The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Monday, November 10, 2025

Seneca, Moral Letters 81.3


The more indulgent magistrate, however (and I should rather be such a one), will order us to forget the injury and remember the accommodation.
 
“But surely,” you say, “it is the part of justice to render to each that which is his due—thanks in return for a benefit, and retribution, or at any rate ill will, in return for an injury!” 
 
This, I say, will be true when it is one man who has inflicted the injury, and a different man who has conferred the benefit; for if it is the same man, the force of the injury is nullified by the benefit conferred. Indeed, a man who ought to be pardoned, even though there were no good deeds credited to him in the past, should receive something more than mere leniency if he commits a wrong when he has a benefit to his credit.
 
I do not set an equal value on benefits and injuries. I reckon a benefit at a higher rate than an injury. Not all grateful persons know what it involves to be in debt for a benefit; even a thoughtless, crude fellow, one of the common herd, may know, especially soon after he has received the gift; but he does not know how deeply he stands in debt therefore. 
 
Only the wise man knows exactly what value should be put upon everything; for the fool whom I just mentioned, no matter how good his intentions may be, either pays less than he owes, or pays it at the wrong time or the wrong place. That for which he should make return he wastes and loses. There is a marvelously accurate phraseology applied to certain subjects, a long-established terminology which indicates certain acts by means of symbols that are most efficient and that serve to outline men’s duties. 
 
We are, as you know, wont to speak thus: “A. has made a return for the favor bestowed by B.” Making a return means handing over of your own accord that which you owe. We do not say, “He has paid back the favor”; for “pay back” is used of a man upon whom a demand for payment is made, of those who pay against their will, of those who pay under any circumstances whatsoever, and of those who pay through a third party. 
 
We do not say, “He has ‘restored’ the benefit,” or ‘settled’ it; we have never been satisfied with a word which applies properly to a debt of money. Making a return means offering something to him from whom you have received something. The phrase implies a voluntary return; he who has made such a return has served the writ upon himself. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 81 
 
All this constant talk about compensation and retribution, calculated to the decimal point, and complete with compounded interest, is approaching the problem from the wrong side. I have been so worried about defending my rights, that I have forgotten to act on my responsibilities. 
 
I should attend to how I can best give of myself, and I should then allow another man to decide how he will, in turn, give of himself. I, for one, will choose to offer a benefit whenever I am able, and as much as I would prefer to receive a helping hand in return, I will not shake my puny fist in protest when someone doesn’t live up to my expectations. Have pity on the man who can’t stop complaining, for he has forgotten his true nature.
 
I would make a terrible lawyer or judge, because, like Seneca, I first wish to look to the good a man has done, and, in this light, I would probably be too quick to forgive him of his sins. A benefit granted stands on its own merits, as a pure expression of love for its own sake, and while a failing in a different matter must surely be addressed, it does not subtract from the excellence of his charity. I am interested in calling people to the virtues, not in beating them down for their vices. 
 
As soon as we are merely comparing debits and credits on a ledger, we have lost the critical insight that character is not measured by numbers, but by the depth of our good will. Should we be paying a fair price? Of course, though we become virtuous when we set that price with charity. Should we correct a man when he has done us harm? Of course, though we become righteous when we discipline with mercy. 
 
All the best things received in life, the ones that really count, are favors bestowed, the deeds that simply make us kind and decent human beings. We cannot force people to repay a benefit, only inspire them to voluntarily make a return in kind, and that is the foundation of a just and harmonious community. 
 
If you ask me how to fix our many political and economic problems, I will tell you that I am beginning with myself, by offering a helping hand, and I would be tickled pink if you would choose to do the same. You might say that I am dodging the question, and I will assure you that this is the only way. 
 
Perhaps most people don’t appreciate the benefits they receive, but I don’t have to be like most people. Since it is the wise man who understands the source of the human good, it follows that it is the wise man who both knows how to properly provide a benefit, and how to fittingly receive it. Now I can grumble about how someone isn’t being grateful, or I can help him to learn about his duties, which is itself an act of service. 
 
The world gets better, and our lives become easier, when we freely assist one another. It ceases to be virtue when it is based on coercion, which leaves us with people who are afraid, not with people who are good. Sadly, if you scratch a loud man’s sense of justice, you will too often reveal little more than bitterness and revenge. 
 
One my favorite stories is about Lycurgus, the Spartan lawgiver, who was blinded in one eye by a reckless boy. In accord with custom, the lad was handed over to Lycurgus, to punish as he saw fit. What did he choose to do? He took the criminal under his wing, and he taught him the ways of honor. Later, he presented the reformed fellow to the assembly: "I received this young man at your hands full of violence and wanton insolence; I restore him to you in his right mind and fit to serve his country." 
 
That, my friends, is what is meant by granting a benefit, the gift that keeps on giving. It is the very foundation of a healthy society, and it is not subject to any legalistic terms and conditions. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Nicolas de Largilliere, Portrait of a French Judge (c. 1700) 



Sunday, November 9, 2025

Abandoned Places 64


IMAGE by Matt Emmett 



Nature 66


IMAGE by Chrystal Brooke 



Seneca, Moral Letters 81.2


What I think should rather be investigated is this—a question which I feel has not been made sufficiently clear: "Whether he who has helped us has squared the account and has freed us from our debt, if he has done us harm later." You may add this question also, if you like: “when the harm done later has been more than the help rendered previously.”

 

If you are seeking for the formal and just decision of a strict judge, you will find that he checks off one act by the other, and declares: “Though the injuries outweigh the benefits, yet we should credit to the benefits anything that stands over even after the injury.”

 

The harm done was indeed greater, but the helpful act was done first. Hence the time also should be taken into account. Other cases are so clear that I need not remind you that you should also look into such points as: how gladly was the help offered, and how reluctantly was the harm done—since benefits, as well as injuries, depend on the spirit. 

 

“I did not wish to confer the benefit; but I was won over by my respect for the man, or by the importunity of his request, or by hope.” Our feeling about every obligation depends in each case upon the spirit in which the benefit is conferred; we weigh not the bulk of the gift, but the quality of the good will which prompted it. 

 

So now let us do away with guesswork; the former deed was a benefit, and the latter, which transcended the earlier benefit, is an injury. The good man so arranges the two sides of his ledger that he voluntarily cheats himself by adding to the benefit and subtracting from the injury. 


—from Seneca, Moral Letters 81 

 

Like so many philosophers, the Stoics were fond of examining hypothetical cases, so as to better grasp the greater patterns of reality. The problem, of course, is that we can too easily get caught up in the subtlety, while losing sight of the simplicity. I have been discovering how the rules of life do not need to be complicated, as long as I can keep my eyes fixed on the guiding principles. 

 

We have endless volumes of civil and criminal law, because we are forever confronted by new circumstances; the lawyer clings to the letter, while the philosopher seeks out the spirit. It is prudence that permits us to apply the universal to the particular, without getting lost in the conditions and the technicalities. 

 

The problem raised by Seneca concerns a balance sheet of benefit and harm, and it can easily become a trick question, because I will assume that life is measured by quantity instead of by quality. If, for example, a fellow had once done me a great favor, but he has now brought me into an even greater misfortune, what does he owe me in order to make things right?

 

Like yuppies trying to split the lunch bill, I am tempted to reach for a calculator in the clinical quest for accuracy. I am told judges have intricate formulas provided for them, so they might inflict their justice with a brutal efficiency. Nerds will bicker endlessly over variations of the “Trolley Problem”. A clever lad from elementary school reminded me for three years about why the gift I gave him for his ninth birthday was not proportionate in value to the amount of pizza I ate at the party paid for by his mother. 

 

Once I begin to judge my life by forcing one hand to wash the other, by the standards of the quid pro quo, by tit for tat, I am already hopelessly lost. Now I have no doubt that justice demands a balance, but what should be the origin of this harmony, the source of right and wrong? Do you think a man is better by what is given, or by what is taken? 


