THE INFLUENCE OF CHRISTIANITY ON STOICISM.
“Victi victoribus leges dederunt.”
SEN. quoted by St Aug. in _Civ. Dei_.
There is nothing unreasonable in the supposition, that when two systems
such as Christianity and Stoicism came into contact, they would
naturally exert considerable influence, one on the other. We perceive,
if we trace the history of the religion of Christ, that it felt the
effect of the philosophy of the Gentile world, and especially of the
Greeks, in various ways. Platonism proved itself so powerful as to cause
the rise of the Alexandrian school, with its vast influences. In other
cases, we see Christianity so strongly impregnated with notions drawn
from heathenism, that various baneful heresies arose, which sometimes
threatened the very existence of the truth. Tertullian[35] complains
that “philosophy furnished the arms and the subjects of heresy.” During
the middle of the life of Christianity in the world, so evil were the
results, to the Church, of principles external to it in origin, and
antagonistic to purity, that we look back on those centuries with deep
sorrow, and call them “the dark ages.”
Among other systems of philosophy Stoicism made itself felt by the
Church of Christ. In allusion to this Tertullian says, “Our training is
from the porch of Solomon.” Again he says, “Let those take care who help
forward a Stoic, a Platonic, a dialectic Christianity. We have no need
of curious enquiries about the coming of Jesus Christ, nor of
investigation after the gospel.” But though Stoic philosophy made itself
felt, yet, being practical rather than speculative, it did not produce a
distinct school, such as resulted from the Academic system. Still it
left its impress on after times, as I shall endeavour to point out in
future pages.
Christianity also made a great impression on Stoicism, while the latter
continued to exist as a system of philosophy. We do not find its power
and principles acknowledged in the writings of any of the school. Yet,
from certain expressions in Epictetus and M. Antoninus, we perceive they
were fully aware how nearly allied Christian virtue was to their high
aspirations; how closely those who were disciples of Christ approached
to their own standard. But they were displeased at the principles from
which the Christian excellence proceeded; and probably also at the
living protest which these men afforded against the philosophy which
could not produce results such as their religion produced among the
people. So Epictetus[36] in B. IV. Ch. 7, speaking of fearlessness,
allows by implication that it was possessed by the Galileans, but puts
down their fortitude to _habit_, and commends much more that coming from
reason. So Antoninus[37] allows that Christians are ready to die, but
says that, whereas this readiness should proceed from personal judgment,
resulting from due calculation, the readiness of the Christians to die
came of mere obstinacy. In other words, they had so strong a faith in
the gospel that they would rather die than give it up. Such passing
notices as these show decisively that the religion of Jesus was doing a
great work of which philosophers became jealous. This work was of the
same kind as that which the Stoics professed to have as their object;
yet what they failed in achieving was wrought out successfully on
principles which they despised. They were vexed and annoyed, and would
naturally ignore any influence which the Christian doctrines might have
in modifying their opinions. I shall proceed to point out in this
chapter that this influence was nevertheless remarkable. What changes
occurred in the views of the sect at Athens we do not know: there are no
records of the Stoics at Athens at that time. The only writers to whom
we can refer, in order to come to any correct estimate as to the
development of thought among the sect, of a nature to show Christian
influence, were Romans. They are only three in number—Seneca, Epictetus,
and the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. I shall refer to the writings
of each in this, their proper order.
When I speak of Seneca as a Roman, I do not forget that he was born in
Spain; but being a Roman in thought and feeling, as well as by residence
and by birth-right, he is rightly reckoned among Roman philosophers. It
is not my business, however, to give even a sketch of his life; nor
shall I refer to his voluminous writings, except as they show the
influence which Christianity seems to have exerted on the Stoic sect in
his day. He lived at the same time that St Paul laboured for the truth,
and there have been traditions of his having been taught the precepts of
the Gospel by the great Apostle himself. These are probably without
foundation, but their being so does not prove that Christianity had no
influence on his speculations. Their very existence serves to show how
apparent that influence was to various readers, so as at least to make
the intercourse between the Apostle and the philosopher seem to them not
an improbable thing. We must remember that Judaism was the pioneer of
Christianity at Rome, as well as elsewhere. Possessed of much divine
truth, it necessarily exerted considerable influence there on the world
of thought; and so prepared the way for the fuller light which the
gospel furnished. Christianity also had now a firm hold on many. Its
influence, as we learn from different sources, was beginning to be felt
in various ways, and even in the imperial court were found some who
acknowledged its power. It is likely therefore that Seneca would study
its teaching, or at least would be moved by its presence in the very
centre of the world, to listen, even though without conscious sympathy,
perhaps with contempt, to what was told him respecting its tenets. We
see in his writings that he had many clearer views of truth than the
Stoics who preceded him[38]. For instance, with reference to the Deity,
his providential care avowed as being exercised over men not merely
collectively but individually; his sovereignty, his power and glory, not
as a mere part of universal nature, but as a being, fully set forth; his
work in the human soul recognized as a truth and a necessity for man’s
well-doing; these and various other enlarged views of the Lord of all
show a vast advance on past Stoicism in the direction of Christian
doctrine. Then again, with regard to man, we perceive how clearly he saw
that necessary and primary truth, that man is by nature depraved and can
only lead a holy life by divine aid. We notice also how he inculcates
the duty of love to God and to man, of forgiveness of injuries and of
the cultivation of other graces, which have a Christian likeness, if not
a Christian parentage. It is doubtless true that these doctrines were
the strong and approved opinions of one who was, as Gataker calls him,
“home exterior, nec nomini Christiano favens:” but when we read, “cum
nec mysterii nostri gnarus esset, nec fidei rationes assequeretur,” the
words must be taken in a qualified sense. Experimentally, he was
ignorant of the glorious mystery of redemption; but of the religion of
Jesus, and of Judaism which prepared the Roman mind for Christianity, he
was at least informed, if only by rumour. And we see, from the effect of
the religion of the cross at the present time, that its doctrines of
purity and mercy may mightily influence even those nations and
individuals who do not acknowledge its authority.
