Tag: greek

Posted in Film and Literature Analyses

Lost In Translation: From Homer’s Odysseus To Emily Wilson and Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

(Theatrical Poster: The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

Part I: The Death of Homeric Heroism

Tell me, oh muse, of a complicated man… or was he of many ways, twists, and turns? If you’ve been to the cinema lately, Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (2026) is all the talk. Throughout the film, Odysseus is portrayed as a difficult and distressed man who is not only burdened by Troy’s Ghost, but also by his desire to be reunited with his wife and son in Ithaca. This most recent adaptation has left audiences wondering which translation he consulted to bring Homer’s Epic Poem to the big screen. Furthermore, it’s relevant to ask whether Nolan’s The Odyssey has faithfully ‘adapted’ (translated) the eponymous hero as a cunning and prideful warrior bound by the Bronze Age’s Codes and Homeric World’s Values, who uses his wits to survive a humbling journey back home. Or has Odysseus been fundamentally altered by Post-Modernists to fit the fears and anxieties of the 21st century, departing from classical ‘imitatio’ (imitation) to instead ‘deconstruct’ him as a complicated and traumatized man?

(Book Cover: The Odyssey, Emily Wilson, 2017)

In interviews, Nolan (Director and Screenwriter) has shared how he relied on Emily Wilson’s (Classicist) most recent translation of The Odyssey (2017). This prompted him to adapt the story of a murderer, thief, and liar… or was he a heroic warrior, a master of trickery, and deception? Undoubtedly, Odysseus has endured some modifications between Homer, Wilson, and Nolan. His character traits have been profoundly redefined to present readers and spectators alike with a different type of hero, whose Ancient Greek Codes and Values don’t adhere to the ‘modern’ world. These changes have caused concern for academics, who ponder whether this complicated and traumatized man bears any resemblance to the once cunning and prideful warrior. What has been lost in translation between Homer, Wilson, and Nolan? Should artists impose their preconceived worldview on an ancient text’s cultural and historical background? How has Odysseus been reconfigured from a Heroic Danaan Warrior, defined by his wits and arrogance, into a Troubled Greek Veteran, who is reimagined as complicated and traumatized?

(Papyrus Fragment with lines from Homer’s The Odyssey, c. 285-250 BC)

For millennia, classicists have rigorously translated Homer’s Epic Poem, grappling with its philological, mythological, cultural, and historical elements. Any authentic translation by a skilled academic can be measured by its ability to represent a good rendition of Ancient Greek in, for example, English. This means respecting the author’s intent and vocabulary while reconstructing them so they may rhyme and ring well in a new language. When a translator instead forces one onto the other to fit a specific terminology or by imposing a ‘modern’ worldview on an ancient text, then the original story becomes lost in translation. Although The Odyssey has been incorporated into a plethora of pop-culture ‘adaptations’, these fall rather into retellings, which don’t aim to be accurate to the source material, and instead brand themselves as a reinvention. Nevertheless, Wilson’s The Odyssey has been circulated as a faithful translation of Homer’s Epic Poem, while deconstructing Odysseus by imposing Post-Modernist Codes and Values on an Ancient Greek Warrior from the Bronze Age, which completely departs from Homeric Heroism.

(Book Cover: The Odyssey, Robert Fagles, 2006)

One of the most prevalent examples of Wilson’s tricky translation is the deviation from Homeric Epithets, where the eponymous hero, who is frequently credited with the quality of ‘πολῠ́τροπος’/polŭ́tropos, instead is a ‘complicated’man. Meanwhile, seasoned translators such as Robert Fitzgerald, Robert Fagles, and Richmond Lattimore have translated it as ‘man of many ways/twists/turns.’ If you consult a Greek Lexicon or Dictionary, it further validates this translation, revealing that ‘πολῠ́τροπος’/polŭ́tropos is a compound word made up of the adjective: ‘πολῠ́ς’/polŭ́s (many) and the noun: ‘τρόπος’/trópos (turn/way). Why is this seemingly trivial description such a significant change in Odysseus’ characterization? When combining ‘πολῠ́ς’/polŭ́s (many) and ‘τρόπος’/trópos (turn/way) with the cultural and historical context of the Bronze Age, it is evident that Homer was portraying his eponymous hero with the expected behavior of an Ancient Danaan Warrior. As such, he is bound to the Codes and Values of Homeric ‘κλέος’/kleos, yearning for the search of ‘fame and glory’ throughout the Epic Poem.

