Before I became old, I tried to live well; now that I am old, I shall try to die well; but dying well means dying gladly. See to it that you never do anything unwillingly.
That which is bound to be a necessity if you rebel, is not a necessity if you desire it. This is what I mean: he who takes his orders gladly, escapes the bitterest part of slavery—doing what one does not want to do. The man who does something under orders is not unhappy; he is unhappy who does something against his will.
Let us therefore so set our minds in order that we may desire whatever is demanded of us by circumstances, and above all that we may reflect upon our end without sadness.
We must make ready for death before we make ready for life. Life is well enough furnished, but we are too greedy with regard to its furnishings; something always seems to us lacking, and will always seem lacking.
To have lived long enough depends neither upon our years nor upon our days, but upon our minds. I have lived, my dear friend Lucilius, long enough. I have had my fill; I await death. Farewell.
That which is bound to be a necessity if you rebel, is not a necessity if you desire it. This is what I mean: he who takes his orders gladly, escapes the bitterest part of slavery—doing what one does not want to do. The man who does something under orders is not unhappy; he is unhappy who does something against his will.
Let us therefore so set our minds in order that we may desire whatever is demanded of us by circumstances, and above all that we may reflect upon our end without sadness.
We must make ready for death before we make ready for life. Life is well enough furnished, but we are too greedy with regard to its furnishings; something always seems to us lacking, and will always seem lacking.
To have lived long enough depends neither upon our years nor upon our days, but upon our minds. I have lived, my dear friend Lucilius, long enough. I have had my fill; I await death. Farewell.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 61
I have a hunch that all of us, at some point in our lives, whatever the conditions may be, are challenged to recognize that a good life must also involve a good death, that gladly embracing the way it is going to end is a necessary part of the whole journey. I fear, however, that too many of us will cling to survival at the expense of character, and I am now committed to not making that tragic mistake.
It may seem contradictory to suggest that I can be free in the face of something that is inevitable, and yet, as with all things Stoic, the resolution is within my own thinking. I only become confused when I define myself by this or that external circumstance, when the fullness of my happiness is actually to be found through the content of my judgments and choices.
If something must come, Providence has made it so to be right and good. It then remains for me to either cooperate in liberty or to be dragged along in slavery. This or that will happen—now what am I going to make of it? My nature is meant to flow with all of Nature, and my joyful assent to this purpose and design is the key to peace of mind.
How simple, yet how easily overlooked—If I decide not to be forced, I have not been forced, and through it all the dignity of my virtues remains intact. If I have done all in my power to act with integrity, there is nothing in this world that can bind me. Through interdependence comes independence.
I have spent most of my time and effort on trying to live in security, and hardly enough time and effort on striving to die with nobility. As with so many things Stoics, the priorities must be reversed. The lure of comfort is the far greater threat to my soul than the mortality of the flesh. This is why the rich man fears his demise, and the good man has no regrets.
Quality over quantity. More isn’t better—better is better.
I have a hunch that all of us, at some point in our lives, whatever the conditions may be, are challenged to recognize that a good life must also involve a good death, that gladly embracing the way it is going to end is a necessary part of the whole journey. I fear, however, that too many of us will cling to survival at the expense of character, and I am now committed to not making that tragic mistake.
It may seem contradictory to suggest that I can be free in the face of something that is inevitable, and yet, as with all things Stoic, the resolution is within my own thinking. I only become confused when I define myself by this or that external circumstance, when the fullness of my happiness is actually to be found through the content of my judgments and choices.
If something must come, Providence has made it so to be right and good. It then remains for me to either cooperate in liberty or to be dragged along in slavery. This or that will happen—now what am I going to make of it? My nature is meant to flow with all of Nature, and my joyful assent to this purpose and design is the key to peace of mind.
How simple, yet how easily overlooked—If I decide not to be forced, I have not been forced, and through it all the dignity of my virtues remains intact. If I have done all in my power to act with integrity, there is nothing in this world that can bind me. Through interdependence comes independence.
I have spent most of my time and effort on trying to live in security, and hardly enough time and effort on striving to die with nobility. As with so many things Stoics, the priorities must be reversed. The lure of comfort is the far greater threat to my soul than the mortality of the flesh. This is why the rich man fears his demise, and the good man has no regrets.
Quality over quantity. More isn’t better—better is better.
—Reflection written in 6/2013
IMAGE: Noel Halle, The Death of Seneca (1750)
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