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4. Conditions for fulfillment

The human person is not self-sufficient. In order to live - and more particularly, in order to attain the self-fulfillment which is the purpose of life - no one possesses or finds in himself all that he needs. External elements are necessary: air, light, nourishment ... All these things, which sustain and help the person to develop, are goods or values for him. He has to be open to receive these "goods". The consequence of refusing to eat or to breathe is to lose his life. The same holds for the sick person who fails to recognize and take a medicine necessary to cure him.

To develop our body, we must be open to material goods; we need them, even while we should be aware that they are of an order inferior to ourselves. To develop our spirit, one must be likewise open to spiritual goods - which we more particularly designate as values [1]. Material goods are also values, but of a secondary order, for they cannot be really assimilated into ourselves.

At the end of the day it is myself and what I am inside that I have to live with; it is not what is around me. I can turn my back on what is outside and get away from it, but I cannot get away from myself. When one is deprived of all I have (the moment will come), it would be pitiful to find that it was all I was.

We will center our attention on spiritual values and on the two complementary dispositions or attitudes needed to be enriched by them: opening (looking out) and assimilating (receiving into ourselves):

- opening; toward new horizons and higher values. The outlook of the mind is enlarged; it especially grows in capacity for appreciation and admiration. A mind in search of higher values and positively open to them is the first condition for personal growth. Paradoxically, the more the mind can "lose" itself in contemplation of these values, the more it grows.

- responding and assimilating, by accepting within ourselves; letting ourselves be filled by what is greater or more admirable. Man cannot grow and come to be truly great except in the discovery of what is greater than himself, and in the readiness to make it his own, incorporating it into his personal life, whatever the efforts this may require.

Openness to values

Openness of mind. The person with narrow or closed horizons cannot grow or develop; he lacks space. The same happens with the one whose gaze is fixed too low, seeing just what lies below him with no reference to anything above. Broad and open horizons are essential. The qualities of the intellect are put to the test here: the purity, clarity, penetration, and height of one's intellectual outlook, and one's mental receptivity.

The self-development of each person is conditioned by the ability to discover and appreciate values. The greater his ability to admire authentic values, the richer and more fulfilled his life can become. For both Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, our human capacity for knowledge has a necessary relation to our power of admiration. Since admiration is a form of love, the capacity to know things, seeing their true value, also depends on the ability to love. Without love a person can remain blind to values. Viktor Frankl's comment, "love does not make one blind but seeing - able to see values" [2] comes to mind here again.

If education consists particularly in drawing out [3] a person's capacities for appreciating all the aspects of life, the question of values assumes a primordial role in the whole of education; and no educational system can escape being appraised and criticized according to the scale of values it proposes or communicates.

Acceptance and assimilation of values

If a value is to play its part in the process of personal fulfillment, a first condition is to understand and appreciate it. But if it is to help us to grow, mere intellectual understanding is not enough. Along with being appreciated, the value has to be accepted and assimilated. Otherwise it remains just something known from the outside, and is frustrated in its potential to enrich us within. Here the challenge is to the will: to choose and accept, to respond and to grow.

With my mind I have the capacity to discover values (in the authenticity or truth shining in them). And with my will I can respond to them (in the good they possess) - coming out of myself toward them; opening the way so that they can enter into me and, through assimilation, become mine.

This assimilation, however, is not like the physical assimilation of food, which occurs through a process involving absorption on our part of the material value, to the point of destroying it (and so it ceases to exist in its original form). Man is nourished by consuming, absorbing, and changing food, water, oxygen into himself. Spiritual values, as we have seen, are not consumed; they are not changed. They are communicated to man, enriching him without losing anything of their own reality or existence. Spiritual values have an inexhaustible communicability with regard to all those who are open to them.

To have an "open mind" is a good initial attitude in approaching any question. However, the mind cannot remain indefinitely open; it must close - around the truth - incorporating it to itself, just as the open mouth must close on and swallow the food that is to nourish the body. The healthy mind is not only open to truth, but searches for and embraces it, once found. It has a natural hunger for truth, in which it finds its nourishment. There is no limit to the nourishment which the healthy mind can draw from the truth, provided it realizes that certain truths, which initially seem tough and bitter to the palate, only yield their substance, good taste, and nourishment to those who are prepared to bite into them deeply, chew them over, and digest them thoroughly.

A person who cultivates a mind that is satisfied with "soft" truths - subjective, partial, and circumscribed truths - will move in a confined intellectual world, of undemanding and unpromising prospects. He will not have great ideas (he will tend not to let himself have them) or great projects, except in the imagination. Perhaps he will lose that intimate conviction which is naturally present, consciously or not, in everyone: that we are made for more - for broader horizons, for more knowledge, for greater goodness. In Pascal's words, "Man infinitely surpasses man". He is capable of conceiving and desiring great things, and greater things still. He has an innate tendency to rebel against philosophies which present human life as inherently constrained by definitive limits.

Values of this type cannot be truly assimilated in a life without enriching it interiorly. A necessary condition for this enrichment is that the subject not only opens himself but lets himself be drawn outwards and upwards in a way that broadens and heightens the reach of personal life. In this process the person acquires greater understanding of his own uniqueness and dignity, not as a source of values, but as someone capable of knowing values - as a real "connoisseur" - as well as of truly embodying them.

It is interesting to note that there is a certain two-way aspect to this process. The person is enriched by the value; and at the same time he gradually gives a new character and, so to say, a "new life" to the value, personalizing it in a particular human expression, and thus broadening its area of influence or effectiveness. We could add that every "incarnation" of a value personalized in this way, possesses something totally singular and unique, and so constitutes a sort of new "creation" [4].

Here the paradoxical mode of personalist fulfillment can be more fully grasped. The self gradually becomes aware of its identity, not as center of the universe, but rather as observer and spectator, enthusiast and lover of the world, the contemplation of whose wealth becomes the key to personal enrichment. The self forgets self and stops contemplating itself, so as to contemplate ... It is a process of enrichment, not by possessing the world in its material aspect (having more), but rather through letting oneself be enriched by values in one's own personal existence: being more.

To accept a spiritual value is not merely to appropriate it, and less still to subordinate it to oneself. One can never "take in" a true value without in some way coming out of oneself toward it, admiring it, and respecting it in its peculiar nature. This respect for what a value is in itself must always accompany true appreciation; as must the awareness that no one can seek to relate to it as exclusive proprietor, since others too can participate in its appreciation. In fact, the more truly one appreciates a value, the more one will want others to appreciate it also.

Every choice, we have emphasized, involves a commitment. In regard to material values, we have also considered how the choice of one object - this car model rather than another - means the exclusion of other choices (at least for the moment). This is not necessarily so in regard to values of the spirit. We can potentially choose all spiritual values at one and the same time.

Something further should be noted. In choosing a material value, we commit ourselves only in the sense of excluding other possible choices. We are not bound by any special commitment to the object chosen, or by any particular call to respect it. We may put our money into the object, but we are not bound to "put ourselves" into it. We may come to regret the choice, feel let down by what has been acquired, and dispose of it - e.g., sell a car - without any sense of having "let down" the material value itself. It is not so with a spiritual value, at least of the higher order. A choice of a value of the spirit calls for a commitment on a different level: a commitment into which we do "put" or "give" ourselves, in such a way that it is possible to speak of a certain reciprocity of giving and receiving. We can say that on this level a value does not "give itself" to the person, so becoming his, unless the person in some way reciprocates with the gift of self. The truth only gives itself to the mind that gives itself - commits itself - to the truth. There is a lack of depth in the spiritual value chosen - or in the choice we have made - if we do not sense ourselves committed to it.

Real friendship, for instance, cannot be bought. It is a value you can only acquire and retain by putting something of yourself into it. A measured or calculated friendship, where one is careful to put little of oneself (of time, of readiness to understand, to yield, to help ...), is a poor sort of friendship that is not likely to last. As we will see later, this applies much more still to that very special form of friendship which is marriage. Selfishness and calculation are main causes of broken friendships and unhappy marriages.

