Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.43

M. What, then, have we not reason to admire Theodorus the Cyrenean, a philosopher of no small distinction, who, when Lysimachus threatened to crucify him, bade him keep those menaces for his courtiers? 

 

“To Theodorus it makes no difference whether he rot in the air or underground.” 

 

By which saying of the philosopher I am reminded to say something of the custom of funerals and sepulture, and of funeral ceremonies, which is, indeed, not a difficult subject, especially if we recollect what has been before said about insensibility. 

 

The opinion of Socrates respecting this matter is clearly stated in the book which treats of his death, of which we have already said so much; for when he had discussed the immortality of the soul, and when the time of his dying was approaching rapidly, being asked by Crito how he would be buried, “I have taken a great deal of pains,” said he, “my friends, to no purpose, for I have not convinced our Crito that I shall fly from hence, and leave no part of me behind. Notwithstanding, Crito, if you can overtake me, wheresoever you get hold of me, bury me as you please: but believe me, none of you will be able to catch me when I have flown away from hence.” 

 

That was excellently said, inasmuch as he allows his friend to do as he pleased, and yet shows his indifference about anything of this kind. 

 

Diogenes was rougher, though of the same opinion; but in his character of a Cynic he expressed himself in a somewhat harsher manner; he ordered himself to be thrown anywhere without being buried. 

 

And when his friends replied, “What! to the birds and beasts?” 

 

“By no means,” said he; “place my staff near me, that I may drive them away.” 

 

“How can you do that,” they answer, “for you will not perceive them?”

 

“How am I then injured by being torn by those animals, if I have no sensation?” 

 

Anaxagoras, when he was at the point of death at Lampsacus, and was asked by his friends, whether, if anything should happen to him, he would not choose to be carried to Clazomenae, his country, made this excellent answer, “There is,” says he, “no occasion for that, for all places are at an equal distance from the infernal regions.” 

 

There is one thing to be observed with respect to the whole subject of burial, that it relates to the body, whether the soul live or die. Now, with regard to the body, it is clear that, whether the soul lives or dies, that has no sensation. 

—from Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.43

 

Legend has it that St. Lawrence was martyred by being roasted over hot coals, and how, after much suffering, he called out, “I’m well done on this side, turn me over!” 

 

The story came up in a conversation the other day, and I was a bit taken aback by one fellow’s furious reaction. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! It could never happen! It’s impossible for anyone to act that way!”

 

His objection was not that the account might be a later elaboration, or that such a form of execution seemed historically inaccurate, but rather that human nature is incapable or resisting such extreme pain or the fear of impending death. “No one can fight those instincts!” 

 

I do not know if I could manage to react like St. Lawrence, though I do know how often I have hastily underestimated the strength of conviction. If I assume that human beings are only animals, of course I will conclude that we are ruled by our passions. But we are more than that, aren’t we? Understanding provides meaning to our feelings, and the way we think shapes the course of our impulses. 

 

When it comes to the pain, I have learned how my mindset can make most anything bearable. However intense, I know its duration must be finite, and if it is indeed overwhelming, I also know I can face my end with my dignity intact. 

 

When it then comes to mortality, I have learned how my judgments about life can make death lose its sting. Once I find my purpose in the goods of the soul, I no longer have to be so worried about the fate of the body; where the increased quality of virtue is the goal, a decreased quantity of time is not as terrifying. 

 

Something all philosophers, the genuine lovers of wisdom and not the academic blowhards, share in common is an awareness of how the mind has power over circumstances, and why the content of character always trumps the urgings of the flesh. 

 

Regardless of whether there is an afterlife, was this life lived well? If so, then concerns about the length of life, or what might happen to this bag of bones, become insignificant. 

 

Theodorus didn’t much care where his body rotted away, as that lifeless husk would be empty. 

 

Socrates didn’t bother with funeral instructions, since his consciousness would be long gone. 

 

Diogenes, always a master of shock, suggested they toss his corpse by the side of the road. Knowing he would then lack all perception, the thought of being gnawed at by critters was not a problem. 

 

It didn’t matter to Anaxagoras where they buried him, because it would not change anything about where he was ultimately going. 

 

Perhaps a funeral, with its elaborate ceremony or fancy tombstone, does something to help a man’s friends say goodbye, but it does absolutely nothing for the man. Along those lines, a mentor or mine set aside a good sum of money for his passing, but with the express condition that it only be spent on a hearty meal for his family and friends. 

 

I am not so quick to dismiss the views of these fine men, just as I choose not to scoff at the insightful wit of St. Lawrence. They knew what it was about. 

—Reflection written in 6/1996 

IMAGE: Peter Paul Rubens, The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence (c. 1614)