Serenity Now—And Forever
An Essay by Grace Fitzpatrick
A recent foray into the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius has bolstered my spirits as I endeavor to make a good start of this new year. There is something so fortifying about Stoic thought; I feel like I can run through a brick wall after reading just a few pages.
On this reading of the Meditations, I’m finding many connections between it and the Eastern monastic tradition, namely writings from the collection known as the Philokalia. These connections are especially strong concerning serenity.
Now, to be completely clear, when I say serenity, I’m referring to the ancient Greek meaning of ἡ ἡσυχία, a very strong, silent calmness of spirit. To further elucidate, here’s a memorable description of the word my college Greek professor once offered—please skip the rest of this paragraph if you have a delicate constitution: “ἡ ἡσυχία is the kind of calm that an ancient warrior might have when he is determined to aim his javelin just right so that it will pierce his enemy’s shield and find its way into his enemy’s eye.” To be sure, it takes an intense calm to achieve that.
It is with this understanding of serenity that Marcus Aurelius contemplates the value of a willed inner peace, an intentional steadying of mind and spirit. In the third book of the Meditations, he writes, “If you perform the task before you and follow the right rule of reason steadfastly, vigorously, with kindness; if you allow no distraction but preserve the spirit within you in its pure state as if you had to surrender it at any moment; if you concentrate on this, expecting nothing and shirking nothing, content to do any natural action which is at hand, heroically truthful in every word you utter, you will lead the good life. There’s no one who could prevent you.”
Likewise, in the Philokalia, St. Hesychios the Priest—whose very name derives from the Greek word for serenity!—echoes Marcus Aurelius’s thought and elevates it to Christian wisdom: “Let us live every moment in ‘applying our hearts to wisdom’… as the Psalmist says, continually breathing Jesus Christ, the power of God the Father and the wisdom of God…. If, however, we are distracted by some circumstance or other and grow slack in our spiritual effort, the following morning let us again gird up the loins of our intellect and once more set to work forcefully. There is no excuse for us if, knowing what is to be done, we do not do it.”
In both instances we see that the “good life,” the life of virtue, is a matter of free choice, plain and simple. Yet, fascinatingly enough, the power of the intellect relies on submitting the intellect to a higher cause, ultimately the will of the Father. Therefore, true strength of character is found in acceptance of weakness, in total obedience. Perhaps this is the key for New Year’s resolutions—or any kind of resolve, for that matter. I must ask myself: Am I attempting this goal because in prayer and discernment it has become clear it is God’s plan for me? Will this bring me closer to God and help me be a fruitful branch on the True Vine of Christ? Moreover, how can I possibly hope to keep this resolve?
Marcus Aurelius recommends the daily loins-girding method of St. Hesychios. He favors addressing oneself with firmness: “Say to yourself in the morning: I shall meet people who are interfering, ungracious, insolent, full of guile, deceitful and antisocial; they have all become like that because they have no understanding of good and evil. But I who have contemplated the essential beauty of good and the essential ugliness of evil, who know that the nature of the wrongdoer is of one kin with mine—not indeed of the same blood or seed but sharing the same mind, the same portion of the divine—I cannot be harmed by any one of them, and no one can involve me in shame. I cannot feel anger against him who is of my kin, nor hate him. We were born to labor together, like the feet, the hands, the eyes, and the rows of upper and lower teeth. To work against one another is therefore contrary to nature, and to be angry against a man or turn one’s back on him is to work against him.” The key to Marcus Aurelius’s steadfastness is twofold: Firstly, I must constantly remind myself of the existence of good and evil. Secondly, I must realize that human persons by our inherent dignity, not by our often idiotic postlapsarian behavior, belong to each other.
But there is more. St. Diodachos of Photiki’s contribution to the Philokalia, entitled “On Spiritual Knowledge,” writes that the power of the intellect to choose good over evil relies on a person’s desire to offer his or her soul as a temple for the Holy Spirit: “Only the Holy Spirit can purify the intellect, for unless a greater power comes and overthrows the despoiler, what he has taken captive will never be set free…In every way, therefore, and especially through peace of soul, we must make ourselves a dwelling place for the Holy Spirit.”
And what happens when we want the Holy Spirit to break open our hard hearts and let Divine Love minister to them? St. Diodachos writes, quite wonderfully, “But the love which comes from the Holy Spirit so inflames the soul that all its parts cleave ineffably and with utter simplicity to the delight of its love and longing for the divine. The intellect then becomes pregnant through the energy of the Holy Spirit and overflows with a spring of love and joy.” Truly, no matter how steeped in sin, every heart longs for such joy.
The Meditations and the Philokalia invite us, if in different ways, to renewed engagement with both the Heavenly Father and each other. We are, after all, Aurelius’s fellow feet, hands, rows of teeth—to a degree the Stoic emperor did not conceive. Through the Eucharist, we share in this one Body, and the Spirit rushes upon us to make of us at all times, whether at the turning of the year or not, a new creation, ready to fulfill the Father’s will in serenity of heart.
Grace Fitzpatrick is a Catholic wife, mother, and iconographer living in New Orleans. Her art can be found at gracefitzpatrick.art.
