Ironically, while the early Greek Stoics said that a philosopher should participate in politics, none of them actually did. But as Seneca points out, the founders of the Stoa did advance laws, but not just for one state. Instead, they guided “all of humanity,” serving people not only in their own time, but “the people of all nations, both present and future.”29 As Seneca writes, “Of course, it is required that we benefit others—many if possible, but if not, a few; and if not a few, then those nearest to us; and if not those nearest, then ourselves. For when we make ourselves useful to others, we engage in public service.”30
Seneca believed that a Stoic sage would not participate in politics just in any commonwealth or under any situation.31 If a situation was beyond hope, what would be the use? Also, if a sage decided to pursue a life of leisure instead, he or she would then work to benefit society or posterity through other means.32 In fact, Seneca saw his own life and work in a similar way. He almost certainly regretted the time he had spent working for Nero and wanted to make things right while he was still alive. As Seneca wrote to Lucilius,
I am working for later generations, writing down some ideas that may benefit them. There are certain healthy counsels, like the prescription of useful medicines, which I’m now putting into writing. . . . I’m pointing others to the right path, which I found late in life, when I grew tired from going astray.33
Significantly, Seneca told Lucilius that his current work was now writing for future generations—writing, in fact, for us. He believed this forward-looking work was far more important than anything he could have been doing in the Roman Senate or in the corrupt social and political sphere of his time.
Seneca had an incredible level of confidence in his work. He had no doubt that his writings would find readers far in the future. “I will find favor with future generations,” he wrote. Seneca even suggested to Lucilius that he would take Lucilius’s name along with his for the ride, preserving it for future readers.34 Astonishingly, Seneca was fully correct in making this incredibly bold prediction. Today, twenty centuries later, Seneca’s Letters to Lucilius is among the top-selling works of ancient philosophy. As he confided to his friend, “A person who just thinks of his contemporaries is born for only a few. Many thousands of years will come, and many thousands of peoples: look toward them too.”35
Whether you are working for those closest to you now or working for future generations, both approaches are worthy of admiration. Seneca shows us that there are countless ways we can all contribute to society, whether benefiting one or many. Regardless of our individual skills and inclinations, there’s a way open for everyone.
CHAPTER 11
Living Fully Regardless of Death
How long I might live is not up to me, but how I live is within my control.
—Seneca, Letters 93.7
To live a long life, you need Fate; but to live well depends on your character.
—Seneca, Letters 93.2
THE ULTIMATE TEST OF CHARACTER
“Wherever I turn, I see signs of my old age,” Seneca wrote to Lucilius. Seneca had just arrived at his villa outside of Rome, where he was having a conversation with his property manager about the high cost of maintaining the disintegrating old building. But Seneca then explained, “My estate manager told me it was not his fault: he was doing everything possible, but the country home was old. And this villa was built under my supervision! What will my future look like if stonework of my own age is already crumbling?”1
At that time, Seneca was in his late sixties, and he was starting to feel the aches and pains of old age. But he also found old age to be pleasurable. However, the older you get, the more challenging things become. Extreme old age, he said, is like a lasting illness you never recover from; and when the body really declines, it’s like a ship that starts springing leaks, one after another.
Where I currently live, in Sarajevo, I see extremely old people, who are quite close to death, on an almost daily basis. It seems that some of my neighbors—thin, frail, and bent over, often walking with a cane at a snail’s pace over the old stone streets—could drop over and expire at any moment. That said, seeing extremely elderly people out and about is an inspiring and heartfelt experience for me. First of all, it’s lovely to see people who have lived for so long, often against challenging odds, and it’s impossible to see them without feeling a great sense of tenderness for them. Second, they are a timely reminder of my own mortality. It’s also very different from what I remember seeing in the United States.
Unlike many other countries, the United States has accomplished a world-class disappearing act when it comes to keeping older adults (and any other reminders of death) out of sight and out of mind. With its shiny glass and steel buildings, shopping malls, and spread-out suburbs, the American landscape has been sterilized and artificially “cleaned up” in such a way that extremely old people are rarely seen on public display. But here in a historic European city with ancient stone buildings that go back centuries, and well-established neighborhoods with cobblestone streets, extremely old people, hobbling along, are a happy part of daily life. They remind me that life is not without extreme struggle. And when people die, which can happen at any age, the local religious communities post death notices, with photos of the deceased, in local neighborhoods all over town. It’s another nice custom that reminds us of being mortal.
A Stoic wants to live well—and living well means dying well, too. A Stoic lives well through having a good character, and death is the final test of it. While every death will be a bit different, the Roman Stoics believed that a good death would be characterized by mental tranquility, a lack of complaining, and gratitude for the life we’ve been given. In other words, as the final act of living, a good death is characterized by acceptance and gratitude. Also, having a real philosophy of life, and having worked on developing a sound character, allows a person to die without any feelings of regret.2
Seneca frequently thought and wrote about death. Some of this must have been due to his poor health. Because he suffered from tuberculosis and asthma from a young age, he must have sensed the certainty and nearness of his own death throughout his entire life. In Letter 54 he describes, in graphic detail, a recent asthma attack that nearly killed him. But much earlier, probably in his twenties, he was so sick, and so near death, that he thought about ending his own life, to finally stop the suffering. He didn’t follow through on that, fortunately, out of love for his father. As he writes,
I often felt the urge to end my life, but the old age of my dear father held me back. For while I thought that I could die bravely, I knew he could not bear the loss bravely. And so I commanded myself to live. Sometimes it’s an act of courage just to keep living.3
For a Stoic (and for other ancient philosophers, too), memento mori—contemplating our inevitable death—was an essential philosophical exercise, and one that comes with unexpected benefits. As an anticipation of future adversity (see chapter 6), memento mori allows us to prepare for death, and helps remove our fears of death. It also encourages us to take our current lives more seriously, because we realize they’re limited. As I’ve discovered in a practical sense, reflecting on my own death—and the inevitable death of those dear to me—has had a totally unexpected and powerful benefit: feeling a more profound sense of gratitude for the time we still have together.