Funereal thoughts
Friday, April 26th, 2002 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
robinturnerTo my great pleasure, my mother has found someone who will do a secular/humanist servicee for my father. John's religious beliefs were notoriously hard to pin down; he was raised as a Methodist, but certainly wasn't one. When asked about his religious beliefs, he would give a different answer each time. Sometimes he would claim to be an atheist, somtimes an agnostic, sometimes a Taoist and, most recently, a Stoic, which I think was the most accurate description.
I've been e-mailing my brother about the funeral arrangements. We've chosen Jan Garbarek for the introduction, then the secular/humanist "minister" will give a short speech (from what I've heard of him, he should be able to come up with something good - he's a mountaineer, which always bodes well). Then there will be a space for the religious people to pray, and the non-religious to colect their thoughts, again with music (we're thinking of a Bach violin or cello sonata). After that, my brother and I will read something. If anyone is interested in my thoughts on death ...
One of my father's characteristic phrases was "Don't worry, I set the bone myself." In many ways I think that sums up his attitude to life. John was a modern Stoic, so to remember and honour him, I thought it would be appropriate now to read a few lines from the ancient Stoic philosophers.
The first is from Marcus Aurelius, a man who led a tranquil and happy life until, in forties, he became Emperor. He spent most of the rest of his life on the battlefield, most of his family died of the plague and his one surviving son was the deranged Emperor Commodus, whom you may remember from Gladiator. My favourite line from Aurelius is "If the cucumber is bitter, spit it out, but do not ask why there are bitter cucumbers in the world." Although my father's life was not quite as dramatic, it was similar in some ways. For the first half of his life, he was a healthy, dynamic man and an able mountaineer. Unfortunately he became diabetic when I was a child, and, shortly afterwards, contracted rheumatoid arthritis, which put him in severe pain and at times nearly crippled him. What I admire about John is that he never indulged in his pain - he would spit out the cucumber when possible - but also he never bemoaned his fate, or in other words, he did not ask why there were bitter cucumbers in the world. He never asked petulantly, "Why should this happen to me?" and, unlike many ill people, he never tried to gain sympathy, in fact he avoided it like the plague. I even picked up some of this unconsciously: one day I burned my hand while cooking, and my wife asked "Why are you singing in that funny way?" I realised that I was doing exactly what John did when his arthritis made him cry out in pain - turning it into a tuneless melody so that other's would think I was eccentric rather than in pain.
The second Stoic I would like to quote is Epictetus, who, as a slave, also had a pretty tough life. He said, "Death is not terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates." Often when we grieve for a person, we think we are grieving for them, when in fact, if we were to think about it carefully, we would realise that nothing terrible has befallen them; we are only upset for ourselves. Socrates faced death calmly, and I am sure that John had no fear of this natural and inevitable event.
If we are sad for ourselves, which is only natural, how can we console ourselves for our loss? Another quotation from Epictetus, which my students almost entirely objected to may contain the answer: "When you kiss your wife or child, think 'This is only a mortal that I love', then you will not be disturbed when they die." This sounds heartless, but if we think about it carefully, it makes some sense. If we love someone, what we love is certain qualities they possess: beauty, intelligence, kindeness, or even something as small as a way of raising their eyebrows. What we need to realise is that those qualities that we love never die, but are found everywhere. John was a particular instance of some of the better qualities that we humans are capable of. The physical instance is gone, but that unique quality of "John-ness" remains, and always will remain.
I've been e-mailing my brother about the funeral arrangements. We've chosen Jan Garbarek for the introduction, then the secular/humanist "minister" will give a short speech (from what I've heard of him, he should be able to come up with something good - he's a mountaineer, which always bodes well). Then there will be a space for the religious people to pray, and the non-religious to colect their thoughts, again with music (we're thinking of a Bach violin or cello sonata). After that, my brother and I will read something. If anyone is interested in my thoughts on death ...
One of my father's characteristic phrases was "Don't worry, I set the bone myself." In many ways I think that sums up his attitude to life. John was a modern Stoic, so to remember and honour him, I thought it would be appropriate now to read a few lines from the ancient Stoic philosophers.
The first is from Marcus Aurelius, a man who led a tranquil and happy life until, in forties, he became Emperor. He spent most of the rest of his life on the battlefield, most of his family died of the plague and his one surviving son was the deranged Emperor Commodus, whom you may remember from Gladiator. My favourite line from Aurelius is "If the cucumber is bitter, spit it out, but do not ask why there are bitter cucumbers in the world." Although my father's life was not quite as dramatic, it was similar in some ways. For the first half of his life, he was a healthy, dynamic man and an able mountaineer. Unfortunately he became diabetic when I was a child, and, shortly afterwards, contracted rheumatoid arthritis, which put him in severe pain and at times nearly crippled him. What I admire about John is that he never indulged in his pain - he would spit out the cucumber when possible - but also he never bemoaned his fate, or in other words, he did not ask why there were bitter cucumbers in the world. He never asked petulantly, "Why should this happen to me?" and, unlike many ill people, he never tried to gain sympathy, in fact he avoided it like the plague. I even picked up some of this unconsciously: one day I burned my hand while cooking, and my wife asked "Why are you singing in that funny way?" I realised that I was doing exactly what John did when his arthritis made him cry out in pain - turning it into a tuneless melody so that other's would think I was eccentric rather than in pain.
The second Stoic I would like to quote is Epictetus, who, as a slave, also had a pretty tough life. He said, "Death is not terrible, else it would have appeared so to Socrates." Often when we grieve for a person, we think we are grieving for them, when in fact, if we were to think about it carefully, we would realise that nothing terrible has befallen them; we are only upset for ourselves. Socrates faced death calmly, and I am sure that John had no fear of this natural and inevitable event.
If we are sad for ourselves, which is only natural, how can we console ourselves for our loss? Another quotation from Epictetus, which my students almost entirely objected to may contain the answer: "When you kiss your wife or child, think 'This is only a mortal that I love', then you will not be disturbed when they die." This sounds heartless, but if we think about it carefully, it makes some sense. If we love someone, what we love is certain qualities they possess: beauty, intelligence, kindeness, or even something as small as a way of raising their eyebrows. What we need to realise is that those qualities that we love never die, but are found everywhere. John was a particular instance of some of the better qualities that we humans are capable of. The physical instance is gone, but that unique quality of "John-ness" remains, and always will remain.
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oh wow
Date: 2002-04-26 03:59 pm (UTC)And I think I finally understand! Thank you!
I think philosophy is your religion! ;)
(Mind you, I see nothing particularly wrong with that if you're living a good life & are reasonably contented & happy. I'm certain it's a healthy aspect of your humanity.)
At any rate, my condolences.
My father no longer lives, and I had to make funeral arrangements & such when he died. It's a lot of responsibility... taking care of someone's last "actions" (if you will) in the living world.
Re: oh wow
Date: 2002-05-01 12:47 pm (UTC)Well, I don't know if I'd go as far as that. I've also been into Chaos Magick, Tantra and Sufism, amongst other belief systems, so I'm not entirely the rational classical philosopher that I sometimes come across as in my postings. I do think that there are certain things that are beyond philosophy (in the Western sense of the word) because they are beyond language and reason. What I've found, however, is that while rational philosophy cannot achieve everything, it can take us a hell of a lot farther than most people think. In my experience, philosophical reflection and practice can solve 90% of our internal problems and make dealing with external problems much more effective. For the rest, you need mysticism, magick and all the other wacky stuff.
Re: oh wow
Date: 2002-05-06 04:09 pm (UTC)Well, I think that's what people expect from religions.
I rely on logic & scientific methods of trial & error to resolve these things.
Until my irrational emotions rear up & muck everything up on me! haha.
Stoic fathers...
Date: 2002-04-26 08:49 pm (UTC)I don't think my father would have defined himself as a Stoic (at least not with a capital "s"), but it seems he had some of the same attributes as John. He had a stroke at age 34 which left him partially paralyzed (though not in the kind of pain RA creates -- a woman at my writers colony is working on a book about her experiences with RA, and it was an eye opener). But my dad never complained about the difficulties of his handicap, preferring to either joke about it (saying he had invented a new swimming stroke -- The Wounded Duck) or just ignore it -- spit out the cucumber, as you quoted Marcus Aurelius. (That is a fine quote --thanks for sharing it.)
At any rate -- it sounds like the service will be lovely, and veyr much in keeping with your father's spirit. My sister planned our father's, and she did a terrific job (well, the bagpiper was pretty rusty, but that lent a sort of comic panache to the proceedings that I think Dad would have appreciated).
Good thoughts going your way,
Kerry
no subject
Date: 2002-04-27 06:01 am (UTC)gestalt, solri! gestalt!
no subject
Date: 2002-04-27 06:23 am (UTC)See my old diary (http://neptune.spaceports.com/~words/september99.html) for a more lighthearted exploration of this subject (scroll down to "La Binoche").
no subject
Date: 2002-04-27 07:39 am (UTC)binocheness n., A physical, biological, psychological, or symbolic configuration or pattern of elements so evocative of Juliette Binoche that its properties can only vaguely be understood to be actually derived from someone other than Juliette Binoche.
no subject
Date: 2002-04-27 11:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-04-30 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-04-30 04:06 am (UTC)