LIAM MILBURN: Living with Nature: Reflections on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius 10

Living with Nature:

Reflections on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius 10

Liam Milburn

10.1

Will you, then, my soul, never be good and simple and one and naked, more manifest than the body that surrounds you?

Will you never enjoy an affectionate and contented disposition? Will you never be full and without a want of any kind, longing for nothing more, nor desiring anything, either animate or inanimate, for the enjoyment of pleasures? Nor yet desiring time wherein you shall have longer enjoyment, or place, or pleasant climate, or society of men with whom you may live in harmony?

But will you be satisfied with your present condition, and pleased with all that is about you, and will you convince yourself that you have everything, and that it comes from the gods, that everything is well for you, and will be well whatever shall please them, and whatever they shall give for the conservation of the Perfect Living Being, the good and just and beautiful, which generates and holds together all things, and contains and embraces all things which are dissolved for the production of other like things?

Will you never be such that you shall so dwell in community with gods and men as neither to find fault with them at all, nor to be condemned by them?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.1 (tr Long)

Notice how many of the things we say make us happy are things we do not yet possess, but hope that we one day might.

Notice how our chances of possessing them depend so largely on the odds of circumstance, and on the whims of others.

Notice how even if we do manage to come into contact with them, our hold on them is always tenuous, and we are prone to losing them at any given moment.

That sounds more like a way of assuring that I will be miserable instead of happy! I have often found that a sure-fire sign of someone who is quite unhappy is that he will be restless, and angry, and unkind to his fellows; if that describes a big sweeps of my own life, I clearly haven’t been doing it right.

So I wonder why I have overlooked the most obvious solution, that I already have within me everything I need to be happy, and that I do not have to conquer anything else.

Then my anxiety slips away, and so my resentment fades, and so I no longer have to be hateful to the people I should love. I can then be just, because I am not confusing the struggle of wanting more with the contentment of needing less.

Stoic thinking can be quite profound in theory, but the actual application of Stoic living is a truly powerful tool. I have often been mesmerized by people who speak so well, and present themselves with such confidence and charm, even as the lives they live are really no different from being the usual slaves to pleasure, reputation, or wages. A Stoic Turn might not be appealing to everyone, but it most certainly can’t be merely cosmetic; it requires cutting right to the bone.

I now squirm a little when I hear that usual mantra: “Work to get the things you want, so that one day you can be happy!” No, I should work with the natural gifts I already have, and be happy right now, at this very moment, whatever situations I have faced, am now facing, or may eventually face.

Nothing outside of me is ever guaranteed, and no year, month, day, or even hour in the future is ever guaranteed. What is, however, absolutely guaranteed is the option to know the truth, love the good, and revel in the beautiful, right here and now.

Only then, in harmony with Nature, with Nature’s God, and with all of my neighbors, have I achieved anything certain, and only then have I moved beyond longing, conflict, and blame. This will manifest itself in small and unassuming ways, and has no need to overwhelm or impress. It is never necessary for any one man to fail so that another man can gain.

It all requires a complete rebuilding of what I consider a win or a loss, a benefit or a harm; there is no failure if I do not fail my own calling to character.

10.2

Observe what your nature requires, so far as you are governed by Nature only; then do it and accept it, if your nature, so far as you are a living being, shall not be made worse by it.

And next you must observe what your nature requires so far as you are a living being, and all this you may allow yourself, if your nature, so far as you are a rational animal, shall not be made worse by it.

But the rational animal is consequently also a political and social animal.

Use these rules, then, and trouble yourself about nothing else.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.2 (tr Long)

There are all these layers upon layers upon layers that masquerade as self-identity. Look at my job, or at my résumé, or at my bank account, or at my beautiful and successful wife, or at my bright and gifted children, or at my powerful and brilliant friends. Look at all the worldly achievements, and all the reflections of my influence, which I can then post on social media, and they will make me look even better than I already was before.

Peel it all away. It has nothing to do with me at all. It is all about the appearance of me, and the selfish gratification it gives me, making me believe that I am now suddenly a someone.

Strip it all away. What is left? A being who is no different than any other of the billions now walking this earth, a being who will die like all the billions who have died before me, and a being who will be no better or worse in the end because of all the glamor and glitter.

Go straight to the core of it. I am not the sum of my externals, but the sum of my own content. What do I actually have left?

Ask only one question: what makes me a human being? If I have no answer, I am already up the proverbial creek without a paddle.

I can offer no precise count, so this can hardly be what our wardens call “scientific”, but of the thousands of people I have come to know over these many years, maybe only a few hundred would even offer any sort of answer at all. I find it interesting that it was usually the most unassuming and unappreciated folks who could make a case for why they were here. The rest sank into platitudes, deeply worried that their illusions would somehow be shattered.

What does my nature demand? To understand who I am, and why I am here. I have many bodily gifts, but my mental gifts distinguish me as being distinctly human. Reason and will define my essence, and it isn’t just about having those powers, but about how I decide to employ them. This means I am ordered to respecting all truth in this world, and to practicing sincere love in this world.

What does my nature allow? To desire and pursue anything that virtue permits, but to turn away from anything that virtue prohibits. Perhaps I desire riches, or perhaps I desire poverty. Perhaps I want to be in company, or perhaps I want to be alone. Perhaps I choose to be a king, or perhaps I choose to be a carpenter. Let me prefer whatever I wish, but I must always demand that this be subservient to my task of being human.

What does my nature tell me about living with others? To remember that I am inseparable from the whole. Every man is my brother, and every woman is my sister, not necessarily by blood, but by purpose. Once I have sold out or abandoned any single one of my brothers or sisters, I have sold out my own humanity.

They pay big money to politicians for making certain sorts of laws, and more big money to lawyers for making nonsense of them, and even more big money to businessmen to reap a profit from them. None of this is necessary. The deeper laws of human nature are quite clear, simple, and beautiful. They are not imposed on us, being already within us. No one needs to make power and money from them, because power and money are not what we need.  A sense of truth and love is what we need.

10.3

Everything that happens either happens in such a way as you are formed by nature to bear it, or as you are not formed by nature to bear it.

If, then, it happens to you in such a way as you are formed by nature to bear it, do not complain, but bear it as you are formed by nature to bear it.

But if it happens in such a way as you are not formed by nature to bear it, do not complain, for it will perish after it has consumed you.

Remember, however, that you are formed by nature to bear everything, with respect to which it depends on your own opinion to make it endurable and tolerable, by thinking that it is either your interest or your duty to do this.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.3 (tr Long)

Only one of two things will occur whenever I face any sort of obstacle, or threat, or danger. Either I will be able to survive it, or it will kill me. A profound beauty of Stoic thinking is that either option can be completely good, understood rightly, and that I never need to fear for anything at all in both cases.

Though I would argue that he meant it in a totally different context, one that flies directly in the face of Stoicism, it sounds familiar to that powerful line from Nietzsche: “That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.” I only impishly add that even if it does kill us, that can still make us stronger.

Can I survive it? Good. It is an opportunity given to me by Providence to be a better man, as I choose to overcome it. Will it destroy me? Good. That is also an opportunity given to me by Providence to be a better man, as I choose to face my passing with conviction. There will only be gain, and no loss at all, if accept who I am, and what I was made to be.

I often found, after years and years of discouragement, that teaching could feel like quite the thankless task. One tries to do something helpful, and one is usually told that it is a complete waste of our time at best, or brutally offensive at worst.

Yet I always enjoyed those brief moments, however few and far between, when a handful of students took a question seriously. I have fond memories of a class where we passionately argued about all sorts of moral conundrums, like the classic old “Trolley Problem”. If you could turn the switch on a rail track, would you do so if that now meant one person had to die, as opposed to doing nothing, which results in many people dying?

One of my students offered an interesting and imaginative alternative, what she called the “Steamroller Problem”. Say that you and a person you intensely dislike are having a heated argument while walking down the street, oblivious to everything about you, only to find that you have both wandered into a sticky pit of newly poured asphalt. A steamroller is quickly coming your way, and the driver has headphones on, unable to hear your cries for help.

Let us say, for the sake of argument, that you have only a moment to act, and you have only enough strength to either pull yourself from the goopy mess, or throw your enemy out of the goopy mess. Make it even more confusing, and realize your nemesis has exactly the same choice. What will your choice be?

Yes, I know, life doesn’t usually happen in such cookie-cutter circumstances, but just imagine that it did. Ignore also the fact that hindsight is 20/20. What is the right thing to do?

How I choose to answer that question is not merely a question of theory, but it goes straight to revealing the very practical principles we hold the most dear.

I know my own answer, but it is hardly my place to tell you your own. Which comes first, your own good, or acting for the good of another, even for someone you despise?

And the Stoic, I would suggest, sees all that as a false dichotomy, an assumption of an either/or, when it should be a both/and. Survival is hardly the issue at all; acting with virtue for oneself, and helping other people act with virtue for themselves, is all that matters.

It doesn’t even revolve around whether one of you dies, or both of you die, because we will all end up dying. What matters is how well both of you live, while you still have the option to live. Do not let what your enemy chooses decide for you, because that is beyond your power; decide upon what is within your own power to choose.

Has your enemy now lived longer? It is of no matter, because he will also die one day. It is, as is so often the case with Stoic living, that the quantity never trumps the quality. It all ends, and it only depends on how it ends.

Where there is life, yes, there is hope. Where there is death, yes, there too is hope. What possible purpose can there be if I complain about what I am able to determine? I can fix that. Likewise, what possible purpose can there be if I complain about what I am not able to determine? It is spilt milk.

Even if my condition means that it must be the end of me, my character can always remain intact. Whatever anyone else may do, or whatever forces may act upon me, my judgments and actions remain my own.

10.4

If a man is mistaken, instruct him kindly, and show him his error.

But if you are not able, blame yourself, or blame not even yourself.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.4 (tr Long)

We can feel all different sorts of pain, but few things feel quite as uncomfortable as being in disagreement or conflict with someone. On the one hand, we suffer from anger when we think that someone else is wrong. On the other hand, we suffer from sadness when someone else thinks that we are wrong.

There is pride and insecurity mixed together, being confident enough to hate, but not being confident enough to let it go. We may claim that we don’t care what someone else thinks and says, but we really do care quite a bit, because otherwise it wouldn’t bother us so much.

And through it all, we will insist on the judgment that the other is always the one to blame. The finger of fault is pointed outwards, even as we feel quite uncertain on the inside.

Let us assume that another is indeed mistaken in his thoughts, words, or deeds. Why should I be angry with him, or hate him, or feel offended? What possible good can come from condemning him? I can hardly say that I will feel better by being frustrated with resentment, and I am hardly going to change his mind by treating him poorly.

Should I not instead help him to improve himself, using reason and respect? If he is in error, it is because he is confused, or misguided, or ignorant of what is truly good. Let me nudge him in the right direction, instead of pushing him into the ground. Then we will have worked together, and there will no need for all the petty bickering, or the cold shoulders, or the flinging of insults, or the fiery glares.

If there is any need for blame at all, let me find fault with only myself. Perhaps I was myself mistaken, and he is not in error at all, or I have misunderstood what he has said or done. Perhaps I did not speak to him rightly, or explain my thinking clearly, and then I have failed him. Perhaps I am still harboring an animosity toward him, and then I have only failed myself.

If I have judged rightly, acted justly, and been disposed charitably, and he is still mistaken, then there is no need for any blame at all. I have done what I believe is right, and he has done what he believes is right. I should still seek to help him, but there is no reason to hate him.

There is no need to become indignant about the truth, just as there is no need to deny the truth. If I am committed to what is right for myself, I will have done the best thing I can to share what is right with another.

10.5

Whatever may happen to you, it was prepared for you from all eternity; and the implication of causes was from eternity spinning the thread of your being, and of that which is incidental to it.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.5 (tr Long)

I must always be careful not to put the cart before the horse. Simply because I may prefer something, will not not make it true, and simply because it may be convenient for my desires at the moment, will not make it right.

The danger is that I might begin with a conclusion, and then concoct an imaginary argument to justify it; I will start with what I want, and confuse it with what I need. I ought to remember that reasoning is quite different from rationalizing.

There have been times when I have felt more comfortable living in a world of inherent order and purpose, and there are times when I have longed for a world of aimless chance. This comes from my mood, however, and not from any sort of wisdom; it describes my passions, loosed from my understanding.

Even as my feelings will change, I struggle to maintain a sense of reason, and over many years of grappling with the way things work, I cannot bring myself to embrace the primacy of chaos and disorder.

This is because, in my mind, the very first principles of logic, of identity, of non-contradiction, and of the excluded middle, demand that something is what it is, that it cannot be its opposite, and that it either is or it isn’t. To claim otherwise is to argue for what is literally impossible. The necessity of causality, that every effect requires a cause, and that something cannot come from nothing, follows from these principles.