(The Eleusis Amphora, Polyphemos Painter, c. 638 BC)

Odysseus’s strategic cunning was his most important attribute, which allowed him to use his ‘μῆτις’/mêtis (skill/counsel) and engineer his way out of hardships, surviving the Trojan War and the Mediterranean Journey to return home. This is exemplified when he comes up with the ingenious idea of building the Trojan Horse, baiting the City of Troy into accepting it as an offering to the gods. Moreover, when the eponymous hero blinds Polyphemus, the Cyclops asks who has inflicted this wound, to which Odysseus responds that ‘Nobody’ did it. This results in a comedic and clever response since the poor creature repeats this to his family, as they believe him to have lost his mind. But ultimately, the eponymous hero’s pride gets the better of him, as he then rectifies that it was ‘Odysseus’ who stabbed him, which results in Polyphemus imploring Poseidon, his father, to curse his voyage. When Wilson chooses to translate ‘πολῠ́τροπος’/polŭ́tropos to ‘complicated,’ the Homeric Epithet carries a negative connotation and psychological baggage. What should read as an Ancient Danaan Warrior, whose strategic cunning is worthy of praise, instead ends up lost in translation, where there is now a moral judgment that wasn’t present in Homer’s Epic Poem.

(Giovanni Domenico Tiepolo, The Procession of the Trojan Horse into Troy, 1760)

Furthermore, the Fall of Troy is described by Homer as: ‘αἰνότατος πόλεμος’/ainótătos pólemos, which has a dual meaning in Ancient Greek. The superlative adjective ‘αἰνότατος’/ainótătos derives from ‘αἰνός’/ainós, which encompasses the event as ‘awe-inspiring’ and ‘dreadful,’ while the noun ‘πόλεμος’/pólemos refers to the war itself. A traditional philologist could translate ‘αἰνότατος πόλεμος’/ainótătos pólemos as an ‘awe-inspiring war.’ This could easily lead to the assumption that the Sack of Troy is to be revered, but instead, the complex phrase stresses both the wonder of the Argive Warriors, who perform mighty deeds, and the terror of the Trojan War, which has claimed countless lives. After 10 years in Troy, Odysseus’ pride shines through with his strategic cunning as ‘πολῠ́τροπος’/polŭ́tropos, earning him the reputation as a ‘man of many ways/twists/turns’ because he comes up with the resourceful and deceitful ruse of the Trojan Horse. In this way, Homer exalts his skill through poetic praise, while simultaneously reflecting on the tragic price it demands. However, Wilson has translated ‘αἰνότατος πόλεμος’/ainótătos pólemos as a ‘dreadful war’, which confines the Siege of Troy to a despicable event, removing its intricacy to instead simplify the Ancient Greek, forgoing the Homeric Heroism found in the eponymous hero and the Trojan War. Therefore, Wilson deprives Homer’s Odysseus of his ‘μῆτις’/mêtis (skill/counsel) by transforming him into a ‘complicated’ man instead of a ‘cunning’ warrior, where he is subjected to a moral judgment since the conflict is stripped of its wonder, only to be filled with terror, replacing his heroic virtues that allowed him to learn of ‘νόστος’/nostos (homecoming) with a psychological burden fit for the 21st century.

Part II: The Erasure of Mycenaean Antiquity

(Exhibition: The Art of Armor in Ancient Greece, Reconstructed Mycenaean Armor from the Late Bronze Age, Dimitrios Katsikis, 2010-2020)

As a whole, Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey achieves a commendable degree of fidelity by employing iambic pentameter as an equivalent of Homer’s dactylic hexameter, with five-beat lines of unstressed and stressed syllables. But this is done at the expense of compressing Homeric Epithets and Phrases, forfeiting their complexity while projecting a ‘modern’ worldview. Odysseus’ narrative role and character traits are reimagined with the fears and anxieties of the 21st century, which in turn further departs from Homer’s Epic Poem in Nolan’s adaptation. Because the eponymous hero is now a complicated and traumatized man, the setting, themes, and tones of this perilous journey must reflect this psychological shift. Instead of recreating the Colorful Palaces and Armor of the Bronze Age in Mycenaean Greece, the film has opted for a ‘Medieval Viking’ Aesthetic. The once vibrant golds and purples have been replaced with dull and dark tints, where characters wear tan costumes, the scenery is pitch black, and the world is morally grey.

