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Saturday, June 22, 2024

Seneca, Moral Letters 70.6


You can find men who have gone so far as to profess wisdom and yet maintain that one should not offer violence to one's own life, and hold it accursed for a man to be the means of his own destruction; we should wait, say they, for the end decreed by Nature. 
 
But one who says this does not see that he is shutting off the path to freedom. The best thing which eternal law ever ordained was that it allowed to us one entrance into life, but many exits.
 
Must I await the cruelty either of disease or of man, when I can depart through the midst of torture, and shake off my troubles? This is the one reason why we cannot complain of life: it keeps no one against his will. 
 
Humanity is well situated, because no man is unhappy except by his own fault. Live, if you so desire; if not, you may return to the place whence you came.
 
You have often been cupped in order to relieve headaches. You have had veins cut for the purpose of reducing your weight. If you would pierce your heart, a gaping wound is not necessary; a lancet will open the way to that great freedom, and tranquility can be purchased at the cost of a pinprick. 

—from Seneca, Moral Letters 70 
 
I travel in academic circles where a strict intolerance for anything that even vaguely smacks of suicide is the norm, and these folks do not at all take kindly to my claim that Christ freely chose to die, even as he did not desire that death for its own sake. Socrates, and countless other fine souls, did much the same. 
 
I would suggest we be clear on how we define “taking” our own lives, being careful to measure the act within the context of the intention. I do not believe that Seneca is proposing we treat life as cheap or disposable, but rather that we be fully responsible for leaving this world in whatever way will best increase our virtues. 
 
First, remember that from the Stoic perspective, life or death are, strictly speaking, neither good nor bad in themselves, and are instead things to be treated with indifference. I must only ask which state will best serve the content of my character, at which point I will no longer fret over the other advantages or disadvantages of staying or going. 
 
Second, I should not assume that Universal Nature is somehow forbidding me to exercise my human nature as a creature of reason and will. Was I not given these powers precisely so that I might serve the whole, to make my own way as best I see fit? Freedom is not in conflict with Providence, but a very expression of that Providence; my conscience has the capacity to make the most fitting use of my circumstances. 
 
How I make my exit is a very part of how I fulfill my purpose. If reason prohibits it, I am called to refrain. If reason permits it, the option remains open. All other things being equal, to depart with dignity is my prerogative. For better or for worse, I can engage or disengage from this life, and I ultimately have no one to blame for my happiness or my misery but myself. 
 
Cato chose to cut the cord, just as Seneca himself would do within a short time of writing this letter. While Cicero did not do the deed himself, he stretched out his neck to invite the fatal blow. There is a certain streak of “death before dishonor” among the Romans, sharing something in common with the precepts of bushido, which may now feel alien to our more delicate cultural sensibilities. 
 
I honestly do not know if I would die by my own hand before submitting to an injustice from another, though I do know I would never question the integrity and courage of those who do. Where I might still see the possibility to do a bit more good, another might be convinced that this is the final test. 

—Reflection written in 8/2013 

IMAGE: Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Seneca (1773) 



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