Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.36

M. These calamities are avoided by death, for even though they should never happen, there is a possibility that they may; but it never occurs to a man that such a disaster may befall him himself. Everyone hopes to be as happy as Metellus: as if the number of the happy exceeded that of the miserable; or as if there were any certainty in human affairs; or, again, as if there were more rational foundation for hope than fear. 

 

But should we grant them even this, that men are by death deprived of good things; would it follow that the dead are therefore in need of the good things of life, and are miserable on that account? Certainly they must necessarily say so. 

 

Can he who does not exist be in need of anything? To be in need of has a melancholy sound, because it in effect amounts to this—he had, but he has not; he regrets, he looks back upon, he wants. Such are, I suppose, the distresses of one who is in need of. Is he deprived of eyes? To be blind is misery. Is he destitute of children? Not to have them is misery. These considerations apply to the living, but the dead are neither in need of the blessings of life, nor of life itself. 

 

But when I am speaking of the dead, I am speaking of those who have no existence. But would any one say of us, who do exist, that we want horns or wings? Certainly not. Should it be asked, why not? The answer would be, that not to have what neither custom nor nature has fitted you for would not imply a want of them, even though you were sensible that you had them not. 

 

This argument should be pressed over and over again, after that point has once been established, which, if souls are mortal, there can be no dispute about—I mean, that the destruction of them by death is so entire as to remove even the least suspicion of any sense remaining. 

 

When, therefore, this point is once well grounded and established, we must correctly define what the term to want means, that there may be no mistake in the word. To want, then, signifies this: to be without that which you would be glad to have; for inclination for a thing is implied in the word want, excepting when we use the word in an entirely different sense, as we do when we say that a fever is wanting to anyone. For it admits of a different interpretation, when you are without a certain thing, and are sensible that you are without it, but yet can easily dispense with having it. 

 

“To want,” then, is an expression which you cannot apply to the dead; nor is the mere fact of wanting something necessarily lamentable. The proper expression ought to be, “that they want a good,” and that is an evil.

 

But a living man does not want a good, unless he is distressed without it; and yet, we can easily understand how any man alive can be without a kingdom. But this cannot be predicated of you with any accuracy: it might have been asserted of Tarquin, when he was driven from his kingdom. But when such an expression is used respecting the dead, it is absolutely unintelligible. For to want implies to be sensible, but the dead are insensible: therefore, the dead can be in no want.

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.36

 

I think I am immune to it, and then it hits. And it hurts real bad. I complain, of course, and I try to cast blame on everyone but myself, while knowing full well that resentment will resolve nothing. I saw so many others fall before me, and yet I was sure it would never come my way; I am not immune. 

 

I am on the list. It’s just a matter of time. It’s like that bully cop around the corner, tagging me every morning with his radar gun. One day, he will catch me at two miles over the limit, and he will wear a shit-grin as he writes up the ticket. 

 

Do I think I am a Metellus? In just the blink of an eye, I can become a Priam. Then, and probably only then, I will quickly accept how the wanting for more pales in comparison to the longing for less. 

 

A fear of death is a dread of everything beyond my power, along with a rejection of everything within my power. If death turns out to be a total annihilation, no desire will remain, and while I fret over that fact, I will have lost the opportunity to make something of myself right here and now. A terror of the grave is wasted time, since an anxiety about a state where anxiety must cease is an inherent contradiction.

 

“Oh, but I need this to be happy forever and ever, and if you deny it to me, I will be inconsolable!”

 

No, you are first confusing a want with a need. Furthermore, you are also crying out for what can never be. Given an absence of awareness, there will be no want, where there can be no want. 

 

“Yes, but even when I’m dead, I will want to not be dead!”

 

Did you honestly think that one through? 

 

Not everything I want, even as I am still alive, is a good thing; the two terms do not necessarily overlap. I have long desired a mint-condition Jaguar E-Type, and yet I am quite capable of living well without owning that beautiful machine. It is no different with life in general, where the dignity of what I happen to possess at this moment has no bearing on any other moments. 

 

Am I crying about not driving a Jaguar E-Type? Am I bemoaning how the girl broke my heart? Am I despondent with my empty pockets? So many wants, and none of them needs to begin with. 

 

And once I am dead, how will the car, or the lost love of my life, or the contents of my bank account alter the state of affairs? 

 

It takes a hearty dose of honesty, mixed together with a concentrated pinch of humility, to recognize that what may come is no substitute for what must be. 

—Reflection written in 5/1996