CHAPTER XII.. Applied Moral Science.

APPLIED MORAL SCIENCE.

All that has hitherto been stated has regard to the general principles only of the Stoics touching the end and the conditions of moral action. Whether the mere exposition of principles be enough, or whether the practical application of these principles to the special relations of life does not also form part of moral science—is a question as to which the Stoic School was not originally unanimous. Aristo, a Cynic on this as on other points, was of opinion that this whole branch of moral science is useless and unnecessary; the philosopher must confine himself exclusively to things which have a practical value, the fundamental ground of morality. Within the Stoic School, however, this view did not gain much support. Even Cleanthes, who otherwise agreed with Aristo, did not deny the value of the application of theory to details, provided the connection of details with general principles were not lost sight of. Nor can there be any doubt that, after the time of Chrysippus, details engrossed much of the attention of the Stoic philosophers. Posidonius enumerates, as belonging to the province of moral philosophy, precept, exhortation, and advice. His teacher, Panætius, had discussed the hortatory side of morality in three books on duties, which are imitated in Cicero’s well-known treatise. The division of ethics attributed to Diogenes, and by him referred to Chrysippus, leaves place for such discussions; and, not to mention Aristo’s opposition, which supposes the existence of applied moral science, the example of his fellow-student Persæus, whose precepts for a science of banqueting have been already referred to, proves how early practical ethics had obtained a footing within the Stoic School. Moreover, the elaborate theory of virtue propounded by Chrysippus and his followers can hardly have failed to include many of the principal occurrences in life. Thus a number of particular precepts are known to us, which are partly quoted by other writers as belonging to the Stoics, and are partly to be found in the pages of Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius, and in Cicero’s treatise on duties. Indeed, the Stoics were the first who went at all deeply into the subject of casuistry. At a later epoch, when more general questions had been settled by Chrysippus, the preference for particular enquiries within the domain of applied moral science appears to have increased among the Stoics. Probably none but the later members of the School advanced the unscientific assertion that we ought to confine ourselves to precepts for particular cases, since only these have any practical value.

In this extension of the moral theory, besides the desire for scientific completeness, the endeavour may also be observed to subordinate all sides of human activity to moral considerations. In the virtuous man, as the Stoics held, everything becomes virtue; and hence everything is included in moral philosophy. Thereby, without doubt, the Stoic School contributed in no small degree towards settling and defining moral ideas, not only for its immediate contemporaries, but also for all subsequent times. Nevertheless, the more the teaching of the School entered into the details of every-day life, the more impossible it became to prevent practical considerations from overriding the natural severity of Stoic principles, or to keep the strictness of scientific procedure from yielding to considerations of experience.

The order and division which the Stoics adopted for discussing details in the hortatory part of moral science are not known to us; nor, indeed, is it known whether that order was uniform in all cases. It will be most convenient for the purpose of our present description to distinguish, in the first place, those points which refer to the moral activity of the individual as such, and afterwards to go on to those which relate to social life. Subsequently, the teaching of the Stoics on the relation of man to the course of the world and to necessity will engage our attention.

It was in keeping with the whole tone of the Stoic system to devote, in ethics, more attention to the conduct and duties of the individual than had been done by previous philosophy. Not that previous philosophers had altogether ignored this side. Indeed, Aristotle, in his investigations into individual virtue, had been led to enquire carefully into individual morality. Still, with Aristotle, the influence of classic antiquity on the border-land of which he stands was sufficiently strong to throw the individual into the background as compared with the community, and to subordinate ethics to politics. In the post-Aristotelian philosophy, this relation was exactly reversed. With the decline of public life in Greece, intellectual interest in the state declined also; and, in equal degree, the personality of the individual and circumstances of private life came into prominence. This feature may be already noticed in some of the older Schools, for instance, in the Academy and Peripatetic School. The Peripatetic, in particular, had, in the time of its first adherents, travelled far on the road which the founder had struck out. Among the Stoics, the same feature was required by the whole spirit of their system. If happiness depends upon man’s internal state and nothing external has power to affect it, the science which professes to lead man to happiness must primarily busy itself with man’s moral nature. It can only consider human society in as far as action for society forms part of the moral duty of the individual. Hence, in the Stoic philosophy, researches into the duties of the individual occupy a large space, and there is a corresponding subordination of politics. These duties form the subject of by far the greater part of the applied moral science of the Stoics; and it has been already set forth how minutely they entered in that study into possible details. At the same time, the scientific harvest resulting from these researches is by no means in proportion to their extent.

