. . . We marvel at certain animals
because they can pass through fire and suffer no bodily harm; but how much more
marvelous is a man who has marched forth unhurt and unscathed through fire and
sword and devastation!
Do you understand now how much easier
it is to conquer a whole tribe than to conquer one man? This saying of Stilpo
makes common ground with Stoicism; the Stoic also can carry his goods
unimpaired through cities that have been burned to ashes; for he is
self-sufficient. Such are the bounds which he sets to his own happiness. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
I have
often known that feeling of pain that seems unbearable, both in body and in
mind, but mainly through the emotional suffering that comes with the Black Dog.
I would stand in awe at people who seemed to walk right through similar
obstacles, and I would wonder whether there was some special secret behind
their fortitude.
I began
to understand that some people simply had the brute strength to repress and
deny, and that, with time, those forces would erupt elsewhere.
Other
people numbed their pain in one form or another, though the pain was hardly
dormant. Those conflicts would rest for a time, and feed slowly. It grew
unseen, and came back far more powerful than ever before.
Other people
have chosen to develop no conscience at all. Let them be. They already have
their reward.
In other
words, distracting myself with the busywork of a shallow career, or drowning
myself in a bottle of whiskey, or refusing to care, isn’t going to cut it.
I have
learned not to confuse either repression, or numbing, or denial with any sort
of resolution. I have attempted all of them, and ended up far worse than I was
before. Unfortunately, this still left me without an answer. What was the
secret ingredient?
It is
hardly a secret, nor is it an ingredient. It is about an attitude, a
perspective about the true source of the human good within our nature. It isn’t
hidden, or obscure, or reserved for the elect. It’s there for all of us.
Stilpo,
like the Stoic with whom he shared a respect for self-sufficiency, saw that the
things we thought mattered don’t really matter at all. I can quite easily not
worry about something so terribly much if it’s something I know that I don’t require,
and then I can pass through the pain with much greater ease.
My
judgment will make all the difference, and it will make the difference between
a pain that is manageable and a pain that will kill me. Why did I want that
wife, or that job, or that reward? I thought those things were worthwhile
because I thought that they would make be better and happier. If I only
remember that nothing outside of myself will make me better or happier, but
that only I can make myself better and happier, I’ve taken the first step.
We’ve
all walked past garbage on the street. In the last few years, I find myself
picking it up to rightly dispose of it. My inner hippie is showing. But I
certainly see nothing valuable about it worthy to possess. I don’t want it,
because I don’t need it.
Now
imagine walking along, and spotting a hundred dollar bill in the grass, or even
a full wallet on the sidewalk, bulging with cash. What will most of us do? We
will pocket the money, because it is something we wish to possess.
Finally,
imagine a situation where you don’t even care to possess the money. Will you
walk past, just like you walked past the trash? You won’t even crave for something
you don’t care for.
Does the
Stoic, then, just move along, oblivious and without concern? No. He puts things
right where they belong, and asks nothing more for himself. That is why he can
be a friend. He owns himself, and is a friend because he gives of himself.
I’ve often
done this poorly, but I do recall two times I managed to do it right. In
college, I found a wallet below my chair in the cafeteria. I lost count at
eight one hundred dollar bills. I thought of everything I could do with it. But
there was also a student ID, and my conscience began to attack. I ended up
taking it to the young lady’s dorm, only to find her angry with me. “When did
you steal it?” It was one of those few moments I could walk away content, and
realize that I had done what was right, from my own action, regardless of what
she may have thought.
Years
later, I hadn’t received my paycheck, and my employer just ran the paperwork
again. I ended up with two paychecks, because the first had simply been caught
up in the mail. Struggling against my greed, I returned the second one. This
caused great administrative confusion, since we rarely assume honesty when it comes
to money.
If I
don’t care for the money, the profit, the position, or the glamor I see around
me, I won’t bother to stoop and pick it up for myself. I will give it back to
the people who deserve it, for their good or for ill, as only they can decide. I
can learn to truly recognize what is mine, and what is actually worth living
for.
Written 1/2005
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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