There’s the rub. 

 

Folks talk about justice, but what they really want is convenience. 


—Reflection written in 12/2013 




Saturday, November 8, 2025

Henry David Thoreau 11


We are as much as we see. Faith is sight and knowledge. The hands only serve the eyes. 

—from Henry David Thoreau, Journals (9 April, 1841) 

IMAGE: Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (c. 1818) 



Ralph Waldo Emerson 16


To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven. 

—from Ralph Waldo Emerson, Journals (20 December, 1822) 

IMAGE: Vank Cathedral, Heaven, Earth, Hell (c. 1660) 



Friday, November 7, 2025

Stockdale on Stoicism 52


Mid-career graduate education is not uncommon in military life, though it is somewhat rare to have it in a field entirely separate from one’s immediate concerns. 

For nearly twenty years I had been on the operational and technical side of things—an engineering degree from Annapolis, with shore duty as an engineering test pilot bracketed by flying tours in carrier-based squadrons. 

I was now to return to such an aeronautical life after this sabbatical devoted to the study of political science, economics, and international relations with as much of the humanities as I could pack in. I did this in hopes of eventually achieving a high command that needed this education for policymaking and diplomatic and strategic planning duties.

I and others have found that a midlife second education, particularly one heavily salted with introspective subjects like classical philosophy, can precipitate an unexpected postgraduate wrinkle. An aftershock can develop as one returns to life in the world of cutting-edge technology, expediency, and not infrequent bureaucratic infighting. 

Throughout the first six or eight months after returning to the operational scene, I underwent a kind of transitional decompression. I groped for a stable platform of philosophical reference from which I could confidently call my shots. It wasn’t because I was in a new environment that I had to screw my head on a new way; it was just that I now saw contradictions where before I had seen only order. I had to hook my life to a big idea if I was to stay the course.

It was now 1963. Throughout 1961 and 1962 at Stanford, my mind had been awhirl with a whole new shopping list of big ideas. Rhinelander’s two-term philosophy course in "The Problems of Good and Evil" had alone taken me from the Book of Job to Camus, with more than a smattering of Plato, Aristotle, Shakespeare, Kant, Pascal, Leibnitz, Spinoza, Descartes, and Hume along the way. 

But now, as I led my squadron on and off the carrier decks in Southeast Asian waters, halfway between war and peace, I gravitated toward a more self-supporting, independent ethical balance wheel as I suffocated in the moral dilemmas that I could feel closing in on us all. 

There, my last-found model, Epictetus and his Stoicism, who by then I had made myself better understand, struck the very chord of self-respect and personal autonomy that I so needed to keep my mind clear and to break through the clutter of false hope and wishful thinking and to cut myself free. 

—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character 



Seneca, Moral Letters 81.1


Letter 81: On benefits  
 
You complain that you have met with an ungrateful person. If this is your first experience of that sort, you should offer thanks either to your good luck or to your caution. In this case, however, caution can effect nothing but to make you ungenerous. For if you wish to avoid such a danger, you will not confer benefits; and so, that benefits may not be lost with another man, they will be lost to yourself. 
 
It is better, however, to get no return than to confer no benefits. Even after a poor crop one should sow again; for often losses due to continued barrenness of an unproductive soil have been made good by one year's fertility. 
 
In order to discover one grateful person, it is worthwhile to make trial of many ungrateful ones. No man has so unerring a hand when he confers benefits that he is not frequently deceived; it is well for the traveler to wander, that he may again cleave to the path. After a shipwreck, sailors try the sea again. The banker is not frightened away from the forum by the swindler. 
 
If one were compelled to drop everything that caused trouble, life would soon grow dull amid sluggish idleness; but in your case this very condition may prompt you to become more charitable. For when the outcome of any undertaking is unsure, you must try again and again, in order to succeed ultimately. I have, however, discussed the matter with sufficient fulness in the volumes which I have written, entitled “On Benefits." 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 81 
 
If I expect any further compensation, I am hardly granting a favor, and if I treat something as an entitlement, I am no longer welcoming a gift. This goes well beyond any question of social niceties, because how we choose to go about giving and receiving, in all aspects of life, is the foundation for each and every human relation. 
 