(The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

Despite that, Homer’s The Odyssey is a Mythological Story; it does occur within a Cultural and Historical Background of Mycenaean Civilization and the Trojan War. Consequently, it’s puzzling when Nolan, who’s famed for his practical effects and ‘historical realism’ in previous projects (Dunkirk and Oppenheimer), decides to board Odysseus’ crew on a Nordic ‘Drakkar.’ This longship from the Medieval Period was specifically built for long sea voyages and coastal raids during the Viking Age. Accordingly, it replaces the Mycenaean ‘Penteconter’ from Antiquity, which represented a unique maritime tradition of naval warfare and trade routes. Aside from practical reasons, the choice not only conveys Nolan’s deconstructive adaptation of the Bronze Age, which was directly transferred into the visual medium from Wilson’s translation of a difficult and distressed man, but it also exposes Hollywood’s overused trope of the ‘Dark Middle Ages.’

(Book Illustration: The Legend of Odysseus, Ancient Greek Penteconter, Peter Connolly, 1986)

Even further, the film sets out to homogenize the Ancestry and Ethnicity of the Ancient Mycenaean World, relegating the Greek People out of their art, music, literature, and oral tradition. Alongside, it also globalizes the Epic Poem with ‘modern’ vocabulary, producing, for example, jarring conversations such as when Odysseus and Penelope directly mention the Bronze Age Collapse and the Sea Peoples. Most strikingly, the eponymous hero confesses that the Trojan Horse was a wicked crime that caused the downfall of civilization. Regrettably, their interaction reads as a poor attempt to ground this mythical story in ‘historical realism’ by employing terms that wouldn’t be coined until the 19th century by academics. The equivalent would be if a European Knight said in 1453: “Thus falls the Byzantine Empire and the Medieval Period has concluded.” Such an incongruous statement wouldn’t make any sense because how could this individual know he is in the Middle Ages and refer to Rome’s Collapse in the East by terminology that wasn’t invented until the 15th and 16th centuries?

(The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

Part III: The Demystification of Greek Mythology

(The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

In the film, Odysseus’ deconstruction affects his spiritual link with the gods, where the Greek Pantheon is largely absent aside from Athena. Nevertheless, she is relegated to a hallucination of the eponymous hero, caused by his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Since Wilson has translated a traumatized man, Nolan subsequently adapted Odysseus’ psychological burden, instead of a prideful warrior who must be humbled by the heavens above. This deprives the Trojan War of anything ‘awe-inspiring,’ since there are no heroic deeds, leaving only a ‘dreadful war’ that plunged civilization into darkness. Both Wilson and Nolan impose a moral judgment on the eponymous hero, downplaying his strategic cunning to twist him into a murderer, thief, and liar who doesn’t confront divine intervention to find his way home.

(Athena appearing to Odysseus to reveal the Island of Ithaca, Giuseppe Bottani, 1775)

Successively, Zeus and Poseidon lose their agency, while the goddess of wisdom serves only as an instrument of his broken state. The Ancient Greek World is robbed of its mystical wonder and grandeur, leaving only the horrors of the Trojan War and Mythical Monsters. Since Odysseus is no longer a man of many ways, twists, and turns, the film substitutes Homer’s Heroic Danaan Warrior with a Troubled Greek Veteran. A stark difference is that, in the film, the eponymous hero willingly consumes the Lotus Fruit offered by Calypso since he is fraught with personal remorse, whereas in the Epic Poem, his longing to return home and remember his family saves him, refusing the Lotus-Eaters. By dispossessing him of his wits and arrogance, he doesn’t need any heavenly assistance to be freed from Calypso because he is already drowning in a guilty conscience out of his own volition. Both Odysseus and Telemachus have to fend for themselves because Athena’s celestial guidance is nonexistent. If the goddess of wisdom is reduced to a hallucination of Odysseus’ PTSD and isn’t present in Telemachus’ coming of age, then she cannot help them achieve their arcs to either learn the meaning of ‘νόστος’/nostos (homecoming) or grow into a man. As a whole, Homeric Destiny is lost in translation, as neither father nor son has spiritual support; instead, one carries psychological baggage caused by a ‘dreadful war’ that never fully healed, while the other is trapped in a state of infancy and never matures.

