He was the most powerful man on the planet, and yet he spent his nights writing notes to himself about how not to be a jerk. That’s basically the gist of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. It wasn't written for you. It wasn't written for a publisher, a legacy, or a classroom. Marcus was the Emperor of Rome from 161 to 180 AD, and he wrote these twelve "books"—really just chapters of fragmented thoughts—as a survival manual for his own brain.
It’s messy. It’s repetitive. Sometimes, it’s downright grumpy.
If you pick up a copy today, you’re reading a translation of a Greek text originally titled Ta eis heauton, which literally means "To Himself." Imagine if someone found your private journal two thousand years from now and turned it into a bestseller. That’s exactly what happened here. The reason it works is that Marcus deals with the exact same nonsense we do: annoying coworkers, the fear of death, and the struggle to get out of bed on a cold morning.
The Emperor who didn't want the job
Marcus Aurelius didn't ask to be Emperor. He was a philosophy nerd who got tapped for the role by Hadrian. Think about that for a second. You want to spend your life reading books and discussing logic, but instead, you're handed the keys to a massive, crumbling empire facing plagues and constant border wars.
He lived through the Antonine Plague, which killed millions. He spent years in muddy military camps on the Danube frontier. While his soldiers were fighting Marcomanni tribesmen, Marcus was in his tent, lit by a flickering lamp, reminding himself that people are "meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous, and surly."
Honestly, it’s comforting.
We often think of "Stoicism" as having a stiff upper lip or being a robot without feelings. But reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius reveals something much more human. He wasn't naturally calm. He was a guy who was clearly stressed out and used philosophy as a sedative. He had to keep telling himself to be patient because, deep down, he was probably ready to snap.
Stop worrying about what you can’t fix
The core of Marcus’s worldview is the "dichotomy of control." This is the bread and butter of Stoic philosophy, which he learned from the works of Epictetus—a former slave. There’s a beautiful irony in the fact that the most powerful man in the world and a man who owned nothing both arrived at the same conclusion: most of the stuff that ruins your day doesn't actually matter.
Marcus believed your mind is the only thing you truly own.
You can’t control the weather. You can’t control the economy. You definitely can’t control what that person said about you on social media (or in the Roman Senate). You can only control your judgment of those things. He writes about how things "do not touch the soul." They just sit there, outside of us, indifferent. It’s our internal narrative that creates the pain.
If you lose your job, that’s an event. If you tell yourself "I am a failure and my life is over," that’s a judgment. Marcus argued that if you can strip away the judgment, the pain vanishes. It’s simple, but it’s incredibly hard to do.
The "View from Above" trick
One of the coolest exercises in the book is what modern scholars call the "View from Above." Marcus would tell himself to look down at the earth from a great height. He’d imagine the vast armies, the births, the deaths, the weddings, and the funerals all happening at once.
From that height, his own problems looked like tiny specks.
It’s a perspective shift. It’s not about making yourself feel small and worthless; it’s about realizing your current crisis isn't the end of the universe. History is long. The world is big. You're just a part of it.
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Dealing with people (without losing your mind)
Let’s talk about Book 2, Verse 1. It’s probably the most famous passage in all of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. He starts his day by telling himself he’s going to meet some really difficult people. He lists them out: the ungrateful, the violent, the treacherous.
But then he adds the kicker.
He says he can’t be angry at them because they are "of the same nature" as him. They just don't know any better. They’re "blind to good and evil." He reminds himself that he was born to work with these people, like two rows of teeth.
It’s a radical way to look at conflict.
Instead of seeing an enemy, he sees someone who is confused or mistaken. It’s much harder to hate someone when you realize they’re just operating with bad data. He’s not saying you should let people walk all over you, but he is saying that letting them make you angry gives them power over your internal state.
The dark side of Marcus Aurelius
We shouldn't treat this book like a holy scripture that's beyond reproach. Marcus was a product of his time. He was an absolute monarch. While he wrote about the "brotherhood of man," he still oversaw an empire that used slave labor and held public executions.
