Tag Archives: Marcus Aurelius

Amor fati

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The literal translation of the Latin phrase amor fati is “love of fate”; the Wikipedia article states simply, “It is used to describe an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one’s life, including suffering and loss, as good or, at the very least, necessary.” Though the phrase has come for many to be associated with the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche, it has its roots in the writings of Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius.

For most of my adult life, I have had the obscure sense that there was a grain in the way things come to be, a natural falling into place that, if yielded to, would ultimately lead to the right end. At times, I have had no words for it, hardly dared to trust my own intuition; at other times I have sought, or been taught, to characterise it as the will of God, and my own role as that of surrender to that will. This, perhaps, is getting closer, as the Christian contemplative tradition has for many years understood, most clearly in the hesychast teachings of the Eastern church.

Over time, though, it has become clearer that – for me, at any rate – its most poignant expression is in the philosophy of the Tao. “The Tao is that from which one cannot deviate; that from which one can deviate is not the Tao.” (The Doctrine of the Mean, as quoted by Alan Watts) He goes on:

However, it must be clear from the start that Tao cannot be understood as “God” in the sense of the ruler, monarch, commander, architect, and maker of the universe. The image of the military and political overlord, or of a creator external to nature, has no place in the idea of Tao.

The great Tao flows… everywhere,

to the left and to the right,

All things depend upon it to exist,

and it does not abandon them.

To its accomplishments it lays no claim.

It loves and nourishes all things,

but does not lord it over them.

[Lao Tzu 34, tr. Watts]

Yet the Tao is most certainly the ultimate reality and energy of the universe, the Ground of being and nonbeing.

The Tao has reality and evidence, but no action and no form. It may be transmitted but cannot be received. It may be attained but cannot be seen. It exists by and through itself. It existed before heaven and earth, and indeed for all eternity. It causes the gods to be divine and the world to be produced. It is above the zenith, but is not high. It is beneath the nadir, but is not low. Though prior to heaven and earth, it is not ancient. Though older than the most ancient, it is not old.

[Chuang Tzu 6, tr. Fung Yu-Lan]

To “accord with the Tao,” then, is to drop back, sit still, pay attention. Cause and effect are the way things happen. They are one thing, really. The separation of the two words is quite artificial. There is a deep peace in knowing this, and more than a peace. Truly to embrace the coming-to-be of what comes to be is to love the way itself; and yet it is not something to be attained, not an achievement or an accomplishment. The path opens of itself. All one can do is be still.

Atheism and stoicism

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People try to get away from it all—to the country, to the beach, to the mountains. You always wish that you could too. Which is idiotic: you can get away from it anytime you like. By going within. Nowhere you can go is more peaceful—more free of interruptions—than your own soul. Especially if you have other things to rely on. An instant’s recollection and there it is: complete tranquillity. And by tranquillity I mean a kind of harmony. So keep getting away from it all—like that. Renew yourself. But keep it brief and basic. A quick visit should be enough to ward off all [anxiety] and send you back ready to face what awaits you.

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book IV

I remember that when I was in my early twenties and living in London, I was sometimes obliged to go to parties, as often happens at that age! I say “obliged” because that is how it often felt; I am too much of an introvert really to enjoy parties, however much I liked the people who’d invited me. Oddly, it was amidst the over-loud music and the chatter of slightly tipsy people that I spontaneously discovered what Marcus Aurelius describes here: the ability to turn inward, briefly, to a place of stillness and absolute tranquility – sitting on the stairs for a minute, perhaps, or taking refuge in the bathroom.

Remember, this is a blog post – I don’t mean it to be any more than another of my road songs – but it has occurred to me recently that Stoic philosophy is another of those things that has been unjustly neglected over the years of Christendom, having largely been discarded in the medieval period as just another of those pagan ideas (see Catherine Nixey’s The Darkening Age: The Christian Destruction of the Classical World).

Not only though, I recalled, had I long ago discovered for myself Marcus Aurelius’ “micro-contemplative” moments, but I had much later found that the philosophy of Stoicism runs remarkably close to the practice of choiceless awareness in Sōtō Zen, in Advaita Vedānta, or in the philosophy of Jiddu Krishnamurti. There is an old Buddhist saying to the effect that “pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional”. Stoicism is far from the emotionless indifference it is sometimes caricatured to be, but it does imply almost exactly the same approach to suffering as that old Buddhist adage.

Severe illness is not something we have control over. We can mitigate the symptoms or use healing therapies hoping that the patient recovers. But the results are not up to us. Nevertheless, the patient can decide which position they take in regards to the situation. When the sickness is fully accepted, and the possibility of death as well, a human being can reach a state of inner peace (this is not medical advice – it’s philosophy). Staying calm during adversity, and letting go of the results, may come across as indifferent. However, this tranquility helps us to act in agreement with reason, instead of being overwhelmed by emotion. This probably leads to making better choices which increases the chances of recovery.

Einzelgänger and Fleur Vaz, Stoicism for Inner Peace

Absent the insistence of religious creeds and the framework they impose on belief and the interpretation of experience, the doors of perception are free to open once the power of powerlessness becomes clear. As I wrote in that post last year, “The power of shikantaza is simply powerlessness, giving up, complete acceptance of what is without looking for anything. When you cease to try to open the doors, they open by themselves, quite quietly. Not looking, the path opens.”