There is a principle here that applies in a broader and even more fundamental sense to happiness itself: a principle which underlines the whole thought of this book. There is no such thing as calculated happiness; nor can happiness itself be bought at a price. It is a gift and can only be received as a consequence of a gift: giving yourself to - looking up to, respecting, and loving - what is worthwhile. Therefore the search for happiness resolves itself first and foremost into a search for realities (things or, better still, persons) worth looking up to and loving: into a search for true human and spiritual values.

Not all spiritual values are of the same order, nor do all call for equal commitment. But some at least are of such quality and importance that they can be properly considered as of higher value than one's self; recognized, that is, as of greater worth than one's own life. As we suggested in the last chapter, a person who has no cause or value in life which he is prepared to die for, if necessary, lacks the presuppositions for self-fulfillment. "I could not love you so much, did I not love honor more" [5]. If there exists no value higher than the value I place on my own life, if there is nothing for which I consider it worthwhile to give my life, what basis is there to the value which I attribute to this life of mine?

There is no suggestion here that one must not love oneself, and less still that one must despise self. The point is rather that, to be oneself, a self worth loving, one has to love values worth more than oneself. One needs to feel oneself made for great goals; and to pursue them with all one's strength. Life then appears as a fascinating contest in which the most is achieved by whoever is most capable of leaving self-centeredness behind, in pursuit of values whose attraction lies in what they are in themselves more than in any pleasure or utility they may offer to me. Self-fulfillment is simply not possible without an increasing forgetfulness of self. "Paradoxically, 'self-expression' requires the capacity to lose oneself in the pursuit of objectives, not primarily referred to the self" [6]. The French philosopher, Emmanuel Mounier, insists on the paradox: "True will is an open force that tears a man from himself in order to center him on an external and higher end, which is at the same time deep-rooted in his intimacy" [7].

A person's worth, then, depends on his capacity for appreciation and admiration, and on what and whom he really appreciates and admires. In this sense we can say that a person is worth what his values are worth. If these are elevated and true, the appreciation he has for them reveals more particularly his worth as a person. And yet appreciation and admiration alone are not enough. In the end his worth depends on the respect he nourishes for those values, and even more on his dedication to them: the extent to which he is prepared to serve or save them. Subjectively at least, the ultimate test of the values with which a person senses his life to be enriched is his readiness to give that same life for those very values.

A faith without martyrs, or a nation without soldiers who have died for a common cause, does not offer or does not inspire any real value. The individualist is always tempted to reject "common causes", and to reduce his values to a measure that fits the type of life he wants to program and build.

The attitude which no longer sees a value in patriotism - above all in its extreme expression of giving one's life for one's country - is spreading today. Logically enough, the idea of sacrificing one's self appears as the ultimate alienation and anti-value to whoever claims full dominion over his own existence and wants to be author of his own identity. Once one thinks oneself self-sufficient or capable of absolute self-fulfillment just with one's own interior resources, one's "I" necessarily takes on the character of central and supreme value. Then, to sacrifice one's life, so lapsing into extinction, for any other cause than one's own self, presents itself as an absurd action which perhaps could even be called "unethical", inasmuch as it implies preferring a lower value to the one truly supreme value.

Yet is there not something inherently contradictory and self-defeating in this existential outlook, when many who embrace it are also proponents of the right to suicide or euthanasia? That very life which I will sacrifice for nothing - because nothing is more valuable to me - can become so valueless in my hands that I will destroy it. What, then, was the real value of what I have destroyed? [8]

Ambition and human stature

A reference to ambition, in the context of values, is in order here. To want to be great is a sign of health. But it should be a genuine "being great", based on the possession of values and qualities that are of true worth and on the achievement of worthwhile goals. Not a few 'successful' persons have very stunted personalities, "choked with ambition of the meaner sort" [9].

Physical endowment (good looks, great athletic ability) can give a certain "fame of greatness" in the sight of others; but it does not tell much about the person. In sports, for instance, being a "good loser" tells much more of an athlete's human worth than does physical prowess.

