It was a rainy November evening in Ghent when I received these words from someone, whom I have been trying to forget for a long time now. These verses burned me like a sting of a wasp that always keeps returning and wounding me in the exact same spot. Despite the pain they carry, I immediately ran home and packed them, along with all the other memories I hold dear, in the little beige box I bought my first pointe shoes in. Today these words might hurt too much, but I cannot risk losing them, they are too precious. As I lay on the bed that night crying, I start thinking about all the things in that box. I close my eyes and travel back in time to Budapest to the exhibition of Frida Kahlo, where she tells me the story of her tragic life, I cry for her, and for my grandpa, who is in my mind still sitting on that sunny terrace of Napotnikova street wearing a white undershirt and classic Wayfarer Ray-Ban sunglasses, sipping on his spritzer. He smiles at me. I inhale and open my eyes. In my hands, I am now holding a little pocket knife he gave me from one of his trips to Venice, which folds inside a metal form of a Gondola boat. My eyelids suddenly feel heavy again, when the floor below my feet slowly begins to feel unstable. It is summer 2020. We are on our little boat in Amsterdam, and I am watching you light up a cigarette. You are sitting silently on the top of the deck looking in the distance as the sun sets. I wonder what you are thinking about right now… Somehow, I am still asleep, but I awake from the unconscious. It feels different from what I have experienced before. In front of me, there is complete darkness, but the sound that was before slightly blurred now starts refining. It is the sound of applause. I am standing on a stage with my head lightly tilted before the audience. I have just performed the 3rd Odalisque variation of Le Corsaire. My feet are so used to these steps, they take over and move without my mind’s orders. I relive all the places, the emotions, and the people so vividly as if it had just happened. My tears dry up and I feel untroubled again as the darkness of the night slowly pulls me back to the world of dreams. When I wake up in the morning I look again through these verses. They are no longer heavy. I now understand, after you have repeatedly broken my heart by disappearing throughout these years, I grieve you, even though you are probably still alive. The poems you once wrote are now a part of that box and my precious time travel destination for dark, intolerable days. You continue living on in my consciousness and your poetry serves as a portal, now storing dear memories that every day move a step closer to envisioned divine immortality.
What is life if not a form of creation and what death but a form of destruction? If life embodies vitality, in
death this vitality turns inanimate. Yet death may not be merely a destructive force, but also a case of
transformation. Although the physical body may perish, one's life scatters into countless perceptions that
live on, forming a sense of continuity that could be considered immortal.
Immortality is the quality of being able to live or exist forever, or the state of being famous or significant
enough to be remembered long after one's death. (Cambridge Dictionary)
Over time periods various cultures have attempted to achieve immortality through different methods. Each
religion has its own interpretation of life, death, and what happens after it. From Abrahamic religions
1(Abrahamic religions are Judaism,
Islam, and Christianity.)
which are known for promising an afterlife, to the Egyptians preserving the bodies by embalming and drying
them in pursuit of the spiritual afterlife or the Buddhist’s belief of reincarnation that also suggests
continuity. Within the realm of physical immortality, already desired by Alchemists in their health-focused
way of living and their search for the famous elixir of life, cryonics
2(Cryonics is the practice of
preserving life by using extremely low temperatures to pause the dying process, with the goal of restoring
good health using future medical technology.)
emerged in the seventies in the faith that one day life expansion will become possible. Nowadays, a shift
emerged from the physical to the digital: perhaps the most desired achievement of eternal life is the
uploading of one’s consciousness into cyberspace, also known as digital immortality.
The immortality I will be diving into is ‘symbolic immortality’ that is ensured through the lens of memory.
‘Symbolic immortality’ is a term established by Robert J. Lifton and Eric Olson. It allows us to participate
in everyday life without denying the actuality of death and implies the need for one’s historical connection
beyond an individual life. (Lifton and Olson 46) ‘Symbolic’ implies that it conveys an idea, intention, or a
feeling with the absence of practical influence, (Cambridge Dictionary) while ‘immortality’ expresses a
life-prolonging rather than an endless quality. Lifton divided it further into five different categories:
biological, creative, natural, theological, and experimental. (46) This thesis will focus on both the
creative, (47) which captures human creations and lasting influences on others, and the biological, (Lifton
and Olson 46) generational continuality within it. With this thesis, I intend to verbalize the concept of
‘symbolic immortality’, search for its origins, attributes, and its purpose. Ultimately, I then wish to
propose it as a new possible method of dealing with loss.
