Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 5.7

A prayer of the Athenians: Rain, rain, O dear Zeus, down on the ploughed fields of the Athenians and on the plains.

In truth we ought not to pray at all, or we ought to pray in this simple and noble fashion.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 5 (tr Long)

I am always hesitant to discuss prayer, or religion, precisely because it is both so powerful and so personal. Stoicism, however, is very much a “big tent” philosophy, and Stoic thinking can be of great assistance in however we may choose to understand God.

Prayer, in the broadest sense our communication with the Divine, can surely be a profound means of relating ourselves to what is absolute, but it can also be fraught with danger. Prayer can be a humble expression of praise, thanksgiving, or supplication. It can also too easily become twisted into a form of showmanship, vanity, or bargaining.

How easy it is to turn prayer into a spectacle. I know something has gone wrong when a prayer becomes a performance, something made public instead of private, a way to excite the passions and manipulate the thinking of others.

How easy it is to turn prayer into a worship of the self. I know something has gone wrong when a prayer is suddenly about man dwelling on his own importance, about making himself seem big, instead of making himself a part of what is bigger.

How easy it is to turn prayer into a means for getting what I desire. I know something has gone wrong when a prayer is an arrogant attempt to make things exist only for our gratification, and no longer a respect for Providence.

I have always kept in mind the insight that prayer isn’t something that is supposed to change God, but rather something that is supposed to change the way I relate myself to God. From a Stoic perspective, it is never within my power to determine Providence, even as it is within my power to freely participate with Providence.

Don’t give me what I think I want. Give me what You know I need. A prayer is not something to which I should add my own conditions, as if I was negotiating a sale. There’s a good reason I was taught as a child to pray with only four simple words: “Thy will be done.”

I think of all the people I have known who have turned their prayer into a mockery, and I think of all the times I have come far too close to doing the same myself. I once knew someone for whom God suddenly appeared after she had already decided something; it was quite amazing how He would miraculously communicate His agreement with her. 

I once knew someone else whose prayers always seemed to be a way to degrade anyone he disagreed with, and for whom religion was nothing more than an expression of an ideology for the privileged, a war between “us” and “them”. “Do it may way” and “slay my enemies” are hardly dignified prayers.

If I do choose to pray, my prayer should be simple and noble, and never designed to impress others, glorify myself, or make demands of anyone or anything. As Marcus Aurelius says, I should limit myself to being open to receive, and to be grateful for, what Nature has to give.

Written in 3/2006