Prepare for Death to Discover Freedom
What is most important? Having your soul on your lips. This makes you free not according to the law of the Quirites, but according to the law of nature. A free person is one who escapes enslavement to himself, which is constant, unavoidable, oppressing by day and by night equally, without break, without respite. Enslavement to oneself is the most severe enslavement, but it is easy to shake it off if you stop expecting a lot from yourself, if you stop making money for yourself, if you set before your eyes both your nature and your age, even if it is very young, and say to yourself, “Why am I going crazy? Why am I panting? Why am I sweating? Why am I working the land, or the forum? I don’t need much, and not for long.” (Natural Questions III, praef. 16-17)
This week-long meditation with Seneca on the topic of what is important in life ends at the most appropriate place—the contemplation of and preparation for our death. Seneca opens this final passage with the recommendation that we have our soul on our lips. In other words, we must be prepared to die. Why? Because doing so makes us free according to the law of nature. The Stoics did not measure freedom by one’s ability to move freely from place to place, city to city, or country to country. Instead, true freedom is the absence of enslaving desires and crippling fears that consume our life. We are afraid of not getting what we want: a large house, great job, good reputation, wonderful soul mate, retirement account, good health, etc. Likewise, we fear getting that which we do not want: homelessness, poverty, shame, loneliness, sickness, and death. As a result, we spend our time driving ourselves to madness and working ourselves to death for things we believe will make us happy. As Epictetus frequently reminds us, we are slaves to externals. All the while, we neglect to ask “What is most important?” As Seneca notes,
It’s not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste much of it. Life is long enough, and it’s been given to us in generous measure for accomplishing the greatest things, if the whole of it is well invested. But when life is squandered through soft and careless living, and when it’s spent on no worthwhile pursuit, death finally presses and we realize that the life which we didn’t notice passing has passed away. (On the Shortness of Life 1.3).
The Stoic practice of Memento Mori—the contemplation of death—is more than a preparation for our inevitable end. That is the obvious goal of this ancient, widespread practice. The less obvious, but equally important, goal of this practice is the development of true freedom, which is preparation for life. Pierre Hadot writes,
In the apprenticeship of death, the Stoic discovers the apprenticeship of freedom.[1]
Freedom for the Stoic is the inner freedom that allows us to contemplate and live in agreement with Nature regardless of life’s circumstances. As Hadot notes,
For the Stoic Epictetus, the meaning of our existence resides in this contemplation: we have been placed on earth in order to contemplate divine creation, and we must not die before we have witnessed its marvels and lived in harmony with nature.[2]
We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom.
We moderns, especially we westerners, have been trained from childhood to move at a faster and faster pace, so we achieve greater and greater goals, and accumulate more and more possessions. We only half-jokingly repeat the 1980s bumper-sticker slogan, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” Stoicism is not a mind hack to be used to overcome external obstacles along the path to fame and fortune. Instead, the Stoic path trains us to overcome the obstacles within our mind that stand between our present state and an excellent character, which is capable of experiencing true well-being. The Stoic path leads toward freedom.
As Seneca points out, the Stoic path teaches us to live “free” according to the law of Nature even if the law of the Quirites—the law of society—binds us and imprisons us. We can find this form of freedom only within the inner citadel of our mind, and it empowers us to act virtuously in the world without fear of punishment, imprisonment, or even death. The realization that nothing can harm our Self is empowering. Socrates assented to this higher law and lived continually with his soul on his lips. He did not fear imprisonment or death by the powerful men of Athens he openly challenged. When these men brought him to trial on trumped-up charges, he did not cower. Instead, he mocked their sense of justice. After being sentenced to death, Socrates had an opportunity to escape but he did not. He understood that the Athenians could kill him, but they could not take away his freedom to choose the good. In other words, they could not harm him. The life and courageous death of Socrates inspired the ancient Stoics and they pointed to him as an example of an excellent life.
Death Is Not an Evil
However, Seneca’s message here is not limited to exceptional people like Socrates. The contemplation of death is for everyone because death is part of Nature’s process. The philosophical practice of contemplating misfortune and death is not unique to Stoicism, nor was it invented by the Stoics. In fact, as Pierre Hadot points out, the Stoics appear to have borrowed these practices from Plato’s Republic (604b-d). Hadot suggests,
If it is true that philosophy subjugates the body’s will to live to the higher demands of thought, it can rightly be said that philosophy is the training and apprenticeship for death.[3]
Contemplation of death was a common philosophical practice because death is truly universal. Seneca opens his work On the Shortness of Life with this common complaint about death:
Most of mankind, Paulinus, complains about nature’s meanness, because our allotted span of life is so short, and because this stretch of time that is given to us runs its course so quickly, so rapidly— so much so that, with very few exceptions, life leaves the rest of us in the lurch just when we’re getting ready to live. And it’s not just the masses and the unthinking crowd that complain at what they perceive as this universal evil; the same feeling draws complaints even from men of distinction. (1.1)
Benjamin Franklin echoes Seneca in his famous quote:
Life’s tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.
