The first resolution to life's brevity that we will explore from the poets is, unsurprisingly, the immortal power of words. We will look at two similar excerpts and then discuss the continuity of their contents. The first is Theognis discussing his preservation of the name of Kyrnos in poems. The identity of Kyrnos--a lover, friend, or relative--is a matter of scholarly debate. Theognis writes:

"And when beneath the hollows of the murky earth

you go to Hades' halls ringing with lamentation,

not even then, though dead, will you ever lose your fame;

instead you will be known

to people of all time, your name imperishable,

Kyrnos" (Theognis, Lines 244-49)

Sappho shares a similar idea about her own name in her most biting lines. According to Plutarch here she is attacking "some uncultured and ignorant woman":

"But when you die you will lie there, and no memory of you

will linger in later time, for you have no share in the roses

that come from Pieria."

(Sappho, Fr. 55)

Names achieve everlasting fame when they have a "share in the roses that come from Pieria," the home of the muses. The implication from each poet is the same; Either due to their inclusion in the work, as with Kyrnos, or their accreditation as the author, as with Sappho, names that attach themselves to beautiful works of poetry will outlive their bearers. Theognis suggests a name takes on a new life and residence on the tongues of those who sing the songs. This gives the subject an everlasting fame that continues after they have gone "to Hades' halls ringing with lamentation."

Two obvious points should be made regarding this type of "immortality." The first is simply that the poets were correct. Everything else about him has been forgotten, but the name of Kyrnos certainly lives on. Likewise, Sappho's words are recited in languages that did not exist when she was alive, and on continents of which she knew nothing. Yet, the modern rationalist cannot help but to play foil to this success. They would ask what the utility of such fame might be. Frankly, to this question the Greeks do not provide a good answer. There are some who seem to disagree with this approach which will be looked at later. Still, for many an eternal reputation is simply assumed to be valuable.

In fact, it was so valuable that some poets, namely Bacchylides and Pindar, could charge for it. This came in the form of commissioned odes. While they wrote in many genres, it is primarily these odes that have survived. They are an odd genre which require a bit of context to understand.

At their pinnacle the Greeks loved athletic competition. Of course, the modern Olympics were modeled on the games that were held at Olympia, but that was only one of a host of different athletic competitions held throughout the Hellenic world. Athletes participated in these games--which typically accompanied a religious festival--in a type of circuit similar to how modern professional golfers and tennis players compete.

The winners, who were typically from wealthy and connected families already, received high honors and rewards, typically at the public's expense. This practice was so widespread and extravagant as to earn a harsh reproach from the often critical poet Xenophanes. In his Fragment 2 he questions the utility that athletes provide to society at large and suggests that honor is better owed to those who can properly run a government.

Yet, where Xenophanes sees a public disgrace others see financial opportunity. Odes are pieces that praise the athletic achievements of victors in the games and were often commissioned by a relative of the athlete or even the athlete themselves. The premise seems straight forward; the implementation is far from it. Typically an ode would tie in one or multiple mythological stories to highlight some feature of the athlete, or, more importantly, the paying patron and their family. This leads to a style that feels a bit stilted with sudden turns, and frequent jumps in reasoning that require an extensive knowledge of both the historical context and ancient Greek mythology. They are not pieces for the faint of heart.

Fortunately, we will only play in the shallow end of this corpus. Their sales pitch is most relevant to our topic. These works are for pay, and repeat clients are common. Therefore, it is in the poet's best interest to sell their words to the patron. Here is the typical proposal: All men are going to die. Admirable accomplishments (typically athletic) should be remembered. It will be remembered if it is written down. Ergo, in order to live on in memory, you should find someone to praise your accomplishments in song. This section from a Bacchylides ode will provides a good example:

"To the one of wit, the things I say are intelligible. The deep

sky above cannot be stained; the water of the sea

does not decay; gold is a thing of joy;

but man is not allowed to shake off hoary

old age and once again recover blooming

youth. However, the luster of accomplishment does not

waste away along with the flesh of mortals; rather,

the Muse sets it to growing."

(Bacchylides, Ode 3, Lines 85-92)

In case the reader misses the last line, Bacchylides restates the point: "Together with the truth of noble deeds, many a man will sing the graceful gifts of Keos' honey-tongued nightingale." (Ode 3, Lines 96-98). The "honey-tongued nightingale" is Bacchylides himself who comes from Keos. The insinuation is clear. His words have the power to permeate across space and time and are, therefore, a worthy investment.

Only Simonides would argue with this. He will conclude this section as the humorous foil to the power of words. In ancient times there was an inscription on the grave marker of the tyrant Midas which was commonly attributed to Kleobolous of Lindos. In the poem the personified gravestone promises to last as long as the water, trees, sun, and moon. One is vaguely reminded of Shelley's Ozymandias. Simonides mocks the inscription and Kleobolous in particular,

"who against the ever-running rivers and the flowers of spring,

against the flame of the sun and the golden moon

and the eddies of the ocean has set the force of a gravestone?

All things are weaker than the gods, but a stone

even mortal hands can shatter. A fool

was he who planned this."

(Simonides, Fr. 581, Lines 2-7)

Anyone who has wandered through a very old cemetery can speak to the effects of corrosion. Here Simonides does so with sharp wit, but given our topic his point is quite relevant. Words may outlast the speaker, and the subject, but there is something arbitrary about it. There is not a place to inscribe them which will guarantee their preservation. Indeed, the works from any Greek writer were preserved through the efforts of countless transcribers. A labor undertaken only as a consequence of the Hellenes's status as a cultural ancestor to Rome. Even with such a fortunate turn of events most of the Greek texts are lost today. How many writers who promised immortality to their names and the names of their subjects have been forgotten?