Category Archives: Ancient Greek Philosophy

You are Always Changing, Death is but Another Change

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The time of a human life is a point; its essence flows away, its perception is dim, the assemblage of the whole body is quick to decay, the soul is a roundabout, fortune is hard to interpret, fame is uncertain. To speak to someone who understands, all the things of the body are a river, while all the things of the soul are a dream and a delusion. Life is a war and the dwelling place of a sojourner, posthumous fame is oblivion. What, therefore, is able to be an escort [in life]? The one and only thing is philosophy. And philosophy is this, to preserve the god inside of us to be free of violence and unharmed, to be greater than pleasures and pains, doing nothing vainly or dishonestly or with hypocrisy, not being at a loss to do anything or not do anything. And yet it still accepts the things that come about and are portioned out, since they come from that same place where it came. And in general philosophy is accepting death with a gracious understanding, as nothing other than a dissolution of the elements from which each living creature is composed. And yet if there is nothing terrible in the elements themselves wherein each thing changes continuously into another thing, why would someone mistrust the change and dissolution of everything? For it is in accordance with nature. And there is nothing evil in accordance with nature. 1
 Meditations II.17

This is the last chapter of Book 2. Marcus, as he does continuously, is mindful and considerate of his own mortality, pondering fate not as an emotional spur so as to accomplish great deeds, but with an eye toward rationally digesting what personal death means within the scope of nature and the divine order. We would unfairly burden Marcus if we were to require of him a level of clarity which cannot be expected of a work aimed for personal reflection, so instead I approach the Meditations as a work which often needs its thoughts and arguments to be drawn out. This is one such section.

Far from being dour, as the stereotype of a frowning Stoic might allow us to infer, Marcus, although he begins by listing off the shortcomings of our human mortality, is in actuality laying out the case for the radical change we are constantly undergoing in our lives already. Even when a human is living, he is only a point (στιγμή), a thing both definite and small. The soul is often considered by the common person, no doubt because of its perceived persistence, as the element which truly constitutes the self. Yet even the soul, in Marcus’ words, is transient. It is called a ῥόμβος, meaning either a magic wheel or a whirling motion. Clearly motion is the emphasis, so I have translated it as roundabout.

The one constant thing in our lives, if we are fortune enough to have cultivated it, is philosophy. The job of philosophy is to cultivate our inner self to be morally pure and personally disciplined. This undertaking, however, is not to be done outside of or independent of the fated events which are doled out by the universe. In fact, Marcus tells us, philosophy is especially purposeful towards the goal of receiving death, perhaps the most disturbing of our fated events, with a glad heart (ἵλεῳ τῇ γνώμῃ). The gleeful acceptance of our death reflects a philosophically resigned mind.

As Marcus established the transience of both the body and soul, he points out that they are both made out of the same stuff as everything else in the universe. Since we are not disturbed at the constant flux of our constitutive elements as we live, we should not be alarmed at the final dissolution of the elements which make ourselves, as both bodies and souls.

1 Τοῦ ἀνθρωπίνου βίου ὁ μὲν χρόνος στιγμή, ἡ δὲ οὐσία ῥέουσα, ἡ δὲ αἴσθησις ἀμυδρά, ἡ δὲ ὅλου τοῦ σώματος σύγκρισις εὔσηπτος, ἡ δὲ ψυχὴ ῥόμβος, ἡ δὲ τύχη δυστέκμαρτον, ἡ δὲ φήμη ἄκριτον: συνελόντι δὲ εἰπεῖν, πάντα τὰ μὲν τοῦ σώματος ποταμός, τὰ δὲ τῆς ψυχῆς ὄνειρος καὶ τῦφος, ὁ δὲ βίος πόλεμος καὶ ξένου ἐπιδημία, [2] ἡ δὲ ὑστεροφημία λήθη. τί οὖν τὸ παραπέμψαι δυνάμενον; ἓν καὶ μόνον φιλοσοφία: τοῦτο δὲ ἐν τῷ τηρεῖν τὸν ἔνδον δαίμονα ἀνύβριστον καὶ ἀσινῆ, ἡδονῶν καὶ πόνων κρείσσονα, μηδὲν εἰκῇ ποιοῦντα μηδὲ διεψευσμένως καὶ μεθ̓ ὑποκρίσεως, ἀνενδεῆ τοῦ ἄλλον ποιῆσαί τι ἢ μὴ ποιῆσαι: ἔτι δὲ τὰ συμβαίνοντα καὶ ἀπονεμόμενα δεχόμενον ὡς ἐκεῖθέν ποθεν ἐρχόμενα, ὅθεν αὐτὸς ἦλθεν: ἐπὶ πᾶσι δὲ τὸν θάνατον ἵλεῳ τῇ γνώμῃ περιμένοντα ὡς οὐδὲν ἄλλο ἢ λύσιν τῶν στοιχείων, ἐξ ὧν ἕκαστον ζῷον συγκρίνεται. εἰ δὲ αὐτοῖς τοῖς στοιχείοις μηδὲν δεινὸν ἐν τῷ ἕκαστον διηνεκῶς εἰς ἕτερον μεταβάλλειν, διὰ τί ὑπίδηταί τις τὴν πάντων μεταβολὴν καὶ διάλυσιν; κατὰ φύσιν γάρ: οὐδὲν δὲ κακὸν κατὰ φύσιν. Τὰ ἐν Καρνούντῳ.