Confining our attention to the two first books of Cicero’s work, De Officiis, to form some idea of the treatise of Panætius on duties, we find, after a few introductory remarks, morality as such (honestum) described, according to the scheme of the four cardinal virtues (i. 5–42). In discussing the first of these, intelligence, love of research is recommended, and useless subtlety is deprecated. Justice and injustice are next discussed, in all their various forms, due regard being had to the cases of ordinary occurrence in life. Liberality, kindness, and benevolence are treated as subdivisions of justice; and this leads to a consideration of human society in all its various forms (c. 16–18, 60). Turning next to bravery (18, 61), the philosopher draws attention to the fact that bravery is inseparably connected with justice. He then describes it partly as it appears in the forms of magnanimity and endurance, regardless of external circumstances, partly in the form of energetic courage; and, in so doing, he discusses various questions which suggest themselves, such as the nature of true and false courage, military and civil courage, and the exclusion of anger from valour. Lastly, the object of the fourth chief virtue (c. 27) is described, in general terms, as what is proper (decorum, πρέπον), and the corresponding state as propriety, both in controlling the impulses of the senses, in jest and play, and in the whole personal bearing. The peculiar demands made by individual nature, by time of life, by civil position, are discussed. Even outward proprieties—of speech and conversation, of domestic arrangement, tact in behaviour, honourable and dishonourable modes of life—do not escape attention.

In the second book of his work, Cicero considers the relation of interest to duty; and having proved, at length, that most that is advantageous and disadvantageous is brought on us by other men, he turns to the means by which we may gain the support of others, and by which affection, trust, and admiration may be secured. He reviews various kinds of services for individuals and the state, and embraces the opportunity to give expression to his abhorrence of despotism and republican servility to the people. The principles on which this review is conducted are such that objection can rarely be taken to them from the platform of modern morality. Yet the Stoic bias is unmistakeably present in the conception and support of the rules of life, and particularly in the definitions of various virtues; few of the moral judgments, however, are other than might have been expressed from the platform of the Platonic and Aristotelian ethics. The same remark holds good of some other recorded points by means of which the Stoics gave a further expansion to their picture of the wise man. Revolting as their tenets at times appear, there is yet little in their application that deviated from the moral ideas generally current.

More peculiar, and at the same time more startling, is another feature about the Stoics. Let not too much be made of the fact that they, under certain circumstances, permitted a lie. Were not Socrates and Plato, at least, of the same opinion? And, to be frank, we must admit that, although in this respect moral theories are strict enough, yet practice is commonly far too lax now. Very repulsive, however, are many assertions attributed to the Stoics, respecting the attitude of the wise man to the so-called intermediate things. Was not the very independence of externals, the indifference to everything but the moral state, which found expression in the doctrine of things indifferent and of the wise man’s apathy, at the root of that imperfection of life and principle which is so prominent in the Cynic School, the parent School of the Stoics? Granting that in the Stoic School this imperfection was toned down and supplemented by other elements, still the tendency thereto was too deeply rooted from its origin, and too closely bound up with its fundamental view of life, to be ever properly eradicated. It did not require, indeed, a Cynic life from its members; nay, more, it avowed that, except in rare cases, such a life ought not to be followed; still the Cynic’s life was its ideal; and when it asserted that it was not necessary for a wise man to be a Cynic, it implied that, if once a Cynic, he would always be a Cynic. Stoicism took for its patterns Antisthenes and Diogenes quite as much as Socrates; even those who held, with Seneca, that a philosopher ought to accommodate himself to prevailing customs, and, from regard to others, do what he would not himself approve, did not therefore cease to bestow their highest admiration on Diogenes’s independence of wants, notwithstanding his eccentricities. More consistent thinkers even approximated to Cynicism in their moral precepts, and in later times a School of younger Cynics actually grew out of the Stoic School.

