“When man is born, ‘tis fit, with solemn show,
We speak our sense of his approaching woe;
With other gestures and a different eye,
Proclaim our pleasure when he’s bid to die.”
There is something like this in Crantor’s Consolation; for he says that Terinaesus of Elysia, when he was bitterly lamenting the loss of his son, came to a place of divination to be informed why he was visited with so great affliction, and received in his tablet these three verses:
“Thou fool, to murmur at Euthynous’ death!
The blooming youth to fate resigns his breath:
The fate, whereon your happiness depends,
At once the parent and the son befriends.”
On these and similar authorities they affirm that the question has been determined by the Gods.
Nay, more; Alcidamas, an ancient rhetorician of the very highest reputation, wrote even in praise of death, which he endeavored to establish by an enumeration of the evils of life; and his Dissertation has a great deal of eloquence in it; but he was unacquainted with the more refined arguments of the philosophers.
By the orators, indeed, to die for our country is always considered not only as glorious, but even as happy. They go back as far as Erechtheus, whose very daughters underwent death, for the safety of their fellow citizens.
They instance Codrus, who threw himself into the midst of his enemies, dressed like a common man, that his royal robes might not betray him, because the oracle had declared the Athenians conquerors, if their king was slain.
Menoeceus is not overlooked by them, who, in compliance with the injunctions of an oracle, freely shed his blood for his country.
A part of me here wonders if Cicero is going too far with these examples; is a love of hyperbole at the close of the first book getting the better of him? Then I remember how that part of me is also the one that is disappointed with happy endings or snickers at true love, and I recognize it as a cynicism and bitterness born of an unwillingness to be honest with myself about who I am and why I am here.
It is always easier to tear something down than to build it up, and it can be temporarily more gratifying to wallow in resentment than to make an effort at appreciation.
I cling to life and am terrified by death whenever I know that I have left something undone. I still expect to receive more from the world, instead of finding peace in the merit of what I have chosen to do, whatever circumstances or length of time I might be granted. If I decide to be pleased with the content of my character, then the prospect of death ceases to be an odious burden, and it can further be taken as a blessed relief from my labors.
If I am never willing to bear any suffering at all, then it would indeed be better to have never been born. If I have lived in harmony with the virtues as best as I can, then the time to pass on can be met with acceptance and gratitude.
As Euripides said, it’s all a part of the coming and the going, where the attitude at the end should rightly be very different than it might have been at the beginning. Similarly, What Terinaesus needed to understand was why happiness depends on working with the natural order, not against it.
When my head is screwed on right, I am especially taken by the two stories of Codrus and Iphigenia. They only begin to make sense when the very purpose of life is considered from the perspective of duty over comfort.
Legends has it that while the Dorians were attacking Athens, the Delphic Oracle proclaimed that they would be victorious, as long as Codrus, the last of the Athenian kings, was not killed. Surely the invaders could make certain to spare his life, and so win their victory, but they had not counted on Codrus’ dedication to his city.
The king crept out of the city in disguise, picked a fight with some of the besiegers, and thereby surrendered his own life. Upon learning what they had inadvertently done, the Dorians departed rather than face the power of the prophecy.
It seems so ridiculous to a man who only cares for his survival, but it makes perfect sense to a man who cares only for his virtues. Once again, the dying was itself an essential part of the living well.
In the opening of the Trojan War, Agamemnon offended the goddess Artemis, and as a punishment she calmed the winds to prevent his army from sailing to Troy. The seer Calchas insisted that the only way to appease Artemis was for Agamemnon to sacrifice his daughter, Iphigenia.
There are variations on the story, but however the tragedy plays itself out, Iphigenia ultimately agreed to offer herself for the sake of the Greeks. She grasped how the value of her life was in the quality of her deeds over the quantity of her years.
No comments:
Post a Comment