Lucilius Writes to Seneca
Lucius Annaeus Seneca was a prolific Roman writer in the first century CE, known primarily for his work on Stoicism, a philosophical school that placed reason over all else. Seneca’s thoughts and Stoic beliefs are preserved in his many letters, and a number of Seneca’s letters to a man named Lucilius have remained a poignant source on the integration of Stoicism with Roman societal values—especially on the view of death.
While no responses to Seneca’s letters remain, here are three imagined responses from his confidant Lucilius.
TW: These works contain discussions of death and suicide.
Lucilius in Response to Seneca’s Letter 24: “On Despising Death”
By Astrid Maves
To my great confidant Lucius Annaeus Seneca,
Thank you for writing back to me concerning my worries about this most unfortunate lawsuit in your letter “On Despising Death.” I am ashamed of how entrenched I was in my fear, and I thank you for releasing me from some of it. I rehearsed your words in my mind, especially what you wrote on the first page: “If you would put off all worry, assume that what you fear may happen will certainly happen in any event…. You will thus understand what you fear is either insignificant or short lived.”1 Taking this, I thought upon the lawsuit; my own legal matters can last only as long as I may live and therefore either I will soon be relieved of my trouble while I live, or I will be relieved of my trouble once I die. Of course, a small worry persisted in me even when contemplating your insightful words: that only death may release me from these legal woes. For if one’s sole option is to face the vastness of eternity, I believe such an option serves to make even the strongest of men worry, unless they are as strong as you, dear Seneca.
Concerning this exact apprehension, as if you had tracked my thoughts as they came, you wrote: “What, have you only at this moment learned that death is hanging over your head, at this moment exile, at this moment grief? You were born to these perils.”2 You are of course correct in this; as a young man, this is the first true moment my own mortality has so starkly stared me in the face, and I am truthfully astounded as to how I have lived so long in the world free of the shackles that are a man’s fear of death, pain, and exile. In every moment of my life the consequences I so fear from this lawsuit could have occurred to me at any time, and yet I persisted without worry. In applying your most logical words I hope to restore myself to that place of serenity once more, perhaps even a place more honorable. To stand fearless knowing death is more honorable than to stand fearless in the face of nothing. My most revered friend and mentor, you know I hold your word highly, so I hope that you may forgive my failure to entirely eliminate my worry. My worry concerns not my fear of exile or even of death, but my fear of something worse: humiliation. As my mind searched for the next thing to grapple with, you preemptively resolved my anxieties: “If you lose this case, can anything more severe happen to you than being sent into exile or prison? Is there a worse fate that any man may fear than being burned or being killed?”3 This lawsuit can dictate my status as a man. It could strip away the only thing we Romans value more than our own lives: our honor. The horrible fates of men like Metellus and Rutilius were redeemed by their ability to maintain courage and strength in character. What I fear most about physical pain is that I may fail to maintain my honor in the face of it. When am I to surrender myself, nay, give myself to death? I know I am not to fear pain, but when does the torture of pain begin to debase me? As I ponder more, I grow ashamed of how I have droned on about my fear of shame; it is easy to grow comfortable in one’s own discomfort, and I hope to impress upon you that I am more of a true Roman man than my complaining would let on.
Would you say, dear Seneca, that a man’s shame and debasement can only come about if he allows it upon himself? I realize I have turned my worries upon the world and failed to interrogate myself as thoroughly. If these great dishonors can come about only if I choose them, then death, exile, or any trial put before me loses its great punishment. You were exceedingly right when you wrote “Death either annihilates us or strips us bare. If we are then released, there remains the better part, after the burden has been withdrawn; if we are annihilated, nothing remains; good and bad are alike removed.”4 It is the responsibility of young men to ensure that there is some good left, even if all that remains is the memory of their young lives in those who sing and hear tales of them. I will work steadfastly to achieve these aims, beginning with how I approach this troubling lawsuit. I must not let the dreadful nature of my situation taint me and allow me to create my own dishonor. If you hear of my death, know I left the world of mortals with my honor and liberty intact; if you do not hear of it, you may assume I left the lawsuit unblemished. Regardless of the outcome, do write to me.
