M. I have the best authority in support of the opinion you desire to have established, which ought, and generally has, great weight in all cases. And, first, I have all antiquity on that side, which the more near it is to its origin and divine descent, the more clearly, perhaps, on that account, did it discern the truth in these matters.
This very doctrine, then, was adopted by all those ancients whom Ennius calls in the Sabine tongue Casci; namely, that in death there was a sensation, and that, when men departed this life, they were not so entirely destroyed as to perish absolutely.
And this may appear from many other circumstances, and especially from the pontifical rites and funeral obsequies, which men of the greatest genius would not have been so solicitous about, and would not have guarded from any injury by such severe laws, but from a firm persuasion that death was not so entire a destruction as wholly to abolish and destroy everything, but rather a kind of transmigration, as it were, and change of life, which was, in the case of illustrious men and women, usually a guide to heaven, while in that of others it was still confined to the earth, but in such a manner as still to exist.
From this, and the sentiments of the Romans, “In heaven Romulus with Gods now lives”, as Ennius says, agreeing with the common belief; hence, too, Hercules is considered so great and propitious a God among the Greeks, and from them he was introduced among us, and his worship has extended even to the very ocean itself.
This is how it was that Bacchus was deified, the offspring of Semele; and from the same illustrious fame we receive Castor and Pollux as Gods, who are reported not only to have helped the Romans to victory in their battles, but to have been the messengers of their success. What shall we say of Ino, the daughter of Cadmus? Is she not called Leucothea by the Greeks, and Matuta by us? No, more; is not the whole of heaven (not to dwell on particulars) almost filled with the offspring of men?
Should I attempt to search into antiquity, and produce from thence what the Greek writers have asserted, it would appear that even those who are called their principal Gods were taken from among men up into heaven.
“But will it hurt?”
I can’t help but wonder if that is what is on the Auditor’s mind. There is enough pain in life already, and the prospect that it will only be magnified through death is far more than an inconvenience. Is there no hope that it will somehow get better, or at the very least end our consciousness without compounding the grief?
Far from being a question lurking in the background, it can become a serious burden to our everyday attitudes.
Whenever death is made present to me as a reality, and not just as some distant abstraction, I find how the distress that goes together with dying tends to trouble me more than the actual dying itself.
As words of consolation, people may say “He’s gone to a better place.” To soothe the sting, they assure us that “Her suffering is over now.” Perhaps I have become too cynical, but are we ignoring the possibility that it might get worse? Is this a delusional exercise in wishful thinking?
When Cicero begins by pointing to cultural beliefs and religious practices, I feel wary at first. So many informal fallacies come to mind. This is how it’s always been done. Listen to your betters. The stories must stand. I can think of too many cases where a reliance on lofty assumptions has done such great harm.
Appeals to tradition, authority, or popularity can be quite dangerous, as they readily confuse a trust in the source with the truth of the content. The experts may well get it right, but it isn’t right because they happen to be experts. With his own judgment as the final arbiter of his choices, a man should be careful with what he agrees, and to whom he listens.
Nevertheless, there is such great wisdom in myths and legends, forms of awareness that are so intuitive, even primal. Far from being crude or unrefined, mythology crafts in symbols what a mere science of facts must pass over, what I can only describe as the most profound metaphysics presented in the spirit of the poetic.
I have no knack for that kind of expression, so I must leave it to others to offer a richer account. All I know is that a good folktale will get right to the heart of the matter like nothing else. Whatever people crafted it, regardless of time or place, its message is universally human. Yes, the story may be very old, but it is, in a sense, also closer to the source, reaching back into our natural origins.
Three lessons stand out for me in what Cicero offers here:
First, our ancestors did not perceive death as a finality, instead viewing it as a transformation.
Second, the proof that this mattered so deeply to them is in the great efforts they undertook to treat their dead with such solemn reverence, certain that they were not gone, and had only moved on.
Third, whatever may take place during and after death, it became for them an opportunity to reach out to the Divine, perhaps even, in some manner, to become Divine oneself.
Is it still cloaked in mystery? Of course, but that doesn’t mean that they knew nothing about it, only that they didn’t know everything about it. There is also more to it than just hoping to somehow survive, since every observation they made about Nature showed them that nothing ever ceases to be, that endings are always beginnings, that everything old is made new. If it is true for all other creatures, why shouldn’t it be true for us as well?
A man will show what he really cares for by what he is willing to give for it. Whether it be one of the Great Pyramids, or the humblest of peasant grave markers, those who still lived went out of their way to treat the dead as if they were still among the living. No one does such a thing lightly, and would quickly grow tired of it if it were a simply a matter of show.
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