At
one time I would obey the maxims of our school and plunge into public life, I
would obtain office and become consul, not because the purple robe and lictor's
axes attract me, but in order that I may be able to be of use to my friends, my
relatives, to all my countrymen, and indeed to all mankind. Ready and
determined, I follow the advice of Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus, all of whom
bid one take part in public affairs, though none of them ever did so himself.
And
then, as soon as something disturbs my mind, which is not used to receiving
shocks, as soon as something occurs which is either disgraceful, such as often
occurs in all men's lives, or which does not proceed quite easily, or when
subjects of very little importance require me to devote a great deal of time to
them, I go back to my life of leisure, and, just as even tired cattle go faster
when they are going home, I wish to retire and pass my life within the walls of
my house.
People may think that philosophers
in general are isolated from the real world, and that Stoics in particular have
no care or concern for others. Yet the Stoicism I know insists that man must be
a social animal, precisely because he is a rational animal, and that he is
called to be in service to others, precisely because he is made to live with
justice.
Any Stoic worth the name will always
hold a bond of kinship with his neighbors, recognizing himself in them, and
knowing that each person is an inseparable part of the whole. We are all agents
of Providence.
Accordingly, the great Stoics
stressed the importance of an active public life, and that we should participate
and cooperate with our fellows. My values may be very different than those of
the man who desires fame and fortune, but this does not mean I should shun him.
I choose to define myself by the character inside of me, while he chooses to
define himself by all the things outside of him, yet we share in the very same
nature.
So I make a very conscious and
deliberate effort, each and every day, to involve myself with others, to pass
something good on to them, however paltry it may seem. I shouldn’t attempt this
to gain power or influence over them, or to increase my station; I should do it
to hopefully improve myself and to help them, in turn, improve themselves.
I try to seek out friends so I can
do something for them, not so they can do something for me. I tell myself I
should expect no other appreciation or reward, beyond the knowledge of having
struggled to live with virtue.
That sounds all nice and well, but
then I see once again how poorly other people can actually decide to behave.
They will lie, they will steal, they will grovel to one and gossip about
another. They will smile at you when you are convenient, and look away when you
are no longer of any use. I can hardly tell whether I can trust a man, because
I do not know what is really in his heart. Welcome to the seedy side of public
life.
Now I suddenly question my values,
and I allow myself to become deeply discouraged.
I can remember that I should not
look to how others will live, but to how I can live, and I still feel like my
efforts are wasted. I can consider that hardships and obstacles offer a
necessary opportunity in life, yet I remain despondent. I can repeatedly tell
myself not be resentful of anyone’s mistakes, even as they weigh down on me.
The worst part of it is that I know I
should choose to love people, while I also find it so difficult to even like
them. I know it is within my power to sincerely commit to my neighbors, and all
I can think about is running away from them.
I get tired of all the pettiness and
the malice. I sometimes just want to go home, and pretend the rest of the world
doesn’t even exist. I find that the biggest hindrance to a good life isn’t some
other conflicting grand theory, but the accumulation of many little annoyances.
Written in 4/2011
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