Lucius hadn’t been home long, though, before the First Marcomannic War broke out along the northern frontier. This time both emperors rode out from Rome together in their military attire. Marcus evidently didn’t think it was a good idea for his brother to go alone, and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving him back at Rome unsupervised. Lucius wanted to remain at Aquileia, in northern Italy, where he could hunt and banquet, but Marcus insisted they needed to cross the Alps to Pannonia, which had been overrun by the Marcomanni and their allies. After the Romans repulsed the initial barbarian incursion, the co-emperors returned to Aquileia at Lucius’s insistence because he yearned to be near Rome. However, in early 169 AD, Lucius was struck with a sudden fainting spell, and he died three days later after being bled by his physicians. We can’t be sure what killed him. There were even rumors Marcus had him poisoned. However, his loss of consciousness, inability to speak, and sudden death are signs of the plague, which was prevalent in nearby cities and legionary camps around this time. Ironically, despite Lucius’s reputation as the younger and hardier of the two co-emperors, he only made it to age thirty-nine, while Marcus, with his notorious frailty, reached nearly sixty.
We might think Marcus was relieved to be rid of his wayward brother, but he probably felt his loss greatly. It came at a time of mounting crises, as disease spread throughout the empire and Marcus was forced to leave Rome for the first time to take up his command on the northern frontier. He must have felt increasingly isolated, in great personal danger, and under a tremendous amount of political pressure. As we’ll see, though, it was within this crucible that The Meditations took shape. HOW TO CONQUER DESIRE
We mentioned Prodicus’s “Choice of Hercules” earlier, but Marcus cites another famous allegory about desire in his notes. It’s one of Aesop’s fables, called “The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse.” A town mouse once visited his cousin in the countryside, where he was welcomed with a simple meal of rustic food: a crust of bread and some dry oats. However, the town mouse laughed at his cousin’s unsophisticated tastes and peasant fare. Boasting of the luxury and abundance to be found in the town, he insists that the country mouse come back to the city with him for a taste of the good life. The country mouse agrees, and they return to the house where the town mouse lives hidden to feast like kings upon the finest scraps from the owner’s table. However, two dogs hear them scratching around and come hurtling into the room barking, which sends the mice scurrying for cover in fear for their lives.
Once they’ve reached the safety of a mouse hole and caught their breath, the shaken country mouse thanks his cousin for his hospitality but says he’ll be returning to his humble rural dwelling right away. Although the country fare is modest, he prefers the peace and quiet of his own home and a simple life to the dangers of the city. The town mouse’s perilous habits aren’t really the good life at all. They come at too high a cost. The country mouse says he would rather dine like a peasant than risk being eaten alive by ravenous dogs. Reflecting on the moral of this story, Marcus calls to mind “the alarm and trepidation” with which the town mouse perpetually lives because of his greed.7 I can’t help but think that Marcus Aurelius saw himself as the country mouse and his brother Lucius as the town mouse.
Just because Marcus saw the “pleasures” that ensnared Lucius as empty and superficial doesn’t mean there was no joy in his own life. We shouldn’t be fooled by the gravity of The Meditations, which consists of semiformal exercises, into thinking that the author had a gloomy personality. His private letters prove that Marcus was a good-humored and surprisingly affectionate man who spent his youth enjoying a wide variety of sports and hobbies. He liked painting, boxing, wrestling, running, fowling, and boar hunting, and the Historia Augusta adds that he was very skilled at playing various ball games. Of course, as the years passed and his responsibilities increased, he dedicated his life to handling the affairs of state and to his training in Stoic philosophy, which helped guide his actions. However, we’re told he was loved by those close to him and seemed pleasant and approachable to others. He was described as austere but not excessively so, humble but not passive, and serious but never gloomy. He clearly took great pleasure in the company of his friends and family.
Marcus was probably a much happier man than his hedonistic brother Lucius was. True, he didn’t experience the highs of all the wild parties Lucius threw, but neither did he suffer the lows, the painful consequences of overindulgence. What he gained instead was the more profound and lasting happiness that the Stoics claimed was the result of living in accord with wisdom and virtue, or at least some glimmer of that ideal state. Indeed, he made it clear that his goal was to achieve the utmost joy in his heart and maintain a “cheerful serenity” throughout the whole of his life. Having glimpsed this inner peace, Marcus was convinced that it was possible to live consistently in that state of mind, even if he was criticized by those around him or was gored by wild beasts.8 Socrates himself had remained cheerful while in prison awaiting his execution, and even as he raised the hemlock cup to his lips. At least that was the story. However, Marcus also saw this healthy attitude of cheerfulness in the face of adversity with his own eyes, as exhibited by his beloved Stoic tutors. They had taught the young Marcus that inner calm and happiness are the natural consequences of a life lived well, in accord with genuine wisdom and self-discipline. More importantly, though, he had witnessed evidence of this being their actual way of life, embodied in the actions of these great men even in the face of terrible adversity.
Modern English isn’t well equipped to capture some of the distinctions made in ancient Greek philosophy, especially when it comes to describing emotions and sensations. We use the word “pleasure” very broadly to encompass almost any positive feeling. However, the Stoics distinguished between the sort of pleasure (hedone) we get from “external” things like food or sex or flattery and the deeper sense of inner joy (chara) that Marcus is talking about. Stoic joy is profound. It comes from achieving your fundamental goal in life and experiencing genuine fulfillment, which make ordinary pleasures seem trivial by comparison. Ordinary pleasures often ruffle our minds, especially when indulged in too much. Stoic joy never does this—it’s synonymous with inner peace and knows no excess.9 The Stoics refer to it as the pure form of “joy” that someone experiences who is living a truly great life and has attained genuine personal fulfillment (eudaimonia). Of course, none of us are there yet, but all of us may, potentially, glimpse the goal as long as we’re heading in the right direction.
There are two more key points about Stoic joy worth emphasizing:
1. The Stoics tended to view joy not as the goal of life, which is wisdom, but as a by-product of it, so they believed that trying to pursue it directly might lead us down the wrong path if it’s sought at the expense of wisdom.