If we could just get our personal sense of benefits in order, those sweeping problems of politics and economics would immediately disappear; we demand far too much, and we render far too little, and the world is a far more miserable place as a result. 
 
I recently spoke to a graduate student in the Classics, who had just begun reading Seneca’s longer essay On Benefits, and she was quick to mock the opening lines: 
 
Among the numerous faults of those who pass their lives recklessly and without due reflection, my good friend Liberalis, I should say that there is hardly any one so hurtful to society as this, that we neither know how to bestow or how to receive a benefit.
 
That she found this ridiculous, and I believed it to be spot-on, is a sad commentary on a vast divide concerning first principles, where some begin with a claim to rights, while others begin with a responsibility to charity; carefully observe the contrast between those who insist on the getting and those who are fulfilled through the serving. The Stoic remembers why his merit does not rest in the advantage of what is done to him, but in the virtue of what he does. 
 
My uncle once said that the true value of any transaction was in the exchange of the words “thank you” and “you’re welcome.” I at first thought he was just talking about proper manners, yet I now see he was pointing to a deeper commitment to gratitude and goodwill. You can’t set a price on an excellence of character. 
 
And what am I to do when someone refuses to be grateful, or takes advantage of my kindness? I am called to continue in my efforts, for his failures do not justify my own. You say that he has done me wrong? You have only reminded me of why I must do what is right. By denying a benefit to another, I am only betraying the dignity within myself. 
 
Perhaps it sounds pessimistic to say, with Bias of Priene, that “most men are bad”. Even if this happens to be true, it is surely optimistic to say that every injustice calls for a constancy in justice, and that every sin can be forgiven through mercy. The Stoic knows why a difficulty is an opportunity, why patience is the remedy for the hardest heart, and why love is the only response to hatred. 
 
Once I add the condition that you must pay me for my consideration, I can no longer claim to be acting from virtue, since decency is its own reward. I might appreciate your thanks, but I do not require it. I would be happy to see you pass it on, but my first duty is to follow my conscience. I become better by encouraging you to become better, and this far outweighs any inconvenience to my circumstances. 

—Reflection written in 12/2013 

IMAGE: Paul Gauguin, Maruru—An Offering of Gratitude (c. 1894) 



Thursday, November 6, 2025

Sayings of Ramakrishna 274


Keep yourself aloof at the time of your devotion from those who scoff, and those who ridicule piety and the pious. 





Delphic Maxims 86


Ἀδωροδόκητος δίκαζε 
Judge incorruptibly 



Wednesday, November 5, 2025

The Mother Road 9






The Basel Dance of Death 13


Matthäus Merian, The Basel Dance of Death: The Knight (1616) 

"Sir Knight, you name is written down, 
that you must practice your chivalry 
with Death and his servants. 
It helps you neither to struggle nor to fight."

"I, as a disciplined knight, 
have served the world well and with great courage.
Now I have been, against knighthood's law, 
forced to join this dance." 



Tuesday, November 4, 2025

Owls 8





Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.42


M. But as we are to depart in the morning, let us remember these five days’ discussions; though, indeed, I think I shall commit them to writing: for how can I better employ the leisure which I have, of whatever kind it is, and whatever it be owing to? 
 
And I will send these five books also to my friend Brutus, by whom I was not only incited to write on philosophy, but, I may say, provoked. And by so doing it is not easy to say what service I may be of to others. 
 
At all events, in my own various and acute afflictions, which surround me on all sides, I cannot find any better comfort for myself. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.42 
 
A colleague recently chided me for paying so much attention to this “fake” text, because “any scholar knows these conversations never actually happened.” Well, I don’t know that, and neither does he, but I hardly think that’s the point. For me, what is more to the point is that I walked away from these Tusculan Disputations with a revived commitment to becoming a man of character, let the chips fall where they may. I can smile and nod at the criticism, instead of tossing back some clever insult. 
 
