Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 10.36

There is no man so fortunate that there shall not be by him when he is dying some who are pleased with what is going to happen. Suppose that he was a good and wise man, will there not be at least some one to say to himself, “Let us at last breathe freely, being relieved from this schoolmaster? It is true that he was harsh to none of us, but I perceived that he tacitly condemns us.” This is what is said of a good man.

But in our own case how many other things are there for which there are many who wish to get rid of us? You will consider this, then, when you are dying, and will depart more contentedly by reflecting thus:

I am going away from such a life, in which even my associates in behalf of whom I have striven so much, prayed, and cared, themselves wish me to depart, hoping perchance to get some little advantage by it. Why then should a man cling to a longer stay here?

Do not, however, for this reason go away less kindly disposed to them, but preserving your own character, and friendly and benevolent and mild, and on the other hand not as if you were torn away; but as when a man dies a quiet death, the poor soul is easily separated from the body, such also ought your departure from men to be, for Nature united you to them and associated you.

But does she now dissolve the union? Well, I am separated as from kinsmen, not however dragged resisting, but without compulsion; for this, too, is one of the things according to Nature.

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 10.36 (tr Long)

Two prints hold a place of special honor above my desk. The first is Jean-Leon Gerome’s Diogenes, where the radical Cynic philosopher sits in his barrel, lighting his lamp, surrounded by his canine friends.

The second is Eugene Delacroix’s Last Words of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, depicting the end of the great Stoic, surrounded by his mourning courtiers and fellow philosophers, and clutching the arm of a young man who seems hardly troubled at all, perhaps even cleverly pleased with himself.

I assume this somewhat smarmy fellow, appearing to stare straight out at the viewer, is Commodus, the son of Marcus Aurelius, who will now inherit all of his father’s power. History does not speak so well of the heir, however, who apparently did not inherit his father’s wisdom and character. Perhaps he sees only his own gain with his father gone.

Many assume that good men will, of course, be liked for being good. Yet they might just as well be hated for being good, or liked for being bad. Hard experience should teach us that character and esteem do not always go together.

Some of us may find friends who miss us when we die, but all of us surely have at least one Commodus, who is quite satisfied to see us go. Some of us will have a whole flock of such scavengers surrounding us, waiting for the opportunity to profit at our demise.

Why must there be such people? Because men will choose their own ways, and because virtue and vice will always stand in opposition to one another. Struggle to be as just, and as honest, and as kind to others as you can possibly be, and it is precisely those who are offended by justice, and honesty, and kindness who will think ill of you.

If this is what I must face, then I can find some contentment in being freed from such selfish and petty aspects of this life, for, as with all things Stoic, I should find peace in everything that comes and goes.

But my acceptance should not be mingled with any form of resentment. Let me not be too attached to the world, but let me also not hate it. When I face those who treat me as a friend, as well as those who treat me as an enemy, my calling still remains one and the same. Whoever crosses my path, and whatever I must endure, and however long it may last, my commitment is to giving love, not to winning fame and fortune.

There is no need for me to cling to the edge of the cliff, and no need for me to throw myself into the depths either. That a bond should naturally end is just as right as that it should naturally begin.

Cassius Dio reported that the last words of Marcus Aurelius were: “Look to the rising sun; for I am already setting.” What else need be said? 

Written in 3/2009