Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 3.11

To the aids that have been mentioned let this one still be added. Make for yourself a definition or description of the thing which is presented to you, so as to see distinctly what kind of a thing it is in its substance, in its nudity, in its complete entirety, and tell yourself its proper name, and the names of the things of which it has been compounded, and into which it will be resolved.

For nothing is so productive of elevation of mind as to be able to examine methodically and truly every object which is presented to you in life, and always to look at things so as to see at the same time what kind of Universe this is, and what kind of use everything performs in it, and what value everything has with reference to the whole, and what with reference to man, who is a citizen of the highest city, of which all other cities are like families; what each thing is, and of what it is composed, and how long it is the nature of this thing to endure which now makes an impression on me, and what virtue I have need of with respect to it, such as gentleness, manliness, truth, fidelity, simplicity, contentment, and the rest.

Wherefore, on every occasion a man should say: this comes from God, and this is according to the apportionment and spinning of the thread of destiny, and such-like coincidence and chance; and this is from one of the same stock, and a kinsman and partner, one who knows not, however, what is according to his nature.

But I know. For this reason I behave towards him according to the natural law of fellowship with benevolence and justice. At the same time, however, in things indifferent I attempt to ascertain the value of each.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 3 (tr Long)

It may seem superfluous, perhaps even a bit condescending, to ask that we be sure to know what things are. This reminds me of those moments when my parents were patiently giving me directions on how to complete a task, and I would stand there rolling my eyes and gritting my teeth, because I was certain that I didn’t need to be told again.

But I did need to be told again, because I hadn’t been listening, and I hadn’t done it right the last time.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I quite often haven’t a clue what something really is. I will only give attention to the impression, to the way it happens to feel to me right there and then, and I will respond to it only with desire or aversion. I will end up considering an object, or a place, or a person, hardly as something else at all, but just as a feeling that is pleasant or unpleasant, useful or useless, interesting or boring. It then enters into or passes out of my awareness only when it excites my passions, and I only see the aspects that appear relevant to my wants.

To know something is not only to see it relative to my perspective, but also to see it for what it is in its own identity, what it is composed of, where it has come from, and where it is going. Perhaps most importantly, it is to see that thing in its relationship with other things around it, and how its own specific purpose is bound and connected to the purpose of the whole.

This is suddenly not so easy a task, and it indicates to me that the process of coming to understand my world and myself is concurrent with the very act of living itself. It will only end when my experience has exhausted all the aspects of the pattern, or when my experience has returned back into the pattern, whichever may come first.

I do not know if it is a sign of progress or a sign of becoming slightly unhinged, but whenever I have the leisure of patient observations and reflection, I will often find myself looking at something from different angles, perspectives, shades of color, and strands of connections. My imagination sometimes takes on the qualities of an M.C. Escher print, but it is surely no accident that this passage from Marcus Aurelius also comes to mind whenever I do so.

To strive to know in this way has become most helpful for me when I try to consider another person. I try to go beyond simply the aspect of who that person seems to me, to who that person is for himself, for others, for Nature itself, as a vehicle of Providence, as a creature of God. I remember that no person is meaningless or disposable, and it is from this conviction that I can claim kinship with him. It is not necessary that he recognize it for me to recognize it. 

Written in 2/2005

Image: M.C. Escher, Three Worlds (1955)