Meditations

Marcus expands this acceptance of the common will into a broader acceptance of fate. Just as a physician prescribes riding, cold baths, or barefoot walking for health, the nature of the universe prescribes sickness, blindness, or loss. These events are ordained as subordinate to the fates, falling together in harmony like stones in a pyramid. He argues that one should accept these prescriptions from the universe just as one accepts harsh treatments from a physician in hope of health. The accomplishment of what the common nature has determined should be regarded as one’s own health and welfare. Since the whole universe is maimed if any part is cut off, being displeased with what happens is tantamount to violently taking something away from the coherence of the whole.

He addresses the inevitability of failure in living perfectly according to reason. If one does not succeed precisely according to the right dogmata, one should not be discontented but return to philosophy as one applies a remedy to a sore eye, for ease and comfort rather than ostentation. He reminds himself that philosophy requires nothing that is not according to nature, and that true virtues such as magnanimity, liberty, simplicity, and holiness are more kind and natural than pleasure. He contrasts the obscurity and temporary nature of external things, which are often in the possession of the base, with the stability of the rational mind.

Marcus urges frequent self-examination, asking himself what use his soul is currently making of itself—whether it possesses the soul of a child, a tyrant, or a beast, or if it is acting as a rational mistress. He observes that when true virtues like prudence and justice are mentioned, the listener is satisfied, but when external goods like wealth are mentioned, the listener craves more. He references a theatrical jest to illustrate the emptiness of possessing great wealth yet having no place to avoid one’s own excrement. He argues that society is the proper good of a rational creature because rational souls are made for one another, and that which is best is made for the best.

He contends that it is impossible for wicked men not to act wickedly, just as it is impossible for certain things not to happen in the natural course. He asserts that these things do not touch the soul, which remains unaffected by external circumstances and moves only according to its own opinions. He views other men as indifferent things, like the sun or wind, which may hinder an operation but cannot impede the mind or resolution. The mind has the power to convert impediments into the objects of its working.

Marcus advises honoring that which is chiefest and most powerful in the world—the rational governance that uses all things—and honoring the same faculty within oneself. He applies this to the handling of annoyances: if an event does not hurt the city, it cannot hurt the citizen. He meditates on the swift flux of time and the vastness of the past and future to minimize the importance of present grievances. He instructs himself to keep the commanding part of the soul from being mixed with bodily pain or pleasure; while the sensation is natural, the mind should not add the opinion that it is good or bad.

He defines living with the Gods as being content with whatever is allotted and performing what is pleasing to the inner spirit, which acts as a governor appointed by Jove. When confronted with offensive people, he suggests using reason to admonish them rather than giving in to anger, curing them if possible. He argues that one can live philosophically even in the midst of a “roarer” or a “harlot,” and if they will not suffer it, one may leave life rather than one’s calling without feeling wronged.

Marcus reflects on the transience of life, noting that soon he will be ashes or bones, and the things dearest to men are vain and contemptible. He observes that true virtues have abandoned the earth for heaven and asks what keeps him here. He concludes that one can always be happy by choosing the right way. A happy lot and portion are defined not by external success, but by good inclinations of the soul, good desires, and good actions, making one ready for death whenever it comes as a happy man.

The Sixth Book begins with a contemplation of the fundamental nature of the universe, positing that the substance of the cosmos is tractable and that the rational essence governing it possesses no inherent capacity for evil. This governing rationality cannot be hurt, nor can it cause hurt, meaning that all events proceed according to its will. From this foundation, Marcus Aurelius derives a rule of conduct: one must be indifferent to external conditions such as cold or warmth, sleep or wakefulness, praise or condemnation. The duty of the individual remains constant regardless of these circumstances, and death itself is to be reckoned as merely one of the duties inherent in life. He urges himself to look inward and not let the true worth of anything pass unapprehended, acknowledging that while the rational essence of the universe understands its own disposition, humans often marvel at what they cannot comprehend.

Marcus presents a dichotomy regarding the structure of reality: either the universe is a confused mass destined for eventual dispersion, or it is a unified order administered by Providence. If it is mere chaos, he sees no reason to desire to continue in it or to care for anything other than a swift return to earth. However, if the universe is governed by Providence, then his religious devotion is not in vain, and he must remain quiet and patient, trusting the Governor of all things. This trust requires a discipline of perception; when troubled by external occurrences, he must return to himself immediately to restore his internal harmony, much like a child returning to a natural mother rather than a stepmother. He likens the court to a stepmother and philosophy to a natural mother, advising frequent recourse to philosophy to make the other aspects of life tolerable.

To maintain this philosophical disposition, Marcus advocates stripping away the deceptive veneer of material goods. He vividly describes rich foods as dead carcasses, fine wine as grape juice, purple robes as dyed sheep’s wool, and sexual intercourse as a convulsive friction of entrails. By penetrating these objects with the mind to see their base reality, one protects oneself from being beguiled by outward pomp. He further establishes a hierarchy of admiration: the common sort admire inanimate objects, the moderate admire animals, and the curious admire skilled slaves, but the wise man honors the reasonable soul that is sociable and co-operates with God. This rational soul should be the only thing dear to a man, for if one esteems external things like applause, one becomes a slave to envy, suspicion, and confusion. The only true good is to act according to one’s natural constitution, just as a vine-dresser or a trainer of horses aims at the specific end of their craft.