If it has happened, it has happened for a reason. If there is reason within the parts, there is also reason within the whole. I face these facts in the big picture, knowing that there is the ultimate rule of Providence, and I face these facts in the small picture, knowing that nothing of daily life occurs in vain.

I see things that seem random, but that is only in my limited perception, because I am not fully able to discern the causes right then and there. As the days pass on and on, and as I get closer to my own end, I am still acutely aware that there are much greater ends.

My own freedom, or that of any other rational creature, is not separate from that design, but already included within that design, for the agency of each aspect participates in the agency of all that is.

Each thread is spun as a part of the greater weave, and there is no weave without the weaver. It may not always be what I like, though it is my task to find a harmony between what I like and what must be.

10.6

Whether the Universe is a concourse of atoms, or Nature is a system, let this first be established, that I am a part of the whole that is governed by Nature.

Next, I am in a manner intimately related to the parts that are of the same kind with myself. For remembering this, inasmuch as I am a part, I shall be discontented with none of the things that are assigned to me out of the whole.

For nothing is injurious to the part if it is for the advantage of the whole.

For the whole contains nothing which is not for its advantage; and all natures indeed have this common principle, but the Nature of the Universe has this principle besides, that it cannot be compelled even by any external cause to generate anything harmful to itself.

By remembering, then, that I am a part of such a whole, I shall be content with everything that happens. And inasmuch as I am in a manner intimately related to the parts which are of the same kind with myself, I shall do nothing unsocial, but I shall rather direct myself to the things that are of the same kind with myself, and I shall turn all my efforts to the common interest, and divert them from the contrary.

Now, if these things are done so, life must flow on happily, just as you may observe that the life of a citizen is happy, who continues a course of action that is advantageous to his fellow citizens, and is content with whatever the state may assign to him.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.6 (tr Long)

Whatever philosophy speaks to you the most, or whatever system you may subscribe to, please consider that our entire world, absolutely all of it, is completely one. It is not many realities, but one reality. There is no “yours” or “mine”, only “ours”.

We will often hear how a support for the whole sometimes requires the rejection of the part. They tell us that some must lose, so that many more may win. If the majority benefits, it is quite acceptable if the minority suffers.

This always troubled me when I was younger, but I assumed it was just because I was one of the losers. I began to just accept that state of affairs, where I needed to come to terms with the fact that I was disposable, a piece of residue, something thrown into the trash after my betters had their way.

The Roman Catholic faith I was raised with taught me that every life was worthy and dignified, but that is hardly what I saw in practice. The important priests were happy when you paid them their tithes and flattered them, but then they looked the other way when you were in need. I would come to church to find God, only to find that there was quite the entry fee.

This wasn’t what Christ taught, but then again, Jesus was a poor carpenter; they wouldn’t have given him the time of day either, if he came to them for support and comfort.

In religion, we assume that the institution matters more than the members. I once was shocked to see an old fellow removed from a Mass by ushers, who were all local cops, because there were complaints about his scraggly appearance and his body odor. Clearly, it offended the better folks.

In business, we assume that the institution matters more than the members. I once saw a CEO, worth many millions of dollars, suddenly fire the five most recent employees, on the grounds that the company could only make its optimal profits by quickly cutting some costs. Clearly, the masters ruled over the slaves.

In education, we assume that the institution matters more than the members. I once listened, in complete horror, to a Dean explaining that it was best to close a less popular academic program, leaving about a dozen students unable to complete a degree. It was, he said, about making a statement to improve the school’s status and reputation. Clearly, the image trumped the actual people.

In government, we assume that the institution matters more than the members. I once had a client who had filled out a form incorrectly, and was then told that he was ineligible for any assistance, because a certain deadline had passed. A bureaucrat at Health and Human Services told me that this was unfortunate, but that the system only worked when we excluded the slackers.

One is only comfortable with that sort of thinking if one is at the giving end, not at the receiving end.

I am not really bright, or gifted, or important, but I did start to wonder: shouldn’t it be for all of us, and not just for some of us? Perhaps I am a loser by the standards of an uncaring society, but do I have to be a loser by the standards of Nature?

How, I thought, can the whole even function at all, if some of the parts are allowed to whither? We all rise together, and we all fall together. If it is really good for the whole, it will have to be good for all the parts, each and every one.

Each of those events troubled me deeply, but I began to see that complaining about them would never make them go away. I also saw that I could choose to be a social animal, and not a selfish animal, and that any solution began with me. Do you wish to dispose of others? Do you think that the ends always justify the means? Perhaps I can’t convince you otherwise, but I know that I will never live in that way. I will not be like you.

I will gladly suffer what happens to me, if I can only employ it to make myself better. I will not, however, remain silent if you think that some people are more important than others. All of us matter, each and every one, and I have also learned that I matter, in however humble a way.

You may say I am a loser, but Nature gave all of us the gifts to win in this life. I choose to define winning very differently than you. Break one piece, and the entire machine will fall apart. Anything else is a contradiction in terms, and an affront to Nature.

10.7

The parts of the whole, everything, I mean, that is naturally comprehended in the Universe, must of necessity perish; but let this be understood in this sense, that they must undergo change.

But if this is naturally both an evil and a necessity for the parts, the whole would not continue to exist in a good condition, the parts being subject to change and constituted so as to perish in various ways.

For whether Nature herself did design to do evil to the things which are parts of herself, and to make them subject to evil and of necessity fall into evil, or have such results happened without her knowing it? Both these suppositions, indeed, are incredible.

But if a man should even drop the term Nature as an efficient power, and should speak of these things as natural, even then it would be ridiculous to affirm at the same time that the parts of the whole are in their nature subject to change, and at the same time to be surprised or vexed as if something were happening contrary to Nature, particularly as the dissolution of things is into those things of which each thing is composed.

For there is either a dispersion of the elements out of which everything has been compounded, or a change from the solid to the earthy and from the airy to the aerial, so that these parts are taken back into the Universal Reason, whether this at certain periods is consumed by fire or renewed by eternal changes.

And do not imagine that the solid and the airy part belong to you from the time of generation. For all this received its accretion only yesterday and the day before, as one may say, from the food and the air which is inspired.

This, then, which has received the accretion, changes, not that which your mother brought forth. But suppose that this, which your mother brought forth, implicates you very much with that other part, which has the peculiar quality of change, this is nothing in fact in the way of objection to what is said.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.7 (tr Long)

The fact that things must come to be and must pass way is a necessary aspect of Nature, for wherever there is change in those things that are particular and incomplete expressions of the whole, there will be the process of generation and destruction.

Yet we somehow remain convinced that this is a bad thing, some sort of evil that pervades our world, that it is like something slowly but surely eating away at all of us. It is hardly that. Nature is herself the whole of creation, and she does not admit of any corruption from outside of herself, and she does not suffer any ignorance of her workings. Providence knows what it is about.

If you wish to remove Divine Mind from the equation, it would still not change the way it works. One may decide to question the mover behind what is moved, but one cannot ignore the order within the motion.

Whatever comes into being does not arise from nothing, and whatever falls out of being does not decay into nothing. Any change is always from what was, and into what becomes. The underlying substance remains one and the same, only altering its qualities, its appearances, and its location in time and in space. As the change is constant, what underlies the change has always been there, and always will be. There is the coming and going of many beings, all of them joined and divided in various ways, beings as modifications of Being.

When I was born into this world from my mother, I was not created as something completely new, but as a different combination of the elements that already were. When I die to this world, I will not blink out of existence, but merely become a different combination of the elements that already were.

There is no spontaneous beginning to any of it, and there is no spontaneous end to any of it. It admits only of a transformation, for what is still remains what it is. My own life and death are a reflection of the deeper life and death, and then once again new life, of what has always been. This is not an evil, but rather a good, the fulfillment of rebirth.

A newborn child is not a complete beginning, and a dying man is not a complete end. I must look more broadly at the world to understand this.

As I have grown older, it is easy to assume, as they say, that things fall apart, that the center cannot hold. Still, I should look not just to the falling apart, but also to the rebuilding that follows that falling apart. The center is precisely what holds the entirety of it together.

As I have grown older, I have seen more and more people I love turn away, move away, or pass away.

As I have grown older, I have seen more and more things I care for rust away, crumble away, or fade away.

And as I have grown older, I have also seen more and more people and things come to be, grow to fullness, and prosper with a great glory.

There is no beginning without an ending, and no ending without a beginning. Earth, and water, and air, and fire shift from one to the other, in a constant dance.

10.8

When you have assumed these names, good, modest, true, rational, a man of equanimity, and magnanimous, take care that you do not change these names. And if you should lose them, quickly return to them.

And remember that the term Rational was intended to signify a discriminating attention to every single thing, and freedom from negligence. And that Equanimity is the voluntary acceptance of the things that are assigned to you by the Common Nature. And that Magnanimity is the elevation of the intelligent part above the pleasurable or painful sensations of the flesh, and above that poor thing called fame, and death, and all such things.

If, then, you maintain yourself in the possession of these names, without desiring to be called by these names by others, you will be another person and will enter into another life. For to continue to be such as you have hitherto been, and to be torn in pieces and defiled in such a life, is the character of a very stupid man and one over-fond of his life, and like those half-devoured fighters with wild beasts, who, though covered with wounds and gore, still entreat to be kept to the following day, though they will be exposed in the same state to the same claws and bites.

Therefore fix yourself in the possession of these few names, and if you are able to abide in them, abide as if you were removed to certain Islands of the Happy. But if you shall perceive that you fall out of them and do not maintain your hold, go courageously into some nook where you shall maintain them, or even depart at once from life, not in passion, but with simplicity and freedom, and modesty, after doing this one laudable thing at least in your life, to have gone out of it thus.

 In order, however, to the remembrance of these names, it will greatly help you if you remember the gods, and that they wish not to be flattered, but wish all reasonable beings to be made like themselves. And if you remember that what does the work of a fig-tree is a fig-tree, and that what does the work of a dog is a dog, and that what does the work of a bee is a bee, and that what does the work of a man is a man.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.8 (tr Long)

I know full well that virtue is my highest calling as a human being, as a creature of reason and choice, but I often find myself feeling quite uncomfortable talking about it. This isn’t because I should not live this way, but because I am acutely aware that I regularly fail to live this way. I will embrace the name, but not the task; I will speak the words, but not live the life.

How often have I now seen people who parade about, posing for the world, telling us how good they really are? How often have I done much the same, spouting out all of the platitudes, while not rising up to the standard? Look at all the filth underneath the polish.

I am afraid to speak about virtue, since I do not wish to be like so many of the hypocrites I see around me. I have seen the bishops and priests, the politicians, the captains of industry, the academics, or the lawyers and the doctors puff up their chests. I am not important like they are, but I still manage to mess up my living much like they do.

And it’s all because I take a name, like wisdom, or temperance, or courage, or justice, and I don’t apply what it means.

The fact is that I am regularly not a man who acts with reason, or with equanimity, or with magnanimity. All that remains for me is to understand why I am not putting my money where my mouth is, and to not play games with something that is quite serious, the most serious thing there could ever be. Who is stopping me? The blame needs to stop here, and I need to only take responsibility for myself. If I really believe it is worth doing, I will simply choose to do it. There is no secret beyond that.

I think the obstacle I put in front of myself is the fear of what Marcus Aurelius describes so beautifully here: if I am going to be good man, I will now have to be a completely different man, a totally new person, someone reborn into a radically transformed life. I will no longer define myself by my job, or by my circle of friends, or by where I happen to live, but by how well I decide to live. That can be rather frightening, because it demands letting old habits go, and replacing them with new habits that fly in the face of everything that is popular and acceptable.

Mouthing the words will no longer be sufficient; casting aside all that is easy and comfortable will be required.

They may tell me that I can’t live on the Island of the Happy, that it is a ridiculous dream, and that I must simply continue with the same daily grind of work and exhaustion, to play the part of a producer, a consumer, and a mindless drone. Yet I recognize that the only thing standing in my way is my own freely chosen dependence upon things quite separate and distinct from my own character.

Will I now no longer have the chance to be rich, or praised, or living in the comforts of the body? It is of no matter. Let others live by those standards, but I do not have to be like them.

Yes, I will have to withdraw into the world of my own moral measures, and I will be required to look quite the fool to those who still bow to a life of fortune. I will be told that I am a troublemaker, that I am counter-cultural, that I am a radical, that I am a lose cannon, and that I am a danger to others, all because I will not play by the rules of people who are blind to their humanity.

If I consider it rightly, I am not making any sacrifice at all, because there is nothing to lose from a shallow life. I am quite aware, however much I might try to deny it, that everything that has ever hurt me has come from my own vices. Accordingly, the only thing that will ever redeem me comes from my own virtues.

Let me live rightly while I can live, and if that is not possible, let me die with some dignity.

Make the words mean something! Nothing needs to keep me from that Island of the Happy!

