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Monthly Archives: November 2014

Thinking of Seneca, Doing, and Meaning

27 Thursday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Latin

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Acting, Action, Carpe Diem, Cras, Doing, Facio, Idleness, latin, Procrastinate, Roman Philosophy, rome, Seneca, Stoicism, tomorrow

It is Latin Thursday, and I thought I would bring about some Seneca. We have some letter which Seneca wrote to an individual named Lucilius. Although we are not sure if the individual was a real person or just a rhetoric device used for the development of philosophical thought the letters are some of the best examples of stoic philosophy we have. In this example, Seneca has just spoken about proper usage of time, and closes with the following sentence:

Fac ergo, mi Lucili, quod facere te scribis, omnes horas conplectere. Sic fiet, ut minus ex crastino pendeas, si hodierno manum inieceris. Dum differentur, vita transcurrit.
Hence do, my Lucilius, which you yourself write about doing, to encompass every hour. Thus it will be done, so that you will depend less on things of tomorrow, if things of today will be held in hand. Since it is scattered, life, as it runs along.
Por lo tanto hazlo, mi Lucilius, aquello que tu mismo escribes, de abrazar toda hora. Así será hecho, para que dependas menos en el mañana, si las cosas de hoy tienes en mano. Ya que es esparcida, la vida, al pasar de largo.

Carpe diem (Horace wrote that, by the way), right? Certainly. There is a reason why the Romans have several verbs representative of doing. I spoke, recently, of how important ‘to do’ was in Roman Culture. Romans even have an entire noun case (the Ablative) that basically emphasizes who or what is doing an action. Pronouns are especially important in Latin; after all, we wouldn’t want someone to be accredited with something they didn’t do, right? Similarly, mos maiorum, the traditions, were past deeds proven to have been the benefit of a family or the state. This is why I love how Seneca begins this paragraph: “Fac ergo.”

“Hence do.”

If you are looking for a family motto, this may be a good one for you. It is not about laying idle, not even about getting up in the morning; it isn’t even about starting the day right. It is about doing something once you are up, about making use of the time you have now (that you have accomplished waking up early) given yourself, about using the advantages of a good breakfast to accomplish something. I also love the use of ergo to denote the result of ponderous pondering. Ergo represents the conclusion of a lifetime thinking about this, of Seneca wondering about the meaning of life and deeds. Thus, ‘do’ is not just a nice little thing we do; logic has dictated ‘doing’ is the best course of action. “Carpe diem” certainly has this connotation. For is it in the active seizing of the day that we find most things can be accomplished. Of course, Fac (my favorite verb in Latin because it sounds so much like one particular word in the English language – Facio, ‘to do’ is nice, but facit, ‘it has been done,’ has a tone of disdain in Latin and in English. Remember ‘c’ in Latin is a ‘k’ sound when you pronounce it.) is also in the Imperative mood, meaning Seneca is commanding us, or Lucilius, to do this thing.

Alas, we are far from done with Seneca’s statement; we have just seen the tip of the iceberg, and must now dive to see the rest. Seneca endears himself to his audience by calling his subject “mi Lucili.” This use of the possessive as a term of endearment (think of the English ‘my (little) girl’ or ‘my dear’) softens the blow from the Imperative we saw earlier. Seneca is admonishing (admoneo) out of love, not hate. The reason for this admonition is made clear next, for it was us who said we would do the thing we are being told to do. There are things we have not completed in our lives, things that we put off due to excuses or actual lack of time; now we are being called to an accounting for our lack of action. This emphasis in doing is better understood in a literal translation of that sentence:

“Do, hence, do, my Lucilius, that which to do, yourself, you wrote about.”

Seneca points the finger, unashamedly, to the person he is speaking to. Notice, also, the use of the personal pronoun for emphasis in order to remove the engendering of the idea from himself, and remind the person he was the one who first suggested it. What was that idea? “To encompass every hour.” Ah, here is our true “carpe diem” statement. The verb ‘conplectō’ is a close relative of the English ‘complete.’ In a society such as the Roman whose roots were agrarian, to complete was basically the same as to include. ‘Includō’ (to include) literally meant to enclose something around something else and yourself, such as a pen for pigs; everything inside the enclosure was thus included. ‘Conplectō’ had the same idea, except you were surrounding and closing to attach yourself to someone, or something, with your arms; hence the meaning as embrace/encompass. Funny how, to the Romans, you included by shutting everything else out. Inclusion was a process of cutting from something else, not adding to a whole. We are strange people.

Seneca now feels he must explain, once again, why this matters. He feels our skepticism, after all. The Future Perfect tense of ‘facio’ is used here. The deed not having been done yet Seneca says it will be done if, and only if, you put your mind to the task; with the result that “minus ex crastino pendeas.” ‘Minus’ is easy enough to identify as ‘less;’ ex (out) is self-explanatory. ‘Cras’ is a bit more complex. It is some ancient Latin word for ‘tomorrow,’ and which I like to remember as ‘crashing.’ ‘Cras’ is the root to ‘procrastinate’ (pro ‘for’ + cras ‘tomorrow’ + tinat(e) ‘thing held’) and ‘pendeo’ literally ‘leaving pending.’ In other words, you will be less dependent on what tomorrow may bring if you do now and don’t procrastinate. You have to love Latin for its simplicity, and yet wonder at its intrinsic complexity. At this point, all said and done, Seneca includes a metaphor. The deed is that which, being on your hand (held), is fact. Done. Ended. Look at your hand, see the deed there, done; that is how you gain independence from tomorrow, from the unknown. You go to bed with a quiet mind, and you are able to rest properly knowing that tomorrow will bring doings of a different kind, but things of doing none the less.

Finally, a moral, a pun to tidy things up nicely. I feel exhausted, mentally drained by the work Seneca has put me through; I am sure you feel the same. I think of the work Seneca has done, though. Putting so much care in every word; everything picked for Lucilius, for us, me and you. We wonder, aloud, why this matters so. All this grammar and construction, the endless myriad of meaning concocted by the alchemist and made into a potion so complex and yet so simple. We see it, in front of us, in a cup filled with generic-seeming ambrosia and yet now we know its composition; its complexities. There we are, reader, at the crux of life. Should you drink or should you pass? Should you move away or closer to what Seneca and the Stoics offer? While you decide, consider the philosopher’s last sentence:

“Because it is scattered, life, as it runs along.”

Go back to that image of the hand. See life in its palm, melting away at the passing of time, scattered by the very fingers that are meant to keep it together. Life runs, like water and sand through every small crevice, unstoppable, like time itself.

Seize it now, reader.
Do not watch time
slip along idle fingers.
Do, act, seize, be, take;
not tomorrow, but today.

Valete!

Thinking on Charity, Corinthians 13, and Bible Meanings

26 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Like the Ancients

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ancient greek, bible, caring, Charity, classical greek, Corinthians 13, love, philology, philosophy, religion, St. Paul

It is Greek Quote Wednesday, and I have found an oldie that serves as a newbie.

Once, someone asked me what I thought on Charity and the modern understanding of the word in our culture. This paper is my answer, in a few pages.

Charity is the Whole

Χαίρετε!

Thinking of Caesar, Manliness, and the Letter ‘V’

25 Tuesday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Latin

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Caesar, Gaius Julius Caesar, latin, Letter 'V', Manliness, rome, Suetonius, V for Vendetta, Veni, vici, Victory, vidi

Tuesday means Latin or, as the Romans would say, ‘Dies Martis Latina est.’ Thus, I will give Suetonius a bit of a moment in the spotlight:

In triumphō Caesar praetulit hunc titulum: “Vēnī, vīdī, vīcī.”
During the triumphal procession Caesar displayed this placard: “I came, I saw, I conquered.”
Durante la procesión triunfal César mostró este placa: “Vine, Vi, Vencí.”

If you have ever wondered where the reference could be found for Caesar’s famous phrase, Suetonius is your man (Suet. Jul. 37). Although the phrase is quite simplistic in nature, what has always interested me is machoness (just made that up) with which Caesar is associating himself. Have you ever noticed how many virile words in Latin begin with V? Let’s shoot a bullet through Dan Brown’s argument that the shape ‘V’ represents women. Could it represent a male genitalia? Could it, perhaps, represent the navel of a man? Let’s go through some examples in Latin that represent this idea of masculinity.

Vīs – Force
Vī – Stregth (literally ‘many forces’
Vir – Man, hero
Vinculum – Bond; if you are in jail, a chain.
Vivus – Alive
Virtus – Virtue
Vigor – Vigor
Victor – Victor
Victōria – Victory
Vīctus – Living (in a manly way, of course)
Vigilō – Be watchful
Videō – See, but also ‘to understand’
Vīta – Life
Vicissitūdō – Change

All of these examples contain the root for ‘force,’ indicating the ancient concept of men as the forceful characters of life. In the film “V for Vendetta” (2005), the hero (vir in Latin) delivers a speech in which most of the words begin with ‘v’:

“Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. [carves “V” into poster on wall] The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. [giggles] Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.”

You might as well call V ‘the man.’ Indeed, V is such a man he is beyond men, the hero, the savior of his time. His speech is forceful, his actions are forceful, he must take action to be the hero, we must do in order to become. Consider this sentence in Latin:

Vī est vīs sī virī vigōrem vitae vigilant.
Force is strength if men are mindful of the vigor of life.

The gravitas of the sentence lies, fully, in its use of force. All of those ‘v’ words together imply strength. Caesar was trying to convey the same message to the Romans watching his triumph. Earlier, as he wrote to the senate about his war in Gaul, he had called them effeminate because they did not dare conquer as he did. Now, in his moment of victory, he could emphasize his own maleness while taking whatever masculinity the senate had left. “Vēnī, vīdī, vīcī” was not only a placard, it was a hammer on the conscience of those who defied Caesar. I came, you stayed; I saw, you ignored the problem; I conquered, you did nothing (doing nothing is bad enough in itself to a Roman). One can imagine the submissive faces of Caesar’s enemies when they could read, as well as we can, the very words that condemned them to be forgotten by history.

Quite the crazy statement; which is why Suetonius decides to let us know it happened. The historian understood the meaning perfectly.

Interestingly enough, however, at least three of the terms discussed above (Virtus, Victōria, and Vīta), although discussing manly attributes, are feminine in gender. Another fascinating aspect of Roman culture. To the Roman, the ethereal and complicated was feminine, the described and clear masculine. Virtue, Victory, and Life were such complicated things that the Romans rendered them feminine. What can we gather from that? Well, that’s for another time.

Valete!

Thinking on Friendship, Wrong Roads, and Frogs

24 Monday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Ancient Greek

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Aesop, ancient greek, fable, friendship, frogs, love, Roads, wrong roads

Good Monday to all of you, my friends. It is fable day, and Aesop takes us to a pond where two frogs are friends.

One frog is on the road, on a pretty big pothole filled with water. The other is away from the road, in a small marsh with little space. The frog on the marsh beckons the one on the road to come to it, for the road is filled with danger. The frog on the road said it was too lazy to move, for it had found a good place to be plus, it was small, what could possibly happen? Suddenly, a carriage passed by and run over the small frog sitting in its waterhole on the road. Aesop writers the moral:

Μὴ μέλλετε, ὦ ἄνθρωποι, ἐπει ἔχετε τρέπειν τὰ κακὰ εἰς καλὰ.
Do not pretend, ō men, while able to move, [that] the bad [is] good.
No pretendais, ō humanos, mientras que podáis moveros, que lo malo es bueno.

I think this fable, as most by Aesop, is absolutely hilarious. Clearly, the frog on the marsh can tell its buddy on the road is on a bad position, thus wants it to come over. However, the frog on the road is too lazy and too comfortable to even make the attempt. “μέλλετε” here is quite telling as it is an imperative (as is usual with Aesop’s morals) and a plural. “Do not you all,” says the writer “plan, pretend, intend;” the choice of the frog is a conscious one, that is why the verb for wishing while planning is used here. We are our own worst enemies, that much is clear, and we may find that we are in a precarious position but, unable to see the full picture, we remain unaware of danger. We must depend on our friends to help us see, as they stand outside of our circumstances, what possible danger we may encounter while in our current positions.

That is the beauty of friends, as Aesop would say; for they have the capability of seeing what we cannot. Sometimes, even as the frog saw the danger but thought itself too small to be squished, we think ourselves immune to the problems others have faced. It is at this moment that we must listen to those beyond our circumstances the most. In the end, despite our not being able to see beyond our nose, we will discover that those who are admonishing us are only trying to protect us from what they know is a danger to our physical of spiritual well-being.

As Aesop puts it, sometimes we have the capability to move and we still choose not to because we turn the bad into good. Let us remember the little frog and the road. We may one day realize that the voice inside our head is not that of a god far of or the nagging of a stranger up close, but the loving warning of a friend who, caring for us, is trying to lead us away from a dangerous road and into friendly marshes.

Thinking on The Symposium, Plato, and Socrates.

23 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Like the Ancients

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Agathon, love, philosophy, Plato, Socrates, the symposium, Truth

The Symposium, by Plato, is a road. A road that takes us down a country of thoughts, initiating us on a journey of ideas and concepts of love. When we arrive at the end of that road we arrive to a destination at which we have many pieces of a puzzle, but not a definite answer on that which we are seeking. What is love? Which of the speakers is right? We know one thing: The Symposium was written well after Socrates’ death. Plato, the agreed-upon writer, was bitter at the rubble of Athens for killing his master, and he thought of old Socrates as he wrote his mind into the pages of his work. I think this is the very solution to the problem; anyone who understood absolute love would never have commanded Socrates to kill himself. Indeed, the very steps towards self-discovery would have taken Athens on a journey that would have enlightened it against the the very folly that called for the philosopher’s death. Plato was, quite literally, writing Socrates into his works for the very purpose of remembrance.

I believe Plato argues that if we can look to Socrates and see past what he seemed to be in order to see him for what he was, we would be willing to spend a lifetime attempting to reach his great state of understanding. Moreover, if after our entire lives we were only able touch but the bottom of Socrates’ feet, we would be much better off than most other human beings would. Therefore, we arrive to the conclusion that true love is understanding, found by those who have an absolute goal, and that a true philosopher is the only one able to reach that goal. Our visions of love are limited by our experiences in life (hence our examples of speakers in The Symposium) and we cannot extend beyond that, in order to reach a goal, unless we are willing to suffer to attain it, to look outside our own experiences.

Plato is, simply put, making the point that no mere follower, lawmaker, doctor, comedian, dramatist, or drunkard, could best Socrates at anything. Socrates was a true philosopher, always seeking wisdom in all places, unbiased towards man or woman, seeking everlasting beauty, truth and understanding wherever he went. Therefore, from each character, we gather bits of Plato’s mind, puzzle pieces through which we can know and understand one of the great philosophers of all time. Let us picture Socrates that very morning, at the door of Agathon’s house; he looks back smiling at us, for we had begun the journey, followed the path, arrived at our destination, and gathered the pieces with which we could complete the puzzle of love.

Thinking on Prometheus, Heroes, and Paying the Penalty

22 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Like the Ancients

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fire, heroes, heroism, humanity, knowledge, love, Prometheus, punishment, zeus

Prometheus, the god who brought fire (knowledge) to men was punished by being tied to a rock in order to have Zeus’ eagle eat away his liver daily, after it grew back. Once this eternal punishment is handed out by Zeus, king of the gods, the hero is visited by many people who pity him. In writing “Prometheus Bound”, Aeschylus wants us to understand the feelings these people (and some gods) have for Prometheus, and therefore the playwright records him, in the very last speech on the play, as saying:

“An end to words. Deeds now. The world is shaken. The deep and secret way of thunder is rent apart. Fiery wreaths of lightning flash. Whirlwinds toss the swirling dust. The blasts of all the winds are battling in the air, and sky and sea are one. On me the tempest falls. It does not make me tremble. O holy Mother Earth, O air and sun, behold me. I am wronged.”

Sacrifice makes the hero; that is clear enough. However, let us consider this: heroism does not come only when one attempts a heroic deed and succeeds, but also in accepting the punishment handed out by those in power; for heroism is often most found when injustice abounds. The hero knows that a punishment, no matter how unjust, must be bore for the great deed accomplished.  Thus, says the immortal Hamlet in the famous Shakespearean play: “Conscience does make cowards of us all.” The true hero, knowing full well the sacrifice due both prior and post heroics, will indeed walk the path that will lead him to suffering; this is the price to be paid for the benefit of mankind. Prometheus knew his suffering prior to his deed and also his chastisement once accomplished. Thus, Aeschylus has him say: “All that has come I knew full well… Nothing do I deny.”

You may consider Mythology to be fiction; but this is what heroes are, and what Prometheus represents. If we take this lesson and apply it to our lives we will find a hero in all of us so long as we understand that it is not all capes and superpowers or fame and glory in the end, but suffering and consequences. Therefore, Prometheus, Bringer of Knowledge, All Suffering, All Enduring, became our first example of heroics. Prometheus was our first hero.

Thinking on Spanish, Being, and Latin

21 Friday Nov 2014

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being, Castilian, estar, language, latin, ser, spanish, to be

The Spanish verb ‘to be’ has two conjugations: ‘ser’ meaning ‘to be mentally’ and ‘estar’, meaning ‘to be physically.’ In English, we find ourselves having to say “I am physically sick,” while in Spanish, such is not a problem. One simply uses ‘estar’ for the physical sickness, while using ‘ser’ for mental sickness. Note, however, that to be mentally ill is a physical ailment, hence the proper use is ‘estoy enfermo,’ not ‘soy un enfermo.’ The reason for this is that mental illness is an illness of the brain, not of the spiritual being of the individual being addressed. Hence, ‘you are a sick person,’ meaning your soul or the spiritual part of your mind is devious, is expressed with ‘ser:’ ‘eres un enfermo.’ ‘Ser’ therefore, is a qualitative state of meaning, while ‘estar’ is a quantitative one.

A better way to see the difference between ‘ser’ y ‘estar’ is by looking at the origin of the word. ‘Estar’ is a mix of two Latin words, the noun ‘ego’ (I) and the verb ‘stō’ (stand), to which regular endings of the Present stem have been added. Thus ego+ stō+y was rendered e+sto+y or ‘estoy.’ The Latin verb indicates physical presence; the individual is standing there, physically. Thus, ‘estoy malo’ means ‘I am physically ill.’ ‘Ser’ on the other hand, has a reflexive connotation. In the Latin, ‘his own’ is expressed as ‘suus’ but the soul, ‘anima’ is defined both in plural and feminine connotations. Thus the proper Reflexive Possessive is ‘suae.’ ‘Soy’ thus shows that it is not the physical being of the individual who is sick, but rather that part of the soul that is not linked to the body at all, his being; a thing of the soul herself ‘suae’ or of the soul itself ‘sua.’ ‘Soy malo’ thus indicates a state of being bad of spirit, while ‘Estoy malo’ indicates badness of physicality.

Shakespeare would have had a trip with this, I know it.

Thinking of Sin, Wrong Deeds, and the Redeeming Value of Time

20 Thursday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Latin

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christianity, deeds, Horace, latin, mos maiorum, right, rome, sin, time, tradition, wrong

It is time for some Latin. Let’s take a look at a statement from Horace (Quintius Horatius Flaccus), poet extraordinaire.

Bonī propter amōrem virtūtis peccāre ōdērunt.
Because of their love of virtue, good men hate to do wrong.
Los hombres de bien odian pecar debido a su amor por la virtud.

Notice Horace’s minimization of language here. There is almost a sense of paucity to Roman poetry which can be used to identify it and separate it from any other genre in the language. First and foremost, Horace separates ‘good men’ from ‘bad ones’ in a single word: “Bonī.” This plural Nominative used as a Substantive noun tells us ‘good men’ stands for not just a group, or even just Romans, but for every good man (and I would argue, also woman) who is good by deed. Bad men, thus, are winnowed from our statement at the offset. No chance for those who choose to do bad deeds. These “good men” then hate to sin, written here as the infinitive form of the verb. Although, sin is just not a good translation for the noun in this context, let us think of how the Romans saw “peccāre.”

Before religion took hold in the Roman Empire (whether you think of the period as immediately after Christ’s death in 33 CE or post-legitimization of the religion by Constantine in 311 CE doesn’t really matter) peccāre was used as ‘to do something wrong.’ This idea of the deed rather than the value of the action was quite common in the Roman world. What do I mean? To a Roman ‘doing’ was the thing that mattered most; only after the deed had been done could one really weight its merits or demerits. Thus, if I killed an animal, for example, only after the fact could anyone determine if my action had been justified, or not. In essence, I was assumed innocent until proven guilty because guilt (culpa) or innoncence (iniuria – more like injustice) could only be established after the case had been weighted by a jury of peers. Thus ‘sin’ implies ‘culpa,’ something the Romans would have vehemently opposed before religion came along. Therefore, in this time-context of pre-christian Rome, peccāre is only ‘to do wrong.’

I can almost hear you saying that ‘to do wrong’ also implies guilt. Let us consider roman morality (mōs – the concept of mōs maiōrum, also known as ‘the wisdom of the elders’ was sacred in Rome before religion came along). To the Romans, what was good was a heap of decisions made in the past and which had proven to be good. Rome was the seat of law in the Ancient World, thus, their ‘good things’ were deeds that had been proven to be good for the state. If you have ever heard a lawyer speak of precedence and how they allow a course of action in the present, you understand Roman Law and its concept of good a bit better. In a way, if killing a Gaul (something the Romans thoroughly enjoyed) had been proven beneficial in the past, it was also beneficial to do it in the present, and it would always be beneficial to do it; of course, only until Rome had to consider whether killing a Gaul was a good thing (during Caesar’s time when Gauls of southern Europe had become loyal friends of the would-be Empire) did they have to think of the act as a possible bad deed. Never mind you are killing someone – anyone. Thank you Rome.

Thus Horace’s statement, loaded, as it is, with meaning, speaks to us of Roman culture before religion and before sin. Only good men wish by nature to avoid wrong doing; a doing they do because of their love of virtue which, as we have discussed, was subject to precedence more than actual guilt. However, therein resides the beauty of the statement. We, if we do something considered wrong to some, may be considered as doing the right thing in some future time. This is the redeeming virtue of Roman thinking; the possibility of change through time and space. ‘Sin’ will always be bad, but ‘to do wrong’ was subject to time and culture. So don’t give up on doing what you believe is right; we may find you the subject of some great biography in the future.

Valete!

Thinking on the Ancient Greek Gods, Youth, and Death

19 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Ancient Greek

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Ancient Greece, ancient greek, Athens, comedy, courage, death, drama, generations, Life, Menander, playwright, sacrifice, Sparta, the gods, valor, youth

Fellow thinkers,

It is Greek Wednesday.

Have you ever heard the phrase Alea iacta est? If you immediately thought of G. Julius Caesar you hit the nail on the head. Why does Latin intrude into our Greek? You ask. Well, Menander was a dramatist who lived ca 341-290 BC. Most of his work has been lost, but some fragments (including today’s phrase – 111) have survived to modern times. The playwright was quite reputed for his dramatic imitation of Euripides, although he could be funny as well, as Aristophanes, making him a very good representative of Athenian New Comedy; facts which made him quite loved in Rome during later periods. According to Plutarch (Plut. Pomp. 60.2), the phrase used by Caesar was a direct translation of Menander’s Ἀνερρίφθω κύβος, quite literally meaning ‘the cube (die) has been cast,’ used by the author in his play “Arrhephoros” (not extant). The phrase is representative of the dramatic art in the playwright, just as is this one:

ὅν οἱ θεοὶ φιλοῡσιν ἀποθνῇσκει νέος
The gods love he who dies young.
Los dioses aman a aquel que muere jóven.

The sentiment needs little translation here, but its meaning…well, that is another story. Consider the subject here, οἱ θεοὶ (the gods), they are the dictators of many things, but not of destiny or time. The Fates do that. The gods, when it comes to death, are completely powerless. They may try to kill, but whether you die or not is up to you and the will of the Three Goddesses. There is only one thing (amongst a few they are allowed) the gods are actively doing here: loving. Further, notice the kind of love we are seeing here, φιλοῦσιν (bond-love), for it is most telling as well. The gods don’t love you because they have gotten to know you and shared experiences with you, that would be ἀγαπεῦσιν. They do not love you because they have to, out of paternal need, στοργοῦσιν; they don’t even desire you, ἐροῦσιν. The gods relate to you, that love that comes from them seeing themselves reflected in you. Ponder that in mind for a moment; the gods see the need to relate to human beings.

Who, then, can be the subject of the gods’ love? Who can strive, according to Menander, to be loved by the highest beings in existence? Who do the gods relate to? ‘He who dies young.’ It is in youth that the gods see themselves in; that youth who runs not from battle, but who “bestrides [the dying man] in his need,” for it is “noble for a brave man to die, having fallen opposite the foremost ranks, whilst fighting for his father-land;” otherwise, said young man “disgraces his race, and belies his fair beauty” (Tyrtaeus). Interestingly, to the Ancient Greeks youth, beauty, goodness, worthiness and valor were thoroughly interconnected. Youth was beauty, it was goodness, it was courage. In a world in which most children with any disadvantage died before their first year was up, the gene pool that was allowed by the Fates to survive was of the highest quality, that quality in which the gods saw themselves.

Imagine the youth, then, who dies in battle. The young man who having been given all things by his parents, the Fates, and the gods, bestrides the older man fallen in front of him, facing the insurmountable wall of spears advancing and threatening his friends and family. He fights with honor, fights with courage, and dies while helping his fellows. To those dying and dead men the gods paid homage, the gods loved. There was nothing more moving to an Ancient Greek than a youth who had given his life for the state. The Spartans boasted the best trained youths in Greece, the Athenians the most resolute, the Thebans the most independent; but they all agreed that their sacrifice would come at the cost of little doubt, if at all, once spear and shield had destroyed the older men.

In the same way, these ideas applied to the political and artistic arena. Giving your youth to the arts and politics was a great sacrifice – especially in Roman times. However, those who arrived to old age were looked upon as having been a bit too safe, not having fought as many wars, or having done so away from the line (the Athenians certainly thought so, albeit mistakenly, of Socrates). Just as Spartan men who had fought and suffered many wounds for the state but died in peace were not given a headstone, aged Athenian men were seen as having lost their edge. Many often retreated to their villas and were never seen again.

The gods love he who dies young; but specially they love those who, having been given everything in life, had chosen none the less to fight for their country, and paid the ultimate price. Let us not, Menander says, be fooled by prosperity. We must seek, especially in our youths, that which deserves our efforts and put ourselves to use; and if we die in this cause while still in years counted only as youthful and carefree, then we have assured ourselves a place in the minds of the gods and future generations.

Χαἰρετε!

Thinking on Seneca, Ire, and Delay

18 Tuesday Nov 2014

Posted by thinkingliketheancients in Thinking Latin

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Abraham Lincoln, anger, delay, Ire, latin, Lincoln, responses, Seneca

It is Latin Tuesday and, in the spirit of our quote of the day, I have delayed to post until I could receive a good understanding of what is being said:

Remedium īrae est mora.
The remedy of ire is delay.
El remedio de la ira es la espera.

Our writer, Seneca, writes of two equal nouns, remedy and delay. As discussed before, when two nouns are both in the nominative case and united by the verb ‘to be’ they are seen as equal. In this case, Seneca is saying ‘delay’ is exactly the same as ‘remedy;’ not only for ‘ire’ but for any other bad nouns we can think of. We do the same in English. ‘This is him,’ using the verb to be, means ‘I am the very same one you are asking about’ when someone called. ‘Strength is perseverance’ reflects not only the equality of the nouns, but also the equality of those individuals who possess said qualities. In other words, what Seneca is also saying is that he who is willing to delay can be a good remedy to he who is prone to anger. Have you ever heard the expression “fight fire with fire”?  What more insane concept can there be than adding fire to fire in order to put it out? Have you ever heard of anyone stopping a flood by adding more water to the mix? I wager not.

You may say ‘well, fires are actually fought by setting fires in the direction of the original fire to stop the advance of it.’ To that I would reply that it is not the secondary fire that stops the original one, but the lack of fuel left by the secondary -and extinguished- fire when the original arrives. Add fire to fire, and you create more fire. Abraham Lincoln was a firm believer on this idea of delay, as he, being a passionate man, wrote responses to individuals which he later destroyed in order to write a second response. The reason for this was in his constructing and deconstructing Lincoln allowed ire to pass in order to build a more thoughtful and careful response to the individual in question. Not bad from the man who often quoted Euclid as justification for the moral need to see White and Black men as equals.

Thus, delay in response, but not too much; after all, the expectation of today is that you will reply to your friends with as much conscience and analogy as you have been able to do in the past, only faster. Easy, right?

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