The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Monday, February 11, 2019

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.53

Suppose that men kill you, cut you in pieces, curse you. What then can these things do to prevent your mind from remaining pure, wise, sober, just?

For instance, if a man should stand by a clear pure spring, and curse it, the spring never ceases sending up potable water. And if he should cast clay into it or filth, it will speedily disperse them and wash them out, and will not be at all polluted.

How then shalt you possess a perpetual fountain and not a mere well? By forming yourself hourly to freedom conjoined with contentment, simplicity, and modesty.

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

The harm that others can do to me will only depend upon my own estimation of what it means to be harmed. Many things can be given, and many things can be taken away, but if I understand that the purity of my own thoughts and choices can always be my own, what real harm can befall me?

I adore this image of spring water. Throw dirt in it, and it will slowly but surely clear itself. Try to block its flow, and it will with patient force arise somewhere else. Man may do what he wills to Nature, but Nature always finds her own way, confounding the ways of men. What has been poisoned will always end up cleansed.

I have another image that helps me to grasp this point for myself. When I was very young, my parents bought a home in a new neighborhood. A move isn’t always easy for a child, and there was much that I missed from our old humble apartment. Still, my mother would try to get me interested in all the exciting things around us. There was a park a block away. We explored it inch by inch together, only to find a huge section of an old aqueduct covered in wild raspberry plants.

As summers came around, we took our buckets and harvested our feast of fruit. Few things ever tasted as sweet.

Some years later, I was horrified one day to find that someone had cleared that land, right down to the dirt. Perhaps a neighbor complained to the Parks Department about all of the ugly overgrown weeds? The raspberries were gone. I couldn’t tell any of my tough friends about my loss, but my mother understood.

But it wasn’t over. Another few years along, now a sullen teenager, I sat myself down on the slope of that same aqueduct. It was again full of all kinds of plants. I was by this point full of piss and vinegar. The world didn’t seem to be going my way, and when you’re young, that’s all that seems to matter.

And right there next to me was a raspberry bush, not as big as the ones I remembered from before, but still laden with ripe fruit. I think I must have had an allergy attack, because I got a bit teary; there was clearly no other explanation. I gathered a few of the berries, and brought them home. My mother and I ate them with a bit of powdered sugar. She might not remember, but I certainly do.

Many more years after that, someone I had allowed to hurt me very deeply decided to buy a house, right by where those raspberries could still be found. What comes around goes around. I can’t bring myself to go home anymore now, but I still fondly remember the raspberries.

The water will become clear. All the things that grow on this Earth find their way back to where they belong. Everything is in it place, even if it doesn’t seem so at the time.

A mind content with itself, depending upon nothing beyond the good it may find within its own convictions, will be pushed this way and that. Yet it can remain fully itself, flowing as it should, growing right back as it should, regardless of all the polluting and clearing others may attempt.

Written in 11/2016


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