"But," you say, "whoever desired such a thing for himself?"
Some prayers are open and outspoken, when the requests are offered specifically; other prayers are indirectly expressed, when they include many requests under one title. For example,
I desire a life of honor. Now a life of honor includes various kinds of conduct; it may include the chest in which Regulus was confined, or the wound of Cato which was torn open by Cato's own hand, or the exile of Rutilius, or the cup of poison which removed Socrates from jail to heaven.
Accordingly, in praying for a life of honor, I have prayed also for those things without which, on some occasions, life cannot be honorable:
“O thrice and four times blest were they
Met happy death before their parents' eyes!”
What does it matter whether you offer this prayer for some individual, or admit that it was desirable in the past? Decius sacrificed himself for the State; he set spurs to his horse and rushed into the midst of the foe, seeking death.
The second Decius, rivalling his father's valor, reproducing the words which had become sacred and already household words, dashed into the thickest of the fight, anxious only that his sacrifice might bring omen of success, and regarding a noble death as a thing to be desired.
Do you doubt, then, whether it is best to die glorious and performing some deed of valor?
Some prayers are open and outspoken, when the requests are offered specifically; other prayers are indirectly expressed, when they include many requests under one title. For example,
I desire a life of honor. Now a life of honor includes various kinds of conduct; it may include the chest in which Regulus was confined, or the wound of Cato which was torn open by Cato's own hand, or the exile of Rutilius, or the cup of poison which removed Socrates from jail to heaven.
Accordingly, in praying for a life of honor, I have prayed also for those things without which, on some occasions, life cannot be honorable:
“O thrice and four times blest were they
Met happy death before their parents' eyes!”
What does it matter whether you offer this prayer for some individual, or admit that it was desirable in the past? Decius sacrificed himself for the State; he set spurs to his horse and rushed into the midst of the foe, seeking death.
The second Decius, rivalling his father's valor, reproducing the words which had become sacred and already household words, dashed into the thickest of the fight, anxious only that his sacrifice might bring omen of success, and regarding a noble death as a thing to be desired.
Do you doubt, then, whether it is best to die glorious and performing some deed of valor?
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 67
I find that I am hesitant to risk my creature comforts only when I am deeply confused about my purpose for being here on this Earth. If I define myself by my pleasures, and I am simply seeking to live for as long as possible, I will flinch at the thought of hardship, but if I understand why the goal is in living with the virtues, regardless of the circumstance or the duration, I will no longer be so timid.
I have sadly known some people, far more than you might think, who wish for death, because they have despaired of living. I have also known a handful who romanticize martyrdom, and so believed that only the pain could be glorious, praying daily for it to end in fire and blood.
With Seneca, I choose to bypass the doom and the gloom, to neither crave extinction nor to demand suffering, yet I do know how the fullness of life is a sort of “package deal”, where the pursuit of character will sometimes call for the surrender of conveniences. If this should come to pass, let me go forward with conviction and joy. It is, after all, very little to ask for so great a prize; if I want this, I must also be willing to tolerate that.
In and of itself, I have no yearning to be locked in a box like Regulus, or to throw myself on a sword like Cato, or to drink the poison like Socrates. I am not gifted with the constitution to charge headlong into battle like a Decius, especially when I am aware it will be a one-way trip.
Still, endurance is ultimately a matter of the spirit far more than it is of the flesh, and, even in my own small way, I have found that praying for an increase of constancy always trumps coming up with pitiful excuses.
When I grow weak, I must always remind myself how Seneca himself would, soon after writing this letter, be faced with a final choice of honor. I am inspired to see that he was a man who could walk the walk, not just talk the talk.
I find that I am hesitant to risk my creature comforts only when I am deeply confused about my purpose for being here on this Earth. If I define myself by my pleasures, and I am simply seeking to live for as long as possible, I will flinch at the thought of hardship, but if I understand why the goal is in living with the virtues, regardless of the circumstance or the duration, I will no longer be so timid.
I have sadly known some people, far more than you might think, who wish for death, because they have despaired of living. I have also known a handful who romanticize martyrdom, and so believed that only the pain could be glorious, praying daily for it to end in fire and blood.
With Seneca, I choose to bypass the doom and the gloom, to neither crave extinction nor to demand suffering, yet I do know how the fullness of life is a sort of “package deal”, where the pursuit of character will sometimes call for the surrender of conveniences. If this should come to pass, let me go forward with conviction and joy. It is, after all, very little to ask for so great a prize; if I want this, I must also be willing to tolerate that.
In and of itself, I have no yearning to be locked in a box like Regulus, or to throw myself on a sword like Cato, or to drink the poison like Socrates. I am not gifted with the constitution to charge headlong into battle like a Decius, especially when I am aware it will be a one-way trip.
Still, endurance is ultimately a matter of the spirit far more than it is of the flesh, and, even in my own small way, I have found that praying for an increase of constancy always trumps coming up with pitiful excuses.
When I grow weak, I must always remind myself how Seneca himself would, soon after writing this letter, be faced with a final choice of honor. I am inspired to see that he was a man who could walk the walk, not just talk the talk.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Gioacchino Assereto, The Death of Cato (c. 1640)
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