Some people don't want to be great, seeing greatness as beyond their reach or as simply demanding too much effort. But most people would like to be considered great, even if it is a greatness without real substance. Of course this is vanity, which logically enough is a dominant modern defect, since the temptation to draw attention to "self" is inevitably stronger in the absence of any other focal and higher point of interest.

An impression or appearance of greatness can be built up on deception. History offers many examples of clever people who lied or cheated their way to fame or fortune - such as the 18th-century Baron von Münchhausen, genius of the "tall story", or Hans van Meegeren who, between 1936 and 1942, created and sold seven paintings as genuine works of the 17th-century Dutch master, Jan Vermeer.

Strictly speaking, vanity was not van Meegeren's main motivation. He put his considerable talent to use in order to draw profit (and not other people's attention) to himself, being quite happy to remain hidden behind someone else's name. Most people, however, the talented and the not so talented, like to be the center of attention. The talented easily enough find themselves objects of popular praise, no doubt a pleasing if passing experience. The less talented, with little or nothing to offer, have to find other ways of drawing some limelight to themselves.

Certain prominent figures in the arts of the 19th century (Byron, Shelley, Baudelaire, Gauguin ...) seemed to find gratification in flouting the accepted social standards of their time. In an age of settled conventions, they managed to attract quite a bit of scandalized attention; an exercise, one feels, probably characterized by a strong element of adolescent "showing off". Much the same might be said of some pop-culture leaders today who seek notoriety by flying in the face of conventional or "Establishment" values. Psychiatric and psychological experts classify this sort of superficial narcissism or attention-seeking histrionics in many ways. But, classifications apart, our current world makes this antisocial exhibitionism appear, ironically, as pathetic even more than pathological.

The urge to draw attention to self has always been a strong tendency and generally a foolish one. Today, in the almost total absence of worthwhile values, it becomes especially inane, leading some people to do things that might have made them appear shockingly nonconformist to former generations but today simply make them look silly. Foolishness usually precedes and always follows on the loss of normal values.

Nothing is really freakish in a world without any standards. It is useless trying to be nonconformist where there are no common norms to nonconform to. The fact is that a generation without values, incapable of real admiration, in constant search of new sensations that will keep it momentarily amused as it enthusiastically chatters about nothing, is not easily impressed.

In any case, if you have no scale of values, there is little point in professing to despise the values of others. There is less point still in trying to violate them. The contempt behind such "violations" would seem to be directed not so much at particular values (one believes in none) as at particular persons. Such contempt may be a sign of envy, but certainly not of independence; it rather suggests an inferiority complex disguised under the appearance of a stupid nonconformism.

To want just to feel great - picturing yourself at the center or summit of reality - lends itself to artificial constructions and can produce pathological results. Its effect does not of course decrease reality itself, but it does reduce your personal horizons. So you remain with a diminished ability to see the full scope of reality, admitting as real only what falls within a limited range of view. Alice had to become small if she was to experience living in Wonderland ... Those who cannot appreciate and warm to others are lacking in an absolutely basic element of human stature. So Chesterton rightly distinguished between "the great man who makes you feel great, and the great man who makes you feel small" [10].

Chesterton himself was an outstanding example of the first type. Interested in every single person he met, he mused in his Notebook: "I wonder whether there will ever come a time when I shall be tired of any one person" [11]. In his conversation he would take up with enthusiasm some apparently minor idea a friend or acquaintance had put forward and draw out incredible riches from it, in such a way moreover that the riches seemed to have sprung from the mind of the original speaker [12].

At the other end of the scale stands the very clever person who maintains his superiority by never admitting the significance of the ideas, qualities, or achievements of others. Consciously or not, he manages to protect his own greatness by ensuring that others seem small - at least to him. This is the sad pity about being proud: if you come into contact with something greater than yourself, pride makes you incapable of admiring it.

In any case, it remains difficult to say what makes a person "great". Many historical "Greats" - Catherine the Great, Frederick the Great - may not necessarily have been "great persons". What makes someone great is not what he or she does externally, but what motivates them from within.

