.
. . People may say: "But what sort of existence will the wise man have, if
he be left friendless when thrown into prison, or when stranded in some foreign
nation, or when delayed on a long voyage, or when out upon a lonely shore?”
His
life will be like that of Jupiter, who, amid the dissolution of the world, when
the gods are confounded together and Nature rests for a space from her work,
can retire into himself and give himself over to his own thoughts.
In
some such way as this the sage will act; he will retreat into himself, and live
with himself. As long as he is allowed to order his affairs according to his
judgment, he is self-sufficient—and marries a wife; he is self-sufficient—and
brings up children; he is self-sufficient—and yet could not live if he had to
live without the society of man. Natural promptings, and not his own
selfish needs, draw him into Friendships. For just as other things have for us
an inherent attractiveness, so has friendship. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
It is
difficult for us to imagine contentment in solitude, ingrained as we are with
the habit of seeing and being seen, of the hustle and bustle, of craving
popularity and recognition. This difficulty, however, is not at all about being
sociable, but rather in allowing the value of our lives to rest not on us, but
on everything around us.
I once
knew a woman, a very talented artist and writer, who had a wonderful vision for
an illustrated children’s book. She was, like so many other artists, frustrated
with being unable to find a publisher to pay for and promote the work. I
suggested she simply paint and write the work in any event, because the true
beauty of art was in the making, not in the praise or the profit. Let fortune
take care of itself.
She
seemed puzzled. “Well what use will it be writing the thing if no one
recognizes it?” I hope she one day was able to finish her project, either with
or without worldly success, but I often remember that moment as indicative of
the very different ways we relate to how we live to how the world perceives us.
Being
alone, unrecognized, or unwanted can be such a heavy burden, but I have found,
with hard work and the inspiration of those far wiser than myself, that there
is a real solution. I need not scrape and bow, battle or defeat, to get what I
want, because I really already have everything I want within myself.
To
appeal to such an inner strength may seem silly, but only if we are trying to
conquer the world. I really only have to conquer myself, and all the rest will
take its rightful place. I know this, because it will be my own estimation that
determines how I make use of whatever fortune brings my way.
There is
indeed, as Seneca says, something Divine within each and every one of us. It
was reading Plato, Aristotle, Boethius, and Aquinas over the years that helped
me to understand that things are more perfect the more self-sufficient they
are, and the less they depend for their being upon other things. God,
accordingly, would be the most perfect being, because he requires only Himself
to be complete.
Now a
man is hardly God. We come into being, we make mistakes, we are frail, and we
will die. Despite all these limitations, the little spark of the Divine within
us is our power to be masters over our own thinking and choosing. This is why
the truly self-sufficient man, as far as is permitted to man by Nature, can
live like Jupiter. He can be content with himself, and find joy simply in his
own being.
This
power to rule over our own judgments can be present in any and every
circumstance, from being entirely alone to being among a crowd of friends, from
being unmarried to having a wife and children, from being poor to being rich,
from being sick to being healthy.
Yet at
no point does this ever mean that we are no longer in the world. Self-sufficiency means simply that we can do good
under any conditions, and it most certainly does not exclude our need for
acting in friendship.
The
self-sufficient man is the best of friends to others because he does not merely
wish to receive, but to give freely of himself, and does not become a friend
because he depends upon what others give him, but because of his own Divine
strength.
Written 1/2005
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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