Daily News Journal Column 9/9/18 “Ubi Sunt Qui Ante Nos Fuerunt,” is the Latin title for a Medieval English poem that begins, “Were beth they that biforen us weren, houndes ladden and havekes beren, and hadden feld and wode?” That is to say, in modern English, “Where are they that were before us, who led hounds and carried hawks, and owned fields and woods?” It is a common motif in much poetry, written by those puzzled by the evidences all around them of a civilization whose traces and ruins they lived among and pondered. Anglo Saxons of the 6th and 7th centuries could look around England and see the Roman forts and walls and castles gone to ruin when the Romans left in 4th and 5th centuries. But who built them? What happened to those people? Who were they? Even the Anglo-Normans in England of the High Middle Ages looking at ruins left from Alfred’s time were sometimes puzzled at what they saw, for written records were often hard to come by. Things like Stonehenge confused many, and the Little Ice Age of 5th-10th centuries drove many Nordic peoples further south out of Scandinavia and into Britain and the mainland of Europe. One of the earliest poems that features the “ubi sunt” motif is “The Wanderer,” which is found in The Exeter Book in Old English. Hard to date, it surely comes from a time before the Norman invasion of England in 1066. As a young psychology major in college when I first read it in an English literature class (in translation), I was struck by passages that said things like, “I know it truly, that it is in men a noble custom, that one should keep secure his spirit-chest (mind), guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts).” This was so contrary to what we were taught in the Psychology dept (in the 70s). Under the continuing influence of Dr. Freud, all the various clinical schools back then, consciously or not, seemed to cling to the notion of the human psyche as some sort of steam boiler, which, when the steam built up, had to be vented to prevent a disastrous explosion. You’re probably nodding your head in agreement. The Freudian metaphor, for that’s all it is, has captured the minds of most of us, whether we know it or not. We talk about “venting,” and “letting it out” as if thoughts and feelings are water heated to the boiling point. But Freud himself and his unscientific theories are fairly “exploded” among most psychologists, even though his influence remains prevalent, ensconced deeply and widely among all exposed to schooling and or the baleful influence of Hollywood. Read Frederick Crews’ book “Freud: The Making of an Illusion,” to unshackle yourself from the invisible bonds that Sigmund has wrapped around you. So, I was thinking, in the context of the current debate about civility, Facebook/Twitter and social media in general, and the explosion of so much anger in the partisan world that has grown up around us, maybe the Anglo-Saxon poets of more than a millennium ago have more to say to us than we give them credit for? Have we become so accustomed to “expressing” ourselves, and “letting it all out” when we’re angry, or upset, that we’ve fallen into some kind of recurring feedback loop, so that the more we express our anger the more we need to express our anger? Before there was “social media” did people learn how to control themselves and their thoughts and opinions just out of necessity? Because if you said to a loved one or a friend what you say to strangers on FB or Twitter, etc., you’d get it right back in the face? And so we moderated our tone and thought more carefully about who we were talking to because he or she was right there in front of us? As a man said whose bones have long been dust, “A wise man must be patient, He must never be too impulsive, nor too hasty of speech.” Steve Odom, who has to talk more than is good for him, is pastor of Central Christian Church on East Main St., and may be reached at steven.odom@gmail.com