(The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

Despite all of these departures from Homeric Heroism, Mycenaean Antiquity, and Greek Mythology, Nolan’s The Odyssey does have its moments of cinematic brilliance. Matt Damon as Odysseus and Anne Hathaway as Penelope are standouts that encompass the story’s emotional heart, which pays off in the resolution. Here, there’s close fidelity to the source material, as the central theme of ‘νόστος’/nostos (homecoming) is compellingly established to set up proper expectations of his eventual return. When the eponymous hero finally gets back to Ithaca, the film delivers an exhilarating sequence in which the momentum builds from his arrival in disguise as a beggar until he wins the trial, revealing himself to the suitors and defeating them to reclaim his homeland. Notably, scenes such as the encounters with the Cyclops and Circe are skilfully executed, with a visual spectacle of sheer terror. All of these are further elevated by Ludwig Göransson’s moving score, incorporating Ancient Greek Aulos and Lyres, which were specifically reconstructed to match their Bronze Age Designs. Throughout the journey, Nolan preserves Odysseus’ lesson, where he learns the meaning of νόστος’/nostos (homecoming), but loses in his ‘adaptation’ (translation) the man of many ways, twists, and turns, leaving audiences with a Troubled Greek Veteran who is in a broken state from beginning to end.

(Theatrical Poster: The Odyssey, Christopher Nolan, 2026)

Altogether, Homer’s Odysseus has been deprived of his heroic attributes, succumbing to a guilty conscience because he devised the Trojan Horse, which should accentuate his strategic cunning but instead exposes his wicked crime. Both Wilson’s translation and Nolan’s adaptation redefine the eponymous hero by projecting their fears and anxieties into The Odyssey. This results in the Death of Homeric Heroism, the Erasure of Mycenaean Antiquity, and the Demystification of Greek Mythology, imposing in its stead a moral judgment and psychological burden from the 21st century. Instead of engaging in an authentic dialogue with Homer’s Epic Poem by appreciating the Bronze Age’s Codes and Homeric World’s Values, they’ve opted to force a ‘modern’ worldview on an ancient text. In the end, Post-Modernists aren’t interested in a genuine conversation with the Western Heritage, and instead of applying classical ‘imitatio’ (imitation), they prefer to deconstruct the Heroic Ideals of the Past found in Odysseus because this allows them to talk with their reflection in the mirror, while losing in translation a complicated man… or was he of many ways, twists, and turns?

Bibliography:

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fagles, Penguin Books, 2006.

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fitzgerald, Everyman’s Library, 1992.

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Richmond Lattimore, Harper Perennial, 2007.

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Emily Wilson, W. W. Norton & Company, 2017.

The Odyssey. Directed by Christopher Nolan, Universal Pictures, 2026.

Posted in Short Stories

The Tragedy of Youthful Diodorus

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

(Gustave Doré, The Divine Comedy: Inferno, Dante and Virgil leaving the dark wood, 1861)

Before Prometheus seized Zeus’ furtive fire to awaken mankind from their slumbering shade, amidst the fabled lands of Hellas and Anatolia arose the mystifying isle of Menodora. Near the maiden’s waters wandered the magisterial vessel of Adamantios, ramming across her white shores in the Aegean Sea. Here dwelled a nymph who held dominion over her woodland realm, enticing a mariner with the mellow aroma of her plums to bind him under a spell. Whilst Adamantios delved ever deeper into the boughs of Menodora, she stretched her branches to and fro, wrapping him beneath her limbs. She then beheld the stout craft of his ship as he glimpsed the bewildering beauty of her magical domain. Thereupon, a spirit became smitten by the form when Menodora slept with Adamantios and conceived Diodorus.

After the moon’s fading and the sun’s rising, the father departed when he was mustered to resume his post. Without hesitation, he chose to abandon his beloved and child, sailing away with a promise to return when his task had been fulfilled. Alone, the mother sprang her seed, nurturing him within her woodland realm. She entwined her branches to cloud him with the gloom of Nyx and the paleness of Selene, bloating Helios’ chariot from fetching the light. Diodorus became shunned from the eternal flame that eclipsed every year, casting a shadow over the rotation of Adamantios’ sundial. Amidst the mystical isle of Menodora, ensnaring vines stretched to the east and west, where her son was confined to the borders of her magical domain under duress by the zealous nature of his mother. 

