Boethius, The Consolation 3.7

“And you too, creatures of the earth, do dream of your first state, though with a dim idea. With whatsoever thinking it may be, you look to that goal of happiness, though never so obscure your thoughts: there, to true happiness, your natural course does guide you, and from the same your various errors lead you.

“For I would have you consider whether men can reach the end they have resolved upon, namely happiness, by these ways by which they think to attain to it. If money and places of honor and such-like do bring anything of that sort to a man who seems to lack no good thing, then let us acknowledge with them that men do become happy by the possession of these things.

“But if they cannot perform their promises, and there is still lack of further good things, surely it is plain that a false appearance of happiness is there discovered.”

“You, therefore, who had lately abundant riches, shall first answer me. With all that great wealth, was your mind never perturbed by torturing care arising from some sense of injustice?”

“Yes,” I said. “I cannot remember that my mind was ever free from some such care.”

“Was it not because something was lacking, which you missed, or because something was present to you which you did not like to have?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You desired, then, the presence of the one, and the absence of the other?”

“I acknowledge it.”

“Then,” said she, “such a man lacks what he desires.”

“He does.”

“But while a man lacks anything, can he possibly satisfy himself?”

“No,” said I.

“Then, while you were bountifully supplied with wealth, you felt that you did not satisfy yourself?”

“I did indeed.”

“Then,” said she, “wealth cannot prevent a man from lacking or make him satisfied. And this is what it apparently professed to do.” . . .

—from Book 3, Prose 3

I hardly need to turn outwards at others, when I can just as easily, and more responsibly, look inwards within myself. By what sort of twisted thinking am I assuming that having more means being better?

And here is where I may start to make excuses. Having what? If I have more money, more power, more influence, more means, surely this will allow me to be more?

This is how the delusion begins, and it is quite the pickle. I proudly say that being the big man won’t make me the good man, and I may insist on it quite vehemently, yelling loudly and stomping my feet, but I still fall for that same old trick.

Look at me. I give my money to all the right causes, the ones that are so trendy, and I associate with all the right people, the ones who are so popular, but only, of course, in the best circles. I march about with pithy signs, condemning my opponents. I use my situation as a soapbox for what I’m told is right, but only as long as it is convenient for me.

Through it all, I realize something desperately weak, and horribly pathetic, about how I have been living. If I put on a good face, and smile for the camera, I’m just fine, but if life asks any more of me, I skulk off into a corner. It ends up being too much to ask to actually put my money where my mouth is.

Lady Philosophy is not suggesting some deeply profound ideal here; she is simply reminding us of a fact we knew all along, but sometimes wanted desperately not to be true. She is not appealing to any deep metaphysics, but just to the reality of everyday experience.

Have you ever had more, and not felt complete? Conversely, have you ever had less, and still felt complete? I don’t mean what we say about ourselves to others, because we often love to brag, but how we know, deep within ourselves, who we really are.

These two, quite different, aspects of our lives really have nothing to do with one another. What happens to occur on the outside is not the cause of who I am on the inside. What I do is not the same as what happens to me, a truly Stoic insight, and even the “best” things that happen to me can have me choose to be the “worst” of all men.

The circumstance never makes the man, even as the man makes something of the circumstance.

When I first met my future wife, I spoiled her beyond belief, and spent most of every paltry paycheck to please her, because I falsely assumed that being a decent fellow meant being a man who gave her things. I had sadly fallen for someone else before, who never had a worldly need or want in her entire life, and I figured I had to give her more “stuff”.

Then one day, my new friend told me that I didn’t need to give her things. She would be happy, she said, if I gave her all of myself, whatever else might come. That was quite new to me. Every other girl that ever paid attention to me was from big money; I ended up with the one girl without any money.

And Providence did me the greatest favor.

Some rich people are happy, and some poor people are happy. It takes only common sense to see that money and happiness are not the same. 

Written in 9/2015

IMAGE: Rembrandt, The Parable of the Rich Fool (1627)