ENGLISH COMMENTARY
that the Soul is the man himself, so related to the body and its members and to external reality as the efficient cause to its material, a view in fact not distinguishable from that held by Socrates and Plato.
Although, however, his main contention is that man's work is to be a loyal member of the Eternal City, freely obeying the Reason or Law which governs the Universe, both in its physical and moral aspect, a righteous Law completing its purpose whether this or that individual voluntarily conforms his will to it or not, Marcus pauses more than once to ask himself what are the implications of a rival theory, one which asserts mere natural uniformity in things, founded upon a fortuitous concurrence of atoms, a blind world governed by no divine purpose. What, he seems to ask, is man's position if the individual consists, as the plain evidence of things suggests, of a body and soul intimately united in life and dissipated at death?
Again he frankly recognizes in this Book, as nowhere else, the presence in the actual world of a barrier opposed by evil men to righteous endeavour. In such a world the remedies are understanding and charity, and so far as possible the correction of the blindness of evil selves.
Lastly, the near approach of Death, the need of courage in its presence, lie not far beneath the surface of his thoughts. More than once he welcomes Death, as a deliverer from evil company and from bondage to the body.
Ch. 1. In hardly any other passage has Marcus allowed himself to express so warmly that ardour for the beauty of holiness, that passion to be at one with Nature, which possessed him. The language resembles the words of some Hebrew psalm, or an outburst like that of à Kempis: 'O that that day had dawned and that all these temporal things were ended. . . . When shall I enjoy true freedom without impediment, without trouble of mind or body? When shall I possess solid peace, peace undisturbed and secure, peace within and peace without, peace every way assured?'[1] The sentiment is that of Shelley:
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?
Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here
They have departed; thou should'st now depart.[2]