Persistently, Diodorus wailed to be quelled by the breast of Menodora, latching onto her bosom to hide from mankind in seclusion. Amidst bountiful trees, the child was fenced from the seas, towered from the heavens, and prohibited from leaving his mother’s sight. Whilst he grew steadfast in stature, Menodora was reminded of her beloved and became haunted by the recollection of his departure. In his father’s absence, Diodorus lacked form and was cast from his mother’s spirit. She leashed him with slithering vines and forced him to remain at her side, fearful he’d forsake her as Adamantios had. Every day, she gathered the harvest and gifted the labor to him, robbing her child of freely snatching nourishment on his own. Everything Diodorus demanded, Menodora provided by merely mumbling and pointing at what he desired. Infancy bloomed into childhood and matured into adolescence, with the feeble boy now grown into a stout man who had been shielded from all he feared, incapable of uttering the tongue of mankind and picking himself up to tread in their footsteps. In time, the son became maimed whilst his nurturer spoiled him when she ceaselessly recited: “Come mine dear Diodorus and listen to thy mother, thou shall never be compelled to stretch thy feet or declare with thy tongue, for mine woodland realm will deliver thou with every fruit and need, as thy requests shall be satisfied with great haste and heed.” 

Thence, Adamantios returned from his perilous journey to her ragged shores, longing to amend for his absence. After forsaking his duty, he sought the embrace of Menodora, haunted by a guilty conscience. However, when the father delved into her woodland realm, he became horrified by the sight of his son still clasped in the belly of the mother. There, Diodorus wriggled and whined, waiting to receive whatever was within Menodora’s grasp. In a flicker, Adamantios fumed with a fit of fury, flashing his saber to cut through the veins that wrapped his son whilst he gazed in revulsion at a man subjected to his mother’s breast. The boy collapsed at his father’s feet as he seized him to raise Diodorus into manhood. For the last time, the nymph and the mariner beheld one another as his craft repulsed her, and he became terrified of her charm. In piercing grief, Menodora wailed the loss of her son, struggling to catch Adamantios with the threads of her net. Desperately, she clung to her child’s numb feet from the tree’s brittle branches, but his father dragged him with the ship’s chains away from his mother in that cursed isle. Thereupon, the spirit split from the form when Adamantios robbed Diodorus of Menodora. 

They set off aboard the father’s vessel, where his son tirelessly labored to earn rations of food and stood on his feet to maintain an admirable reputation. As the waves crashed to and fro, he became sick and barely fulfilled his tasks, failing to steer the ship. Once more, Adamantios’ temper was incited, and Diodorus turned his bitterness against him as their rivalry to claim mastery originated. A contemptuous struggle ensued between a father’s absent presence and his son’s boyish witlessness. In that ship, Diodorus toiled under the whip of Adamantios until he could go on no more, longing for the lodging of his mother. He failed to grasp the aptitude of speech and every errand assigned, only learning to imitate the ferocity of his father. In time, the son became maimed whilst his master flogged him when he ceaselessly shouted: “Come mine meek Diodorus and listen to thy father, thou must endeavor to gain sustenance and station, for mine vessel will test thy body and break thy soul, as thine every deed accomplished shall be rewarded with utter haste and heed!”

After arduous trials, Diodorus learned to speak the tongue of mankind and tread in their footsteps, but his deeds were driven by spite, craving to surpass Adamantios. When the boy mustered the mettle of a mariner, he unleashed his newfound potency to strike down his father. Immediately, Diodorus seized the saber and smote him, steering the ship back to the isle of his mother. Upon returning, he rammed the shattered vessel into Menodora’s colorless shores, where he burned Adamantios’ craft to sever his road to mankind. From afar, a mother witnessed the wickedness of her child, who slew his father in retribution. When he sought refuge, she disregarded his deed, wrapping him within the haven of her bosom, where he would never age in her woodland realm. Thus, Menodora’s spirit rotted to mold, and Adamantios’ form flickered into ashes, as their boy, who never grew, drowned amidst the waves of the sea, swallowing Diodorus in his youth.