Bearing, as the Stoics did, this close relationship to the Cynics, it cannot astonish us to find amongst them many instances of the most revolting traits in Cynicism. Their contempt for cultured habits and violation of right feelings fully justify the righteous indignation of their opponents. Chrysippus regarded many things as perfectly harmless in which the religious feeling of Greece saw pollution, and pleaded in defence of his opinion the example of animals, to show that they were according to nature. The care for deceased relatives he not only proposed to limit to the simplest mode of burial, but would have it altogether put aside; and he made the horrible suggestion, which he even described in full, of using for purposes of nourishment the flesh of amputated limbs and the corpses of the nearest relatives. Great offence, too, was given by the Stoics, and, in particular, by Chrysippus, in their treatment of the relation of the sexes to each other; nor can it be denied that some of their language on this subject sounds exceedingly offensive. The Cynic assertion, that anything which is in itself allowed may be mentioned plainly and without a periphrasis, is also attributed to the Stoics. By his proposals for the dress of women, Zeno offended against propriety and modesty, and both he and Chrysippus advocated community of wives in their state of wise men. It is, moreover, asserted that the Stoics raised no objection to the prevalent profligacy and the trade in unchastity, nor to the still worse vice of unnatural crime. Marriage among the nearest relatives was held to be consonant to nature by the leaders of the School; and the atrocious shamelessness of Diogenes found supporters in Chrysippus, perhaps, too, in Zeno.

It would, however, be doing the Stoics a great injustice to take these statements for more than theoretical conclusions drawn from the principles to which they were pledged. The moral character of Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus is quite above suspicion. It seems, therefore, strange that they should have felt themselves compelled to admit in theory what strikes the natural feeling with horror. It cannot, however, be unconditionally accepted that the statements laid to their charge as they used them imply all that historians find in them. Far from it; of some of their statements it may be said not only that they do not justify conduct recognised to be immoral, but that they are directed against actions customarily allowed, the argument being, that between such actions and actions admittedly immoral there is no real difference. This remark applies, in particular, to Zeno’s language on unnatural vice. It was not, therefore, in opposition to the older Stoics, or a denial of their maxim that love is permitted to a wise man, for the younger Stoics to condemn most explicitly any and every form of unchastity, and, in particular, the worst form of all, unnatural vice. In the same way, the language permitting marriage between those nearest of kin, when examined, is very much milder than it seems. And Zeno’s proposition for a community of wives may be fairly laid to the charge of Plato, and excused by all the charitable excuses of which Plato is allowed the benefit.

Taking the most unprejudiced view of the Stoic propositions, there are enough of them to arouse extreme dislike, even if they could, without difficulty, be deduced from the fundamental principles of the system. A moral theory which draws such a sharp distinction between what is without and what is within, that it regards the latter as alone essential, the former as altogether indifferent, which attaches no value to anything except virtuous intention, and places the highest value in being independent of everything—such a moral theory must of necessity prove wanting, whenever the business of morality consists in using the senses as instruments for expressing the mind, and in raising natural impulses to the sphere of free will. If its prominent features allow less to the senses than naturally belongs to them, there is a danger that, in particular cases in which intentions are not so obvious, the moral importance of actions will often be ignored, and such actions treated as indifferent.

The same observation will have to be made with regard to the positions which the Stoics laid down in reference to social relations. Not that it was their intention to detach man from his natural relation [(1) Origin and use of society.] to other men. On the contrary, they hold that the further man carries the work of moral improvement [(a) Origin of social claims.] in himself, the stronger he will feel drawn to society. But by the introduction of the idea of society, opposite tendencies arise in their ethics—one towards individual independence, the other in the direction of a well-ordered social life. The former tendency is the earlier one, and continues to predominate throughout; still, the latter was not surreptitiously introduced—nay, more, it was the logical result of the Stoic principles, and to the eye of an Epicurean must have seemed a distinctive feature of Stoicism. In attributing absolute value only to rational thought and will, Stoicism had declared man to be independent of anything external, and, consequently, of his fellow-men. But since this value only attaches to rational thought and intention, the freedom of the individual also involves the recognition of the community, and brings with it the requirement that everyone must subordinate his own wishes to the wishes and needs of others. Rational conduct and thought can only then exist when the conduct of the individual is in harmony with general law. General law is the same for all rational beings. All rational beings must therefore aim at the same end, and recognise themselves subject to the same law. All must feel themselves portions of one connected whole. Man must not live for himself, but for society.