I am most moved by your quoting my idea on the matter of death, and I thank you for it. This whole situation has felt much like I have died more potently than before, but I know that even without the lawsuit I would be dying at much the same rate; stress has a way of making the days weigh heavier upon the mind. I will keep in my heart your words as I persist through my present troubles. As you wrote to me, “For we need to be warned and strengthened in both directions: not to love or to hate life too much; even when reason advises us to make an end of it.”5 It is life’s most peculiar balancing act, the desire and repulsion of both life and death. As I hold myself high, I will balance firmly both my love for life—as I defend my honor—and my repulsion for it, as I accept the ending of life if honor so dictates. As I still retain my youth, there is still so much to love in life; but even as I may be stripped of youth’s façade, I hope to find value in each day, so long as the days still have it. I thank you for your words, dear Seneca, and I await your further letters.
Farewell,
Your dear Lucilius
Lucilius in Response to Seneca’s Letter 70: “On the Proper Time to Exit”
By Faith Wong
Lucilius Senecae suo salutem,
I have received and read your most recent letter on the proper time to exit life and the proper attitude one should have in doing so. Certainly, you have given me much to think about, as—always!—your advice is equally reassuring and troubling. You emphasize that I must come to know the right time to exit life and that I must have the fortitude to take action at such a time. With this sound advice of yours I could never take issue. For what do we Romans have if not our commitment to honor and strength of character? When the right time comes, I am certain that I will be more than capable of honoring Rome through my death. The matter now is only that I am able to make enough of my life that—and here is where I begin to be troubled by your words—I do not feel my own death a waste.
For, you see, despite what I know to be wise, I dearly treasure my waking hours. I can die at a time and in a fashion befitting my status and benefiting my fatherland, when I must, but I cannot live without attachment to my body and life. “Would you be free from the restraint of your body?” you ask.6 “Live in it as if you were about to leave it,” you urge.7 I find that I cannot do so. It gives me no little shame to admit that I do not think of death as the release of my spiritual being from my physical form: I feel so strongly connected to my body and its physicality. How might I begin to live as if I were about to leave my body when I have spent all my youth training and becoming master of it? Or perhaps you are right; it is my good health and youthful body that make me all the more attached to it. This is something that perhaps— Of course you don’t quite feel the same about— It is my proximity to great men like yourself, of course, and the easy comfort of wealth that tether me to my material existence. I have many luxuries that I enjoy, and many more that I hope I might enjoy through the course of my life.
You had written to me some time ago about Mucius, who put his hand into fire and was “equipped only with the courage of a soldier” in displaying Roman courage and character to our foes in the face of certain death.8 It is true that, if I were to be faced with the choice of death by my own hand or that of an enemy, I should choose to be my own murderer, no matter how much more I would have to suffer. That story of Mucius is a good reminder always, and he has been a lifelong role model. But here, again, do I struggle with your advice! And perhaps (it heartens me to think this) Mucius would be similarly troubled by your advice.
For do you not urge that in a dire situation “we may look about us for an easy exit” and that “the best form of death is the one we like”?9 It is this attitude of leaving the enticements of life without the honor of benefiting my fatherland that I find I cannot adopt. Could I, given the choice between a quick and easy but shameful death, or a drawn-out but honorable death, choose the one that would give me relief sooner? Do not my life and all my accomplishments exist for Rome’s glory and fame?
This feels so at odds with my every instinct that I cannot but push back against this perspective of yours, dear Seneca, and ask, therefore, for further instruction and advice here. You say that it is only in times of trouble and suffering that we are to test our training. Then we are to see if the loss of all that makes our existences lovely and comfortable is enough to take from us our fondness for life. Surely there is more that one can do to prepare oneself? Something that does not, naturally, require the actual loss of what one finds lovely or comforting in life, of course. Additionally, might you offer more words on the value of fleeing from life where it is the easier, but not necessarily the more honorable, of the two choices?
