"In this world, you will have distress." ~ Of Viruses, Mortality, Art and Lent

A banner reading "memento mori" hangs over a winged skull on this grave
marker in the Old Granary Burying Ground in Boston, 18th century.

As much of the world reacts with hysteria to the COVID-19 plague, Catholics continue our journey through Lent. Indeed, the two events coalesce very appropriately. Lent is a penitential season when we are meant to reflect on our life and remember the inevitability of our death. Few things help to focus the mind on this topic more effectively than a deadly, fast-spreading viral outbreak.

We should recall that in the past our ancestors suffered through numerous plagues much more deadly than the current Corona virus with little or no recourse to medical care: The Black Death, cholera, typhus, tuberculosis, smallpox, etc. The response to these plagues can be seen in the artwork from the period, particularly in the style known as “Memento Mori.” Works created in this style focus on the fragility of human life and the inevitability of death. The phrase it self comes from the Latin warning which was meant to be whispered into the ear of a victorious Roman general as he rode in a celebratory triumph through the city or Rome: “Remember, thou art mortal.” Examples of the style may be seen throughout Christian history and in particular in funerary art like the gravestone shown above from Boston.

In keeping with the somber mood of the Lenten season, and to perhaps soothe some of the craziness associated with the ongoing Corona virus freak-out, here are some classic works of art to help us contemplate our own mortality:

Memento Mori from Pompeii, prior to AD 79.

The pleasure-loving Roman pagans living on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius had a healthy respect for death. Here we see a mosaic which once occupied the floor of a Roman villa. It shows a skull representing death sitting atop a butterfly representing the soul and a wheel which may turn in any direction representing fate or fortune. The skull hangs from a level which balances symbols of wealth on one side with symbols of poverty on the other. After the eruption of AD 79, the mosaic would lay under layers of volcanic ash and pumice for centuries. Read more here.

The advent of Christianity largely dispelled such stark portrayals of death—for a while at least. More commonly seen in the surviving artwork of early Christianity are images showing the sufferings and deaths of the martyrs. Works depicting the martyrdoms of the saints are more often associated with victory over death and eternal life. This image from the 11th century Menologion of the Eastern Emperor Basil II shows Saint Ignatius of Antioch being devoured by lions. Far from despairing, the Saint retains a look of steadfastness as he perseveres to the end.

Saint Ignatius of Antioch is devoured by lions in the arena from the
Menologion of Basil II, ca. early 11th century AD.

By the time of the high Middle Ages, however, death has re-emerged as a potent symbolic figure as can be seen in this illuminated page from a French Book of the Hours dated to AD 1450 pictured below. Here we see the gruesome figure of death who comes for all regardless of rank – from the Pope, to the Holy Roman Emperor, to a Cardinal, a king and a knight. Read more here.

Book of the Hours, ca. AD 1450. Click to enlarge.

The next image conveys a similar message. This detail of Death and the Miser by Hieronymous Bosch shows an elderly wealthy man on his deathbed. A demonic creature may be seen tempting him with a bag of gold even at his end, while an angel encourages him to acknowledge the crucifix. Meanwhile a sinister representation of Death stands at the door ready to cast his irresistible arrow.

Death and the Miser by Hieronymous Bosch,
late 15th century AD. Click to enlarge.

A similar artistic theme is known as Vanitas. Less terrifying than the late Medieval and early Renaissance works, the Vanitas genre hearkens back to the Scriptural passage in Ecclesiastes (1:2): “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” This refers to the ephemeral nature of life, and the images created in this style are more allegorical, often featuring a mix of the beautiful works of man in various states of disorder, decay or ruin, usually mixed with symbols of death. This image by the 17th century Dutch painter Matthias Withoos is a good example, showing symbols of art, music, exploration, and architecture (is that the pyramid of Cestius back there?) intermingled with natural overgrowth and skulls:

Vanitas by Matthias Withoos, 17th century AD. Click to enlarge.

Another common theme with a similar style is “Sic transit gloria mundi” – a Latin phrase which translates to: “Thus passes the world’s glory.” Below we see a work done by modern painter, Emily Allchurch, in imitation of a work by the 18th century Italian engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi. Piranesi's original may be seen here. In her work, Allchurch transplants Piranesi’s fantastical view of the Roman tombs at the intersection of the Via Appia and the Via Ardentina to a more contemporary setting, adding subtle street-signs and making them the approach to the skyscrapers of modern London, hinting that even the seeming permanence of modernity is subject to the same ruin as antiquity.

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi by Emily Allchurch, 2014. Click to enlarge.

All that said, we are enjoined as Christians to be hopeful. Despair and panic are decidedly pagan responses, and even the most enlightened pagans, like Plotinus of Lycopolis, could only offer cool apathy when faced with the certainty of death, saying (in paraphrase): "he is not to be thought great who thinks it strange that wood and stones should fall and mortals die." But the Gospel of Jesus Christ has something better to offer for those standing face-to-face with their own morality. When considering these things, we must remember that Jesus said: “In this world, you will have distress. But have confidence. I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33).

Ultimately, pondering our mortality isn’t the ends of Lent. It is only a prelude to the glory of the resurrection at Easter and the hope of eternal life.

Christ heals a woman who touches the hem of his
garment from Matthew 9:20. Paleo-Christian fresco in
the catacomb of Saints Peter and Marcellinus, Rome,
ca. late 3rd century AD.