. . . The wise man will not allow a
single ill-won penny to cross his threshold, yet he will not refuse or close his
door against great riches, if they are the gift of fortune and the product of
virtue.
What reason has he for grudging them
good quarters? Let them come and be his guests. He will neither brag of them
nor hide them away: the one is the part of a silly, the other of a cowardly and
paltry spirit, which, as it were, muffles up a good thing in its lap.
Neither will he, as I said before, turn
them out of his house, for what will he say? Will he say, "You are
useless," or "I do not know how to use riches?" As he is capable
of performing a journey upon his own feet, but yet would prefer to mount a
carriage, just so he will be capable of being poor, yet will wish to be rich;
he will own wealth, but will view it as an uncertain possession which will
someday fly away from him. He will not allow it to be a burden either to
himself or to any one else.
He will give it—why do you prick up
your ears? Why do you open your pockets?—he will give it either to good men or
to those whom it may make into good men.
He will give it after having taken the
utmost pains to choose those who are fittest to receive it, as becomes one who
bears in mind that he ought to give an account of what he spends as well as of
what he receives.
He will give for good and commendable
reasons, for a gift ill bestowed counts as a shameful loss. He will have an
easily opened pocket, but not one with a hole in it, so that much may be taken
out of it, yet nothing may fall out of it.
—Seneca
the Younger, On the happy life,
Chapter 23 (tr Stewart)
I
imagine the Rome of Seneca’s time was quite similar to our own day and age, with
people rushing about trying to gain as much money, status, and influence for
themselves as they possibly could. Friends readily became nothing but tools for
advancement, and profit held sway over justice. It would be easy to assume at
first that Seneca is condoning such a life, simply because he is saying we may
prefer to be rich, but his argument has always pointed in a very different
direction, and he is as disturbed by greed and an attachment to wealth as much
as any other Stoic.
Seneca’s
discussion of money can be readily broadened to include any of the
circumstances of Fortune, and is not just about how much we possess, but also
about our relation to all of our external conditions. Vanity will encourage us
to define ourselves by Fortune, but it is also cowardly to neglect Fortune. The
key lies in treating Fortune rightly, never as an end, but always as an
indifferent means, always expecting it to come and go, and ordering all of our
efforts toward our only true end, wisdom and virtue alone.
My thinking
on priorities will profoundly alter the way I receive things, and the way I
give them away. Notice the humorous way the greedy man immediately thinks he is
worthy of being given something, because he can conceive of no other purpose in
the world.
Many
people also think that the appearance of their own character depends on how
much they give, and that they are seen to be doing it. But the quantities
involved, and the esteem gained by giving, are never the point. The captain of
industry is not better for giving millions of dollars than the minimum wage
worker who puts a single dollar in the collection box. The only thing that
could make them different is to whom they are giving, and why they are giving.
What do
I hope to see, so to speak, as the return for my investment? Am I giving to
increase my own position, or because it makes me feel satisfied with myself, or
in expectation of a favor in return? If my answer is expressed in terms of
other pieces of Fortune, this is not giving, but shuffling around those pieces
on the board of the marketplace. I am only bartering and trading one
circumstance for another.
But if
my answer is expressed in genuinely human terms, in terms of how my gifts of
Fortune can assist people to know the truth more fully and love the good more
deeply, then I am on the right track. I should try to give of myself so that
others can in turn be more fully themselves. The balance sheet of life is a
moral one, not a financial one, and I should give to people who are already
good, or who can be helped to become good.
Aristotle
argued that every virtue, guided by wisdom, is a mean between the extremes of
excess and deficiency. Generosity is by definition never selfish, and is also
never blind or thoughtless. It rests between stinginess and wastefulness, and
requires, as Seneca says, having an open pocket, but not a pocket with a hole.
The good man cannot help but give, because his acts of virtue are all that he
truly has, and he looks not to how much he spends, but how his spending helps
others to be better.
Written in 5/2004
Image: Thomas Gainsborough, Charity Relieves Distress (1784)
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