Retreating from the World
Meditations, Notebook 4
When I was in middle school and high school, I was a Boy Scout. I was not particularly skillful or dedicated to it, but at the very least I went on monthly camping trips with my troop. We had a few campsites we were fond of — woods owned by farmers who would let us use the land, state parks, etc. My favorite one was also the one that was the most inconvenient to get to. Even driving in trucks or SUVs, getting to a reasonable hiking distance was difficult due to the terrain.
This meant it was a pain to get your camp set up — especially if we were carrying some coolers with drinking water, food, and the like. But once you got there, it was a joy. There was a creek where we could fish, plenty of deer trails for hiking, and (most importantly) silence. It was the one site where we could be sure that nobody would bother you or intrude on the space.
It was a wonderful place to get some thinking done.
I was reminded of this when reading Notebook 4 of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations this week.
There are many passages in Notebook 4 — it is, I would say, a disconnected text, with many paragraphs shifting in focus. But it was §3 that stayed with me this time. (Interestingly, in my previous reading of this particular copy, I didn’t underline a single part of this paragraph.)
People try to find retreats for themselves in the country-side, by the sea, and in the mountains. A marked longing for such a haven has been a habit of yours too. But nothing could be more unphilosophical, given that you may retreat into yourself whenever you want. There’s no retreat more peaceful and untroubled than a man’s own mind, and this is especially true of a man who has inner resources which are such that he has only to dip into them to be entirely untroubled (and by ‘untroubled’ I mean ‘composed’), so never stop allowing yourself to retreat there and be renewed.
This is only a portion of the paragraph — it is one of the longest in the text, I believe, making my earlier passing over of it all the more strange.
Does Marcus think that one cannot or should not retreat to the country-side or the sea for renewal? On one reading, it would appear so. The phrase ‘nothing could be more unphilosophical’ is quite strong. But perhaps we can think of things a bit differently.
First, I think we can agree with Marcus that retreat into the country-side is not enough. If we seeking some kind of renewal, a kind of refreshment for our minds and souls, then merely getting out into nature will not be enough. A man who goes out to country-side (or the sea, or the mountains) but does not take the opportunity to think has wasted the experience. Without taking that time to think, to retreat into oneself and reflect on principles (and, more broadly, on the nature of the world), the trip is fruitless, philosophically speaking.
Yet, many of us see these physical retreats as necessary conditions for engaging in spiritual retreat. We want to get away physically so that we can make time and find a place to get some thinking done. And that is what struck me with this passage — is Marcus saying that this is somehow wrong? The answer, frustratingly, is yes and no.
In the ideal state, we would not need to retreat to an idyllic place in order to mentally retreat and escape the troubles of the world. We should be prepared to this at any time, whenever we need to. Principles are only good if we can call upon them in times of need or when we must act, after all. We do not have the time or resources to get away from the world before we make every decision.
Marcus is concerned with action — will he be able to act when he needs to? Or will his emotions get in the way? Thus, we can see that needing to retreat from the world in order to contemplate will not be an actionable strategy.
Yet, some of us need those occasional retreats. As we discussed last week, times of contemplation may better prepare us for times of action. For those of us who still need those physical retreats, we should take them.
So, we go to the country-side. Or we go for that long walk in the morning. When we go on these physical retreats, we ought to make the most of them. We ought to make them count. I noticed recently that I have become almost allergic to silence. I am always looking for noise to distract me. I am always inclined to put my earbuds in and listen to something — and I justify this by saying I listen to intellectually engaging material.
But there’s no thinking being done. So those walks I take might nourish my body, but they are not nourishing my mind. And if I am ignoring the state of my mind, what sort of a philosopher am I?