“This might happen. Or that. Or something else. Definitely, something MIGHT happen.”
How is it that an emperor, often away at war, found time to write a book of meditations? How bright was this guy? I’m referring to Marcus Aurelius, stoic philosopher, general, and emperor. Imagine waxing philosophical while governing an empire and suppressing threats to Rome. Maybe his innate character had a predisposition toward contemplating while administrating. Maybe his contemplative nature grew stronger after some of his young children died; they were born into an age before modern medicine could have worked its pediatric wonders to save them, to prolong their lives. Philosophical he was. Definitely, to those looking on, he was an example of stoicism and one unaffected by pettiness.
And he also waxed psychological. That’s where we come in. Some of us make the kinds of statements you read in the opening line above. “Obviously, you say, don’t include me in that group. I’m never anxious; I simply don’t worry, but I do know someone, ‘a friend,’ who worries.” (Is it a coincidence that you and your “friend” share the same first name?)
All right, then, this doesn’t apply to you. It’s for those others, the ones who worry, those “friends” out there. They are the anxious. For their sake and on the outside chance that you can help them lessen their anxiety, consider the words of Aurelius. Writing about anxieties, he says, “Many of the anxieties that harass you are superfluous: being but the creatures of your own fancy…” (Maxwell Staniforth’s translation).
True, right? Fancies create anxieties. But fancies are not autonomous. They don’t operate without “your friend’s” permission. Control fancy, and “your friend” controls a great deal his or her anxiety. Unless it has an underlying biochemical cause, anxiety is, as the emperor writes, probably the product of fancy.
“Yeah, but how do I get ‘my friend’ to control her anxiety?” you ask. “’My friend’ gets anxious about something every day. ‘My friend’ can’t keep imagination from working.” Time to listen to Aurelius. It’s all about perspective, about using imagination to conquer the products of your fancy. And it all has to do with place.
The farther away from something, the smaller it seems. You get that lesson when your brain first learns to see, and someone walks toward or away from your crib. Marcus advises that anxieties will disappear “by letting your thought sweep over the entire universe, contemplating the illimitable tracts of eternity, marking the swiftness of change in each created thing, and contrasting the brief span between birth and dissolution with the endless aeons that precede the one and the infinity that follows the other.”
Tell “your friend’” to take a trip with Marcus Aurelius into the far reaches of the empire. Marcus, marching through lands to fight wars, had a distant perspective on the “troubles” of those whose universe was Rome. Rome was a great city, yes, and for those within its boundaries was the center of the world. Nevertheless, Rome in the eyes of the traveling emperor was, in fact, just a city on a planet in an enveloping universe. That was the emperor’s perspective. He saw more of the world than just a city. The world as he writes, contains “the numberless herds of mankind, and all the chequered pattern of their comings and gatherings and goings.” To this he adds the distance of time incarnate in those who came before and those who will come after.
Time to heed the Emperor’s advice: Tell “your anxious friend” to let thought sweep over the whole universe. Distance, even mental distance, shrinks worry. Anxiety diminished is anxiety defeated, anxiety turned into a mere creation of fancy, something with little or no substance. And according to Marcus Aurelius it is a sense of place that does the trick. By focusing on the BIG PLACE, you know, the entire universe, the everywhere beyond where your “friend’s” little fancy has grown into a big anxiety, your “friend” can remove himself or herself from the fancied happening.
Yes, there are circumstances beyond “your friend’s” control that can cause anxiety: Loss of job, abusive, angry people, brain chemistry, and nature’s threats are among them. But if “your friend” could, like Marcus, wax philosophical even in the midst of war, then one kind of anxiety, the type that is fancy’s creation will probably fade and might even disappear over the horizon. It will be as far away as distant Rome.
“Your friend” might not have an empire to run and wars to wage while writing meditations, but your friend has personal conflicts to wage with fancy. Anxiety never won a war, saved an empire, or wrote a book of calming meditations.
