Once, the most influential figure in the known world, Marcus Aurelius, dedicated himself to a life of virtue, guided by Stoic principles. Unlike many rulers of Rome, he resisted the allure of endless temptations, abstained from wine, and found no pleasure in the brutal spectacles of the Colosseum. His purpose, as he saw it, was a task ordained by fate: to serve humankind. This deep sense of duty shaped his destiny, yet he also mastered the art of deflecting attention from matters unworthy of his concern, matters that bred only unwisdom.

There are countless such distractions. A central tenet of Stoicism, articulated with clarity in Epictetus' Enchiridion, is the distinction between what lies within our control and what remains beyond it. The vast majority of things, everything external to our own actions, falls into the latter category. Does this imply a withdrawal from the world? Not inherently. However, the Stoics championed a realistic view of our limited influence over these external factors. To care deeply about the uncontrollable is to shoulder an unnecessary weight. When life inflicts pain, it often signifies that we are investing our concern in things we cannot command, thereby allowing these very things to manipulate us as if we were puppets. We are quick to blame the puppeteers for pulling the strings, yet it is we who grant them this power. If we cease to care about the uncontrollable, their influence wanes, and in its place, we find peace. For Marcus Aurelius, maintaining equanimity in the face of the uncontrollable was key to managing the immense duties and trials of an emperor, enabling him to concentrate on the mission he believed was divinely assigned. For Epictetus, this detachment equated to freedom. For others, liberating oneself from the sway of external forces can be a pathway to focusing on what truly holds significance, or simply a route to a contented, untroubled existence. When life brings hurt, what is it that we should stop caring about, and how can we achieve this? This exploration offers a perspective on Marcus Aurelius' philosophy concerning how to lessen our care for things that ultimately do not matter.

The Illusions of Tomorrow

In his reflections, Marcus Aurelius consistently dissects our experience into the present, the past, and the future. Within each temporal domain, the Roman emperor provides valuable insights into how we often care too much, care in the wrong ways, or care about the wrong things. Let's begin with the future. As it has been wisely observed, we often suffer more profoundly in our imagination than in reality. When our thoughts turn to the future, our imagination can run rampant, conjuring endless scenarios of what might unfold – scenarios that, in all likelihood, never will. We strategize in advance how to navigate potential outcomes, all the while trembling with uncertainty. Occasionally, events align with our forecasts, but more frequently, fate presents us with the unexpected. For instance, one might spend years preparing for a well-earned retirement, only to receive a devastating medical diagnosis with a grim prognosis. Contemplating such possibilities plunges many into a state of perpetual worry. What if the best, or the worst, comes to pass? What if global conflict erupts? What if financial ruin strikes? While such outcomes are conceivable, until they manifest in the present moment, we cannot truly address them. They exist solely as constructs within our minds. The future agitates us because we dwell on it, even though it has no reality outside our own thoughts. Marcus Aurelius penned that it is not the burden of the future that crushes us, but only that of the present. The anguish associated with the future is experienced in the now, through our anxieties. When the future does arrive, it simply becomes the present.

What did Marcus Aurelius advise regarding excessive preoccupation with what is to come? He stated: “Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if it comes, with the same weapons of reason which today protects you from the present.” He recognized that if he could manage the present, he could likewise manage the future. Instead of conjuring all manner of horrors, he centered his attention on the current situation. If he could endure now, why not also cope with what lay ahead? This aligns with the notion of amor fati, a love of fate, coupled with a robust confidence in one's own capacity to cope.

Echoes of Yesterday

Marcus Aurelius often reminded himself of life's swift passage, how quickly it vanishes into the infinite. The past, much like the future, is a realm where our actions are futile. What has transpired is gone, and barring the invention of a time machine, we are powerless to alter any of it. He wrote: “Man lives only in the present, in this fleeting moment. Everything else is either past and gone or has not yet been revealed. Human life is short, and the corner of the earth where he dwells is narrow.” Despite life being confined to the present, we frequently find ourselves absorbed by the past and the future, domains to which we have no direct access. Marcus Aurelius regarded the past as equivalent to nothing and indifferent in the context of the present. This isn't to say that past occurrences don't influence the present or that we cannot glean wisdom from them. It simply means the past is beyond our reach, and our recollections of it are often skewed and unreliable. Yet, we persist in dwelling on bygone events, replaying them mentally and reliving associated pain. Some believe that by ruminating on the past, they can somehow exert control over it, but this is a mere illusion. The past is irrevocably gone. Desires such as “I wish I had acted differently” are fruitless because their fulfillment is impossible.

