Marcus emphasizes the importance of acting only when it is fitting and speaking only when it is true, maintaining one’s purpose free from compulsion. He advises that of everything that presents itself, one should consider its true nature, dividing it into its formal and material parts, its true use or end, and the just time it is appointed to last. It is high time, he insists, to understand that there is something in the individual better and more divine than passions or sensual appetites. One must consider what is the object of the mind—is it fear, suspicion, or lust?—and resolve to do nothing rashly without a certain end, that end being the common good. For soon, the individual will be no more, and no more will any of the things now seen or the people now living be, as all things are appointed by nature to change and turn so that other things may succeed in their room.
The central theme of the book emerges strongly here: remember that all is but opinion, and all opinion depends on the mind. Take away opinion, and one finds safety like a ship that has struck into the harbor; a present calm ensues, all things safe and steady, a bay not capable of storms. Marcus argues that no operation, ceasing for a while, can be said to suffer evil because it is at an end. Neither can the author of that operation be said to suffer evil because his operation is at an end. Likewise, the whole body of actions, which is life, if it ceases in time, cannot be said to suffer evil for that very reason. This time or period depends on the determination of nature—sometimes of particular nature, as when a man dies old, but of nature in general, the parts changing so that the whole world continues fresh and new. That which is best and most seasonable is for the good of the whole. Therefore, death cannot be hurtful to any in particular; it is not shameful, as it does not depend on the will, nor is it contrary to the common good. Since it is expedient and seasonable to the whole, it must be good. It is brought to us by the order of Divine Providence, so he whose will and mind run along with the Divine ordinance, being led and driven as it were by God Himself, may truly be termed theophoros, or divinely led and inspired.
Marcus lists three things to have always in readiness: first, concerning one’s own actions, whether one does nothing idly or otherwise than justice requires; second, concerning external things, that they happen either by chance or providence, and to accuse either is equally against reason; and third, to consider what bodies are like while yet rude and imperfect until animated, and from animation until expiration—of what things they are compounded and into what they shall be dissolved. He urges the reader to view all things from on high, looking down upon the earth and contemplating the wonderful mutability of things, the infinite greatness and variety of aerial and celestial things, and realizing that these are the things we are so proud of.
He returns to the command to cast away opinion, for in doing so, one is safe. What hinders this casting away? When grieved, one has forgotten that all things happen according to the nature of the universe, that it concerns only him who is in fault, and that what is done now is what has been done from the beginning and will be done forever. One has forgotten how nearly all men are allied by a kindred not of blood but of the same mind, that every man’s mind partakes of the Deity, and that no man can properly call anything his own—not son, body, nor life—as they all proceed from the One who is the giver of all things. All is opinion; no man lives properly but the present instant, and no man loses more than an instant of time when he dies.
Marcus reflects on the vanity of worldly pursuits by considering those who were once moved with extraordinary indignation, or were in the highest pitch of honour or calamity, or mutual hatred. What has become of them? All is turned to smoke, mere fable, or perhaps not so much as a fable. He cites specific examples of vehement prosecution in worldly matters, urging the reader to consider how vile every object of such earnest prosecution is. It is far more agreeable to true philosophy to carry oneself justly and moderately, following the Gods simply, rather than being puffed up about one’s own lack of pride. For a man to be proud that he is not proud is the most intolerable kind of pride.
He answers those who ask where he has seen the Gods or how he knows they exist. He answers that even to the eye, they are in some manner visible. Secondly, he has never seen his own soul, yet he respects and honours it. By the daily experience of their power and providence, he knows certainly that they are and therefore worships them.
The final sections emphasize the unity of the rational mind and the cosmic perspective. Marcus states that the happiness of life consists in knowing thoroughly the true nature of everything—its matter and form—and with all one’s heart and soul ever doing that which is just and speaking the truth. What remains is to enjoy life in a coherent succession of good actions, one immediately succeeding another without interruption. He draws analogies from nature: there is one light of the sun, though intercepted by walls; one common substance of the world, though divided into bodies; and one common intellectual soul, though divided into innumerable essences. As the light and substance are one, so is the intellectual soul one. Every reasonable mind has a natural reference to whatever is of its own kind and desires to be united; this common affection cannot be intercepted by physical separation.
He asks what one desires: to live long? To enjoy the operations of the sensitive soul? To grow and decrease? To talk and reason? If these are found to be little worth in themselves, one should proceed to the last end: in all things to follow God and reason. To grieve that death deprives one of these things is against God and reason. Marcus reminds the reader of the small portion of vast and infinite eternity allowed to us, how soon it vanishes into the general age of the world, and what a small portion of the common substance and soul is allotted to us. In what a little clod of the earth do we crawl? Having considered this, one should fancy nothing else of weight but to do what one’s own nature requires and conform to the common nature.
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