Memento Mori
Revisiting the tradition of embedding death into the fabric of our lives, little reminders of our own mortality might be the key to recognising the value of our time.
Roman 'Wheel of Fortune’ mosaic from Pompeii, via WikiCommons.
When the leaves turn brown and the air is filled with the sweet scent of their decay, the world becomes enveloped in an interesting paradox: the beauty of death. The autumn season is a peculiar, liminal period, particularly appropriate for reflecting upon the passing of time, and the inevitability that yours, too, will someday run out; but not in the dark and dreary way of thinking about it that you might expect. On the contrary, the allusions to death that float into our field of vision around this time of year, although watered down and made gimmicky in the spirit of Halloween, evoke for many a sense of fond sentimentality.
In some respect, death is something sentimental, a familiar figure who perpetually lurks in our peripheral vision whether we choose to address her or not. We each have a nuanced relationship with her, this personal ghost who reminds us of our own and others’ mortality, who provokes fear, curiosity, indifference, acceptance, sorrow. But we are seldom encouraged to meditate on these ideas; we belong to a society in which mortality is a concept too morbid to capitalise, and thus rejected from our collective psyche. What’s more; in a world in which each day seems to represent a new technological advancement or pharmaceutical advent, the narrative sold to the masses is the rather grandiose notion that human accomplishment can trump death, and a haughty bravado that blinds us from what we truly, ultimately are: mortal beings.
Although it is fortunate that where modern medicine and technology are available, sickness and injury are not as imminent threats as they once were, it also seems unfair that the concept of death does not receive the airtime it deserves, and that arguably we all need. We all share in the fact that our time on earth will at some point run out, yet we haven’t grasped the idea that periodic reminders of that simple truth might actually be a positive opportunity to cope with and consider our unfailing mortality throughout our lives, so that we might recognise the importance of doing whatever we can to spend them well.
Image by Annie Spratt, via Unsplash.
But this is not an understanding that we have never possessed. Like countless other pieces of ancient wisdom, it is something we have lost and grown numb to over the centuries. Rather than pushing away the discomfort of our own demise and continuing to play the role of the Invincible Man, people throughout space and time have chosen to embed insignia of death within the fabric of their daily lives. These symbolic words, images and symbols, known as memento mori, compelled people not to forget their own mortality, the phrase itself translating to a simple, imperative statement: ‘remember that you die’.
From ancient Stoic philosophers and Roman poets to early Christians and Norse traditions, central and Western Europe is home to a long tradition of keeping the vicinity of death in mind. The meanings and mediums of memento mori have varied, from Greco-Roman reminders of the brevity of life which encouraged people to fully enjoy leisure and pleasure, to the Christian implications of the salvation promised to the faithful in the afterlife. By quoting the theme of mortality in music, literature, visual language and material culture, the intention was to instigate mortal souls to brush shoulders with death herself.
It’s hard to tell whether people actually did hold the thought of death intently in mind while worshipping in chapels of bones, telling the time using clocks decorated with mottos suggesting that this is ‘perhaps the last’ hour, and decorating themselves with jewellery embossed with skulls and bones. I’d like to think they did consider death while surrounded by mnemonics of it; certainly, pagan and early Christian religions, traditional superstitions, and far direr circumstances demanded it. All that can be said for sure, though, is that he same emblema that appeared both clearly and cryptically within images, items, art and architecture of the past – skeletons, flickering candles, diminishing hourglasses, wilting flowers, the embodiment of death himself – continue to call the notion of death to mind.
Image by Steve Harvey, via Unsplash.
Still-Life With Skull by Phillippe de Champaigne, via WikiCommons.
Though they are present around us still, these images and symbols hardly compel us to recognise that the same skeleton we see depicted lies encased within our own perishable flesh. It seems that over time, memento mori have lost their potency, and their purpose. We adorn and surround ourselves with the names and heirlooms of the departed, holding tight to what we have lost, but are rarely encouraged to think critically about our own transcendence through this tiny, fragile life, and how we want to experience it. The powers structures which govern and gain from capitalist society diffuse widespread messaging instigating us to expend our energy reserves on (arguably overvalued) work, find enjoyment through the consumption of as many substances and possessions as possible, and throw our pennies into the fountain of youth promised by the ill, ugly industries ironically dedicated to health and beauty.
So our retention of the emblems but ultimate loss of the meditation behind memento mori might represent a much more fatal fall from grace. Many of us have only ever learnt to paddle frantically along a river which ultimately leads us all to the same place. We have inherited an attachment to earthly life and an anticipation for an end which is obscure and terrifying. A peaceful symbiosis with death might be far off, but I suppose we could do with a timely reminder of our own mortality, not to wear us thin with worry and grief, but to bring us back down to earth, and reinforce it is because life is short and death is imminent that our time is precious and meaningful in the first place.