The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Monday, January 17, 2022

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.30


M. For so indeed he thought himself, and thus he spoke: 

 

“That there were two ways, and that the souls of men, at their departure from the body, took different roads; for those which were polluted with vices that are common to men, and which had given themselves up entirely to unclean desires, and had become so blinded by them as to have habituated themselves to all manner of debauchery and profligacy, or to have laid detestable schemes for the ruin of their country, took a road wide of that which led to the assembly of the Gods.

 

“But they who had preserved themselves upright and chaste, and free from the slightest contagion of the body, and had always kept themselves as far as possible at a distance from it, and while on earth had proposed to themselves as a model the life of the Gods, found the return to those beings from whom they had come an easy one.”

 

Therefore, he argues, that all good and wise men should take example from the swans, who are considered sacred to Apollo, not without reason, but particularly because they seem to have received the gift of divination from him, by which, foreseeing how happy it is to die, they leave this world with singing and joy. 

 

Nor can anyone doubt of this, unless it happens to us who think with care and anxiety about the soul (as is often the case with those who look earnestly at the setting sun), to lose the sight of it entirely; and so the mind’s eye, viewing itself, sometimes grows dull, and for that reason we become remiss in our contemplation. 

 

Thus our reasoning is borne about, harassed with doubts and anxieties, not knowing how to proceed, but measuring back again those dangerous tracts which it has passed, like a boat tossed about on the boundless ocean. 

 

But these reflections are of long standing, and borrowed from the Greeks. But Cato left this world in such a manner as if he were delighted that he had found an opportunity of dying; for that God who presides in us forbids our departure hence without his leave.

 

But when God himself has given us a just cause, as formerly he did to Socrates, and lately to Cato, and often to many others—in such a case, certainly every man of sense would gladly exchange this darkness for that light: not that he would forcibly break from the chains that held him, for that would be against the law; but, like a man released from prison by a magistrate or some lawful authority, so he too would walk away, being released and discharged by God. 

 

For the whole life of a philosopher is, as the same philosopher says, a meditation on death. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.30

 

The smug and the cynical may like to look down their noses at any suggestion of an afterlife, though I can hardly blame them if they limit themselves to a puerile view of “Heaven” and “Hell”, where arbitrary bureaucratic decrees shift us back and forth between lists of those who have been naughty or nice. I suppose I too wouldn’t want anything to do with a model of Providence that follows the thoughtless rules of corporate management. 

 

Indeed, always be wary of anyone who is trying to sell you happiness as if it were some sort of product, whether in this life or in the next. 

 

I do think it possible to look at the problem more generally, to bracket, for the moment at least, the question of whether after death we retain any sense of individuality or are completely transformed into something new, and to consider how it is that ends are always joined to beginnings, that dying is a very part of living, and that the way we think and act now will determine who we are ultimately going to become. All effects proceed from causes, and nothing is ever in vain. 

 

A strict Stoicism, of course, categorized all being as material, and yet we readily forget that the school used this term very broadly, to include both the “passive” matter that is sensible and the “active” matter that is intelligence. What becomes of my mind when I am called back into the Whole? I do not know with any certainty, and it is right for it to be that way, as it is well beyond my pay grade. What I can know, however, is that the way I go out will have much to do with the direction I chose for myself. 

 

What “happens” to the souls of the virtuous and the vicious? As they leave this life, they will be disposed according to their own judgments of true and false, of right and wrong. Some will have bound themselves to a life dominated by lesser things, and so, in a sense, that is precisely where they will remain. Others will have striven to rise to greater things, and so, in a sense, that is precisely where their momentum will take them. 

 

If I die a slave to greed and lust, that is how I decided to limit myself. If I die in a freedom of conscience, that is how I decided to elevate myself. I must be careful about what I wish for, as that is what I am going to get. An instance of extinction or an eternity of existence, the consequences will still be real. 

 

I understand that the old Greek image of the swan song is symbolic, though that does not make it any less true. I may get all confused about who I am, or where I am going, and the key is then to focus simply on the bare essentials, what is necessary to live with peace of mind right here and now, remaining indifferent to all other circumstances.

 

Then I can sing for joy when the appointed time comes, knowing that I did what I was called to do, that the suffering and hardship were put to the best use, and that I am now finally relieved of duty. I cannot do this if I remain entangled in the web of fortune or attached to petty and shallow diversions. For the good man, death can be a liberation, because he has the satisfaction of a job well done. For the wicked man, death can only be something to fear, because he knows the work is still incomplete. To depart content or to remain restless—I make the call. 

 

Those with the moral fiber of a Socrates or a Cato were therefore happy to meet death when it came, and yet they did not rush toward it too eagerly, since their convictions bound them to a sense of service, a commitment to making the most of every opportunity given them. It was only when all the options for living well had been exhausted, and when the only way to follow virtue was to surrender the restraints of the body, that they gladly departed this life. It is when such responsibilities are fulfilled that we are able to approach death with gratitude. 

—Reflection written in 4/1996

IMAGE: Reinier van Persijn, The Singing Swan (1655)



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