Musonius Rufus, Fragments 35

Since the Fates have spun out the lot of death for all alike, he is blessed who dies not late but well.

 

This is a classic Stoic lesson, repeated very often, but very rarely taken to heart. The theory sounds quite noble, and yet I will continue in my shallow ways, clinging to quantity at the expense of quality. 

 

It can only be that I speak the words, while I do not truly understand. Perhaps I want to have it both ways, or I am still living with the hope that coming to be and passing away will apply to all the other creatures, except for me? 

 

If I cared first and foremost about the content of my character, regardless of any other preferences, I would not worry about how many more days, or months, or years I have ahead of me. If I saw how Nature delights in change, I would never fear death. 

 

I would, as Socrates said, be more inclined to fear wickedness, because wickedness runs faster than death. 

 

Pithy sayings, whatever the source, can be helpful points of reference, and yet they can all too easily become empty expressions, cheap posturings, where I rub my beard pensively, and undertake nothing to actually make my life any better. 

 

It will only mean something when I have the conviction to do something.