The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Monday, September 7, 2020

Musonius Rufus, Lectures 15.4


One may remark what a fine sight it is to see a man or woman surrounded by their children. Surely one could not witness a procession arrayed in honor of the gods so beautiful nor a choral dance performed in order at a religious celebration so well worth seeing as a chorus of children forming a guard of honor for their father or mother in the city of their birth, leading their parents by the hand or dutifully caring for them in some other way.

What is more beautiful than this sight? What is more enviable than these parents, especially if they are good people? For whom would one more gladly join in praying for blessings from the gods, or whom would one be more willing to assist in need?

It might seem odd to describe parenthood as such a joyful and glorious thing. Surely it is more of a burden, full of exhaustion, and pain, and disappointments? You offer up so much, and so rarely a word of thanks.

All generations have their own quirks, but I noticed how mine, as we grew older, was quite fond of complaining about how busy we felt, how the work never seemed to end, and how stressed we were by all the hectic running about.

For those who had children, their complaints could take on a whole new level of resentment. It almost seemed like we were proud of being miserable through our families, and we would compete over who could come across as the most frazzled.

Maybe my parents felt the same about the troubles of raising me, but they would never have spoken of it openly.

And so most of my crowd can’t help but think of family life as a chaotic and soul-sucking mess. Observe, for example, the usual depictions we see in film, which are simply exaggerated forms of what we muddle our way through every day.

Assuming everyone isn’t being sullen, there will be lots of yelling, insults, and the rolling of eyes. People are rushing from one appointment to another, stuffing their faces with food as they go. They barely take notice of one another. Children act out, and parents are completely ineffective at providing any order or purpose, since they long ago abandoned common sense for shallow platitudes from Oprah and Dr. Phil.

Occasionally, in the midst of the clutter of dirty dishes and laundry, someone will sigh, and wonder out loud why we can’t all live a much simpler sort of life.

I will foolishly let myself get dragged along like the next fellow, but then I may have a moment of clarity. Indeed, why can’t there be simplicity and purity? I’m the only one keeping myself from it. The hardship comes not from the circumstances, but from my priorities.

Of course, raising a family will bring with it many obstacles, and great sacrifices will have to be made, though what I might lose will seem quite bearable if I value the right things. If understanding and love come first, and are the source of all my joys, then I can easily shrug my shoulders at whatever else Fortune throws my way. Those hardships will be quite insignificant in comparison to the rewards.

When my wife and I had our son, he needed constant attention, what some people might call a “fussy” child. There were times when we thought we could no longer bear it.

In a desperate attempt to return to some semblance of our old life, we tried, perhaps too hastily, to bring him along while we went out for a quiet meal. Who knows, we said, maybe he’ll finally take a nap?

He didn’t of course, and we spent much of the time taking turns with one of us eating in peace while the other walked him up and down outside. I don’t think I ever came closer to throwing in the towel.

As we were about to leave, a man approached us, politely apologized for interrupting, and told us that he had noticed how good we were at taking care of our boy. “You clearly love him very much, and you all look so happy.”

In my precarious state, I wanted to slug him, to ask him what he could possibly know about it. Then I glanced toward the table he had come from, where his wife was quite efficiently managing three young children, and I could only smile and offer my thanks. His kind words then are often still a comfort to me now.

The sight of parents with children, at least with those parents who bother to care, is indeed a beautiful thing, if only I can remember what life is actually supposed to be about. Family is an inconvenience to the man who wants to get ahead, but a blessing to the man who recognizes what he is able to give.

Written in 6/2006


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