10.9

The public plays, war, astonishment, torpor, slavery, will daily wipe out those holy principles of yours. How many things without studying Nature do you imagine, and how many do you neglect?

But it is your duty so to look on and so to do everything, that at the same time the power of dealing with circumstances is perfected, and the contemplative faculty is exercised, and the confidence that comes from the knowledge of each separate thing is maintained without showing it, but yet not concealed.

For when will you enjoy simplicity, when gravity, and when the knowledge of every single thing, both what it is in substance, and what place it has in the Universe, and how long it is formed to exist, and of what things it is compounded, and to whom it can belong, and who are able both to give it and take it away?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.9 (tr Long)

The games of appearance, the conflicts of interest, the failures of character, or the shackles of desire will be more than annoying diversions; they will be great obstacles, seeming to completely block out our view of the good life. We will be mightily tempted to go back to lazy thinking and to careless living.

I come back, time and time again, to the recognition that the Stoic life can never be merely cosmetic, just continuing on in the same ways while under a different banner, but must rather be a fundamental transformation of our hearts and minds. What I truly choose to love and respect will make all of the difference.

It cannot be about performing on a stage, or putting on a show for an audience. The change must be deep within me, indifferent to how impressive or ridiculous it may come across.

It asks for a profound serenity, for careful observation, for keeping circumstances in their rightful place, for patient reflection, and for an awareness of how things must work together. I must be confident and committed in this, but never prideful or ostentatious.

When will I begin to be able to achieve this? It will happen only when I have reordered my priorities to the core. Only then will I be able to resist distractions and challenges, because only then will I not be tempted by imaginary rewards and false promises.

This goes to the basic principles of the Stoic Turn, for it means that I must be first concerned with being someone or something, rather than giving the appearance of someone or something. I should neither hide away on the one hand, nor draw any deliberate attention to myself on the other.

If thinking and doing rightly for their own sake are not enough for me, I can be certain that I am still pursuing quite imperfect ends. When the very guiding principles have changed, then the exercise of living can also change.

10.10

A spider is proud when it has caught a fly, and another when he has caught a poor hare, and another when he has taken a little fish in a net, and another when he has taken wild boars, and another when he has taken bears, and another when he has taken Sarmatians.

Are not these robbers, if you examine their opinions?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.10 (tr Long)

Marcus Aurelius himself apparently fought battles against the Sarmatians, and I can’t help but wonder what he must have thought about being an emperor, made for power and war, and also being nothing but a man, made for justice and compassion.

Those of us who have killed in battle can surely understand, and those of us spared that burden can only imagine.

Perhaps the spider is only following its own nature when it consumes the fly, but what of the man who kills all sorts of prey? What is his purpose, and what is his intention?

While I was living in Boston, people would be quite shocked and offended at the very prospect of a hunt. It was all a symptom of barbarism, and we looked down our noses at the inhuman practice of the kill. When I moved to the rural South, I saw something very different. It was all an expression of livelihood and culture, and we raised our fists against those who could never wrap their minds around it.

The lines, of course, are not that easily drawn. Whether Yankee or Dixie, the why is more important than the what. Whatever the walk of life, I have met many brutal people, and I have met many caring people. Your race, and background, and environment don’t define it, but your freely chosen character most certainly does.

Have you shot a rabbit, or caught a fish, or taken down a wild boar, or even confronted a bear? I’ve eaten rabbits and fish that I’ve killed, and at that point saw no shame in it; I can’t speak about boars or bears, though I once nearly pissed myself when a black bear came into our camp. Was I mistaken in using and consuming what I had hunted?

Look at what Marcus Aurelius says. Is it the killing that is the problem, or the pride in the killing? Is it about living out of necessity, making use of the gifts of Nature, or is it about vanity, the thrill of power and conquest, posing with trophies and puffing up a fake courage that covers a much deeper weakness?

Lives will end, and one living being will inevitably take the lives of many others, directly or indirectly. I once made a very nice stew from a rabbit I shot, and a good distance shot it was. In contrast, I should also be quite willing to accept it if that big black bear had ripped me to shreds and had me for dinner. Would it have hurt? Of course it would. But the bear wouldn’t have killed me just for fun, like some twisted humans would.

Robbers take what is not theirs by right, and there is the injustice. The black bear would have taken what was his by his nature, and for that there can be no blame.

10.11

Acquire the contemplative way of seeing how all things change into one another, and constantly attend to it, and exercise yourself about this part of philosophy. For nothing is so much adapted to produce magnanimity.

Such a man has put off the body, and as he sees that he must, no one knows how soon, go away from among men and leave everything here, he gives himself up entirely to just doings in all his actions, and in everything else that happens he resigns himself to the Universal Nature.

But as to what any man shall say or think about him or do against him, he never even thinks of it, being himself contented with these two things—with acting justly in what he now does, and being satisfied with what is now assigned to him; and he lays aside all distracting and busy pursuits, and desires nothing else than to accomplish the straight course through the law, and by accomplishing the straight course to follow God.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.11 (tr Long)

The noise of the world seems to want to tell me that I must always be very busy, constantly occupied with as many chores and tasks as possible. If I do this correctly, I earn the right to brag about how exhausting it is to perform all of my assigned duties.

Now what would happen if I stopped to actually think about what I am doing? Imagine if someone asked me what I had done this afternoon, and instead of offering the usual litany about taking the kids to ballet practice, finishing that report about the Johnson account, and meeting Barbara for drinks, I just said that I sat down and watched the birds darting about and listened to the grass growing.

Let the strange looks and the worried whispers commence!

Yet this is precisely the sort of calm reflection we all need so much more of, in order to put aside the diversions of this life for the sake of a richer context. In particular, it helps us to always be aware of all the constant changes, however sudden or gradual they may be, and recognizing the patterns that underlie them. Most importantly, this strengthens our ability to be magnanimous, to have a great soul that can rise above the lesser in order to show reverence for the greater.

I may want to say that I used all of my marketing gifts to sign a million-dollar contract with a new client today, when I should be able to say that I used all of my philosophical gifts to become a kinder and better man today. No, this isn’t just for an hour or two of pious socializing at church, or even for a week or two of relaxation on vacation, but for each and every moment of each and every day.

If I see how easily things will come and go, then I will also see that there can be nothing lasting or fulfilling in any of these circumstances. I can accordingly dedicate myself to that which is truly mine, the justice of my own actions, and accept anything else that may come my way simply as an opportunity to become more fully human.

I am really only left with the wholehearted pursuit of virtue, and the deepest respect for Providence. That is sufficient for a good life, and all the rest can be left behind.

10.12

What need is there of suspicious fear, since it is in your power to inquire what ought to be done?

And if you see clear, go by this way contented, without turning back; and if you do not see clear, stop and take the best advisers.

But if any other things oppose you, go on according to your powers with due consideration, keeping to that which appears to be just.

For it is best to reach this object, and if you do fail, let your failure be in attempting this.

He who follows reason in all things is both tranquil and active at the same time, and also cheerful and collected.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.12 (tr Long)

I sometimes cringe at how many years I spent blindly trusting people who insisted that they had my back, only to eventually find no one was there when I turned around.

There were the childhood chums, of course, who seemed so keen on ridicule, gossip, and slander. Adults will often dismiss the problems of children, but I still remember that it felt quite real. I was told to not mind any of it too much, but it seemed to set a pattern.

Then there were those who declared themselves to be the closest of friends, some of whom I loved very dearly, but who only stayed around when the going was good, and then suddenly disappeared when it became inconvenient. I was told to just move past it all, but it broke my heart every time.

Then there were all the slick professionals I worked with, who swore a shared and noble purpose, using the most charming words, but always played clever games for their own profit. I was told to keep to my principles regardless, but it ended up being quite lonely.

Whether they were schoolmates, or friends, or colleagues, it never felt any better. It only became worse on every occasion, as each incident made me more suspicious and untrusting, preparing me rather poorly for any future relationships. How did I really know if I could rely on someone, and if I couldn’t know at all, where did that leave me?

I was sure the last straw for me was a fellow I hired as a teacher in my department, being mightily impressed with his credentials, his charm, and his references. It didn’t hurt that he was a fellow alumnus from my old school.

Yet only a about month after the ink had dried, I received an unusual e-mail from one of his references, apologizing for ever having thought well of him, and explaining that she would no longer be his dissertation director. “Get rid of him while you still can,” were her exact words.

She attached a letter he had proudly sent around to his friends, where he bragged about how he would take my job as Chairman within a few years, because I was so naïve and gullible. She had also learned that his supposed scholarly work was tainted with plagiarism.

I said nothing directly to the fellow, willing to offer him the benefit of the doubt, but I did politely ask him why he was changing his director. He was shocked that I knew of this, but he had a whole fanciful story to explain it, based on all sorts of falsehoods. What he didn’t know was that I was already quite aware of what had happened, straight from the horse’s mouth.

This one just felt like one too many. I was convinced I had hit some critical mass within myself, dealing with one charlatan or hypocrite after another, certain that I no longer knew how to relate to any people at all, always dubious about their motives and their honesty.

Here is where the Stoic Turn can save lives. Did any of these people treat me poorly? That is on them, but not on me. But did I allow myself to be played or manipulated? That is on me, but not on them.

If I understand my own purpose in this life correctly, I should never blame others for what they have done to me, knowing they did so out of an ignorance of the good, and knowing it remains my job to offer love to them and to care for them, regardless of their mistakes. I have been there myself, and can hardly throw stones.

But I should blame myself for what I have done to myself, knowing that I did so upon a false premise, that the merit of my life depended upon their support and approval. I was ignorant of my own good, and I am the one who decides about that. Let me keep my stones to myself. Let me build my own home with them, not waste them by tossing them away.

I should wish what is best for those folks, even if they don’t wish what is best for me. My trust should go out to people I sincerely believe to be of character, not merely those I would hope to be of character. Even if others do then break that trust, I should never break it myself.

It all boils down to foolishly making my own value contingent upon the estimation of others. Stop doing that! Other people are made to be loved, so love them. Does my calling in life change if they don’t offer the same in return? What vanity, what arrogance, what pride to think that I should expect to receive anything at all, even as I was created to give all of myself.

I need to follow my conscience, rightly informed. If it is not rightly informed, let me ask for the help of those who appear to know better. If I have trusted poorly, I have at least done my best, and in my trying I have still improved myself. I will try again, knowing only that I am my own master, that no one else is my master, and that I am the master of no one else.

If I remain constant within myself, at peace with my own character, there will be no failure. Failure will only come when I sell myself out, when I submit myself for a price, and never when another tempts me by offering a price.

Tranquil within, while still active without. This is only possible where the true measure of virtue is respected.

10.13.1

Inquire of yourself, as soon as you wake from sleep, whether it will make any difference to you if another does what is just and right.

It will make no difference. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.13 (tr Long)

It is hardly that the thoughts, words, or actions of others are unimportant or meaningless; they certainly form the character of others, and they certainly play their particular role in the order of all things working together.

The question, however, is how I will choose to have them affect me in the forming of my own character. They will only matter as much to me as I allow them to matter, and whatever good or bad may come of them will depend ultimately on my own estimation.

This seems quite ridiculous if my mindset is built upon the assumption that I am defined by my circumstances, and therefore that the good or bad that others do will determine what is good or bad for me.

But a Stoic mindset turns the tables. Starting with the premise that what completes a rational nature is grounded in its own judgments and choices, I will then see that the benefit or harm of any conditions will flow from what I decide to do with the conditions.

Has another acted with compassion and concern? This is an opportunity for me to practice these same virtues. Has another acted with malice and contempt? This also is an opportunity, now for me to practice the virtues that oppose his vices. Participate with what is right, or stand up against what is wrong. The paths may be different, but my ultimate destination can remain the same, the practice of good living.

The waking moment is perhaps the best time to reflect upon this, before I become caught up in all the hustle and bustle, and when I can still calmly make decisions for the coming day.

If I look back at my earlier mistakes, I will see that I am prone to responding to the wrongdoings of others in one of two ways. Sometimes I sulk, treating myself as a victim, and I feel sorry for myself. At other times I lash out, condemning my perceived enemies, and I react with force and resentment. Neither of these is necessary, and neither of them will do me, or others, any good at all.

When I remember that my own life is not measured by what may or may not happen, but rather that it is my own life that gives events their very measure, then I will not have to face the coming day with fear or anxiety. It will be as it will be, and I already have everything I need inside of me to make sense and find purpose within what will be.

What another man does will not make any difference. How I react to what another man does will make all the difference.

10.13.2

. . . You have not forgotten, I suppose, that those who assume arrogant airs in bestowing their praise or blame on others are such as they are at bed and at board?

And you have not forgotten what they do, and what they avoid, and what they pursue, and how they steal and how they rob, not with hands and feet, but with their most valuable part, by means of which there is produced, when a man chooses, fidelity, modesty, truth, law, a good spirit of happiness?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.13 (tr Long)

When another does what is wrong, I should be very careful not to let it encourage me to do what is wrong myself. When I see malice, or deception, or betrayal, let me meet all of that hatred with love. I can know with certainty that it is wrong, I can stand my ground firmly against it, but I never need to become it.

