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Religion and Health
Seneca on Death
Stoic philosophy
Stoicism met the magnified needs of the Roman individual in the first
century.3 The political revolution begun by Alexander had stripped the
average man of the security of the city-state and had exposed him to an
increasingly cosmopolitan Roman Empire. Within the expanding em
pire, large government and paid armies further reduced the common
man's sense of importance. Widened horizons brought narrowed con
sciousness, and without the former spirit of nationalism, communal in
terest, and participation in government, a need for a new meaning for
life arose. This need led to a growth of individualism.
Even prior to the time of Socrates, who was accused of inculcating dis
upon their understanding of the world. The basic unity of the universe
led them to a recognition of the essential brotherhood of mankind,
which called for the practice of love and justice in all human relation
ships. The highest ideal of the Stoic way of life became the fulfillment of
social obligations. Taking precedence over individual duties, these prin
ciples forced a man to undertake an altruistic conversion of his basic na
ture. As a part of his social obligations, each man was assigned a neces
sary role and, whether emperor or slave, all were equally important.
The Stoics exhorted each man to play his role to the best of his ability,
while remaining obedient to the state and to the divine with which he
identified himself. Through his reason, man was admitted to commu
nion with the gods from whom he believed that he differed only by being
mortal. He also believed in the communion of all men's souls. Unity
applied to the divine as well as to the material world.
Fear of death
The fear of death was a central concern for Seneca. This fundamental
and powerful passion might dominate the human will and rob it of its
freedom. He noted that it sprang from man's unique recognition of the
fact that he is mortal. He saw it as a natural fear and an agonizing ac
companiment of man's divine gift of reason. Observing that neither chil
dren nor madmen fear death, he felt that it would, indeed, be paradoxical
if reason were unable to furnish the same security that innocence made
available. It was, for Seneca, the ultimate fear and the one that rendered
all thoughts of the future uneasy. Its strength may have stemmed in part
from the uncertainty of life in Seneca's day. He expressed this idea in
typically dramatic fashion when he said, ". . . nothing is so deceptive as
human life, nothing is so treacherous. Heaven knows! not one of us
would have accepted it as a gift were it not given to us without our
knowledge." (Ad Marc, XXII. 3)5 The source of it lay in the love of self,
the desire for unending existence, a dread of the process of dying, and
ignorance of the future. Apprehension of an afterlife made its contribu
tion to this multifaceted fear or, depending upon a man's beliefs, was
equaled by a fear of annihilation. Despite fear of the afterlife, Seneca em
phasized that it was the manner of dying, rather than death itself, that
aroused men's fears.
For Seneca, the fear of death seemed inescapable. He felt that the fre
quent and untimely deaths occurring wherever one looked served to re
mind his fellow-men that death might surprise them at any moment.
And surprise them it might, because, as he observed, using a metaphor of
the sea, "The number of men that will plan a voyage without thinking
of storms is very great." (De Tranq. An., XI.7) The philosopher himself
suffered from asthma, which served to keep the thought of death before
him. He described attacks as a sort of continued "last gasp," comment
ing that physicians of his day referred to the affliction as "practicing how
to die."
Seneca regarded the fear of death, though ubiquitous, as displaced in
certain instances. One of them was the apprehension associated with dis
ease. Three elements were responsible for the distress of disease, namely:
fear of death, pain, and interruption of pleasures. But, in his essay, "On
the healing power of the mind," he claimed that the fear of death did not
belong among them. In one penetrating passage he stated:
"... this fear is not a fear of disease, but a fear of nature. Disease has often
postponed death, and a vision of dying has been many a man's salvation. You
will die, not because you are ill, but because you are alive; even when you have
been cured, the same end awaits you; when you have recovered, it will not be
death, but ill-health, that you have escaped." (LXXVII.6)6
So powerful was this fear that it could rob a man of the very life he
feared to lose. "He who fears death will never do anything worthy of a
man who is alive." (De Tranq. An., XI.6) It could force an individual to
surrender his will to the dictates of fortune and accept slavery; the man
who surrendered not only displayed despicable lack of courage but sac
rificed a life of tranquility he might otherwise have attained. Therefore,
it was supremely important for a man to rid himself of this fear and es
sential if he were to attain the goal recommended by this Stoic philoso
Preparation
Preparation for death was, for Seneca, preparation for life. The two were
inseparable. First he called for premeditation. Men were advised to lose
no opportunity to premeditate upon death in order to render the thought
familiar and death itself a matter of indifference. "If an evil has been
pondered beforehand, the blow is gentle when it comes. (LXXXVI.34)
Rehearse the thought of death every day, that you may be able to depart
from life contentedly; for many men clutch and cling to life, even as
those who are carried down a rushing stream clutch and cling to briars
and sharp rocks." (IV.5) By means of courage and philosophical detach
ment, an individual might surround himself with a protective armor and
make himself impervious to death. To endure the awareness, of ap
proaching death required long practice. Seneca praised this accomplish
ment and expressed the view that brave endurance of death was among
the greatest achievements of the human mind.
