Written during military campaigns at the edges of the empire, the *Meditations* represent a private dialogue between a ruler and his conscience. Marcus Aurelius does not seek to teach a system, but to fortify his own mind against the corruption of power and the fear of death. The work moves from a catalog of gratitude to his teachers to a rigorous metaphysical examination of change, duty, and the rational soul, ultimately concluding that the good life consists in acting justly and accepting fate as a necessary part of the cosmic whole.
He then analyzes the different types of benefactors. There are those who keep score of favors and expect retaliation, those who silently expect repayment, and those who, like a vine bearing grapes or a horse after a race, perform their function naturally without seeking applause. Marcus urges himself to be like the latter, doing good without further thought or desire for recognition, proceeding from one good action to another as a vine produces fruit in its season. He cites the Athenian prayer for rain on all the city’s fields, arguing that one should either not pray at all or pray for the common good rather than for oneself alone.
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.
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