As described by Lifton and Olson: Our perceptions are given shape by our minds, creating what we call
experience. Recognition and sensory input are intertwined in this process. Our inner psyche interprets sensory
data, and we assign meaning to the resulting forms, which can exist in our minds as either clear or vague
images and symbols. (44) These inner images and symbols are often organized around opposing concepts, such as
connection versus separation or movement versus stasis, with death representing the most extreme form of
stasis. In order to give meaning to our experiences and create a sense of belonging, we as humans need to
develop symbols, imagery, and concepts. Lifton and Olson refer to this process as ‘symbolic immortality’,
which is essential for a sense of significance in our everyday lives. (Lifton and Olson 45)
The last time we talked on the phone, you told me you wanted to die. In your eyes, death is the ultimate answer to everything; a space where all you had ever wondered or doubted suddenly reaches perfect clarity. You were so convinced of what you were saying. I got worried and tried to talk you out of it, but you wouldn’t listen. When I hung up the phone that night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I could not stop but feel like you were already dead. As if the conversation we just had never even happened, and I made you up in my mind to say things that I myself could never say out loud.
“In the ‘Mothers’
3(The ‘Mother’ is motherly,
potentially creative eternal living entity from which all life springs and that represents its image in
the depth of the unconscious existing outside of time.)
, there is no light or dark, no above or below, no opposites; differentiation from the primal substance, the
Great Mother, has not yet occurred. With differentiation, one is, for the first time, consecrated to life and,
death (de-differentiation
4(In dedifferentiation cells return
to an earlier stage of development in order to grow.)
). Death’s source lies in life itself and vice versa. A child’s conception and development occur at the
mother’s expense; she is often endangered by the birth. The mother is depleted. Since she is not destroyed
completely, the death component requires a substitute, a sacrifice. The plant is pulled out (it is born) while
sprinkling either the blood of a sacrificial animal or urine. Both are death products (urine, excreta).”
(Spielrein 181)
The psychologist Sabina Spielrein suggests destruction as the basis of creation. In her text ‘Destruction as
the Cause of Coming into Being’ she argues that the destructive aspect of human behavior is necessary for “no
change can take place without the destruction of the former condition”. (174) This destruction and creation
correlation could be most simply interpreted as the one between birth and death. However, she did not only
refer to this specifically, but to any relationship between the two. She mentioned rituals of different
cultures as a way to honor new life through sacrifice or inanimate symbols. (179) Spielrein believed that the
modern conscious thought process is unable to conform to our complex, impossible-to-grasp, psychic ideas and
that such images, nevertheless, can be found in the mythological and imaginative creations of our ancestor’s
consciousness. (Spielrein 175) She uses the archetype of the "Great Mother" to represent this mythical symbol
of destruction and creation.
Spielrein's and Lifton's texts share similarities in their discussion of finding meaning and purpose in life.
‘Symbolic Immortality’ refers to the way in which people seek to achieve a sense of meaning and purpose in
life by identifying with something larger than themselves. One way in which this could manifest itself is
through the connection to our ancestors. Through mythology and stories of our families, heavily intertwined
with life and death as the basis of creation and destruction, individuals can achieve a sense of continuity
and connection to their past. This biological process could also correlate with evolution, which is based on
the idea that older forms of life must be destroyed or modified in order to make way for new forms of life and
adaptation. The second way of striving for a greater meaning is through engaging in creative endeavors, such
as artistic expression, scientific discovery, or technological innovation. The process of destruction can be
here understood as the decline of former ideologies and knowledge in order to make space for fresh insights.
Ambiguous loss is another notable concept within this thesis. This term was first used by Pauline Boss,
describing unclear loss with no possibility of closure. Clear-cut loss, most obvious of which is death, is
usually concluded by an official ceremony and, unless talking spiritually, nobody questions its perpetuity.