This connection between the individual and society is clearly set forth by the Stoics. The desire for society, they hold, is immediately involved in reason. By the aid of reason, man feels himself a part of a whole, and, consequently, is bound to subordinate his private interests to the interests of the whole. As like always attracts like, this remark holds true of everything endowed with reason, since the rational soul is in all cases identical. From the consciousness of this unity, the desire for society at once arises in individuals endowed with reason. They are all in the service of reason; there is, therefore, for all, but one right course and one law, and they all contribute to the general welfare in obeying this law. The wise man, as a Stoic expresses it, is never a private man.

At other times, social relations were explained by the theory of final causes. Whilst everything else exists for the sake of what is endowed with reason, individual beings endowed with reason exist for the sake of each other. Their social connection is therefore a direct natural command. Towards animals we never stand in a position to exercise justice, nor yet towards ourselves. Justice can only be exercised towards other men and towards God. On the combination of individuals and their mutual support rests all their power over nature. A single man by himself would be the most helpless of creatures.

The consciousness of this connection between all rational beings finds ample expression in Marcus Aurelius, the last of the Stoics. The possession of reason is, with him, love of society (vi. 14; x. 2). Rational beings can only be treated on a social footing (κοινωνικῶς) (vi. 23), and can only feel happy themselves when working for the community (viii. 7); for all rational beings are related to one another (iii. 4), all form one social unit (πολιτικὸν σύστημα), of which each individual is an integral part (συμπληρωτικός) (ix. 23); one body, of which every individual is an organic member (μέλος) (ii. 1; vii. 13). Hence the social instinct is a primary instinct in man (vii. 55), every manifestation of which contributes, either directly or indirectly, to the good of the whole (ix. 23). Our fellow-men ought to be loved from the heart. They ought to be benefited, not for the sake of outward decency, but because the benefactor is penetrated with the joy of benevolence, and thereby benefits himself. Whatever hinders union with others has a tendency to separate the members from the body, from which all derive their life (viii. 34); and he who estranges himself from one of his fellow-men voluntarily severs himself from the stock of mankind (xi. 8). We shall presently see that the language used by the philosophic emperor is quite in harmony with the Stoic principles.

In relation to our fellow-men, two fundamental points are insisted on by the Stoics—the duty of justice and the duty of mercy. Cicero, without doubt following Panætius, describes these two virtues as the bonds which keep human society together, and, consequently, gives to each an elaborate treatment. In expanding these duties, the Stoics were led by the fundamental principles of their system to most distracting consequences. On the one hand, they required from their wise men that strict justice which knows no pity and can make no allowances; hence their ethical system had about it an air of austerity, and an appearance of severity and cruelty. On the other hand, their principle of the natural connection of all mankind imposed on them the practice of the most extended and unreserved charity, of beneficence, gentleness, meekness, of an unlimited benevolence, and a readiness to forgive in all cases in which forgiveness is possible. This last aspect of the Stoic teaching appears principally in the later Stoics—in Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, and Musonius; and it is quite possible that they may have given more prominence to it than their predecessors. But the fact is there, that this aspect is due, not only to the peculiar character of these individuals, but is based on the spirit and tone of the whole system.

The question then naturally arises, how these two opposites may be reconciled—how stern justice may be harmonised with forgiveness and mercy. Seneca, who investigated the question fully, replies: Not severity, but only cruelty, is opposed to mercy; for no one virtue is opposed to another: a wise man will always help another in distress, but without sharing his emotion, without feeling misery or compassion; he will not indulge, but he will spare, advise, and improve; he will not remit punishments in cases in which he knows them to be deserved, but, from a sense of justice, he will take human weakness into consideration in allotting punishments, and make every possible allowance for circumstances. Every difficulty is not, indeed, removed by these statements; still, those which remain apply more to the Stoic demand for apathy than to the reconciliation of the two virtues which regulate our relations to our fellow-men.