Let us look at some of the passages in the writings of Seneca, which
serve to bear out the views above expressed; and first, with regard to
the divine being and his care of man, we find such expressions as the
following: “GOD comes to men, yea, what is nearer still, he comes into
men[39]. No mind is good without GOD. Seeds (of good) are sown in human
bodies. And if a good husbandman receives them, there are produced
fruits like the original and equal to those from which they sprung: but
if a bad husbandman receives them, the ground, not being otherwise than
barren and marshy, kills them and thence creates rubbish instead of
fruit.” One cannot fail to be struck with the likeness this passage
bears to our Lord’s words recorded by St Matt. xiii. 18-23. Again, in
the 41st Epistle, we read, “God is near thee, is with thee, is within.
So I say, Lucilius, the holy spirit has his seat within us, the observer
and guard of the evil and the good of our lives: as he is treated by us,
so he treats us.” Intimately connected with this view of an indwelling
God, was the theory which Seneca held, that man could not be good and
perfect without His help. The view which he had of human weakness by
nature and of the depravity of the human heart was a great advance in
the direction of Christian truth, from Stoic principles, which held so
much to the idea of man’s unaided progress to perfection. Yet the views
which Seneca entertained were not unmixed with the old speculations.
Indeed his mind was evidently struggling to reconcile old doctrines with
some new light which was dawning on his mind. Hence he is often
apparently contradictory, as men are when in a transition state, or
rather when they are endeavouring to graft doctrines of a totally
different type on the old stock. We see, in the passage first quoted
above, how plainly he says that no mind is good without GOD, who sows
the seeds of all virtues in the soul, and by his blessing enables a
willing heart to bring forth fruit. Again, in the 41st Epistle, he
writes, “There is no good man without GOD. Can any one rise above
fortune, unless aided by Him? He inspires grand and upright designs. In
every good man he dwells.” But he adds, as if to show the struggle going
on within, that He whom he had in the former part of the letter called
the holy spirit was to him, as to the Athenians, an “unknown GOD.” “Quis
deus incertum est,” he says of the deity who dwells in every good man.
With regard to man’s moral nature requiring the aid of one who is strong
enough to purify it, he speaks very clearly. He sees the need of a
change from evil to good in order to become what man should be. Yet he
does not mention the need of pardon for sin that is past. In _De
Clementia_, I. 6, this passage occurs: “Reflect, in this city, in which
a crowd pours through the widest street without intermission, and like a
rapid stream dashes against any obstacle that impedes its course; where
accommodation is required in three theatres at the same time; where is
consumed whatever grain is produced in all lands; what a solitude and
desolation were the result, if nothing were left but what a severe judge
would pronounce free from fault.” A little further on he adds, “We have
all sinned[40]; some deeply, others more lightly; some from design,
others driven by chance impulses, or borne away by wickedness not their
own; others of us have shown little steadfastness in sticking to our
good resolutions, and, against our will and in spite of our endeavours,
have lost our innocence. Nor is it only that we have erred, but to the
end of time we shall err[41]. Even if any one has so purified his mind
that nothing can shake, or seduce him any more, yet he has arrived at
innocence through sin.” These are remarkable expressions, and show how
much advanced the views of the philosopher were in the direction of the
truth, even though it was by the path of self-humiliation. The writer of
the article on “The Ancient Stoics” in the Oxford Essays, remarks:
“Those who have been anxious to obtain the authority of Aristotle for
the doctrine of human corruption, will find on consideration that this
idea, which was historically impossible for a Greek of the fourth
century B.C., came with sufficient vividness into the consciousness of
persons in the position of Seneca; but not till much later than
Aristotle, probably not before the beginning of our era. On the other
hand, we are not to fancy that the thoughts of Seneca received any
influence from Christianity.” With this last sentence I do not agree. It
seems scarcely reasonable to ignore the power of a system which we know
was already exercising attention at Rome; a system of high and holy
principles, presenting much for the Stoic mind to admire. That similar
thoughts struck Paul the Apostle, and Seneca the philosopher, at the
same era, is certain. It was a remarkable coincidence, but it was
something more. We know that those thoughts in the mind of the converted
Jew were the result, not of self-reflection, nor of communing with his
own heart, merely, but of a power outside of himself, more mighty and
