Tullius Marcellinus, a man whom you knew very well, who in youth was a quiet soul and became old prematurely, fell ill of a disease which was by no means hopeless; but it was protracted and troublesome, and it demanded much attention; hence he began to think about dying.
He called many of his friends together. Each one of them gave Marcellinus advice—the timid friend urging him to do what he had made up his mind to do; the flattering and wheedling friend giving counsel which he supposed would be more pleasing to Marcellinus when he came to think the matter over; but our Stoic friend, a rare man, and, to praise him in language which he deserves, a man of courage and vigor admonished him best of all, as it seems to me.
For he began as follows: “Do not torment yourself, my dear Marcellinus, as if the question which you are weighing were a matter of importance. It is not an important matter to live; all your slaves live, and so do all animals; but it is important to die honorably, sensibly, bravely.
“Reflect how long you have been doing the same thing: food, sleep, lust—this is one’s daily round. The desire to die may be felt, not only by the sensible man or the brave or unhappy man, but even by the man who is merely surfeited."
He called many of his friends together. Each one of them gave Marcellinus advice—the timid friend urging him to do what he had made up his mind to do; the flattering and wheedling friend giving counsel which he supposed would be more pleasing to Marcellinus when he came to think the matter over; but our Stoic friend, a rare man, and, to praise him in language which he deserves, a man of courage and vigor admonished him best of all, as it seems to me.
For he began as follows: “Do not torment yourself, my dear Marcellinus, as if the question which you are weighing were a matter of importance. It is not an important matter to live; all your slaves live, and so do all animals; but it is important to die honorably, sensibly, bravely.
“Reflect how long you have been doing the same thing: food, sleep, lust—this is one’s daily round. The desire to die may be felt, not only by the sensible man or the brave or unhappy man, but even by the man who is merely surfeited."
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 77
Don’t ask how long you should live, but how well you should die. This is only frightening if we consider death to be an evil, when the only human evils are the vices.
The Alexandrian ships may come in early, or they may come in late, or they may never come in at all, and it is rather fretting over such timing that brings us to grief. Likewise, any fixation on accidents is a surefire way to neglect the essence, so that adding additional days to a life is no substitute for seizing upon just one single day.
The story of Marcellinus makes us uncomfortable, because it challenges the common assumption that survival must come first. No, character must come first.
I once believed that an animal’s basic instinct was to stay alive at all costs, but then I saw a cat defending her kittens; even the beast, which lacks reason, has a sense of purpose that goes beyond merely prolonging its existence. While a man should know better than to fear death, it is ironically his freedom of judgment that permits him to ignore his very nature.
It is not for me to decide whether Marcellinus was right or wrong: I do not know his particular circumstances, and I do not know the merit of his intentions. I do know, however, that we should be indifferent to dying, neither seeking it out for its own sake, nor dreading its arrival when the time is ripe. Whatever the circumstances, the pursuit of the virtues must be the end, and what remains is about the means.
Have I understood my place? Have I acted with firm conviction? Have I risen above pleasure and pain? Have I treated my neighbor with the respect he deserves? The confusion arises from compromising these priorities.
I also know that the advice offered by our fellows can easily be muddled by their own fears and desires. Do not tell me what you think I wish to hear, or what you hope will win you favor; you will be a true friend if you help me to help myself, instead of shaping me according to your preferences.
The Stoic explains to Marcellinus that the question is not about life or death, but about honor or dishonor. Will a longer life be in the service of my conscience, or will it become a hindrance to my principles? Will a shorter life allow me to make my stand, or will it become an excuse for an easy way out? There may come a point where less can be more, and more can be less.
If the task is now complete, to the best of my ability, it is not cowardly or selfish to say that I have had my fill. To continue might simply be going through the empty motions of desire, and so I retain the option to depart on my own terms, before my powers have failed me, without any resentments or regrets.
Don’t ask how long you should live, but how well you should die. This is only frightening if we consider death to be an evil, when the only human evils are the vices.
The Alexandrian ships may come in early, or they may come in late, or they may never come in at all, and it is rather fretting over such timing that brings us to grief. Likewise, any fixation on accidents is a surefire way to neglect the essence, so that adding additional days to a life is no substitute for seizing upon just one single day.
The story of Marcellinus makes us uncomfortable, because it challenges the common assumption that survival must come first. No, character must come first.
I once believed that an animal’s basic instinct was to stay alive at all costs, but then I saw a cat defending her kittens; even the beast, which lacks reason, has a sense of purpose that goes beyond merely prolonging its existence. While a man should know better than to fear death, it is ironically his freedom of judgment that permits him to ignore his very nature.
It is not for me to decide whether Marcellinus was right or wrong: I do not know his particular circumstances, and I do not know the merit of his intentions. I do know, however, that we should be indifferent to dying, neither seeking it out for its own sake, nor dreading its arrival when the time is ripe. Whatever the circumstances, the pursuit of the virtues must be the end, and what remains is about the means.
Have I understood my place? Have I acted with firm conviction? Have I risen above pleasure and pain? Have I treated my neighbor with the respect he deserves? The confusion arises from compromising these priorities.
I also know that the advice offered by our fellows can easily be muddled by their own fears and desires. Do not tell me what you think I wish to hear, or what you hope will win you favor; you will be a true friend if you help me to help myself, instead of shaping me according to your preferences.
The Stoic explains to Marcellinus that the question is not about life or death, but about honor or dishonor. Will a longer life be in the service of my conscience, or will it become a hindrance to my principles? Will a shorter life allow me to make my stand, or will it become an excuse for an easy way out? There may come a point where less can be more, and more can be less.
If the task is now complete, to the best of my ability, it is not cowardly or selfish to say that I have had my fill. To continue might simply be going through the empty motions of desire, and so I retain the option to depart on my own terms, before my powers have failed me, without any resentments or regrets.
—Reflection written in 11/2013
IMAGE: John Everett Millais, The Dying Man (c. 1853)
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