A. Should it be so, I see that we are then deprived of the hopes of a happier life.
M. But what is there of evil in that opinion? For let the soul perish as the body: is there any pain, or indeed any feeling at all, in the body after death? No one, indeed asserts that; though Epicurus charges Democritus with saying so; but the disciples of Democritus deny it. No sense, therefore, remains in the soul; for the soul is nowhere. Where, then, is the evil? for there is nothing but these two things.
Is it because the mere separation of the soul and body cannot be effected without pain? But even should that be granted, how small a pain must that be! Yet I think that it is false, and that it is very often unaccompanied by any sensation at all, and sometimes even attended with pleasure; but certainly the whole must be very trifling, whatever it is, for it is instantaneous.
What makes us uneasy, or rather gives us pain, is the leaving all the good things of life. But just consider if I might not more properly say, leaving the evils of life; only there is no reason for my now occupying myself in bewailing the life of man, and yet I might, with very good reason. But what occasion is there, when what I am laboring to prove is that no one is miserable after death, to make life more miserable by lamenting over it? I have done that in the book which I wrote, in order to comfort myself as well as I could.
If, then, our inquiry is after truth, death withdraws us from evil, not from good. This subject is indeed so copiously handled by Hegesias, the Cyrenaic philosopher, that he is said to have been forbidden by Ptolemy from delivering his lectures in the schools, because some who heard him made away with themselves.
There is, too, an epigram of Callimachus on Cleombrotus of Ambracia, who, without any misfortune having befallen him, as he says, threw himself from a wall into the sea, after he had read a book of Plato’s.
The book I mentioned of that Hegesias is called Ἀποκαρτερτερῶν, or “A Man Who Starves Himself,” in which a man is represented as killing himself by starvation, until he is prevented by his friends, in reply to whom he reckons up all the miseries of human life. I might do the same, though not so fully as he, who thinks it not worth any man’s while to live.
The Auditor is still struggling with the possibility of death as a complete cessation of the self, concerned that it will deny him the continued enjoyments of this life. As a classmate of mine once put it, after narrowly avoiding a horrible car accident: “See, I can’t die yet! There’s so much fun I haven’t had!”
If dying ends all sensation, then any pain will also disappear. It would be hard to determine how much suffering occurs in our final moments, as no one has come back to offer a thorough account, but I suppose there could at least be some comfort in knowing it will soon pass. Even when the distress is slow and lingering, the expectation of the end could actually become a welcome relief.
No, the worry here isn’t so much about the continuation of any current pains, but rather about the exclusion of any future pleasures. Our sense of hope can be powerful that way, trusting so completely in the promise of coming rewards that we are willing to endure incredible hardship and discomfort for the sake of distant prospects. There’s a good reason the thought of “It will get better!” is such a great motivator.
Could I not, however, conclude that all the good things I might still gain in life are far outweighed by all the evil things I might be freed from in death? Perhaps that sounds a bit morbid, though it will seem far more reasonable if the harsh realities of deprivation and affliction are gathered all around. The fact is that, as unnerving as it may feel, there are many cases where continual agony is inevitable; it will most certainly not get any better.
This need not require me to throw myself from a cliff or commit to self-starvation, but it surely does allow me, after my many efforts to live with understanding and love, a release from the burden of circumstances. Just as a man looks forward to a retirement from his job, having braved years and years of thankless labor, so it seems fitting that a withdrawal from life itself can be a well-earned reprieve.
If truly living well is the goal, then there will be times when merely living longer doesn’t fit into that model.
I used to be baffled by the Platonist view that death is like a liberation from the ordeal of being weighed down by greedy appetites, and yet it didn’t take all that much time for me to undergo certain trials that made me seriously reconsider. Since those very same passions might move me to an extreme of despair, I must remember that there is a difference between deliberately pursuing my own destruction on the one hand, and graciously accepting its approach on the other.
As Socrates suggested, it is for the gods to choose how and when I must die, but I can likewise learn to ultimately be thankful that I must die.
Such thinking may appear ridiculous to some, even as I can’t help but wonder if this is only for as long as fortune fulfills all their wants. That mortality is quite an appropriate fate for us only becomes clearer in light of the jarring limitations of this existence. There is no shame in doing one’s best with what has been given, and then prudently asking for no more.
Cicero offers a fascinating dilemma, one which he elaborates on in the next chapter. Is his own life a happier one now, having lived longer while also losing hold of his family and his worldly achievements, or would he have been a far happier man if he had died before these gifts were taken from him?
I do not have an answer, either for him or for myself, and I suspect that such providential questions are rightly beyond our powers of insight. Nevertheless, it raises the option that an extension of life is not always a blessing.
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