In anticipation of these and other pieces of advice from you, my friend, I write and await your swift response. Until such a time as we are able to meet or write again,
VALE
Lucilius in Response to Seneca’s Letters 24, 70, and 82: “On Despising Death”
By Casey Pearlman
To my dear friend Seneca,
Your letters have enlightened me on the subject of death and its surrounding fear. I appreciate your wisdom in response to my lack of it. This letter will be my response to your last note on eradicating nervousness in the face of death. Firstly, it is understood that death is a neutral state as it “either annihilates us or strips us bare,” as Epicurus has also put forth.10 Thus, there is no experience of death, as both the body and soul must be severed and our anxieties must be erased. Epicurus’ philosophy is quite reassuring, for if there is nothing after life, death need not be feared. I must not dedicate any more thought to the issue of what happens after the body fails. Furthermore, I understand now your idealization of death as “indifferent”; there must be nothing to look forward to or worry about after the end of a life.11 It is not difficult to imagine a neutral end, as I cannot foresee anything after death, which is what sparks fear. What will happen to my body, to my mind? However, if death need not be feared, you assure me that there is nothing to fear while living! As you say, “when [an] enemy threatens, listen unconcernedly,” which reminds me that no enemy should intimidate me.12 How can I simply ignore my enemy in the face of a battle? How I wish to feel content knowing that death itself contains nothing to be feared, though I cannot imagine how to ignore the fear of an end to my existence. It seems nearly impossible to be so fearless in the face of death like yourself.
While you say death is not to be worried about, what about reputation? Might I die in a suicide like Cato? Again, you insist “death is honourable when related to that which is honourable.”13 Thus, I am left to determine what is considered honorable. For in addition to mentioning honorable deaths, you impress that craving death is equally as horrid as fearing it.14 I now must assume suicide is not an option for all, and can be equally dishonorable if used in the wrong circumstances. The death committed by Cato’s own hand differs from that of another. He chose death only to maintain his dignity, not to appease a desire to end life. His suicide becomes even more honorable as he did not fear it, but died at his own hands and will. In your comparison to Brutus, you mark the differences between honorable and dishonorable death.15 I now understand suicide as the last attack against dishonorable death, as dying dishonorably brings a shame worse than all else. Ultimately, death is not to be feared, but embarrassment is.
How, then, will I be able to know when my honor is questioned? Will I know when it is my time to die? Again I look to your wisdom for answers that seem to elude me. In one of your former letters, you write that “if you do not lack the courage, you will not lack the cleverness, to die.”16 From this answer I must assume that I will know what to do in the moment. Your examples of enslavement are helpful to my understanding, as slavery is indeed a punishment worse than death. Maintaining freedom is necessary for maintaining honor. In that instance, and to preverve my own virtue, suicide is my only option. Therefore, in any situation in which my own integrity and freedom is questioned, death must be considered, but not otherwise sought out? While neither you nor I might know exactly when to die, I fully agree that “it is folly to die through fear of dying.”17 As Epicurus has led us to believe, we must spend our living years as best we can. To live a life full of fear is not to live at all. Despite my current inability to immediately assuage my fears, I recognize that spending my existence with them is impossible. To fully live, I will prioritize my current self.
I will push away my fears in favor of embracing worldly pleasures that I may only encounter while alive. As always, I seek your wisdom, especially on such serious matters. I look forward to your response, and your ideas on how to dissolve the fears that arrive.
Sincerely,
Lucilius
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, in Epistles, 167.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 175.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 167.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 177.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 181.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 65.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 65.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 177.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 71; Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 63.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 177.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXXXII, 247.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 173.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXXXII, 249.
Seneca to Lucilius, XXIV, 179.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXXXII, 249.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 71.
Seneca to Lucilius, LXX, 61.
Bibliography
Seneca. Epistles 1-65. Translated by Richard M. Gummere. 3 vols. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1917–1925.