Burial of the Dead
I have been working to finish part I of Properties of Blood, entitled The Reign of Love. Some time ago, I put up (on Fleming.Foundation) many rough chapters, which I have, as is my wont, gone over and over and over to make the argument more coherent, more persuasive, and less tied to the historical details. Perhaps I have taken too seriously what Vergil said of his own method in composing the Aeneid, that he worked the text into shape like a she-bear licking her cubs. Part I will consist of seven chapters, the last three of which are devoted to kinship. In chapter six, which is more or less ready, I have some reflections on funerals and respect for the dead. After reading Bill de Blasio's attack on an Orthodox Jewish funeral, I was minded to put up some of the paragraphs on this subject.....
Although we moderns look at questions of inheritance largely in economic terms, Jews, Greeks, and Romans were also interested in the continuity of the bloodline and in the carrying out of ritual obligations, particularly to the dead testator and his ancestors. The eldest son in a Jewish family, in return for his larger share in the wealth, had to carry out funereal duties for his father and take his place in the religious tradition.
In Athens, where citizenship had to be proved by the phratry, the vital fact of citizenship was bound up with dead ascendants. Places of burial were not “memorial gardens” to be visited only occasionally: The place of burial bound the living to their ascendancy:
" In Athens, when the archons-to be are examined for their eligibility, they have to prove their full citizenship not only by naming their parents and grandparents but also by stating ‘where they have their Zeus Herkeios and their Apollo Patroos and their family graves."
The survival and success of the oikos—the “house” as a metaphor for the family as a property-holding corporation that lived on from generation to generation—was a major concern for Athenians. In adopting an heir, a man was insuring the continuity of his oikos, but it was essential to both the birth and the adoptive families that the adopted son forfeit all claim to the property of the family into which he had been born.
The family’s continuity insured the maintenance of the sacrifices and rituals owed to dead ancestors. Among the most important of these duties was the burial of a deceased kinsman. The heir had the primary responsibility to see that the rites were carried out properly without any involvement of the dead man’s enemies. Families had their own places of burial, and part of an Athenian’s proof of citizenship was his ability to identify where his family buried. The city’s interest in these rituals was not limited to questions of citizenship. In a political community like Athens, the rituals of the family were mingled with community festivals, such as the Apatouria, at which the phratries paid honor to their dead, and the Anthesteria, during which the ghosts of dead ancestors were revered and dismissed for another year......
At a funeral during the Roman Republic, there were grave formalities to be observed: The procession was led by musicians, followed by sons with veiled heads and bareheaded daughters. Men wore the masks of their ancestors and put on the garments that typified the high offices held by those ancestors. According to Plutarch and Polybius, an effigy of the dead man wearing his own mask was carried on a funeral bed.
For Romans (and other traditional peoples), the dead have not entirely gone away. They may, in the manner of Greek heroes, bless their descendants and people in the neighborhood, or, if they are offended, they may prove troublesome. Once a year at the Parentalia (nine days in February), Roman families honored their ancestors, whose shades (Manes) were brought offerings, and exorcised any malevolent intentions that might have been provoked. Ovid tells the traditional tale (which he does not believe) that when on one occasion the rites had not been observed, ghosts left their tombs and threatened Rome. [Fasti II 533 ff.] In May they celebrated the Lemuria, whose rites were generally aimed at exorcizing evil spirits. Traditional Catholics preserve this understanding of the awesome dead by celebrating All Saints and All Souls.
We have nothing quite like the Greek and Roman attachment to places of burial in the American experience; nonetheless, tending graves used to be taken seriously by family members. In the South, this obligation was felt very strongly. The importance of place and the family burial ground is a commonplace in the list of North/South distinctions. “What do you do for a living?” the Northerner inevitably asks, while the Southerner just as inevitably responds (or used to respond) with his question, “Where are you from?” or sometimes, if he is speaking to another Southerner, “Where do your people bury?” Andrew Lytle, who frequently made this distinction in conversation, celebrated familial piety in his family memoir, A Wake for the Living, whose very title is evocative. In the world in which Lytle grew up, the connection to kinfolk was a vital necessity, but in the world in which he grew old, the bonds had weakened:
“If you don’t know who you are or where you come from, you will find yourself at a disadvantage. The ordered slums of suburbia are made for the confusion of the spirit. Those who live in units called homes or estates—both words do violence to the language—don’t know who they are. For the profound stress between that union that is the flesh and the spirit, they have been forced to exchange the appetites.
Mr. Andrew (as he was known to friends and disciples) had lived long into postmodernity. The last time I saw him was the occasion of his 90th birthday. After the ceremony, he invited Mel and Marie Bradford—with me as an appendage—to the Log Cabin for quiet conversation. He was tired, after so much rigmarole, but his mind was still lively, though it dwelt much on the past I could not help thinking that he was, perhaps, fortunate in not living any longer. He would have been far more at home in the Roman Republic than in Schaumburg, Illinois.