Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 3.12

If you work at that which is before you, following right reason seriously, vigorously, calmly, without allowing anything else to distract you, but keeping your divine part pure, as if you should be bound to give it back immediately; if you hold to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with your present activity according to Nature, and with heroic truth in every word and sound which you utter, you will live happy.

And there is no man who is able to prevent this.

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

I barely know anymore what I can say about this passage, because it is now one of my dearest friends, and one of my greatest comforts. It is hard to describe or praise something that is so close. I refer to it most every day, and I no longer need to look it up, because every word of it is firmly fixed in my memory.

I used to arrogantly look down on people who fell back on the recitation of prayers and sayings, or those who glorified and enshrined the words of others from the past. It seemed so lifeless, and it seemed too much like a show of appearances, a reverence that only served to praise the self by striking a pose.

I still believe that this is true for far too many of us, but I can begin to discern the difference between the man who postures and the man who bows. Some people will abuse sacred words of wisdom to draw attention to themselves. Others respect sacred words of wisdom in order to serve what is true and good. By their fruits shall you know them.

When I feel overwhelmed by my feelings, or overtaken by my circumstances, I turn to a quicker version of what Marcus Aurelius says, to my own briefer summation:

If I keep my divine part pure, I will live happy. No one can prevent this.

Words have power, though not in and of themselves, since they are but signs. They are, in the narrow sense, scratches on paper and sounds in the air. They have power on account of what they signify, from the reality that they point toward. They are the tools that can help me to get the job of thinking done.

Still, an attention on the word alone can assist me in completing the task, as something that provides a framework and calms the spirit. There is a certain peace that comes from recitation and repetition, as it focuses a sort of thinking free of diversion. Even if I am not fully conscious of it at the moment, the word reminds me of what is worthy.

I may not have the time or luxury to go through all of the reasoning right there and then, when life has suddenly hit me with a ton of bricks. The word can trigger a memory, the memory can trigger a habit, and the habit can set me on the right path before I even know what I have done. Habits allow us to react without hesitation, and they can be quite good, as well as quite bad.

My silly amended version of Marcus Aurelius has helped me far more than I can explain. I may face something that is downright wrong, I may confront ignorance or malice, or I may feel flattened by the weight of uncontrollable events.

I take a deep breath, I close my eyes for just a moment, and I try to care little for what happens to be occurring outside of me. I repeat those words to myself, however many times is necessary, and I engage again.

This has rarely failed me. I usually fail myself when I neglect to do it.

I believe that the second part of the phrase is just as important as the first part. Not only am I my own master, but there is also no way that anyone can take that from me, as much as he can take anything else. 

Written in 3/2005