While we remember Brutus as the worst sort of traitor, perhaps deservedly, I would prefer to ponder how he must have struggled with choosing an honorable path. Whether we are remembered as heroes or as villains, or even if we are not remembered at all, matters far less than whether we worked to increase in the virtues. When this is our priority, all the rest will pale in comparison, and happiness is finally within our reach. 
 
Am I terrified of dying? I will no longer be so hesitant, once I can discern the genuine value of living. 
 
Do I cringe at the prospect of pain? It will cease to appear like an evil, if can I discover the source of my good. 
 
Have I been overcome by the weight of my grief? I must distinguish between what can be lost, and what can never be lost. 
 
Is my soul tortured by extreme passions? It will only be an order to my thinking that brings out an order in my feelings. 
 
Must I worry that the content of my character won’t be enough? In the end, that is all I can be, and all I can call my own. 
 
People often frown at philosophy, wondering what it could possibly “get” them. I can assure you it will give you absolutely nothing beyond itself, and if you were to look for some further reward, you wouldn’t be doing philosophy. It will, however, provide the means for an inner peace, and that is the key to finding the benefit in absolutely everything else. 

—Reflection written in 3/1999

IMAGE: Vincenzo Foppa, The Young Cicero Reading (c. 1464) 



Monday, November 3, 2025

Approaching Storm


Claude-Joseph Vernet, A Mountain Landscape with an Approaching Storm (1775) 



Stoic Snippets 273


Either there is a fatal necessity and invincible order, or a kind Providence, or a confusion without a purpose and without a director

If then there is an invincible necessity, why do you resist? 

But if there is a Providence which allows itself to be propitiated, make yourself worthy of the help of the Divinity. 

But if there is a confusion without a governor, be content that in such a tempest you have in yourself a certain ruling intelligence. 

And even if the tempest carries you away, let it carry away the poor flesh, the poor breath, everything else; for the intelligence at least it will not carry away. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 12.14 

IMAGE: Francisco Bayeu, Providence Presiding over the Virtues and Faculties of Men (c. 1780) 



Sunday, November 2, 2025

Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 58


LVIII. 

If you assume too great a character,
Such as your feeble shoulders cannot bear,
You must, at best, ridiculous appear.
Clad in a lion's skin, you only bray,
The ears stick out, and the dull ass betray.
Besides you foolishly neglect the part,
In which you might have shewn much skill and art. 

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.41


M. This is the very same which is said by Epicurus and Hieronymus. Now, if those philosophers, whose opinion it is that virtue has no power of itself, and who say that the conduct which we denominate honorable and laudable is really nothing, and is only an empty circumstance set off with an unmeaning sound, can nevertheless maintain that a wise man is always happy, what, think you, may be done by the Socratic and Platonic philosophers? 
 
Some of these allow such superiority to the goods of the mind as quite to eclipse what concerns the body and all external circumstances. But others do not admit these to be goods; they make everything depend on the mind: whose disputes Carneades used, as a sort of honorary arbitrator, to determine. 
 
For, as what seemed goods to the Peripatetics were allowed to be advantages by the Stoics, and as the Peripatetics allowed no more to riches, good health, and other things of that sort than the Stoics, when these things were considered according to their reality, and not by mere names, his opinion was that there was no ground for disagreeing. 
 
Therefore, let the philosophers of other schools see how they can establish this point also. It is very agreeable to me that they make some professions worthy of being uttered by the mouth of a philosopher with regard to a wise man’s having always the means of living happily. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.41
 
Even when there is a divergence among philosophers on how to define what is good, they will generally agree that our understanding determines what is good. Even when the likes of Hume or Nietzsche insist that the mind must be a slave to the passions, they have awkwardly employed reason to establish such a measure. Whichever way you go, there is no escaping that the life of wisdom, in one way or another, is the happy life. 
 
