Death ought to be despised more than it is wont to be despised. For we believe too many of the stories about death. Many thinkers have striven hard to increase its ill repute; they have portrayed the prison in the world below and the land overwhelmed by everlasting night, where
“Within his blood-stained cave Hell’s warder huge
Doth sprawl his ugly length on half-crunched bones,
And terrifies the disembodied ghosts
With never-ceasing bark.”
Even if you can win your point and prove that these are mere stories and that nothing is left for the dead to fear, another fear steals upon you. For the fear of going to the underworld is equaled by the fear of going nowhere.
In the face of these notions, which long-standing opinion has dinned in our ears, how can brave endurance of death be anything else than glorious, and fit to rank among the greatest accomplishments of the human mind?
For the mind will never rise to virtue if it believes that death is an evil; but it will so rise if it holds that death is a matter of indifference. It is not in the order of nature that a man shall proceed with a great heart to a destiny which he believes to be evil; he will go sluggishly and with reluctance. But nothing glorious can result from unwillingness and cowardice; virtue does nothing under compulsion.
“Within his blood-stained cave Hell’s warder huge
Doth sprawl his ugly length on half-crunched bones,
And terrifies the disembodied ghosts
With never-ceasing bark.”
Even if you can win your point and prove that these are mere stories and that nothing is left for the dead to fear, another fear steals upon you. For the fear of going to the underworld is equaled by the fear of going nowhere.
In the face of these notions, which long-standing opinion has dinned in our ears, how can brave endurance of death be anything else than glorious, and fit to rank among the greatest accomplishments of the human mind?
For the mind will never rise to virtue if it believes that death is an evil; but it will so rise if it holds that death is a matter of indifference. It is not in the order of nature that a man shall proceed with a great heart to a destiny which he believes to be evil; he will go sluggishly and with reluctance. But nothing glorious can result from unwillingness and cowardice; virtue does nothing under compulsion.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 82
Still, it is going to be quite the task to calm the jitters and to relieve the nightmares. This isn’t helped by our constant exposure to exquisitely gruesome depictions of the afterlife, or, what might be worse, the nagging suspicion that death is no more than an entry into total nothingness. Is it any wonder that we get anxious about our passing, when eternal torture or a dreary emptiness are the most likely options?
I am not qualified to discuss the subtleties of eschatology, but I have noticed how often the experts will merely lecture us about a heaven or a hell as convenient tools to keep us obedient and submissive. Beyond the fact that this is a rather crude way to manipulate our greed or our fear, it reduces the value of living to something so far removed from the actual living itself: we cease to be good if we are just scheming about future profits and losses.
Even if the horror stories are true, those possessed of character would face the hardships of a next life with exactly the same conviction and integrity as they have faced the hardships of this life.
This is possible for them because they recognize virtue to be its own reward, the perfection of our nature, and they know why Providence, as the necessity of a causal order, always works for a complete purpose, however ignorant they may be of how the particulars will unfold.
And if, in the grand scheme of things, death turns out to be the very cessation of our existence, we need not fret over being eternally bored, since the negation of our being must, in any event, preclude the capacity for any thought or feeling.
Yet the Stoic, or any lover of wisdom, understands that endings are not strictly terminations, but rather transformations, since everything is but a modification of what is. Just as nothing cannot produce something, so too something cannot be reduced to nothing. Whatever we might become, with or without consciousness, is exactly what we are meant to be.
As much as I adore my metaphysics, I am also wary of my speculation devolving into dark musings or wishful thinking. Though I cannot claim to grasp how the Universe will unfold, I can conceive a little bit about my own nature as a creature of reason and of will. I can attend to what is my own, and I can thereby be of service as a part to the whole.
As alarming as it may at first appear, death is not an evil, for the quantity of our days is not a hindrance to the quality of our virtues. The daunting impressions can instead be taken as opportunities for ever greater excellence, as occasions for merit in the midst of hesitation.
Still, it is going to be quite the task to calm the jitters and to relieve the nightmares. This isn’t helped by our constant exposure to exquisitely gruesome depictions of the afterlife, or, what might be worse, the nagging suspicion that death is no more than an entry into total nothingness. Is it any wonder that we get anxious about our passing, when eternal torture or a dreary emptiness are the most likely options?
I am not qualified to discuss the subtleties of eschatology, but I have noticed how often the experts will merely lecture us about a heaven or a hell as convenient tools to keep us obedient and submissive. Beyond the fact that this is a rather crude way to manipulate our greed or our fear, it reduces the value of living to something so far removed from the actual living itself: we cease to be good if we are just scheming about future profits and losses.
Even if the horror stories are true, those possessed of character would face the hardships of a next life with exactly the same conviction and integrity as they have faced the hardships of this life.
This is possible for them because they recognize virtue to be its own reward, the perfection of our nature, and they know why Providence, as the necessity of a causal order, always works for a complete purpose, however ignorant they may be of how the particulars will unfold.
And if, in the grand scheme of things, death turns out to be the very cessation of our existence, we need not fret over being eternally bored, since the negation of our being must, in any event, preclude the capacity for any thought or feeling.
Yet the Stoic, or any lover of wisdom, understands that endings are not strictly terminations, but rather transformations, since everything is but a modification of what is. Just as nothing cannot produce something, so too something cannot be reduced to nothing. Whatever we might become, with or without consciousness, is exactly what we are meant to be.
As much as I adore my metaphysics, I am also wary of my speculation devolving into dark musings or wishful thinking. Though I cannot claim to grasp how the Universe will unfold, I can conceive a little bit about my own nature as a creature of reason and of will. I can attend to what is my own, and I can thereby be of service as a part to the whole.
As alarming as it may at first appear, death is not an evil, for the quantity of our days is not a hindrance to the quality of our virtues. The daunting impressions can instead be taken as opportunities for ever greater excellence, as occasions for merit in the midst of hesitation.
—Reflection written in 12/2013
IMAGE: Jan Brueghel the Elder, Aeneas and the Sybil in the Underworld (c. 1600)
No comments:
Post a Comment