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47 pages 1 hour read

Marcus Aurelius

Meditations

Nonfiction | Book | Adult | Published in 180

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Themes

The Relationship Between Free Will, Fate, and Divine Intervention

Generally speaking, Stoicism does not embrace the idea of “free will” in the modern sense, meaning that humans are free to determine their own outcomes by the choices they make. The Stoic view is essentially deterministic, in that everything that happens was meant to happen. The creation of the Cosmos and everything within it is conceptualized as a woven cloth whose design is constructed and governed by Fortune, Nature, and Providence. When Stoics speak of “freedom,” it is the freedom to choose how to react in given situations instead of the power of controlling one’s external circumstances. The situations themselves are woven into a larger plan over which humans have no control.

This Stoic conception is the concept of freedom that Marcus Aurelius develops in Meditations. “Whatever happens to you,” he writes, “was being prepared for you from everlasting and the mesh of causes was ever spinning from eternity both your own existence and the incidence of this particular happening” (95). Accepting the predestination of events becomes the mechanism that then frees humans to focus on what is within their control: their responses and actions. Freedom is the freedom to do and be good in whatever circumstances humans find themselves.

Several times in Meditations, Marcus contrasts “atoms” with “natural order,” a reference to the Epicurean and Stoic views respectively (95). Marcus suggests that, ultimately, whether natural design is random (“atoms,” as the Epicureans suggested) or predesigned (“natural order,” as the Stoics argued), “the first premise” is that he is “part of the Whole which is governed by nature” and the second is that he has “some close relationship with the other kindred parts” (95). Marcus repeatedly expresses his faith in the latter, but in either case, whether the Whole is random or designed, he must use his reason to align himself with what is and focus on what is in his control, which are his thoughts and actions.

For Marcus, believing in a divine hand that directs the Whole means that everything that happens “benefits the Whole” (95). To reject or act against what is happening is to act harmfully, not only against the Whole and its constituent parts but also against himself, since he too is a “fragment of divinity” (10). Rather than praying for particular outcomes, he should pray to change how he thinks and feels about those outcomes. He extends this even to the loss of a child, telling himself that rather than fear losing his child, he should pray how to “learn not to fear his loss” (91). He urges himself, “Gladly surrender yourself to Clotho [one of the Fates in ancient Greek thought]: let her spin your thread into whatever web she wills” (30), emphasizing the importance of accepting whatever circumstances he may face.

The Irrelevance of Materialism and Status to a Virtuous Life

For Marcus, since the only thing humans can control are their thoughts, it follows that a key to the virtuous life lies in controlling thoughts so that they align with what Fortune, Nature, and Providence have determined. In this, Marcus again invokes the contrast between Epicurean theories about the random movement of “atoms” and Stoic “natural order”: In either case, outcomes are beyond human control. Because Marcus believes in “natural order,” he accepts that “the part should not complain at what happens in the interest of the whole” (91). Thus, the virtuous life lies both in controlling thoughts and in ensuring that one’s actions benefit the Whole. Material comforts (food, clothing, physical pleasure, etc.) and rewards (fame, adulation, etc.) may be preferable, but they have no moral value. To pursue them or equate them with the good life can distract humans from virtue’s true source: developing self-mastery and benefitting others.

In the first book of Meditations, Marcus lauds his adoptive father, Antoninus Pius, for modeling “the arts of a man with an eye for precisely what needs to be done, not the glory of its doing” (7). He also credits an unnamed tutor for teaching him “to be deaf to malicious gossip” (3). Across his Meditations, Marcus warns himself not to concern himself with whether his actions are celebrated by others. These same people, Marcus reminds himself, often have poor judgements of their own acts. He asks himself, “Do you want to please a man who can't please himself?” (81). On the flip side, as others’ approval is irrelevant to living the good life, so is their censure or malicious gossip. As long as he focuses on aligning his thoughts with what the gods have determined and works to benefit others, he can be neither helped nor harmed by others’ praise or blame.

Further, how people speak of him (whether to celebrate or criticize him) is beyond his control. Rather, he should ask himself whether his actions are those of a man who is living his purpose in the life he has been given. At the same time, he repeats several times his openness to being corrected when a better view than his own is presented to him. If his happiness lies in benefitting others, then he should welcome productive suggestions that enable him to improve or correct himself, another quality he ascribes to Antoninus Pius as well as to Rusticus (a Stoic politician).

In the first book, Marcus thanks his mother, Diognetus (his painting instructor), and Antoninus Pius, respectively, for teaching him to appreciate “simplicity of living,” “the camps-bed, the hide blanket, and all else involved in the Greek training,” and not being “particular about food,” clothing, and physical beauty (3, 7). Across Meditations, he returns to the idea that material comforts, while they can be pleasurable, have no moral value. To desire them is to mistakenly believe that they do. In this instance, he should use his reason to strip away his perceptions and get “to the heart of the real thing and penetrating through it, so [he] can see it for what it is” (47-48). A prized wine, for example, is simply grape juice, a fine purple cloak sheep hair “soaked in shell-fish blood” (47). In Book 6, he remonstrates himself to “take care not to be Caesarified, or dyed in purple” (51), meaning not to allow his thoughts to become stained by desire for the material comforts and rewards associated with Roman emperors (51). Rather, he should keep himself “simple, good, pure, serious, unpretentious, a friend of justice, god-fearing, kind, full of affection, strong for [his] proper work” (51). None of these virtues depends on, or follows from, either material comfort or material rewards.

Mortality and the Transience of Life

Though the time and place of Meditations’ composition as a whole are unknown, at least two books (Books Two and Three) are marked by prescripts that specify Marcus composed them while on military campaign. Later books—Book 12 especially—suggest that Marcus felt acutely aware of his impending death. As a child, he lost his father, and as an adult, he lost numerous children (perhaps as many as nine out of fourteen). Having seen so much death in his personal and professional lives perhaps helps explain his preoccupation with the inevitability of death and its implications for living a virtuous life.

As the trappings of material life hold no moral value, neither do death and life. They are facts of human existence that must be thought of in the proper way, guided by reason. Death, then, is not harmful, only how one thinks about it. Since death is inevitable, it must be beneficial to the Whole and must be accepted as such. Like all matter, human lives are the substance of the Whole that is molded by Nature. Thus, all matter is subject to change, as Nature uses it like wax, molding “now the model of a horse, then melting it down and using its material for a tree; next for a man; next for something else” (61-62). To resent death would be to revolt against Nature.

Marcus repeatedly reflects on the many renowned figures who have had to face death. Marcus names noted statesmen and philosophers such as Hippocrates, Alexander, Pompey, Julius Caesar, Heraclitus, Democritus, and Socrates. He reflects that the entire court of Augustus is gone and that Pompey, who had no sons to survive him, was the last of his family line. He marvels that with “all the anxiety of previous generations to leave behind an heir [. . .] one has to be the last” (76). Neither wealth nor acclaim nor power could prevent it. These reminders of death’s inevitability serve for Marcus as reminders not only that death should not be feared but also that human achievements are transient. Neither should become obstacles to living “in accordance with nature” (115). Rather than worrying about how he is perceived in the present or will be perceived in the future, he should worry about living according to the virtues and in harmony with the gods.

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