When a general is about to lead into action an army prepared to meet death for their wives and children, how will he exhort them to battle?
I remind you of the Fabii, who took upon a single clan a war which concerned the whole state. I point out to you the Lacedaemonians in position at the very pass of Thermopylae! They have no hope of victory, no hope of returning. The place where they stand is to be their tomb.
In what language do you encourage them to bar the way with their bodies and take upon themselves the ruin of their whole tribe, and to retreat from life rather than from their post?
Shall you say: “That which is evil is not glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is not an evil”?
What a powerful discourse! After such words, who would hesitate to throw himself upon the serried spears of the foemen, and die in his tracks?
But take Leonidas: how bravely did he address his men! He said: “Fellow soldiers, let us to our breakfast, knowing that we shall sup in Hades!” The food of these men did not grow lumpy in their mouths, or stick in their throats, or slip from their fingers; eagerly did they accept the invitation to breakfast, and to supper also!
Think, too, of the famous Roman general; his soldiers had been dispatched to seize a position, and when they were about to make their way through a huge army of the enemy, he addressed them with the words: “You must go now, fellow soldiers, to yonder place, whence there is no ’must’ about your returning!"
I remind you of the Fabii, who took upon a single clan a war which concerned the whole state. I point out to you the Lacedaemonians in position at the very pass of Thermopylae! They have no hope of victory, no hope of returning. The place where they stand is to be their tomb.
In what language do you encourage them to bar the way with their bodies and take upon themselves the ruin of their whole tribe, and to retreat from life rather than from their post?
Shall you say: “That which is evil is not glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is not an evil”?
What a powerful discourse! After such words, who would hesitate to throw himself upon the serried spears of the foemen, and die in his tracks?
But take Leonidas: how bravely did he address his men! He said: “Fellow soldiers, let us to our breakfast, knowing that we shall sup in Hades!” The food of these men did not grow lumpy in their mouths, or stick in their throats, or slip from their fingers; eagerly did they accept the invitation to breakfast, and to supper also!
Think, too, of the famous Roman general; his soldiers had been dispatched to seize a position, and when they were about to make their way through a huge army of the enemy, he addressed them with the words: “You must go now, fellow soldiers, to yonder place, whence there is no ’must’ about your returning!"
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 82
Contrary to the hopes of the skeptics or the emotivists, Seneca is certainly not denying the necessity of reasoning in our daily living. We should instead beware of divorcing the ideal from the real, of appealing only to some clinical abstraction, when any true inspiration must invigorate the whole person, the lower in harmony with the higher.
Intellectual squabbling has often inflated my vanity, but it has never strengthened my virtues, for the same reasons that a syllogism will not help a soldier to welcome death, or a balance sheet will not convince a lover to swear eternal devotion. There needs to be a firm connection between the thinking and the feeling, a vigorous exercise of awareness into action.
Strictly speaking, Zeno and Leonidas are both telling me why I shouldn’t be afraid of dying, and yet Zeno leaves me cold, while Leonidas has me pumping my fist. What makes all the difference here? For me, it is as if some aloof stranger says to me, “You are going to die,” while a dear friend says to me, “You are going to die, and I will stand with you to the bitter end.”
I am at the loss for words to properly describe such a contrast, though phrases like “put your money where your mouth is”, “the proof is in the pudding”, and “when boots are on the ground” keep popping into my head. Or perhaps, in the timeless words of the band Rush: “Show me, don’t tell me.” A beauty of the Stoic philosophy is that the concept must always be made incarnate.
Some years ago, an administrator assembled the faculty to discuss the task of shelving the school’s new library books. The first half hour was occupied with criticizing the staff who had skipped the meeting, and the second half hour was spent on dictating a schedule to complete the work.
When we finally left the room, the books had already been sorted and stacked, by the very two teachers who had played hooky. I believe that Seneca would have appreciated the fine lesson for the day.
Contrary to the hopes of the skeptics or the emotivists, Seneca is certainly not denying the necessity of reasoning in our daily living. We should instead beware of divorcing the ideal from the real, of appealing only to some clinical abstraction, when any true inspiration must invigorate the whole person, the lower in harmony with the higher.
Intellectual squabbling has often inflated my vanity, but it has never strengthened my virtues, for the same reasons that a syllogism will not help a soldier to welcome death, or a balance sheet will not convince a lover to swear eternal devotion. There needs to be a firm connection between the thinking and the feeling, a vigorous exercise of awareness into action.
Strictly speaking, Zeno and Leonidas are both telling me why I shouldn’t be afraid of dying, and yet Zeno leaves me cold, while Leonidas has me pumping my fist. What makes all the difference here? For me, it is as if some aloof stranger says to me, “You are going to die,” while a dear friend says to me, “You are going to die, and I will stand with you to the bitter end.”
I am at the loss for words to properly describe such a contrast, though phrases like “put your money where your mouth is”, “the proof is in the pudding”, and “when boots are on the ground” keep popping into my head. Or perhaps, in the timeless words of the band Rush: “Show me, don’t tell me.” A beauty of the Stoic philosophy is that the concept must always be made incarnate.
Some years ago, an administrator assembled the faculty to discuss the task of shelving the school’s new library books. The first half hour was occupied with criticizing the staff who had skipped the meeting, and the second half hour was spent on dictating a schedule to complete the work.
When we finally left the room, the books had already been sorted and stacked, by the very two teachers who had played hooky. I believe that Seneca would have appreciated the fine lesson for the day.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
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