The society for which all rational beings are intended will naturally be found to exist principally among those who have become alive to their rational nature and destiny—in other words, among the wise. All who are wise and virtuous are friends, because they agree in their views of life, and because they all love one another’s virtue. Thus every action of a wise man contributes to the well-being of every other wise man—or, as the Stoics pointedly express it, if a wise man only makes a rational movement with his finger, he does a service to all wise men throughout the world. On the other hand, only a wise man knows how to love properly; true friendship only exists between wise men. Only the wise man possesses the art of making friends, since love is only won by love. If, however, true friendship is a union between the good and the wise, its value is thereby at once established; and hence it is distinctly enumerated among goods by the Stoics.

On this point, difficulties reappear. How can this need of society be reconciled with the wise man’s freedom from wants? If the wise man is self-sufficient, how can another help him? How can he stand in need of such help? The answers given by Seneca are not satisfactory. To the first question, he replies, that none but a wise man can give the right inducement to a wise man to call his powers into exercise. He meets the second by saying, that a wise man suffices himself for happiness, but not for life. Everywhere the wise man finds inducements to virtuous action; if friendship is not a condition of happiness, it is not a good at all. Nor are his further observations more satisfactory. The wise man, he says, does not wish to be without friends, but still he can be without friends. But the question is not whether he can be, but whether he can be without loss of happiness. If the question so put is answered in the negative, it follows that the wise man is not altogether self-sufficing; if in the affirmative—and a wise man, as Seneca affirms, will bear the loss of a friend with calmness, because he comforts himself with the thought that he can have another at any moment—then friendship is not worth much. Moreover, if a wise man can help another by communicating to him information and method, since no wise man is omniscient, is not a wise man, if not in possession of all knowledge, at least in possession of all knowledge contributing to virtue and happiness? If it be added, that what one learns from another he learns by his own powers, and in consequence of himself helping himself, does not this addition still overlook the fact that the teacher’s activity is the condition of the learner’s? True and beautiful as is the language of Seneca: Friendship has its value in itself alone; every wise man must wish to find those like himself; the good have a natural love for the good; the wise man needs a friend, not to have a nurse in sickness and an assistant in trouble, but to have some one whom he can tend and assist, and for whom he can live and die —nevertheless, this language does not meet the critical objection, that one who requires the help of another, be it only to have an object for his moral activity, cannot be wholly dependent on himself. If friendship, according to a previously quoted distinction, belongs to external goods, it makes man, in a certain sense, dependent on externals. If its essence is placed in an inward disposition of friendliness, such a disposition depends on the existence of those for whom it can be felt. Besides, it involves the necessity of being reciprocated, and of finding expression in outward conduct, to such an extent that it is quite subversive of the absolute independence of the individual.

Nor is the friendship of the wise the only form of society which appeared to the Stoics necessary and essential. If man is intended to associate with his fellow-men in a society regulated by justice and law, how can he withdraw from the most common institution—the state? If virtue does not consist in idle contemplation, but in action, how dare he lose the opportunity of promoting good and repressing evil by taking part in political life? If laws further the well-being and security of the citizens, if they advance virtue and happiness, how can the wise man fail to regard them as beautiful and praiseworthy? For the same reason, matrimony will command his respect. He will neither deny himself a union so natural and intimate, nor will he deprive the state of relays of men nor society of the sight of well-ordered family life. Hence, in their writings and precepts, the Stoics paid great attention to the state and to domestic life. In marriage they required chastity and moderation. Love was to be a matter of reason, not of emotion—not a yielding to personal attractions, nor a seeking sensual gratification. As to their views on the constitution of a state, we know that they prefer a mixed constitution, compounded of the three simple forms, without objecting to other forms of government. The wise man, according to Chrysippus, will not despise the calling of a prince, if his interest so require, and, if he cannot govern himself, will reside at the court and in the camp of princes, particularly of good princes.

