Seneca suffered from attacks of breathlessness all his life, likely asthma, and in this short, brave letter he writes just after one has passed. His doctors called it “rehearsing death.” Gasping for air, he steadied himself with a simple thought: we have already “tried” nonexistence, before we were born, and it held no suffering. His goal is not to rush toward death but to love life without being afraid to leave it.
From Seneca to Lucilius
My poor health had given me a long break, and then suddenly it attacked again. “What kind of poor health?” you ask. You have every right to ask, because there’s truly no kind I haven’t known. But I’ve been handed over, so to speak, to one particular ailment. I don’t see why I should call it by its Greek name, since “shortness of breath” describes it well enough. Its attack is very brief, like a squall at sea; it’s usually over within an hour. After all, who could keep breathing his last for long?
Rehearsing Death
I’ve been through every illness and danger the body can suffer, but nothing seems harder to me than this. And no wonder: anything else is just being sick, but this is a kind of continuous “last gasp.” That’s why doctors call it “rehearsing death.” For some day the breath will manage to do what it has so often tried to do.
Do you think I’m writing this letter in a cheerful mood just because I’ve come through? It would be ridiculous to delight in this so-called recovery, as ridiculous as a defendant thinking he’d won his case because he’d managed to get his trial postponed. Yet in the middle of my struggle for breath, I never stopped resting on cheerful and courageous thoughts.
I Have Already Tried Death
“What?” I say to myself. “Does death test me so often? Let it. I myself have tested death for a long time.” “When?” you ask. Before I was born. Death is nonexistence, and I already know what that is like. What was before me will be again after me. If there’s any suffering in that state, there must also have been suffering before we came into the light of day. But in fact we felt no distress then.
The Lamp
And tell me, wouldn’t you call someone the greatest of fools if he believed a lamp was worse off after it was put out than before it was lit? We mortals, too, are lit and put out. The time of suffering comes in between, but on either side there is deep peace. For unless I’m badly mistaken, my dear Lucilius, we go wrong in thinking that death only follows us, when in fact it has both gone before us and will come after us. Whatever state existed before our birth is death. For what does it matter whether you never begin or whether you stop, since the result of both is nonexistence?
Prepared, Not in a Hurry
I kept encouraging myself with comforting thoughts like these, silently, of course, since I couldn’t speak. Then, little by little, the breathlessness, already reduced to a kind of panting, came at longer intervals, slowed down, and finally stopped. Even now, though the gasping has ended, my breath doesn’t come and go normally; I still feel a kind of hesitation and delay in breathing. Let it be however it likes, as long as the sigh doesn’t come from the soul.
Take this assurance from me: I will never be frightened when the last hour comes. I’m already prepared, and I don’t plan a whole day ahead. But praise and imitate the person who doesn’t mind dying, though he takes pleasure in living. For what virtue is there in leaving when you’re pushed out? And yet there is virtue even in this: I am indeed pushed out, but as though I were leaving willingly. That’s why the wise person can never be pushed out, since being pushed out means being removed from a place you didn’t want to leave, and the wise person does nothing unwillingly. He escapes necessity because he wills what necessity is about to force on him.
Farewell.
Breaking It Down: A Modern Take on Letter 54
Letter 54 is one of the most personal letters Seneca wrote. Anyone who has had an asthma attack, or sat with a patient fighting for breath, knows how frightening it is. Seneca doesn’t pretend it isn’t. He uses the moment to practice calm. Note that this is not a letter about wanting to die: his ideal is someone who enjoys living and still isn’t terrified of the end. That balance, loving life while accepting that it ends, is the heart of the letter.
1. Be honest about suffering
Seneca calls his illness harder than anything else he has endured. Stoicism doesn’t mean pretending pain doesn’t hurt.
2. Every hard moment is practice
His doctors called it “rehearsing death.” Difficult moments can become rehearsals for meeting bigger ones with steadiness.
3. Don’t celebrate too soon
Surviving one attack is like a postponed trial. The point isn’t gloom; it’s remembering that every reprieve is a gift to use well.
4. Choose your thoughts in a crisis
“I never stopped resting on cheerful and courageous thoughts.” Even when the body is out of control, we can choose what we tell ourselves.
5. You’ve been here before
“Death is nonexistence, and I already know what that is like.” We don’t fear the centuries before our birth. Seneca invites us to see the end the same way.
6. The lamp and the peace
“The time of suffering comes in between, but on either side there is deep peace.” Whatever you believe about an afterlife, this image has comforted many people facing loss.
7. Keep the soul steady
His breathing may stutter, “as long as the sigh doesn’t come from the soul.” The body may struggle while the mind stays at peace.
8. Love life, without clinging
“Praise and imitate the person who doesn’t mind dying, though he takes pleasure in living.” Seneca isn’t asking us to want death. He’s asking us to enjoy life fully, free of dread.
9. Willingness is freedom
“He escapes necessity because he wills what necessity is about to force on him.” Accepting what can’t be changed turns being forced into choosing.
10. Live without over-planning
Seneca doesn’t “plan a whole day ahead.” We can make plans, but holding them lightly keeps us present and less anxious about what we can’t control.
Key Takeaways from Letter 54
- Admit when things are hard. Courage isn’t denial.
- Use difficulty as practice. Every storm is a rehearsal.
- Treat reprieves as gifts. Use the time well.
- Talk to yourself kindly in a crisis. Choose brave thoughts.
- Remember the time before birth. It held no suffering.
- Picture the lamp. Peace on either side of life.
- Keep the soul steady. Even when the body struggles.
- Enjoy living. Without being ruled by fear of the end.
- Accept what must come. Willingness is a kind of freedom.
- Hold plans lightly. Live in the day you have.
“The time of suffering comes in between, but on either side there is deep peace.”
— Seneca, Letter 54
Keep Seneca With You
If this letter spoke to you
Marcus Aurelius’s private notebook, in Gregory Hays’s readable translation.
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Next up: Letter 55 — On Vatia’s Villa