Posted in Poems

A Traveller’s Guide to Hellas

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

(Leo von Klenze, The Acropolis at Athens, 1846)

Where does a Sailor land ashore,

When he has lost sight of his course?

Nowhere else but upon those Western Shores!

He hears the dialogues of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle,

Who argue about a world of earthly and heavenly ideas,

To stumble across that Ancient City of Greek Philosophy!

He trods along a road to find the Odeon of Dionysus in Athens,

Where he sees from the Theatron, Aeschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles,

To witness the grandeur of Greek Drama with Oedipus’ Tragedy!

Atop The Parthenon, he strides beside Doric and Ionic Columns,

Savoring the craftsmanship of Phidias, Ictinus, and Callicrates,

To breathe the clean air of Pericles’ Athenian Democracy!

Upon the hill, he glimpses Troy’s ruins and Agamemnon’s tomb over Hellas,

Far off, where King Leonidas of Sparta led Three Hundred to hold the Hot Gates,

Until Alexander of Makedonia crossed the Hellespont to usher a Golden Age!

Posted in Library of Alexandria, Marcus Aurelius' Meditations

Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations III

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

Moreover, Meditations harkens back to the philosophy of the Socratics with Epictetus’ teachings on the principles of moral virtue. Here, the Emperor contemplated how to discover his spiritual voice and speak with his “dæmon” to live in agreement with the universal nature. This brought Marcus Aurelius in contact with divine counsel, as the “logos” advised him to pursue what was meaningful and avoid distractions. Among these troubles, he warned himself against chasing after worldly desires and bursting out in fits of anger. Marcus Aurelius voiced this struggle to care for one’s soul by controlling his impulses when he conveyed: “Repentance is a kind of self-reproof for having neglected something useful; but that which is good must be something useful, and the perfect good man should look after it. But no such man would ever repent of having refused any sensual pleasure. Pleasure then is neither good nor useful.” (Meditations 75)

Then, the Emperor reasoned that he must balance his spirit and the universal law governing outer events, including the unpredictable nature of confronting pain. Since he had no influence over his surroundings, Marcus Aurelius pondered how he could endure an unfavorable outcome and accept the experience with a calm posture. To resolve this dilemma, he argued that the harmful deeds of others didn’t impact his nature; instead, the Emperor’s response to this injury defined his character. Marcus Aurelius displayed his resolve to stomach hardship when he articulated: “For he who yields to pain and he who yields to anger, both are wounded and both submit.” (Meditations 118) Often, the Emperor grasped that his mind’s outlook on a problem was potent enough to alleviate or increase his wound’s anguish. Only by learning to control how he perceived a harmful occurrence could he gain inner peace with his “dæmon” and “logos” instead of falling into distress. Accordingly, Marcus Aurelius sought a balance with the universal nature, understanding he held no power over his environment but only how he responded by reflecting: “Wipe out thy imagination by often saying to thyself: now it is in my power to let no badness be in this soul, nor desire, nor any perturbation at all; but looking at all things I see what is their nature, and I use each according to its value. Remember this power which thou hast from nature.” (Meditations 79)

Afterward, the Emperor discussed that a pivotal lesson of Stoicism is that happiness becomes the responsibility of every individual, with the quality of his thoughts shaping a man’s attitude. Consequently, his surroundings can deal a good or bad hand regardless of one’s character. However, Marcus Aurelius didn’t hold himself answerable for the world’s nature but was only accountable for his reaction when facing tragedy by contemplating: “If thou art pained by any external thing, it is not this that disturbs thee, but thy own judgment about it. And it is in thy power to wipe out this judgment now.” (Meditations 82) Therefore, the Emperor understood that he could revoke the notion of whatever disturbed his harmony, exercising power over his mind’s opinion about that which troubled him. 

Overall, Meditations records Marcus Aurelius’ personal reflections on how to lead a virtuous life in accordance with the teachings of Stoic Philosophy. Throughout his reign, he relished a life of luxuries fit for a Roman Emperor. He was free to abuse his authority with prideful ambitions that would’ve seen him indulge in every vice, from fleeting pleasure to spewing anger. Nevertheless, he chose to rule Rome’s powerful economic and military force under the beliefs of Stoicism. In his daily life, Marcus Aurelius practiced humility, patience, and gratitude when addressing the challenging predicaments of upholding his character or the numerous crises faced by the Roman Empire. Above all, the Emperor consulted his “dæmon” or “logos” for spiritual guidance and divine wisdom to contemplate the principles of universal change while leading a life of moral virtue. Hence, Meditations serves as the archetypal work of Stoic Philosophy that preserves Marcus Aurelius’ implicit teachings on how to practice wisdom, justice, fortitude, and moderation to master the self, as the Roman Emperor’s pursuit to live righteously in accordance with nature while building a relationship with his innermost soul immortalized him for generations of readers as the Philosopher-King from the Greco-Roman World.