The ideal of the Stoics, however, was not realised in any one of the existing forms of government, but in that polity of the wise which Zeno described, undoubtedly when a Cynic, but which was fully set forth by Chrysippus —a state without marriage, or family, or temples, or courts, or public schools, or coins —a state excluding no other states, because all differences of nationality have been merged in a common brotherhood of all men. Such an ideal may show that, for the Stoic philosophers, there could be no hearty sympathy with the state or the family, their ideal state being, in truth, no longer a state. Indeed, the whole tone of Stoicism, and still more, the circumstances of the times to which it owed its rise and growth, were against such a sympathy. If Plato could find no place for a philosopher in the political institutions of his time, how could a Stoic, who looked for happiness more exclusively in seclusion from the world, who contrasted, too, the wise man more sharply with the multitude of fools, and lived for the most part under political circumstances far less favourable than Plato? To him the private life of a philosopher must have seemed beyond compare more attractive than a public career. An intelligent man, taking advice from Chrysippus, avoids business; he withdraws to peaceful retirement; and, though he may consider it his duty not to stand aloof from public life, still he can only actively take a part in it in states which present an appreciable progress towards perfection. But where could such states be found? Did not Chrysippus state it as his conviction that a statesman must either displease the Gods or displease the people? And did not later Stoics accordingly advise philosophers not to intermeddle at all in civil matters? Labour for the commonwealth is only then a duty when there is no obstacle to such labour; but, as a matter of fact, there is always some obstacle, and in particular, the condition of all existing states. A philosopher who teaches and improves his fellow-men benefits the state quite as much as a warrior, an administrator, or a civil functionary.

Following out this idea, Epictetus dissuades from matrimony and the begetting of children. Allowing that the family relation may be admitted in a community of wise men, he is of opinion that it is otherwise under existing circumstances; for how can a true philosopher engage in connections and actions which withdraw him from the service of God? The last expression already implies that unfavourable times were not the only cause deterring the Stoics from caring for family or the state, but that the occupation in itself seemed to them a subordinate and limited one. This is stated in plain terms by Seneca and Epictetus: He who feels himself a citizen of the world finds in an individual state a sphere far too limited, and prefers devoting himself to the universe; man is no doubt intended to be active, but the highest activity is intellectual research. On the subject of civil society, opinions were likely to vary, according to the peculiarities and circumstances of individuals. The philosopher on the throne was more likely than the freedman Epictetus to feel himself a citizen of Rome as well as a citizen of the world, and to lower the demands made on a philosophic statesman. At the same time, the line taken by the Stoic philosophy cannot be ignored. A philosophy which attaches moral value to the cultivation of intentions only, and considers all external circumstances as indifferent, can hardly produce a taste or a skill for overcoming those outward interests and circumstances with which a politician is chiefly concerned. A system which regards the mass of men as fools, which denies to them every healthy endeavour and all true knowledge, can hardly bring itself unreservedly to work for a state, the course and institutions of which depend upon the majority of its members, and are planned with a view to their needs, prejudices, and customs. Undoubtedly, there were able statesmen among the Stoics of the Roman period; but Rome, and not Stoicism, was the cause of their statesmanship. Taken alone, Stoicism could form excellent men, but hardly excellent statesmen. And, looking to facts, not one of the old masters of the School ever had or desired to have any public office. Hence, when their opponents urged that retirement was a violation of their principles, Seneca could with justice meet the charge by replying, that the true meaning of their principles ought to be gathered from their actual conduct.

The positive substitute wherewith the Stoics thought to replace the ordinary relations of civil society was by a citizenship of the world. No preceding system had been able to overcome the difficulty of nationalities. Even Plato and Aristotle shared the prejudice of the Greeks against foreigners. The Cynics alone appear as the precursors of the Stoa, attaching slight value to the citizenship of any particular state, in comparison with citizenship of the world. With the Cynics, this idea had not attained to the historical importance which afterwards belonged to it; nor was it used so much with a positive meaning, to express the essential oneness of all mankind, as, in a negative sense, to imply the philosopher’s independence of country and home. From the Stoic philosophy it first received a definite meaning, and was generally pressed into service. The causes of this change may be sought, not only in the historical surroundings amongst which Stoicism grew up, but also in the person of its founder. It was far easier for philosophy to overcome national dislikes, after the genial Macedonian conqueror had united the vigorous nationalities comprised within his monarchy, not only under a central government, but also in a common culture. Hence the Stoic citizenship of the world may be appealed to, to prove the assertion, that philosophic Schools reflect the existing facts of history. On the other hand, taking into account the bias given to a philosopher’s teaching by his personal circumstances, Zeno, being only half a Greek, would be more ready to underestimate the distinction of Greek and barbarian than any one of his predecessors.

