We therefore come to this question—whether the soul can be immortal.
But be sure of this: if the soul survives the body after the body is crushed, the soul can in no wise be crushed out, precisely because it does not perish; for the rule of immortality never admits of exceptions, and nothing can harm that which is everlasting. Farewell.
But be sure of this: if the soul survives the body after the body is crushed, the soul can in no wise be crushed out, precisely because it does not perish; for the rule of immortality never admits of exceptions, and nothing can harm that which is everlasting. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 57
Now when it comes to questions about an afterlife, most of the people I know will dig in their heels.
On the one side are those who insist upon a Heaven so they can bask in their reward, and upon a Hell so they can watch their enemies suffer.
On the other side are those who prefer for it all to be over and done with, because the very prospect of any sort of lasting accountability makes them deeply uncomfortable.
And in between, you may find some who focus on the excellence of what they are doing right here and now, and who are at peace with whatever Providence may, or may not, bring their way.
I appreciate how Seneca is not concerned with either proving or disproving some future state, or of debating the particulars of what might ultimately become of us. He is content to know that whatever we are now will certainly be remade into something else.
This is true not only for mind, which participates in the Universal Intelligence that informs all creatures, but also for sensible matter, which is constantly being refashioned from one form into another. Strictly speaking, nothing is ever destroyed, and everything is always born anew.
I do not know what will happen to my own personal consciousness, though I can be assured that it will not go to waste. Within the plan of Providence, I also do not have to agonize over my soul getting stuck, or trampled, or crammed into a corner—its substance is far too rarefied for any of that.
Remember that this letter wasn’t really even about the hereafter, but about how to manage powerful emotions of awe or dread. If the feeling has come to me, it is made to serve its purpose. Now will I run away, or will I engage? Will I finally seek to discover how my own nature is bound to the whole of Nature? The hardship is itself the opportunity.
I need not fear, for my judgments remain within my power. I need not despair, for the Universe is unfolding exactly is it should.
Mortality ceases to be a burden when I recognize how every event or circumstance is tied up in eternity. None of it is exhausted.
Now when it comes to questions about an afterlife, most of the people I know will dig in their heels.
On the one side are those who insist upon a Heaven so they can bask in their reward, and upon a Hell so they can watch their enemies suffer.
On the other side are those who prefer for it all to be over and done with, because the very prospect of any sort of lasting accountability makes them deeply uncomfortable.
And in between, you may find some who focus on the excellence of what they are doing right here and now, and who are at peace with whatever Providence may, or may not, bring their way.
I appreciate how Seneca is not concerned with either proving or disproving some future state, or of debating the particulars of what might ultimately become of us. He is content to know that whatever we are now will certainly be remade into something else.
This is true not only for mind, which participates in the Universal Intelligence that informs all creatures, but also for sensible matter, which is constantly being refashioned from one form into another. Strictly speaking, nothing is ever destroyed, and everything is always born anew.
I do not know what will happen to my own personal consciousness, though I can be assured that it will not go to waste. Within the plan of Providence, I also do not have to agonize over my soul getting stuck, or trampled, or crammed into a corner—its substance is far too rarefied for any of that.
Remember that this letter wasn’t really even about the hereafter, but about how to manage powerful emotions of awe or dread. If the feeling has come to me, it is made to serve its purpose. Now will I run away, or will I engage? Will I finally seek to discover how my own nature is bound to the whole of Nature? The hardship is itself the opportunity.
I need not fear, for my judgments remain within my power. I need not despair, for the Universe is unfolding exactly is it should.
Mortality ceases to be a burden when I recognize how every event or circumstance is tied up in eternity. None of it is exhausted.
—Reflection written in 5/2013
IMAGE: Anna Sahlsten, Passage (1894)
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