Musonius Rufus, Lectures 19.3

Since we make houses too for a shelter, I argue that they ought to be made to satisfy bare necessity, to keep out the cold and extreme heat and to be a protection from the sun and the winds for those who need it. 

 

In general, whatever a natural cave would offer, furnishing a moderate shelter for man, this our houses ought to furnish for us, with just enough to spare to make a convenient place for storing away man's food. 

 

What good are courtyards surrounded by colonnades? What good are all kinds of colored paints? What good are gold-decked rooms? What good are expensive stones, some fitted together on the floor, others inlaid in the walls, some brought from a great distance, and at the greatest expense? 

 

Are not all these things superfluous and unnecessary, without which it is possible not only to live but also to be healthy? Are they not the source of constant trouble, and do they not cost great sums of money from which many people might have benefited by public and private charity? 

 

As it should be with my clothing, so it should also be with my home, which is really just another layer of protection. The best place to live is in one that encourages a vitality of the body, so that I may then have a safe place to develop a contentment in my soul. 

 

A house that is simple and humble may frighten me if I still think that happiness is to be found in the acquisition of more and more things, but once I have my head on straight, I will appreciate that the cottage will do me far better than the mansion. It does not demand an absence of comfort, only a wariness of losing myself to the lure of unnecessary luxury. The difference becomes clear when my sense of human purpose becomes clear. 

 

But did Musonius really just say that a cave can be a good model? Not all of them are dank or full of bats, and there’s a good reason people will still speak of a “cave” as a cozy escape from the craziness of the outside world. The point is that we don’t need as much space to feel at ease as we might think, and we all know that the more room we have, the more likely we are to hoard masses of useless junk. 

 

When I regularly say that many of us possess far more than we require to be happy, people tend to nod their heads in agreement, and will then list a handful of items they could manage to part with. I tend to push myself further than that, suggesting that not just some, but the vast majority of things in my life are clutter, diversions from the proper task at hand. Why do I really want them? 

 

A house with unoccupied rooms, or decked out with all the most elaborate decorations, or filled with rows and rows of expensive recreational and labor-saving devices might make me feel more important, though it adds nothing to my inner worth. 

 

I may think a fancier home makes my life easier, but in so many ways, the ones that really count, it only makes my life harder. The more I have, the more I need to keep what I have, and then, before I know it, most of my day is spent in maintaining a winding chain of expenses and obligations. 

 

Who has the energy to worry about being a good man, when every waking moment must be dedicated to being a rich and luxurious man? 

 

Do I have the courage to actually add up all the effort, the time, and the resources I have given over to making the right impression with my clothes, my car, and my home? I can’t quite bring myself to do it, but I know I would be deeply ashamed, painfully aware that what could have been used in the service of virtue was instead wasted in the service of conceit. 

Written in 6/2000