The Death of Marcus Aurelius

The Death of Marcus Aurelius

Monday, June 13, 2022

Cicero, Tusculan Disputations 1.46


M. For Neptune shall sooner bury Salamis itself with his waters than the memory of the trophies gained there; and the Boeotian Leuctra shall perish sooner than the glory of that great battle. And longer still shall fame be before it deserts Curius, and Fabricius, and Calatinus, and the two Scipios, and the two Africani, and Maximus, and Marcellus, and Paulus, and Cato, and Laelius, and numberless other heroes; and whoever has caught any resemblance of them, not estimating it by common fame, but by the real applause of good men, may with confidence, when the occasion requires, approach death, on which we are sure that even if the chief good is not continued, at least no evil is. 

 

Such a man would even wish to die while in prosperity; for all the favors that could be heaped on him would not be so agreeable to him as the loss of them would be painful. 

 

That speech of the Lacedaemonian seems to have the same meaning, who, when Diagoras the Rhodian, who had himself been a conqueror at the Olympic games, saw two of his own sons conquerors there on the same day, approached the old man, and, congratulating him, said, “You should die now, Diagoras, for no greater happiness can possibly await you.” 

 

The Greeks look on these as great things; perhaps they think too highly of them, or, rather, they did so then. And so he who said this to Diagoras, looking on it as something very glorious, that three men out of one family should have been conquerors there, thought it could answer no purpose to him to continue any longer in life, where he could only be exposed to a reverse of fortune.

 

I might have given you a sufficient answer, as it seems to me, on this point, in a few words, as you had allowed the dead were not exposed to any positive evil; but I have spoken at greater length on the subject for this reason, because this is our greatest consolation in the losing and bewailing of our friends. 

 

For we ought to bear with moderation any grief which arises from ourselves, or is endured on our own account, lest we should seem to be too much influenced by self-love. 

 

But should we suspect our departed friends to be under those evils, which they are generally imagined to be, and to be sensible of them, then such a suspicion would give us intolerable pain; and accordingly I wished, for my own sake, to pluck up this opinion by the roots, and on that account I have been perhaps somewhat more prolix than was necessary.


—from Cicero. Tusculan Disputations 1.46

I find I must be careful when I contemplate the notion of honor, for the term can have a wide range of meanings. In this sense, it has something in common with the notion of justice, where one man stresses retribution, while the other embraces mercy. I also think of our varying definitions of a hero, from the rebellious badass to the wholesome boy scout. 

 

If we look at honor merely as maintaining reputation or standing, it will have to become morally ambiguous. If keeping up an appearance of propriety comes first, then the presence of decency itself comes second, and most anything could become permissible, as long it gives some sort of noble impression. Politicians and celebrities have, of course, been playing this game for many centuries. 

 

No, a genuine understanding of honor must work from the inside out, not from the outside in. Begin with the virtue of the thought and the deed, and then measure any recognition through the dignity of that act. 

 

In other words, the heroes of Greece and Rome were respected because they were great, not great because they were respected. Cicero expresses this very point when he distinguishes between “common fame” and the “real applause of good men”, between what happens to be titillating to a brutal man and what deeply inspires a prudent man. 

 

The “glory” of a life may not involve a vast quantity of followers, though it will always leave behind it a deep quality of influence upon the world. I need to regularly remind my students, and sometimes even my peers, how they have a far more meaningful effect on others than they might think; a good man always sends ripples across the water, and there is no requirement to make big waves. 

 

I look to someone like a Mrs. Stevens, my kindergarten and first grade teacher, whose kindness and concern are still with me so many decades after she passed. She was much like an older female equivalent of a Mr. Rogers. Again, the mark she left was a consequence of the love she gave. 

 

When I think of her, I suspect I have an inkling of what Cicero intended in this chapter, since the way I remember her is never about loss and grief, but always about admiration and reverence. I can say with complete honesty that her image in my head makes me quite indifferent to the prospect of death, and it drives me to live what life I still possess with just a smidgeon of her merit. 

 

The story about Diagoras of Rhodes and his two sons really gets to me, and the further account of the Spartan’s words to him makes my eyes a little misty. Indeed, what more could be done than to share such achievements together, with the two young sons carrying the old father on their shoulders in celebration? It all shows how dying is never a problem at all, as long as the living was done well. There does come a point where nothing more could possibly be added to the honor, as long as the honor is rightly understood. 

 

We may feel great sadness from the loss of our friends and family, yet there is no loss for them if they move on after having completed the job. 

—Reflection written in 6/1996 

IMAGE: Auguste Vinchon, Diagoras Carried in Triumph by his Sons (1814) 



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