M. But with how little is this man himself satisfied! No one has said more on frugality. For when a man is far removed from those things which occasion a desire of money, from love, ambition, or other daily extravagance, why should he be fond of money, or concern himself at all about it?
Could the Scythian Anacharsis disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of his in these words:
“Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal Gods.”
And almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out, “How many things are there which I do not want!”
Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: “What!” said he, “did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that I had no occasion for money?”
But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king’s generosity.
But Diogenes took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted anything: “Just at present,” said he, “I wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun,” for Alexander was hindering him from sunning himself.
And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself; and that the other could never obtain his.
Could the Scythian Anacharsis disregard money, and shall not our philosophers be able to do so? We are informed of an epistle of his in these words:
“Anacharsis to Hanno, greeting. My clothing is the same as that with which the Scythians cover themselves; the hardness of my feet supplies the want of shoes; the ground is my bed, hunger my sauce, my food milk, cheese, and flesh. So you may come to me as to a man in want of nothing. But as to those presents you take so much pleasure in, you may dispose of them to your own citizens, or to the immortal Gods.”
And almost all philosophers, of all schools, excepting those who are warped from right reason by a vicious disposition, might have been of this same opinion. Socrates, when on one occasion he saw a great quantity of gold and silver carried in a procession, cried out, “How many things are there which I do not want!”
Xenocrates, when some ambassadors from Alexander had brought him fifty talents, which was a very large sum of money in those times, especially at Athens, carried the ambassadors to sup in the Academy, and placed just a sufficiency before them, without any apparatus. When they asked him, the next day, to whom he wished the money which they had for him to be paid: “What!” said he, “did you not perceive by our slight repast of yesterday that I had no occasion for money?”
But when he perceived that they were somewhat dejected, he accepted of thirty minas, that he might not seem to treat with disrespect the king’s generosity.
But Diogenes took a greater liberty, like a Cynic, when Alexander asked him if he wanted anything: “Just at present,” said he, “I wish that you would stand a little out of the line between me and the sun,” for Alexander was hindering him from sunning himself.
And, indeed, this very man used to maintain how much he surpassed the Persian king in his manner of life and fortune; for that he himself was in want of nothing, while the other never had enough; and that he had no inclination for those pleasures of which the other could never get enough to satisfy himself; and that the other could never obtain his.
—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 5.32
I pause for a moment when Cicero tells me how any decent philosopher will revere the virtue of temperance, and why he will gladly wave aside the temptation of riches. I must remember that he is referring to the man of mindfulness and integrity, not to the polished professional, to someone who rises up to the task instead of merely basking in the title. Whenever I confuse the two, I consider their respective attitudes toward promotions, and I am immediately set straight.
Even Epicurus, which for Cicero is saying quite a lot, had the good sense to be indifferent to money. Whatever their disagreements about the first principles of human nature, those who look beyond the appearances will learn how negligible our circumstances become when contrasted with our judgments. The Epicurean may still be caught up in his pleasure and pain, but he at least knows to become the master of his pleasure and pain.
I am grateful to find anecdotes like these, since the stories I read in the newspapers or watch on the evening news are little more than homages to people who became wealthy, or grievances from people who wish they could become wealthy. Whatever membership card he happens to carry, the sage knows how to operate on a completely different level, where the contents of his conscience come before the contents of his bank account. His commitment seems effortless to the rest of us, because of the depth to his understanding: he grasps the reasons why he was made for the virtues, making all the rest feel paltry.
If I dare to say such things out loud, the critics will insist I am demanding the impossible.
“How is anyone supposed to live that way?”
Simply. It involves swapping the usual assumptions about means and ends.
“You’d have to be rich first, before you could stop caring about money!”
Yes, you would indeed have to be rich, but not in the customary commodities. This is about a fundamental change in values, not about modifying a consumer lifestyle.
Anacharsis acquired a power that few of us are willing to wield, an invulnerability to the sway of others, by choosing to not to care for the same distractions they hold so dear. If I am not impressed by cash, or by luxuries, or by titles, what grip can you have on me? You have nothing I want, and you cannot take away what I already have; neither bribery nor threats will force me to submit.
Xenocrates demonstrated how the man who stands on principle doesn’t need to be jerk about it. He offered a subtle lesson instead of making a scene, and when that didn’t work, he accepted a nominal gift, just large enough not cause offense, yet not so large as to place him under any obligations. There is a certain knack to being magnificent in one’s humility.
Diogenes, on the other hand, never much worried about being objectionable, perhaps because he realized how the offense is ultimately a reflection on the one who feels the violent outrage. If I had my ducks in a row, I would pity an Aleander of Macedon or a King of Persia, not sell my soul by seeking their favors. The happy life only becomes impossible on account of my conceit.
I pause for a moment when Cicero tells me how any decent philosopher will revere the virtue of temperance, and why he will gladly wave aside the temptation of riches. I must remember that he is referring to the man of mindfulness and integrity, not to the polished professional, to someone who rises up to the task instead of merely basking in the title. Whenever I confuse the two, I consider their respective attitudes toward promotions, and I am immediately set straight.
Even Epicurus, which for Cicero is saying quite a lot, had the good sense to be indifferent to money. Whatever their disagreements about the first principles of human nature, those who look beyond the appearances will learn how negligible our circumstances become when contrasted with our judgments. The Epicurean may still be caught up in his pleasure and pain, but he at least knows to become the master of his pleasure and pain.
I am grateful to find anecdotes like these, since the stories I read in the newspapers or watch on the evening news are little more than homages to people who became wealthy, or grievances from people who wish they could become wealthy. Whatever membership card he happens to carry, the sage knows how to operate on a completely different level, where the contents of his conscience come before the contents of his bank account. His commitment seems effortless to the rest of us, because of the depth to his understanding: he grasps the reasons why he was made for the virtues, making all the rest feel paltry.
If I dare to say such things out loud, the critics will insist I am demanding the impossible.
“How is anyone supposed to live that way?”
Simply. It involves swapping the usual assumptions about means and ends.
“You’d have to be rich first, before you could stop caring about money!”
Yes, you would indeed have to be rich, but not in the customary commodities. This is about a fundamental change in values, not about modifying a consumer lifestyle.
Anacharsis acquired a power that few of us are willing to wield, an invulnerability to the sway of others, by choosing to not to care for the same distractions they hold so dear. If I am not impressed by cash, or by luxuries, or by titles, what grip can you have on me? You have nothing I want, and you cannot take away what I already have; neither bribery nor threats will force me to submit.
Xenocrates demonstrated how the man who stands on principle doesn’t need to be jerk about it. He offered a subtle lesson instead of making a scene, and when that didn’t work, he accepted a nominal gift, just large enough not cause offense, yet not so large as to place him under any obligations. There is a certain knack to being magnificent in one’s humility.
Diogenes, on the other hand, never much worried about being objectionable, perhaps because he realized how the offense is ultimately a reflection on the one who feels the violent outrage. If I had my ducks in a row, I would pity an Aleander of Macedon or a King of Persia, not sell my soul by seeking their favors. The happy life only becomes impossible on account of my conceit.
—Reflection written in 3/1999
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment