Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.65

In every pain let this thought be present, that there is no dishonor in it, nor does it make the governing intelligence worse, for it does not damage the intelligence either so far as the intelligence is rational or so far as it is social.

Indeed in the case of most pains let this remark of Epicurus aid you, that pain is neither intolerable nor everlasting, if you bear in mind that it has its limits, and if you add nothing to it in imagination.

And remember this too, that we do not perceive that many things which are disagreeable to us are the same as pain, such as excessive drowsiness, and being scorched by heat, and the having no appetite.

When then you are discontented about any of these things, say to yourself, that you are yielding to pain.

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

It was specifically the problem of pain that brought me closer to Stoicism, not as a theoretical interest, but as a very immediate practical necessity. My own obstacle lay in emotional suffering, a crippling melancholy, though with time I could no longer distinguish where the hurt in my mind ended and the hurt in my body began. It never seemed to help when people told me to tough it out, or offer it up, or shrug it off.

Stoicism began to remind me that I didn’t just have to take it, to somehow accept it passively; this was rather ironic, of course, because that’s what most people assume it means to be Stoic. No, there was something I could do with it, an active sense of how my own thinking could fundamentally transform how I faced my feelings, and thereby I could rebuild myself.

I can examine the pain, and look upon it without panic or despair. Those are responses, of course, that I have added to how I am feeling. What is the pain really taking from me, and what am I actually freely doing to myself?

If I think of honor in the imperfect sense of what people may think of me, then yes, people might look down on me for what can appear to be weakness; but if I understand honor in the proper sense of my own character, then pain can do me absolutely no harm. Quite the contrary, it can allow me to increase my moral worth with it and through it.

As strong as an attack from what is outside may be, my own judgment can remain firm, if only I so decide. I do not need to wonder what the pain will make of me, but I can decide what I will do with it to make myself. This will only be impossible when I assume it is impossible. While I am still living and aware, suffering is no stronger than me, and if I am no longer living and aware, then I need not concern myself with it. I am free of the burden, either way.

Pain has a limit to what it can do to me, and I need to honestly consider how much my own estimation is actually amplifying it and compounding it. Let us say, for example, that I am feeling an intense sadness. The emotion may be powerful, but what is more crippling is the sense of guilt, or blame, or resentment that I attach to it. A broken heart never killed me, but my own dark musings about a broken heart almost did.

If I can accept something as unpleasant or uncomfortable, however deeply so, I can still choose not to let it overwhelm me. It does not need to rule me, as long as I can rule myself. It is my decision itself to be satisfied or dissatisfied that makes any feeling or circumstance bearable or unbearable. I am defeated only when I surrender, and I can remain steadfast up until the moment I am destroyed. 

Written in 1/2008