However much these two causes—and, in particular, the first—must have contributed to bring about the Stoic ideal of a citizenship of the world, nevertheless the connection of this idea with the whole of their system is most obvious. If human society, as we have seen, has for its basis the identity of reason in individuals, what ground have we for limiting this society to a single nation, or feeling ourselves more nearly related to some men than to others? All men, apart from what they have made themselves by their own exertions, are equally near, since all equally participate in reason. All are members of one body; for one and the same nature has fashioned them all from the same elements for the same destiny. Or, as Epictetus expresses it in religious language, all men are brethren, since all have in the same degree God for their father. Man, therefore, who and whatever else he may be, is the object of our solicitude, simply as being man. No hostility and ill-treatment should quench our benevolence. No one is so low but that he has claims on the love and justice of his fellow-men. Even the slave is a man deserving our esteem, and able to claim from us his rights.

In their recognition of the universal rights of mankind the Stoics did not go so far as to disapprove of slavery. Attaching in general little value to external circumstances, they cared the less to throw down the gauntlet to the social institutions and arrangements of their time. Still, they could not wholly suppress a confession that slavery is unjust, nor cease to aim at mitigating the evil both in theory and practice. If all men are, as rational beings, equal, all men together form one community. Reason is the common law for all, and those who owe allegiance to one law are members of one state. If the Stoics, therefore, compared the world, in its more extended sense, to a society, because of the connection of its parts, they must, with far more reason, have allowed that the world, in the narrower sense of the term, including all rational beings, forms one community, to which individual communities are related, as the houses of a city are to the city collectively. Wise men, at least, if not others, will esteem this great community, to which all men belong, far above any particular community in which the accident of birth has placed them. They, at least, will direct their efforts towards making all men feel themselves to be citizens of one community; and, instead of framing exclusive laws and constitutions, will try to live as one family, under the common governance of reason. The platform of social propriety receives hereby a universal width. Man, by withdrawing from the outer world into the recesses of his own intellectual and moral state, becomes enabled to recognise everywhere the same nature as his own, and to feel himself one with the universe, by sharing with it the same nature and the same destiny.

But, as yet, the moral problem is not exhausted. [C. Man and the course of the world.] Reason, the same as man’s, rules pure and complete in the universe; and if it is the business of man to give play to reason in his own conduct, and to recognise it in that of others, it is also his duty to subordinate himself to collective reason, and to the course of the world, over which it presides. In conclusion, therefore, the relation of man to the course of the world must be considered.

Firmly as the principles of the Stoic ethics insist upon moral conduct, those ethics, judged by their whole tone, cannot rest short of requiring an absolute resignation to the course of the universe. This requirement is based quite as much upon the historical surroundings of their system as upon its intellectual principles. How, in an age in which political freedom was crushed by the oppression of the Macedonian and subsequently of the Roman dominion, and the Roman dominion was itself smothered under the despotism of imperialism, in which Might, like a living fate, crushed every attempt at independent action—how, in such an age, could those aiming at higher objects than mere personal gratification have any alternative but to resign themselves placidly to the course of circumstances which individuals and nations were alike powerless to control? In making a dogma of fatalism, Stoicism was only following the current of the age. At the same time, as will be seen from what has been said, it was only following the necessary consequences of its own principles. All that is individual in the world being only the result of a general connection of cause and effect—only a carrying out of a universal law—what remains possible, in the face of this absolute necessity, but to yield unconditionally? How can yielding be called a sacrifice, when the law to which we yield is nothing less than the expression of reason? Hence resignation to the world’s course was a point chiefly insisted upon in the Stoic doctrine of morality. The verses of Cleanthes, in which he submits without reserve to the leading of destiny, are a theme repeatedly worked out by the writers of this School. The virtuous man, they say, will honour God by resigning his will to the divine will; the divine will he will think better than his own will; he will remember that under all circumstances we must follow destiny, but that it is the wise man’s prerogative to follow of his own accord; that there is only one way to happiness and independence—that of willing nothing except what is in the nature of things, and what will realise itself independently of our will.

Similar expressions are not wanting amongst other philosophers. Nevertheless, by the Stoic philosophy, the demand is pressed with particular force, and is closely connected with its whole view of the world. In resignation to destiny, the Stoic picture of the wise man is completed. Therewith is included that peace and happiness of mind, that gentleness and benevolence, that discharge of all duties, and that harmony of life, which together make up the Stoic definition of virtue. Beginning by recognising the existence of a general law, morality ends by unconditionally submitting itself to the ordinances of that law.

