Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.14

Let there fall externally what will on the parts that can feel the effects of this fall. For those parts which have felt will complain, if they choose.

But I, unless I think that what has happened is an evil, am not injured. And it is in my power not to think so.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr Long)

Things will happen, and things will hurt. Sometimes they will hurt terribly. I will still feel that my heart is broken once again each and every day, from the very moment I wake up in the morning. I will do all that is within my power to avoid pain and suffering, but I have learned a hard lesson. I can’t always kill the hurt, though I can determine what I make of it.

I have been told by people who mean well, though speaking from complete ignorance, that I can simply will it to disappear. I think of the worst physical pain I have ever felt, and I remember that the agony could not be wished away. I could only wait for it to end. Now imagine that you know it isn’t going to end. There’s the Black Dog at his finest, and at his most destructive.

That may seem quite hopeless, but it is hardly hopeless. Events will certainly not go my way, and people will act with the nastiest of malice or carelessness. Of course that will have its effect on me. Losing my possessions or reputation will make me feel that I have been deprived of my very life. Being treated with hatred or indifference will make me feel that I am the most worthless of creatures. Still, it is not hopeless.

Things have fallen, but I do not need to fall. What has actually been lost? What I think I own has been taken from me, and my sense of pride will complain. It will shout quite loudly. My body has been wounded, and every nerve within me screams. My feelings may feel crushed, and the torment will seem unbearable. I worry that I will end up on the street, cold, hungry, and alone. It could happen right now, as it does to millions and millions of people across the world.

Still, something remains, and that is the only thing within me that is truly mine. My thinking and my choices, how I judge and how I act, however terrifying the circumstances, are always my own. One moment they will be snuffed out, but not at this precise moment, not right here and right now.

I was once trying to run a Twelve Step meeting where a fellow, clearly distraught, described his life like someone holding a gun to his head and just about to pull the trigger. A few members tried to talk him out of the idea, and I was afraid they were just dismissing his concerns. We all closed our fancy mouths when someone spoke up in a deeply Stoic manner:

That can happen, and it will happen. Maybe you can’t pull the gun from his hands, or manage some incredible escape. Imagine how all those folks in all the death camps around the world must feel, or what it might be like when you are dragged into a room where you are about to be executed. You are powerless over that.

But you have complete power over one thing. You can love the man who hates you, and you can forgive him.

Well, that shut us all up. Lesson learned.

An evil done to me will hurt like hell, but an evil I commit will send me straight to hell. The former is beyond me. The latter is entirely up to me. Only my judgments are truly my own, and it is completely right to say that something will only be as evil to me as I choose to make it.

Yes, it may hurt. Now what am I going to do with the hurt? There was a wonderful moment in my life when I realized what it meant to turn swords into plowshares. I must remember that if I think of it rightly, who I am, in my mind and heart, is invincible. You can’t take that away.

Written in 9/2007