Instead of fixating on past events, Marcus Aurelius concentrated on his response to them. We do not control the past, and in all likelihood, could not have prevented those events from occurring when they did. However, we can control how we relate to them. Past experiences might appear unfortunate: a challenging childhood, a fractured friendship, a failed endeavor. But according to Marcus Aurelius, it is not the intrinsic nature of these events that is paramount, but rather how we process and respond to them. He posed: “Is it unfortunate that this happened? No, it is fortunate that it happened and that I am unharmed, unbroken by the present and unafraid of the future. It could have happened to anyone, but not everyone would have remained unharmed. Why consider one thing misfortune and another good luck? Can something that does not contradict human nature be misfortune?” Interestingly, Marcus Aurelius did not entirely dismiss the utility of the past. He believed we could learn from its rhythms, observing how things emerge and recede, often repeating themselves, thereby gaining some foresight into the future.

Embracing the Present Moment

Marcus Aurelius frequently stressed that the present is all we genuinely possess. It is the narrow arena wherein we can act. From this present vantage point, we peer into the boundless abyss of what has been and the impenetrable obscurity of what is to come. He urged himself to concentrate on what was within his power in that very moment. Yet, even when we release the past and minimize anxieties about the future, we can still find ourselves caring excessively about things unworthy of our attention, about what is unfolding right now. We are often dissatisfied with the current course of our lives. When something deviates from our preferences, we react with anger, sadness, or depression. But according to Marcus Aurelius, such emotional reactions to the dictates of fate are ultimately meaningless. We cannot control the unfolding of the world around us, but we can govern our reactions.

Nevertheless, we become upset because we dislike current happenings or because we fail to obtain what we desire. We cannot halt wars, avert natural calamities, or stop the aging of our bodies. We cannot compel the world to conform to our wishes. There is no assurance that a person we admire will reciprocate our feelings, or that all individuals will enjoy equal opportunities in life. Such guarantees are simply impossible. Yet, we expend time and energy resisting what is, resisting what we cannot change. We feel anger for not receiving what we wanted, and sadness for receiving what we did not want, transforming the present moment into a torture chamber where we suffer at the whims of fate. Conversely, we might become so attached to the present that we fear its loss, again allowing fate to exert control over us. Marcus Aurelius perceived the law of nature as our master. If we attempt to flee from it, or react with anger or sorrow, we are behaving as mere deserters. We must accept the laws of nature, embrace them, and focus our energy on how to navigate them, rather than wasting it on aversion or clinging to circumstances.

He described one method for accepting the present in the seventh book of his Meditations: "Consider what you do not have as non-existent. Look at what you have, at what you value most, and think how much you would want it if you did not have it. But be careful. Don't let satisfaction turn into overestimation, so that loss doesn't upset you." Accepting circumstances can be challenging, particularly when life persistently presents us with trials. But for Marcus Aurelius, adversity is not a pretext to behave like a "squealing pig." It is, instead, an opportunity to cultivate virtue and apply the philosophy of Stoicism. The art of living is not contingent upon how favorable external circumstances are; these are unreliable, transient, and do not truly belong to us. It lies in how we respond to events. According to the Stoics, this is what merits our profound care. As Marcus Aurelius wrote: “The present is a chance to show reasonable virtue, civic virtue, the art common to humans and gods. Everything that happens is natural, not new or difficult, but familiar and easily overcomeable.”

References:

• Aurelius, Marcus. Meditations. (Numerous translations exist, e.g., by Gregory Hays, Martin Hammond, or George Long).

  This work is the personal philosophical journal of Emperor Marcus Aurelius. It details his Stoic reflections on duty, virtue, reason, and mortality. The concepts discussed in the article—such as focusing on the present (e.g., Book II.14, Book III.10), accepting what cannot be changed (e.g., Book IV.23, Book VII.57), understanding the nature of past and future (e.g., Book IX.27, Book XII.32), and controlling one's reactions to external events (e.g., Book V.19, Book VIII.47)—are central themes throughout the Meditations. Specific page numbers vary greatly by translation and edition, but the ideas are pervasive.

• Epictetus. Enchiridion (or Handbook). (Numerous translations exist, e.g., by George Long, W.A. Oldfather, or Anthony Long).

  A concise guide to Stoic ethics, compiled by Arrian from the teachings of Epictetus. Its opening lines (Section 1) famously establish the core Stoic distinction: "Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions." This fundamental principle is foundational to the article's discussion of what we should and should not care about.

• Hadot, Pierre. The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. Translated by Michael Chase. Harvard University Press, 1998.

  A renowned scholarly analysis of Marcus Aurelius' Meditations. Hadot interprets the Meditations as a series of spiritual exercises aimed at transforming the self. This work provides a deep dive into Stoic philosophical practice, particularly the "three disciplines" of assent, desire, and action, which underpin Marcus Aurelius's approach to life. It corroborates the article's emphasis on the practical application of Stoic thought to daily challenges and the cultivation of inner resilience (e.g., see Part Two, "The Citadel Within," for discussions on focusing on the present and one's own judgments).