Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Rome, September 15th, 62 AD.

Greetings, my dear Lucilius.

You have written asking me about death, and how a wise man should regard it. This is no light subject, yet it is one we must confront if we are to live with courage and dignity. Let me share with you what I have learned through years of contemplation on this universal human experience.

First, I must warn you against a common folly: do not summon trouble before its time. Many people die a thousand deaths before the one that actually comes. They torture themselves with imagined terrors, creating suffering where none yet exists. This is not wisdom but foolishness of the highest order.

When fears of death arise in your mind, examine them closely. Strip away the theatrical masks that terror wears, and you will find that most fears are either insignificant when properly understood, or short-lived in their actual impact. Death is like a actor’s mask—frightening at first glance, but harmless once removed.

Consider the examples history provides us. Socrates drank the hemlock with such calm that he discussed philosophy until his final breath. Cato chose his own death rather than submit to tyranny, showing that a free man can remain free even in the face of death. Young Mucius thrust his hand into the flames and watched it burn without flinching, proving that courage can overcome any physical torment.

Were these men different from us? Did they possess some special nature that made them immune to fear? Not at all. They were human beings who had trained their minds to see clearly. They understood that death is as natural as birth, as inevitable as the changing seasons.

We die every day, my friend. Each moment that passes carries away a portion of our life. The time you spent reading yesterday’s letter is gone forever; the hours you will spend reading this one will join it in the past. We are constantly dying, yet we reserve our fear for that final moment as if it were something entirely different from all the small deaths that precede it.

What is death, after all? It is either the end of our troubles or the beginning of something better. If death annihilates us completely, then we return to the state we were in before birth—and did that trouble us? If death strips us bare of the body but preserves the soul, then we are freed from the prison of flesh to explore higher realms.

Either way, what is there to fear? If we cease to exist, we also cease to suffer. If we continue to exist in some form, then we have passed from one state to another, like a traveler moving from one country to the next.

But you may object: “Seneca, surely you do not expect us to welcome death with joy?” Indeed, I do not ask you to love death, but neither should you hate life. Both extremes are errors. The wise man neither clings desperately to life nor rushes eagerly toward death. He accepts both as parts of the natural order.

Think of it this way: would you want to attend a play that never ended? Would you enjoy a feast that continued forever without pause? Even the most pleasant experiences become burdensome when extended beyond their proper measure. Life, too, has its natural length, and a wise man does not try to stretch it beyond reason through excessive anxiety about its end.

I have observed that those who fear death most are often those who have lived least. They cling to life because they feel they have not yet truly experienced it. But the person who has lived fully, who has embraced each day and found meaning in his actions, can face death with equanimity. He has already received what life had to offer.

Let me give you a practical exercise: each evening, as you prepare for sleep, remind yourself that you may not wake again. This is not morbid thinking but realistic preparation. If tomorrow never comes, can you say you are content with today? Have you spoken kindly to those you love? Have you done something worthwhile? Have you learned something new or helped another person?

When you can answer yes to these questions consistently, you will find that death loses much of its terror. The man who lives each day as if it might be his last discovers that he no longer fears the final day when it actually arrives.

Do not misunderstand me—I am not counseling recklessness or a disregard for life. Preserve your health, pursue your goals, love your family and friends. But do all these things without the desperate anxiety that comes from believing you can avoid death through worry.

Remember also that death comes in many forms. Some die young and some old; some peacefully and some violently; some surrounded by loved ones and some alone. We cannot control the manner of our dying, but we can control how we prepare for it and how we think about it.

The Stoics teach that we should concern ourselves only with what is within our power to control. Death’s timing and manner are largely beyond our control, but our attitude toward death is entirely within our command. Make this attitude one of reasoned acceptance rather than irrational fear.

I close with this thought: the person who has learned to despise death has learned to live. Freedom from the fear of dying brings freedom to truly experience living. When you no longer spend your mental energy worrying about death, you can invest it fully in the art of living well.

Live each day with purpose, my friend, and death will never catch you unprepared.

Farewell, Seneca

P.S.—I have been reading the works of Epicurus, and despite our philosophical differences, I find wisdom in his observation that “death is nothing to us.” When we exist, death is not yet present, and when death is present, we no longer exist. The two never meet.