I have never ceased to encourage myself with cheering counsels of this kind, silently, of course, since I had not the power to speak; then little by little this shortness of breath, already reduced to a sort of panting, came on at greater intervals, and then slowed down and finally stopped.
Even by this time, although the gasping has ceased, the breath does not come and go normally; I still feel a sort of hesitation and delay in breathing. Let it be as it pleases, provided there be no sigh from the soul.
Accept this assurance from me: I shall never be frightened when the last hour comes; I am already prepared and do not plan a whole day ahead.
But do you praise and imitate the man whom it does not irk to die, though he takes pleasure in living? For what virtue is there in going away when you are thrust out?
And yet there is virtue even in this: I am indeed thrust out, but it is as if I were going away willingly. For that reason, the wise man can never be thrust out, because that would mean removal from a place which he was unwilling to leave; and the wise man does nothing unwillingly.
He escapes necessity, because he wills to do what necessity is about to force upon him. Farewell.
Even by this time, although the gasping has ceased, the breath does not come and go normally; I still feel a sort of hesitation and delay in breathing. Let it be as it pleases, provided there be no sigh from the soul.
Accept this assurance from me: I shall never be frightened when the last hour comes; I am already prepared and do not plan a whole day ahead.
But do you praise and imitate the man whom it does not irk to die, though he takes pleasure in living? For what virtue is there in going away when you are thrust out?
And yet there is virtue even in this: I am indeed thrust out, but it is as if I were going away willingly. For that reason, the wise man can never be thrust out, because that would mean removal from a place which he was unwilling to leave; and the wise man does nothing unwillingly.
He escapes necessity, because he wills to do what necessity is about to force upon him. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 54
I could take the many reminders of my vulnerability, and ultimately of my mortality, as threats to my happiness, or I could instead employ them as opportunities to focus on what is authentic and essential.
Am I weak in body? Is fortune giving me more pain than she does pleasure? I may, therefore, find comfort in what is truly mine, the exercise of my character, with no distress over the state of my circumstances or the limitations to my time.
I often come back to Seneca’s advice about sighing. My body will protest ever so strongly, and I must rest assured that it is doing its job, but my soul has no need to complain, because I can understand quite clearly where my fulfillment lies. The only hindrance is in my hesitation to take control over my passions, to take responsibility for my very humanity.
I would like to think that the griping will release some pressure, though the struggling merely ends up tightening my bonds. The bellyaching, which is little more than an aggressive form of casting blame, brings me no liberation whatsoever.
It may seem silly to praise an acceptance of what is inevitable, yet the merit lies in freely embracing Nature, and thereby what at first felt like a coercion is rebuilt as a cooperation. Once I recognize how there is no evil inherent in bearing pain or facing death, I am no longer enslaved by chasing pleasure or clinging to life. You cannot deny me something I no longer have any compulsion to possess.
After so many “last gasps” from his asthma, Seneca eventually died on his own terms, willing to surrender his flesh before he surrendered his principles. Only a grasping man would believe this to be either foolish or even impossible.
I could take the many reminders of my vulnerability, and ultimately of my mortality, as threats to my happiness, or I could instead employ them as opportunities to focus on what is authentic and essential.
Am I weak in body? Is fortune giving me more pain than she does pleasure? I may, therefore, find comfort in what is truly mine, the exercise of my character, with no distress over the state of my circumstances or the limitations to my time.
I often come back to Seneca’s advice about sighing. My body will protest ever so strongly, and I must rest assured that it is doing its job, but my soul has no need to complain, because I can understand quite clearly where my fulfillment lies. The only hindrance is in my hesitation to take control over my passions, to take responsibility for my very humanity.
I would like to think that the griping will release some pressure, though the struggling merely ends up tightening my bonds. The bellyaching, which is little more than an aggressive form of casting blame, brings me no liberation whatsoever.
It may seem silly to praise an acceptance of what is inevitable, yet the merit lies in freely embracing Nature, and thereby what at first felt like a coercion is rebuilt as a cooperation. Once I recognize how there is no evil inherent in bearing pain or facing death, I am no longer enslaved by chasing pleasure or clinging to life. You cannot deny me something I no longer have any compulsion to possess.
After so many “last gasps” from his asthma, Seneca eventually died on his own terms, willing to surrender his flesh before he surrendered his principles. Only a grasping man would believe this to be either foolish or even impossible.
—Reflection written in 4/2013
IMAGE: Noël Hallé, The Death of Seneca (1750)
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