Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 11.6

At first, tragedies were brought on the stage as means of reminding men of the things that happen to them, and that it is according to Nature for things to happen so, and that, if you are delighted with what is shown on the stage, you should not be troubled with that which takes place on the larger stage.

For you see that these things must be accomplished thus, and that even they bear them who cry out, "O Cithaeron!" And, indeed, some things are said well by the dramatic writers, of which kind is the following especially:

"Me and my children if the gods neglect,

This has its reason too."

And again,

"We must not chafe and fret at that which happens."

And,

"Life's harvests reap like the wheat's fruitful ear."

And other things of the same kind.

After tragedy, the old comedy was introduced, which had a magisterial freedom of speech, and by its very plainness of speaking was useful in reminding men to beware of insolence; and for this purpose too Diogenes used to take from these writers.

But as to the middle comedy, which came next, observe what it was, and again, for what object the new comedy was introduced, which gradually sank down into a mere mimic artifice. That some good things are said even by these writers, everybody knows; but the whole plan of such poetry and dramaturgy, to what end does it look?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 11.6 (tr Long)

I can hardly speak with any authority on the historical development of ancient Greek and Roman drama, though I can certainly relate quite well to how the skillful telling of a story can have a profound effect on our thinking. Tragedy and comedy allow us to consider both the rising and falling of fortune in life respectively, and can help us to understand what we are to make of such circumstances, how we choose to relate to the force of events.

It isn’t just a question of the text being sad or funny, or whether things end poorly or end well. A good story, in whatever form it is told, will teach us something about ourselves, and hopefully encourage us to walk away slightly wiser, and slightly better.

This is especially important from a Stoic perspective, where the interplay between what happens to us and our own choices about what happens to us is so crucial. Hopefully we learn that the value of our lives will follow from the content of our character, whatever the world may or may not give to us.

Perhaps because it was the first play I read through all on my own, Oedipus Rex has long had a powerful effect on me. At first, it seemed to me that Oedipus was just a victim of terrible fate, and that all I could do was have compassion for his suffering, perhaps hoping also that such a thing should never happen to me.

Yet as I looked more closely, I saw that his suffering has come precisely from his own choices and actions. In vainly assuming that he had it within his power to control fate, he himself became the very vehicle of that fate. Disgusted by the prophecy that he would kills his own father and marry his own mother, his pride and presumption made those very things come to pass.

I can look at myself, and see quite a number of things I would wish had happened differently, and I may dwell upon them. I can find ways I may think I have been wronged, and I may stew with thoughts of vengeance. Yet each and every time, the only real loss that came to be from such situations was the result of my own judgments about them. Instead of relying on my merits, I made the events more important to me, and so I allowed them to determine me.

If I freely bind myself to what will happen, I can hardly blame what will happen. There is the tragedy, and there is the lesson.

Written in 4/2009