. . . Consider whether you should not rather blame yourself,
because you did not expect such a man to err in such a way. For you had means
given you by your reason to suppose that it was likely that he would commit
this error, and yet you have forgotten and are amazed that he has erred.
But most of all when you blame a man as faithless or ungrateful,
turn to yourself. For the fault is manifestly your own, whether you did trust
that a man who had such a disposition would keep his promise, or when conferring
your kindness you did not confer it absolutely, nor yet in such way as to have
received from your very act all the profit.
For what more do you want when you have done a man a
service? Are you not content that you have done something conformable to your
nature, and do you seek to be paid for it?
It is just as if the eye demanded a recompense for seeing,
or the feet for walking. For as these members are formed for a particular
purpose, and by working according to their several constitutions obtain what is
their own, so also as man is formed by Nature to acts of benevolence. When he
has done anything benevolent or in any other way conducive to the common
interest, he has acted conformably to his constitution, and he gets what is his
own.
—Marcus
Aurelius, Meditations, Book 9.42 (tr
Long)
If, as a child,
I chose to associate with those of my peers who mocked, ridiculed, and bullied
one another, should I not have expected that I would then find myself sad,
discouraged, and alone? Even at such a tender age, I could have seen
immediately what I was getting into.
“The friends
you choose reflect who you are,” my betters told me, and I didn’t pay enough
attention to that. It wasn’t the fault of spoiled and vicious children, but of
my own foolishness. They would be who they would be, but I made myself
miserable.
If, as a young
man, I chose to fall deeply in love with a girl who was dishonest, disloyal,
and dismissive from the very beginning, should I not have expected a broken
heart? Even though I was fired up by passion, I could have seen immediately
what I was getting into.
“Find a kind woman,
however humble she may seem, knowing that you can trust her,” my betters told
me, and I didn’t pay enough attention to that. It wasn’t the fault of someone whose
blood ran cold, but of my own choice not to think clearly. She would be who she
would be, but I had dug my own grave.
If, as a grown
man, I chose to follow a professional path filled with poseurs and players,
should I not have expected to fail when I tried to engage them on their terms?
Even as I told myself I was driven by principles, I was really just being a
submissive follower.
“Don’t worry
whether your trade makes you rich in money or fame, but worry whether your
trade makes you rich in happiness and character,” my betters told me, and I
didn’t pay enough attention to that. It wasn’t the fault of manipulators, but
of letting myself be manipulated. They would be who they would be, but I
painted myself into a corner.
If others act
so poorly, it is so easy to blame them for my own loss; yet who they are is
nothing I have any control over, even as I have complete control over myself.
The finger is pointed in entirely the wrong direction.
My error lies
in expecting something beyond my own excellence, to make my dignity depend upon
some reward beyond living well for its own sake. Does the approval of friends,
or conquest in romance, or success in any career make me any better? Not
in the least. I am better by what I have done rightly, within itself, asking
for nothing other than that as the most perfect reward.
As soon as I
worked to be liked, loved, or important in the world, I was working against
myself.
Eyes are made
for seeing, and feet are made for walking, and men are made for virtue. This is
apparent by simply examining the essence of what these parts are, revealing
their purpose within the whole. Let a foot be a foot, and a man be a man. That
is all that is required.
Written in 12/2008
No comments:
Post a Comment