I remind myself that the shallow posturings, all the illusions people try to cast, betray something far deeper about those who practice them. The conflicts in how they behave in public will reflect who they truly are in private, and I would be foolish to expect that they are any different on the inside than they are on the outside.

Why am I so concerned about what a hater, a hypocrite, or a user might think of me? My only calling is to respond by not being the same.

Look at what people really want, and how they will cleverly go about getting what they want, and it can all become quite clear. The problem is not simply the abuse of their power, or fame, or wealth, but in the abuse of their very humanity.

We are not all given the same circumstances in this life, but we all given the same tools for living well within those circumstances. Some will squander those abilities, and some will nourish them.

A man is measured by the content of his inner character, not by the conditions of his outer appearances. Understanding what happiness really is allows me to estimate others rightly, and to choose for myself rightly.

I think of all the times I was told that this was how the game was played, that one had to break a few eggs to make an omelet, or that some had to lose so that I could win.

I think of all the people left behind so that others could get ahead. I think of all the pain suffered by one for the pleasure of another. I think of all the bullies telling all the victims they needed to get over it.

The evil wasn’t just in what was said or done, but in why it was said or done. It pointed straight to the darkened hearts and minds of those who decided that this was their way to live. They did not even grasp what “winning” and “losing” were to begin with.

Now will I permit my own heart and mind to be equally darkened? If I see another broken, will I also break myself? I will do myself no greater harm than when I judge myself by the same twisted standards they use to judge me.

10.14

To her who gives and takes back all, to Nature, the man who is instructed and modest says, “Give what you will, and take back what you will.”

 And he says this not proudly, but obediently, and is well pleased with her.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.14 (tr Long)

The most reliable way to never be disappointed with life is to reform my very expectations. This is not a matter of lowering the standards of what I want, but rather of pursuing the excellence of what I actually need. It means not waiting to receive anything at all, but rather finding happiness in the good of what I myself am able to do.

If I examine the conventional approach to happiness, the one we are simply expected to follow by default, it becomes rather frightening how much of it depends on the convergence of circumstances. We like to tell ourselves that we have somehow earned our success, our security, or our place in the world, and that they are all the result of our effort and hard work.

Yet notice how often one man who is committed and dedicated will win what he thinks is his worldly reward, while another dozen who struggle even more will receive nothing at all. Indeed, we see quite a few people become rich or famous without even trying. I can strive all I want, but whether or not life gives me what I aim for is really quite beyond my power, and depends precariously on the approval and actions of others.

Pursue wealth, or honor, or pleasure, and we are playing a dangerous game, where the odds are not in our favor. Still we take credit when we win, though how the dice fell had nothing to do with us, and we cast blame when we lose, though we were the only ones who chose to place the bet.

Perhaps the better choice is not to rely on the game at all? If fortune gives me this, let me be content with it, but if she takes away that, let me also be content with it. I can only do this when I understand that the value of my life is not in what happens to me, because that has nothing to do with me, and is not within my power. The value of my life is rather in my own thinking and doing, because that is everything that I am, and is completely within my power.

I have felt disappointed when events don’t go as I would have liked, or when I have desired to possess something I cannot have. I have felt most disappointed when people say one thing, and them do something quite different. But why should I choose to embrace that feeling of loss or frustration? If I never thought I had a right to something to begin with, I will not be saddened by its loss. If I do not think it is necessary for me to live happily, I can then either take it or leave it.

Some will bask in the glory of their good fortune, and others will cry at the shame of their bad fortune. I do not need to do either, because I can choose to see that whatever is given or taken away is never in itself good or bad. All of it can be pleasing to me, if I only remember what is truly my own.

10.15

Short is the little that remains to you of life. Live as on a mountain. For it makes no difference whether a man lives there or here, if he lives everywhere in the world as in a social state.

Let men see, let them know a real man who lives according to Nature.

If they cannot endure him, let them kill him. For that is better than to live thus as men do.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.15 (tr Long)

Over the years, I have seen many people treating a philosophy, a spiritual tradition, or any deeper way of life as a merely cosmetic modification. I was already quite familiar with this from so many churches, where people embraced the word but not the task, so I should not have been surprised when I also found it in the practice of Stoicism.

Instead of helping us to transform our very values to the core, we too easily continue pursuing all the same old things, the wealth, the fame, or the pleasure, and we assume that a new theory will simply provide new tools for getting what we already wanted. So Stoicism can now become a life hack for profit in business, or professional success, or improving our social status.

I know that I am in quite the minority here, but I have long thought that Stoicism needs to go far deeper than that.

It requires, I suggest, redefining who I am, what it means for me to be happy, and how all the pieces of this world are made to work together, such that what I call the Stoic Turn involves a total change in my goals and priorities. I don’t think that anyone who genuinely engages Stoicism, or any fundamental wisdom about life for that matter, will ever really be the same person again.

Once I have embraced virtue as the highest human good, the only complete human good upon which all other things depend, I will strive to be wise, brave, temperate, and just first and foremost, quite indifferent to whether I also happen to be rich, safe, gratified, or powerful.

I will do my best to treat others with compassion and respect, not merely as a means for my own end. To be a social animal will not be about getting invited to the best parties, but about recognizing that I am called to living in harmony with my neighbor.

It won’t really make any difference under what circumstances I live, as long as I am committed to the character of how well I live. Then I do not need to be important or influential to make a difference, because the reward of practicing a life according to Nature will be more than enough, and will be the greatest example to others.

What a beautiful and radical idea, that simply being human is the greatest human achievement!

Will this make some people quite uncomfortable? Indeed it will, and I should not be surprised at how far some people will go to keep us from living our own lives. They do this, I suspect, because they would like to live our lives for us.

I should not let this discourage me. If they seek to harm me, or even destroy me, it is better that I endure their injustices than becoming unjust myself, better to die than to choose to live as they do.  

If I can manage to think this way, and to live this way, I will have managed to rebuild myself completely, in substance and not just in appearance, and I will not fear losing what I know is accidental to myself.

10.16

No longer talk at all about the kind of man that a good man ought to be, but be such.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.16 (tr Long)

Talking, like any human activity, will only be as good as the end toward which it is ordered. Sometimes, a good conversation will help to reveal the truth, and will stir us to action. Sometimes, word are just words, and will only stroke our vanity. The value of what I say will be revealed in why I chose to say it, whether out of service or out of self-service.

For many years, academia was the world I was most familiar with, and I wondered if there was any end at all to the constant babbling. But I slowly began to see that it was not so different in business, law, politics, the media, or public service. The problem wasn’t that people had things to say, but rather that this was all that they had. It was about how they looked, and not what they actually did, how well they spoke, not how well they lived.

Of course, if all I can do is complain about how little people will manage to get done, then I am hardly getting much done myself, am I? I have gone to so many conferences, and listened to so many speeches, and read so many policy statements that I feel like my head could explode. Well, that stress is of my own making, and no one else’s, so let me put my own thoughts and words into action.

Marcus Aurelius, like any philosopher up to the task, reminds me that I’ve done enough talking, and now need to get on with the living. What good will it do for me if I can define prudence, or fortitude, or temperance, or justice in all sorts of clever ways, but I can’t be bothered to apply them in daily practice?

I am not qualified to be human by the school I went to, or by how many articles I wrote, or by what positions I have held. I am qualified to be human when I struggle to express virtue in the most immediate ways, and whenever I manage to treat others as people and not as things. Whatever my profession may be, or even if I have one at all, will be quite irrelevant in the face of my character.

Janitors, librarians, or bartenders have often helped me far more than bankers, lawyers, or doctors, and this is not because of some angry principle of class warfare, but because truly good people aren’t really worried about impressing anyone. They just get the job done, instead of talking about all their plans for the job.

My own experience teaches me that mere talk gives a false sense of security, a feeling that it is all being addressed, even if nothing is ever actually achieved. It mistakenly looks like commitment without risk, all the while forgetting that there can be no commitment without action, and that there is no risk of losing anything if I can win back my humanity.

10.17

Constantly contemplate the whole of time and the whole of substance, and consider that all individual things as to substance are a grain of a fig, and as to time the turning of a gimlet.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.17 (tr Long)

There are all sorts of phrases that rub me the wrong way, and I have stubbornly complained about many of them, but few expressions seem to frustrate me as much as when someone tells me that “it isn’t that important”, or “it’s no big deal”.

I know that my annoyance stems from a foolish pride, but it will feel as if I my concerns are simply being dismissed, that what matters to me doesn’t really matter at all. I grit my teeth, thinking that just saying something is small does not make it go away. Losing my best friend, or burying a child, or failing yet again at trying to make a living, seemed quite important to me, and it appears others will just quietly shrug it off.

I hardly know how people may have intended it, but I have come to learn how I should always have taken it. It isn’t that it is insignificant, but rather that I can only understand how it is significant within a greater context. When I can see the part within the whole, I can then understand how it serves a deeper purpose. It is still most certainly something, but it no longer has to be everything in my estimation.

This is why my pains, and losses, and blunders do not need to overwhelm me. They can all help me to be more fully human, and by being more fully human I am playing my own role in a bigger story. The meaning is to be discovered in how all the pieces fit together.

I find many people are drawn to Stoicism because of the sense of independence it offers, rightly reminding us that we need only live through what is within our own power. At the same time, however, while stressing the dignity of our own thoughts and actions, I also see Stoicism as placing our own existence within all of Nature, the harmony of my own life with all of life, the relationship of my own being with all of being. How I should choose to live must be in free cooperation with Providence. My independence only proceeds through interdependence with others and with my world.

It is in this fullness of time and substance that I can find comfort and direction.

My grandmother once brought home some fresh figs, and when she cut one open I was fascinated by the many tiny seeds within the flesh. Did each of those little grains matter? Of course they did, but only as parts of the whole. Do all the aspects of my life matter? Of course they do, but only as parts of the whole. They are indeed small, but they belong to something big.

10.18

Look at everything that exists, and observe that it is already in dissolution and in change, and as it were putrefaction or dispersion, or that everything is so constituted by nature as to die.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.18 (tr Long)

For many people, the thought that everything ceases to be, and is already at this very moment ceasing to be, can be quite disturbing. For the Stoic, this thought can rather be quite comforting. To see things coming in and out of existence allows us to understand them within the context of the whole, and to appreciate that the Universe is unfolding exactly as it should.

Nothing will seem too terrible, or, just as dangerous for me, too attractive, if I remember that it is only here for a time. All that frightens me, or all that is luring me in, is changing as I perceive it. I am changing as I perceive it. Do I feel that it is going to do me some harm? I should not fret, because it will soon be gone. Do I feel that I must possess it? I should not be so eager, because it will soon be gone. The pain will have its end, just as the pleasure will have its end.

This puts everything in a proper perspective, and, if rightly understood, can be a great source of serenity and contentment. Nothing is so great as to be unbearable or overwhelming, because time is already catching up to it.

My great-grandmother liked to say, “This too shall pass!”

In high school, I would often mull over the phrase, “Sic transit Gloria mundi.” Thus passes the glory of the world.

In college, I enjoyed the story about how the victorious Roman generals were paraded in triumph through the streets of the city, but as the crowd praised them, a slave would always be whispering in the great man’s ear, “Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori!” Look behind you. Remember that you are a mortal. Remember that you must die!

I will only find that disturbing if I have my priorities out of order, if I somehow wish to define myself by passing pleasures, possessions, or honors. I will only fear impermanence if I think it important that I be permanent. I will only be disgusted by death and decay if I continue to see it as an evil, and not as a necessary aspect of Nature, the very condition for rebirth.

If I have my head on straight, and I am keeping my eyes focused on what is good and beautiful, I will only find this comforting.

10.19

Consider what men are when they are eating, sleeping, generating, easing themselves, and so forth.

Then what kind of men they are when they are imperious and arrogant, or angry and scolding from their elevated place.

But a short time ago to how many they were slaves and for what things; and after a little time consider in what a condition they will be.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.19 (tr Long)

I was often told, and I will still sometimes make use of the trick, that if I feel intimated speaking to a crowd, I should just imagine the audience sitting in their underwear. It is a great equalizer.

My great-grandfather liked to say that any man, however rich or fancy, still had to put his pants on in exactly the same way, one leg at a time. It is a great equalizer.

A rather eccentric friend of mine, whose crazy antics bordered on offensive performance art, once stood around in the toilet paper section of a local grocery store, and waited for all the yuppies and revered citizens to pick out their brand.

“Does this one work best for you?” he would ask quite loudly. “Can you tell my why it’s better?” Once again, though I cringed when he did things like this, it is a great equalizer.

