Letter 61: On meeting death cheerfully
Let us cease to desire that which we have been desiring. I, at least, am doing this: in my old age I have ceased to desire what I desired when a boy. To this single end my days and my nights are passed; this is my task, this the object of my thoughts—to put an end to my chronic ills.
I am endeavoring to live every day as if it were a complete life. I do not indeed snatch it up as if it were my last; I do regard it, however, as if it might even be my last.
The present letter is written to you with this in mind—as if death were about to call me away in the very act of writing. I am ready to depart, and I shall enjoy life just because I am not over-anxious as to the future date of my departure.
Let us cease to desire that which we have been desiring. I, at least, am doing this: in my old age I have ceased to desire what I desired when a boy. To this single end my days and my nights are passed; this is my task, this the object of my thoughts—to put an end to my chronic ills.
I am endeavoring to live every day as if it were a complete life. I do not indeed snatch it up as if it were my last; I do regard it, however, as if it might even be my last.
The present letter is written to you with this in mind—as if death were about to call me away in the very act of writing. I am ready to depart, and I shall enjoy life just because I am not over-anxious as to the future date of my departure.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 61
I could say that my youth was wasted on a longing for the things that were never meant to be mine, but that wouldn’t really be true, would it? It was hardly a waste, because without that struggle I would never have arrived, however late or imperfect, at a fuller recognition of my true nature. The failures then were a part of the learning now.
As our sensation is first directed outwards, it can take some time before we realize why we must then turn inwards. What initially appeared to be so crucial will begin to feel quite irrelevant, once we accept that our own attitudes have been the source of all our troubles. The cure for what ails us is not to be found somewhere “out there”.
I have bemoaned that I am not loved, and yet the problems always arose from how I myself chose to love. I have fussed over the weight of circumstances, though the sorrow was always in the way I reacted to those conditions. I have sought comfort in grasping onto distant things, when what I needed was always right there in front of me. The disorder was inevitably of my own making.
While the repeated Stoic stress on our mortality may seem morbid to some, it actually serves as an immensely powerful tool for embracing the dignity of life. Once I can remember that I am not granted endless opportunities, and that death will come to me on its own terms, I am left with a profound appreciation for how each and every moment is precious, and why it should be treated as if it contained the worth of a whole lifetime.
Indeed, if I can treat today like the only day I have, I am offered the limitless peace that comes with total self-reliance. There is no end to the joy, because there are no bounds to my acceptance of my gifts, nothing that remains to be desired. A single act of virtue, as tiny as it may be, takes on the significance of an entire life.
When I no longer worry about the quantity of time that is granted to me, I now have a complete hold over the quality of my humanity.
I could say that my youth was wasted on a longing for the things that were never meant to be mine, but that wouldn’t really be true, would it? It was hardly a waste, because without that struggle I would never have arrived, however late or imperfect, at a fuller recognition of my true nature. The failures then were a part of the learning now.
As our sensation is first directed outwards, it can take some time before we realize why we must then turn inwards. What initially appeared to be so crucial will begin to feel quite irrelevant, once we accept that our own attitudes have been the source of all our troubles. The cure for what ails us is not to be found somewhere “out there”.
I have bemoaned that I am not loved, and yet the problems always arose from how I myself chose to love. I have fussed over the weight of circumstances, though the sorrow was always in the way I reacted to those conditions. I have sought comfort in grasping onto distant things, when what I needed was always right there in front of me. The disorder was inevitably of my own making.
While the repeated Stoic stress on our mortality may seem morbid to some, it actually serves as an immensely powerful tool for embracing the dignity of life. Once I can remember that I am not granted endless opportunities, and that death will come to me on its own terms, I am left with a profound appreciation for how each and every moment is precious, and why it should be treated as if it contained the worth of a whole lifetime.
Indeed, if I can treat today like the only day I have, I am offered the limitless peace that comes with total self-reliance. There is no end to the joy, because there are no bounds to my acceptance of my gifts, nothing that remains to be desired. A single act of virtue, as tiny as it may be, takes on the significance of an entire life.
When I no longer worry about the quantity of time that is granted to me, I now have a complete hold over the quality of my humanity.
—Reflection written in 6/2013
IMAGES by Jessica Benhar
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