convincing than any inner influence; but still, acting on a strong mind,
already trained in many uncommon and elevating doctrines by Judaism;
which had also been training the Roman world to look for something purer
and higher than the superstition and vain guesses at truth, which were
so prevalent heretofore. When Christianity supplied all the demands of
the soul, and gave to the Roman world a divine system of doctrine and
morals, it soon commanded the attention which it deserved[42]. This
being so, there would seem to be no reason for saying that it had no
influence direct or indirect on the mind of the Stoic philosopher:
especially when, on the very face of it, the inconsistency of his
writings shows that he owed his conclusions to two distinct sources;
one, the old Stoic system—the other, a new class of thoughts which might
at least be supposed to have a Christian origin. There is no doubt that,
among the Romans at the time of Seneca, Christianity was not
distinguished from Judaism, but reckoned a part of that system. We see,
in the 95th letter of the philosopher, plain reference to Jewish forms
and prohibitions. The word sabbath[43] is used; and the whole of the
expressions show how conversant the writer must have been with the
tenets of the people brought from Palestine. We are struck too with the
lessons of piety and charity which he deduces from his reflections. He
sets forth the necessity of having, as the end of our endeavours, the
attainment of the highest good; and to this we should have respect in
every act and word, “as sailors direct their course to some star.” When
we read the words, “non quærit ministros Deus: quidni? Ipse humano
generi ministrat: ubique et omnibus præsto est:” how naturally our minds
recal the words of St Paul to the Athenians: “neither is He served by
men’s hands, as being in need of any; seeing He giveth to all life, and
breath, and all things[44].” We see too that Seneca had clearer notions
than his predecessors of the personal existence of the deity and of his
intimate care of each individual, as well as of the whole race of men.
He perceived the need of knowing and believing GOD and of offering him
spiritual worship; that mere sacrifice and outward homage were vain. In
the following passages from the same letter these views are clearly
expressed; as is also the great truth which the Saviour taught, that to
love GOD with all our heart and mind and soul and strength, and our
neighbour as ourselves, is the essence of religion and virtue: that it
is indeed “more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices[45].” He
writes, “He who knows GOD, worships Him.... A man should learn how to
conduct himself in offering sacrifices, to recoil very far from disquiet
of mind and superstitious observances: never will he be advanced enough
unless he conceive in his mind what kind of a being GOD must be,
possessing all things, bestowing all things, freely giving His
benefits.... The beginning of the worship of the gods, is to believe the
gods[46]; then, to ascribe to them their majesty; to ascribe to them
their goodness, without which there is no majesty; to know that they who
rule the world, who control the universe, who are guardians of the human
race, are also at the same time full of care for each man.... Look at
another question, our proper conduct towards men. How do we deal with
this matter? What instructions do we give? That there be a sparing of
human life? How small a matter it is not to hurt him to whom you owe
benefits. Truly it is great praise if man is gentle to man. Shall we
teach that he stretch out his hand to the shipwrecked, that he show the
right way to the erring, that he divide his loaf with the hungry? When
shall I declare all things which are to be performed, or avoided, since
I can furnish in few words this formula of human duty? All this that you
see, in which divine and human affairs are included, is comprised in one
fact, as a foundation for our rule of action—we are members of one great
body. Nature has made us all akin, since she begat us from the same
originals and for the same destinies. She has indued us with mutual
love, and made us companionable: she has arranged what is equitable and
just: by her institution, it is more wretched to hurt, than to suffer
injury: and by her command, the hands are ready for the assistance of
others. That verse should be in the breast, as well as in the mouth.
‘Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto.’
We should hold it as a common bond, that we have been born. Our
fellowship is most like an arch of stones; which will fall, if each in
turn do not afford support, one sustaining the other[47].” In the 47th
letter (to Lucilius), he speaks of the value of kindness even to slaves:
“I have gladly learnt from those who have come from you, that you live
familiarly with your slaves. This is worthy of your wisdom and of your
learning. Are they slaves? Yes, but they are also men. Are they slaves?
Yes, but they are also comrades. Are they slaves? Yes, but they are also
humble friends.”