To whatever degree I wish to take it, to consider that all of us share the exact same human functions, from the most noble to the most base, will help me to recall that no man is really more worthy than me, and that I am really no more worthy than any man.

It is easy to feel intimidated by the illusion of power and greatness, though just as easy to smile at all the rather crude but necessary aspects of our lives. Keeping in mind the latter helps us to brush aside the vanity of the former.

I don’t imagine my own generation was really better or worse than any other, but I did notice how we had quite the division between the ways we behaved around one set of people, and then the ways we behaved around another set of people.

We dressed up real nice, put on fancy airs, and presented ourselves as bright, charming, and confident when we wanted a good grade, or a better job, or a professional favor. As soon as we were away from all that shallow posturing, we stuffed our faces with food, drank to excess, gratified our passions in front of others at parties, and defecated on the neighbor’s doorstep.

That taught me to look behind the public mask, to become aware that so much of how we lived was a game of deception. I will still occasionally see photos of people I knew in college, posing for an award, or smiling to promote whatever product they now sell. All of it is to insist that they have arrived, that they matter, that they are so hugely important and successful.

Still, I also remember seeing them try to cheat on their girlfriends in the back of filthy cars, making excuses for why they were too drunk to finish the job. I remember them doing lines off of toilet seats, at seedy bars, the very sight of which would have made their mothers cry. I remember some of the smartest and most vocal Catholic students I knew back then, vomiting all over their dorm rooms. 

They now tell me that my alma mater is rated 43rd in the country, and how proud I should be. I am not proud at all, because I saw it from both ends, both as a student and as a teacher. The entire house of cards is built on the presumption that greatness is in how we make ourselves come across to others, not in how we actually live. It is about the constant lie that merit lies in our outer appearance, not in our inner character.

As long as I can resist resentment on my part, I can also use this as a lesson for my own struggles. Once I see another promoting his image, I can turn to the rather shameful reality. Once I am tempted to promote my own image, I can turn to the rather shameful reality.

The next time you find someone marching down the street, like some great Roman general puffed up with his own pride, keep in mind that all of his strengths stand together with all of his weaknesses, that all of his public glory is a veneer for all of his private embarrassments.

It is a great equalizer.

10.20

That is for the good of each thing, which the Universal Nature brings to each.

And it is for its good at the time when Nature brings it.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.20 (tr Long)

“But it wasn’t supposed to happen this way!”

I said that whenever people I loved chose not to love me in return, but I was confusing what I wanted to happen with whatever was going to happen. My own choice to love was my own, and that was what I brought to the table. The choice of others to dispose of me was their own, and that was what they didn’t bring to the table.

My wife said that to me when we lost almost everything we had in this world, beyond our own humble dignity, but she was confusing what we thought we deserved with what other people were willing to give us. Our commitment came from us. That other people looked away came from them.

My son said that when he was ripped away from a school that practiced compassion, and sadly forced into a school full of bullies, but he was confusing how he treated others with how he wished to be treated. This one was the most difficult and painful, because he was hardly old enough to even judge for himself. Still, he came to see that he was made to be kind. He should not require to be treated kindly.

It was easier for me to learn this, far harder for me to ask my wife to accept it, and an absolute torture for me to ask my son to learn it. I could rule myself, but I neither could, nor should, rule them. I was grateful that we stuck it out together, and that we suffered through it together, and that we learned to live a better life together.

I have often felt quite disappointed with what life has offered me, and once I had a family to care for, I often felt like I had failed them. I never had enough money to make their lives more comfortable, and I never had enough power to make their lives easier. I dragged a fine woman into even more suffering than she had already been through, and I brought children into this world with no means to make them to be people of importance. This worry will gnaw at me to my dying day.

My only possible consolation is expressed in what Marcus Aurelius tells me here. How have I defined success for myself, or for my wife, or for my children? Things will happen, and they are usually quite beyond my own power. Being rich, or influential, or respected has little to do with me, and most everything to do with the opinions of others. I did not decide it, but I can decide what I will make of it.

What is the only legacy I can leave for my family? Not that hard work will make you rich, because it won’t. Not that sucking up to other people will make you popular, because it won’t. Only that whatever may come to us, and however it may come to us, it is the wisdom and virtue by which we choose to live for ourselves that will matter.

“Only losers say that!” I hear you snicker. No, define your terms. I think that only the real winners say that life should first be loving and beautiful.

It is not only a matter of accepting all the things that happen, but also a matter of seeing the good in all the things that happen. Many modern “Stoics” like the self-sufficiency part, but they reject the Providence part; they are missing a necessary half of the picture. It is not only that things may happen to us that are painful, but coming to embrace that they are meant to be good for us.

If Providence, the very order behind Nature itself, intends for it to occur, it should occur. May events take my prosperity, or my security, or my comfort? Yes, yes, and yes.

Will they take my character? Hell no, not if I refuse to let them do so. It was meant to be from the very beginning, for many reasons, but in a very small part so that I could choose to become better; so that all of us could choose to become better.

“Why this? Why now?” Don’t ask that. Ask rather, what was I made for to do with this, at this point right now?

I never gave my family the comfort of fancy circumstances. All I ever offered them was the comfort of seeking wisdom and love.

10.21

"The earth loves the rain;" and "the solemn ether loves;" and the Universe loves to make whatever is about to be.

I say then to the Universe, that I love as you love. And is not this too said that what "this or that loves is wont to be produced?”

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.21 (tr Long)

Sometimes I want to experience a change, because I am somehow convinced that it will be better for me. I desire something new, because I am tired or disappointed with what is old.

Sometimes I resist any change at all, because I am somehow comfortable that what I now have is better for me. I cling to what is old, because I fear the possibility of what is new.

They say that liberals want to start all over again, and that conservatives want to keep it all the same. I have never succumbed to either extreme, but I have always appreciated the old joke, that some people want to continue with the same old mistakes, while other people want to replace them with entirely new ones.

Yet I think that the Stoic, and any man who respects Nature for her own sake, will also respect change for its own sake, as an expression of the very ebb and flow of things. It should hardly matter to me at all whether a change improves or degrades my circumstances; not any one circumstance, new or old, is either of benefit or of harm to me. The old and the new should both be indifferent in my estimation; the content of my character is what should matter to me.

The mistakes don’t come from things changing or not changing, but from my own choice to be virtuous or vicious.

Through it all, Nature delights in all sorts of change, and as soon as one state has come to be, it will flow into another. Let me not love what I happen to prefer above all else, but let me love what Providence intends, knowing full well that constant action and reaction, unending transformation, is the order of all being.

There is no possibility of keeping it in this way, or of improving it in another way. What it was, and what it will be, necessarily go together. One requires the other, and one proceeds from the other.

“I want to keep it this way.” Well, I can’t, because nothing in creation stays the same. Life is a process, not a state.

“I want it to be another way.” Well, it will be, but it won’t stay that way. Life is a process, not a state.

Do not fix it in amber. The rain will fall, and the Universe will always be moving. If I decide to love what Nature loves, I will embrace that with all of my heart and mind, happy to see things unfolding as they should. In this manner, I will know my place.

10.22

Either you live here and have already accustomed yourself to it, or you are going away, and this was your own will, or you are dying, and have discharged your duty.

But besides these things there is nothing. Be of good cheer, then.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.22 (tr Long)

Somewhere back in the 1980’s I recall being told, by certain important people, that how I lived should be determined by “where I was at”. Everything was relative, and should be measured by what was most gratifying and convenient at the time.

That phrase would drive my mother crazy, a symptom of what she called the “self-serving generation”. Friends? Sure, but only if they are helping me to be where I am at right now. Marriage? I’m getting all the sex I want, so that’s not where I am at right now. Children? A bit inconvenient for where I am at right now, but maybe later that could be fun. A fancy career? Yes, said most of my peers, that’s exactly where I am at right now!

I once introduced my mother to a free-spirited girl I fancied, and, with just enough of a hint of dry humor, she asked: “Now is my son just another plaything for you, or are you going to respect him? Or is that not where you’re at right now?” Ouch.

The young lady pouted indignantly, and dramatically tossed her long, curly black hair. “I love him!” She had me with the passionate eyes. A year later, I wasn’t even getting a Christmas card. Don’t you hate it when Mom’s right?

My mother’s doubts about a culture of immediate satisfaction would only frustrate me all the more. I insisted she was wrong, and that however much we all had to ultimately figure out, we would all somehow make it work.

She was quite right, however, not because people can’t learn and grow, but because some people don’t really want to become better. They only want their own instant pleasures, wherever they are at, right then and there. They are different people at different times, depending upon what tickles their fancy.

All of us will pass from childhood, to adulthood, and into old age. For all of the stages of our lives, all of the choices we will have to make, and all of the obstacles we will have to face, there are really only three proper moral “states” we can be in.

First, we have learned what it means to be truly human, and we are at peace with how we are living. We embrace temperance and justice. It’s about being here.

Second, we are faced with an overwhelming obstacle, and we are freely willing to offer ourselves for what is right. We embrace courage. It’s about going away.

Third, we are certain of our final end, and we are satisfied to die with dignity. We embrace the wisdom of acceptance. It’s about being done.

What all three of these share in common is a commitment to character. There is a time to be content with our virtue, a time when virtue reminds us it is right to sacrifice and surrender, and a time when we must face our mortality with that very same virtue. In spite of everything else, there are no other times, and no other conditions that matter.

Now consider the options provided by the “where I am at” crowd. Satisfaction now. Run and hide when it gets tough. Never think about how it may end.

The wise man understands, in all peace, who he really is, and when he must stand up, and when he must go down.

This is why a good man is also a happy man, complete within himself. This is furthermore why the bad man is also an anxious man, waiting only for the next moment, in constant fear and longing. He is not one thing through and through, but many things at many moments.

10.23

Let this always be plain to you, that this piece of land is like any other; and that all things here are the same with things on the top of a mountain, or on the seashore, or wherever you choose to be.

For you will find just what Plato says, “Dwelling within the walls of a city as in a shepherd's fold on a mountain.”

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.23 (tr Long)

I have tried to be strong in the face of pain and adversity, and I have known that keeping my thoughts focused on the deepest and most unassailable truths would help me to do so.

As the years passed, Stoicism slowly became an indispensable tool in getting the job done. I don’t know how I would have been able to muddle through without Seneca, or Musonius Rufus, or Epictetus, or Marcus Aurelius helping me along. They became my most effective teachers, not only because they taught me about the principles of right and wrong, but also because they walked with me in the practice of living day by day.

There were many times I was sure that the worst was behind me, and that I had overcome the biggest obstacles. It was naïve of me to think so, because as long as there is life, there will be new challenges, and unexpected circumstances will come my way. One such situation I had not anticipated was the power of place.

I had long treated certain places with reverence, as having an almost sacred quality. This allowed me to use them as a refuge, not only in body but also in mind, so that the mere thought of them was often enough to offer the deepest comfort in times of trial. If I had nothing else, I thought, I still had the places I held dear.

But the mind can move in strange ways, and events can unfold in strange ways. Even as I may choose to think and act in one way, I can’t always determine how I will feel. Even though I may expect one thing to happen, something very different can happen.

I began to notice that some of the comfortable places were gradually becoming quite painful to endure, and that some things had happened that made them quite dangerous for me. The haunts of my childhood and youth, so immediately part of who I thought I was, now had a whole new set of agonizing memories attached to them. The places where I had struggled to learn, and scrambled to grow up, now seemed cold and alien. I kept running into people I knew I should not be around, because they encouraged the worst in me.

Most of all, the very home and neighborhood I had spent so many years in were now a source of the greatest sadness and anxiety. At first I wanted to blame someone else for this, but I came to admit that it was only my own weakness that made it so unbearable. A drunk should probably avoiding hanging out at a distillery, and a troubled soul should probably stay clear of the temptations of despair.

At first, I resented being an exile. With time, though my pain never really lessened, I started to understand that the place does not make the man, but the man makes the place. This should have been clear to me much earlier, of course, because Stoicism stresses the merits of character over the forces of circumstance. I could still, in any location or situation, choose to be happy with my own worth.

Yes, I will still feel troubled, and I will have many sleepless nights, and I will be gnawed at by a sense of loneliness and isolation, but what I am working toward is the improvement of my own soul, regardless of the places I may find myself in.

10.24

What is my ruling faculty now to me? And of what nature am I now making it? And for what purpose am I now using it?

Is it void of understanding? Is it loosed and rent asunder from social life? Is it melted into and mixed with the poor flesh so as to move together with it?

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.24 (tr Long)

I had a teacher who liked to joke that for a species that calls itself homo sapiens, we don’t seem to do a whole lot of thinking, and when we do, it is usually ruled by something else. I chuckled every time, but most of the people around me looked puzzled.

It may seem odd that we are given the power of reason and then choose not to use it well, but of course that very decision to abuse free judgment is itself a free judgment.

