. . . "The wise man is
self-sufficient." This phrase, my dear Lucilius, is incorrectly explained
by many; for they withdraw the wise man from the world, and force him to dwell
within his own skin.
But we must mark with care what this
sentence signifies and how far it applies; the wise man is sufficient unto
himself for a happy existence, but not for mere existence. For he needs many
helps towards mere existence; but for a happy existence he needs only a sound
and upright soul, one that despises Fortune. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
Once
again, self-sufficiency is not a separation from things, but rather the manner
in which we relate to things. Instead of removing ourselves from the world, we
are called to recognize that we are, through our own judgments and decisions,
the masters of our own actions. How I think and how I choose depends upon
nothing other than myself, and it is in this sense man, as a rational animal,
is self-sufficient.
The
captain of a ship would hardly be a good captain if he locked himself in his
cabin, or the commander of an army would hardly be a good commander if he lazed
about at headquarters. He must always be engaged in his mission and the welfare
of his men, and he takes full responsibility for those around him. Yet for all
of his involvement, he remains self-sufficient, because his own decision is
final. He will survey the circumstances, he will seek advice, but his judgment
remains his alone. “The buck stops here.”
We will
judge about many things outside of us, but those judgments will be exclusively
our own, and our actions flow only from our own thinking and willing. This
should hardly be seen as a burden, but the greatest of all human freedoms. You
can take anything else from me, but you can’t take that.
None of
this means that man is entirely complete unto himself, needing absolutely
nothing. I have always been inspired by Seneca’s distinction about the things
we need. We need many things external to ourselves simply in order to survive,
but survival isn’t the highest measure of a man. He may live a long or short
life, in pleasure or in pain, in wealth or in poverty, but what determines his
merit is whether he lives well. To
live well requires only wisdom and virtue, a good soul, depending upon nothing
else.
I have
heard protests against such radical claims. “But I need a good job, money,
security, and position to make it in life. It would seem silly to talk about
virtue, but be living in the gutter! I need to provide myself with worldly
success, and then I can have the luxury of being virtuous.”
Being
virtuous isn’t a luxury, however. It is the defining and highest function of
the human person. While I may prefer certain benefits of fortune, I can choose
to live happily, as a good man, in any and every circumstance. I may be in
prison, or I may be a giant of industry, I may be healthy or sick, but that
really makes little difference. Each and every situation I am faced with offers
equal opportunity to live with justice and conviction.
To
“despise Fortune” is precisely to be indifferent to all of the externals, and
again, think of this not as a weakness, but as a great strength. How beautiful
and wonderful that you can tempt a man with luxury, or try to starve him into
submission. But whether he says “yes” or “no” is always entirely up to him.
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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