This is an evident fallacy. If this, however, does not trouble us now, it will not hereafter. A handful of dust can have no quarrel to pick with its neighbours, or complaint to make against Providence, and might well exclaim, if it had but an understanding and a tongue, 'go thy ways, old world, swing round in blue ether, voluble to every. It is amazing how soon the rich and titled, and even some of those who have wielded great political power, are forgotten. A little rule, a little sway, is all the great and mighty have. Betwixt the cradle and the grave and, after its short date, they hardly leave a name behind them. 'a great man's memory may, at the common rate, survive him half a year.' his heirs and successors take his titles, his power, and his wealthall that made him considerable or courted by others; and he has left nothing else behind him either to delight.
Homophobia: The fear Behind The hatred
Even in the ate same family the gap is not so great; the wound closes up sooner than we should expect. Nay, our room is not unfrequently thought better than our company. People walk along the streets the day after our deaths just as they did before, and the crowd is not diminished. While we were living, the world seemed in a manner to exist only for us, for our delight and amusement, because it contributed to them. But our hearts cease to beat, and it goes on as usual, and thinks no more about us than it did in our lifetime. The million are devoid of sentiment, and care as little for you or me as if we belonged to the moon. We live the week over in the sunday's paper, or are decently interred in some obituary at the month's end! It is not surprising that we are forgotten so soon after we quit this mortal stage; we are scarcely noticed while we are. It is not merely that our names are not known in Chinathey have hardly been heard of in the next street. We are hand and glove with the universe, and think the obligation is mutual.
We think, how we should feel, not how the dead feel. Still from the tomb the voice of nature cries; even in our ashes live their wonted fires! There is an admirable passage on this subject in Tucker's Light of Nature pursued, which I shall transcribe, as by much the best illustration I can offer. 'The melancholy appearance of a lifeless body, the mansion provided for it to inhabit, dark, cold, close and lined solitary, are shocking to the imagination; but it is to the imagination only, not the understanding; for whoever consults this faculty will see at first glance, that. This every one knows, and will readily allow upon being suggested, yet still cannot behold, nor even cast a thought upon those objects without shuddering; for knowing that a living person must suffer grievously under such appearances, they become habitually formidable to the mind, and. There is usually one pang added voluntarily and unnecessarily to the fear of death, by our affecting to compassionate the loss which others will have. If that were all, we might reasonably set our minds at rest. The pathetic exhortation on country tombstones, 'grieve not for me, my wife and children dear etc., is for the most part speedily followed to the letter. We do not leave so great a void in society as we are inclined to imagine, partly to magnify our own importance, and partly to console ourselves by sympathy.
It was as if a waxen image had been laid out in the coffin, and strewed with innocent flowers. It was not like death, but more like an image of life! No breath moved the lips, no pulse stirred, no sight or sound would enter those eyes or ears more. While i looked at it, i saw no pain was there; it seemed to smile at the short pang of life which was over: but I could not bear the coffin-lid to be closedit seemed to stifle me; and still as the nettles wave. An ivory or marble image, like chantry's monument of the two children, is margaret contemplated with pure delight. Why do we not grieve and fret that the marble is not alive, or fancy that it has a shortness of breath? It never was alive; and it is the difficulty of making the transition from life to death, the struggle between the two in our imagination, that confounds their properties painfully together, and makes us conceive that the infant that is but just dead, still wants. Perhaps religious considerations reconcile the mind to this change sooner than any others, by representing the spirit as fled to another sphere, and leaving the body behind. So in reflecting on death generally, we mix up the idea of life with it, and thus make it the ghastly monster.
But I have thought and suffered too much to be willing to have thought and suffered in looking back, it sometimes appears to me as if I had in a manner slept out my life in a dream or shadow on the side of the. Waked out of this dim, twilight existence, and startled with the passing scene, i have felt a wish to descend to the world of realities, and join in the chase. But I fear too late, and that I had better return to my bookish chimeras and indolence once more! Zanetto, lascia le donne, et studia la matematica. I will think. It is not wonderful that the contemplation and fear of death become more familiar to us as we approach nearer to it: that life seems to ebb with the decay of blood and youthful spirits; and that as we find everything about us subject. I have never seen death but once, and that was in an infant. It is years ago. The look was calm and placid, and the face was fair and firm.
No fear Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet
For myself, i do not complain of the essay greater thickness of the atmosphere as i approach the narrow house. I felt it more formerly, when the idea alone seemed to suppress a thousand rising hopes, and weighed upon the pulses of the blood. At present I rather feel a thinness and want of support, i stretch out my hand to some homework object and find none, i am too much in a world of abstraction; the naked map of life is spread out before me, and in the emptiness. In my youth I could not behold him for the crowd of objects and feelings, and Hope stood always between us, saying, 'never mind that old fellow!' If I had lived indeed, i should not care to die. But I do not like a contract of pleasure broken off unfulfilled, a marriage with joy unconsummated, a promise of happiness rescinded. My public and private hopes have been left a ruin, or remain only to mock.
I would wish them to be re-edified. I should like to see some prospect of good to mankind, such as my life began with. I should like to leave some sterling work behind. I should like to have some friendly hand to consign me to the grave. On these conditions i am ready, if not willing, to depart. I shall then write on my tombgrateful and contented!
No young man ever thinks he shall die. He may believe that others will, or assent to the doctrine that 'all men are mortal' as an abstract proposition, but he is far enough from bringing it home to himself individually. Youth, buoyant activity, and animal spirits, hold absolute antipathy with old age as well as with death; nor have we, in the hey-day of life, any more than in the thoughtlessness of childhood, the remotest conception how. This sensible warm motion can become. A kneaded clod nor how sanguine, florid health and vigour, shall 'turn to withered, weak, and grey.' Or if in a moment of idle speculation we indulge in this notion of the close of life as a theory, it is amazing at what a distance.
