Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.24

A scowling look is altogether unnatural. When it is often assumed, the result is that all comeliness dies away, and at last is so completely extinguished that it cannot be again lighted up at all.

Try to conclude from this very fact that it is contrary to reason. For if even the awareness of doing wrong shall depart, what reason is there for living any longer?

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

I will sometimes worry about how I come across to other people. The fact is that I am not usually noticed at all, as I manage to slip under the radar. This is not necessarily bad at all. When I am noticed, I am told conflicting things. A person once told me that while I rarely spoke, I was still always smiling. Another person once told that I always seemed to be deep in thought, which made me intimidating. I don’t know what to make of any of that.

My concern, however, shouldn’t be about how I appear. When I bother myself with that, I am defining myself by how I seem, not by who I am. No, it isn’t about what others choose to make of it. It’s about what I make of myself, and the attitude within my own heart and mind. Resentment, or condescension, or even indifference, towards others doesn’t need to be in my thinking or acting. Scowling has no place.

I once knew someone who had two, and only two, expressions. An artificial glowing smile for the camera, which would last for but a forced moment when required, and a general smirk for the rest of the time. I have done my best never to become that way.

When I act out in a way that is cold, or careless, or dismissive, this action on the outside affects my soul on the inside. If I keep it up, my external hardness takes on the form of habit, and that hardness seeps into me. That habit may become so strong, that I may never be able to recover a sense of joy and compassion. I know I was made to be better than that.

So l try to teach myself to express kindness and friendship, even when, and especially when, it seems so hard to do. Of course I fail at it, and that quite often. There’s a certain stern look that runs for generations in my family, and I dislike it when I see it in those I love, so I do my best to avoid it. It’s never about impressing anyone, or making anyone approve of me. It’s about being good in how I come across: not merely in the seeming, but in the doing.

I am made to understand, and so I am also made to love what is good in what I understand; it is reasonable for me to show care, and to express compassion. My own personal disposition may not be built quite right for it, I know, but I make the effort. I would prefer to simply nod with respect, or make the slightest gesture of sympathy with my hand, than pretend to play in the biggest opera as a pretense.

I know precisely what happens to me when I fail to do this. Heartless actions are the reflection of a heartless soul, and a heartless soul loses all sense of right and wrong. Indeed, why even live, when I have lost my very conscience?

Written in 11/2007

IMAGE: Albrecht Dürer, Portrait of a Man (1521)