He
is not able to serve in the army? Then let him become a candidate for civic
honors.
Must
he live in a private station? Then let him be an advocate.
Is
he condemned to keep silence? Then let him help his countrymen with silent
counsel.
Is
it dangerous for him even to enter the forum? Then let him prove himself a good
comrade, a faithful friend, a sober guest in people's houses, at public shows,
and at wine-parties.
You see, I was never any good at doing
what most people think of as important. I never had the knack for it, and I
never had the will for it. I am not cut from the right cloth for any of that. There
were times when I was impressed by the consequences of fame and power, but I am
now grateful, in hindsight, that I never had to carry that burden.
I will repeatedly say that Stoicism
was not something that I just liked; it was rather something that I needed. I
needed it precisely to learn the true measure of happiness, to look to the
character within me instead of the circumstances outside me. If I had been
given all the gifts of a sharp mind, or a chiseled chin, or a sweet tongue, I
would most likely have become a scoundrel, having never been challenged to find
any deeper meaning.
I am not quite a scoundrel, though I
am still often a rather foolish fellow. I will still fall for so many of the
old tricks. I will still be tempted, against my better judgment, to desire some
special place in the order of things.
Special? In what way? There’s the
rub. Know what can make you special, and that will be your salvation. Perhaps
you were not made to be a soldier. Perhaps you were not made to be a politician.
Perhaps you were not even made to be anyone with a name, or a title, or a
position of importance.
Maybe you were just made to be a
thoughtful and loving person. The world has too few of those people. You are
now better than any king.
I am at first discouraged by
Seneca’s insistence on being someone in public life, and then I realize what he
actually means by being someone in public life. He tells me I should not
retreat from a sense of service, and I frown at him, having tried so hard to be
of service.
But what does it mean to be of
service? I need to stop running away from other people, just because I haven’t
had my way. Service is giving, even when nothing is offered in return. Service
is caring, even when no one notices you. Service is love, even when you find
that you are not loved one bit.
And service remains my completion. A
man is the sum of what he is willing to give, whatever he may receive from
others. Be kind, be caring, be a friend. I have now done my work.
As I now grow older, and the vain
dreams of my youth fade away, I will punch the clock, I will play along with the
game, and I will break my back to make someone else rich. I have learned, in
the hard way, to no longer worry about any of that. There is only one thing I
have left, but it is no small thing. It is the dignity of my character.
On most any day, I am treated like a
fool, and perhaps I deserve it. On most any day, I am either mocked or
neglected, and I don’t know which is preferable. On most any day, I am a
nobody, and nobody would notice if I was suddenly gone.
Yet on any day, on every day, I can
still act with wisdom and virtue. Even in the smallest way, I can offer love.
Did you not notice it? No matter. It was still given.
There, my friends, is true public
service. This is how I can prove myself.
Written in 7/2011
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