He also shows how advanced his feelings were by depicting the wickedness
and debasing nature of revenge and cruelty. He paints in beautiful
language the opposite virtue. Yet, lest he should seem to forget his
Stoicism altogether, he draws a nice distinction between clemency
(clementia) and compassion (misericordia). He ascribes to the former,
however, nearly all that we ascribe to the latter, except the outward
manifestation of sympathy. There must be an apparent Stoicism veiling
real humanity. He calls cruelty proceeding from revenge “An evil in no
degree human, and unworthy therefore of a gentle mind. It is a madness
like that of wild beasts, to delight in blood and wounds, and, manhood
being laid aside, to change into a brute.” (_De Clem._ I. 24.) “As he is
not the large minded man, who is liberal of another’s property; but he
who deprives himself of what he gives to another: so I will call him
clement, not who is easy under another person’s wrong, but who does not
break out, when spurred on by his personal feelings; who understands
that it is the attribute of a great mind to suffer injuries though
possessed of the fullest power to avenge them.” (_De Clem._ I. 20.) “I
know that the Stoic sect are in bad repute among the inexperienced, as
being too harsh, and inclined to give advice which is far from good to
princes and kings. It is objected against the sect that it says the wise
man should not be compassionate, should not forgive. These, if taken by
themselves, are hateful doctrines; for they seem to leave no hope to
human errors, but to bring every fault to punishment. But if this be a
true report, what is this system of knowledge but one which commands us
to unlearn humanity, and shuts a most certain door against mutual help
in misfortune? Yet there is no sect kinder or more gentle, none more
loving of men, and more attentive to the common good: as it is a
principle with us to provide for being of use, or to afford help, not
only where self is concerned, but to all and to each. Compassion
(misericordia) is an unquiet of the mind (ægritudo animi) from the sight
of others’ miseries; or a sadness contracted from the misfortunes of
others, which one believes to have fallen on those who did not deserve
them. Now unquiet does not come to the wise man; his mind is calm, nor
can anything happen to overthrow it: and nothing but magnanimity becomes
him. But the same man cannot be magnanimous whom fear and sorrow assail,
whose mind these feelings overthrow and contract. To the wise man this
does not happen even in his own calamities; but he will, on the
contrary, beat back all the anger of fortune and break it before him. He
will always preserve the same countenance, calm and undisturbed; which
he could not do, if he gave way to sadness. Therefore he is not
compassionate, because this cannot be without misery: all other things
which those do who are compassionate, he does willingly and in another
frame of mind. He will succour the tears of others; he will not give way
to them. He will give a helping hand to the shipwrecked, shelter to the
exile, alms to the needy; he does not do this disdainfully, like the
greater part of those who wish to seem compassionate, who disdain those
whom they help and fear to be touched by them: but he will give as an
equal, a man to a man. He will give the son to his mother’s tears, and
will command the fetters to be loosened; he will redeem from the arena
the man condemned to fight, and he will even bury the noxious dead body.
But he will do this with a peaceful mind and a countenance worthy of
himself. Therefore the wise man will not pity, but he will help; he will
benefit, as one born for mutual help and the public good; from which he
will give each his share; even to the troublesome, in due proportion—to
those who are to be disapproved of and reformed, he shows kindness. But
he much more willingly comes to the help of the afflicted, and heavily
laden.” (_De Clem._ II. 5, 6.)
With regard to the life of the soul in a future world as a separate
being, Seneca’s mind seems, from his different writings, to have been in
an undecided state. Sometimes, however, he rises superior to his doubts
and to his Stoic bias, and rejoices in the hope of real immortality. We
see the uncertainty under which he laboured in his book written to
console Polybius for the loss of his brother. He tells him that, if he
lamented, it was either on his own account, or on account of the
departed. If on his own account, then he was not wisely submissive to
the wisdom which ruled all things. If he lamented for his brother’s
sake, then he should reflect that one of two events must have occurred;
either that his brother by death had lost consciousness and
individuality; or, he was still sensible and conscious. In either case
Polybius should reason himself out of grief. He should reflect in this
way: “If there remain no sense to the departed, then he has escaped all
the inconveniences of life, and is restored to that place where he was
before he was born: and, free from all evil, fears nothing, desires
nothing, suffers nothing. What madness is it then for me not to cease
grieving for him, who never will grieve any more?” In this hypothesis,
we see a reference to the ancient Stoic belief respecting the dead. But
Seneca proceeds to point out to Polybius a nobler reason for ceasing to
mourn. He bids him think, “If there be any consciousness in the dead;
now the mind of my brother, as though released from a long imprisonment,
at length acts according to its own reason and will; and enjoys the
spectacle of the universe, and from a higher place looks down on all
human affairs; yet has a nearer insight into those divine mysteries, the
design of which he had so long sought in vain to understand.” He adds,
“Do not then grieve for your brother; he is at rest. At length he is
free, at length he is safe, at length he is immortal. Now he enjoys an
open and free heaven; he has ascended from a low and sunken place to
that, whatever it be, which receives those souls that are released from
their fetters into its happy bosom: and now he wanders freely, and
beholds with highest delight all the treasures of the universe. You are
wrong; your brother has not lost his life; but has attained to one more
secure. He has not left us, but has gone before.” (Ch. 28.) To this idea
of a happy future existence for the soul, he sometimes recurs in other
parts of his writings. In his 102nd letter he complains of having been
disturbed by a letter from Lucilius, in his happy thoughts of this
nature. “Just as he is a troublesome fellow who wakes one that has a
pleasant dream, so did your letter injure me. It called me back when
indulging in suitable thought and about to venture further, if one
might. I was delighting myself with enquiring respecting the immortality
of souls, yes and more than that, with believing in it. I gave my belief
readily to the opinions of great men, who rather promised this most
welcome thing, than proved it. I gave myself up to so great a hope.