The Stoics held the far more rigid, and to us far more shocking, view that only virtue could be considered our true good, while the Peripatetics spoke of a hierarchy of goods, with the lower being relative to the higher, such that money and fame are in service to the formation of character. 
 
Now as important as the nuances of theory must be, how greatly will these two approaches differ in practice? I am happy to debate about the merits of fortune, and in what manner the circumstances might contribute to our happiness, but as long as a fellow knows to put his integrity first, he will also know to put his conveniences second, and so his conscience remains the source of his blessings, whatever the subtleties of the school. 
 
As much as he may be in error, the sensualist or the relativist has also used his reason to arrive at his desired end, and therefore he does not need to reinvent his whole nature to get back on track, only to correct his lapses of judgment. I have learned the hard way that it is best to first focus on what is held in common, instead of promptly bickering about the details. 
 
When I am teaching, on most any topic, I never miss the opportunity to ask my students about their perception of the good. From those who are patient enough to engage, I am usually offered a laundry list of benefits, though my constant pestering then encourages them to consider a deeper pattern. Are there times, for example, when fortune or fame could end up becoming harmful? 
 
And this is why I believe Plato’s Meno to be such a wonderful text. What makes any circumstance good or bad? You guessed it—the presence or absence of knowledge! And if you don’t happen to be keen on the argument offered by Socrates, note how you have now countered with a different argument, itself an exercise in understanding as a standard for right and wrong. 
 
This is one of the reasons I am so inspired by Cicero: where else will you find the quest for a harmony between the Stoics, Peripatetics, Academics, and, yes, even the Epicureans? Philosophy, like any aspect of life, should be about what we can discover to share together. 

—Reflection written in 3/1999 

IMAGE: Pietro della Vecchia, Three Philosophers (c. 1650) 



Saturday, November 1, 2025

Dhammapada 408


Him I call indeed a Brahmana who utters true speech, instructive and free from harshness, so that he offend no one. 

IMAGE: Hedwig Öhring, The Conversation (c. 1900) 



William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode 2


Somewhere during my youth, I started hearing about "power couples", and the media told us how liberating it was to finally see marriage being employed in the service of professional advancement. Now while it is indeed wonderful when husband and wife support one another in their respective careers, I fear that we are making a tragic mistake if matrimony is judged by standards so mercenary. 

Though I am regularly derided for saying such things, any marriage is doomed to failure if it is not built upon unconditional love, and no amount of money, or prestige, or good looks can ever compensate for such an absence. Perhaps you are smiling, thinking that I only say so because I am not rich, or famous, or handsome, but that might just make me all the more qualified to know what really counts. 

I actually suspect I was once being groomed to become a part of a power couple, a role for which I am completely unsuited, which explains why I was eventually discarded. For all the pain, I should be grateful this occurred before I ended up in the middle of a horrid scene like this one. 

The Viscount and Viscountess now have absolutely nothing to say to each other, caught up in their respective diversions. I have sadly noticed this in so many couples driven solely by their appetites and their ambitions, unable to carry on an intimate conversation once they've finished playing their public roles. It would seem there have always been yuppies in this world. 

The husband looks terribly tired and bored, as the dog has discovered a woman's nightcap in his pocket. His sword lies on the floor, broken, which may be telling us something about the quality of his recent performance on the town. 

The wife smirks and stretches suggestively, having apparently spent the night playing cards—but with whom? It had to be pointed out to me that she may be using a pocket mirror to signal someone out of our view. Good manners keep me from speculating about the stain on her skirt. 

A servant yawns in the background, while another raises his eyes to heaven in disapproval. The one receipt stands in contrast to the stack of bills, indicating that the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree. 

The clock reads 12:20. Whether it is the middle of the day or the middle of the night, the disordered state of the household reveals what we need to know about the disordered state of their souls. 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode II: The Tête à Tête (painting, 1743) 

William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode II: The Tête à Tête (engraving, 1745)