Posted in Library of Alexandria, Marcus Aurelius' Meditations

Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations II

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

In Meditations, the Emperor reflected on how to lead a virtuous life in accordance with four chief virtues that allow a man to live in harmony with nature. These are categorized into wisdom, justice, fortitude, and moderation. Throughout the text, Marcus Aurelius explored how to deduce a man’s character based on his moral or immoral behavior by declaring: “If it is not right, do not do it: if it is not true, do not say it.” (Meditations 126) Alongside, he pondered how everyone is destined to receive his rightful due and should be prepared to face the consequences of his actions. Next, the Emperor contemplated the importance of persevering amidst the constant toiling and suffering that must be tolerated in life. Finally, Marcus Aurelius remarked on how to live in utter simplicity by employing self-discipline toward the proclivity for earthly desires. 

A critical teaching reverberating in Meditations is the mastery of the self, with the Emperor expressing a need to conquer his emotions. Here, he observed that one must learn to overcome his fits of passion or risk falling into an adrenaline rush of poor decision-making. From this philosophical thought, Marcus Aurelius affirmed: “Be thou erect, or be made erect.” (Meditations 63) Only by gaining control over his impulses, could he learn to live judiciously and purposely. Although Marcus Aurelius would experience pleasure, anger, grief, despair, temptation, and pain, these would not influence his reaction to outer events. By subduing his emotions, the Emperor maintained the ruling faculties that defined his character, leading to a more fulfilling human experience by finding happiness through a stable life of inner peace. Another personal reflection of Marcus Aurelius clarified this when he said: “Whatever anyone does or says, I must be good, just as if the gold, or the emerald, or the purple were saying this: Whatever anyone does or says, I must be emerald and keep my colour.” (Meditations 63)

Furthermore, the Emperor echoed the philosophy of the Pre-Socratics with Heraclitus’ teachings on the world’s nature and the principle of universal change. Firstly, he wondered why men should fear transformation when this is a natural stage of maturity between an individual and his environment. Both require alteration to uncover their true visage, meaning that for a garden to bloom in the spring, one must risk its withering in the fall. When speaking of change, Marcus Aurelius ruminated: “Is any man afraid of change? Why, what can take place without change? What then is more pleasing and more suitable to the universal nature?” (Meditations 64)

Alongside, the Emperor deduced the finite scope of human life and how insignificant it is to desire marble monuments in one’s name when none will be there to remember. He reasoned that everyone is destined to perish due to the nature of men, governed by the universal law of transformation. However, some seek to be immortalized with a vainglorious recollection of themselves, appealing to the adoring masses for their deeds to live on through them. Nevertheless, he concluded that this proud act to achieve immortality beyond death is not worth pursuing due to the far-reaching and ever-stretching sands of time that sooner or later wipe out the prideful from all memory. When examining the fate of mortals and their eventual fading from history, Marcus Aurelius expressed: “For all things soon pass away and become a mere tale, and complete oblivion soon buries them. And I say this for those who have shone in a wondrous way. For the rest, as soon as they have breathed out their breath, they are gone, and no man speaks of them. And to conclude the matter, what is even an eternal remembrance? A mere nothing.” (Meditations 31)

