Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 7.68

Nature has not so mingled the intelligence with the composition of the body, as not to have allowed you the power of circumscribing yourself and of bringing under subjection to yourself all that is your own; for it is very possible to be a divine man and to be recognized as such by no one.

Always bear this in mind; and another thing too, that very little indeed is necessary for living a happy life. And because you have despaired of becoming a dialectician and skilled in the knowledge of Nature, do not for this reason renounce the hope of being both free, and modest, and social, and obedient to God.

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

So many of our frustrations arise from what we perceive as our failures, our missed opportunities, and the things we couldn’t quite manage to make our own. There are the lost loves, the botched careers, or the estranged friends. There are the disappointments and recriminations that come from having played the game, and then having lost. The plans didn’t go as planned.

Stoicism, however, like any way of life that builds itself upon the merit of our own thoughts and deeds over the weight of our circumstances, might tell us that life is hardly a game we need to play, and nothing about it hangs on the uncertainty of winning or losing. There will be no prospect of losing anything at all, if we only recognize that everything we need to be completely happy is already our own. We will lose it only if we surrender it, since nothing outside of us can take it away.

I can always, if I so decide, rule myself. In my own particular sense of self-sufficiency, I share in the complete self-sufficiency that is Divine. Why should I, a creature made to act according to my own understanding, require anything beyond such action?

There are those moments where it feels like a passage was written just for me, and while it was obviously written for anyone and everyone, I will nevertheless be able to apply it so immediately to my own life. Perhaps all great wisdom is like that. I find great comfort in knowing that no amount of praise or recognition will make my living any better or worse, and that external conditions do not determine internal character.

I once foolishly thought I could make myself a scholar, but my heart was never really in it, largely because most everything I ever studied in philosophy told me that it should have nothing to do with making myself appear important. So I am especially relieved when Marcus Aurelius confirms for me that I don’t need to feel bad about not being an academic success, since it should be enough to try being a good man above all else.

I will sometimes see others drawn to Stoic thinking, fascinated by the idea that virtue is the measure of human life, yet they still feel the need to add further conditions. “It would be great to live that way, but first I’ll need to acquire a certain level of security, comfort, and possessions. Then I can worry about being virtuous.”

Sadly, that is a complete betrayal of Stoicism, because it makes the pursuit of character contingent upon, and secondary to, the pursuit of utility. It makes convenience a necessity, and virtue a luxury, when in fact it is virtue that is a necessity, and convenience a luxury.

A good life may demand much from me, but it demands barely anything at all from the world around me. Any set of circumstances will do. Even if my very survival is in question, this still does not hinder me from living well, for the time that I do live. There are no further terms and conditions attached to being wise, brave, temperate, and just.

Being somebody never asks for appearing as somebody to anyone else, and rather asks only for being fully oneself. 

Written in 1/2008