Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.28.1

Imagine every man who is grieved at anything or discontented to be like a pig that is sacrificed and kicks and screams. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.28 (tr Long)

I should hardly blame the pig for squealing when he feels pain, for that is in his nature. I should rather blame myself for squealing when I don’t get my way in the world, for that is contrary to my nature.

Most everything I see and hear around me will insist that happiness come from my situation, and that I should therefore use my own power to control that situation. So I will roll around contentedly when I am given what I want, and I will kick and scream when I am not given what I want. I have unwittingly chosen to make myself a victim of circumstance. I am confusing happiness with convenience.

How have I once again overlooked that most basic insight, that happiness proceeds from what I do, not from what is done to me? As always, it hinges on distinguishing where my power lies, in ruling myself or in ruling events.

My dissatisfaction, my complaints, and my stubborn demands to be treated in a certain way are like temper tantrums. As with the pig, the child does not fully understand, but I have no excuse for not understanding.

The tantrum never really changes how something is going to happen; if anything, I am only making it more difficult and painful for me. The tantrum also reveals an arrogance within myself, the insistence on my own preference for other things, which in turn also reflects a weakness within myself, a dependence upon those other things.

How ironic that I want to be the master of my conditions, and that is precisely what makes me the slave to my conditions!

I can manage to make quite a show out of all my resentment, indignation, and protest. I even begin to think that the louder and more passionately I scream, the more noble and worthy I have become, and that the strength of my character is in the depth of my outrage. Then I only have to think of the squealing pig, and the illusion is lifted.

Some find the squealing pig amusing, but I will also find the image quite sad. What gets to me is not that he is going to meet his fate, but that he somehow feels he can squirm his way out of it.

But am I not actually describing myself? It isn’t sad that things must happen, but it is sad that I cannot come to freely accept that things must happen.

Written in 3/2009