Essential to overcoming the fear of death, Seneca felt, was submission
to nature. Servitude was avoided when a man, instead of rebelling
against the laws of the universe, made their dictates his will. It was of
some consolation that the gods and man alike were subject to nature's
law; there were no exceptions. The man who attained virtue ". . . never
cursed his luck, and never received the results of chance with dejection;
he believed that he was a citizen and soldier of the universe, accepting his
tasks as if they were his orders." (CXX.12) Contemplation of death was
an aid to moral and spiritual growth. For example, as it led men to dis
cover their oneness with nature, it provided a guiding principle for life.
To the extent to which they identified themselves with this principle,
men realized an opportunity to become the ideal that they placed before
themselves.
If not overwhelming, of course, the fear of death provided an oppor
tunity for a man to test and strengthen his character and, kept in the
They keep themselves busily engaged in order that they may be able to live bet
ter; they spend life in making ready to live! They form their purposes with a
view to the distant future; yet postponement is the greatest waste of life; it de
prives them of each day as it comes, it snatches from them the present by prom
ising something hereafter. The greatest hindrance to living is expectancy, which
depends upon the morrow and wastes today. (De Brev. Vit., IX. 1)
as the crowd, desire for wealth, and ambition, distracted men from the
recommended philosopher's life. All tended to remove death from view
and focus attention upon remote hopes.
Aging, which brought life's end ever closer, altered Seneca's perspec
tive on death and led him to realize that this natural process aided men
to prepare for death. He emphasized that, rather than simply arriving at
the end of life, death was a condition that had shaped the whole of it. In
harmony with nature's law, of birth and decline and life and death, a life
progressed toward its end from its very beginning. He observed that:
. . . every day a little of our life is taken from us; even when we are growing, our
life is on the wane. We lose our childhood, then our boyhood, and then our
youth. Counting even yesterday, all past time is lost time; the very day which we
are now spending is shared between ourselves and death. (XXIV.20)
He pointed out that the final hour does not bring death, but merely com
pletes a process long underway: ". . . it is the last but not the only
death!" (XXIV.22) Since a man's life was granted with the reservation
that one day he must die and since he had always lived according to this
agreement, he should have no complaint. He concluded simply that the
man ". . . who does not wish to die cannot have wished to live."
(XXX.10)
Old age was regarded by Seneca as a mixed blessing. It was accompa
nied by weariness, but it was also a time well suited for the attainment of
wisdom. Complete and victorious virtue combined with unwavering
judgment of the supreme good could only be the fruits of a long life
steadfastly devoted to their accomplishment. He said that no ". . . time
of life is more fitted to the attainment of a sound mind than that which
has gained the victory over itself by many trials and by long and oft-re
peated regret for past mistakes, and, its passions assuaged, has reached
a state of health." (LXVIII.14) Thus, relieved in large measure of the
burden of his desires, the aging Seneca described in himself a peaceful
spirit and an increasing acceptance of death. He felt that this acceptance
usually developed just at that moment when a man achieved his highest
potential. Here, then, was another resource in the preparation for death.
In his essay "On the Proper Time to Slip the Cable," Seneca dwelt fur
ther upon old age and its relation to death. He emphasized the impor
tance of the quality as opposed to the length of life and advised men to
end their lives, if necessary, to escape the enslavement of pain or senility.
