Accordingly, the wise man will live as long as he ought, not as long as he can. He will mark in what place, with whom, and how he is to conduct his existence, and what he is about to do.
He always reflects concerning the quality, and not the quantity, of his life. As soon as there are many events in his life that give him trouble and disturb his peace of mind, he sets himself free. And this privilege is his, not only when the crisis is upon him, but as soon as Fortune seems to be playing him false; then he looks about carefully and sees whether he ought, or ought not, to end his life on that account.
He holds that it makes no difference to him whether his taking-off be natural or self-inflicted, whether it comes later or earlier. He does not regard it with fear, as if it were a great loss; for no man can lose very much when but a driblet remains. It is not a question of dying earlier or later, but of dying well or ill. And dying well means escape from the danger of living ill.
He always reflects concerning the quality, and not the quantity, of his life. As soon as there are many events in his life that give him trouble and disturb his peace of mind, he sets himself free. And this privilege is his, not only when the crisis is upon him, but as soon as Fortune seems to be playing him false; then he looks about carefully and sees whether he ought, or ought not, to end his life on that account.
He holds that it makes no difference to him whether his taking-off be natural or self-inflicted, whether it comes later or earlier. He does not regard it with fear, as if it were a great loss; for no man can lose very much when but a driblet remains. It is not a question of dying earlier or later, but of dying well or ill. And dying well means escape from the danger of living ill.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70
Whenever I am already starting out from a bad location, my later steps will inevitably veer me even further off course. If, for example, I say I am following Stoicism, and yet I continue to seek out worldly rewards, my efforts will put me in entirely the wrong place. Likewise, if I set out to live a good life, but I still choose survival over sacrifice, I may gain more years at the expense of my conscience.
As with the angry tribalism now so sadly evident in arguments about abortion or guns, I rarely come across someone who isn’t fanatically bound to either saving lives at all costs or permitting people to end their lives at all costs. For the one faction, suicide is always a grave sin, while for the other faction, a life is only worth living if it continues to feel convenient or gratifying.
I will be disappointed if I expect Seneca to root for either team. Stoicism, like any of the Wisdom Traditions, works from the principle that the only absolute good for man is the exercise of the virtues, such that all other circumstances, however attractive they might appear, are relative in value. I should never begin by looking for pleasure over pain, fame over disgrace, wealth over poverty, or health over sickness—and yes, even life over death.
Will living any longer help me to act with greater character? Then I intend to stay put for another day. Will living any longer be a hindrance to retaining my integrity? Then I may have to bid you farewell. A problem will solely arise when I do not cherish the virtues above all else, and so I try to compromise between the superior and the inferior.
In other words, will increasing the quantity of my time violate the quality of my convictions? I am sure that many will be glad to offer their advice on the matter, though the final decision must be mine alone. If I can manage to be honest and humble, I best know my own intentions, I best know my own strengths and weaknesses, and I best know my own position within the circumstances.
No, this does not mean throwing myself from a cliff because I am melancholy, as my sadness can still serve me to become a better man, nor does it ever mean desiring death for its own sake, as death is rightly to be treated with indifference.
Is the man who hurls himself on the grenade, in order to save his fellows in the trench, a cowardly suicide? Is the woman who casts aside her medicine, in the knowledge that no benefit will come to anyone by dragging out the inevitable, a victim of her fear? No, both are about as brave, and as free, as a person could possibly be.
In one way or another, when Fortune threatens to restrict my moral liberty, Nature then offers the option of departing with a righteous dignity. This seems like nonsense to those who cling to life in desperation, which is the true cowardice, or who allow themselves to be ruled by their passions, which is the true slavery.
Whenever I am already starting out from a bad location, my later steps will inevitably veer me even further off course. If, for example, I say I am following Stoicism, and yet I continue to seek out worldly rewards, my efforts will put me in entirely the wrong place. Likewise, if I set out to live a good life, but I still choose survival over sacrifice, I may gain more years at the expense of my conscience.
As with the angry tribalism now so sadly evident in arguments about abortion or guns, I rarely come across someone who isn’t fanatically bound to either saving lives at all costs or permitting people to end their lives at all costs. For the one faction, suicide is always a grave sin, while for the other faction, a life is only worth living if it continues to feel convenient or gratifying.
I will be disappointed if I expect Seneca to root for either team. Stoicism, like any of the Wisdom Traditions, works from the principle that the only absolute good for man is the exercise of the virtues, such that all other circumstances, however attractive they might appear, are relative in value. I should never begin by looking for pleasure over pain, fame over disgrace, wealth over poverty, or health over sickness—and yes, even life over death.
Will living any longer help me to act with greater character? Then I intend to stay put for another day. Will living any longer be a hindrance to retaining my integrity? Then I may have to bid you farewell. A problem will solely arise when I do not cherish the virtues above all else, and so I try to compromise between the superior and the inferior.
In other words, will increasing the quantity of my time violate the quality of my convictions? I am sure that many will be glad to offer their advice on the matter, though the final decision must be mine alone. If I can manage to be honest and humble, I best know my own intentions, I best know my own strengths and weaknesses, and I best know my own position within the circumstances.
No, this does not mean throwing myself from a cliff because I am melancholy, as my sadness can still serve me to become a better man, nor does it ever mean desiring death for its own sake, as death is rightly to be treated with indifference.
Is the man who hurls himself on the grenade, in order to save his fellows in the trench, a cowardly suicide? Is the woman who casts aside her medicine, in the knowledge that no benefit will come to anyone by dragging out the inevitable, a victim of her fear? No, both are about as brave, and as free, as a person could possibly be.
In one way or another, when Fortune threatens to restrict my moral liberty, Nature then offers the option of departing with a righteous dignity. This seems like nonsense to those who cling to life in desperation, which is the true cowardice, or who allow themselves to be ruled by their passions, which is the true slavery.
—Reflection written in 8/2013
IMAGE: Anonymous French, The Wheel of Fortune (15th century)
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