Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.54

He who does not know what the world is, does not know where he is. And he who does not know for what purpose the world exists, does not know who he is, or what the world is.

But he who has failed in any one of these things could not even say for what purpose he exists himself. What then do you think of him who avoids or seeks the praise of those who applaud, of men who know not either where they are or who they are?

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

Put on a blindfold, and try to walk around a room, even one you have been around for years and years. Now add a bunch of cats. And don’t forget to put in some rocking chairs, just to make it more interesting.

This would seem like a foolish thing to do, yet most of us do it every day. We have no idea where we are, so we stumble our way through it all.

Get in your car, and try to drive to a strange address that someone has given you. Don’t look at a map. Don’t even bother to use your fancy phone to give you directions. Just drive around randomly until you get where you need to go.

This would seem like a foolish thing to do, yet most of us do it every day. We have no idea where we are going, but we imagine we don’t need any help.

Pretend you are going to a job interview, expecting some bigwig to ask you who you are. Give him your resume, and tell him all about where you went to school, or name some prizes you have won, or brag about how much someone else has paid you.

This would seem like a foolish thing to do, yet most of us do it every day. Offer the accidents, but avoid the essence. We have no idea who we are, so we provide platitudes and excuses.  

Where am I? Where am I going? Who am I?

When was the last time I answered these questions with insight and integrity? Or did I spout out vanities, ways to make me seem like I was strong and confident, even as I was ignorant and foolish?

Behind all of this is really the most encompassing question: what is this world I live in? I can’t know where I am, where I am going, or who I am without making some sense of the order of Nature. Purpose is only possible within the context of the whole.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, I somehow manage to compound my error. Instead of just being a fool myself, a fellow with no idea why he is here, I go about seeking the praise and approval of other people who have no idea why they are here.

They tell me that a fool is a fellow who can’t play the game. I humbly suggest that a fool is rather the fellow who can only play the game.

The philosopher will ask himself these questions all of the time, but he is told that he is insane. Not eccentric, mind you, because only a rich man can be eccentric; a poor man is considered insane for asking those very same questions.

Yet truly, if I am unable to explain to myself where I am, where I am going, who I am, and how I fit into the order of the world, I’m not really much of anything at all. I am just flotsam and jetsam. 

Written in 5/2014