Seneca on Philosophy and Friendship 9

. . . As we hate solitude and crave society, as nature draws men to each other, so in this matter also there is an attraction which makes us desirous of friendship.

Nevertheless, though the sage may love his friends dearly, often comparing them with himself, and putting them ahead of himself, yet all the good will be limited to his own being, and he will speak the words which were spoken by the very Stilpo whom Epicurus criticizes in his letter.

For Stilpo, after his country was captured and his children and his wife lost, as he emerged from the general desolation alone and yet happy, spoke as follows to Demetrius, called Sacker of Cities because of the destruction he brought upon them, in answer to the question whether he had lost anything: "I have all my goods with me!"

There is a brave and stouthearted man for you! The enemy conquered, but Stilpo conquered his conqueror. "I have lost nothing!”

Yes, he forced Demetrius to wonder whether he himself had conquered after all. "My goods are all with me! " In other words, he deemed nothing that might be taken from him to be a good. . . .

—Seneca the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9, tr Gummere

Seneca’s letter began with a question from Lucilius about Stilpo and Epicurus. Though Seneca explained how the views of the Megarians, Epicureans, and Stoics differ, he now seeks out a common bond with Stilpo, and he will soon even find a common bond with Epicurus.

I have always thought it a sign of a noble soul to not only point out a disagreement, but also to stress where there is an agreement. This helps bind us in solidarity, not fracture us in division.

Seneca is deeply impressed by the conviction and fortitude of Stilpo after Demetrius destroyed his possessions, his home, his country, and his family. Most of us, I imagine, would be consumed by sadness, hopelessness, or rage. It even sounds like the beginning of a classic revenge epic. But Stilpo insists he has lost nothing, because he still has himself, and what is implicit here is a value he shared with the Stoics: the only complete goods are those within me, and what is within my own power.

We are often so certain that we can rule the world around us. Dedication, patience, and hard work, we are told, will bring success. There may perhaps, it is added, also be just a bit of luck involved. Many of us build our whole lives around this ideal.

It only takes the experience of powerlessness in the face of Fortune to see that there is far more than a bit of “luck” involved; most everything we depend upon has absolutely nothing to do with us, and most everything to do with things outside of our control.

This does not make man powerless, or a victim of fate. It simply means we must commit to those things that are most fully our own, and find our fullest joy there. Nothing else really has anything to do with us. This isn’t a message of despair, but of real hope.

I am always saddened to see the news reports from the scene following a natural disaster, and it is exactly such events, however large or small in scale, that can weaken my resolve. “I’ve lost everything!” People’s businesses, homes, all their possessions, their years and years of effort, are suddenly gone. Only a heartless man could not feel sympathy and understanding, but I do not think it is to belittle the pain to point to its cure. It is to honestly redefine possession and loss. It is the example of Stilpo.

I see such things on a personal level, almost daily. Back at one of those times when I was struggling heartily myself with the ways of the world, more so than usual, I crossed paths with a fellow I had known early on in graduate school. He had dropped out because there were simply no opportunities in academia to support his family, so he moved into the world of business.

As can so often happen, and as happens far more than many of us may think, the circumstances of the world, ones that had nothing to do with his own efforts, lost him his job. The market had changed and he could find nothing new. His wife, who had seemed so committed a few years earlier, had now left him, and was threatening to use the Courts to take their children for herself.

He was close to tears when he told me that her last words to him were, “You’re no good.”

Now I know full well that preaching any kind of philosophy or religion isn’t going to be of any help at a time like this. It may only make things worse. Only the support of friendship is required. All I could think of awkwardly saying was, “You are good.”

He rebuilt himself from the ground up, not because of anyone’s befuddled advice, but by reworking his own values. A few years later, we laughed heartily together about how our conversation uncannily resembled that therapy scene with Matt Damon and Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting: “It’s not your fault.” Yet quite seriously, he was good, and it wasn’t his fault.

I have hardly always managed it myself, but I’ve come to see, slowly but surely, that only the man who rules himself can be a friend to another, just as only a man who can laugh at himself can have a sense of humor. That is because only someone who owns himself can give you himself, something absolutely reliable. Anything else can, and will, fail us.

Written 1/2005

Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship