אין מיתה בלא חטא דכתיב הנפש החוטאת היא תמות בן לא ישא בעון האב ואב לא ישא בעון הבן צדקת הצדיק עליו תהיה ורשעת הרשע עליו תהיה וגו׳ אין יסורין בלא עון דכתיב ופקדתי בשבט פשעם ובנגעים עונם
מיתיבי אמרו מלאכי השרת לפני הקדוש ברוך הוא רבונו של עולם מפני מה קנסת מיתה על אדם הראשון אמר להם מצוה קלה צויתיו ועבר עליה אמר ליה והלא משה ואהרן שקימו כל התורה כלה ומתו אמר ליה מקרה אחד לצדיק ולרשע לטוב וגו׳
הוא דאמר כי האי תנא דתניא רבי שמעון בן אלעזר אומר אף משה ואהרן בחטאם מתו שנאמר יען לא האמנתם בי הא האמנתם בי עדין לא הגיע זמנכם ליפטר מן העולם
The Gemara adduces proof to these assertions: There is no death without sin, as it is written: “The soul that sins, it shall die. The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon him, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon him” (Ezekiel 18:20). And there is no suffering without iniquity, as it is written: “Then I will punish their transgression with the rod and their iniquity with strokes” (Psalms 89:33).
The Gemara raises an objection from the following baraita: The ministering angels said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, why did You penalize Adam, the first man, with death?He said to them: I gave him a simple mitzva, and he violated it. They said to Him: Didn’t Moses and Aaron, who observed the whole Torah in its entirety, nevertheless die? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to them, citing the verse: “All things come alike to all; there is one event to the righteous and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him who sacrifices, and to him who does not sacrifice; as is the good, so is the sinner; and he who swears, as he who fears an oath” (Ecclesiastes 9:2).
The Gemara answers: Rav Ami stated his position in accordance with this tanna, as it was taught in a baraita: Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar said: Even Moses and Aaron died due to their sin, as it is stated: “And the Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron: Because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this congregation in to the land which I have given them” (Numbers 20:12). Had you believed in Me, your time would not yet have come to leave the world.
רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בַּר אַבָּא פָּתַח, הַכֹּל כַּאֲשֶׁר לַכֹּל מִקְרֶה אֶחָד לַצַּדִּיק, זֶה נֹחַ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (בראשית ו, ט): אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה, אָמְרוּ כְּשֶׁיָּצָא מִן הַתֵּבָה הִכִּישׁוֹ אֲרִי וּשְׁבָרוֹ, וְהָיָה צוֹלֵעַ. וְלָרָשָׁע, זֶה פַּרְעֹה, אָמְרוּ כְּשֶׁבָּא פַּרְעֹה לֵישֵׁב עַל כִּסֵּא שְׁלֹמֹה כְּשֶׁלָּקַח בִּכְתֻבַּת בִּתּוֹ לֹא הָיָה יוֹדֵעַ מַנְגָּנִיקוֹן שֶׁלּוֹ וְהִכִּישׁוֹ אֲרִי וּשְׁבָרוֹ, וְהָיָה צוֹלֵעַ, זֶה מֵת צוֹלֵעַ, וְזֶה מֵת צוֹלֵעַ, הֱוֵי: מִקְרֶה אֶחָד לַצַּדִּיק וְלָרָשָׁע. לַטּוֹב, זֶה משֶׁה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (שמות ב, ב): וַתֵּרֶא אוֹתוֹ כִּי טוֹב הוּא, אָמַר רַבִּי מֵאִיר טוֹב, שֶׁהָיָה מָהוּל. וְלַטָּהוֹר, זֶה אַהֲרֹן, שֶׁהָיָה עָסוּק בְּטָהֳרָתָן שֶׁל יִשְׂרָאֵל. וְלַטָּמֵא, אֵלּוּ הַמְרַגְּלִים שֶׁאָמְרוּ דִּבָּה רָעָה עַל הָאָרֶץ וְלֹא נִכְנְסוּ לָאָרֶץ, וְאֵלּוּ אָמְרוּ טוֹבָתָהּ וְשִׁבְחָהּ שֶׁל אֶרֶץ יִשְׂרָאֵל וְלֹא נִכְנְסוּ בָהּ. וְלַזֹּבֵחַ, זֶה יֹאשִׁיָּה, דִּכְתִיב (דברי הימים ב לה, ז): וַיָּרֶם יֹאשִׁיָּהוּ לִבְנֵי הָעָם. וְלַאֲשֶׁר אֵינֶנּוּ זֹבֵחַ, זֶה אַחְאָב, שֶׁבִּטֵּל קָרְבָּן מֵעַל גַּבֵּי הַמִּזְבֵּחַ, זֶה מֵת בַּחִצִּים, וְזֶה מֵת בַּחִצִּים. כַּטּוֹב, זֶה דָּוִד, דִּכְתִיב בֵּיהּ (שמואל א טז, יב): וְטוֹב רֹאִי, אָמַר רַבִּי יִצְחָק וְטוֹב רֹאִי בַּהֲלָכָה, שֶׁכָּל מִי שֶׁהוּא רוֹאֶה אוֹתוֹ זוֹכֵר אֶת תַּלְמוּדוֹ. כַּחֹטֶא, זֶה נְבוּכַדְנֶצַּר, דִּכְתִיב (דניאל ד, כד): וַחֲטָאָךְ בְּצִדְקָה פְרֻק. זֶה בָּנָה בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ וּמָלַךְ אַרְבָּעִים שָׁנָה, וְזֶה הֶחֱרִיבוֹ וּמָלַךְ אַרְבָּעִים שָׁנָה, הֱוֵי: מִקְרֶה אֶחָד. הַנִּשְׁבָּע, זֶה צִדְקִיָּהוּ, דִּכְתִיב (דברי הימים ב לו, יג): אֲשֶׁר הִשְׁבִּיעוֹ, בַּמֶּה