The Monk and The Minister: A Case Study in True Wealth
- Bobby Jakucs, Psy.D.
- 2 days ago
- 9 min read
Updated: 10 hours ago
"We guard our property, but hand our lives over freely"
- Seneca
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Over the years, I’ve had the privilege of mentoring several psychologists. When they take the leap into full-time practice I gave each one the same book. If you’ve been following along here, you’d safely assume it would be something by Viktor Frankl, C.S. Lewis or G.K. Chesterton. Or perhaps book by the Stoics. Certainly some psychology related or adjacent book.
No. It’s actually a personal finance book: The Simple Path to Wealth by JL Collins.
The reason? So many clinicians are simply unaware of how personal finance works. A few have told me they are afraid of it. Many people, regardless of profession feel the same way. But avoiding a problem does not make it go away. Usually, it makes it worse.
There’s another reason I give that particular book. Collins, whether intentionally or not, elucidates a timeless truth in a modern context.
What matters more – what you own or what owns you?
To set the stage, there’s a parable he tells at the start of the book:
Two childhood friends grow up and go their separate ways. One becomes a humble monk, the other a rich and powerful minister of the king.
Years later the two meet. As they catch-up on their lives, the minister now portly and dressed in the finest clothes, is moved with pity for the thin and shabby monk. Hoping to help, he tells him a secret:
“You know, if you could learn to cater to the king, you wouldn’t have to live on rice and beans”
Without pause, the humble monk replies:
“My friend, if you could learn to live on rice and beans you wouldn’t need to cater to the king.”
Personal finance is important. But maybe we should consider a different metric for what constitutes wealth. Perhaps, true wealth should not be measured by how much we possess but by how little it possesses us.
The True Cost of Ownership
One of the functions of money, as defined by Stanford Law School, is to serve as a “store of value.” In other words, when we purchase something, from a cup of coffee to a new house, we are saying “I value this at this rate.”
But for most of us who work for a living there is a hidden cost: the time needed to acquire the money for that purchase. Meaning, when we buy that cup of coffee we are implicitly saying, “this is worth X amount of my life.”
Money can be earned again. Time cannot. It is the ultimate non-renewable resource. Every dollar spent requires not just the stored value, but the time and attention achieve that store of value.
And time and attention flow in only one direction. Philosophers and Saints through the ages have preached this truth, memento mori. Literally, “remember you will die.”
There is a period at the end of every sentence of life. Each one of us will die. Reflecting on this is not meant to be morbid. It is meant to be a call to action to focus our time and energy on what truly matters.
Because, no one can stop the march of time. All we can do is choose how we march and what we march toward.
So, maybe the real question we should ask is not, “can I afford this?” but “what will this require of my life?”
A Case Study For The Cost of Ownership:
Let’s say you work at a job that pays $50 an hour. You decide it’s time to upgrade your old car and purchase a new one. You fine one with all the features you want for $50,000. Let’s assume that there is a 0% interest loan out there so you can drive away with the new car and pay it off over time.
It would take you 1000 hours of your life to pay off that car. 1000 hours that cannot be bought back at any price.
And that is just the car itself (on a 0% loan), not insurance, gas, maintenance, accessories. Nor, does that include all the other costs of living – housing, food, entertainment, etc. The point is whatever material good or service we purchase also is a withdrawal from our immaterial bank of life.
There’s more than the actual time spent working to factor in as well. Every possession once possessed, becomes an attentional loan we are continually paying interest on.
The irony is we often purchase new products with the goal of expanding our freedom. The opposite often happens. Because, a new car does not just take up space in the driveway, it has a permanent parking spot in the mind too:
I hope I got the best deal.
When is the next time I need to schedule an oil change?
How can I fit the oil change into my busy work schedule?
Wait how did that scratch get there? Not on my new car!
Should I get the premium paint protection?
Why is the engine making that sound?
What will I do if this breaks down?
I should have waited for the newer model.
The Jones’s just got the bigger model.
The list goes on.
The monk may not have the finest clothes. He certainly does not have the newest car. But he has peace. And in that peace, he has freedom.
Freedom Through Detachment
The Stoics were famous for being monk-like. In On the Shortness of Life Seneca observed, “we guard our property, but hand our lives over freely.” Which is why, although a wealthy man he regularly took cold showers, slept on the floor and ate simple meals. Not because those comforts were bad but because he understood his freedom was a far greater good.
By diminishing attachment to material things, the Stoics loosened their fear of being without them. Having experienced poverty, they no longer feared it. Voluntary simplicity loosened the grip possessions had over them.
Should they have to take cold showers and have to sleep on the floor they could. Within that space, they were free to pursue what mattered rather than trying to avoid a feared outcome. They did not have to cater to anyone.
