Melancholy of the Antique World

Flaubert wrote, “The melancholy of the antique world seems to me more profound than that of the moderns, all of whom more or less imply that beyond the dark void lies immortality. But for the ancients that ‘black hole’ is infinity itself; their dreams loom and vanish against a background of immutable ebony. No crying out, no convulsions—nothing but the fixity of the pensive gaze…

When walking through the Forum there is a sorrow for the past, for what we have lost, and a comtemplation of where we are now and what it all means. The idea that there is no permanence, that what we have today, our religion, government, house, car, and even family is only fleeting, rests upon the heart of those who witness ancient ruins. The ancient ruins of Rome stand as a permanent reminder of the past, but also a reminder that there is no permanence. The ancient ways of the past have been replaced with modern adaptations.



The haunting echo of bustling crowds, laughing children, cries of vendors hawking their wares, dogs barking, water splashing from fountains fills the air in the Forum. The inexplicable desire to witness the Forum at the height of its glory, to see the Forum in action sparks my imagination. I want to envision the Forum, breath in the scent of the Forum, see buildings and not ruins. Only through my imagination does the Forum suddenly have life and vibrancy again.

The ancient Romans strived to be remembered and revered for their actions. The buildings, statues and monuments were all erected in order to invoke their memory. The Forum is a reminder of the dreams and desires of the past. Today we walk through and discuss the building and their meaning, we talk about the arches and triumphal processions, we discuss who lived in what building, or talk about the importance of an ancient statue. The immortality of the past lies in the interest of the future, without our constant questioning of the past it will float slowly away into nothing.



Walking through the deserted streets of Pompei the same strange emptiness washed over me. I began to question, “What if this was never unearthed?” “What if we never dug down, or choose to open this site to the public?” I was filled with “What ifs?” In an instant all of Pompei was covered, the possibility of their future ended, and all was covered in black. As I slowly strolled through Pompei all that I could think about was the fact that people used to live and laugh and grow old in this city. There used to be life and vibrancy. The houses used to be filled with people, the streets full of vendors, the bars filled with people drinking and eating. Now there are simply miles of tourists, laughing and snapping photos.

Pompei invoked more questions for me than the Forum did. The idea that I was walking into the house of a family moved me more than witnessing an arch and discussing the implications behind it. The Roman Forum slowly lost its purpose and fell into disrepair, while the city of Pompei was covered in ash. Pompei could have continued on for centuries, Pompei could even be a functioning city today. What is difficult about viewing the past is that it causes one to question their current existence and the implications of their actions today. The idea that you and your life could be erased, or that what you know so well may someday fall into disrepair and be neglected for centuries is a terrifying thought. This is the melancholy of antiquity. The past causes us to question our life, the future and what will be remembered about ourselves. The antique world lives because our interest in it and we are pushed to live life to the fullest after we witness the past.