הִשְׁבִּיעוֹ, אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹסֵי בַּבְּרִית הִשְׁבִּיעוֹ. רַבִּי אָמַר בַּמִּזְבֵּחַ הִשְׁבִּיעוֹ. כַּאֲשֶׁר שְׁבוּעָה יָרֵא, זֶה שִׁמְשׁוֹן, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (שופטים טו, יב): הִשָּׁבְעוּ לִי. זֶה מֵת בְּנִקּוּר עֵינַיִם, וְזֶה מֵת בְּנִקּוּר עֵינַיִם. דָּבָר אַחֵר, לַצַּדִּיק, אֵלּוּ בָנָיו שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן. וְלָרָשָׁע, אֵלּוּ עֲדַת קֹרַח, אֵלּוּ נִכְנְסוּ לְהַקְרִיב בְּמַחְלֹקֶת וְיָצְאוּ שְׂרוּפִים, וּבְנֵי אַהֲרֹן שֶׁלֹא נִכְנְסוּ בְּמַחְלֹקֶת וְיָצְאוּ שְׂרוּפִים, הֲדָא הוּא דִכְתִיב (ויקרא טז, א): אַחֲרֵי מוֹת שְׁנֵי בְּנֵי אַהֲרֹן וגו'.
Confession
Tolstoy
So I lived; but five years ago something very strange began to happen to me. At first I experienced moments of perplexity and arrest of life, and though I did not know what to do or how to live; and I felt lost and became dejected. But this passed and I went on living as before. Then these moments of perplexity began to recur oftener and oftener, and always in the same form. They were always expressed by the questions: What is it for? What does it lead to?
At first it seemed to me that these were aimless and irrelevant questions. I thought that it was all well known, and that if I should ever wish to deal with the solution it would not cost me much effort; just at present I had no time for it, but when I wanted to I should be able to find the answer. The questions however began to repeat themselves frequently, and to demand replies more and more insistently; and like drops of ink always falling on one place they ran together into one black blot.
Then occurred what happens to everyone sickening with a mortal internal disease. At first trivial signs of indisposition appear to which the sick man pays no attention; then these signs reappear more and more often and merge into one uninterrupted period of suffering. The suffering increases, and before the sick man can look round, what he took for a mere indisposition has already become more important to him than anything else in the world--it is death!
That is what happened to me. I understood that it was no casual indisposition but something very important, and that if these questions constantly repeated themselves they would have to be answered. And I tried to answer them. The questions seemed such stupid, simple, childish ones; but as soon as I touched them and tried to solve them I at once became convinced, first, that they are not childish and stupid but the most important and profound of life's questions; and secondly that, occupying myself with my Samara estate, the education of my son, or the writing of a book, I had to know why I was doing it. As long as I did not know why, I could do nothing and could not live. Amid the thoughts of estate management which greatly occupied me at that time, the question would suddenly occur: "Well, you will have 6,000 desyatinas of land in Samara Government and 300 horses, and what then?" And I was quite disconcerted and did not know what to think. Or when considering plans for the education of my children, I would say to myself: "What for?" Or when considering how the peasants might become prosperous, I would suddenly say to myself: "But what does it matter to me?" Or when thinking of the fame my works would bring me, I would say to myself, "Very well; you will be more famous than Gogol or Pushkin or Shakespeare or Moliere, or than all the writers in the world--and what of it?" And I could find no reply at all. The questions would not wait, they had to be answered at once, and if I did not answer them it was impossible to live. But there was no answer.
...
The truth was that life is meaningless. I had as it were lived, lived, and walked, walked, till I had come to a precipice and saw clearly that there was nothing ahead of me but destruction. It was impossible to stop, impossible to go back, and impossible to close my eyes or avoid seeing that there was nothing ahead but suffering and real death--complete annihilation.
...