His view was extreme: "... the foulest death is preferable to the cleanest
slavery." (LXX.21) About the death that arrived in old age, he expressed
varied feelings. "No ending," he said, ". . . is more painless; but there is
none more^lingering." (XXX.4) Yet with the boon bestowed by philoso
phy, men might be joyful at the sight of it for:
... if it falls to the lot of any man to be set gently adrift by old age, not suddenly
torn from life, but withdrawn bit by bit, oh, verily he should thank the gods,
one and all, because after he has had his fill he is removed to a rest which is
ordained for mankind, a rest that is welcome to the weary. (XXX. 12)
Seneca himself, in a letter to his friend Lucilius, claimed that he awaited
death cheerfully. He said simply, "I have lived . . . long enough. I have
had my fill; I await death." (LXI.4)
Dying
The hour ?f death upon which the Stoic had long meditated placed be
fore him the supreme test of his soul. For this reason, dying well became
a matter of extreme importance. Dying represented neither good nor evil,
according to Seneca, but might become either, depending upon the at
titude a man took toward it. Like most things regarded as ill, it could be
converted to good if a man succeeded in rising above it. First of all, Sen
eca said that dying well meant dying gladly. The freedom of the human
will depended upon its submission to necessity. If a man died by his own
choosing instead of rebelling against this universal necessity, he achieved
a final victory over fortune. "He who has learned to die has unlearned
slavery; he is above any external power, or, at any rate, he is beyond it."
(XXVI. 10) Fortune unleashed a powerful assault upon the soul at the
expressed in the course of his life held true once philosophical studies,
learned discussions, and worldly opinion were set aside. At this point,
bereft of a certain future, a man would be thrown back upon and review
his past. This process held danger for one whose life had been misspent.
Perceptively, Seneca observed that:
No one willingly turns his thought back to the past, unless all his acts have
been submitted to the censorship of his conscience, which is never deceived; he
who has ambitiously coveted, proudly scorned, recklessly conquered, treach
erously betrayed, greedily seized, or lavishly squandered, must needs fear his
own memory. (De Brev. Vit. X.4)
ally, death, was at hand. "Slavery loses its bitterness when by a step I
can pass to liberty. Amidst the miseries of life, I have the refuge of
death." (De Consol. Marc.) While the way out of life lay open, fortune,
which otherwise held enormous power over individuals, became an ob
ject of scorn. And having readied himself to choose death, the Stoic de
veloped supreme mastery over dying. Said Seneca, "Just as I shall select
my ship when I am about to go on a voyage, or my house when I pro
pose to take a residence, so I shall choose my death when I am about to
depart from life." (LXX.12) In his decision to die by his own hand, Sen
eca proved true to his teachings. His willing death was a model of for
titude and a testimonial to the noble achievements of Stoic philosophy.
For Seneca, death chosen for oneself was not a panacea, however. He
regarded suicide prompted by a fear of death as cowardly, and one
prompted by boredom with life he considered a testimonial to the futility
of a man's beliefs. He noted that the good man should not simply live as
long as it pleased him, but as long as it was his duty. He recalled that,
when vexed by illness himself, he had desired to end his life but had been
restrained by the realization that his death would cause his father great
suffering. Obligation to loved ones that called for restraint might some
times call for an even more extraordinary display of strength on the part
of the human will. Seneca said, ". . . sometimes, even in spite of weighty
reasons, the breath of life must be called back and kept at our very lips
even at the price of great suffering, for the sake of those whom we hold
dear." (CIV.3) Again and again, as in this example, he called for his fol
lowers to demonstrate in their daily lives the kind of fortitude usually
confined to the battlefield. His words go beyond exhortation to reflect a
belief in a godlike capacity of the human will and reason.
Seneca cited the death of Canus as an example of one befitting a true
and noble philosopher. Condemned to death by Caligula, Canus was
playing chess when the centurion summoned him to join a column of
doomed men.
Having been called, he counted the pawns and said to his partner: "See that
after my death you do not claim falsely that you won;" then nodding to the cen
turion, he said: "You will bear witness that I am one pawn ahead." . . . His
friends were sad at the thought of losing such a man; but "Why," said he, "are
you sorrowful? You are wondering whether our souls are immortal; but I shall
soon know ..." His own teacher of philosophy was accompanying him, and
when they were not far from the low hill on which daily sacrifice to Caesar, our
god, was made, said: "What are you thinking of now, Canus, or what state of
mind are you in?" And Canus said, "I have determined to watch whether the
spirit will be conscious that it is leaving the body when that fleetest of moments
comes," and he promised that if he discovered anything, he would make the
round of his friends, and reveal to them what the state of the soul really is. (De
Tranq. An. XIV.8-9)
Seneca commented that this great man not only displayed a disdain for
death, but carried the philosopher's search for truth to the very last. By
such a death he achieved a form of immortality.
