A
household of slaves requires food and clothing; the bellies of so many hungry
creatures have to be filled.
We
must buy raiment for them, we must watch their most thievish hands, and we must
make use of the services of people who weep and execrate us.
How
far happier is he who is indebted to no man for anything, except for what he
can deprive himself of with the greatest ease!
My mother
would always tell me that the rich have their own set of problems, though at
first I didn’t believe her. Surely the people who owned more could do so much more,
could be free from all those petty concerns, could ease their way into
anything, or out of anything, they wanted?
I suppose
I had to admit that money couldn’t buy happiness, but it certainly seemed that
money made it quite a bit easier.
I spent
many years thinking I was rubbing shoulders with some well-to-do folks, though
it was really more like licking their boots. Initially I was quite impressed by
their sense of class and confidence, by the way they seemed to breeze through
life, by the thrill of all eyes being upon them. I fell head over heels for a
girl from big money, not old money, but big money nonetheless, and I basked in
her power to acquire anything she wanted, if she just asked the right people.
Yet
beneath all those vivid impressions, I began to uncover a far less glamorous
reality. These people were hardly any happier than the rest of us, and
certainly not any better. They also had doubts, and fears, and were consumed by
desire or rage. They also lied, and cheated, and stole. Why would they feel
this way if their wealth made them content? Why would they do such things if
their possessions made them superior?
Beyond
that, I also noticed that they faced a whole new set of stumbling blocks, ones
I could hardly relate to. Instead of having to work less because of their
prosperity, they had to work all the harder to maintain it. Instead of having
fewer worries, they accumulated more troubles. Instead of feeling more secure,
they were always looking over their shoulders, uncertain about who they could
trust.
Most of
all, so many of them battled with temptations far beyond my simpler experiences.
With so much attention focused on what was outside of them, they were drawn to
neglecting what was inside of them. With so much time spent on ruling others,
they easily forgot to rule themselves. With so much effort expended in managing
their estates, they were prone to mismanage their souls.
If you
buy fancy homes, you must maintain them. If you accumulate great riches, you
must protect them. If you employ many servants, you must watch over them. If
you build up a noble appearance, you can never let down your guard.
It is
hard enough for me to struggle with putting myself in order, and the last thing
I would need is to have to struggle with putting everyone and everything else
in order. I should remember my mother’s advice, and I should heed the words of
G.K. Chesterton:
There
are two ways to get enough. One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The
other is to desire less.
A
wonderful passage from Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy will also get
me right back on track:
My
contention is that no good thing harms its owner, a thing which you won’t
gainsay. But wealth very often does harm its owners, for all the most criminal
elements of the population who are thereby all the more covetous of other
people’s property are convinced that they alone are worthy to possess all the
gold and precious stones there are.
You
are shuddering now at the thought of club and knife, but if you had set out on
the path of this life with empty pockets, you would whistle your way past any
highwayman.
How
splendid, then, the blessing of mortal riches is! Once won, they never leave
you carefree again.
Written in 9/2011
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