Already I was disdainful of my present self, already I despised the
fragments of my broken existence, about to pass, as I was, into that
immense duration and into the possession of eternity: when suddenly I
was awakened by the receipt of your letter, and lost my beautiful dream.
But I will seek it again, when I have sent you away, and try to get it
back.” In the latter part of the same letter he compares our present
life to the period of gestation. When we cast off our skin and bones and
sinews at death, we shall be like infants escaping from what has
enfolded them previously to their birth. When we die, then we shall be
born to a nobler life. We need not mourn over our dying bodies. “The
coverings always perish of those who are born. Therefore look hence to
something more lofty and sublime. Hereafter the mysteries of the
universe shall be revealed to you, the darkness shall be dispelled, and
clear light shall break upon you from every side. Imagine within
yourself how great will be that brightness, so many stars commingling
their light. No cloud will disturb the peaceful scene. The whole expanse
of heaven will shine with equal splendour. Then you will say you have
lived in darkness, when you shall have full vision of that perfect
light. This thought allows nothing filthy, nothing low, nothing cruel to
find place in the mind; and he who has embraced this doctrine, dreads no
hosts, trembles not at the trumpet’s blast, fears no threats.”
No one would pretend to say that there are definite traces of Christian
influence in these lofty thoughts. Indeed one’s mind naturally turns
from them to similar musings in the _Somnium Scipionis_ of Cicero, and
elsewhere. We remember too the noble surmises of Plato respecting the
soul’s immortality; and how Cato, the Stoic, improved on his Stoicism,
by indulging in lofty views of a future life, drawn from this source,
before his suicide. Yet one cannot but feel that Seneca, at times,
nearly reached the truth, and owed to the influence of the religion of
Jesus on the age in which he lived, much of the peculiar excellence of
his philosophy.
If from him we turn to Epictetus, we see one still more steadily
approaching the light. He seems almost more than a pagan philosopher,
but less than a Christian disciple. His discourses preserved to us by
the care of Arrian, who wrote in Greek what he heard as the disciple of
the philosopher, show a pious spirit and a disrelish for the harsher
doctrines of the Stoic system. They bear in some parts a striking
likeness to the teachings of the Gospel. Just as our Saviour taught that
he who humbleth himself shall be exalted, and that the soul needed His
care, as a sick man needs a physician: so we read in Epictetus, “The
beginning of philosophy is, according to those who enter, even as they
ought, through this gate to her, a perception of their weakness and
powerlessness in necessary matters ... Does the philosopher beseech men
to listen to him? What doctor asks that any one should suffer himself to
be healed by him? Although I hear that at Rome now, doctors call
patients to them, yet in my time, they were called to their patients. I
invite you to come and hear that you are ill; that you take care of
anything rather than what is worthy of care; that you are ignorant of
good and evil; that you are unhappy and wretched. The school of the
philosopher is a doctor’s shop, from which one should go away, not
joyful, but suffering: for you did not come to it whole, but sick, one
with a dislocated shoulder, another afflicted with a tumour, another
with an ulcer, and another with headache[48].” We find also how clearly
he saw the necessity for divine aid in doing right, and the need for
submission to the divine will, self-will being cast aside. He says,
“Call to mind, man, what is said about tranquillity, liberty,
magnanimity. Lift up your head now, like one freed from slavery. Dare at
length, with eyes raised to GOD, to say, ‘Henceforth deal with me as
thou wilt: Thy thought is my thought; Thy will the same as mine; I
refuse nothing that seemeth good to Thee. Lead me whither Thou wilt.
Clothe me as Thou wilt. Dost Thou wish me to lead a public life, to live
in private, to remain, to flee, to be in need, to abound with wealth? I
will defend Thee as to all these dispensations of thy providence before
men: I will show what is the nature of each. Cleanse Thou Thine own. Of
Thine own will cast out thence grief, and fear, and avarice, and envy,
and ill-will, and covetousness, and effeminacy, and intemperance.’ These
things cannot be cast out except you look to GOD alone, and cleave to
him alone, and sacrifice yourself to his commands[49].” At another
place, we find Epictetus acknowledging that the change of his life from
sin to virtue was due to divine mercy, and called for grateful
acknowledgement. “I observe what men say and by what they are
influenced; and I do this not malevolently, nor that I may find
something to blame, or ridicule, but I turn it to myself, lest I also
sin in the same way. How then shall I cease from sin? Once I also
sinned, but now do so no longer, _thanks be to GOD_[50].” Of the
providence of GOD, some of the most elevated, reverent, and grateful
records are contained in the Dissertations. For instance, we have the
following noble passage in B. I. c. 16: “What language will be
sufficient to praise and set forth these works of Providence towards us.