Support for this view could probably be drawn from a psychological study of history. No one would deny that Alexander, Julius Caesar, Napoleon or Bismarck were men of great talents, and must be counted among the outstanding figures of history whose lives profoundly shaped the course of world events. But how was the person of each shaped by his own life? History bears witness to Napoleon's military and administrative genius, and to his power to inspire men. But history also bears witness to his colossal pride, his overweening vanity, his nepotism, his unfailing tendency (precisely because he believed in himself) to blame others for his misfortunes, his contempt for men - using them, using them, using them - , his inability to trust or to make friends, his total isolation.

Would it be just to say that Napoleon had great talents which he used to do great things, without being made great himself by his achievements? In his last years at St. Helena, removed from the field of conquest and administration, he appears as a man of few interior resources for his personal life - reduced to daily boredom: "ennui, ennui, grand ennui", as one of his companions described their existence [13]. Yet the experiences of others, such as Aleksander Solzhenitsyn or Viktor Frankl, show that exile or imprisonment can reveal or create interior resources which might otherwise have never come to light.

Bismarck, the "Iron Chancellor" and forger of the 19th-century German Empire, was an extremely proud man, though free from vanity. What he cared for was his own esteem of himself; he despised being swayed by what others thought of him. He rightly summed up the effect of vanity, describing it as a mortgage to be subtracted before one arrives at a person's real worth. What Bismarck did not realize is that pride too is a mortgage on personal worth. It has been said of him that he made Germany great, but Germans small. Without judging at what moral cost (or at what cost in terms of human lives) he made Germany great, one can wonder if the cost to himself was to remain interiorly small - despite his place in history.

As a young man of 23, he had written, "I want to make only that music which I myself like, or no music at all". In fact, he refused to enter cabinets or ministries until, at the age of 47, he was called to be Chancellor of Prussia on his own terms, with absolute power to play the music he wished. And for 28 years until his fall, Bismarck played his music [14]. Perhaps his music satisfied him. Did it realize him?

In the end, we repeat, the greatness of a life is measured not by the external record it offers, but by what it has made the person become inside.

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Our line of argument, then, is that man is free, seeks fulfillment, yet is not self-sufficient. He is not capable of fulfilling himself from within, on the basis of his own interior resources alone. He is able and needs to go beyond his own inner world, to encounter and identify values, to open to and accept them; and so incorporate them into his own life and in some way make them his own. What should be the interplay of his interior faculties in achieving this?

Notes
[1] We pass over the question of whether these spiritual goods are to be considered higher or lower than the human spirit itself, simply noting that if we hold them to be above man, we can then say that man grows physically by assimilating what is lower than himself, and grows spiritually by assimilating what is higher. The first process arrives at a maximum point, and afterwards goes into decline; the second can always progress.
[2] See ch. 2.
[3] Education comes from "e-ducere", which means "to bring out".
[4] This is at times strikingly illustrated in the field of musical performance. The "Triple Konzert", for violin, piano, and cello, is a relatively minor piece among Beethoven's works; yet under the direction of Herbert von Karajan, it takes on a new vigor and brilliance that possibly surpasses Beethoven's own conception.
[5] Richard Lovelace, To Lucasta.
[6] G. W. Allport: Personality: a Psychological Interpretation, op. cit., p. 213.
[7] Oeuvres, II, Paris, 1947, p. 458.
[8] The problem of course extends much beyond these doubts. To the question, what was the real value of what I have destroyed, another question might reasonably be added: have I really destroyed it? Or could it be not only that my own subjective system of values has proved too fragile for life itself, but that I have perhaps consigned my existence to another dimension where the determination of values totally escapes my subjective choice?
[9] Shakespeare, King Henry the Sixth, I, Act II, Sc. 5.
[10] G.K. Chesterton: Charles Dickens, Ch. 1.
[11] Cf. Maisie Ward: Gilbert Keith Chesterton, p. 58.
[12] Cf. Ward. ibid.
[13] Cf. J. M. Thompson, Napoleon Bonaparte, p. 392.
[14] cf. Erich Eyck, Bismarck and the German Empire, p. 57.