Posted in Library of Alexandria, Marcus Aurelius' Meditations

Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations I

Posted on by thewesternvoyager

By: Bryan Ricardo Marini Quintana

Meditations is a compendium of Marcus Aurelius’ (121-180 AD) personal reflections, which the Roman Emperor originally wrote to consult and exercise the old wisdom of the Stoics. A Hellenistic philosopher named Zeno (335-256 BC) founded the School of Stoicism, observing that a universal reason governs life, and everyone should strive to live righteously in agreement with it. These Stoics originated in the Greco-Roman World, whose ancient culture instructed individuals to pursue a virtuous life by mastering the self. When facing adversity or despair, Stoicism advised the practice of humility, patience, and gratitude to combat impulsive passions that drive prideful men to lust or wrath. Instead, Stoics counseled communion with the “dæmon” or “logos” within every man’s innermost soul, learning how to discover spiritual guidance and reflect on divine wisdom in accordance with nature. Although Marcus Aurelius recorded his philosophical thoughts to contemplate the principles of Stoicism in private, he never intended to publish his text for public consumption. Therefore, Meditations cannot be approached as an autobiographical work with detailed accounts of his life; rather, it’s a handbook that helped him bond with his “dæmon” or “logos” while training in personal reflections on how to lead a life of virtue.

From an early age, the Emperor relished a life of commodities by benefiting from relatives who held positions of high esteem among the powerful families that influenced the socio-political structure of Rome. Later on, Marcus Aurelius would come into the line of succession when Emperor Hadrian (76-138 AD) named his uncle, Antoninus Pius (86-161 AD), his sole heir. In turn, he adopted Marcus Aurelius and his brother Lucius Verus (130-169 AD) to become joint Emperors upon his passing. From Augustus’ rise to power as the first Caesar (63 BC-14 AD) until Marcus Aurelius’ reign as a successor of the Nerva-Antonine Dynasty, the Roman Empire experienced 200 years of Roman Peace known as the “Pax-Romana” (27 BC-180 AD). During these two centuries, Rome flourished economically and culturally, with massive funds for public works that displayed the splendor of these Emperors with the building of roads, arches, walls, temples, palaces, theaters, and cities. Upon assuming the throne, Marcus Aurelius inherited a prosperous Roman Empire ruled in succession by Nerva (20-98 AD), Trajan (53-117 AD), Hadrian, and Pius, who became venerated as The Five Good Emperors.

During his rule, Marcus Aurelius faced various crises that tested his capabilities to administrate the Roman Empire. Among these was the rapid conversion of Christians across the eastern provinces, whose persecution continued from his predecessors under his rule. Furthermore, the Emperor came into conflict with the Parthian Empire in the Roman-Parthian War (161-166 AD), which brought military victory but at the cost of spreading back home the Antonine Plague (165-190 AD). Moreover, a series of clashes ensued with the Germanic Tribes across the Danube River in the Marcomannic Wars (166-180 AD). During his campaigns in the Roman Frontier, Marcus Aurelius began writing Meditations amidst a violent struggle that consumed much of his life, with the triumphant aftermath exposing vital weaknesses in Rome’s northern border. 

In his education, the Emperor studied the ideas of Socrates (470-399 BC), Plato (428/427-348/347 BC), and Aristotle (384-322 BC). The Fathers of Philosophy introduced him to the concepts of caring for one’s soul, the link between a physical and celestial realm, and how to lead a life of moral virtue. However, the most influential teachings came from Pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus (540-480 BC) and Socratic philosopher Epictetus (55-135 AD). On one side, the Pre-Socratics, preceding Socrates, were concerned with how the world’s nature becomes entwined with man. This is illustrated by Heraclitus, who believed that the principle of the universe is a constant state of change, where life is an ever-flowing stream. Subsequently, transformation isn’t only a necessity for men and their surroundings, but it’s also a natural alteration. The philosopher understood this as a universal law of birth, growth, climax, decay, and death. Among the philosophical thoughts of Heraclitus, the expression that encapsulates his outlook is: “No man ever steps in the same river twice. For it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” (The Fragments of Heraclitus) 

Meanwhile, the Socratics, succeeding Socrates, were fixated on the principles of moral virtue by observing how human behavior and notions lead to a noble or depraved life. This is exemplified by Epictetus, who argued that individuals should be held accountable for their conduct, learning to evaluate and regulate themselves. However, the philosopher discussed that, likewise, they cannot dictate the outcome of external circumstances, meaning that these should be embraced with a peaceful attitude to be righteous decision-makers. From Epictetus, a philosophical saying that captures his conviction is: “Circumstances don’t make the man; they merely reveal him to himself.” (The Discourses of Epictetus) Both philosophers, Heraclitus and Epictetus, are mentioned throughout Meditations, with Marcus Aurelius recalling their wisdom when pondering on concepts such as the “dæmon” or “logos” alongside their relation to the universal law and moral virtue.