How is it that an emperor, often away at war, found time to write a book of meditations? How bright was this guy? I’m referring to Marcus Aurelius, stoic philosopher, general, and emperor. Imagine waxing philosophical while governing an empire and suppressing threats to Rome. Maybe his innate character had a predisposition toward contemplating while administrating. Maybe his contemplative nature grew stronger after some of his young children died; they were born into an age before modern medicine could have worked its pediatric wonders to save them, to prolong their lives. Philosophical he was. Definitely, to those looking on, he was an example of stoicism and one unaffected by pettiness.
And he also waxed psychological. That’s where we come in. Some of us make the kinds of statements you read in the opening line above. “Obviously, you say, don’t include me in that group. I’m never anxious; I simply don’t worry, but I do know someone, ‘a friend,’ who worries.” (Is it a coincidence that you and your “friend” share the same first name?)
All right, then, this doesn’t apply to you. It’s for those others, the ones who worry, those “friends” out there. They are the anxious. For their sake and on the outside chance that you can help them lessen their anxiety, consider the words of Aurelius. Writing about anxieties, he says, “Many of the anxieties that harass you are superfluous: being but the creatures of your own fancy…” (Maxwell Staniforth’s translation).
True, right? Fancies create anxieties. But fancies are not autonomous. They don’t operate without “your friend’s” permission. Control fancy, and “your friend” controls a great deal his or her anxiety. Unless it has an underlying biochemical cause, anxiety is, as the emperor writes, probably the product of fancy.
“Yeah, but how do I get ‘my friend’ to control her anxiety?” you ask. “’My friend’ gets anxious about something every day. ‘My friend’ can’t keep imagination from working.” Time to listen to Aurelius. It’s all about perspective, about using imagination to conquer the products of your fancy. And it all has to do with place.
The farther away from something, the smaller it seems. You get that lesson when your brain first learns to see, and someone walks toward or away from your crib. Marcus advises that anxieties will disappear “by letting your thought sweep over the entire universe, contemplating the illimitable tracts of eternity, marking the swiftness of change in each created thing, and contrasting the brief span between birth and dissolution with the endless aeons that precede the one and the infinity that follows the other.”
Tell “your friend’” to take a trip with Marcus Aurelius into the far reaches of the empire. Marcus, marching through lands to fight wars, had a distant perspective on the “troubles” of those whose universe was Rome. Rome was a great city, yes, and for those within its boundaries was the center of the world. Nevertheless, Rome in the eyes of the traveling emperor was, in fact, just a city on a planet in an enveloping universe. That was the emperor’s perspective. He saw more of the world than just a city. The world as he writes, contains “the numberless herds of mankind, and all the chequered pattern of their comings and gatherings and goings.” To this he adds the distance of time incarnate in those who came before and those who will come after.
Time to heed the Emperor’s advice: Tell “your anxious friend” to let thought sweep over the whole universe. Distance, even mental distance, shrinks worry. Anxiety diminished is anxiety defeated, anxiety turned into a mere creation of fancy, something with little or no substance. And according to Marcus Aurelius it is a sense of place that does the trick. By focusing on the BIG PLACE, you know, the entire universe, the everywhere beyond where your “friend’s” little fancy has grown into a big anxiety, your “friend” can remove himself or herself from the fancied happening.
Yes, there are circumstances beyond “your friend’s” control that can cause anxiety: Loss of job, abusive, angry people, brain chemistry, and nature’s threats are among them. But if “your friend” could, like Marcus, wax philosophical even in the midst of war, then one kind of anxiety, the type that is fancy’s creation will probably fade and might even disappear over the horizon. It will be as far away as distant Rome.
“Your friend” might not have an empire to run and wars to wage while writing meditations, but your friend has personal conflicts to wage with fancy. Anxiety never won a war, saved an empire, or wrote a book of calming meditations.
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