Memento Mori

These are the words we are told were whispered in the ears of Romans granted a triumph as they rode their chariots to the Capitol.  "Remember you are mortal," they were advised.  One would think the reminder would be unnecessary, but clearly it is not, as we take pains to remind ourselves of this fact, now and then, if not at the moment we achieve glory or are glorified.
I've been reminded of this twice in the last three years, rather forcefully, and so am inclined to opine on my mortality; but I find myself very much at a loss to say anything that has not already been said by someone over the tens if not hundreds of thousands of years we have pondered our fate.  It makes one wonder whether death is in a sense banal, but it cannot be, as it cannot be said to be boring, no matter that it is obvious.  But what can be asserted intelligently beyond the fact that we die, which is to say at the least that we no longer exist as we have existed?

Marcus Aurelius apparently believed that we either dissolve into the atoms the ancients felt made up the universe, or are absorbed into the Divine Reason.  Others have believed otherwise; it seems there is no end to the alternatives available to our imagination if to nothing else.  We may simply cease to be.  We may go to heaven or to hell.  We may transmigrate, reincarnate.  We may continue to exist is some other universe. 

We are vitally concerned regarding our fate, yet there is clearly nothing unique about it.  All livings things change, age and die; at least those living things of which we are aware.  Perhaps there will come a time when we may avoid this fate, perhaps that time will never come.  We consider ourselves unique because we are aware of our fate--we know we will die, while other livings things do not (we are presumptuous if nothing else).  This has caused the more self-loving among us to dramatically despair, usually in rather florid, self-pitying essays, poems and novels.  But this reaction seems less than useful, even futile and silly.  It is rather like loudly protesting the fact that we continually urinate.

What can we usefully do in response to the fact that we will die?  This would appear to be the only intelligent inquiry that can be made if our concern is regarding how we are to live rather than to speculate about what might happen when we cease living; something we cannot determine much as we may want to. 

Unsurprisingly, this is a question which has been addressed.  We have not always been melodramatic, self-regarding romantics or mere believers in a paradise awaiting us in some other realm.  Wise men and women have considered the issue, and have come to make inferences which are sensible.

"Live every moment as if it were your last moment" or words similar to them have been said and written time and again.  This is advice many have given though they have believed very different things regarding what may or may not happen after we have lived.  This is good advice because it relates to what is in our control.  That we will die is something we clearly cannot control.  Our concern should be how we live, i.e. with things we can do or not do.

Should we then "eat, drink and be merry"--words we have also heard said over our history?  Well, there is certainly nothing wrong with eating, drinking or being merry.  But it's doubtful we can be merry all the time.  We can relish the times we are merry, certainly.  However, there are times in our interaction with the universe and others in it when we are confronted with problems, fears, dangers and things which decidedly are not the stuff of merriment, and we must face them as well. 

We can act in accordance with nature, as the Stoics taught.  We are intelligent creatures, social creatures, made up of the stuff which makes up the universe of which we are a part.  We can act reasonably and do so by doing the best we can with what is in our control.  We can try to do this at every moment, and when we die do so knowing this this has been our goal in life, and be content. 

On Having a Heart Attack

This has been something of a surprise.  While exercising the other day, I began to feel ill.  Substantially ill, in fact.  My chest began to feel tight, I experienced nausea, I broke into a cold sweat, nothing like the "hot" sweat which usually accompanies my workout.  I had the good sense to stop, and sat down, hoping that what seemed to be happening was not.  After I time, I began to feel better, and wobbled off to my car.  I hoped to make it home, there to "get better", but it was not to be.  I ended up pulling to the side of the road and croaking over my cell phone to my wife, who fortunately realized I was having problems and came and took me to a relatively nearby hospital.

Heart attacks, I will have you know, can hurt.  They can hurt a great deal.  I made this known as I was poked and prodded by various medical personnel.  Morphine was applied.  I found it most disappointing.  Nitroglycerin was taken.  Aspirin was chewed.  It was decided I should be transported to another hospital, and so I was bundled into an ambulance and had a most uncomfortable ride during which I gently noted I was feeling even more pain.  I was rewarded with another dose of morphine, which I will confess was less disappointing than the first.   Thereafter I was bundled out of the ambulance and into what I think was an operating room, where I had a case of the shakes.   But at that point I was given a very admirable anesthetic, and floated about contentedly while a wire was inserted into my wrist and eventually into an artery which had been blocked and was opened.  A balloon and stent have now been added to the parts which make up the whole of my body.  Now I'm in a hospital bed and am watched by several different machines and persons.  I can look forward to several different medications, rehab and a profoundly uninteresting diet.  However, I can also feel fortunate to be alive, and be grateful that I didn't have to undergo serious surgery.

