. . . For what purpose, then, do I
make a man my friend? In order to have someone for whom I may die, whom I
may follow into exile, against whose death I may stake my own life, and pay the
pledge, too.
The
friendship which you portray is a bargain and not a friendship; it regards
convenience only, and looks to the results. Beyond question the feeling of a
lover has in it something akin to friendship; one might call it friendship run
mad. But, though this is true, does anyone love for the sake of gain, or
promotion, or renown? Pure love, careless of all other
things, kindles the soul with desire for the beautiful object, not without the
hope of a return of the affection. What then? Can a cause which is more
honorable produce a passion that is base?
You
may retort: "We are now discussing the question whether friendship is to be
cultivated for its own sake.” On the contrary, nothing more urgently requires
demonstration; for if friendship is to be sought for its own sake, he may seek
it who is self-sufficient.
"How,
then,” you ask, "does he seek it?" Precisely as he seeks an object of
great beauty, not attracted to it by desire for gain, nor yet frightened by the
instability of Fortune. One who seeks friendship for favorable occasions,
strips it of all its nobility. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
The
Stoic stands in solidarity with the Works of Mercy, and with the shared values
of all people of good will, when he proclaims that the friend is always one who
will gladly give of himself, even his own life, for the sake of others. He
cannot help but help himself by helping others, because he recognizes that his
own dignity and worth rest in his practice of virtue.
I only
began to see the difference between true and false friendship gradually,
because I was often confused about its proper goal. I might simply make use of
another, and wonder why I still felt empty, or I would be used by another, and
wonder why I felt so lost. I learned that this was because I still had my wires
crossed.
I have
long found Seneca’s distinction between friendship and a bargain very helpful. What
many of us call ‘friendship’ is usually a contract, conditional upon certain
mutual benefits. As with any contract, if one or both parties default on their
obligations, the agreement is now broken. It may now be renegotiated or
abandoned. The measure of value to be traded in such a bargain may be pleasure,
wealth, position, or emotional comfort, and once the gain of one or both
‘friends’ disappears, the relationship disappears.
I have
known many people who appeared to reach out the hand of friendship, but I have
then seen that hand withdrawn when the situation has changed. I have hurt
myself by assuming an integrity and commitment that simply wasn’t there. Though
I have always been very sensitive to fair-weather friendship, I have found
myself also pursuing the model on occasion, and those instances have long been
of great shame to me. I have often tried to right the wrong, though not always
successfully.
My own
living only began to become better when my mind cleared of all the clauses and
conditions of the friendship contract. Friendship isn’t a bargain, but a
commitment, and that commitment can really be expressed in three words: I love you. Nothing need be signed
initialized, or notarized, because our actions themselves must be the
fulfillment of the promise. Indeed, the words need not even be said at all,
since what we do matters far more than what we say. I have sometimes found that
powerfully expressed signs of affection can reveal very empty hearts, like a
fancy exterior on a crumbling house.
Fair-weather
friendships can be long or short, or more or less involved, but what they all
share in common is that it isn’t the friend that is desired for his own sake,
but an entirely different benefit that accompanies the friend. Remove the
benefit and remove the friend. That isn’t love or friendship at all.
Written 1/2005
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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