‘Be like the headland, on which the billows dash themselves continually; but it stands fast, till about its base the boiling breakers are lulled to rest. Say you, “How unfortunate for me that this should have happened”? Nay rather, “How fortunate, that in spite of this, I own no pang, uncrushed by the present, unterrified at the future!” The thing might have happened to any one, but not every one could have endured it without a pang[138].’ But in spite of these doctrines, we trace throughout his pages a tinge of melancholy. Too apt a pupil of Epictetus, he had learnt from him the principles of submission and resignation, but he had not acquired the joyous confidence of an older period, through which the wise man, even if a slave, felt himself a king. Rather, though a king, he felt himself in truth a slave and a subject to the universe that was his master. He would not go against the universal order, but he hardly felt the delight of active cooperation. In this sense he represents to us the decadence of Stoicism, or (to put it more correctly) Stoicism coloured by the decadence of Rome. [Sidenote: Absorption of the soul.] =140.= On the question of continued existence after death Aurelius takes up and emphasizes the teaching of Epictetus, ignoring the fact that other Stoic teachers, from Zeno to Seneca, had taken larger views or at least allowed themselves an ampler language. There had been, indeed, a change in the point of view. The early Stoics, occupied with the question of physics, had insisted upon the indestructibility of substance, and the reuniting of the ‘spirit’ (πνεῦμα) with the all-pervading spirit from which it came at the beginning. The Roman school concerned itself more with the question of individuality and personality. Accepting fully the principle that that which is born must die, it comes to the definite conclusion that that which we trace from the mother’s womb through infancy and youth, through success and failure in life, through marriage and the family ties onwards to weakness and dotage, must reach its end in death. The ‘I’ cannot survive the body. The future existence of the soul, if such there be, is no longer (as with Seneca) a matter of joyful expectation, but of complete indifference. Epictetus had expressed this with sufficient clearness: ‘Death is a change, not from the state which now is to that which is not, but to that which is not now. Shall I then no longer exist? You will not exist, but you will be something else, of which the world now has need; for you also came into existence, not when you chose, but when the world had need of you[139].’ Aurelius constantly repeats the doctrine in varied forms: ‘You exist but as a part inherent in a greater whole. You will vanish into that which gave you being; or rather, you will be re-transmuted into the seminal and universal reason[140].’