What I Owe (Book 1)

1. From my grandfather Verus: a decent character and an even temper.

2. From the reputation and memory of my father: modesty and manliness.

3. From my mother: reverence for the gods and an open hand; to hold back not only from doing wrong but from thinking it; and a plain way of life, far from the habits of the rich.

4. From my great-grandfather: that I did not go to the public schools but had good teachers at home, and learned that on such things a man should spend freely.

5. From my tutor: to take no side, Green or Blue, at the chariot races, nor cheer for the small-shield or the long-shield fighters in the arena; to endure hard work and want little; to do things with my own hands; to mind my own business; and to give no ear to slander.

6. From Diognetus: not to get worked up over trifles; to put no faith in miracle-mongers and their talk of spells and casting out spirits; not to keep fighting quails; to put up with plain speaking; to take to philosophy, hearing first Bacchius, then Tandasis and Marcianus; to write dialogues as a boy; and to long for the plank bed, the hide blanket, and the rest of the Greek discipline.

7. From Rusticus: the sense that my character needed correcting and training. Not to be drawn into the rivalries of the sophists, or write treatises on theory, or deliver little moral sermons, or show off as the man of austere habits or the great benefactor. To give up rhetoric, poetry and fine phrasing. Not to walk about the house in formal dress. To write letters simply, like the one he wrote my mother from Sinuessa. To be ready to make peace with anyone who had offended me the moment they wished to come back. To read carefully and not be satisfied with a rough idea, nor agree quickly with people who talk well. And for my first acquaintance with the discourses of Epictetus, which he lent me from his own collection.

8. From Apollonius: freedom of mind, and a purpose that does not waver; to look to nothing, even for a moment, except reason; to stay the same in sharp pain, at the loss of a child, in long illness. In him I saw that one man can be both utterly intent and utterly at ease. He was never impatient in explaining, and he plainly counted his skill as a teacher the least of his gifts. From him I learned how to accept favours from friends without being diminished by them or passing them over coldly.

9. From Sextus: kindliness; the example of a household governed like a father's; the idea of living according to nature; dignity without pretence; care for the needs of friends; patience with the ignorant and with those who hold opinions they have never examined. He never showed anger or any other passion, yet he was full of affection. He praised without noise and knew a great deal without display.

10. From Alexander the grammarian: not to pounce on other people's mistakes; when someone used a wrong word or a clumsy phrase, not to correct him openly but to slip the right expression neatly into my reply.

11. From Fronto: to see how much envy, double-dealing and pretence go along with tyranny, and that the people we call patricians are, on the whole, rather short of warmth.

12. From Alexander the Platonist: not to say or write to anyone, often or without need, "I have no time," and not to excuse myself from what I owe to the people around me by pleading urgent business.

13. From Catulus: not to shrug off a friend's complaint, even an unfair one, but to try to bring him back to his usual frame of mind; to speak well of my teachers, as Domitius and Athenodotus are said to have done; and to love my children truly.

14. From my brother Severus: love of family, of truth and of justice. Through him I came to know of Thrasea, Helvidius, Cato, Dion and Brutus, and to grasp the idea of a state with one law for all, run on equal rights and free speech, and of a monarchy that values above everything the freedom of the governed. From him too: a steady devotion to philosophy; generosity and hopefulness; trust that my friends loved me; and frankness toward those he disapproved of, so that no friend ever had to guess what he wanted.

15. From Maximus: self-command, and not being blown about; good cheer in every circumstance, illness included; a character that blended gentleness with gravity; doing the work in front of him without complaint. Everyone believed that he said what he thought and that whatever he did, he did in good faith. He was never astonished, never flustered, never hurried, never slow, never at a loss. He was generous, forgiving and truthful, and gave the impression of a man who had grown straight rather than one who had been straightened. No one ever felt despised by him, and no one would have dared to think himself his better.

16. From my father: gentleness, and an unshakeable firmness in decisions reached after careful thought. No vanity about so-called honours. Love of work and perseverance. A ready ear for anyone with something useful for the common good; giving every man exactly his due; knowing when to press and when to let go.

He counted himself one citizen among others, and released his friends from the duty of dining with him or travelling in his train. In council he asked question after question and never settled for first impressions. He kept his friends, neither tiring of them nor doting on them. He was content and cheerful in all things; he planned far ahead and attended to the smallest matters without fuss; he put a stop to cheering and flattery. He watched over the needs of the empire, spent its money carefully, and bore the criticism that came of it. He was not superstitious about the gods and did not court men; he was sober and steady, never vulgar, never chasing novelty.

The comforts that fortune gave him in plenty, he used without arrogance and without apology: he enjoyed them when they were there and did not miss them when they were not. No one could have called him a sophist, a smart-mouthed slave, or a pedant; people saw a mature and finished man, above flattery, fit to manage his own affairs and other people's. He honoured true philosophers. He looked after his body sensibly, so that he seldom needed doctors. He gave way without jealousy to those who had some special gift — in speaking, in law, in the study of character — and helped each of them win the reputation he deserved. He kept the customs of his ancestors without making a show of it. He did not like to keep moving about, but stayed in the same places and at the same tasks; after his bouts of headache he went back to work fresh and strong. He had few secrets, and those only about matters of state. In public shows, buildings and gifts to the people he looked at what needed doing, not at the credit it would bring. He cared nothing for fancy food, or the cut and colour of his clothes, or the good looks of his slaves. Remember how he treated the tax-collector at Tusculum who begged his pardon, and all his conduct of that kind.

There was nothing harsh in him, nothing relentless or violent; he never worked himself into a sweat, but took each matter on its own, as if he had all the time in the world — calmly, in order, firmly, consistently. What is said of Socrates fits him: he could both go without and enjoy the things most men are too weak to give up or too weak to enjoy in moderation. Strength for the one and sobriety in the other belong to a man with a complete and unconquerable soul, such as Maximus showed in his illness.

17. From the gods: good grandparents, good parents, a good sister, good teachers, good companions, relatives and friends — nearly everything good. That I never stumbled into offending any of them, though my temper might have led me to it; it was the gods' kindness that no occasion arose. That I served under a ruler and father who stripped away all my vanity and showed me that one can live in a palace without bodyguards, embroidered robes, torches and statues, and can live almost like a private citizen without being any less vigorous in the duties of a ruler. That I had a brother whose character spurred me to watch over myself and whose respect and affection warmed me. That my children were neither dull nor deformed. That I made no great progress in rhetoric and poetry, which might have held me fast had I felt myself getting on. That I knew Apollonius, Rusticus and Maximus. That, though I was often annoyed with Rusticus, I never did anything to him that I would have regretted. That my mother, who was fated to die young, spent her last years with me. That whenever I wished to help someone in need, I was never told the means were lacking, and that I never needed help from anyone myself. That my wife is what she is — so obedient, so affectionate, so unaffected. That remedies were shown me in dreams, for coughing blood and for dizziness, as at Caieta. And that when I set my heart on philosophy I did not fall into the hands of a sophist, or sit poring over histories or untangling syllogisms or studying the phenomena of the sky.

For all these things need the help of the gods and of fortune.