Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.26

If any man should propose to you the question, how the name “Antoninus” is written, would you not with a patient voice utter each letter?

What then if he grow angry, will you be angry too? Will you not go on with composure and name every letter?

Just so then, in this life also remember that every duty is made up of certain parts. These it is your duty to observe, and without being disturbed, or showing anger towards those who are angry with you, to go on your way and finish that which is set before you.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 6 (tr Long)

I have often thought that the virtue of patience serves as a rather special and privileged extension of love. I will only be capable of being patient with anyone or with anything once I am truly committed to my sense of the good for anyone or for anything. As soon as I lose sight of this, my own thoughts and actions will degrade into frustration and resentment. I will abandon my interest, because my interest is then limited only to my own gratification.

If I care enough to do something right, I will continue with the task until it is complete. My obligation will usually not be fulfilled immediately. I will be in it for the long haul. This means that I must take everything step by step, slowly and sometimes quite painfully, resting only when I have lived up to all of the parts within the whole.

And this is never easy, especially when I am struggling with mastering my own selfishness. I am responsible for myself without condition, however inconvenient my situation may be. If someone else has not understood, I must not blame him, but ask what I can do to explain it better. If someone else lashes out at me, I must not lash out in return, but ask how I might improve my concern.

My father, a linguist by trade, would often annoy me to no end whenever I asked him how a difficult word was spelled. Trying to teach me that letters were not just symbols randomly strung together, he would sound out the word for me phonetically, slowly and deliberately. I would squirm and squeal. “Just give me the darn letters!”

He would do precisely that if I pressed him, but he would always try again, and again, to have me figure it out for myself. I could see his jaw clench, and hear the deep breath he would take as he practiced a patience that grew from love. When I had children of my own, I understood the torture he surely went through. What parent has not felt the urge to simply walk away, or to say something quite nasty, or to throw something at the wall in anger?

I learned that this isn’t simply about teaching someone how to spell. It’s about helping people to learn for themselves how to live, and it’s about suffering the most ridiculous of obstacles to do what is right, while others resist it with all their might.

I realized how love itself was on the line. I saw how others gave up on me when things didn’t go their way, and I saw that they did not love me. Far more importantly, I saw how often I treated others just as poorly, and I saw what I needed to do in order to love.

A good teacher will show complete dedication to the task of having his students learn, just as a good man will show complete dedication to the task of having his friends be happy. Are we resented, mocked, or cast aside? No matter. Try again, because the many parts of our tasks are not yet done.

People won’t always do that for me, but I must always do it for them.

Written in 3/2007