Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 8.18

That which has died falls not out of the Universe.

If it stays here, it also changes here, and is dissolved into its proper parts, which are elements of the Universe and of yourself.

And these too change, and they murmur not.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8 (tr Long)

When I was little, I worried about whether I was going to Heaven or Hell. Fire scared me. I had the benefit of a fine man, an uncle who was a priest, who reminded me that the love of God was never about a balance sheet, and that if God is Love, no person, not any person, who truly wishes to be happy shall ever be denied that wish.

“God will give you exactly what you need. Ask, and ask with all sincerity, and you shall receive.”

Years later, people who thought they were better told me that my uncle was completely wrong. I was told I needed to follow this specific rule or that, and that any transgression meant instant damnation. I had to go to this Mass, and not another. I had to cross myself one way, and not another. I had to receive the Blessed Sacrament in one way, and not another. I should never, above all else, have anything to do with any of those terrible heretics. They were all damned.

“But isn’t God Love?” I asked.

“Of course you’d say that, because you’re a modernist.” I can still recall the smug look on the spiteful fellow who said that to me. He wanted me to fight him, intellectually at least, but I was smart enough that time to turn away. A broken jaw might have done him good, but a sense of temperance did me much better.

Fine. Send me to your Hell, because I refuse to believe in a Heaven where kindness and respect are trumped by stuffy and narrow arrogance.

I am still completely committed to living a good life, but I now worry less about where I am going to go, and more about who I am, right here and now.

I know there is a God, and I know there is a right and wrong in the order of all things, the design of Providence. Now what will become of me?

Let Providence decide that, and let me simply be the best man I can possibly be. I know, from reason alone, that I will continue in some way. What will that be? It is hardly for me to decide. Let God decide.

God, in whatever way we might wish to understand Him, has told me, simply by making me as I am, about how I should live. There is no mystery there.

What happens to me when I die? I can worry, I can fret, I can pray myself stupid, but it will happen exactly as it should. Nothing in Nature dies, as everything in Nature is constantly reborn. Nothing ceases to be, as everything that is simply takes on a new form.

Yes, there is a mystery there. I don’t know at all what that form will be. I leave that to God. I will become something else. Perhaps I may be a saint in Heaven, or perhaps just be fertilizer for a tree. I remind myself that if I think the difference matters, I’m not doing it right at all, because then the good that I do is all about some mercenary reward.

Nothing hurts religion, which should be about our trust in what is greater than us, than people who tell us that they are greater than us. No more of that for me.

Nothing ever really dies. Everything is reborn. How will that happen? Let Providence work that out. How arrogant of me to think I know how that might go.

My uncle prayed with simple folk, and taught at a high school, and climbed mountains, and told me about human decency. I have no place for men who flaunt their superiority, and strut about in their bow ties, and mix fancy cocktails, and tell me that I am going to Hell.

Written in 3/2008