This allows people to step into the stage of grieving, which is a process that should eventually end. However,
when an uncertain loss occurs, the ambiguity of the situation causes it to freeze the process of grieving and
often prevents the feeling of ever truly being able to detach from the situation. Consequently, the usual
process of therapy and healing is not successful. (Boss 6)
Ambiguous loss divides into two subcategories: the one of physical and one of psychological absence. The most
catastrophic examples of physical absence are lost soldiers or kidnapped children whose families endlessly
hope for their return. (8) In case of a cognitive or psychological absence the most tragic examples are people
with neurocognitive disorders such as dementia and chronic mental illnesses or addictions. Even though they
are physically still present, they distance themselves mentally or are no longer able to express themselves in
full capacity. (Boss 9) Those are important to mention in the means of not disregarding the intensity of
trauma in which this loss can occur. The experiences that fall under the realm of ambiguous loss vary largely
on the extremity of the situation. In this thesis, I will be addressing a milder version of such a case, that
nevertheless still qualifies, for the sake of its ambiguity. I decided to introduce this notion in the means
of understanding how I can grieve a person, whom I had lost, not by the cause of death, but distance.
Remember that cold October evening when we were sitting on my balcony watching a movie we projected on my
neighbor’s facade? In this place where the nights never truly darken, that night we saw the stars like sugar
scattered over the dark blue sky. It must have been a year since we last met. Covered in blankets, we were
sipping mulled wine when you asked me whether or not I'm scared by the thought of how perfect everything feels
between us. For a moment I believed you. Then I looked at you and said: “The only time it feels right is when
we’re physically together, and we never are.”
That was the last time I saw you.
“Then… I don’t know what you are thinking about then when you are unconscious. The only thing I remember is,
if before I felt an excruciating pain after everything was gone. I thought to myself if I lean on one side,
this might represent life, and if I lean to the other, this might represent death. On either side, the pain
was gone. I started leaning towards one side, and then to the other, again to one, and then to the other.
Finally, God himself must have chosen that I must live.”
(Sonja Turk, my grandmother talking about her near-death experience, 31 December 2022)
Leaning between life and death, the line between the two fades. The most evident occurrence of such a
situation for a human is a near-death experience, which recently befell my grandma. In the summer of 2022 she,
due to a medical complication, clinically died for a couple of seconds. By some miracle that had blessed our
family, she woke up. When she arrived back from the hospital, my family and I helped her recover. She needed
to relearn how to walk and use her muscles, as her entire muscle memory and strength collapsed from spending a
month on a hospital bed. She had trouble remembering things that had previously seemed like common knowledge
to her. My grandma is a big fan of crossword puzzles, which were suddenly so much harder. I asked her about
her experience when this just happened and recently once again, six months later. The biggest difference
between how she thought back then and how she thinks now seemed to be her own interpretation of what happened.
Before she could only describe what she had felt at that moment. Now she has assigned meaning to it. She saw
it as an allegory for life and death and what exists in between. What also strikes me is how she described
those few seconds. If before she felt excruciating pain, after all of it was gone. She told me she did not
feel cold or warm, all she was left with is a sense of ease. She did not think of life or death as something
she had to fear, but rather as something that was out of her reach, for someone or something else to decide.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
In Greek mythology, Charon was the name of a boatman who escorted souls over the waters of Hades into the depths of the underworld. The Greeks believed in placing the coins on the eyes or mouths of the deceased before burial to assure the dead would have the payment for Charon’s ride. Because of his role, he often occurred in katabases; mythical narratives where the main protagonist descends into the underworld in order to retrieve something from the dead. This journey across the River Acheron represents a liminal space, the space in between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Despite Hades' implication for the journey to only exist in one way, he granted some living individuals a passage into and back out of the underworld, for which he got punished. (Kershaw)
Leaning between life and death, my grandma was possibly a passenger on Charon’s boat present in the liminal space of her near-death experience, whom he might have graciously granted an exit without the price of payment.
In his book ‘Life after Life’, Raymond Moody describes how common it is for people to encounter pleasant
feelings at the beginning of their near-death experience. He mentions how strongly we identify with our
physical body and how the mind’s ephemerality and complexity make it hard for people to imagine what existing
in any other form than the physical would be like. (Moody) Perhaps that is exactly what makes losing someone
so hard. When one dies, we are no longer able to embody the ethereal that can possibly exist separate from the
physical body. However, in my opinion the mind, as this ethereal unit transfers ideas and influences that are
able to outlive the last human, and those influences are its embodiment. The body itself is just its carrier.
A very important and necessary, but nevertheless impermanent carrier.
The presence of death in our lives is constant and perpetual. Ultimately, it is the only inevitable price for
life itself. While living, we often like to push the idea of death aside, as we are well aware of our
temporality. The development of modern medicine in the 19th century lengthened people’s life expectancy. This
delayed our thoughts of passing into a faraway future. (Collins 15) Humans have taken the initiative to tell
death when and how it should not interfere with life and when, after we have succeeded in living a long and
fulfilled life, is the ‘appropriate’ time for its arrival. (Lifton and Olson 45) Fear of death and hope for a
life full of meaning are the two unavoidable parts of the human condition, which we have learned to silence.
We have only learned to accept death in a legal way, to write wills and leave heritages. Those are all
tangible things, which are easier to understand than trying to grasp a concept that no one can explain or
reassure of.
“’Memory’ is commonly envisaged as both the facility to remember and the mental representation or trace of
what is remembered” write Elizabeth Hallam and Jenny Hockey in their Essay ‘Remembering as a Cultural
Process’. We often treat them as objects that must be kept or preserved, displaying and narrating them
carefully in the museums of our minds. (Hallam and Hockey 53)
Remembering occurs when all the sensory components
5(Sensory components consist of
sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste and movement.)
of memory, which are usually distributed in different parts of the brain, get pieced back together. Whenever a
memory is created, its essential information gets stored in the deep-brain structure known as the hippocampus.
It is located next to the amygdala, the emotional center of the brain, which marks certain memories as
important or emotionally strong. (Harvard Health Publishing) The different components of the memory are later
sent mainly to the cerebral cortex in the outer layer of the brain. The brain’s frontal lobes are responsible
for recalling a memory. Fragments of the memory are pulled back from different regions in the cerebral cortex
where they are stored. Depending on what senses you used to during the creation of the memory, those same
areas react in the moment of recalling the information. If you are trying to remember someone’s voice, your
brain would recall information from its auditory region. (Harvard Health Publishing) A notable exception is
the facial recognition, where the fusiform gyrus is a region of the brain helping to process such complex
visual information. (Palejwala) Together, all these components forming a unique neuronal pattern lie passively
until the moment of recalling, when they finally get reactivated. (Harvard Health Publishing)
As memory blurs over time, its accuracy decreases. The process of romanticization follows as a new path to
re-envisioning our memories. Memory and imagination go hand in hand. It often happens, we end up recalling the
past more longingly than we experienced it at the time. Romanticization of the memory is not only there to
remind us of what we have learned but is also a ‘mood repair strategy’ actively trying to ease out the
intensity of heavy experiences. The thoughts we enjoy thinking about tend to stay with us more because of
repeatedly rehearsing and recalling them in contrast to the negative experiences we do not practice and sooner
forget. Bauml and Kliegl in their work ‘Learning and Memory: A Comprehensive Reference’ call this
‘retrieval-induced forgetting’. A notable exception to the usual pattern are traumatic memories, which are
often persistent and invasive. (Lieberman)
We often associate memory with the past, however, that is not its only purpose. Long-term memory is where we
store information more permanently. It divides into subcategories of declarative and non-declarative memory,
where declarative further separates into semantic and episodic. (Clayton, et al.) If the first consists of the
general world knowledge and understanding of concepts, facts, and the meanings of words, the second stands as
Endel Tulving’s theory of a hypothetical memory system. It exists as a tool which allows humans to travel back
in time and reexperience the past. His theory, especially in his early stages of writings, has been widely
criticized for the absence of practical research and supposed lack of importance for certain researchers. (8)
However, I believe it captures and describes the flexibility and creativity component of remembering. He fears
that everyone’s possession of this time-travel ability makes it harder to appreciate and find it unique,
nonetheless, I think it does not belittle or disregard the experiences it enables. (Tulving 20)
Our limited capacity for memorizing at times causes memories to fall deep into the pit of unconsciousness. In
order to pull them back we need extra stimulation of senses. The value of memorabilia as a physical
manifestation of remembering, lies in the need of the preservation of memories. In her chapter ‘Melancholy
objects’, Margaret Gibson explains how objects represent an essential role in grieving because of their
embeddedness in the construction of one’s identity and connection between people. She draws a distinction
between dead objects, the objects that have lost their associations with people and are not experienced in an
affective way, (285) and the objects of the dead, the melancholy objects embodying absence. In her text, she
specifically focuses on ‘the melancholy object’ central to grieving and memorializing mourning. With time it
loses its value and transforms into an object that reminds of the times of grieving. (286) She introduces the
concept of cathexis, defined as the investment of mental or emotional stimulus in a person, object, or idea.
