Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 9.36

The rottenness of the matter that is the foundation of everything!

Water, dust, bones, filth: or again, marble rocks, the callosities of the earth; and gold and silver, the sediments; and garments, only bits of hair; and purple dye, blood; and everything else is of the same kind.

And that which is of the nature of breath is also another thing of the same kind, changing from this to that.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 9.36 (tr Long)

Many philosophies can enlighten the mind and inspire the heart, but few philosophies, I have found, can speak so deeply to daily practice as that of the Stoics.

Whenever anything seems to be so overwhelming, I can employ just one simple trick. I must only ask myself, “What is it made of?”

The overall image might be quite impressive, but I must only examine the parts that constitute it. A charming house, but it is made of straw. A seductive smile, but it’s the lipstick that gives it so much class. An imposing demeanor, but without the expensive suit he’s just another old fat man.

All of it, every single thing, is made of exactly the same sort of matter. None of it ever stays in the same form, none of it is lasting, and none of it is invincible. It is all weak, malleable, and corruptible. Yes, in and of itself, it is quite pathetic. Look at all the bits that make it up, and it will no longer seem so powerful. This is an incredibly effective way to put everything, and everyone, in their rightful place.

I have seen corpses three times in my life, not counting the plastic mannequins we view at funerals. Each and every time I was certainly terrified how this vessel once housed a soul, but most importantly I saw how fragile that vessel truly was.

A sight I can never remove from my memory is that of a dead child with a smashed skull, just run over by a car. Blood was still seeping onto the road, and the eyes were still open. It haunts me, but it also informs me. I, too, am nothing more than that. I am not made of iron, and I will be crushed as well. Even the iron in this world will rust.

Look at the boss who bullies you, or the so-called friend who insults you behind your back, or the lover who has betrayed you. The outsides may intimidate you, but the insides are made of the same organic mush that you are. It is hardly as big as you think.

Look at the threatening letters your bank sends you when you happen to be late on a payment for this or that. The outsides may frighten you, but the insides are just paper printed off from a lifeless machine, in turn produced from an algorithm written by a pimply programmer. It is hardly as horrifying as you think.

Look at the pain you have carried with you for years and years, because a certain event made you doubt everything you held dear. The outsides may leave you hopeless, but the insides are nothing more than things happening as they will happen, and people doing what they will do. It is hardly as traumatizing as you think.

Pardon my French, but all the big people also pass gas, stink of sweat, pick their dirty toenails, have hemorrhoids, and are slowly dying from diseases they don’t yet know they have, just like you and me.

All the big things in life are slowly crumbling, falling apart moment by moment, and will be ugly tomorrow, even as they were thought beautiful today.

And to recognize this is not a bad thing at all. It is liberation. It’s all made of the same components, and all of it comes and goes. That leaves only one thing that makes any difference, even if it too shall pass: the life lived with character while it can still be lived. That is the most practical guidance. 

Written in 12/2008