Seneca, Moral Letters 9.9

As long as he is allowed to order his affairs according to his judgment, he is self-sufficient—and marries a wife; he is self-sufficient—and brings up children; he is self-sufficient—and yet could not live if he had to live without the society of man. 

 

Natural promptings, and not his own selfish needs, draw him into friendships. For just as other things have for us an inherent attractiveness, so has friendship. 

 

As we hate solitude and crave society, as Nature draws men to each other, so in this matter also there is an attraction which makes us desirous of friendship.

 

All of my work is done in the world, and yet that work is distinctly my own. What I “get” from acting as a friend is determined entirely by what I chose to give to it. 

 

Quite often, I will see people discouraged by how others might live, or disappointed with what they perceive as their failures to make something of themselves, and so they are tempted to retreat from life, to withdraw from relationships with others.

 

I am quite sympathetic, since I have tried to hide away many times, though each and every time I have found that I am stubbornly focusing on the wrong problems. What others do does not determine my worth, and my own success is not measured by some scorecard, where he who dies with the most toys wins. 

 

Trying to live without any human bonds is as foolish as holding my own breath out of spite, or covering my eyes with my hands to make the world disappear. It solves nothing, and only pushes the frustrations and resentments deeper down. As long as I continue to act with compassion and concern, finding occasions for self-improvement in anyone and anything that comes my way, I am doing right and making progress.

 

In choosing to go about my daily business, however humble, or in offering love to my family, with what little I might have to give, I am then most fully in possession of myself. It makes my self-sufficiency and character stronger, not weaker, to live in this way. 

 

Nature herself is always reminding me that I am a part within the whole, and that I can only become complete by freely cooperating with that whole. Providence is always, firmly but gently nudging me toward reaching out instead of running away. My own humanity is always telling me that we are all made for one another. 

 

At many times in my life, I have felt that I am being offered slim pickings, and that there isn’t terribly much for me to work with. I only think this, however, because I am confusing breadth for depth, big impressions with a sincere conscience. 

 

On some days, the best I can do is to have a cheerful conversation with a shopkeeper, or smile instead of curse when someone gives me the finger in traffic. That is enough, as long as I have my priorities in order; having given something decent of myself is sufficient, as long as my intentions are pure. 

Written in 5/2012

IMAGE: The Le Nain Brothers, Peasant Family in an Interior (c. 1642)