Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 6.29

It is a shame for the soul to be first to give way in this life, when your body does not give way.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 6 (tr Long)

We are all quite familiar with an image of death where a soul, still eager and vibrant, is forced to leave this earth, because the vessel of the body, all worn and broken, is now too weak to contain it.  There might still seem to be so much more to do and so many things to discover, and we will regret our departure like a child being asked to leave an amusement park.

For me, it is much like those many nights when I was trying to read just the next few lines in a book that had me hooked, but the day had exhausted me, and the words blurred as I drifted off into sleep. Perhaps I could dream about what I had wanted to read?

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

We may think this is unfortunate, perhaps even tragic, but what is far more unfortunate and tragic is when the places have been reversed. There may still be life in the body, energy to expend, and years left to live, but the soul has given out. All the functions of life are still there, continuing in a regular routine of making it through the day, but there seems to be no will, no wonder, no joy. Commitment has given way to indifference, truth has become blurred, and right and wrong have been mixed into a sickening sort of gray.

A friend of mine would describe this as a state where the lights were on, but nobody was home. It wasn’t that a person was innately slow in their thinking, he said, but that he was simply no longer choosing to think. The flesh was strong, but the spirit was no longer willing.

Now while a body may whither or die from starvation, disease, or just old age, from those harsh conditions that have been imposed upon it, a soul does not seem to whither or die in quite the same way. It doesn’t go from the outside in, but from the inside out. There can be a strong and lively body wrapped around a weak and gloomy soul whenever a man has chosen to give up the ghost. It hasn’t been taken from him, but he has freely surrendered it.

I have seen this death of the soul around me quite often, and I believe most often wherever I also see people surrounded by all the affluence and gratification they could possibly desire. I have seen it in myself quite often, and I believe most often whenever I have decided to let the world rule me instead of ruling myself, or allowed myself to be measured by conditions instead of character, or chosen to be led by the nose instead of following my own path. 

I don’t need to be a zombie, alive on the outside but dead on the inside, simply going through the motions. My sick body may need to wait for the doctor’s prescription, but my sick soul already contains the means for a cure. I am the one who will decide if I will choose to know and love. No one else can do that for me.

Written in 3/2007

IMAGE: Cornelis Bisschop, Old Woman Sleeping (17th century)