The one case in which this resignation would give place to active resistance to destiny is when man is placed in circumstances calling for unworthy action or endurance. Strictly speaking, the first case can[(2) Suicide.] never arise, since, from the Stoic platform, no state of life can be imagined which might not serve as an occasion for virtuous conduct. It does, however, seem possible that even the wise man may be placed by fortune in positions which are for him unendurable; and in this case he is allowed to withdraw from them by suicide. The importance of this point in the Stoic ethics will become manifest from the language of Seneca, who asserts that the wise man’s independence of externals depends, among other things, on his being able to leave life at pleasure. To Seneca, the deed of the younger Cato appears not only praiseworthy, but the crowning act of success over destiny, the highest triumph of the human will. By the chief teachers of the Stoic School this doctrine was carried into practice. Zeno, in old age, hung himself, because he had broken his finger; Cleanthes, for a still less cause, continued his abstinence till he died of starvation, in order to traverse the whole way to death; and, in later times, the example of Zeno and Cleanthes was followed by Antipater.

In these cases suicide appears not only as a way of escape, possible under circumstances, but absolutely as the highest expression of moral freedom. Whilst all are far from being advised to adopt this course, everyone is required to embrace the opportunity of dying with glory, when no higher duties bind him to life. Everyone is urged, in case of need, to receive death at his own hand, as a pledge of his independence. Nor are cases of need decided by what really makes a man unhappy—moral vice or folly. Vice and folly must be met by other means. Death is no deliverance from them, since it makes the bad no better. The one satisfactory reason which the Stoics recognised for taking leave of life is, when circumstances over which we have no control make continuance in life no longer desirable.

Such circumstances may be found in the greatest variety of things. Cato committed suicide because of the downfall of the republic; Zeno, because of a slight injury received. According to Seneca, it is a sufficient reason for committing suicide to anticipate merely a considerable disturbance in our actions and peace of mind. The infirmity of age, incurable disease, a weakening of the powers of the mind, a great degree of want, the tyranny of a despot from which there is no escape, justify us—and even, under circumstances, oblige us—to have recourse to this remedy. Seneca, indeed, maintains that a philosopher should never commit suicide in order to escape suffering, but only to withdraw from restrictions in following out the aim of life; but he is nevertheless of opinion that anyone may rightly choose an easier mode of death instead of a more painful one in prospect, thus avoiding a freak of destiny and the cruelty of man. Besides pain and sickness, Diogenes also mentions a case in which suicide becomes a duty, for the sake of others. According to another authority, five cases are enumerated by the Stoics in which it is allowed to put oneself to death; if, by so doing, a real service can be rendered to others, as in the case of sacrificing oneself for one’s country; to avoid being compelled to do an unlawful action; otherwise, on the ground of poverty, chronic illness, or incipient weakness of mind.

In nearly all these cases, the things referred to belong to the class of things which were reckoned as indifferent by the Stoics; and hence arises the apparent paradox, with which their opponents immediately twitted them, that not absolute and moral evils, but only outward circumstances, are admitted as justifying suicide. The paradox, however, loses its point when it is remembered that, to the Stoics, life and death are quite as much indifferent as all other external things. To them, nothing really good appears to be involved in the question of suicide, but a choice between two things morally indifferent—one of which, life, is only preferable to the other, death, whilst the essential conditions for a life according to nature are satisfied. The philosopher, therefore, says Seneca, chooses his mode of death just as he chooses a ship for a journey or a house to live in. He leaves life as he would leave a banquet—when it is time. He lays aside his body when it no longer suits him, as he would lay aside worn-out clothes; and withdraws from life as he would withdraw from a house no longer weather-proof.

A very different question, however, it is, whether life can be treated in this way as something indifferent, and whether it is consistent with an unconditional resignation to the course of the world, to evade by personal interposition what destiny with its unalterable laws has decreed for us. Stoicism may, indeed, allow this course of action. But in so doing does it not betray its ill-success in the attempt to combine, without contradiction, two main tendencies so different as that of individual independence and that of submission to the universe?