It is within the very nature of man to understand himself and his world, and he is therefore also quite able to turn his back on understanding himself and his world. Give a being a mind, by which it can act from its own awareness, and you have also given it a will, by which it can prefer not to be mindful.

Instead of the mind and the will directing the body and the passions, we often allow the body and the passions to dominate the mind and the will. Ironically, we choose not to choose for ourselves, and we thereby freely make ourselves slaves to our circumstances.

I am often saddened when I see how we neglect the power of our own minds, not because we are failing to be clever and witty academics, but rather because we are abandoning our very humanity. Notice how often we are tempted to only feel without reflection, to decide without a measure of meaning, or to act without a sense of greater purpose. We can leave the scholarship to the scholars, but we need to keep a hold of that which makes us different from the beasts.

So I make a deliberate choice, each and every morning when I wake, to remind myself that I am not defined by the strength of my body, or by the weight of my emotions, or by the breadth of my possessions, or by how much I can buy or sell.

I am not formed by what happens to me, or by how I appear, or by what titles and labels I give myself, or by whether I meet with the approval or disapproval of others.

I am rather defined by my ability to know and to love, to find happiness in what is true and good, to live simply for the sake of living with virtue, and to respect my place within the greater good of Nature.

I am formed by what I choose to think and do, by the power of my conscience, by the divine spark within me, and by my willingness to recognize that same divine spark in my neighbor.

All the rest is quite unimportant. The worth of my day will depend upon the depth of my commitment to these values.

10.25

He who flies from his master is a runaway; but the law is master, and he who breaks the law is a runaway.

And he also who is grieved, or angry, or afraid, is dissatisfied because something has been, or is, or shall be of the things which are appointed by Him who rules all things, and He is Law and assigns to every man what is fit.

He then who fears, or is grieved, or is angry is a runaway.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.25 (tr Long)

I remind myself every day that my happiness is found in how I choose to live, not in how others choose to live. Let me seek to love, and not demand to be loved. Let me make something happen, however small, and not be ruled by whatever happens, however big. Let me be measured by what I gave, not by what I received.

And still, my old habits will die hard. I will find myself slipping back into the old language, the old thinking, and the old resentments. I will see how hatefully, how selfishly, or just how carelessly others have acted, and I will feel like a victim. I will be overcome by despair, rage, and terror.

I am ashamed to admit that my frustration is really not the work of a decent man, but of a self-righteous man, one who expects the world to do what he wants. This is cowardice, not courage. When I lash out at others, I am not strong at all. I am weak. I cast blame, and I expect to be gratified.

My moral measure, my respect for law, is not a matter of just following this or that set of external rules. No, the law is something much deeper, the internal right and the wrong in the very nature of being human, itself a reflection of the law within all of Nature.

Whenever I begin to complain about the ways of the world, I am rejecting who I was made to be, in favor of what I demand should be done to me.

I am running away from myself, from my own responsibilities to myself to others, and I am ultimately blaming God, where I should only blame myself.

“I can’t believe in a God who allows people to suffer!”

Let me channel my best inner Epictetus: “Fool! You are allowed to suffer so that you may become better! Slave! You let the evil of others rule you, when you were made to be your own master!”

I once impishly tricked a whole class into thinking that was a real quote from the Enchiridion, and they threw pencils and balls of paper at me when they couldn’t find it anywhere in the text. Good times!

There are the times I need to treat myself with a greater gentleness, and then there are the times I need to slap myself quite firmly in the face. As soon as I let my fear, or my grief, or my anger get the better of me, I am a runaway.

My own mind only works rightly when it is in harmony with Mind. Allow it to occur as it is meant to occur, and please accept my own best actions to be my own best answer.

“I am shocked, offended, and outraged at your thinking!” I should stop saying that whenever I see something I do not prefer. I should fix myself, since that is my proper domain.

10.26

A man deposits seed in a womb and goes away, and then another cause takes it and labors on it, and makes a child. What a thing from such a material!

Again, the child passes food down through the throat, and then another cause takes it and makes perception and motion, and finally life and strength and other things; how many and how strange!

Observe then the things that are produced in such a hidden way, and see the power, just as we see the power that carries things downwards and upwards, not with the eyes, but still no less plainly.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.26 (tr Long)

There is not only one action over here, and another one over there, but all of them are joined together in a procession, for a greater purpose, connected like links in a chain, or strands in a web, or threads in a tapestry. If it is to happen, it will lead to something else, a further stage in a constant unfolding.

One thing falls, and another thing rises. One thing ends, and another thing begins. One thing moves, and it passes its motion onward, upward, and outward. It is not merely the one same event, again and again, but a whole evolution and cycle of different steps.

There need be no mystery in this. I can see it immediately in the most everyday of occurrences, even as each of them is quite profound. The change of the seasons, the coming and going of plants and animals, the motion in the stars, or the slow but steady alteration in the landscape reveals this to me in daily practice.

I am likewise never only seeing one man doing what he wants to do, but I then also see how his decisions influence so many other decisions, by so many other people. I think of ripples, or waves, or the patterns of the weather.

To think that my children arose from such basic bits and pieces! To think that they grew from helpless infants into such complex thinking and feeling creatures! To think that I myself came about in one way, struggled and coped in another way, and will soon die and be transformed in yet another way, is a wonderful and miraculous thing!

What is clear through my senses should also inspire me to probe more deeply with my mind. As it is with all of the parts, so it is with the whole. Each individual nature follows the greater pattern of Universal Nature.

When I can directly see what has taken place, I can also know that none of it is in vain. It is driven by purpose, by design, and by Mind. For every little piece I can apprehend right in front of me, I can also delve into the deeper pattern. I can understand the causes through the evidence of the effects.

I accept that this is an aspect of Classical Stoicism now quite out of favor. I leave the thinking of others to them, but I must take responsibility for my own thinking. I find that I can only make sense of my own existence within the harmony of all Existence. I choose to begin with myself, but I do not end with myself.

I look at what is clear to me, and I then consider how the bigger picture is no less clear to me as a consequence. That I am a single brushstroke only makes sense in the context of the complete painting.

A dear friend of mine once asked me, in a very serious moment, if I thought her life would ever really matter. We always shared a certain sense of doubt and sadness together.

“It already does matter,” I replied. It was my turn to carry both of us for the moment.

“Well, I don’t see it! No one else sees it, either! No one notices!”

“I notice, but that’s neither here nor there. It doesn’t need to be noticed to be important. People may not look at it in the right manner, or in the deepest way they probably should, but it doesn’t make anything less important.”

“I hope you’re right!”

“I know it’s right.” I don’t think I ever uttered such words of confidence with more conviction.

10.27

Constantly consider how all things such as they now are, in time past also were; and consider that they will be the same again.

And place before your eyes entire dramas and stages of the same form, whatever you have learned from your experience or from older history: for example, the whole court of Hadrianus, and the whole court of Antoninus, and the whole court of Philippus, Alexander, Croesus.

For all those were such dramas as we see now, only with different actors.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.27 (tr Long)

It is helpful to remember that even as things are always in motion, they will follow the same pattern, the same cycle; each instance, in whatever time, place, or circumstance, will reflect a common and binding order.

Whether it is from the past or in the present, under one set of accidents or another, or viewed from this or that cultural perspective, Nature expresses herself according to a shared design. Good men remain good men for the same reasons, and vicious men remain vicious men for the same reasons; their thinking and actions will follow a certain form. Deception still flies in the face of honesty, selfishness still clashes with fairness, and hatred still opposes love. The trends of the hour pass, and yet character stands firm.

This is one reason why both our own personal experiences and the greater flow of human history have so much to teach us. Quite similar motives, conflicts, and resolutions will play themselves out, over and over. When time is joined to insight, we can begin to see how the more it is different, the more it stays the same.

It is hardly that being old, or having read many books, will necessarily make us wise, even as age and learning can be of great assistance in becoming wise. Literature, and drama, and all forms of art can also help us do much the same, because they point to universal truths of the human condition. History may seem to be dead and obsolete, and a poem or a play may appear stale and stuffy, but behind the unfamiliar first impressions we discover a mirroring of our own faces.

I have heard foolish people, both young and old, insist that they are interested only in the now, and only in their own concerns, while I have heard wise people, both young and old, recognize that the now is only intelligible through the then, and their own concerns are only meaningful through those of others.

While some see only the change itself, others discern the foundations beneath the change. Only the faces and the settings will vary, as the twists and turns of the plot remain remarkably familiar.

I have been most gratified as a teacher when a young person suddenly says something like “Why are we still as stubborn as Achilles?” or “I can relate to how guilt is eating away at Raskolnikov!” or “You’re just a regular Atticus Finch, aren’t you?” It shows me that they are starting to bring it all together, to find that common thread of right and wrong.

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.

10.28.2

. . . Like this pig also is he who on his bed in silence laments the bonds in which we are held.

And consider that only to the rational animal is it given to follow voluntarily what happens; but simply to follow is a necessity imposed on all.

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

As I am so prone to do, I will then swing myself to the completely opposite extreme. Having learned that I cannot control what the world will do to me, I proceed to surrender completely. I will just lie down, I will mope, and I will feel sorry for myself. I will turn from anger to despair. Where there was once resentment, there is now only melancholy.

I am missing something in between. To know that my actions will not determine my circumstances does not mean that my actions are without meaning and purpose. It is not about lacking any power, but rather about deciding toward what end I should commit my power.

I still have the same freedom of choice that I always thought I had. The only difference lies in whether my thinking and doing are vainly focused on changing God, on fixing others, and on determining the order of Nature, or are rightly directed at changing, fixing, and determining myself.

The trick isn’t in fretting and fussing, and it isn’t in moaning and crying. It isn’t even in some vague conception that a mysterious “Nature” intended it all. It is in considering the very identity that makes me human. To be given reason and free will means that I can choose to go with things, not simply be swept along by things. To go with them is certainly to accept them for what they are, and then further to make the most of what they are, to see how they can help me to become wiser and better.

Can fate help me to understand? Can fate help me to love? It most certainly can. It is precisely at those moments, when I realize I am not the center of the Universe, that I can choose to participate, not to dominate. I become most fully myself by giving of myself instead of receiving for myself.

Back when I tried to work for Catholic social services, we had a fellow who would show up regularly for our weekly dinner. The point was to welcome anyone and everyone, but most people just thought he was crazy. Even if it was true, I have never thought a person’s burdens as an impediment to my showing kindness and concern, and I would deliberately choose to speak with him each time.

I often had no idea what he was talking about, though I tried to listen. One day, he said something that really stuck with me. I have removed the constant cursing so as not to offend:

So all those dudes who run things, well they tell you, “My way or the highway!” And you know what I say? They don’t listen, but I still say it. We’re all on the same highway, and we all have to ride it. But some guys drive nice, and other guys try to force you off the road!

Now who says philosophy is only for the scholars? Better that it be for the rest of us, the ones who live and die before they preen and posture.

What will happen along the path is not for me to decide. How I comport myself along the path, as one who chooses love over hate, is certainly for me to decide.

Will the path take me to the slaughterhouse? I will choose not to squeal, and I will choose not to sulk. I will be the best that pig I can be.

10.29

Regularly, on the occasion of everything that you do, pause and ask yourself if death is a dreadful thing because it deprives you of this.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.29 (tr Long)

This is a mighty and powerful test. I challenge myself with it every day, and I offer it to others if they are willing to listen. I see it as working on two complementary levels, from the perspective of my own actions, and from the perspective of my own mortality.

What is it that I want, at any given moment? If I desire something later, or down the line, or as a long-term investment, it may well be something I very much prefer, but it will hardly be something that I need. I will only begin to think in terms of building up my life to something worthy when I assume that my life is dignified by gaining future pleasure, wealth, honor, or possessions.  

If, however, I am first concerned with living according to virtue, I require none of the leverage or planning. I can do that right now. No conditions are attached, and there are no entry fees. Nothing is required but my own informed choice, no bells and whistles. There is no need to look to the future, since the reward is immediate.

What is it that may happen to me, at any given moment? Everything I own could fall away, anyone I care for might reject me, and my very life itself could end in an instant. If tomorrow is hardly guaranteed, why can’t today be enough? If I am sacrificing my character now for a profit later, there will be neither character nor profit at all.

This hit me like a ton of bricks one day, when I realized I needed to do the right things, right now. I needed to make my peace with others, right now, and I needed to let those I loved know how much I loved them, right now. Some understood, but others just laughed and shook their heads. No matter. I did my bit.

Here’s my simple version:

Is what I am doing at this precise moment sufficient to make me a good man, and therefore a happy man?

If I were to die right here and now, would I still be a good man, and therefore a happy man?

If the answer to either question is negative, my life is quite out of balance.

“But surely I need to plan for my future, so I can get what I want!”

Well, that depends on what you really want. Your financial investments may not mature for many years, and your plans to get the corner office may take you some time, and plenty of scheming. Your current ability to practice justice and compassion, however, demands nothing beyond your immediate conviction.

