Ubi sunt?

Ubi sunt? Is a Latin expression that means, Where are they? Nowadays the phrase alludes to the famous line of Francois Villon (1431-1463?), Where are the snows of yesteryear? The English line comes from Dante Gabriel Rossettii’s (1828-1862) translation of Villon’s The Ballade of Dead Ladies.

Rossetti was a great poet in his own right, but with just six words he ensured his fame and Villon’s.

Villon is a controversial character, a ne’er-do-well and thief and murderer but recognized by some critics as the greatest French medieval poet.

Justin Huntley McCarthy in his biography of the poet stated that the truth about him has eluded scholars.

Robert Louis Stevenson is his essay on Villon was highly critical of the character of the French poet. He wrote, Old-age and the grave, with some dark and yet half-sceptical terror of an afterworld = these were the ideas that clung about his bones like a disease.

Hollywood in a well-done film starring John Barrymore portrayed Villon as a prankster, occasional criminal, and ardent patriot (which he never was).

Be that as it may, Villion’s famous line reminds us of transience. The things and people to whom we become attached are like leaves on a tree that the slightest breeze can blow off the branches.

As the Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi (1799-1837) wrote, Things human last so short a time.

A natural reaction to this state of affairs are sorrow and grief when we experience a loss.

Each loss leaves a wound on the soul that is hard to heal.

Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD) wrote a letter to Marcia, who for three years had been grieving over the death of her son.

In his letter, he urged Marcia to look upon the entire life of her son , the joys and pleasure she had in his company and not just the ending of his life.

He adds that courage is tested only in rough waters. God gave us the power of endurance to bear any ills.

A similar approach to Seneca’s was expressed by a Russian poet.

Of pleasant fellow travelers on our life’s journey,

Speak not with sadness, they are gone, but with gratitude, they were here, wrote Vassily Zhukovsky (1783-1852).

Another grief assuasion technique is retrospective negative visualization. We try to imagine what life would have been like if the departed had never existed.

The Stoic response to the past is to embrace what happens, and you will be swept along with the flow of the Universe.

Sebeca said, No man is surer of tomorrow than any other man.

The older you get, the more painful a loss becomes. That is why an old person, rspcially someone who lives alone, can experience such grief over the loss of a pet.

If life is just a flash of conscioiusness between two everlasting nights, then it is a cruel joke, though my comment is an anthropomorphism.

Diogenes Laertius remarked that a Stoic sage never feels grief because he realizes that “grief is an irrational contraction of the soul.”

The vast majority of us are incapable of taking such an attitude.

Misfortune weighs most heavily on those who expect the good days to continue. To them, a tragic event occurs like a bolt out of the blue and leaves them devastated.

Persons who practice negative visualization, visualizing the worst that could happen, are somewhat protected from the psychological devastation of a loss.

Negative visualization is not morbid. Rather, cognizant of the uncertainty of life, it causes us to appreciate our loved ones more than we ordinarily would.

All things are perishable.

Nothing really belongs to us. Everything that we have is on loan from Fortune, which can reclain it from us without permission, even suddenly, without advance notice. We should love our near and dear ones but always bear in mind that we have no promise that we can keep them forever or even for long. Periodically we should reflect on the possibility that our delight in our loved ones will come to an end. Negative visualization will make us appreciate how wonderful it is that we are alive and that we have the opportunity to fill this day with meaningful activity. Such an attitude will make it les likely that we will squander our days and go sleepwalking through life.

To practice negative visualizauion is to reflect upon the impermanence of the world around us.

Saying grace before a meal is a form of negative visualization;

Epictetus councils that when we kiss our child at bedtime, we should remember that it is mortal and not something we own.

Marcus Aurelius said that if we reject the decrees of Fate, we are likely to experience tranquility-disturbing grief, anger, or fear.

He argued we must learn to welcome whatever falls to our lot (amor fati) and tell ourselves that whatever happens to us is for the best. It’s hard to accept that, though.

He said that a good man will welcome every experience the looms of fate may weave for him.

The ancients believd in the existence of three goddesses known as the Fates. Clotho wove life, Lachesis meassured it, and Atropos cut it. No matter how hard they tried, people could not escape the destiny chosen for them by the Fates.

Epictetus advises us to want events “to happen as they happen.” Nietzsche said something similar.

If we accept what happens to us without complaining, we will be in tune with the flow of the Universe, which is a consolation of sorts.

No matter what we say about transience and impermanence, every loss hurts deeply.

I have had a hard time accepting the death of my wonderful cat Harry, but I would like to believe that he has crossed the Rainbow Bridge and is preparing a place for me and my wife in the afterllfe.

Foolish? Perhaps, but according to some scientists, nothing is ever lost.

Goodbye, Harry. I hope we’ll be reunited in the future.