. . . But we and they alike hold this
idea, that the wise man is self-sufficient. Nevertheless, he desires friends,
neighbors, and associates, no matter how much he is sufficient unto himself.
And mark how self-sufficient he is; for
on occasion he can be content with a part of himself. If he lose a hand through
disease or war, or if some accident puts out one or both of his eyes, he will
be satisfied with what is left, taking as much pleasure in his impaired and
maimed body as he took when it was sound.
But while he does not pine for these
parts if they are missing, he prefers not to lose them. In this sense the wise
man is self-sufficient, that he can do without friends, not that he desires to
do without them. When I say "can", I mean this: he endures the loss
of a friend with equanimity. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
In seeking
to understand the Stoic model of self-sufficiency, I have found it helpful to
think of myself from the outside in, and from the inside out. I remind myself
that being able to flip this perception is a part of what I have often called
the Stoic Turn. To be self-sufficient is not to exist in separation from the
world, but rather to properly understand my relationship to other persons and
things.
We are
primarily used to thinking of ourselves from the outside in. Things affect us,
we respond by changing ourselves to fit these new externals, and we then easily
allow those things to measure our value and merit. This is an essentially
passive view of the self, because I permit my wealth, position, or reputation
to determine me.
In
contrast, we can think of ourselves from the inside out. We can look first and
foremost to the value and merit of how we think and live, and not allow
ourselves to be ruled by our conditions. This is an essentially active view of
the self, because I do not see my fortune as something that controls me, but as
something I can always use to improve my own action.
The
first sort of life can never be truly self-sufficient, while the second most
certainly can be self-sufficient. I can remain fully engaged with my world, I
can love my neighbor and seek the good for him, and I can always choose to act
for what is right. But I should never allow the circumstances of that world to be
my master.
This
connects nicely with the Stoic ideal of indifference. Life is going to throw
many things at us, some pleasant and some painful, some easy and some hard, and,
all other things being equal, it is only natural to prefer convenient things to
inconvenient things.
Yet as
soon as I desire and choose my fortune over my own virtue, I’ve sadly flipped
the priorities. By all means, I can desire pleasure, money, fame, health, and
many friends, but if seeking them destroys my moral character, I am no longer
self-sufficient, because I am no longer indifferent to those externals. In the
simplest of terms, we should always seek in our lives what will help us in
living well, and avoid what will encourage us in living poorly.
So it is
with friends. I would very much like to live in the company of others I can
love and trust, and for all of our differences in personality, we are all
sociable creatures. But if I must lose friends, and therefore perhaps even be completely
alone, in order to be a good man, then I can learn to bear that with acceptance
and dignity. I simply can’t sell higher things for lower things, like selling
my own soul in order to be liked or respected.
Written 1/2005
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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