It is present in psychoanalysis to frame the emotional life of objects, expressing itself in a form of
sentimental attachment to a keepsake. (287) Through the witnessing of death, we gain awareness of the
metamorphosis of our own materiality. The absence of the departed is filled in by our burning desire for their
bodily return so often this tangible transitional quality of human nature gets replaced by a representation or
an object. In grief, the inner and outer psychic reality
6(“An individual's internal reality
corresponds to a
collection of processes, representations, and affects that are
essentially (but not only) unconscious, which Sigmund Freud referred to
as "psychical reality." It thus contains the representations of the
world that the subject has formed, fantasies stemming from unconscious
desires, and universal fantasy structures: the primal fantasies. …
External reality, also called material reality, subsumes the objects of
our physical environment, the subject's body, and the subject's
inscribed place in society.” (Jean-Pierre Chartier))
are torn apart. The deceased’s image does not exist in the present time and lacks external reality. As they
now exist only in memories, their captured histories face daily oblivion of being forgotten without external
objects of memorabilia. (291) Through death or ambiguous loss, most simple objects can gain emotional
importance, regardless of their other measures of value. (292) Humans as highly visual creatures are often not
able to remember an immaterial abstraction of the spirit itself which causes the material objects to be not
only associated with the deceased but also intertwined with the substance of their very being. Consequently,
they become a tool for remembering and often unintentionally also serve as a symbol of memento mori. (Gibson
293)
A problematic side of memorabilia, despite its importance for personal meaning and connection, is one of being
easily trivialized as ‘sentimental’ through the thought of excessive emotion and possessiveness. Excessive
attachments to objects could be seen and potentially pathologized as an over appreciation of the material. To
prevent that from happening, it is important to differentiate between the keepsakes that serve solely as
mementos, which ease the separation anxiety and provide a symbol of working through and eventually overcoming
the loss, and ‘linking objects’ which symbolically merge two individuals’ psychic boundaries and can hamper
the success of grieving. (Hallam and Hockey 62)
Two years before my grandpa passed away, he and my grandma moved to Napotnikova street, only a few blocks away from the house of my childhood home. By the time they decided to move they were 88 years old and had only moved once before in their lives. They moved from the village their families were from and where they had met to the house that later became and still is my home. After many years grandpa expressed a wish to move. We live close to a road full of traffic and he was sure that the polluted air was slowly killing him. Even though she would never admit it, my grandma hated the new house. She didn’t want to leave her whole family behind. But grandpa was a stubborn man and fairly unable to take care of himself, not by any physical deficiency, but rather from pure habit, so grandma decided to follow him. She would still visit us regularly. After grandpa passed, she moved back in. For months she would not go near that house on Napotnikova street. It reminded her too much of her loss. Then one day she went there to check on the garden. Something had changed that day for her and ever since she started going there every day to take care of the flowers and arrange things. She started spending a lot of time in and around that house and it somehow grew closer to her heart. While in reality she might have been taking care of the house, what she was really taking care of was grandpa, for he continued living on in the flowers that bloomed on the garden in front of the place they once called ‘home’.
Whether or not it is impossible to confirm or deny the actuality of existence when no one is around to acknowledge it has been discussed by many philosophers over the centuries. Even though I will not argue for either one or the other, I do think meaning and memory are rather subjective qualities which in order to exist require acknowledgement and a form of mental representation based on previous experience. They are incapable of surviving by themselves without the active involvement of another person. ‘Symbolic immortality’ is a projection, forming through the lens of a memory of an individual, where no two lenses share the same base curve and are scratched in different places. Despite thinking about the same subject, all the projections of it are in some way influenced and biased and can only serve as an approximation to reality, which because we are all experiencing it at the same time also shares several truths. Nothing that is human or can be perceived by human senses can ever be eternal and only contain one verity. ‘Symbolic immortality’ is consequently necessarily ensured through other people’s perceptions and is not able to survive outside of that.