10.30

When you are offended at any man's fault, forthwith turn to yourself and reflect in what like manner you do err yourself; for example, in thinking that money is a good thing, or pleasure, or a bit of reputation, and the like.

For by attending to this you will quickly forget your anger, if this consideration also is added, that the man is compelled: for what else could he do? Or, if you are able, take away from him the compulsion.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.30 (tr Long)

One of the most rewarding aspects of struggling to practice Stoicism has been learning some compassion. This is, at least for me, a necessary component of Stoic living, because I cannot bring myself to say that I love Nature if I do not also love my neighbor. He is a very part of the whole, no less important than any other part.

I will still find myself itching for a fight when I see people brazenly doing wrong. I will sometimes fail to resist that longing, but I then know full well that I need to make right what I have done wrong. There, I think, is the key: let me look to my own failings before I lash out at those of others. I can certainly know that they do wrong, but this does not justify my own doing wrong. “Physician, heal yourself!”

Just the other day, I shared an idea with some colleagues, and one of them immediately dismissed it. “Well,” he said, “we all know that’s a load of nonsense, so let’s not waste our time on it.” He snickered and rolled his eyes. There was a wave of chuckling in the room. Oh, how my passions welled up inside me! How dare he treat me that way!

And in that brief moment before my Irish temper kicked in, I took a deep breath. Now how often have I also cast someone else aside, or rejected his thoughts and feelings, or treated him like garbage? Did I ever become any better when someone treated me poorly in return for my own mistakes?

“Forgive them, for they know not what they do!” That’s really what it’s all about. They think they are doing right, however mistaken they may be in their judgments. I have often been mistaken in my own judgments as well. I may see a big pile of money, for example, and long for it, but only because I believe that to be something desirable. We’ve all had that immediate feeling. We are moved by our own estimation.

So instead of dismissing others, let me correct my own estimation first. If it is at all possible, let me then help others to correct their own estimations as well. But let me begin with myself. What good comes from meeting ignorance with ignorance, hatred with hatred, or violence with violence?

Those mountains of cash, or the parades of honor, or the bundles of pleasure call to them, since that is all they know. If I know better, I will not throw away my own virtue to grow angry at their vices.

10.31

When you have seen Satyron the Socratic, think of either Eutyches or Hymen, and when you have seen Euphrates, think of Eutychion or Silvanus, and when you have seen Alciphron think of Tropaeophorus, and when you have seen Xenophon, think of Crito or Severus, and when you have looked on yourself, think of any other Caesar, and in the case of every one do in like manner.

Then let this thought be in your mind: where then are those men? Nowhere, or nobody knows where.

For thus continuously you will look at human things as smoke and nothing at all; especially if you reflect at the same time that what has once changed will never exist again in the infinite duration of time.

But you, in what a brief space of time is your existence? And why are you not content to pass through this short time in an orderly way?

What matter and opportunity for your activity are you avoiding? For what else are all these things, except exercises for the reason, when it has viewed carefully, and by examination, into their nature the things that happen in life?

Persevere then until you shall have made these things your own, as the stomach that is strengthened makes all things its own, as the blazing fire makes flame and brightness out of everything that is thrown into it.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.31 (tr Long)

How strange that we so value the things outside of us, when the aspects of life that are the most important are already inside of us. To learn this is a hardship for some, but a relief for others.

I am tempted to gain more for myself, even as I already possess everything I need within myself. It has all been given, and requires only to be nurtured. My mistaken assumption has long been that I become better, stronger, and happier when I increase my wealth, my pleasure, and my reputation; what I have overlooked is that I rather become better, stronger, and happier when I increase my wisdom, my virtue, and my character.

To shift my sense of priority cannot be merely cosmetic. It must be a radical transformation, not one that runs after something completely new, but rather one that rediscovers something I have sadly forgotten, the timeless dignity and beauty of our very human nature.

It hardly matters if we use Marcus Aurelius’ list of important people, or a more contemporary catalog of wheelers and dealers, because the point behind it all is that the fame and influence of this or that person is hardly so great at all.

It may seem odd to speak of just another great philosopher, or just another emperor, or just another millionaire, but in the end such attributes really add nothing to their humanity. The fame will soon fade. The influence will slip away. The life itself will be gone within an instant. What, then, could be left that makes that life worth living?

If I am committed to making my indelible mark for others to see, I will be sure to fail. If, however, I am only committed to making my thoughts and actions my own, I am certain to succeed. Even as all things in life are fleeting, my own dedication to the good within my soul remains distinctly mine. How long it lasts and how impressive it appears are quite secondary to how well it is lived.

All of these impressions and circumstances are not what make me, though I can still make much of them, in order to make something of myself. I do not need to let myself be diverted, or make excuses, or insist that the task is too difficult. All of the things that happen, however they may happen, are opportunities for me to know what is true and to love what is good. It’s as simple as that, and where I have not acted with wisdom and virtue, there any other apparent achievements have been for nothing.

The events of this life, whether they make us richer or poorer, loved or hated, pleasured or pained, are just there for us to improve our understanding and character. As the body consumes food to make itself stronger and healthier, or a fire consumes fuel to make itself hotter and brighter, so the mind consumes fortune to make itself wiser and better.

The good soul transforms whatever it comes in contact with, and makes it its own, not by claiming ownership or dominance over it, but by meeting it with an awareness of purpose and a sense of acceptance.

10.32

Let it not be in any man's power to say truly of you that you are not simple or that you are not good, but let him be a liar whoever shall think anything of this kind about you; and this is altogether in your power.

For who is he that shall hinder you from being good and simple? Do you only determine to live no longer unless you shall be such. For neither does reason allow you to live, if you are not such.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.32 (tr Long)

We find it so easy to condemn others, even as we find it so hard to be condemned by others. We feel powerful when we dismiss, and we feel weak when we are dismissed. Malice is gratifying when given, though quite agonizing when received.

It is helpful to remember that we should hardly wish to treat others as we would not wish to be treated, and on another level it is also helpful to remember that the pain we inflict when we denounce, and the pain we suffer when we are denounced, are both symptoms of a flawed sense of human merit.

I do not make another better or worse at all by what I think and say of him, and another does make me better or worse at all by what he thinks and says of me. Both of us are better or worse by the virtue and vice within us, not from any estimation outside of us.

I only mistakenly think that my judgments can hurt my neighbor, or that my neighbor’s judgments can hurt me, if I reduce the dignity and worth of people to mere appearances. We are really quite weak within ourselves when we feel the need to put others down in order to raise ourselves up. We are far better served by improving our own character, regardless of what others may think or say.

I have often let myself be laid low by the poor opinion of others, and this has been even harder when it has come from people I thought I could trust, or when an attack is aimed straight at my own sense of right and wrong. Still, I am the one who decides how well or how poorly I will choose to live. My own thinking is in charge here, not the thinking of another.

Let me listen to others, let me learn from others, and let me be open to the perspectives of others, but let me remain my own master. We should believe things because they are true, not assume that they are true just because they are believed. If I choose to follow a life that is simple and good, and if I do so with a sincere and informed conscience, then my actions will speak for themselves. How others may speak does not determine me, since who I am proceeds from me.

In my worse times, I have thought that my life is no longer worth living when others have cast me aside. In my better times, I have come to understand that only I can cast myself aside. My life is worth living as long as I can practice being decent and just, and I have only wasted my life when I have abandoned that measure of my humanity.

10.33.1

What is that which, as to this material of our life, can be done or said in the way most conformable to reason? For whatever this may be, it is in your power to do it or to say it, and do not make excuses that you are hindered.

You will not cease to lament until your mind is in such a condition that what luxury is to those who enjoy pleasure, such shall be to you, in the matter which is subjected and presented to you, the doing of the things which are conformable to man's constitution; for a man ought to consider as an enjoyment everything which it is in his power to do according to his own nature.

And it is in his power everywhere. Now, it is not given to a cylinder to move everywhere by its own motion, nor yet to water nor to fire, nor to anything else which is governed by Nature or an irrational soul, for the things that check them and stand in the way are many.

But intelligence and reason are able to go through everything that opposes them, and in such manner as they are formed by Nature and as they choose. . . .

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.33 (tr Long)

Life may appear to be a constant conflict with the world, the struggle to conquer ever more threatening circumstances, an uncertainty about what may or may not come to us. So we live with a crippling anxiety, quite convinced that if we don’t pull the strings just the right way, all of our achievements will be swept away.

Yet the only real opposition I will ever face is from within myself, and it is within my power to rule myself, if only I so choose. A life that follows from understanding, that is in harmony with Nature, and that proceeds from the merit of my own thoughts and deeds, will never have to depend on defeating anyone or anything else. There is nothing that can take my peace and joy away from me, so there is never any reason to blame anyone or anything else.

Some may view Stoicism as a sort of begrudging acceptance, swallowing all the loss and pain, and then simply bearing it with a tough demeanor. This attitude states that I must be miserable, but I should at least be a man about it. I must be proper, even if I’m not going to enjoy it. I have, however, chosen not to see Stoicism in this way.

Being a good man and being happy are not in conflict, but are rather one and the same. Practicing virtue and finding contentment in it are not opposed, but are rather complementary.

This is why Marcus Aurelius suggests that a good man will find the greatest enjoyment in living well, replacing only the outer gratification of the pleasure seeker with the satisfaction of his inner character. I can certainly still expect to enjoy life to the fullest, as long as I am seeking the right things.

This is only possible because of my very nature as a human being. Some creatures, those that are completely inanimate, will only be moved about by what acts upon them. Other creatures, those with sensation and instinct, will move in response to what acts upon them. Yet only creatures gifted with reason can rise above what acts upon them.

Because I can think for myself, and therefore choose for myself, no situation makes me who I am. I will make myself through my judgment of the situation. The very fulfillment of who I am follows directly from what I decide to do with myself.

There are no insurmountable barriers. If human nature is defined by the worth of its own actions, then no events can ever hinder it from choosing, as long it still has the power to choose. This will only make sense when I consider myself in an active sense, not in a passive sense.

“But it hurts!” Yes, it does indeed. Find your pleasure within your own excellence, and then the other pain becomes quite manageable.

“But I am discouraged!” Of course you are. Change the thinking about what you value, and the discouragement will pass.

“But I can’t manage the pressure!” Who told you that you couldn’t? Only those who rely on something other than themselves cannot be happy with themselves.

10.33.2

. . . Place before your eyes this facility with which the reason will be carried through all things, as fire upwards, as a stone downwards, as a cylinder down an inclined surface, and seek for nothing further. For all other obstacles either affect the body only, which is a dead thing, or, except through opinion and the yielding of the reason itself, they do not crush nor do any harm of any kind; for if they did, he who felt it would immediately become bad.

Now, in the case of all things which have a certain constitution, whatever harm may happen to any of them, that which is so affected becomes consequently worse; but in the like case, a man becomes both better, if one may say so, and more worthy of praise by making a right use of these accidents.

And finally remember that nothing harms him who is really a citizen, which does not harm the state; nor yet does anything harm the state, which does not harm the order of law; and of these things that are called misfortunes not one harms law. What then does not harm law does not harm either the state or the citizen.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.33 (tr Long)

The Stoics would often distinguish between different degrees of being, the passive and the active, that which is simply acted upon, and that which is able to act for itself. Some things will only follow their nature in a necessary way, while other things will have the power to follow the guidance of their own reason and choice.

When fire burns, the heat must rise up. When a stone falls, its weight must move it down.

When a living thing acts through feeling or instinct, however, it begins to do more than be moved about, and it will increasingly respond and react of its own accord.

When a living thing further gifted with understanding acts, it determines itself most fully through its own judgment, and it will become the source of its own motion.

The more complete a creature is in its own nature, the more self-sufficient it becomes. The more self-sufficient it becomes, the more it participates in the perfection of pure action, of Universal Mind.

Throw water upon the flame, and the flame will be smothered. Apply pressure to the stone, and the stone will break. But add any force to a mind, and the mind does not need to surrender to that force. Mind does not merely yield, but is able to direct and transform. The body may suffer from external causes, but thought must not so suffer. The circumstances do not become a hindrance to it, and instead become an opportunity for it.

I do not need to become worse when my body is threatened, or coerced, or restricted. I retain the freedom to use these means to exercise the greatest freedom. Take this or that from me, and my estimation allows me to make more from less. Push me about in one way or another, and there are still no limitations on my ability to know and to love, to rule myself. I will only fail in the face of events if I choose to fail myself.

I think of all the obstacles I have faced, and I may wonder why I fell to some, and why I managed to overcome others. I think of people far better than me, and I am in awe at how they rose above their situations with such sterling character. The deciding factor was always one and the same, the willingness to accept what was beyond our power, and the commitment to master what was within our power.

