On the penultimate day of my Latin program, we visited the ruins of Horace’s Villa. Unlike most of our limited, Latin-filled, fast-paced days together, this one felt relaxed and suspended. We picnicked on the grass, in the cool air near a waterfall, and recited some of Horace’s immortal verses for each other. At one point I was walking in the cool waters of the Fons Bandusiae, reciting Horace’s words in my head, sipping white wine, listening to a friend play the violin, and thinking: “Well, it really just doesn’t get better than this.”
I, along with a favorite teacher, recited Horace 1.9 for my colleagues. Like many of Horace’s poems, its theme is carpe diem. “Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quaerere et/ quem Fors dierum cumque dabit, lucro/ adpone”: “What tomorrow may bring, stop asking, and whatever days fortune gives you, count them as profit.” The poem also speaks about staying warm by the fire while the snow piles up on Mount Soracte — it would make more sense in the context of a South Bend winter than a Roman summer picnic.
As might be expected from a student of a language whose native speakers have all died, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to reflect on my mortality during this program (in a healthy way). If you listen to Horace, the way to grapple with death is to throw yourself into the present. Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero/ pulsandum tellus: now we must drink, now we must strike the ground with a free foot. (Isn’t that a great expression for dancing? I’m going to think about that every time I dance now.)
Seneca, whose words we read at his tomb on the Via Appia, has a different answer to the challenge of mortality: throw yourself into the past and spend your time in the company of the thinkers who preceded you. Of the past, the present, and the future, he tends to trust only history: “What we do is brief, what we are about to do is doubtful, but what we have done is certain.” For him time is best spent “arguing with Socrates, doubting with Carneades, resting with Epicurus, conquering human nature with the Stoics, and surpassing it with the Cynics.” For him, it’s ridiculous how much time we waste on “fruitless pain, silly happiness, greedy desires, and weak conversation.”
I like to think that the answer to the problem of mortality lies somewhere between Horace and Seneca. Actually, as a Catholic, I think that it lies beyond them both. I’m a student of the Great Books as well as a Classicist, so I tend to agree with Seneca that it’s important to converse with the philosophers of the past and use time wisely. But I also know that my happiest daily moments are those Seneca would consider a waste: the giggles of my little sister, walks around the lakes with friends, lingering, inane conversations in the dining hall, and cookie-baking breaks on cold days. I’d like to love the past as much as Seneca, but live in the present as much as Horace. I’d like to also live with the knowledge that I am meant to live forever. I’d like to perhaps not seize each day but pluck it, enjoy it, and live it intentionally.
Sorry to wax poetic; this blog is actually supposed to be about my language-learning process. Rest assured that I have learned a lot of Latin.