Seneca's message
The reawakened interest in the subject of death during the past decade
appears to be one manifestation of a reassertion of humanistic values in
reaction to the stifling domination of science. In medicine, this force for
change has shown itself in a renewed interest in the dying man and his
human experience apart from his terminal disease. It is most appropriate
that a re-examination of values focus upon man's awareness of death; it
is death that ultimately provokes his search for life's meaning. Seneca's
message today is both timely and provocative. Stoicism filled a need
among the citizens of the Roman Empire similar to one we now find un
met. The Stoic sought a sense of belonging and significance for the in
dividual man amidst the distant and immutable forces of his time. Today
we seek to establish the worth of the individual within an increasingly
impersonal technological society, declining nationalism, and a threat of
environmental destruction resulting from scientific advances. We appear
to have entered upon a second Renaissance in which science has replaced
the church. Like the humanists of that earlier period, we may learn from
study of the ancient philosophers.
exploration of the meaning of the illness for which a patient has sought
assistance. This aspect of psychotherapy is a neglected one. Too often
such treatment fails to deal with the whole man. It fails to emphasize the
significance of a patient's system of beliefs and leads him to see himself
as controlled by forces outside his awareness rather than as one capable
of free choice and mastery over those forces clearly visible to him.
Seneca made note of the intimate relation between the experience of
time and the fear of death. The more a man lived for the future, and con
sequently the less for the present, the greater his fear of death. Such liv
ing, requiring constant planning, striving, and delay of gratification,
prevents or limits the uniquely human and enriching inner experiences
of the moment. We observe this mode of functioning in extreme form in
the compulsive personality. It is noteworthy that fear of death is a fre
quent complaint among these patients. If differing attitudes toward the
future lead to differences in this fear, Seneca tells us that the converse is
also true. Recognition of death influences personality development. Sen
eca, in his recommendation for the abandonment of hope as a source of
the fear of death, seems to overestimate human capabilities. In his call
for a balanced approach to living, one not wholly oriented toward the
future, he seems most prudent.
Today old age is largely looked upon as a period of decline in health
and prestige. While retirement may provide long-deserved leisure, it ap
pears barren and wasteful to many who approach it. Seneca emphasized
the value of old age. He saw it as a time for the attainment of wisdom.
Erikson,8 in his "Eight Stages of Man," describes a final one bearing a
resemblance to the wisdom of Seneca. He points to several constituents
of a state of mind he calls "ego integrity." It is assurance of order and
meaning; it is a love of self that conveys a world order and a spiritual
sense; it is an acceptance of one's uniqueness and a comradeship with
humanity and with past ages. Lack or loss of ego integrity leads, accord
ing to Erikson, to despair that is signified by fear of death. The valuable
potential of old age should be given emphasis and the waning years of
References
1. Oxford Classical Dictionary, 2nd ed., Hammond, N. G. L., and Scullard, H. H., eds.
Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1970.
2. The Complete Works of Tacitus, trans, by Moses Hadas. New York, Modern Li
brary, 1942.
3. Mendell, C. W., Our Seneca. New Haven, Yale University Press, 1941.
4. Edelstein, L., The Meaning of Stoicism. Martin Classical Lectures, vol. 21. Cam
bridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1966.
5. Seneca Moral Essays, trans, by J. W. Basore. The Loeb Classical Library, 3 vols.
Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1928. Passages from Seneca's moral
essays, identified by abbreviated tide, are taken from this translation.
6. Seneca Ad Lucilum Epistulae Morales, trans, by R. M. Cummere, the Loeb Classical
Library, 3 vols., New York, G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1917. Passages from Seneca's
epistles, identified by roman numerals, are taken from this translation.
7. Frankl, V. E., Psychotherapy and Existentialism: Selected Papers on Logotherapy.
New York, Washington Square Press, 1967.
8. Erikson, E. H., Childhood and Society. New York, W. W. Norton, 1950.
9. Noyes, R., "Care and Management of Dying," Arch. Int. Med., 1971,128, 299-303.
10. -, "The Taboo of Suicide," Psychiatry, 1968,37, 173-183.