The Universe follows an order and a purpose, the most profound of laws, and this expresses itself in the good for both the complete whole and for every individual part. Not any single occurrence exists separately from this law; the wisdom lies in recognizing how each piece plays its own distinct role.

The stone will rest upon the ground, and it will roll when it is pushed. I, on the other hand, will come and go in a way that I decide. My place is not to manage how anything else goes about its business, but it is to manage how I go about my own business.

10.34

To him who is penetrated by true principles even the briefest precept is sufficient, and any common precept, to remind him that he should be free from grief and fear. For example:

"Leaves, some the wind scatters on the ground—

So is the race of men."

Leaves, also, are your children; and leaves, too, are they who cry out as if they were worthy of credit and bestow their praise, or on the contrary curse, or secretly blame and sneer; and leaves, in like manner, are those who shall receive and transmit a man's fame to after-times.

For all such things as these "are produced in the season of spring," as the poet says; then the wind casts them down; then the forest produces other leaves in their places.

But a brief existence is common to all things, and yet you avoid and pursue all things as if they would be eternal. A little time, and you shall close your eyes; and him who has attended you to your grave another soon will lament.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.34 (tr Long)

I have often made use of many different clever expressions, or lines of poetry, or words from a song to help me along my way. For many years, I would recite bits of Rudyard Kipling’s “If—“ to myself whenever I felt discouraged by this whole life seeming wasted:

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster,

And treat those two impostors just the same . . .

I once worked with a woman, very kind and unassuming, who had a quirky and inspiring personal habit. It took me many months to really figure out what she was even doing, because she did it so quietly. Whenever she felt anxious or frustrated, she would softly whistle the tune to “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas:

Now, don't hang on,

Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.

It slips away,

And all your money won't another minute buy.

My own family, as I often recount, would of course regularly say things like “they already have their reward,” or “this too shall pass,” or “the pendulum swings”, or “if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.”

There’s a perfectly good reason there are so many sayings to help us remember that life is fragile and fleeting, precisely because we need to be reminded of this fact again and again, whenever we make the forces in the world too big, or whenever we make ourselves too big. We need to regain a proper perspective, whenever we confuse something that comes and goes in an instant with something that lasts forever.

The words can be as noble as those of Homer, or they can be as mundane as those of Bill Murray in Meatballs: “It just doesn’t matter!” They can be a ready aid in not being intimidated by the posturing of self-important people, and a ready cure for not becoming that way within ourselves.

One of things I miss the most from my old home up in Boston is the weather. Yes, that gets a good laugh every time, because who would want all of that craziness? I actually appreciated at least some of that craziness, in that well-defined seasons can provide a reassurance that however much I like or dislike something, it will be different tomorrow. New will replace old, and the new will in turn likewise become old. It all comes around again.

The leaves changing color, and then falling, and then being swept about by the wind were especially beautiful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was terrible natural disaster, where everything ended up freezing and dying.

And yet it started all over again. If I can only attend to this rightly, the changes of the seasons themselves can speak to me like some comforting lines of poetry.

10.35

The healthy eye ought to see all visible things and not to say, I wish for green things; for this is the condition of a diseased eye.

And the healthy hearing and smelling ought to be ready to perceive all that can be heard and smelled.

And the healthy stomach ought to be with respect to all food just as the mill with respect to all things that it is formed to grind.

And accordingly the healthy understanding ought to be prepared for everything that happens; but that which says, let my dear children live, and let all men praise whatever I may do, is an eye that seeks for green things, or teeth that seek for soft things.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.35 (tr Long)

The eye, the ear, the nose, and the stomach are hardly healthy if they only receive what is pleasant to them. So too, a mind is hardly healthy if it only receives what is pleasant to it.

One of the trials of parenthood is feeding children. I don’t just mean putting food on the table, which for some of us can be quite a trial in itself, but rather giving them the food they happen to enjoy.

“I’m starving! Is there any food in the house?”

If you are trying to raise children, you know exactly where this is going.

“Yes, there’s milk in the refrigerator, and a fresh loaf of bread in the breadbox, and there’s plenty left over from that nice tuna casserole your mother made for us last night.”

Their eyes glaze over. “I don’t want that. I’m still starving!” There will soon be whining and stomping.

Suddenly, all those phrases your own parents used on you, all of those years ago, spring into your mind, and you immediately respect your own parents more than you ever have:

“No, you’re not starving, you’re just bored.”

“If you’re really hungry, you’ll eat what we have, and you’ll be grateful for it.”

“Let me tell you that story about your grandmother, who was really starving when the Nazis. . . “

There are many images that disturb me, like seeing a crying child, or a hopeless person sleeping on the street. There are many sounds that frighten me, like having to listen to the Backstreet Boys, or that pop of gunfire. There are many smells that disgust me, like boiled Brussels sprouts, or the stench of something dying.

And there are many thoughts that I simply do not wish to face. I prefer running away from them, because they are just too uncomfortable. I look into my own mind, and I see deception, betrayal, or indifference. The worst bit isn’t when it was someone else’s deception, betrayal, or indifference, but when it was actually just my own.

Eyes are made to see all colors. Ears are made to hear all sounds. Noses are made to smell all odors. Minds are made to accept, and to find meaning within, all circumstances. Hiding from any of them never makes them go away. Hiding from life never makes it any better. Coming to the right terms with whatever may happen is all that can make it better.

Have I only wanted life where there is death? I do not understand. Have I only wanted fortune where there is poverty? I do not understand. Have I only wanted fame where there is ridicule? I do not understand.

10.36

There is no man so fortunate that there shall not be by him when he is dying some who are pleased with what is going to happen. Suppose that he was a good and wise man, will there not be at least some one to say to himself, “Let us at last breathe freely, being relieved from this schoolmaster? It is true that he was harsh to none of us, but I perceived that he tacitly condemns us.” This is what is said of a good man.

But in our own case how many other things are there for which there are many who wish to get rid of us? You will consider this, then, when you are dying, and will depart more contentedly by reflecting thus:

I am going away from such a life, in which even my associates in behalf of whom I have striven so much, prayed, and cared, themselves wish me to depart, hoping perchance to get some little advantage by it. Why then should a man cling to a longer stay here?

Do not, however, for this reason go away less kindly disposed to them, but preserving your own character, and friendly and benevolent and mild, and on the other hand not as if you were torn away; but as when a man dies a quiet death, the poor soul is easily separated from the body, such also ought your departure from men to be, for Nature united you to them and associated you.

But does she now dissolve the union? Well, I am separated as from kinsmen, not however dragged resisting, but without compulsion; for this, too, is one of the things according to Nature.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.36 (tr Long)

Two prints hold a place of special honor above my desk. The first is Jean-Leon Gerome’s Diogenes, where the radical Cynic philosopher sits in his barrel, lighting his lamp, surrounded by his canine friends.

The second is Eugene Delacroix’s Last Words of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, depicting the end of the great Stoic, surrounded by his mourning courtiers and fellow philosophers, and clutching the arm of a young man who seems hardly troubled at all, perhaps even cleverly pleased with himself.

I assume this somewhat smarmy fellow, appearing to stare straight out at the viewer, is Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius, who will now inherit all of his father’s power. History does not speak so well of the heir, however, who apparently did not inherit his father’s wisdom and character. Perhaps he sees only his own gain with his father gone.

Many assume that good men will, of course, be liked for being good. Yet they might just as well be hated for being good, or liked for being bad. Hard experience should teach us that character and esteem do not always go together.

Some of us may find friends who miss us when we die, but all of us surely have at least one Commodus, who is quite satisfied to see us go. Some of us will have a whole flock of such scavengers surrounding us, waiting for the opportunity to profit at our demise.

Why must there be such people? Because men will choose their own ways, and because virtue and vice will always stand in opposition to one another. Struggle to be as just, and as honest, and as kind to others as you can possibly be, and it is precisely those who are offended by justice, and honesty, and kindness who will think ill of you.

If this is what I must face, then I can find some contentment in being freed from such selfish and petty aspects of this life, for, as with all things Stoic, I should find peace in everything that comes and goes.

But my acceptance should not be mingled with any form of resentment. Let me not be too attached to the world, but let me also not hate it. When I face those who treat me as a friend, as well as those who treat me as an enemy, my calling still remains one and the same. Whoever crosses my path, and whatever I must endure, and however long it may last, my commitment is to giving love, not to winning fame and fortune.

There is no need for me to cling to the edge of the cliff, and no need for me to throw myself into the depths either. That a bond should naturally end is just as right as that it should naturally begin.

Cassius Dio reported that the last words of Marcus Aurelius were: “Look to the rising sun; for I am already setting.” What else need be said?

10.37

Accustom yourself as much as possible, on the occasion of anything being done by any person, to inquire with yourself: for what object is this man doing this?

But begin with yourself, and examine yourself first.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.37 (tr Long)

When I see what has been done, I will too often allow myself to be swept away by disappointment, rage, or despair. When I consider, however, why it was done, or under what sort of circumstances it came to be, it can suddenly become quite manageable. To comprehend something is not necessarily to excuse it, but to see it in its rightful place.

Has anyone ever told you how important you are, how you will always be loved without condition, or how nothing can stand in the way of your friendship? And have you then, perhaps at only a moment’s notice, not even been given the time of day?

Yes, that will hurt most mightily. There is no point in denying the effect emotions can have upon us, but it is far more helpful to remember the power we have over our own judgments.

For what reasons did people say and do these things? Somehow, they saw them as good. Ignorance calls for compassion, not for hatred, for the other and for the self. Have you and I ever been helped by being dismissed for our mistakes, or have we perhaps been helped by being understood?

Under the pressure of what situations did people say and do such things? They were so moved by whatever happened that they allowed what happened to determine them. Have you and I not done the same thing, many times, and our own regret has been the greatest punishment?

As much as my passions may push against me, and as much as I might like to spit my venom, I am not “made” to think and act in one way or another. I form my own thinking and doing, with each conscious decision that I make.

Paying attention to motives and the conditions of the moment allows me to draw my focus away from what has been done to me, and toward what I will do. Am I myself really all that different from the other? Looking to the inside will make the outside not seem so hard and cold.

I will often justify myself by saying that I was troubled at the time, or that I was overwhelmed by so much at the time. Again, an explanation is not a substitute for responsibility, but it reveals the intention, and it makes clear the weight of the struggle.

This can encourage me to forgive others, and it can encourage me to first and foremost improve myself. So often, just a few minutes of silent introspection is the cure.

10.38

Remember how this that pulls the strings is the thing that is hidden within: this is the power of persuasion, this is life, this, if one may so say, is man.

In contemplating yourself never include the vessel that surrounds you and these instruments that are attached about it. For they are like to an axe, differing only in this, that they grow to the body.

For indeed there is no more use in these parts without the cause that moves and checks them than in the weaver's shuttle, and the writer's pen, and the driver's whip.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.38 (tr Long)

In stressing the unity and connectedness of things, Stoicism avoids many of the trappings of philosophical dualism. There is no need to divide the world into two metaphysical realms, one of spirit and one of matter, or to view life as a constant moral opposition between the soul and the body. All things are aspects and expressions of one.

Yet I am still be able to distinguish between these aspects and expressions, and to understand how and why they are joined together, and to appreciate how what is lesser serves what is greater.

When I consider myself, for example, I should see only one person, not two, but I should also see that there is a difference between the outside of me and the inside of me, between what I share with many other sort of creatures and what is distinctly my own as human.

I always appreciated a phrase attributed to George MacDonald: “You are a soul; you have a body.” Now this does not need to imply that the two are hopelessly separated, because both are still of me. Nor does it necessarily assume that one of these is immortal and the other corruptible. Rather, it seeks to define the core of the self, that around which other qualities revolve.

A stone, a tree, a dog, and a man are all composed of matter; in this, they are all quite the same. Now the stone has no life to itself, and the tree further has a life of nutrition and growth, and the dog even further has a life of sensation and appetite.

What makes the particular life of a person so different from the others? It is the power of reason and of will; this is what is uniquely a person, what makes the man, what informs everything else that he possesses about himself.

As Marcus Aurelius points out, it is the mind that is the measure of human life, that which pulls the strings. All the rest, from the body, to pleasures, to possessions, to power and reputation, will only be as good for us as how the mind makes use of them. In this sense yes, they are all like tools, only becoming human by how they are employed.

A pen will have no purpose if it does not write, and it will not write if a hand does not guide it. A hand will have no purpose if it does not move, and it will not move if it does not have sense to guide it. Sense will have no purpose if it does not discern, and it will not discern if it does not have judgment to guide it.

What remains the very foundation of the human self, and what gives meaning to every other part of the self, is the ability to know true from false, to choose right from wrong.

I have long been fascinated by the prints of M.C. Escher, and I have a special fondness for Drawing Hands. It makes me scratch my head, pondering how the first hand draws the second, and the second draws the first. How is this possible? It only becomes possible when I consider the mind of the artist behind it, and the mind of the viewer in front of it.