Epicurus upbraids those who crave, as much as those who shrink from, death: "It is absurd," he says, "to run towards death because you are tired of life, when it is your manner of life that has made you run towards death."
And in another passage: "What is so absurd as to seek death, when it is through fear of death that you have robbed your life of peace?”
And you may add a third statement, of the same stamp: "Men are so thoughtless, nay, so mad, that some, through fear of death, force themselves to die."
Whichever of these ideas you ponder, you will strengthen your mind for the endurance alike of death and of life. For we need to be warned and strengthened in both directions—not to love or to hate life overmuch; even when reason advises us to make an end of it, the impulse is not to be adopted without reflection or at headlong speed.
The brave and wise man should not beat a hasty retreat from life; he should make a becoming exit. And above all, he should avoid the weakness which has taken possession of so many—the lust for death.
For just as there is an unreflecting tendency of the mind towards other things, so, my dear Lucilius, there is an unreflecting tendency towards death; this often seizes upon the noblest and most spirited men, as well as upon the craven and the abject. The former despise life; the latter find it irksome.
Others also are moved by a satiety of doing and seeing the same things, and not so much by a hatred of life as because they are cloyed with it. We slip into this condition, while philosophy itself pushes us on, and we say:
"How long must I endure the same things? Shall I continue to wake and sleep, be hungry and be cloyed, shiver and perspire? There is an end to nothing; all things are connected in a sort of circle; they flee and they are pursued. Night is close at the heels of day, day at the heels of night; summer ends in autumn, winter rushes after autumn, and winter softens into spring; all nature in this way passes, only to return. I do nothing new; I see nothing new; sooner or later one sickens of this, also."
When I get inspired by some ideal, I run the risk of going to extremes, where I permit my excited feeling to run ahead of my deliberate thinking. As the excellence of reason, prudence is always seeking balance, and hence the wise man becomes a master of moderation, finding that golden mean between excess and deficiency.
And so when gluttony is giving me trouble, I may be inclined to become insensitive, or when I struggle with being a coward, I may find myself acting recklessly.
I can’t go about blaming my appetites, since they do not know what they are doing at all—that is precisely why Nature gave me a mind. Do I really believe that I can’t help myself, or is it that I won’t help myself? I know full well that blaming my passions, just like blaming other people, is an abandonment of responsibility.
Finding the balance will be just as important when it comes to dilemmas about life and death. I must not fear death, nor must I long for death.
A Stoic mindset is not merely some cosmetic modification, a manipulation of image, but must be a complete conversion of character, where all circumstances are treated indifferently. Yes, that include the prospects of survival and extinction.
The usual caveat must apply, of course: work for whatever you prefer, while still sacrificing everything for what you know is ultimately right.
Do not be swayed by those who tell you to survive at all costs, for they are ignorant of living well.
Do not be seduced by those who charm you with gratification at the expense of conscience, for they have their priorities confused.
The joy is in the giving, not in the getting.
Once this is in place, dying earlier presents no threat, and living longer offers no impediment.
I may part ways with the Epicurean on what comes first, or how the world unfolds, but we agree on some practical rules:
There is no point in wanting to die, when the very reason I want to die is because I am living poorly.
The fact that I have a fear is no excuse for succumbing to said fear.
I should consider how anyone can destroy my body, while only my own anxieties can destroy my soul.
There have been too many times, I’m ashamed to say, when I have longed for it to end. Now why was I thinking that way? The key is in a critical examination of the self. What I had decided to love the most was determining my path. If I can’t change the conditions, can I not at least change the focus of my love?
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