Thinking on Seneca (the Elder), Death, and Memory

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al-Andalus, Andalusia, Ben Moses Maimonides, death, Life, Memory, Miguel de Unamuno, Mysticism, philosophy, Seneca the Elder, Spain, Spanish Philosophers, St. Teresa of Avila, Stoicism

I was reminiscing on Spanish philosophers and run across Seneca. I remembered then that his father had been born in Cordoba, Spain. I am from Seville, Spain, just about an hour away (70 or so miles) from the birthplace of the famous philosopher and his rhetorician father. It is interesting to see how many famous Spanish philosophers there are. I suppose that is part of the legacy given to us by Ancient Greeks, Romans, Moors, Jews, Catholic Mystics, and everyone else who came and stayed on the land. I grew up reading the works of biblical philosophers such as Ben Moses Maimonides and Abu Jafar ibn Harun al-Turjali; jurists such as Al-Ghazali, Avicenna, and Ibn Al-Arabi. I supposed that it shouldn’t be a surprise that Miguel de Unamuno, Juan Ramon Jimenez, Antonio Machado, Luis de Gongora, Rafael Alberti, and many other Spanish poets and writers used the Andalusian mystics understanding of love and life to write; especially considering St. Teresa of Avila and her acolytes. Marcus Aurelius was another Spanish Roman, and also another Stoic. Cicero defended Spaniards in the Roman courts and, one could argue, their rights to influence Rome as a whole. Evidence of that influence is definitely found in the Stoicism of the Roman Empire.

Thus, in honor of my fellow Andalusian mystics of every creed, Empire, and small village, I dug up a quote by the quintessential Andalusian, Seneca the Elder.

Omnia mors poscit. Lex est, non poena, perire.
Death claims all things. It is Law, not punishment, to die.
La muerte lo clama todo. Es ley, no castigo, el morir.

Consider the influence such a father had in Seneca the Younger, who decided to go the way of philosophy rather than rhetoric. In eight words Seneca the Elder voids the complaints of many who, unable to find answers to why evil happens in life blame death, god, or someone or something else, for their problems. ‘Poscit’ is such a strong verb as well. Translated as ‘claims’ it has the connotation of ‘demanding’ or ‘asking urgently’ as well. It is not a passive claim that death makes, it is very much active, seeking, ensuring that it takes place. In a litigious society such as Rome, and especially in the period in which Seneca the Elder was writing (ie. Roman civil war, the death of Caesar, the transition from Republic to Empire, Octavian/Augustus, Tiberius, and Caligula – ya, he was old), death pervaded all things. Death was seen, by Seneca, as the demanding party in a court case, claiming that which is owed to it and must be given. It is almost as if life is a debt from which all men debent poenas dare (ought to pay the penalty).

As such, with life in the balance and our punishment or blessing in the afterlife being only the memory left behind for those who survive us, judgment for the Romans did not happen after death, but during life. Seneca understood he sat on the court of his own existence as long as he lived, and thus tried to live the best life possible, allowing that to be his defense. Action dictated good. Men were responsible for their own victories and shortcomings. Time was only undermined by death; a death that was legitimate and binding as the judgement in a courtroom. In a Rome in which damnatio memoriae (damnation of memory – one is, in fact, condemned to be forgotten) was a real thing people could be condemned to, deeds were the only proof that could save a man from being blotted out for all time and thus truly dead. Thus, life is not the punishment of God, Nature, or whatever your believe in. Life, and death, is law; we all die. Knowing that, live a life that will allow others to remember you when you are gone. Whether you think you are going to a better world or not, live so that those left behind can think of you and be made stronger by your actions.

John Adams once wrote: “Posterity! You will never know how much it cost the present generation to preserve your freedom! I hope you will make a good use of it. If you do not, I shall repent in Heaven that I ever took half the pains to preserve it.”

Seneca would have said it in much the same way. Summoning his own memory and his spirit, and condemning Rome to death if they did not follow his advice. We do things in the present for the future; a future we may not see, because death claims all things. Yet, it is a future of hope, for law shall also claim deaths in times to come and, through our deeds, we may be able to help others overcome their grief and sorrow.

Memoria semper remanebit. (Memory will always remain)

Valete!

Thinking on the Ancient Greek Gods, Youth, and Death

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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!