Let
not reflections such as these afflict you: 'I shall live without honor, and
never be of any account'; for if lack of honor is an evil, no one but yourself
can involve you in evil any more than in shame. Is it your business to get
office or to be invited to an entertainment?
‘Certainly
not.’
Where
then is the dishonor you talk of? How can you be 'of no account anywhere', when
you ought to count for something in those matters only which are in your power,
where you may achieve the highest worth?
'But
my friends,' you say, 'will lack assistance.'
What
do you mean by 'lack assistance'? They will not have cash from you and you will
not make them Roman citizens? Who told you that to do these things is in our
power, and not dependent upon others? Who can give to another what is not his
to give?. . .
—Epictetus,
The Handbook, Chapter 24 (tr
Matheson)
We are
told that our lives need to matter, that we need to make a difference, that we
must make our mark. These are noble sentiments, but what they mean hinges
entirely upon what we consider to be a valuable life. It is much like our
parents telling us to be good, though we aren’t quite sure what being good
means.
I
remember all the fine kids in college who were going to do something important
with their lives. They were going to save the environment, ban nuclear weapons,
fix the economy, or reform government. Since none of those things have actually
happened, they clearly didn’t follow through. The one that wanted to become an
environmental lawyer became a divorce lawyer instead, and the one that was
going to go into government on a platform of integrity now sells insurance in
New Jersey.
I would
usually keep my trap shut when these conversations were going on, but one day I
was asked straight out what I planned on doing with myself. In my usual
flippant way, I suggested that I would build a log cabin as far away from
civilization as possible, and whittle wooden ducks.
“Oh, and
then you’ll write a bestseller about it, like that Thoreau guy? Dude, I can
totally see you doing that.”
Jesus
wept.
We see,
of course, how easy it is to become scornful of human motives. My sardonic wit
would take me only so far, and in the end I was left with exactly the same old
question: what sort of life will be of any account?
The
usual answer is that a life that matters is a life that has influence. To make
a difference is to be remembered. To make our mark is to impress ourselves upon
the world.
I’m
fairly sure it was a combination of Marcus Aurelius and Ecclesiastes that eventually freed me from that illusion. Nothing I
can ever do in this world will have any permanent influence, all of us will end
up forgotten, and any impression I make will be quickly washed away.
This
does not, however, need to leave me hopeless and without purpose. It is the
mark of the pessimist to see only how something has failed, but the mark of the
optimist to see how something can be transformed. To be someone that matters,
to be a person of account, will simply not be found in the measure of the world
around me. This is completely beyond my power. It will rather be found in the
measure of the man within me. That is completely within my power.
I can
move beyond flippant ways and sardonic wit to recognize that my highest worth
is never determined by how many people cheer me as I walk by. I can be totally
content walking on an empty road, or strolling through a crowd that ignores me,
in the knowledge that I am more than a lump of flesh that will die and rot in
the ground. I have a mind that can be open to infinite truth, and a heart that
can embrace unending love.
Instead
of asking what I was going to do to change the world, someone once asked me a
much more important question. If I had the opportunity to offer any last words
before I died, what would they be? The flippant response, that I would croak or
gurgle before leaving this mortal coil, came to mind quickly, and also quickly
passed. Without even thinking further, I blurted out a phrase from Ecclesiastes:
There is nothing better than that
a man should enjoy his work, for that is his lot; who can bring him to see what
will be after him?
No
amount of wealth, or fame, or influence is going to make me a person of
account. Those things are not mine to possess, and they are not mine to give. I
possess only myself, and how I live with that which is given to me will make
all the difference. My work in this life isn’t about making money or being
recognized, but about living well.
I hardly
think it an accident that Epictetus agrees with the Scriptures here.
Written in 3/2007
Image: Luca Giordano, The Dream of Solomon (c. 1694)
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