We eye the farthest verge of the horizon, and think what a way we shall have to look back upon, ere we arrive at our journey's end; and without our in the least suspecting it, the mists are at our feet, and the shadows. The two divisions of our lives have melted into each other: the extreme points close and meet with none of that romantic interval stretching out between them that we had reckoned upon; and for the rich, melancholy, solemn hues of age, 'the sear, the yellow. There is no inducement to look forward; and what is worse, little interest in looking back to what has become so trite and common. The pleasures of our existence have worn themselves out, are 'gone into the wastes of time or have turned their indifferent side to us: the pains by their repeated blows have worn us out, and have left us neither spirit nor inclination to encounter them. We do not want to rip up old grievances, nor to renew our youth like the phoenix, nor to live our lives twice over. As the tree falls, so let it lie. Shut up the book and close the account once for all! It has been thought by some that life is like the exploring of a passage that grows narrower and darker the farther we advance, without a possibility of ever turning back, and where we are stifled for want of breath at last.
The only thing we have to fear is the culture of fear itself
This shows that our attachment is not confined either to being or to well-being; but that we have an inveterate prejudice in favour of our immediate existence, such as. The mountaineer will not leave his rock, nor the savage his hut; neither are writings we willing to give up our present mode of life, with all its advantages and disadvantages, for any other that could be substituted for. No man would, i think, exchange his existence with any other man, however fortunate. We had as lief not be, as not be ourselves. There are some persons of that reach of soul that they would like to live two hundred and fifty years hence, to see to what height of empire America will have grown up in that period, or whether the English constitution will last so long. These are points beyond. But I confess father's I should like to live to see the downfall of the bourbons. That is a vital question with me; and I shall like it the better, the sooner it happens!
It is not so much that we care to be alive a hundred or town a thousand years hence, any more than to have been alive a hundred or a thousand years ago: but the thing lies here, that we would all of us wish the. We would be as we are, and would have the world remain just as it is, to please. The present eye catches the present object to have and to hold while it may; and abhors, on any terms, to have it torn from us, and nothing left in its room. It is the pang of parting, the unloosing our grasp, the breaking asunder some strong tie, the leaving some cherished purpose unfulfilled, that creates the repugnance to go, and 'makes calamity of so long life as it often. There's such a covenant 'twixt the world and thee. They're loth to break! The love of life, then, is an habitual attachment, not an abstract principle. Simply to be does not 'content man's natural desire we long to be in a certain time, place, and circumstance. We would much rather be now, 'on this bank and shoal of time than have our choice of any future period, than take a slice of fifty or sixty years out of the millennium, for instance.
have set out on our journey sooner; and feel that we have had quite enough to do to battle our way through since. We cannot say, the wars we well remember of King Nine, of old Assaracus and Inachus divine. Neither have we any wish: we are contented to read of them in story, and to stand and gaze at the vast sea of time that separates us from them. It was early days then: the world was not well-aired enough for us: we have no inclination to have been up and stirring. We do not consider the six thousand years of the world before we were born as so much time lost to us: we are perfectly indifferent about the matter. We do not grieve and lament that we did not happen to be in time to see the grand mask and pageant of human life going on in all that period; though we are mortified at being obliged to quit our stand before the rest. It may be suggested in explanation of this difference, that we know from various records and traditions what happened in the time of queen Anne, or even in the reigns of the Assyrian monarchs, but that we have no means of ascertaining what. This is not at all the case; for at that rate we should be constantly wishing to make a voyage of discovery to Greenland or to the moon, neither of which we have, in general, the least desire. Neither, in truth, have we any particular solicitude to pry into the secrets of futurity, but as a pretext for prolonging our own existence.
To die is only to be as we were before we were born; yet no one feels any remorse, or regret, or repugnance, in contemplating this last idea. It is rather a relief and disburthening of the mind: it seems to have been holiday-time with us then: we were not called to appear upon the stage of life, to wear robes or tatters, to laugh or cry, be hooted or applauded; we had. And the worst that we dread is, after a short, fretful, feverish being, after vain hopes and idle fears, to sink to final repose again, and forget the troubled dream of life! Ye armed men, knights templars, that sleep in the stone aisles of that old Temple church, where all is silent above, and where a deeper silence reigns below (not broken by the pealing organ are ye not contented where ye lie? Or would pdf you come out of your long homes to go to the holy war? Or do ye complain that pain no longer visits you, that sickness has done its worst, that you have paid the last debt to nature, that you hear no more of the thickening phalanx of the foe, or your lady's waning love; and that while. Thou, to whom my heart turns, and will turn while it has feeling left, who didst love in vain, and whose first was thy last sigh, wilt not thou too rest in peace (or wilt thou cry to me complaining from thy clay-cold bed) when.
Fear: Anti-semitism in Poland After Auschwitz: Jan Gross
And our little life is rounded with a general sleep. Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end. There was a time when we were not: this gives us no concernwhy, then, should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be? I have no wish to have been alive a hundred years ago, or in the reign of queen Anne: why should I regret and lay it so much to heart that I shall not be alive a hundred years hence, in the reign. When Bickerstaff wrote his Essays i knew nothing of the subjects of them; nay, much later, and but the other day, as it were, in the beginning of the reign of george iii., when Goldsmith, johnson, burke, used to meet at the Globe, when Garrick. Why, then, should I make all this outcry about parting with it, and being no worse off than I was before? There is nothing in the recollection that at a certain time we were not come into the world that 'the gorge rises at'why should we revolt at the idea that we must one day go out of it?