For, if we are mindful, what else does it behove us to do, both in
public and private, than to praise and bless the Deity, and to utter
thanksgivings? Ought we not both while we dig, and while we plough, and
while we eat, to sing this hymn to GOD? ‘Great is GOD who hath provided
such implements for us, by which we work the ground: great is GOD, who
hath given us hands; and the power of swallowing our food, as well as a
place for its digestion; who hath caused us to grow without our own
care, and to breathe even while we sleep.’ These things should be sung,
one by one; even the grandest and holiest hymn should be sung, because
He has given us a power of attending to these things and making use of
them by a proper method[51]. What then? Since ye, the multitude, are
blinded to this, ought not one to be found to fulfil this part and sing,
in place of all, the hymn to GOD? For what other duty can I, a lame old
man, discharge, except sing the praises of GOD? If I were a nightingale,
I would fulfil my part like the nightingale; if a swan, like the swan.
But now, since I am possessed of reason, I ought to sing the praises of
GOD. This is my work, I do it: nor will I leave this post, so long as
power is given me to hold it, and I exhort you to join in the singing of
this same song[52].” He speaks also of the freedom of the human will to
perform certain acts, and dwells on the acts that are within the power
of the will. He shows the folly of valuing too highly what is beyond our
power, and the necessity of submitting our will to the divine will. But
though he speaks of the freedom of the human will, he is a firm believer
in fatalism; so that his idea of the true freedom of man was limited. “I
have one whom it behoves me to please, to whom I must submit, whom I
ought to obey—GOD, and those who hold a place near him. He has committed
me to myself and placed my free will in subjection to myself alone,
giving me rules for its right use: and when I follow these in my
reasonings, I do not care what else any one says[53].” “Remember this,
that if you esteem every thing that is beyond your choice, you lose the
power of choosing[54].” He tells us we are the children of GOD, and that
this relationship should lead us to act worthily of Him. “If any one
will embrace this truth as he ought, that we are especially the children
of GOD, and that GOD is the Father, as well of men, as of the gods, I
think he will allow no ignoble or low thoughts about himself.... On
account of this relationship, those of us who fall away become, some
like wolves, faithless, and cunning, and baneful; others, like lions,
fierce, savage, and uncivilized; more of us still become foxes and
whatever else among beasts are monstrous. For what else is an
evil-tongued and depraved man than a wolf, or whatever besides is more
wretched and debased? See, then, and take care lest you fall away into
one of these monsters[55].” Nothing is more remarkable in Epictetus than
his earnest piety. “I esteem what GOD wills as better than what I will.
I cleave to him as a servant and follower; with him, I go eagerly
forward; with him, I stretch myself out: in short, what he wishes, I
wish[56].” But we find that he does not rise to any glorious hopes of a
future separate existence for the soul. Instead of this, he cleaves to
the Stoic idea, of the distribution of man, at death, into his component
parts. “What was fire in thee,” he says, “will return to fire; what was
earthy, to earth; what belonged to the wind will return to the wind;
what was watery, to water[57].” He was not, however, without some
knowledge of the power of Christianity, on those who embraced it, to
make them brave all things for the gospel’s sake. He speaks of the
“Galileans braving the tyrant, his satellites, and their swords, from
madness and custom.” He says he prefers reason to this influence which
sustained them. Yet, though he remains without the personal knowledge of
the power of Christ, what I have produced from his works serves to show
that there was a work going on in the world, by means of the gospel,
which extended further than the Church, and gave to the Stoic purer and
holier views of the truth. He felt himself an erring being in need of
divine aid. He felt that he was under the care of a loving Father, to
whom he turned for aid. And he strongly brings before us the need all
men have by self-abasement to seek the love of the supreme being, and to
rise by his help to perfection. This was a great advance on old Stoic
pride and self-dependence. Moreover, others began to have a share of
attention. All mankind were recognized as justly entitled to the love
and support of each other. Indeed, Stoicism came down from the height of
its self-sufficiency. Its disciples learnt to mistrust themselves and to
trust in GOD. They were making progress in true wisdom. Plutarch had
urged against the sect their belief, that “GOD does not give men virtue;
but that goodness is in their own power: that He gives riches and
health, without virtue; and does not afford assistance for their
benefit[58].” They had to learn the lesson, that man is incapable of
goodness without divine aid; and, as we have seen, Epictetus did learn
it in some degree. Yet we shall perceive, from what Marcus Aurelius
wrote, that the old leaven remained mightily at work, and the advance
was not thorough. In proportion as the sect felt their need of divine
aid, they came also to give up some of their selfishness and
exclusiveness. Epictetus urges the propriety of mingling with men and
helping them. He would do them good, teach them their need of humility,
and of a cure for their mental maladies. “Will you not,” he says, “do as
sick people do, call the physician? ‘Lord, I am sick, help me; see what
I ought to do; it is for me to obey thee.’ So also again, ‘What to do I
know not; I have come to thee to learn.’” (_Diss._ B. II. 15.) He wished
to benefit the multitude, and had imbibed some of the spirit of that
lesson so full of truth, that “he who loves GOD will love his brother
also.”