They were free.
Contemporary research arrives at a remarkably similar conclusion. Psychologist Tim Kasser has spent decades researching the difference between individuals who pursue extrinsic goals (wealth, possessions and fame/influence) vs. intrinsic goals (community, relationship, contribution, growth). Consistently, individuals who pursue extrinsic goals have lower life satisfaction compared to those who pursue intrinsic goals.
Meaning, not only is freedom important but what we organize our lives around matters. The Stoics recognized this in a subtle way. Modern psychology points to it broadly. But it comes to its fullness in the Christian faith.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church repeatedly emphasizes that created things are good, but must be ordered properly toward God rather than becoming ultimate ends. They are gifts. But gifts that must be stewarded properly whereby, “in his use of things man should regard the external goods he legitimately owns not merely as exclusive to himself but common to others also” (CCC 2404). Ownership and stewardship go hand in hand. They are two wings of the same eagle. Both are needed to fly.
There is more to this issue than just what we do with our material goods. The Catechism also states, “Desire for true happiness frees man from his immoderate attachment to the goods of this world” (CCC 2548). What we spend our time pursuing – the object of our desires – is just as important. Christ Himself said, “where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” (Matt 6:21). Ultimately, if we want to know what it is we value in life, we need only look at what it is we spend our money - and time - on.
To be clear, it's not that new cars, fine food or comfy beds are bad. Far from it. They are good things! God made us out of love for the purpose of happiness. Humility requires us to truthfully recognize, and be grateful for, the both the material and immaterial gifts we possess. But, when possessions become ultimate ends – when we pursue them to the detriment of other more virtuous aims – they become problematic.
In other words, material goods are not bad in themselves. What is bad is our over-attachment to them. In that way, Christianity largely agrees with the Stoics that detachment leads to freedom. But it asks one further question the Stoics largely left unanswered.
What Is Freedom For?
C.S. Lewis famously said, “If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth—only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair." Lewis reminds us that comfort is not life’s highest good.
Neither is freedom.
Freedom was never meant to be an ultimate end. After all, Christ asked His followers daily to pick up their cross and follow Him (Matt 16:24). But at the same time He also says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” (Matt 11: 28). These two sentiments seem opposed. In truth, they are two sides of the same coin. More accurately, they are two beams of the same Cross.
Because, the Christian life does not just seek freedom from– it seeks freedom to:
Freedom to give undivided attention to our children and loved ones
Freedom to spend time alone with God
Freedom to reflect on and appreciate the gifts God has given
Freedom to stop and help the needy
Freedom to care for the sick and weary
Freedom to comfort those in the midst of sorrow
Freedom to say “yes” when God asks something
Freedom to fulfill the mission God has given each one of us
Freedom to do our part to help heal a broken world
In other words, freedom from attachments is only important to the degree which it grants the freedom to love.
What True Wealth Is For
We all spend our lives on something. Money is one reflection of that deeper truth. Every commitment made, every possession acquired, every hour invested reveals what we believe is worth our limited time. Christ’s invitation to, “store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matt 6:21) is not merely retirement planning, it is a call to order our lives towards what endures.
In a finite world we are always making sacrifices. The question is do I sacrifice myself for others, or others for myself?
Christ further tells his disciples, “freely have you received, freely give” (Matt 10:8). We are certainly called to appreciate the gifts in our life. We are also called to recognize the hierarchy of those gifts. And to remember, they were never ultimately ours in the first place.
In the end, the monk was wealthier than the minister. Not simply because he owned less, but because he could freely give more of himself away.
Collins provides witness to this truth with a story from his own life. He recounts that many years ago, his daughter was attending a Catholic grammar school run by a tireless Mother Superior and served by dedicated teachers. Collins and his family truly appreciated the incredible work the Mother Superior and her colleagues were doing molding young minds.
To help make ends meet the school held a yearly charity auction. This particular year, an upscale local restaurant auctioned off a dinner for ten. Collins and his wife chose to bid on the dinner with the aim of gifting it to the school.
They outbid the competition and presented the gift to the surprised Mother Superior. They had two conditions: first she would have to select the ten teachers. Second, knowing her selflessness, they insisted she must one of the ten.
Word spread and the restaurant owner expanded the offer so all the teachers could enjoy the sumptuous dinner. Another community member offered to pick up the tab for the wine. As one can imagine, everyone had a wonderful time.
Collins goes on to call this, “the best $1,200 I ever spent.”
Indeed, true wealth is not measured by how much we possess, but by how little it possesses us. And the freedom that follows is not an end in itself: it is meant to be poured out in love.
Like a good wine, our time and our treasure is most enjoyed when shared.
