That is for you to bring into the question, not for me. For it is you who know yourself; you know at how much you put your worth, and at what price you sell yourself. For different men sell at different prices.
That is why Agrippinus, when Florus was considering whether he should go down to Nero's shows, to perform some part in them himself, said to him, “Go down.”
And when he asked, “Why do you not go down yourself?” said, “Because I do not even consider the question.”
For when a man once lowers himself to think about such matters, and to value external things and calculate about them he has almost forgotten his own character.
I have long appreciated the old Thomistic rule: Always follow your conscience, but first be sure that your conscience is rightly informed. Epictetus would surely approve.
Or, as one of my teachers always liked to say, “You pay your money, and you make your choice.”
Only I will decide what I think to be greater or lesser, more or less important, absolute or relative. Am I certain that this is the best path for my life? Then I should follow it and be content.
And there, as they say, is the rub. How is it working out for me? Why does it not feel quite right? What is this restlessness and doubt that is creeping in? I can’t seem to get around the sense that I have sold myself short.
Indeed, I may well have done just that. I now have some of the “stuff” I thought mattered, and in the process I have compromised my own integrity as a person.
Please do laugh all you like, but there are times when it seems like there is a little voice of Epictetus in my head, who throws gruff challenges at me, both caring and scolding at the same time. If you read him long enough, that style may get stuck in your head, too!
“Well, you thought it was best! Now you have exactly what you wanted, and you find that it isn’t enough? Do you wish to reconsider?”
A man sets his own price, determining precisely when he will negotiate, and when he will refuse to budge. The vicious man will surrender his character for his conveniences, while the virtuous man will surrender his conveniences for his character. I’m sorry to say that it’s that simple, and in the end I’m the one to make that call.
Nero set up his shows and games as a way for Romans to pay homage to his vanity, to see and to be seen, all wrapped in packages of extravagance or violence. We don’t need to think very long to figure out what our modern equivalents are, all the different ways to gain leverage by being ostentatious and obsequious. If I believe that winning status is what matters in life, then I will not hesitate to flatter my masters, play clever social tricks, stab rivals in the back, and step over a few bodies to gain my place. But if I think that this might go against my deeper calling to be thoughtful and loving, then I should walk away from that kind of life.
Agrippinus grasped that every man needed to follow what he thought was right, and he would not begrudge another deciding to play such games, but he himself would have none of it. The fact that the possibility did not cross his mind, that it wasn’t even an option worth any attention, gives me an inspiring example to follow. Such a constitution is only possible when the mind is completely secure in its judgments, when what were once temptations are now just laughable.
It can be difficult to admit, but I am painfully aware that if I still waver in my resolve, if the wrong thing can still call to me so alluringly, then that means I still have some more work to do on my estimation and my habits.
It gives me a bit of courage, for example, to remember how long I was a slave to smoking cigarettes, and yet now the thought of one does absolutely nothing for me. On a grander scale, I need to consider my dependence upon circumstances in much the same way, recognizing that a good man does not need to measure his worth by trinkets and pieces of paper.
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