It is again our privilege to publish an ancient document, not for it’s ability to entertain, but for the questions it raises for men of leisure. Here, again, is another submission from the collection of Master Perrin of Eustachy, a scholar of some note, and well coifed gadabout.
My Dear Mr. Hankerds:
I have received your note, though admittedly it was not well received. I take no issue with your feelings on such matters, and, in fact,the sincerity of your writings is unquestioned. In truth, the only item in you correspondence with which I take genuine issue was your closing phrase which included the words: “your friend.” Surely, in the context of your letter, those words do not reflect your true estimation of our relationship.
It is true that a man cannot be a friend to those who judge him for having too much, any more than those who judge him for having too little. I can not be a friend to anyone who thinks ill of me for for finding success, any more than someone who thinks ill of me for experiencing failure. For while the one takes pride in their comparative fortune, and the other swaddles in the envy of their relative misery, each have found their fortune or misery on a false foundation: one that is built upon the shifting sands of my condition.
My condition, such as it is, is currently better than (and worse than) that of every other person. Depending on the viewer, I might appear too old, and too young. Too educated, and too ignorant. Too thrifty, and too wasteful. Too ill, and too healthy. Too experienced, and too naive. I am all of these things to some people, and some of these things to all people. Indeed, tomorrow some of those people will percieve me differently even though I may not have changed even slightly, for they have changed.
Who am I that someone would seek their happiness, or their misery, in my current condition? Far from an unchangeable standard, my condition is always in the flux of ebb and flow. Should a shift in my circumstance cause someone else to feel better or worse about themselves? Should I feel shame or pride when life brings to me my greatest dream? Should I feel triumphant or miserable when life takes from me all that I hold dear? Relative to all who consider their contentment relative to my own, I should necessarily feel all at the same time, for my achievement, or my failure, will always give rise to one judgment or the other.
To a man who has neither, is the man with a crust of bread any less enviable than the man with a whole loaf? And, once all the bread is consumed, and the three men have nothing, should any man feel better when all hands are empty? Should any man feel worse if all have a loaf? Should another man’s state be the basis of any man’s despair or contentment?
More importantly, who should have the right to burden me with their happiness, or their misery? That I should seek achievement, so that another may find me worthy, is surely no less abhorrent than courting failure, so that another will not feel left wanting.
Those who would compel or restrict my conduct to serve their happiness, or misery, seek the privilege of the master; not the duties of the friend. Am I to be a slave to the judgment of all who would resent my good fortune, or condemn my folly? Are not the blessings of this world rare enough that it would be a sin to permit envy to steal joy from their arrival? Are not the miseries of this world ubiquitous enough that it would be a sin to add judgment to their burden?
I can not answer these questions for others, but in their asking I trust that I have betrayed my preferences in an unmistakeable fashion. To my initial point, it should be clear that I can not be a friend to any person who uses me in such a fashion, for they, in their judgment, have been no friend to me. What kind of friend triumphs in my misery, or wallows in my victories? In such matters, such a person would be indistinguishable from my master, and I seek no master among men.
Very truly yours,
Vis. Mordecai DuMont
I verily believe that this could be included in Voltaire’s “Philosophical Dictionary” under a chapter on “Inscriptions” and not a scholar the world over would attribute it to any other than the late Frenchman himself.
In the sense that everything modern may be said to have a French origin, you may be correct. Though Master Perrin assures me the authorship is authentic, one can never quite be certain, as the Bard would attest.