Recent essays about Bret and Carol reminded me of a couple of my favorite philosophical
theories: Amor Fati (love fate) and Memento
Mori (remember death). Both Latin phrases are related to the philosophy of The Stoics.
Memento Mori is something I incorporated into my thoughts long before learning that these unique ideas about death had been codified and given a name over two thousand years ago.
Although I understand
the useful mental benefits that Amor Fati are supposed to provide, I find myself struggling with the practice of incorporating it into
daily life.
The formula for human greatness is to love fate — to want nothing (which has-happened in the past or will-happen in the future) to be any different than it was or will be. Do not just ‘bear with’ the necessary hardships in life, much less conceal them, but—instead—love them!
I can quasi-successfully get my brain around Nietzsche’s advice: belaboring our regrets is a dark hole we should be wary of; ‘lucky’ coins provide a single benefit (melt-value exceeds face-value); and, fearing what tomorrow has in store imbues worry but does not alter events. Therefore (sayeth Fred) ‘flaunt the hardships of life and cherish them, for they are necessary.’ But I say: The hard-knocks which fate has already dealt—or has yet to deliver—haven’t all been (and won’t all be) valuable teaching tools. I regret stepping in dogshit yesterday, dislike whomever chose not to bag it after their pet shit in my yard, and didn’t enjoy cleaning my shoe. But, I will remain open to suggestions on how Amor Fati is successfully practiced.
Pertaining to Memento
Mori, the stoic philosopher, Aurelius wrote,
“Don't look down on death, but welcome it. It, too, is one of the things required by nature; like youth and old age, like growth and maturity, like a new set of teeth, a beard, the first gray hair, like sex and pregnancy and childbirth—this is how a thoughtful person should await death—not with indifference, not with impatience, not with disdain, but simply viewing it as one of the things that happens to us.”
After attending my maternal-grandfather’s funeral, I learned
that Papa (1915-1977) had been planning on retiring, and collecting social
security later that same year—only an unforeseen heart attack derailed his plans while he was sleeping. At his funeral, I re-heard the story of his father’s demise at the age of 57 (also, of an
unforeseen heart attack) although Great-Papa was rowing a boat at the time of his death.
When I first began to talk about those two ancestors (Papa and Great-Papa) I’d synopsize their lives to underscore
how they might have enjoyed the relaxation of a few “golden years” if they hadn’t
chosen to blindly focus on, and plan for, the end of their employment years based on the
one-size-fits-all, government retirement template.
In the middle of my 17th year of military service—1999—I
was (not partying like it was almost Y2K but, rather, was seriously) second-guessing
my oft-stated plan to retire in three years. Fate reminded me. My father,
Leverett, died of an unexpected heart attack. He was
60 and driving down a sunny mid-afternoon road. Needless to say, I stuck to my plan.
Bring up the subject death and I, invariably, get massive push-back. Everyone I’ve ever attempted to talk with—about
death (theirs, mine, anyone’s) is really
invested in the specious idea that it is unpredictable and mysterious and (most
important) never imminent. I’m routinely scoffed at when I explain the
primary reason I remained in the military for twenty years (and not 30) was
because I did not want to follow in my ancestor’s footsteps (that of working
up to the day of demise). “Oh Veach,
you aren’t going to die anytime soon!” I constantly hear from naysayers, all-in-a-rush
to change the subject.
My form of Memento Mori is slightly different from that of
the Stoics. I agree that death is a
normal part of life, but I also think
it should be a topic of normal conversation.
Bring it up with the kids. Talk
about it over beers with a neighbor. It needs
to be discussed because it needs to be de-fanged.
Americans avoid the subject of death and dying slightly more-often
than they avoid talking about how much money they have (promulgated by a
foolish, 1950-era, white, male, corporate-mindset based in privilege, greed, inequality
and an unspoken ‘I got mine – you get yours’ doctrine) and ever-so-slightly less-often than
they talk about what flavor of sex they enjoy (promulgated by a foolish, 450s-era,
white, male, religious-mindset based in close-minded hypocrisy, fear, and an
unspoken ‘I hide mine – you better hide yours’ doctrine).
To treat death as a taboo subject, imbues it with the power of mystery. It isn't
mysterious. It may not be as predictable as the weather (remember when the weather was never predicted with any measurable accuracy?) but definite patterns can be identified. Actions can be taken to mitigate impending death. And, when the visage with the scythe does, eventually, come knocking (as it has for every living thing, ever) if you are someone who practiced Memento Mori and Amor Fati you will not be taken by surprise in your sleep, or in your car, or in your rowboat. You will be mentally prepared for the end of your life - as any rational person should be.
To treat death as a taboo subject, imbues it with the power of mystery. It isn't
mysterious. It may not be as predictable as the weather (remember when the weather was never predicted with any measurable accuracy?) but definite patterns can be identified. Actions can be taken to mitigate impending death. And, when the visage with the scythe does, eventually, come knocking (as it has for every living thing, ever) if you are someone who practiced Memento Mori and Amor Fati you will not be taken by surprise in your sleep, or in your car, or in your rowboat. You will be mentally prepared for the end of your life - as any rational person should be.
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