Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 4.26

Occupy yourself with few things, says the philosopher, if you would be tranquil.

But consider if it would not be better to say, do what is necessary, and whatever the reason of the animal that is naturally social requires, and as it requires.

For this brings not only the tranquility that comes from doing well, but also that which comes from doing few things. For the greatest part of what we say and do being unnecessary, if a man takes this away, he will have more leisure and less uneasiness.

Accordingly on every occasion a man should ask himself, is this one of the unnecessary things? Now a man should take away not only unnecessary acts, but also, unnecessary thoughts, for thus superfluous acts will not follow after.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 4 (tr Long)

We are often told that simpler is better. Some people do take this seriously, because they understand that simplicity has much to do with purity. Others may use it only as a slogan, and continue as usual with their complex lives. The concept of a simple life can become only an image, often useful for promoting a product. An old friend used to describe this as “selling you less, so they can have more.”

Marcus Aurelius understands that quantity is less important than quality, that how much we have is secondary to how well we live with what we have. He also offers a modification to the rule, so that we will not be deceived into thinking that we should simply want less for its own sake. We should rather ask ourselves what it is that we truly need, and the rest will take care of itself. Pursue an essential life first, and you will then also find this to be a simple life.

I have long had the weakness of hoarding far too many books, and every so often I will purge the collection to keep it manageable. At times, I have taken this exercise too far, and a few months later I regret having passed on a volume I shouldn’t have. The mistake I have made is assuming that a smaller library is always a better library, instead of asking myself which books were actually the ones to keep, the necessary ones. In both cases I end up with fewer books, but in the second case I end up with fewer books that happen to be the right ones.

If I honestly consider what is necessary for living well, I will find that I require very little to be happy. The simplicity that follows from this, not tossing out the meat but cutting away the fat, is hardly a sacrifice. It is liberating, because it removes a concern for diversions, and a worry about what is extraneous.

The theory sounds wonderful, but the practice can at first be deeply painful. My apprehension and struggle are good for me, as they allow me to truly distinguish between what is necessary and what is excessive. My vanity tells me I need to fill up my coffers, and constantly keep myself busy with tasks and chores, while my honesty reminds me that I can walk along with empty pockets, and simply enjoy a fine day.

Do I really need to acquire big house, a fancy car, a prestigious job, or a sparkling reputation? I need none of these things. I squirm when I think of all the wasted time and effort dedicated to these illusions, but I am also relieved to remember that I need only to be good in my thoughts and deeds, whatever the circumstances. Let the chips fall where they may, I depend only on my own character.

Less isn’t more just because it is less, but less is more because it focuses only on what is required, and disposes of the clutter. This is a peaceful life.

Frank Lloyd Wright said it best:

Less is only more where more is no good.

Written in 10/2005