The Inner Retreat: Marcus Aurelius on the True Source of Peacefulness
My Chosen text: Meditations, Book 4, Section 3
“Men seek retreats for themselves, houses in the country, seashores, and mountains; and thou too art wont to desire such things very much. But this is altogether a mark of the most common sort of men, for it is in thy power whenever thou shalt choose to retire into thyself. For nowhere, either with more quiet or more freedom from trouble, does a man retire than into his soul, particularly when he has within him such thoughts that by looking into them he is immediately in perfect ease; and I affirm that tranquillity is nothing else than the good ordering of the mind. Constantly, then, give to thyself this retreat, and renew thyself; and let thy rules of life be brief and fundamental, which, as soon as thou shalt recur to them, will be sufficient to cleanse the soul completely, and to send thee back free from all discontent with the things to which thou returnest.”
What Marcus Aurelius does in this is to eliminate the notion that relaxation is to be found in body flight, such as vacations, environment, or spas, but rest in a well-structured and governed mind. His unstated thesis is that peace is not a geographical question but the conduct of our minds. By turning the word "retreat" inwards, as it would be read, rather than outwards, Aurelius turns avoiding the test of life into an ability of thinking, rather than an ability of mobility.
We have been attempting to acquire peace of mind by retreating inward from the din of life since ancient Romans. In Aurelius' ancient nation retreats or our resort retreats of his time, the same presumption is being made: for one to be at peace, someone must recede. Aurelius' maxim dispels the presumption. Not in his philosophical retreat but as a war-torn emperor and statesman, he quotes that peace is not won in retreating from war but in mastering oneself. The intriguing aspect of this wisdom is its reversed values. Retreats were once status symbols. Beach houses were where the wealthy senators retired as a status symbol. Social circles now filled with images of distant resorts and mountain cabins, proof that flight is the way to rebirth. Aurelius laments this reflection of this culture as "a mark of the most common kind of men." That is, to wish to be molded from outside with no change within out is shallow, common, and empty. To comprehend this passage, some of Aurelius's life needs to be understood. Aurelius did not write in comfort.
His empire, though, was cut short by frontier wars, plague, politics, and deaths of many children. Unlike nearly all his contemporaries among kings and queens, he did not even try to guard himself against vice for the year. He just kept coming and coming and coming again back to Stoic philosophy—that is, to the belief that only the mind is in our power, and the rest. When he writes of "retiring into thyself," he is not requesting a luxury from the wealthy. He is requesting an accessible withdrawal. Soldiers plodding up the snowy northern borders, traders on the verge of going broke, or citizens packed into dung-stained Roman apartments could all withdraw there. Not the place, but the spirit was the problem. It also contributes to the humility of his claim. Aurelius might have strayed or fantasized about the best escapes within the empire.
And with unrestricted access to them within the body, he demotes them as below the sincere work of self-mastery. The Aurelian teaching is that relaxation at its best can be compatible with mind training. It is not a call to daydreaming indolence or escape fantasy. And when he invites one "to retire into thyself," he invites by an act and will turning in—a turning in unto one's maxims. Not merely does he inform us at once what sort of state of mind brings "perfect ease," but that is having "such thoughts" as those which, remembered, bring peace at once. That is forethought. Just as physical asylum has first to be provided food and shelter before it can indulge in comfort, so must inner asylum be provided with well-constructed maxims before it can indulge in calmness. The fact is that calmness is a craft constructed by practice. One cannot opt to be peaceful if one is in pain unless one has practiced in oneself those intellectual habits that are peace.
For the Stoics, this translated to daily reflection on justice, temperance, manliness, and wisdom. It was being aware with each moment of what is and what is not in our power. The greatest definition in the book is Aurelius' definition: "I affirm that tranquillity is nothing else than the good ordering of the mind." This definition excludes no space for passive distraction and sensual pleasure to be the foundation of peace. Most, thus today, identify peace with non-disturbance—beautiful view, beautiful landscape, or a libation at the close of a working day. Aurelius' definition is not passive and ethical, but active and moral. "Good ordering" is a deliberate ordering of value judgments and priorities. A person whose mind is ordered is not necessarily stress-free; he or she is free from the distortions which in the first place give rise to stress. And this process from the exterior state to the interior design also implies that peace is everywhere and always. A prisoner comfortable if his mind is comfortable; a king nervous if otherwise. Aurelius stresses condensing our "rules of life" and making the ones that are necessary.
Brief in the sense that very complicated systems of ethics are harder to keep under pressure. Needed in that it is what will endure with time as intricacy becomes the norm. Explicit dicta for a Stoic, these kinds of aphorisms are nothing short of these: control what is under your control, live in harmony with virtue, and bear what occurs according to nature. Memorize them these few, but succinct, easy-to-memorize, the mind can recite under duress. This renders the withdrawal inward not only feasible, but healing. The purification metaphor is appropriate. And as a bath washes over the body, to think of the essentials will wash over the mind bitterness, fear, and confusion. It washes, not by removing pain—but by removing the unnecessary burden on pain which is imposed by wrong judgments and skewed values. The Stoic "soul" is the rational self—the capable-of-judging part.
To drain it out is to drain out fruitless ways of thinking: catastrophizing the future, clinging to what one might not cling to, or moralizing about what one might not command. One of Aurelius's best pieces of advice is that interior withdrawal is an interim condition. He does not suggest withdrawal from the world for good but withdrawal to refresh oneself to return to work. "to send thee back free from all discontent with the things to which thou returnest" is that power of the retreat is the fixity and firmness it gives in returning to life. That's a huge difference from escapism. A holiday will defer the ailments of life, but a retreat in one enables him to confront them with more firmness. And as the world goes more modern, so does the need to withdraw inward out. From spas to digital detoxes, the idea is that a clean space will cure the inside. But those sources of modern anxiety those nagging reminders, social media desire, financial instability; accompany us wherever we go. To follow Aurelius's dictum is habituation to mastery of the habits of mind: going-through thinking or musing, writing imperative aphorisms and reading over again and again and again, and being able to make distinctions things that are and are not within one's own power.
Scenic mountains and sea air or not, anyone may enjoy the "quiet" in which Aurelius writes by conscious control of mind. The virility of the passage defies the passing of time with its eternality. It asks nothing of wealth, status, or rank. It is the sole one that will have the courage to call man's nature itself into question to seek alternative options when the work simply needs to be done in. It is inspiring: no matter what nonsense the outside world is going to heap on it, there is always an asylum in here. It is most important for those seeking higher education. Scholarship can be an endless realm of deadlines, competition, and uncertain future.
Emulating Aurelius's inner withdrawal—withdrawal to pithy aphoristic counsel—students can pull their minds back from suboptimal situations. Aurelius's counsel brings withdrawal within reach of all, an extension of what lies open to human beings and not the privilege of the elite few. His covert message is not so much that we can achieve peace there as it is that we must do the peace work in the inside soil if we are ever going to seek it out. In setting up the work of peace as "the good ordering of the mind," he provides us with a definition of peace that is robust, independent, and resistant to the whims of life. In combat against the human inclination to find peace elsewhere, Aurelius deposits us with the tougher but more kingly work: to master your mind, chart your precepts, and go back out into the world refreshed. No exercise in philosophic aesthetics, it is an exercise in liberty. And better than mountain lodge or beach house getaway, it is a liberty one's own hand can build.