You may never understand How the stranger is inspired

From Letters from a Stoic by Seneca, translated by Robin Campbell.

Letter XXVI

It's only a short time since I was tlling you I was in sight of old age. Now I'm afraid I may have left old age behind me altogether. Some other term would be more in keeping now with my years, or at least my present physical state, since old age connotes a period of decline, not debility. Put me in the list of the decrepit, the ones on the very brink! However, I congratulate myself, mind you, on the fact that my age has not, so far as I'm aware, brought any deterioration in my spirit, conscious I am of the deterioration in my constitution. Only my vices and their accessories have decayed: the spirit is full of life, and delighted to be having only limited dealings with the body. It has thrown off a great part of its burden. It's full of vigour, and carrying on an argument with me on the subject of old age, maintaining that these are its finest years. Let's accept what it says, and let it make the most of its blessings. It tells me to start thinking and examine how far I owe this serenity and sobriety to philosophy, and how far I owe it simply to my years, and to investigate with some care what things I am really refusing to do and what I'm simply incapable of doing - and it's prepared to accept whatever I'm really pleased to find myself incapable of doing as equivalent to refusing to do them; and what cause can there be for complaint, after all, in anything that was always bound to come to and end fading gradually away? What is troubling about that? 'Nothing,' you may say, 'could be more troubling than the idea of our wasting and perishing away - melting out of existence, one may aptly call it, since we aren't struck down all of a sudden but worn away, every day, that passes diminishing in some degree our powers' Moving to one's end through nature's own gentle processes of dissolution - is there a better way of living life than that? Not because there is anything wrong with a sudden, violent departure, but because gradual withdrawal is an easy route.

Anyway, here's what I do: I imagine to myself that that the testing time is drawing near, that the day that is going to see judgement pronounced on the whole of my past life has actually arrived, and I take a look at myself and I address my­self in these terms: 'All that I've done or said up to now counts for nothing. My showing to date, besides being heavily varnished over, is of paltry value and reliability as a guarantee of my spirit. I'm going to leave it to death to settle what progress I've made. Without anxiety, then, I'm making ready for the day when the tricks and disguises will be put away and I shall come to a verdict on myself, determining whether the courageous attitudes I adopt are really felt or just so many words, and whether or not the defiant chal­lenges I've hurled at fortune have been mere pretence and pantomime. Away with the world's opinion of you - it's always unsettled and divided. Away with the pursuits that have occupied the whole of your life - death is going to deliver the verdict in your case. Yes, all your debates and learned conferences, your scholarly talk and collection of maxims from the teachings of philosophers, are in no way indicative of genuine spiritual strength. Bold words come even from the timidest. It's only when you're breathing your last that the way you've spent your time will become apparent. I accept the terms, and feel no dread of the coming judgement.' That's what I say to myself, but assume that I've said it to you as well. You're younger than I am, but what difference does that make? No count is taken of years. Just where death is expecting you is something we cannot know; so, for your part, expect him everywhere.

The bold passage addresses two different concepts. There is revealed preference - I know what I tell myself that I want but is what I say I want really what I want?

Then there is the idea Billy Joel sung about in The Stranger - again the idea that what we think we know about ourselves might not actually be true.


Double click to enlarge.

The Stranger
by Billy Joel

Well, we all have a face
That we hide away forever
And we take them out
And show ourselves when everyone has gone
Some are satin, some are steel
Some are silk and some are leather
They're the faces of a stranger
But we'd love to try them on

Well, we all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell
Why were you so surprised
That you never saw the stranger
Did you ever let your lover
See the stranger in yourself

Don't be afraid to try again
Everyone goes south every now and then
You've done it
Why can't someone else
You should know by now
You've been there yourself

Once I used to believe
I was such a great romancer
Then I came home to a woman
That I could not recognize
When I pressed her for a reason
She refused to even answer
It was then I felt the stranger
Kick me right between the eyes

Well, we all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell
Why were you so surprised
That you never saw the stranger
Did you ever let your lover
See the stranger in yourself

Don't be afraid to try again
Everyone goes south every now and then
You've done it
Why can't someone else
You should know by now
You've been there yourself

You may never understand
How the stranger is inspired
But he isn't always evil
And he is not always wrong
Though you drown in good intentions
You will never quench the fire
You'll give in to your desire
When the stranger comes along