Meditations

Marcus begins by establishing the conditions for present happiness and freedom, arguing that joy is available immediately if one ceases to envy oneself and aligns with Divine Providence. He posits that happiness is not a distant goal to be aspired to in the future, but a state that can be possessed right now if the individual ceases to envy their own happiness. This state is achieved by forgetting the past entirely and referring oneself wholly to the Divine Providence for the future. By bending one’s thoughts toward holiness—which is defined here as the willing acceptance of whatever the universe appoints—and toward righteousness, which consists in speaking the truth freely and acting justly, the mind can remain free from the fear of death and the anxiety of external dependencies. In this good course, the individual must not be hindered by the wickedness of others, nor by their opinions or voices, nor by the complaints of the body. Let that which suffers, Marcus urges, look to itself.

The true fear, he contends, should not be of ceasing to live, but of never beginning to live according to nature. By respecting the divine mind within and letting go of the body’s complaints, one ceases to be a stranger to the world and stops wondering at daily events as if they were strange or unexpected. When the time of departing comes, one should be ready to leave all things behind, respecting only the mind and that divine part within. If a man can do this, he is worthy of the world from which he had his beginning; he is no longer a stranger in his country and does not anxiously depend on things not in his power.

This leads to a deep exploration of the nature of the rational mind and its freedom. Marcus distinguishes sharply between the body, life, and mind, arguing that the mind is the only thing truly one’s own. He observes that God beholds our minds and understandings, bare and naked, stripped of material vessels and earthly dross. With His simple and pure understanding, God pierces into our inmost and purest parts. If the individual can adopt this pure understanding, viewing themselves as God does, they will rid themselves of the “manifold luggage” of external concerns—clothing, dwelling, and status—and gain great rest and ease.

Marcus breaks down the human constitution into three parts: the body, life, and the mind. The first two are his only insofar as he is bound to take care of them, but the third alone is properly his. Therefore, to achieve freedom, one must separate from the mind whatever other men do or say, whatever one has done or said in the past, and all troublesome thoughts concerning the future. One must also separate whatever belongs to the body or life but is outside the jurisdiction of the will, as well as whatever happens in the ordinary course of human chances. By keeping the mind loose and free from all outward coincidental entanglements, always ready to depart, the mind can live by itself and to itself. It can do that which is just, accept whatever happens, and speak the truth always. If one can separate from the mind whatever might adhere to it by sympathy, and all time both past and future, making oneself like Empedocles’ allegorical sphere—“all round and circular”—and thinking of no longer life than that which is now present, then one can pass the remainder of one’s days without troubles and distractions. One becomes nobly and generously disposed, in good correspondence with the spirit within.

Marcus then turns to address common objections to the Stoic way of life, beginning with the psychological paradox of self-love and public opinion. He expresses wonder that every man, loving himself best, should nevertheless regard other men’s opinions concerning him more than his own. He argues that if any God or grave master standing by should command any of us to think nothing by himself but what he should presently speak out, no man would be able to endure it for even a day. This reveals the absurdity of fearing public judgment more than self-judgment; we fear more what our neighbours will think of us than what we ourselves think.

Next, he addresses a theological objection regarding the soul: if the Gods are good and just, why are good men never restored to life after death? Marcus counters this by asserting that if it were otherwise, the Gods would have ordered it so. Since the nature of the universe is good, we must trust that the current order is fit and just. He reasons that this (if it be so indeed) would never have been ordered by the Gods had it been fit otherwise. Certainly, it was possible; had it been more just and according to nature, the nature of the universe would easily have borne it. But because it is not so, one must be confident that it was not fit it should be so. He notes that in arguing thus, one is freely arguing and contesting with God, which one would not dare to do if the Gods were not both just and good. If they are just and good, it could not be that in the creation of the world they either unjustly or unreasonably overlooked anything.

Marcus then offers a series of meditations on death and the nature of the universe, designed to strip away the fear of mortality. He proposes three hypotheses regarding fate: it is either absolute necessity, placable providence, or mere confusion. If it is absolute necessity, resistance is useless; if it is placable providence, one should make oneself worthy of the divine help; if it is mere confusion without any moderator or governor, then one has reason to congratulate oneself that in such a general flood of confusion, one possesses a rational faculty whereby one may govern one’s own life and actions. Even if the body or life is carried away by the flood, the mind and understanding cannot be. Should the light of a candle be bright until it is put out, so too should truth, righteousness, and temperance shine in the individual while they have any being.

He reflects on the conceit that another has sinned, urging a reasoned response. One should ask what one knows whether this is a sin indeed, and if it is, realize that the sinner has already condemned himself for it, which is like a man tearing his own face—an object of compassion rather than anger. Furthermore, he who would not have a vicious man to sin is like one who would not have moisture in the fig, nor children to cry, nor a horse to neigh; it is against the nature of the habit. If one has the power and eloquence to remedy it, one should do so.