There is an Eastern fable, told long ago, of a traveller overtaken on a plain by an enraged beast. Escaping from the beast he gets into a dry well, but sees at the bottom of the well a dragon that has opened its jaws to swallow him. And the unfortunate man, not daring to climb out lest he should be destroyed by the enraged beast, and not daring to leap to the bottom of the well lest he should be eaten by the dragon, seizes s twig growing in a crack in the well and clings to it. His hands are growing weaker and he feels he will soon have to resign himself to the destruction that awaits him above or below, but still he clings on. Then he sees that two mice, a black one and a white one, go regularly round and round the stem of the twig to which he is clinging and gnaw at it. And soon the twig itself will snap and he will fall into the dragon's jaws. The traveller sees this and knows that he will inevitably perish; but while still hanging he looks around, sees some drops of honey on the leaves of the twig, reaches them with his tongue and licks them. So I too clung to the twig of life, knowing that the dragon of death was inevitably awaiting me, ready to tear me to pieces; and I could not understand why I had fallen into such torment. I tried to lick the honey which formerly consoled me, but the honey no longer gave me pleasure, and the white and black mice of day and night gnawed at the branch by which I hung. I saw the dragon clearly and the honey no longer tasted sweet. I only saw the unescapable dragon and the mice, and I could not tear my gaze from them. and this is not a fable but the real unanswerable truth intelligible to all.
The deception of the joys of life which formerly allayed my terror of the dragon now no longer deceived me. No matter how often I may be told, "You cannot understand the meaning of life so do not think about it, but live," I can no longer do it: I have already done it too long. I cannot now help seeing day and night going round and bringing me to death. That is all I see, for that alone is true. All else is false.
Laches
Plato
Soc. But what would you say of a foolish endurance? Is not that, on the other hand, to be regarded as evil and hurtful?
La. True.
Soc. And is anything noble which is evil and hurtful?
La. I ought not to say that, Socrates.
Soc. Then you would not admit that sort of endurance to be courage-for it is not noble, but courage is noble?
La. You are right.
Soc. Then, according to you, only the wise endurance is courage?
La. True.
Soc. But as to the epithet "wise,"-wise in what? In all things small as well as great? For example, if a man shows the quality of endurance in spending his money wisely, knowing that by spending he will acquire more in the end, do you call him courageous?
La. Assuredly not.
Soc. Or, for example, if a man is a physician, and his son, or some patient of his, has inflammation of the lungs, and begs that he may be allowed to eat or drink something, and the other is firm and refuses; is that courage?
La. No; that is not courage at all, any more than the last.
Soc. Again, take the case of one who endures in war, and is willing to fight, and wisely calculates and knows that others will help him, and that there will be fewer and inferior men against him than there are with him; and suppose that he has also advantages of position; would you say of such a one who endures with all this wisdom and preparation, that he, or some man in the opposing army who is in the opposite circumstances to these and yet endures and remains at his post, is the braver?
La. I should say that the latter, Socrates, was the braver.
Soc. But, surely, this is a foolish endurance in comparison with the other?
La. That is true.
Soc. Then you would say that he who in an engagement of cavalry endures, having the knowledge of horsemanship, is not so courageous as he who endures, having no such knowledge?
La. So I should say.
Soc. And he who endures, having a knowledge of the use of the sling, or the bow, or of any other art, is not so courageous as he who endures, not having such a knowledge?
La. True.
Soc. And he who descends into a well, and dives, and holds out in this or any similar action, having no knowledge of diving, or the like, is, as you would say, more courageous than those who have this knowledge?
La. Why, Socrates, what else can a man say?
Soc. Nothing, if that be what he thinks.
La. But that is what I do think.
Soc. And yet men who thus run risks and endure are foolish, Laches, in comparison of those who do the same things, having the skill to do them.
La. That is true.
Soc. But foolish boldness and endurance appeared before to be base and hurtful to us.
La. Quite true.
Soc. Whereas courage was acknowledged to be a noble quality.
La. True.
Soc. And now on the contrary we are saying that the foolish endurance, which was before held in dishonour, is courage.
La. Very true.
Soc. And are we right in saying so?
La. Indeed, Socrates, I am sure that we are not right.
...
Soc. Indeed, Lysimachus, I should be very wrong in refusing to aid in the improvement of anybody. And if I had shown in this conversation that I had a knowledge which Nicias and Laches have not, then I admit that you would be right in inviting me to perform this duty; but as we are all in the same perplexity, why should one of us be preferred to another? I certainly think that no one should; and under these circumstances, let me offer you a piece of advice (and this need not go further than ourselves). I maintain, my friends, that every one of us should seek out the best teacher whom he can find, first for ourselves, who are greatly in need of one, and then for the youth, regardless of expense or anything. But I cannot advise that we remain as we are. And if any one laughs at us for going to school at our age, I would quote to them the authority of Homer, who says, that
Modesty is not good for a needy man. Let us, then, regardless of what may be said of us, make the education of the youths our own education.