To enable yourself to meet death, you may expect no encouragement or cheer from those who try to make you believe, by means of their hair-splitting logic, that death is no evil. For I take pleasure, excellent Lucilius, in poking fun at the absurdities of the Greeks, of which, to my continual surprise, I have not yet succeeded in ridding myself.
Our master Zeno uses a syllogism like this: “No evil is glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is no evil.”
A cure, Zeno! I have been freed from fear; henceforth I shall not hesitate to bare my neck on the scaffold. Will you not utter sterner words instead of rousing a dying man to laughter?
Indeed, Lucilius, I could not easily tell you whether he who thought that he was quenching the fear of death by setting up this syllogism was the more foolish, or he who attempted to refute it, just as if it had anything to do with the matter!
For the refuter himself proposed a counter-syllogism, based upon the proposition that we regard death as “indifferent”—one of the things which the Greeks call ἀδιάφορα.
“Nothing,” he says, “that is indifferent can be glorious; death is glorious; therefore death is not indifferent.”
You comprehend the tricky fallacy which is contained in this syllogism: mere death is, in fact, not glorious; but a brave death is glorious.
And when you say: “Nothing that is indifferent is glorious,” I grant you this much, and declare that nothing is glorious except as it deals with indifferent things.
Our master Zeno uses a syllogism like this: “No evil is glorious; but death is glorious; therefore death is no evil.”
A cure, Zeno! I have been freed from fear; henceforth I shall not hesitate to bare my neck on the scaffold. Will you not utter sterner words instead of rousing a dying man to laughter?
Indeed, Lucilius, I could not easily tell you whether he who thought that he was quenching the fear of death by setting up this syllogism was the more foolish, or he who attempted to refute it, just as if it had anything to do with the matter!
For the refuter himself proposed a counter-syllogism, based upon the proposition that we regard death as “indifferent”—one of the things which the Greeks call ἀδιάφορα.
“Nothing,” he says, “that is indifferent can be glorious; death is glorious; therefore death is not indifferent.”
You comprehend the tricky fallacy which is contained in this syllogism: mere death is, in fact, not glorious; but a brave death is glorious.
And when you say: “Nothing that is indifferent is glorious,” I grant you this much, and declare that nothing is glorious except as it deals with indifferent things.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 82
Seneca has taken his time in arriving at the topic of death, but that is because the terror of dying can only be confronted after we have first grasped the value of living. It is philosophy that reveals a purpose to life, and so it is also philosophy that will allow us to be at peace with our mortality.
I must be careful, however, not to take the love of wisdom as a leisurely exercise in lofty contemplation, and not to fall into the trap of turning into just another fussy scholar. I must surely ponder the ideal, yet none of it can ever become real for me without binding myself to the habits of action. A syllogism on its own will not be sufficient—without the employment of the virtues, I am merely playing with the words.
Though Seneca is surely having a bit of fun here, there is a great danger in believing that the logic alone is enough to assure a constancy of character. The conclusion of an argument is then itself the beginning of the practice, whereby the principle becomes fixed in our conduct. If this were not so, entertaining the notion alone would instantly transform a sinner into a saint.
As Thomas à Kempis said, “it is better to feel compunction than to know its definition.” This hardly excludes the role of reason, but it does demand that the universal be thoroughly applied to the particular.
What both Zeno and his critic have to say gets tied up in knots if we don’t ground their terms in concrete experience. The Stoic is eager to prove that death should not be feared, and the skeptic would prefer to keep his options open, and any speculation about whether or not death is glorious will confuse us if we don’t remember that death itself is simply death, no more and no less, and attaching any honor or dishonor to it depends entirely on its moral context.
No, Zeno should clarify: in everyday life, a death can be glorious, if it is endured for the right reasons. No, the critic should clarify: in everyday life, what is indifferent can be glorious, for the latter works with the matter of the former.
The Stoic notion of what is “indifferent” can easily be misunderstood. It does not mean that we should not care, but rather that we should not care about the circumstances for their own sake, and that the good or the evil in them hinges upon whether they are employed for the sake of virtue or vice. Logicians are often quick to overlook such distinctions, while those working on the ground will recognize why they make all the difference.
In theory, I can attribute all sort of qualities to life and death. In practice, those qualities are more properly predicated on my estimation of their benefit and harm.
Seneca has taken his time in arriving at the topic of death, but that is because the terror of dying can only be confronted after we have first grasped the value of living. It is philosophy that reveals a purpose to life, and so it is also philosophy that will allow us to be at peace with our mortality.
I must be careful, however, not to take the love of wisdom as a leisurely exercise in lofty contemplation, and not to fall into the trap of turning into just another fussy scholar. I must surely ponder the ideal, yet none of it can ever become real for me without binding myself to the habits of action. A syllogism on its own will not be sufficient—without the employment of the virtues, I am merely playing with the words.
Though Seneca is surely having a bit of fun here, there is a great danger in believing that the logic alone is enough to assure a constancy of character. The conclusion of an argument is then itself the beginning of the practice, whereby the principle becomes fixed in our conduct. If this were not so, entertaining the notion alone would instantly transform a sinner into a saint.
As Thomas à Kempis said, “it is better to feel compunction than to know its definition.” This hardly excludes the role of reason, but it does demand that the universal be thoroughly applied to the particular.
What both Zeno and his critic have to say gets tied up in knots if we don’t ground their terms in concrete experience. The Stoic is eager to prove that death should not be feared, and the skeptic would prefer to keep his options open, and any speculation about whether or not death is glorious will confuse us if we don’t remember that death itself is simply death, no more and no less, and attaching any honor or dishonor to it depends entirely on its moral context.
No, Zeno should clarify: in everyday life, a death can be glorious, if it is endured for the right reasons. No, the critic should clarify: in everyday life, what is indifferent can be glorious, for the latter works with the matter of the former.
The Stoic notion of what is “indifferent” can easily be misunderstood. It does not mean that we should not care, but rather that we should not care about the circumstances for their own sake, and that the good or the evil in them hinges upon whether they are employed for the sake of virtue or vice. Logicians are often quick to overlook such distinctions, while those working on the ground will recognize why they make all the difference.
In theory, I can attribute all sort of qualities to life and death. In practice, those qualities are more properly predicated on my estimation of their benefit and harm.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment