THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH MAKES ALL THE MISERIES OF LIFE EASY TO US.
It is a hard task to master the natural desire of life by a
philosophical contempt of death, and to convince the world that there
is no hurt in it, and crush an opinion that was brought up with us from
our cradles. What help? what encouragement? what shall we say to human
frailty, to carry it fearless through the fury of flames, and upon the
points of swords? what rhetoric shall we use to bear down the universal
consent of people to so dangerous an error? The captious and superfine
subtleties of the schools will never do the work: these speak many
things sharp, but utterly unnecessary, and void of effect. The truth
of it is, there is but one chain that holds all the world in bondage,
and that is the love of life. It is not that I propound the making of
death so indifferent to us, as it is, whether a man’s hairs be even or
odd; for what with self-love, and an implanted desire in every being of
preserving itself, and a long acquaintance betwixt the soul and body,
friends may be loth to part, and death may carry an appearance of evil,
though in truth it is itself no evil at all. Beside, that we are to go
to a strange place in the dark, and under great uncertainties of our
future state; so that people die in terror, because they do not know
whither they are to go, and they are apt to fancy the worst of what
they do not understand: these thoughts are indeed sufficient to startle
a man of great resolution without a wonderful support from above. And,
moreover, our natural scruples and infirmities are assisted by the wits
and fancies of all ages, in their infamous and horrid description of
another world: nay, taking it for granted that there will be no reward
and punishment, they are yet more afraid of an annihilation than of
hell itself.
But what is it we fear? “Oh! it is a terrible thing to die.” Well;
and is it not better once to suffer it, than always to fear it? The
earth itself suffers both _with_ me, and _before_ me. How many islands
are swallowed up in the sea! how many towns do we sail over! nay, how
many nations are wholly lost, either by inundations or earthquakes!
and shall I be afraid of my little body? why should I, that am sure
to die, and that all other things are mortal, be fearful of coming to
my last gasp myself? It is the fear of death that makes us base, and
troubles and destroys the life we would preserve; that aggravates all
circumstances, and makes them formidable. We depend but upon a flying
moment. Die we must; but when? what is that to us? It is the law of
Nature, the tribute of mortals, and the remedy of all evils. It is only
the disguise that affrights us; as children that are terrified with
a vizor. Take away the instruments of death, the fire, the ax, the
guards, the executioners, the whips, and the racks; take away the pomp,
I say, and the circumstances that accompany it, and death is no more
than what my slave yesterday contemned; the pain is nothing to a fit of
the stone; if it be tolerable, it is not great; and if intolerable,
it cannot last long. There is nothing that Nature has made necessary
which is more easy than death: we are longer a-coming into the world
than going out of it; and there is not any minute of our lives wherein
we may not reasonably expect it. Nay, it is but a moment’s work, the
parting of the soul and body. What a shame is it then to stand in fear
of anything so long that is over so soon!
Nor is it any great matter to overcome this fear; for we have examples
as well of the _meanest_ of men as of the greatest that have done it.
There was a fellow to be exposed upon the theatre, who in disdain
thrust a stick down his own throat, and choked himself; and another on
the same occasion, pretended to nod upon the chariot, as if he were
asleep, cast his head betwixt the spokes of the wheel, and kept his
seat until his neck was broken. Caligula, upon a dispute with Canius
Julius; “Do not flatter yourself,” says he, “for I have given orders to
put you to death.” “I thank your most gracious Majesty for it,” says
Canius, giving to understand, perhaps, that under his government death
was a mercy: for he knew that Caligula seldom failed of being as good
as his word in that case. He was at play when the officer carried him
away to his execution, and beckoning to the centurion, “Pray,” says
he, “will you bear me witness, when I am dead and gone, that I had the
better of the game?” He was a man exceedingly beloved and lamented,
and, for a farewell, after he had preached moderation to his friends;
“You,” says he, “are here disputing about the immortality of the soul,
and I am now going to learn the truth of it. If I discover any thing
upon that point, you shall hear of it.” Nay, the most timorous of
creatures, when they see there is no escaping, they oppose themselves
to all dangers; the despair gives them courage, and the necessity
overcomes the fear. Socrates was thirty days in prison after his
sentence, and had time enough to have starved himself, and so to have
prevented the poison: but he gave the world the blessing of his life
as long as he could, and took that fatal draught in the meditation and
contempt of death.
Marcellinus, in a deliberation upon death, called several of his
friends about him: one was fearful, and advised what he himself would
have done in the case; another gave the counsel which he thought
Marcellinus would like best; but a friend of his that was a Stoic, and
a stout man, reasoned the matter to him after this manner; Marcellinus
do not trouble yourself, as if it were such a mighty business that you
have now in hand; it is nothing to _live_; all your servants do it,
nay, your very beasts too; but to die honestly and resolutely, that
is a great point. Consider with yourself there is nothing pleasant in
life but what you have tasted already, and that which is to come is
but the same over again; and how many men are there in the world that
rather choose to die than to suffer the nauseous tediousness of the
repetition? Upon which discourse he fasted himself to death. It was
the custom of Pacuvius to solemnize, in a kind of pageantry, every day
his own funeral. When he had swilled and gormandized to a luxurious
and beastly excess, he was carried away from supper to bed with this
song and acclamation, “He has lived, he has lived.” That which he did
in lewdness, will become us to do in sobriety and prudence. If it
shall please God to add another day to our lives, let us thankfully
receive it; but, however, it is our happiest and securest course so
to compose ourselves to-night, that we may have no anxious dependence
on to-morrow. “He that can say, I have lived this day, makes the next
clear again.”
Death is the worst that either the severity of laws or the cruelty of
tyrants can impose upon us; and it is the utmost extent of the dominion
of Fortune. He that is fortified against that, must, consequently, be
superior to all other difficulties that are put in the way to it. Nay,
and on some occasions, it requires more courage to live than to die.
He that is not prepared for death shall be perpetually troubled, as
well with vain apprehensions, as with real dangers. It is not death
itself that is dreadful, but the fear of it that goes before it. When
the mind is under a consternation, there is no state of life that can
please us; for we do not so endeavor to avoid mischiefs as to run away
from them, and the greatest slaughter is upon a flying enemy. Had not
a man better breathe out his last once for all, than lie agonizing
in pains, consuming by inches, losing of his blood by drops? and yet
how many are there that are ready to betray their country, and their
friends, and to prostitute their very wives and daughters, to preserve
a miserable carcass! Madmen and children have no apprehension of death;
and it were a shame that our reason should not do as much toward our
security as their folly. But the great matter is to die considerately
and cheerfully upon the foundation of virtue; for life in itself is
irksome, and only eating and drinking in a circle.
How many are there that, betwixt the apprehensions of death and the
miseries of life, are at their wits’ end what to do with themselves?
Wherefore let us fortify ourselves against those calamities from which
the prince is no more exempt than the beggar. Pompey the Great had his
head taken off by a boy and a eunuch, (young Ptolemy and Photinus.)
Caligula commanded the tribune Dæcimus to kill Lepidus; and another
tribune (Chæreus) did as much for Caligula. Never was a man so great
but he was as liable to suffer mischief as he was able to do it. Has
not a thief, or an enemy, your throat at his mercy? nay, and the
meanest of servants has the power of life and death over his master;
for whosoever contemns his own life may be master of another body’s.
You will find in story, that the displeasure of servants has been as
fatal as that of tyrants: and what matters it the power of him we
fear, when the thing we fear is in every body’s power? Suppose I fall
into the hands of an enemy, and the conqueror condemns me to be led
in triumph; it is but carrying me thither whither I should have gone
without him, that is to say, toward death, whither I have been marching
ever since I was born. It is the fear of our last hour that disquiets
all the rest. By the justice of all constitutions, mankind is condemned
to a capital punishment; now, how despicable would that man appear,
who, being sentenced to death in common with the whole world, should
only petition that he might be the last man brought to the block?
Some men are particularly afraid of thunder, and yet extremely careless
of other and of greater dangers: as if that were all they have to
fear. Will not a sword, a stone, a fever, do the work as well? Suppose
the bolt should hit us, it were yet braver to die with a stroke than
with the bare apprehension of it: beside the vanity of imagining
that heaven and earth should be put into such a disorder only for the
death of one man. A good and a brave man is not moved with lightning,
tempest, or earthquakes; but perhaps he would voluntarily plunge
himself into that gulf, where otherwise he should only fall. The
cutting of a corn, or the swallowing of a fly, is enough to dispatch a
man; and it is no matter how great that is that brings me to my death,
so long as death itself is but little. Life is a small matter; but it
is a matter of importance to contemn it. Nature, that begat us, expels
us, and a better and a safer place is provided for us. And what is
death but a ceasing to be what we were before? We are kindled and put
out: to cease to be, and not to begin to be, is the same thing. We die
daily, and while we are growing, our life decreases; every moment that
passes takes away part of it; all that is past is lost; nay, we divide
with death the very instant that we live. As the last sand in the glass
does not measure the hour, but finishes it; so the last moment that
we live does not make up death, but concludes. There are some that
pray more earnestly for death than we do for life; but it is better to
receive it cheerfully when it comes than to hasten it before the time.
“But what is it that we would live any longer for?” Not for our
pleasures; for those we have tasted over and over, even to satiety: so
that there is no point of luxury that is new to us. “But a man would be
loth to leave his country and his friends behind him;” that is to say,
he would have them go first; for that is the least part of his care.
“Well; but I would fain live to do more good, and discharge myself
in the offices of life;” as if to die were not the duty of every man
that lives. We are loth to leave our possessions; and no man swims
well with his luggage. We are all of us equally fearful of death, and
ignorant of life; but what can be more shameful than to be solicitous
upon the brink of security? If death be at any time to be feared, it
is always to be feared; but the way never to fear it, is to be often
thinking of it. To what end is it to put off for a little while that
which we cannot avoid? He that dies does but follow him that is dead.
“Why are we then so long afraid of that which is so little awhile of
doing?” How miserable are those people that spend their lives in the
dismal apprehensions of death! for they are beset on all hands, and
every minute in dread of a surprise. We must therefore look about us,
as if we were in an enemy’s country; and consider our last hour, not as
a punishment, but as the law of Nature: the fear of it is a continual
palpitation of the heart, and he that overcomes that terror shall never
be troubled with any other.
Life is a navigation; we are perpetually wallowing and dashing one
against another; sometimes we suffer shipwreck, but we are always in
danger and in expectation of it. And what is it when it comes, but
either the end of a journey, or a passage? It is as great a folly to
fear _death_ as to fear _old age_; nay, as to fear life itself; for he
that would not die ought not to live, since death is the condition of
life. Beside that it is a madness to fear a thing that is certain; for
where there is no doubt, there is no place for fear.
We are still chiding of Fate, and even those that exact the most
rigorous justice betwixt man and man are yet themselves unjust to
Providence. “Why was such a one taken away in the prime of his years?”
As if it were the number of years that makes death easy to us, and not
the temper of the mind. He that would live a little longer to-day,
would be as loth to die a hundred years hence. But which is more
reasonable for us to obey Nature, or for Nature to obey us? Go we must
at last, and no matter how soon. It is the work of Fate to make us live
long, but it is the business of virtue to make a short life sufficient.
Life is to be measured by action, not by time; a man may die old at
thirty, and young at fourscore: nay, the one lives after death, and
the other perished before he died. I look upon age among the effects
of chance. How long I shall live is in the power of others, but it is
in my own how well. The largest space of time is to live till a man is
wise. He that dies of old age does no more than go to bed when he is
weary. Death is the test of life, and it is that only which discovers
what we are, and distinguishes betwixt ostentation and virtue. A man
may dispute, cite great authorities, talk learnedly, huff it out, and
yet be rotten at heart. But let us soberly attend our business: and
since it is uncertain _when_, or _where_, we shall die, let us look for
death in all places, and at all times: we can never study that point
too much, which we can never come to experiment whether we know it or
not. It is a blessed thing to dispatch the business of life before we
die, and then to expect death in the possession of a happy life. He is
the great man who is willing to die when his life is pleasant to him.
An honest life is not a greater good than an honest death. How many
brave young men, by an instinct of Nature, are carried on to great
actions, and even to the contempt of all hazards!
It is childish to go out of the world groaning and wailing as we came
into it. Our bodies must be thrown away, as the secundine that wraps
up the infant, the other being only the covering of the soul; we shall
then discover the secrets of Nature; the darkness shall be discussed,
and our souls irradiated with light and glory: a glory without a
shadow; a glory that shall surround us, and from whence we shall look
down and see day and night beneath us. If we cannot lift up our eyes
toward the lamp of heaven without dazzling, what shall we do when we
come to behold the divine light in its illustrious original? That death
which we so much dread and decline, is not the determination, but the
intermission of a life, which will return again. All those things,
that are the very cause of life, are the way to death: we fear it as
we do fame; but it is a great folly to fear words. Some people are so
impatient of life, that they are still wishing for death; but he that
wishes to die does not desire it: let us rather wait God’s pleasure,
and pray for health and life. If we have a mind to live, why do we
wish to die? If we have a mind to die, we may do it without talking
of it. Men are a great deal more resolute in the article of _death_
itself than they are about the circumstances of it: for it gives a man
courage to consider that his fate is inevitable: the slow approaches of
death are the most troublesome to us; as we see many a gladiator, who
upon his wounds, will direct his adversary’s weapon to his very heart,
though but timorous perhaps in the combat. There are some that have not
the heart either to live or die; that is a sad case. But this we are
sure of, “the fear of death is a continual slavery, as the contempt of
it is certain liberty.”