . , 245
Whole, 95; and coherence, 1 3 0-1 3 l; consent
to , 1 43 ; and good, 160, 20 1 , 2 1 2 , 2 1 9; and
ham1ony, 1 42-1 4 3 ; Intellect of, 220; and
love, 142; and Nature, 220; and part, 20 1 ,
2 1 4, 3 l l ; and Reason, 99; unity of, 230. See
also All
Will, 3 8 , 8 3 ; accord of, 2 1 3 ; and acts of soul,
8 3 ; and community, 1 3 I ; and dependence,
8 3 ; and desire, 1 2 8 ; and Destiny, 1 80; disci
pline of, 1 3 1 ; divine, 1 3 4, 1 42 , 143 ; and
event, 1 4 3 ; and freedom, 1 99; and guiding
principle, 1 2 8 ; identification with, 1 43 ; and
impulse, 1 2 8 ; and intention, 2 1 3 ; of Nature,
5 5 ; and object, 1 9 8 ; personal vs. divine, 1 42;
and piety, 1 3 4; and transcendence, 1 9 3 , 202.
See also Impulse
Williams, W. , 260, 295
Wisdom, 5 7-5 8, 76, 77, 8 1 , 23 3 , 239
Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 1 47
World: City of, 42-4 3 , 2 1 1-2 1 2 , 2 1 4, 239, 29 1 ;
consent to, 1 4 5 ; discovery o f, l l l - l 1 2 ; fabri
cation of, 54; matter of, 268; mind or soul
Index
of, 1 5 5, 1 5 8 ; origin of, 43 ; rationality of, 40;
repetition of, 7 5 ; sensible vs. intelligible, l 82; unity of, 40, 43 . See also
Cosmos
Worry, 1 9 0- 1 93
Writing, 3 3-3 4, 48 - 5 1
351
Xenocrates, 5 7
Xenophon: Memorabilia, 6 1 , 62
Xylander, 22, 24, 2 5 , 26
Zeno of Citium, 1 8, 63, 73, 75, 77, 82
Zeus, 1 5 7-1 5 8

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THE INNER

HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Copyright 1 99 8 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College

Includes bibliographical references (p.

ISBN 0-674-46 1 7 1 - 1 (alk. paper)

Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome, 1 2 1 - 1 80 .

Note on Transliteration and Quotation

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises

The Philosopher-Slave and the Emperor-Philosopher

The Stoicism of Epictetus

The Inner Citadel, or the Discipline of Assent

The Discipline ofDesire, or Amor Fati

The Discipline of Action, or Action in the

Virtue and Joy

Marcus Aurelius in His Meditations

Soon, you will have forgotten everything.

Marcus Aurelius was wrong. Eighteen centuries-almost two millen

exercise or intellectual ascetics, in order to free ourselves from certain

Note on Transliteration and Quotation

I have sometimes found it useful to allude to certain Greek technical

I have used the following procedure in rendering Pierre Hadot's transla

A happy youth, a tormented reign

and of Fronto. At the death of Antoninus ( 1 6 1 ) , Marcus Aurelius, then

The Empire was ravaged by natural catastrophes even more than by

Evolution toward philosophy

Carefree life of a young prince and dreams of a life o f austerity

he mentions only Junius Rusticus and Apollonius of Chalcedon, both of

over them in a general, approximate way; and not to give my assent

The reading of " Aristo "

This interpretation has been criticized by R. B . Rutherford,

Professors and friends

in charge of a school, where Marcus had to go hear their lectures.

Marcus' entourage " mimologoi, " or mimes, probably because he

The fate of a text

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

Neither in the manuscripts nor in the first edition, moreover, is there

the Chatterton, The Cook and the Man-eater. 11

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

(" Thoughts ") ; A moi-meme (" To Myself") . In English: Conversations with

Hypotheses on the work's literary genre

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

much inclined to imagine the philosopher-emperor as a kind of Amiel or

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

Meditations as personal notes (hypomnemata)

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

A First Glimpse of the Meditations

that in his case, most of these notes were exhortations to himself, or a

" Theory" and "practice "

to conduct yourselfjustly toward whatever other people are pre

The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises

Dogmas and their formulation

view o f these principles-that is, the resolution to do good-to b e re

The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises

The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises

eight times in isolated form, without any commentary or explanation, in

The Meditations as Spiritual Exercises

The three rules o f life o r disciplines

the dogmas, Marcus' exposition o f these rules is highly structured. The