Five Violations of Your Own Soul: Marcus Aurelius

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The soul of man violates itself, especially so when it becomes, as far it is able, an abscess and like a growth on the universe. For feeling dislike for anything which happens is an apostasy from Nature, in a part of which the natures of each of the remaining parts are involved. And secondly, whenever the soul turns away from some man, or even does things contrary to him, on the grounds of harming him, such as are the souls of those who are enraged. Thirdly when one is bested by either pleasure or toil. Fourthly, whenever it plays a part, and is false or dissembling in either doing or saying something. Fifth, when it casts its own act or desire at no goal, but vainly and inconsequently spends energy on anything whatsoever, although it is necessary for the smallest things to occur with an eye to the end in view. And the end of logical animals is in following the reason and law of the city and government which is oldest.1 (Meditations II:16)

This section comes near the end of Book 2 of the Meditations, which is the first “philosophical” book of the work, Book 1 consisting of thanks for those qualities of character which Marcus Aurelius has accrued from various people at different times in his life. This work, for those unaccustomed, is the product of Marcus Aurelius, the emperor of Rome for about twenty years beginning in 161 AD. Although Roman, of course, he wrote in Greek during encampment between various military campaigns against the barbarians. A Stoic, his work consistently shows the mark of that philosophy, although he is a writer who has been frequently accused of inconsistency to those principles.

Immediately before this section, Marcus has chastised those who pay more attention to the affairs of others or “things underneath the earth,” the later phrase perhaps a disparaging dismissal of metaphysical speculation, or alternatively, a way to categorize all non-moral philosophical reflection. One properly devotes time to the divinity within, a euphemism for the real self, and perhaps reflective of the highly intellectualized view which Stoics prescribed for human beings.

There are five ways in which the soul violates itself (Ὑβρίζει ἑαυτὴν ἡ ψυχὴ). The first way must be understood in the context of the great Stoic imperative: Live in accordance with nature. Note that Marcus, when he reproves a disposition equivalent to becoming a tumor on the universe, qualifies his statement when he says, “as far as it is able.” This qualification owes to the fact that Stoics are strict determinists, and the universe will get its (good) way no matter how any single recalcitrant person might attempt to subvert it. Thus Marcus might be delimiting the sphere of attempted deviance not to action but to thought. The next sentence bears this interpretation out, “For feeling dislike for anything which happens is an apostasy from nature…” The mind can revolt, at least as a theoretically inert action, but no real actions can overthrow the plan of Nature. The metaphor involved in this violation is illuminating. Indeed what could be more unnatural to a body than a tumor, thus what could be more unnatural to a universe than one attempting to subvert it in some way.

The second self-violation of the soul is to “turn away” from some other human. This phrasing must mean to “not help.” Instead of helping one’s fellow man, by “coming to” them, such a person “turns from” them. We must take such a reading in order to harmonize it with the example given, an enraged person. Although in Marcus’ language an enraged person is metaphorically “turning from” the person at whom they are angry, they are literally “turning to” him, as any recent object of rage could testify. The third admonition is self-explanatory, to never be taken in by pleasure or toil (πόνος could also be translated as pain). This is not the same as having pleasure or pain, but rather the dominant role that those two emotions could have in the daily life of a person.

Fourthly, the soul commits a wrong when it literally plays the hypocrite, doing or saying something under some pretense. It is unclear from the brief description given, but it is possible that the meaning includes any lying whatsoever. Lying would be untrue to oneself as it involves the betrayal of oneself as a rational being who is designed to think the truth. This understanding of the fourth command transitions well into the fifth.

The fifth way that a soul can cause violence to itself is in doing something with no end in mind. This is equivalent to existing as a mere creature alone, breathing and waking merely to breathe and wake in turn. This can also extend to any and all actions taken without an explicit understanding of its purpose or goal. Presumably even reading the Meditations could be done in a vicious manner if one were not to read it with the intention of self-improvement or some other focused design. Marcus closes his advice with, “the end of logical animals is in following the reason and law of the city and government which is oldest.” As in most Stoic writings, the doctrine of conformity with the universe is always lurking somewhere when the topic of right action is discussed. Man must act in accordance with his actual self, that is, as a rational being, but he must also live in accordance with the actual universe, a realm intelligently designed for among other things, rational beings. It is to this oldest “city and government” that the rational being must conform his actions and thoughts.

1 Ὑβρίζει ἑαυτὴν ἡ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ψυχὴ μάλιστα μέν, ὅταν ἀπόστημα καὶ οἷον φῦμα τοῦ κόσμου, ὅσον ἐφ̓ ἑαυτῇ, γένηται: τὸ γὰρ δυσχεραίνειν τινὶ τῶν γινομένων ἀπόστασίς ἐστι τῆς φύσεως, ἧς ἐν μέρει αἱ ἑκάστου τῶν λοιπῶν φύσεις περιέχονται. ἔπειτα δέ, ὅταν ἄνθρωπόν τινα ἀποστραφῇ ἢ καὶ ἐναντία φέρηται ὡς βλάψουσα, οἷαί εἰσιν αἱ τῶν ὀργιζομένων. τρίτον ὑβρίζει ἑαυτήν, ὅταν ἡσσᾶται ἡδονῆς ἢ πόνου. τέταρτον, ὅταν ὑποκρίνηται καὶ ἐπιπλάστως καὶ ἀναλήθως τι ποιῇ ἢ λέγῃ. πέμπτον, ὅταν πρᾶξίν τινα ἑαυτῆς καὶ ὁρμὴν ἐπ̓ οὐδένα σκοπὸν ἀφιῇ, ἀλλ̓ εἰκῇ καὶ ἀπαρακολουθήτως ὁτιοῦν ἐνεργῇ, δέον καὶ τὰ μικρότατα κατὰ τὴν ἐπὶ τὸ τέλος ἀναφορὰν γίνεσθαι: τέλος δὲ λογικῶν ζῴων τὸ ἕπεσθαι τῷ τῆς πόλεως καὶ πολιτείας τῆς πρεσβυτάτης λόγῳ καὶ θεσμῷ.

Aristotle’s Essence: τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι

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τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι is an odd phrase, common to Aristotelian diction, used when the philosopher wishes to speak about the essence of a particular thing. Most students translate the phrase as “essence” by rote, because they have not the faintest conception on how to penetrate the meaning of this four-word hieroglyphic.

Let us begin by discussing what this construction consists of at its most basic level. Fundamentally the phrase is an articular infinitive. Dr. Smyth tells us that, “The articular infinitive, while having the character of a substantive, retains the functions of a verb” (See Smyth, 2025 and following). The “character” of a substantive means that we are able to decline the infinitive as a neuter singular noun, if we place the appropriately declined definite article (τό, τοῦ, τῷ, τό) in front of it. Thus, τὸ ποιεῖν can be translated not merely as “to make,” but also as “making.” With this in mind, τὸ εἶναι, is “to be” or “being,” often simplified by most translators to “essence.”

This leaves us with the two inner terms, τί ἦν. First let us look at the imperfect ἦν. In Smyth 1901-1902 we are told that the imperfect can be used for the present tense. Liddell and Scott (εἰμί F. bottom of entry) inform us that ἦν is sometimes used as the present, corroborating the account given by Smyth. Liddell and Scott also make mention of Aristotle’s exact phrase, remarking that, “τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι expresses the essential nature of a thing.” Thus the ἦν is actually an ἐστί, at least for translation purposes.

The LSJ entry is further helpful in determining the meaning of τί ἦν as a two-word phrase. It points out that τί ἦν, in the phrase τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι, takes the place of a very similar articular infinitive, but with a dative phrase, such as τὸ ἀγαθῷ εἶναι, which can be seen in Prior Analytics 67b12 and De Anima 429b10. τί ἦν is therefore really (τῷ) τί ἦν. τί, of course, is the interrogative pronoun, “what.” The phrase τί ἦν means, “what is it?” or as an indirect interrogative, which it could also be, “what it is.”

Putting it all together in a different order we have, τὸ εἶναι “being,” (τῷ) τί ἦν “for what is it?” or as an indirect interrogative, “for what it is.” Very often when there is a dative with a verb like εἰμί, it is construed as a dative of possession, which can be translated as a genitive. We could translate τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι as, “The essence/being of what it is.” The mystery of the phrase is solved. We are nevertheless saddled with an uncharacteristically unwieldy phrase to describe a common Greek philosophical term.