Everything that can be perceived through our senses is subject to the passing of time. For us humans, this
temporality has manifested in our mortality, which we only learned to accept in a legal way by writing wills
and leaving heritages. Those are all tangible things, of much easier understanding than trying to grasp a
concept that no one can explain or reassure of—death. Death is often difficult to comprehend, which over
decades caused us to fight against it with the idea of immortality.
Unlike other forms of immortality, 'symbolic immortality' contains a quality that prolongs life, rather than
indicating eternal existence. It implies it is neither physical nor literal, but instead based on ideas and
emotions. It acknowledges the finality of death and the temporary nature of human existence. It recognizes our
need for a connection to our ancestral history that extends beyond our individual lives.
This generational continuity bases itself on destruction of the former and creation of the new condition. This
relationship requires sacrifice, but also builds an indisputable connection. This constant cycle sometimes
gets interrupted by peculiar situations, one of which we call near-death experience. Entering a liminal space
between life and death one is stuck neither in one or the other or both at the same time. When death arrives,
we honour it with ceremonies which commemorate the deceased. The instance where that does not happen prevents
people from grieving properly. Such an instance is ambiguous loss, the uncertain loss which freezes grief. In
such a case, the normal process of therapy does not suffice.
All experiences and knowledge, including grief, are stored in memory, which facilitates remembering and forms
mental representations. Its flaws in a way also serve as its proficiencies in form of forgetting and
romanticising. Memorabilia immortalize and embody memories. We often project emotional importance onto objects
because of our inability to imagine and hold onto something immaterial. However, these objects and memories
only exist in the minds of those who actively engage with their meaning.
‘Symbolic immortality’ for me is above all else a feeling, which I have been trying to put into words for
years. The feeling of always carrying those whom I love with me. I feel it on those lazy mornings when I wake
up to the smell of sweetened Turkish coffee that my grandma serves with amusing stories of her youth on the
side. I feel it when I am sitting on that sunny terrace of Napotnikova street thinking about how much my
grandpa would have enjoyed being there beside me. Even in the evenings when everything seems amiss, traveling
back to all those long nights we spent dancing to the tunes of Ella Fitzgerald comforts me. And even though I
shed a tear or two for the time that had passed, I feel connected. I love and feel loved.
Finally, I propose ‘symbolic immortality’ as a ritual in order to offer a new perspective on looking at the
passing of time. This is not an approved method, but rather a spiritual practice that is unique to every
individual and creates space for such contemplation. Through this ritual, we may establish a closer connection
with our ancestors and potentially discover a meaning that transcends our individual lives. "I think ‘symbolic
immortality’ is mainly a search for connection to others and back to ourselves.
“You know what they say?” [followed by a short silence] “There’s nothing like chicken on a grill.” He smiles, and I smile back. I think neither one of us knew exactly what that meant. He did those things sometimes; said things just to break the silence.”
Boss, Pauline. “Frozen grief.” Loss: Learning to Live with Unresolved Grief. Harvard University Press, 1999.
Chartier, Jean-Pierre. “Internal Reality/External Reality.” Encyclopedia, www.encyclopedia.com/psychology/dictionaries-thesauruses-pictures-and-press-releases/internalrealityexternal-reality. Accessed 7 Feb. 2023.
Clayton, Nicola S., et al. “Episodic Memory.” Current Biology. Vol. 17, No. 6, Elsevier BV., March 2007, p. R189-91. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2007.01.011. Accessed 28 Dec. 2022.
Collins, Ellen Oliver. “Psychologically Preparing for Death: Facing Your Mortality and Creating Your Symbolic Immortality.” ProQuest. January 2017.
Gordon, Avery F. “distractions.” Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. Univerity of Minnesota Press, London, 2008. pp. 31-60.
Hallam, Elizabeth and Jenny Hockey. “Remembering as Cultural Process.” Death, Mourning and Burial: A Crosscultural Reader. Edited by Antonius C. G. M. Robben, 2nd ed., John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, 2018. pp. 52-76.
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Kershaw, Daniel. "Charon: Ferryman of the Underworld." History Cooperative, October 8, 2022, historycooperative.org/charon-ferryman-of-the-underworld/. Accessed February 8, 2023.
Lieberman, Charlotte. "Why We Romanticize the Past." The New York Times, April 2, 2021, www.nytimes.com/2021/04/02/smarter-living/why-we-romanticize-the-past.html. Accessed 9 Jan. 2023.