Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.17

If a thing is in your own power, why do you do it? But if it is in the power of another, whom do you blame—the atoms of chance or the gods? Both are foolish. You must blame nobody.

For if you can, correct that which is the cause; but if you cannot do this, correct at least the thing itself; but if you cannot do even this, of what use is it to you to find fault? For nothing should be done without a purpose.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

I feel like I want to cringe when I think of how often I have cast blame, of how deeply I convinced myself that I could avoid taking responsibility for myself by accusing another, and how deluded I became when I constantly passed the buck.

I chose to do this entirely on my own, but I made excuses by insisting that everyone was doing it. In politics, our party was right and theirs was wrong, and so if anything went poorly we knew exactly where to look. In religion, we were going to heaven and they were going to hell, because the only way we could feel like saints is if we made other people look like sinners. In the day-to-day, I could puff myself up by bringing others down.

Marcus Aurelius here reiterates the central Stoic principle that whenever it is within my power, I can choose to make it right, and whenever it is outside of my power, no amount of blame will ever make it right. I am what I am, and it is what it is, and resentment doesn’t change that.

So I struggled with trying to blame other people less, and taking responsibility for myself more, but I noticed that even harboring the tiniest bit of disapproval and accusation was still making me sick inside. It seemed like I would have to go cold turkey, and that this would have be an all or nothing sort of a deal. That would make sense, of course, because I can’t have it both ways, simultaneously being accountable for myself while still pointing the finger at someone else, however timidly or politely.

Now I can still know full well that someone has done something wrong, and I don’t need to go to the opposite extreme of making excuses for it, but instead of getting indignant, I can try to understand. Instead of being hateful, I can choose to be compassionate. Instead of holding a grudge, I can dare to offer friendship.

How can I make things better, instead of making myself worse by obsessing about it all? If I can do something good, there is no need for complaint, and if I can’t do anything at all, there is no need for complaint.

So instead of condemning just a little bit, which can easily turn righteousness into self-righteousness, I don’t need to condemn at all. Old habits die hard, but when I feel like turning up my nose as I walk on by, I can just as easily smile. 

Written in 3/2008