Memento mori, memento vivere: On skulls and things

I have a thing for skulls. My mother finds it morbid and me as well, by extension.  

On my desk sits a lovely resin skull, its smooth bony surface carved with hand-painted flowers, an online purchase from an Etsy creative who specializes in Dia de los Muertos merchandise. She has a name—Stella. And I rub her head every day as a reminder to live this day well.

My bizarre fascination began over a decade ago when walking around Rome, we chanced on an off-the tourist-radar spot hidden along the swanky hotels and boutiques of Via Veneto. From the street, it looked like a typical brick church and nothing remarkable about it. 

Inside is a bizarre ossuary, a collection of over bones from over 4,000 deceased Capuchin friars and poor Romans, including children that has survived the centuries. The bones were arranged into chandeliers with whole skeletons displayed in artistic poses while a few were mummified remains. 

Rib cages were formed into lamps, pelvic bones into archways. No photographs were allowed but you can buy postcards at the exit. For EU1, you are first horrified then fascinated,  sobered then meditative, admiring its intricacy and strange beauty, then appreciative—for the gift of being alive today and the thought of how you will be remembered or forgotten in the years to come.

As you enter, and as you leave, a placard declares:

Quello che siete fummo, quello che siamo sarete:
What you are we were, and what we are you will become

You are urged by the provided pamphlet to take a good look around you, for looking at these remains, you cannot tell who was beautiful or plain, who was rich or poor, famous or ordinary, learned or illiterate. It is a chilling, creepy, sobering reminder that most of what we consider urgent and important should always be framed in the light of eternity. 

A review on TripAdvisor captures it best: “Meditating on the implication of all of the lives packed together in that little space, and the art created from bones representing the beauty of the human form and transience of human life was an awesomely humbling experience”.

At one point in time, these were people who were alive, going about their daily business: working, loving, bickering, learning, creating, playing, resting – all the qualities of both ordinary and extraordinary lives. Maybe during this period of history, there are names that we now still remember. But millions more that are not remembered. So it will be for the generations that come after us. 

This fascination with human remains as art or for purposes of meditation is found even before the dawn of Christianity. It dates back to Socrates and the Roman emperors, who famously had a rider behind them as they marched through victorious campaigns. It was said that this rider’s sole job was, amid the pomp and splendor of the victory parade, to whisper into his emperor’s ear: “Remember, thou art mortal!”

Stoics Marcus Aurelius and Seneca considered the practice of contemplating death necessary to living a good and meaningful life.  Even modern day icons and secular prophets such as Steve Jobs, Ryan Holliday, Tony Robbins, Tim Ferris have had lengthy discourses on how the thought that their time on earth is finite has driven them to live well and purposefully.

Now that Halloween celebrations have forcibly taken a back seat, it is a good time to refocus our attention on the post-revelry holy days that are the origins of Halloween:  All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.  And now, more than any other All Souls’ Day, there is probably not one person reading this who has not been touched by loss.

It is a very natural thing to be afraid of death.  

But in the past year and half, death has become very personal for us. Grief has become real and palpable for us—whether for a loved one, a way of life, a livelihood, perhaps relationships.

COVID is revealing a fear that was always there. Always in the background, however we chose to distract ourselves from it—the fear of loss.

But maybe it’s a gift to finally face that fear.  We may find that we will decide to reorient our choices and priorities.

We may find that we let go of things (or people) that don’t belong and to hold on to things that we need.

We may make better use of our time and turn away from distraction—whether that comes in the form of Netflix, scrolling through Facebook, shopping, or that  seemingly harmless habit that we can’t shake. We may decide to turn our full attention to who and what is really important.

They say you die twice – when you leave this world, and the last time someone says your name. On this day of days, it’s important to honor those who have gone before us as much as we possibly can, but also to remember that at some point, every single one of us will be forgotten. 

Do you remember the name of your great-great grandmother? What about your great-great grandfather? What do you remember about them?

When your kids remember you, maybe your grandkids, maybe your great-grandkids, what will they remember? What will the people who love us remember about us?

Will they remember that we loved them? Will they remember that through the way we lived, what we taught the next generation, we brought good into their lives? 

I differ when Shakespeare, through Mark Antony says “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is often interred in their bones.” I believe the good we do quietly lives on. Like matter and energy—our love and our legacies are never lost, only preserved and paid forward.

To keep the end in mind is to treat the time we have today as a gift. To realize that the point of living is not merely to stay alive and be comfortable while doing it.  It is to put aside fear, live in hope, not to live recklessly, but to discern and embrace the risk when it comes to who or what we love. To live under fear and thoughtless habit will destroy a life before it’s actually over.  

Remember that we are going to die someday, but in the meantime, today is a good day to live.

Memento Mori. Memento Vivere.