Seneca, Moral Letters 24.1

Letter 24: On despising death 

 

You write me that you are anxious about the result of a lawsuit, with which an angry opponent is threatening you; and you expect me to advise you to picture to yourself a happier issue, and to rest in the allurements of hope. 

 

Why, indeed, is it necessary to summon trouble—which must be endured soon enough when it has once arrived—or to anticipate trouble and ruin the present through fear of the future? It is indeed foolish to be unhappy now because you may be unhappy at some future time.

 

But I shall conduct you to peace of mind by another route: if you would put off all worry, assume that what you fear may happen will certainly happen in any event. Whatever the trouble may be, measure it in your own mind, and estimate the amount of your fear. 

 

You will thus understand that what you fear is either insignificant or short-lived.

 

And you need not spend a long time in gathering illustrations which will strengthen you; every epoch has produced them. Let your thoughts travel into any era of Roman or foreign history, and there will throng before you notable examples of high achievement or of high endeavor.

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 24

 

I shudder at the thought of how many hours I have wasted on worrying about things over which I had absolutely no control. If I were to add them all up, it would certainly come to weeks and months, maybe even to years. 

 

I have often complained about the time lost from my life by having to attend committee meetings, but a meeting still allows for the option of daydreaming. Anxiety permits no such relief, as the mind is trapped in its own cycle of dread. 

 

My own concern usually focuses on how to escape a situation, or how to diminish the consequences; I too often overlook how my hope should not be in expecting the world to go my way, but rather in taming my imagination. The fear is something within me that I have made, instead of being found in the circumstances themselves. 

 

Sometimes the writing is already on the wall, and sometimes I am speculating wildly about grotesque possibilities, though either way I am only adding unnecessary frustrations. Some pains must come, and there is no point in getting a head start. Other pains might never come, and then I am simply jumping at shadows. 

 

I have never been involved in a lawsuit, and I suppose I don’t own enough to get caught up in one, yet I shouldn’t put it past someone to take me to court just out of sheer spite.

 

Now the apprehension about such a prospect does me no good, even as a thorough preparation for any unpleasantness is a prudent move. There is quite a difference between being scared of the worst and being ready for the worst: one weakens the will, while the other strengthens it. 

 

No, the Stoic is not a pessimist, or a fatalist, or a Gloomy Gus. It is an act of economic foresight to buy insurance for my car, my home, or my health, and it is an act of philosophical foresight to plan for any grave misfortune. While I can’t necessarily avert it, I can certainly brace myself for it. 

 

So when Seneca advises us to suppose disaster, he is not trying to get us down. No, he is urging us to an exercise of our judgment. Is some approaching event terrifying because of what will actually happen, or is the obstacle in the estimation of what will happen? 

 

What is it about the future that torments me? If I look carefully, without getting ahead of myself, I see why fear is like a sort of filter that magnifies and distorts. In some cases, I must admit how I am making a mountain out a molehill. In other cases, where the danger is certainly real, I realize how even the most extreme suffering is temporary. 

 

I managed to live through a root canal by telling myself it would be over—it is no different on a grander scale. 

 

Who can conquer fear? Anyone can, and so many of us do. Like love, courage is as perennial as the grass. Models of such human excellence are to be found everywhere, and to reflect upon the worst is a means to bringing out the best. 

—Reflection written in 10/2012