These remarks will be applicable, but not in so high a degree, to Marcus
Aurelius Antoninus, the Emperor. He was the last of the Stoics who has
left a memorial behind. With him the sect ceased as a sect of
philosophy. If we read his meditations we perceive that while much of
their doctrines remained unchanged, many were considerably modified. The
modification was in a direction similar to that noticed in the previous
pages, which we should expect to find, if Christianity exercised a
collateral influence. Antoninus claims the care of the supreme being for
men, and shows the duty of men to believe in the goodness of the gods.
“It behoves thee so to do and think about every thing, as to be able to
depart out of life now. But to depart from among men is nothing
dreadful, if there be gods, for they will lay no evil on thee. If, on
the other hand, there be no gods, or if they do not concern themselves
about human affairs, what good is it to me to live in a world without
gods, and without a Providence? But there are gods, and they concern
themselves about human affairs.” (B. II. ch. 11). “The soul, when it
must depart from the body, should be ready to be extinguished, to be
dispersed, or to subsist a while longer with the body.” (B. XI. 3). Yet
he would have this readiness to proceed from similar feelings to his
own. He knew the bravery and resignation of Christians. Alas! he had not
large-heartedness enough to tolerate what seemed an opposing influence
to his favourite philosophy, and tried by persecution to extirpate the
faith of the cross. The faith, however, proved itself stronger than
philosophy; Christ crucified was to the Greek foolishness, but was
mightier than the wisdom of men, and “the weakness of GOD was stronger
than men.” Antoninus could not but see the inability of persecution to
check the religion of Jesus; yet he put down the earnest faith and
determination of its disciples to obstinacy. So after the words just
quoted from his work, on the propriety of being ready for whatever may
come, he adds, “But this readiness must proceed from the soul’s own
judgment, and not from mere obstinacy, as with the Christians; it must
be arrived at with reflection and dignity, so that you could even
convince another without declamation.”
There is a resemblance in the description of the nature of man given by
this Stoic, to that given by the Apostle Paul. This is noticed in the
Essay by Sir A. Grant, to which reference has already been made. He
says, “we find in him (Antoninus) the same psychological division of man
into body, soul, and spirit, as was employed by St Paul.” A similar
observation was made by Gataker in a note which I shall presently quote.
Antoninus writes in this way (B. II. c. 2), “What I am, consists
entirely of the fleshly (σαρκία) and spiritual (πνευμάτιον), and the
chief part (τὸ ἡγεμονικόν). But now, as being about to die, despise thou
thy fleshly parts; gore, and bones, and a network woven of nerves,
veins, and arteries. Look also at thy spiritual part of what nature it
is; a breath of air which is never the same, but continually breathed
out and drawn in again. The third remaining is the principal part. Thou
art old, no longer shouldst thou suffer this to be enslaved.” Again, in
B. III. 16, his words are, “Body (σῶμα), soul (ψυχὴ), mind (νοῦς). To
thy body belong senses; to thy soul, affections; to thy mind, opinions.”
Again, (XII. 3), “There are three things of which thou art composed,
body (σωμάτιον), spirit (πνευμάτιον), mind (vοῦς). Of these the first
two are thine, so far as the care of them is concerned. But the third
alone is really thy own.” On the first of these quotations, Gataker has
the following note[59]. “Almost the same thing, in other words, the
Apostle writes to the Thessalonians in the first Epistle, ch. 5, v. 23,
where he says, ‘Τὸ πνεῦμα, καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ τὸ σῶμα:’ in which place τὸ
σῶμα is what Marcus here calls σαρκία; ἡ ψυχὴ is here πνευμάτιον; and τὸ
πνεῦμα is here τὸ ἡγεμονικόν.” We may notice, in addition, that this
last is called νοῦς in B. III. 16, and B. XII. 3. We read in Epictetus,
B. III. 7, “That three things belong to man no one will deny—soul
(ψυχὴ), and body (σῶμα), and things without” (τὰ ἐκτός). The “τὰ ἐκτός”
here include the “τὸ πνεῦμα” of Antoninus, which he says is “ἄνεμος,”
and is “breathed out and drawn in continuously.”
With regard to a future existence for the soul, freed from sin and pain
at death, though Aurelius denies the hope in some places, yet in others
the light of the truth seems to stagger him. So when he says, B. XII. 1,
“How comes it to pass, that the gods, who order all things well and
lovingly for the human race, have overlooked this alone, namely, that
men innately good, and who have had, as it were, frequent communions
with the deity, and by holy deeds and sacred services have become
friends of the deity, when once they die, no longer have any being, but
go away to be absorbed in the universe?” He shows his doubts by adding,
“if this be the fact,” concerning them; and, further on, “if the fact be
otherwise.” Evidently he wavered in his belief.
Antoninus was ascetic in his views. He was fond of retirement and
seclusion, thinking his mental progress furthered thereby. He does not
seem so intensely earnest, nor so pious and nobly gifted as Epictetus:
yet his aspirations were noble. “Oh, my soul!” we hear him saying[60],
“wilt thou ever be good, and simple, and one, and naked, and more
transparent than the body which clothes thee?” Though philosophy with
him was all in all, yet the cause of truth was advancing; the light from
heaven was beginning to penetrate the darkness. One cannot put down his
record of self-communings without feeling sad, and wishing he had opened
his eyes to the perfection of that gospel which he professedly rejected
and despised.