There's also the issue of the Christians.
Under his reign, there were persecutions. Historians debate how much he personally knew or cared about it, but he certainly wasn't the champion of religious freedom. He viewed the Christians' willingness to die for their faith as "theatrical" and irrational compared to the calm, logical death of a Stoic.
Also, he can be a bit of a buzzkill.
He talks about sex as just "internal friction and the squirt of a bit of mucus." He describes fine wine as "just fermented grape juice." He was constantly trying to strip the "glamour" off things so he wouldn't be tempted by them. It’s an effective way to stay disciplined, but it’s a pretty bleak way to live if you take it to the extreme.
Why this book is basically CBT
If you’ve ever done Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Meditations by Marcus Aurelius will feel weirdly familiar. Modern psychology owes a massive debt to the Stoics. The idea that our thoughts create our reality is the foundation of most modern mental health practices.
- Cognitive Reframing: Changing how you look at a situation to change how you feel about it.
- Journaling: The act of writing down your thoughts to externalize and analyze them.
- Negative Visualization: Imagining the worst-case scenario so you’re no longer afraid of it.
Marcus used all of these. He would literally write "objective" descriptions of his problems to take the emotional sting out of them. If he was stressed about a royal banquet, he’d remind himself it was just a bunch of people eating dead animals in a fancy room.
Finding your "Inner Citadel"
Marcus uses the metaphor of an "Inner Citadel." This is a place inside your mind that no one can break into. Even if you're in prison, or sick, or losing everything you own, the Citadel remains.
Your character is yours.
He argues that the only thing that can actually hurt you is something that makes your character worse. If someone insults you, does that make you less just? Does it make you less temperate? No. Therefore, it hasn't actually harmed you. It’s a very high bar to live by, but it’s incredibly empowering. It means your happiness doesn't depend on the world being "fair" or people being "nice."
Practical ways to use Meditations today
You don't need to read the whole thing in one sitting. In fact, you shouldn't. It wasn't written to be a narrative. It’s better to read a few verses in the morning and just chew on them throughout the day.
Start with Book 2 or Book 5.
Book 1 is mostly Marcus listing people he’s grateful for. It’s nice, but it’s a bit dry. Book 2 is where the heavy hitting starts. Book 5 has that famous passage about struggling to get out of bed, which is incredibly relatable if you've ever hit the snooze button five times.
Pick a translation that doesn't sound like Shakespeare.
If you get an old 19th-century translation, it’ll be full of "thees" and "thous." It makes it feel like a religious text. Go for Gregory Hays or Martin Hammond. They use modern English that captures the blunt, punchy nature of Marcus’s original Greek.
Write your own "Meditations."
The best way to honor the book is to do what he did. At the end of the day, write down what went wrong, how you reacted, and how you should have reacted. Don't judge yourself; just observe.
Actionable Next Steps
- Audit your "uncontrollables": Make a list of three things currently stressing you out. Beside each, write down whether you have 100% control over it, partial control, or zero control. Focus your energy only on the part you control.
- Practice the "Objective Description": Next time you’re frustrated by a situation—like a delayed flight or a rude email—describe it in the most boring, clinical terms possible. Remove the adjectives. "The plane is not here yet" is a fact. "This is a disaster and my trip is ruined" is a judgment.
- Read the Hays Translation: Grab the Gregory Hays version of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. It’s the most accessible entry point for most people.
- Morning Prep: Before you check your phone, remind yourself: "Today I will meet people who are difficult. I will not let them change who I am."
Marcus Aurelius died of an illness in 180 AD. He didn't die in a palace; he died near the front lines of a war. His son, Commodus, took over and was—to put it mildly—a total disaster. The Roman Empire eventually fell. But these private notes, written by a tired man trying his best to be good, survived. They survived because the human struggle doesn't change. Whether you're wearing a toga or a tracksuit, the battle is always inside your own head.