The thought that one may soon die, when it has a reasonable basis, can be most sobering.  My admirable doctor genially informed me that I had beaten the "widow maker."  I doubt I can take much credit for this victory.  I think I can say, though, that the very real concern I felt was reasonably well masked, by pain if nothing else.  I did not (vocally) express fear or plead for my life.  I did not ask anyone to give my love and last respects to my family, though I thought of doing so.  I did my best to take what I was experiencing as a good Stoic would, recognizing that there were things beyond my control, willing to accept my fate, and struggling to calm myself in the face of pain and fear.

But fear and pain were present; there can be no doubt about it.  And I felt a great sense of regret.  I even prayed, in a fashion, that I would make it through.  I couldn't remember any of the Hymn of Cleanthes, and no comforting words of Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus or Seneca occurred to me.  I thought of counting breaths, or doing something which would divert my attention from the pain  and fear.  I ended up reciting the "Our Father" for a time.  I've always thought it a lovely, simple prayer, and I knew it well, which was somehow very important at the time.

I'm still struggling to accept the fact I've had a heart attack.  It is certainly an interesting experience.  So is the realization that one might die.  I've often wondered how I would face death, and now at least have a better idea of how I may do so.  I know for certain that I would regret dying, which is to say I would regret no longer living, but am uncertain if I know much else.  Still, that in itself is something important, and useful, to know.

Dulce et decorum est...?

These are words of Horace, called an "old lie" by Wilfred Owen, a poet who knew war all too well. 

It's that time of the year when we ponder the fate and nature of those who have waged war, and are in a position to do so.  It seems fitting in an odd sort of way that November 11th is singled out for this purpose, the day on which the combat stage of what was once called the Great War ended.  That war it seems is no longer quite so "great" as we humans managed to engage in an even "greater" war within in a short time thereafter, and have been engaged in one war or another ever since, whether we call it such or not.

I am fascinated in some ways by the First World War.  It's a fascination with what I think is the extraordinarily terrible and stupid manner in which it was fought, at least on its western front.  That's not to say that other wars, ancient or modern, were not terrible and stupid.  William Tecumseh Sherman is credited with the assertion that "War is all hell" and is said to have been the first to have executed "total war" by marching his troops through the Confederacy, devastating every thing and person in their path.  That assertion is apparently accepted by most, but I wonder if most of us appreciate the significance of the word "all" in that statement.  I think Sherman meant to note that everything about war is hell, even those aspects of it we tend to glorify.

I think WWI was remarkable in its brutality and the manner in which it was waged.  The deadlock on the western front resulted in trench warfare, the use of artillery to such an extent it's likely it would have horrified even Napoleon, and such novelties as mining opposing trenches, i.e. digging under them and placing under them stupendous amounts of explosives, which when set off actually vaporized many of those above.  Tactics came to consist of hurling men at entrenched positions in the face of fire from machine guns and rifles.  The fate of soldiers in the last hours of that war strikes me as particularly tragic.  Commanders knew when the cease fire was to take place to the very minute, and some of them continued to send their men to death to the very end.  I find it difficult to conceive of anything so peculiarly cruel and futile.

I find myself wondering what a Stoic should think of war.  I confess I can't remember reading anything by Stoics such as Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius or Seneca addressing the subject in any detail.  Of course the Emperor was actively engaged in war while writing what we call his Meditations; we may infer, then, that he was willing to wage war in some circumstances.  I think we can conclude that Cicero felt it was justified in some cases as well.  The book Stoic Warriors by Nancy Sherman seems to claim that the Stoic philosophy is favored by our modern warriors.  I can see that certain aspects of Stoicism would be attractive to a soldier, but am not certain Stoicism can be said to be the path of a soldier.

I think we can at the least maintain that a Stoic would not engage in a war of aggression.  A Stoic would not be interested in obtaining territory, resources, slaves, or harming others due to hate or racism, nor would a Stoic feel it necessary that others live or think in particular ways and seek to compel them to do so.  The view that we should for the most part be indifferent to things which are not in our control would seem to render the notion of war irrelevant.  This is not even to mention the Stoic belief that we are equally citizens of the world (universe, I suppose) and united by the fact that we share in the Divine Reason.

Then there are the "Stoic martyrs" who refused to bow to the will of certain of the emperors and sought to do what they felt right in the face of death or banishment.  This is not an attitude one would think would be deemed useful to a soldier.  However, it's clear that Stoicism fosters a sense of duty, and in particular public duty.

If the nation of which the Stoic is a citizen is attacked, what would a Stoic do?  I think whether it was justly attacked would play some part in any decision.  But although we are to be indifferent to things beyond our control, I don't think a Stoic would refrain from defending others from harm, or stand idle while their lives and rights are threatened.

On the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter

Well, it was written by someone, in any case, and it seems it could have been the man known to us as Petronius Arbiter.  Most of us may know that man as a result of his portrayal in the novel Quo Vadis if not through Tacitus.  The sophisticated, cynical (in the modern usage) "arbiter of elegance" in the court of Nero, a voluptuary who nonetheless was a very able governor and consul, a kind of later Sulla who did not exercise significant military or political authority but seemingly had the ability and gravitas to do so when needed.

The Satyricon is a fascinating work, and I think may be said to be a work of genius, the first of its kind, a predecessor perhaps of the work of Rabelais and Cervantes, the first picaresque novel or work of fiction.  I remember trying to read it years ago.  I write "trying" because it was not an easy book to find, and because its many naughty bits (as they would say on Monty Python) were rendered in Latin interruptions to the English of the translations that I found.  I thought this most annoying.  Now, of course, the work is available in translation with all those bits on display.  I cannot say with certainty how I would have reacted to them had they been available in the halcyon days of my adolescence, but they are by today's standards at least relatively tame.  One might only find the rampant bisexuality evident in the characters to be surprising in these times. 

Sex certainly is a preoccupation of those characters portrayed in the book, as is food.  The feast of Trimalchio may be deemed a digression, but if so it is fantastic one.  I have to wonder whether the author's description of the incredible dishes served up at the feast was based on actual dinners he had attended simply exaggerated for effect or his own imaginative creations.  Some say Trimalchio is intended to be Nero, some say he is a satirical rendering of the vulgar, wealthy freedman patricians came to loathe in those times.

From what we read in Martial and Juvenal, a great deal of importance was ascribed to appearing at the dinners of the wealthy and powerful in ancient Rome.  I'm not certain whether this was due to the culinary delights available or the significance of being seen at such events.  I suppose both were factors.  Perhaps Trimalchio's feast mocks those events and those who attended them and thought them important.

The characters of the work are, of course, irredeemably shallow and materialistic, which may be expected in a work of satire (and we certainly find such characters in Juvenal).  The Satyricon has among other things been looked upon by the Christian successors of the Empire as evidence of its decadence, and the unholiness of all things Pagan as a consequence.  It is debatable whether such satires are more a testament to the morals of their creators than the prevalence of what they hold up for contempt.

Admirer and emulator of the Stoics that I am or try to be, though, I have a sneaking fondness and regard for the work and for its reputed author, Petronius.  I feel as though there is a kind of resemblance between Petronius and another of Nero's mentors, Seneca.  Both men may have seen Nero for what he was, and felt contempt for the times in which they lived and the morals of those they lived among.  But they played along, for a time, for one reason or another.  Perhaps Seneca felt that he could exercise a degree of benign control over Nero and events; perhaps Petronius felt there was nothing to be done but make the best of things while deploring them.  Perhaps both felt themselves superior to those about them, but caught up in a kind of play in which they were compelled to play their parts.  Seneca consoled himself by writing wise counsel on how to live in the Stoic manner; Petronius mocked those who lived as they did at the time. 

Both died nobly, though, I think, when Nero felt they could no longer be tolerated.  Some might say they should have departed from life earlier, finding it to be intolerable.  It's hard to condemn a man for wanting to live, however.  Living as best one can in terrible times is admirable in its own way.