How does the Stoic prevent this regret? By contemplating death as an inevitable end that may occur at any moment, and then living each moment in the present through the practice of prosoche (attention). Marcus admonishes us to,
Let your every action, word, and thought be those of one who could depart from life at any moment. (Meditations 2.11)
Death is a frequent theme in the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. That may be due to the fact that death was a constant companion of Marcus at home and on the battlefield. Of his fourteen children, only six outlived him. Additionally, Marcus wrote a large portion of his Meditations while he was encamped on the Danube river, with his army, during a time of war. The transient nature of life was ever-present for Marcus and his note to himself reflect that:
All that you now see will very swiftly pass away, and those who have watched it passing will swiftly pass away in their turn, and he who dies in extreme old age will be brought to a level with one who has died before his time. (Meditations 9.33)
In his masterpiece on the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, Pierre Hadot wrote:
From the point of view of the imminence of death, one thing counts, and one alone: to strive always to have the essential rules of life present in one’s mind, and to keep placing oneself in the fundamental disposition of the philosopher, which consists essentially in controlling one’s inner discourse, in doing only that which is of benefit to the human community, and in accepting the events brought to us by the course of the Nature of the All.[4]
Obviously, one event we will all face is death. Likewise, Epictetus offers us the following advice about the practice of contemplating misfortune and death:
Day by day you must keep before your eyes death and exile and everything else that seems frightening, but most especially death; and then you’ll never harbour any mean thought, nor will you desire anything beyond due measure. (Enchiridion 21)
For the Stoic, there is nothing to fear in death; it is simply a process of Nature. The Stoics were ambiguous about what happens after death, and it does not appear they spent much time contemplating the topic. Instead, it appears they were satisfied to consider death the cessation of life as we know it and the return of our constituent parts to Nature. Their focus was on the development of an excellent character in the here and now. However, one of our constituent parts is a fragment of the logos that is returned to God. That fact is tantalizing; does some aspect of our consciousness continue to exist after death? As Epictetus stated,
Isn’t it true that these things are indifferent and nothing to us, and that death is no evil? And that we are in some sense related to God, and draw our origin from him? Allow us to go back to where we came from… (Discourses 1.9.13-14)
Nevertheless, what happens after death is highly speculative, and it does not appear the ancient Stoics considered it a matter worthy of much contemplation. They focus on the development of moral excellence and trusted that a benevolent, providential cosmos would not make death something terrible.
Memento Mori
Have you genuinely contemplated your death? I have. For me, it is part of my job. My profession, as a law enforcement officer, has brought me face-to-face with death on numerous occasions. Frequently, those circumstances require me to face the fact that my life could end, unexpectedly, in any moment, with a muzzle flash from a gun. Most moderns do not work in inherently dangerous professions and we live in relative peace. As a result, many people lack the impetus to face the inevitability of their death until it is forced upon them by the death of a loved one or a threat to their own life. Then, they are forced to face the truth: Life is fragile and it can end in the blink of an eye. Philosophy teaches us to face our mortality and to prepare for the inevitability of our death.
Over the years, I have learned that those in-the-moment considerations of death I face while at work are different from those occasions when I intentionally contemplate my death. While those life-threatening moments on the job serve to momentarily heighten my awareness of life’s temporal nature and force me to find peace with the potential of my death so that I can do my job, they do not prepare me for the life of freedom as Seneca describes. That can only come from the practiced contemplation of death—memento mori.
Here is what I have learned as a result of contemplating my death. Because of my Stoic practice, I feel confident that I can die and maintain my equanimity. I believe I can face death courageously. Probably not without a few heartfelt tears at the thought of my wife and children—after all, I am not a sage. I am also convinced that rehearsing my death will make facing that moment easier. Moreover, I believe my children will be better prepared to face death if their father faces it courageously. Through my example, I can teach them that death is nothing to fear. Likewise, each day that I walk out of our front door with a badge on my chest and a gun on my hip, I know my wife is comforted by the fact that I have come to terms with death. Finally, and most importantly, contemplating my death encourages me to live each and every moment allotted to me, in the present, more appropriately, because I do so with my soul on my lips.
My challenge to you at the end of this week-long meditation is to take some time and seriously contemplate your death. Rehearse it in your mind. Now is your opportunity to practice for the inevitable. Contemplating your inevitable death can change your life here and now. I leave you with a passage that I repeat often. Ironically, this passage follows Marcus’ contemplation of death and it is most appropriate for this topic:
Everything suits me that suits your designs, O my universe. Nothing is too early or too late for me that is in your own good time. All is fruit for me that your seasons bring, O nature. All proceeds from you, all subsists in you, and to you all things return. (Meditations 4.23)
ENDNOTES:
[1] Pierre Hadot, Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault, ed. Arnold Ira Davidson (New York: Blackwell, 1995), p. 96
[2] Hadot (1995), p. 97
[3] Hadot (1995), p. 94
[4] Pierre Hadot, The Inner Citadel: The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998), p. 31
