The Mourning of Alexander the Great

The Mourning of Alexander the Great Jeanne Reames-Zimmerman The University of Nebraska at Omaha In fact Hephaistion’s death had proved a great misfortune to Alexander and I think he would have preferred to have gone first himself rather than to experience it during his lifetime. … (Arr. 7.16.8, Brunt) To say that Hephaistion’s death devastated the conqueror merely repeats a commonplace. But was Alexander’s subsequent bereavement excessive, or—to use clinical terms—pathological?1 Pervading popular opinion has been a guarded (or not-so-guarded) “yes.” Nonetheless, I propose to argue that a number of actions heretofore seen as abnormal are in fact behaviors typical of the bereaved.The difference in Alexander’s case was due to his wealth and his authority: he could both afford such gestures and have them enforced. The author wishes to acknowledge the special assistance of several persons. E. N. Borza, P. B. Harvey, and E. N. Carney read this paper at an earlier stage, providing advice and an occasional muzzle on my tendency to over-explain. L. Tritle provided thoughtful comments from his own experiences, and the final draft was read (graciously at the eleventh hour) by Karlyle Knox, old friend and veteran hospice counselor. As always, his points were pragmatic, insightful, and seasoned by his years of experience “in the trenches.” 1 For the purposes of this study, “pathological” may be understood as “maladaptive.” REAMES-ZIMMERMAN: THE MOURNING OF ALEXANDER 99§1 History and Psychology Previous historical treatments of bereavement include Paul Fussell’s The GreatWar and Modern Memory, Philippe Ariès’ The Hour of Our Death, and Jonathan Shay’s Achilles in Vietnam. My approach here has more in common with Shay than with Fussell or Ariès. Fussell explores an iconographic approach, as he himself explains (ix), when dealing with perceptions and presentations of World War I, including the mourning process. His work highlights myth’s intersection with and impact on warfare, as experienced not only by the soldiers fighting, but also by those who must watch and wait. Ariès’ book, which grew out of a series of lectures on western attitudes towards death, is far more obviously psychological. Yet it does not much utilize the literature of psychology. In that, it resembles Ernst Badian’s “Alexander the Great and the Loneliness of Power” more than Shay’s Achilles in Vietnam. Ariès’ observations come from the standpoint of an historian studying evidence and descriptions of death and mourning,2 while Shay’s observations are made by a psychiatrist who sees in ancient epic echoes of modern experience . Both approaches have a useful contribution to make. In this paper, therefore, I shall try to combine my previous clinical training with that careful historical rigor proper to the historian. Modern historians have been somewhat skeptical of applying clinical psychology to historical problems—an unsurprising stance, given such questionable examples as (in Alexander studies) Clark’s “The Narcissism of Alexander the Great.” Yet a fascination with psychological insight persists. We have Fredricksmeyer’s “Alexander and Philip: Emulation and Resentment,” O’Brien’s Alexander the Great: The Invisible Enemy, K. R.Thomas’ “A Psychoanalytic Study of Alexander the Great,”3 2 It includes such varied sources as personal journals, literature, national archives, tombstone and crypt inscriptions, medical literature, and other anthropological or historical works. Only in Chapter Twelve does he deal with such psychological literature as Psychology Today and Kübler-Ross’ famous On Death and Dying. Yet each is cited once only and Psychology Today—like Archaeology—is a journal designed primarily for a non-specialist audience. 3 Another example not directly related to Alexander is Slater’s psychoanalytical attempt at myth interpretation, The Glory of Hera. One may contrast the general skep- 100 SYLLECTA CLASSICA 12 (2001) and, most recently, Worthington’s “How ‘Great’ was Alexander the Great?” Even Badian has made forays into Alexander’s psyche (see, e.g., “Alexander the Great and the Loneliness of Power,” mentioned above). What all these studies share is a tendency to use psychological jargon, with a greater or lesser degree of accuracy. For instance, in his article’s very second paragraph, Worthington calls the conqueror alcoholic and paranoid...