Homage to Horace

 

Quintus Horatius Flaccus, better known these days as "Horace," was a Roman poet of the time of Augustus.  He was the son of a freedman, and therefore nothing special in status as measured at the time, but he made his mark in the history of the time and not merely as a poet.  He had the mixed fortune of living during the time Rome was changing from a republic of sorts to an empire as we know an empire to be now; in fact, the model of an empire as we know it.  He was on the wrong side of that metamorphosis for a time, serving in the army of Marcus Brutus in opposition to the avenging adopted son and grand nephew of Julius Caesar, to be known as Augustus, and Marcus Antonius and that other member of the Second Triumvirate, little remembered in comparison, Lepidus. 

Brutus having lost, Horace wisely pivoted and became a great fan of Augustus, and in his good graces, due, it would seem, to his friendship with others who introduced him to Augustus' friend and fixer, Maecenas.  Maecenas was also a patron of the arts, and Horace became a favorite of his; he even conveyed to him a villa, the remains of which can still be seen, which Horace treasured.

The painting of Horace appearing at the head of this post is by Giacomo Di Chirico, an artist of the 19th century.  I don't know who is intended to be represented by the figures floating above his shoulders.  By location, they seem similar to the angel and devil often shown as giving us counsel, or trying to persuade us, in Christian tradition.  But presumably the painter was aware of the fact that Horace was not a Christian.  My guess would be they represent the Muses.

Horace is probably most famous in these time due to a quote from one of his Odes in turn made famous by the movie The Dead Poets Society.  The quotation is "Carpe diem" which in the movie was translated as "seize the day."  But it seems the more correct translation is "pluck the day."

For me, "seize" is inappropriate because to seize something is to take hold of it forcefully, to capture it, to take possession of something forcefully.  There's nothing of that spirit in the Ode in question, nor is there anything like that in the spirit of Horace.  Horace is no Nietzsche, throttling joy.  He is a poet of moderation in thought and conduct.  He seeks contentment, and wisdom.  One should pluck fruit when it is ripe; no too soon, not too late.  The present moment is what we have, and worrying over and trying to predict the future is vain and disturbing.  Thus we should pluck the day as we would a ripe fruit and enjoy it.

Epicurean and Stoic sentiments and suggestions abound in Horace's work.  Whether he was especially one or the other isn't clear to me.  It seems that scholars think him more Stoic than Epicurean, but I suspect he was more of a hybrid of the two, as other Romans were--though Seneca tells us he's a Stoic, he often quotes Epicurus in his letters with approval.  In any case, however, Stoic references are clear in his works, particularly when he writes, as he often does, of the wisdom of not letting things beyond our control disturb us or move us to commit misconduct and error.

Horace's poems are clear and simple.  Though the constant references to mythology and events described in Homer are annoying, they're sparse compared with those of other poets of the time (excepting Martial, who is always an exception).  They're filled with good sense, they praise friendship as an ideal, they resound with a love of the natural world, they deplore superstition, exalt Reason and the intelligent spirit running through nature.

His works are those of a genial. gifted, intelligent, urbane, kind, wise and sophisticated man of the world.  There's no angst or despair, no malice, no grandiosity; he's not pompous.  He flatters his benefactors artfully, but not slavishly.  An admirable man and artist, I think.

Despite the fact that there is no melodrama or Sturm und Drang in his works, no ennui, he's remembered with admiration after 2,000 years.  My guess is that's the case because what he writes of is the wisdom and contentment which is gained from living in the moment, necessarily meaning there is no self-pity or self-regard, or despair to consume and confuse us.  

Wokeness and Fantasy

There's something curious about the popularity of stories involving fantasy worlds and the exploits of superheroes in these irritatingly interesting times.  They seem ubiquitous, on the small and large screens, in computer games, in books or whatever passes for books.  I suppose it tells us something when what entertains us is so completely different from the world in which we live and we obsess on the exploits of characters we can never emulate, simply because they do not and cannot exist.

I suppose, also, that what it tells us isn't to our credit.  But I think we deserve very little credit indeed when we insist that our fantasy heroes must possess what we consider to be appropriate racial or cultural characteristics, based on what we poor dwellers in reality believe exist in the real world we seek so energetically to escape.

There are no dwarves, elves, hobbits, golden-haired Targaryens, Vulcans or whatever fantasy creatures or beings we like to obsess over.  It seems preposterous, therefore, to insist that they must be of any particular race.  It follows that it's even more preposterous to complain that if they're not depicted as being of a particular race, there's some nefarious form or wokeness or identity politics at work.

It would seem to be the height of petulance, if not a sign of very low self-esteem, for a white person to be angered or concerned in any way that an elf or dwarf or whatever imaginary creature one may delight in isn't portrayed as white also.  How much must such a person have invested in cherishing a fantasy to be so affected?  The term "nerd" is too mild to describe such an unfortunate.  Imagine being someone who is offended because Elrond, or Gandalf, or Aragorn isn't being played by someone who is white, if you can.  What could be more grotesque?

I can understand that a departure from or addition to the story-line of a beloved work may, and even should, result in complaints.  I can think of a few that annoyed me--the battling rock-giants and "were-worms" which turned up in Peter Jackson's interpretation of The Lord of the Rings didn't appear in the books and were inserted for no good reason (at least none that I can think of).  The love story about a dwarf and an elf, particularly an elf that wasn't mentioned in the books to begin with, was irritating.  Such gratuitous tinkering adds little to the movies and disgusts those who know the novels.

But the fact a dwarf or an elf is black, for example, isn't objectionable to me if the dwarf or elf behaves as a dwarf or elf may be expected to behave in the context of the fantasy world.  If we humans are of various races or have different skin colors, why shouldn't dwarves be the same, for the love of God?  It's not as if they're being depicted, or certain of them are, with four legs or wings or breathing fire.

Anachronism can be disturbing.  One understands this.  Julius Caesar piloting a B-52 during the civil war with Pompey and his followers would be either hilarious or absurd, and perhaps both at the same time.  But there are levels of anachronism, some tolerable and explicable, some not; some gratuitous, some not.  And fantasy is fantasy, not something we should make part of the culture wars taking place in our lugubrious reality.