I was just lately telling you that I was within sight of old age. I am now afraid that I have left old age behind me. For some other word would now apply to my years, or at any rate to my body; since old age means a time of life that is weary rather than crushed. You may rate me in the worn-out class—of those who are nearing the end.
Nevertheless, I offer thanks to myself, with you as witness; for I feel that age has done no damage to my mind, though I feel its effects on my constitution. Only my vices, and the outward aids to these vices, have reached senility; my mind is strong and rejoices that it has but slight connection with the body. It has laid aside the greater part of its load. It is alert; it takes issue with me on the subject of old age; it declares that old age is its time of bloom.
Let me take it at its word, and let it make the most of the advantages it possesses. The mind bids me do some thinking and consider how much of this peace of spirit and moderation of character I owe to wisdom and how much to my time of life; it bids me distinguish carefully what I cannot do and what I do not want to do. . . . For why should one complain or regard it as a disadvantage, if powers which ought to come to an end have failed?
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 26
Though my students certainly don’t think so, I am still fairly young, and any understanding I might gain about old age will have to come from carefully observing my elders, or from finding something in their experience that mirrors my own.
Whether young or old, however, all of us must learn to be at peace with our mortality, for a life crippled by a fear of the end can never really have a beginning.
I have long had people tell me I am an “old soul”, and I must admit I didn’t exactly know what the term meant, so I took it as some sort of insult. It isn’t necessarily a compliment either, of course, since carrying around more awareness than is normal for your years can be both a blessing and a curse. Nevertheless, there can be a great benefit to facing the “big questions” about life as early as possible.
There is something bittersweet about any passing, and there is something especially transformative about acknowledging that there is a proper limit to our time, and in accepting why Nature rightly imposed this rule, not as a restriction, but as a liberation. If the part has been played well, there need be no sadness when the curtain falls.
There are those times when you know it is wrapping up, that it won’t come back, and there can be complete joy in such a perception. I imagine this is how Seneca must be feeling as his body winds down, and his mind enters into a new stage of consciousness.
I especially appreciate it when Seneca indicates how a bodily weakness can actually be an aid in overcoming vice. When I am horribly sick, the thought of my usual weaknesses, such as the urge to drink or to smoke, have no appeal to me at all. In my best Martha Stewart, “It’s a good thing.”
I likewise notice the remarkable way the mind can become sharper and more focused in the presence of physical hardships. My own thoughts were never as clear as when I lay in bed with a severe case of food poisoning; I could barely lift my arm, and yet I discovered a lucidity of reflection I still miss to this day.
Is that, perhaps, what it might feel like to be so worn out, as Seneca describes? I suppose I will soon find out.
The Stoic may seem morbid to someone looking in from the outside, but from the inside the embrace of impermanence is a celebration, not an act of despair. Nothing has ever made me wake up to reality as much as being reminded that I am not indestructible.
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