Footnote 35:
_Præs. Hær._ 7.
Footnote 36:
Εἶτα ὑπὸ μανίας μὲν δύναταί τις οὕτω διατεθῆναι πρὸς ταῦτα καὶ ὑπὸ
ἔθους οἱ Γαλιλαῖοι· ὑπὸ λόγου δὲ, κ.τ.λ.
Footnote 37:
Τὸ δὲ ἕτοιμον τοῦτο, ἵνα ἀπὸ ἰδικῆς κρίσεως ἔρχηται, μὴ κατὰ ψιλὴν
παράταξιν, ὡς οἱ Χριστιανοὶ, ἀλλὰ λελογισμένως, κ.τ.λ.—_Com._ XI. 3.
Footnote 38:
The remarks of Gataker with reference to Seneca are so apposite that I
quote them here: “Certe quæcunque Dominus ipse Christus in concionibus
collationibusque suis Historiæ Evangelicæ insertis, intextisque; de
mali cogitatione etiam abstinenda; de affectibus vitiosis
supprimendis; de sermone otioso non insuper habendo; de animo
cumprimis excolendo, et ad imaginem divinam effingendo; de
beneficentiâ simplicissime exhibendâ; de injuriis æquanimiter
ferendis; de admonitione et increpatione cum moderatione cautioneque
accuratâ exercendis; de rebus quibuslibet, adeoque vitâ ipsâ, ubi res
ratioque poscit, nihili habendis; de aliis denique plerisque pietatis,
caritatis, æquitatis, humanitatis officiis quam exquisitissime
obeundis exequendisque, præcepta dedit; apud nostrum hunc eadem,
perinde ac si illa lectitâsset ipse, in dissertationum
commentationumque congerie inspersa passim, nec sine vehementia et
vivacitate insigni, quæ in præcordia ipsa penitùs penetret, atque in
animo infixos altius relinquat aculeos inculcata subinde, Lector
quivis sedulus advertet, ingenuus agnoscet.”—Proel. _Marc. Ant. Com._
Footnote 39:
“Deus ad homines venit, immo, quod proprius est, in homines venit,”
&c.—Sen. _Ep._ 73.
I do not think it necessary to give the original of these passages,
except in special cases.
Footnote 40:
“Peccavimus omnes, alii graviora, alii leviora,” &c.
Footnote 41:
“Nec delinquimus tantum sed usque ad extremum ævi delinquemus.”
Footnote 42:
We find from Seneca’s observation respecting the Jews, which St
Augustin quotes, “victi victoribus leges dederunt,” how strongly he
was impressed with the power the Jews exercised spiritually. The
Satires of Juvenal and the complaints of Tacitus present us with
similar views on their part. That Christianity was supposed to be a
part of Judaism is seen from the words of Suetonius (_Vit. Claud._):
“Judæos, impulsore Chresto, assidue tumultuantes Româ expulit.”
Footnote 43:
“Accendere aliquem lucernam sabbathis prohibeamus,” &c.
Footnote 44:
Acts xvii. 25.
Footnote 45:
Mark xii. 33.
Footnote 46:
Compare this with the passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews, xi. 6:
“He that cometh unto GOD must believe that He is.”
Footnote 47:
Sen. _Ep._ 95.
Footnote 48:
_Diss._ III. 23. Compare our Lord’s words, Matt. ix. 12. “They that be
whole need not a physician, but they that are sick. I am not come to
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
Footnote 49:
_Diss._ II. 16.
Footnote 50:
_Diss._ Β. III. c. 4. Πότε καὶ ἐγὼ ἡμάρτανον· νῦν δ’ οὐκέτι, χάρις τῷ
Θεῷ.
Footnote 51:
Gataker has the following apposite and judicious remark on this
passage, “Et quæ sequuntur his gemina, homine Christiano quovis non
indigna, Christum modo donatum nobis adjecisset.”—Præloq. _M. Ant.
Com._
Footnote 52:
_Diss._ B. II. c. 16.
Footnote 53:
_Diss._ B. IV. c. 12.
Footnote 54:
_Diss._ B. IV. c. 4.
Footnote 55:
_Diss._ B. I. c. 3.
Footnote 56:
_Diss._ B. IV. c. 6.
Footnote 57:
_Diss._ B. III. c. 13.
Footnote 58:
Eἴπερ ὁ θεὸς ἀρετὴν μὲν οὐ δίδωσιν ἀνθρώποις· ἀλλὰ τὸ καλὸν αὐθαίρετόν
ἐστι· πλοῦτον δὲ καὶ ὑγίειαν χωρὶς ἀρετῆς δίδωσιν οὐκ ὠφελεῖ. Plut.
_de Stoic. cont._ c. 27.
Footnote 59:
“Idem fere, aliis verbis, Apostolus ad Thessal. Εp. I. c. 5. v. 23,”
&c.—Gat. _not. in M. Ant_. B. II. c. 2.
Footnote 60:
M. Aur. _Com._ x. 1.