But if anyone thinks that wealth is the greatest consolation of old age, and that to acquire it is to live without sorrow, he is quite mistaken; wealth is able to procure for man the pleasures of eating, and drinking, and other sensual pleasures, but it can never afford cheerfulness of spirit nor freedom from sorrow in one who possesses it.
Witnesses to this truth are many rich men who are full of sadness and despair and think themselves wretched—evidence enough that wealth is not a good protection for old age.
In response to anything Musonius might have to say, the common attitude will look on with a blank stare; it was surely that way at his time, just as much as it is now.
Do I not have rather clear obligations for my old age, that I establish myself, that I accumulate wealth, that I provide the means for my future security and comfort? I have been told this for as long as I can remember, I have seen others doing it all around me, and it’s already enough of a chore to keep up with those demands. What else could really matter?
What else, indeed? When considering what actually matters, I need to stop keeping philosophy at arm’s length, as merely an amusing diversion from the task of living. Where there is no immediate reflection on my very human purpose, I will be acting blindly. What is it that I truly require, and can fame and fortune offer any of that for me?
I often find that I can give no reasonable account of myself at all. I focus in on gaining the worldly riches, and I then assume that contentment will somehow follow. I also easily forget that money in and of itself provides nothing at all, being useful only as a means for something else.
What is it good for? I can buy all sorts of conveniences and luxuries, and perhaps they will make my life more gratifying, but their presence will not make me any better as a person, and so they will not make me any happier as a person.
In fact, I could end up using them poorly just as readily as using them well, which should tell me that fortune doesn’t make the man, but that the man can make something of any fortune. It is what is within my soul, the content of my character, that will decide the difference.
When I have actually worked to be understanding and loving, with a real dedication instead of just going through the motions, I have never found myself burdened by any need. Yet when I have enslaved myself to a desire for possessions, always itchy and anxious, I will still find myself in a state of constant want.
It was true when I still had a spring in my step, and it will be just as true if I turn out to be old and gray.
Written in 4/2000
IMAGE: Hieronymus Bosch, Death and the Miser (c. 1490)
No comments:
Post a Comment