Textual Evidence that the Gospels are Reliable History

The video below shows what careful readers like C.S. Lewis have known all along: that the Gospels are eyewitness accounts of real events. In essays like "Modern Theology and Biblical Criticism" Lewis shows that the literary technique of the Gospels is not like that of ancient myths; that in fact it is not a "literary technique" at all, simply "reportage." Episodes such as Jesus writing in the dust while talking to a woman, or the man who escapes the guards by squirming out of his tunic at the Garden of Gethsemane, are either true events "or else, some unknown writer in the second century, without known predecessors or successors, suddenly anticipated the whole technique of modern, novelistic, realistic narrative" (Lewis).

Dr. Peter Williams in the video below makes a similar case, arguing that the occurrence of names, places, and geography in the canonical Gospels is strong evidence of their authenticity.

HT: First Things

The Man Behind the Monster: An Interview with Grendel.

By Kate Corrnie, special to Forbode Magazine.

Today I had the unique opportunity to interview Grendel, a well-known literary figure, and someone who was just named to Forbode Magazine's list of 10 most ruthless characters. I caught up with Grendel at one of his favorite haunts: a desolate pond in Scandinavia near where he was raised. The place is a cross between those two iconic bodies of water: Walden Pond and the planet Dagobad. When I met him, Grendel was applying a fresh bandage to a wound he had recently received, so I asked him about it.

Kate: How did you lose your arm?

Grendel: I got in a fight with a big guy who ripped it off.

Kate: I'm so sorry! That sounds terrible. Can you describe what that experience was like?

Grendel: It was the worst day of my life, believe me. I was feeling down and out that day to begin with, real angry at the world, and all that. You know the feeling—well, maybe you don't.... Anyway I decided to take it out on some of old Hrothgar's folks, same as I've done many-a-time. It always makes me feel better to knock some heads. I get there and everybody's sleeping, and all that, so I grab a guy and show him who's boss, when all of a sudden this big guy jumps me and we have a real go at it. He has this incredibly strong grip. We're wrestling together for a while and I just can't shake him off. Finally he grabs hold of my arm—and by this time I'm thinking: “this place is hell, I need to get outa here”—and he literally pulls my bloody arm off!

Kate: Horrible! What did you do then?

Grendel: Well, he was holding my arm, not me, at that point so I got outa there in a hurry.

Kate: How do you feel towards the man who disabled you?

Grendel: How do you think?! How would you feel if somebody pulled your bloody arm off! That guy should be drawn and quartered! I talked to a lawyer but he acted like there was nothing to do. It was self defense he said. Self defense to pull somebody's arm off?! How wrong is that? My livelihood is gone!

Kate: Since you bring up your livelihood, why don't you tell me a little about your business?

Grendel: Basically, I'm a pirate. I take what I need and then some. It's not a bad business to be in in this economy, actually.

Kate: Clearly not, since you were recently named to Forbode Magazine's list of 10 most ruthless businessmen. It's been said that you don't just make a living, you make a killing. Is that an accurate characterization?

Grendel [chuckling]: Yeah, you could say that.

Kate: What was the pinnacle of your pillaging career?

Grendel: Well, I've been in the business a little over 12 years, so there have been a lot of good hauls, but I would have to say the best was the time I carried off 30 of Hrothgar's men in one night. I do everything on a graveyard shift, it just makes my work so much easier.

Kate: In your dealings with others you have often been compared to Cain. Do you think the comparison is accurate?

Grendel: Well... Sure. We're both kinda loners. Kinda outcasts from society. People don't like us, and we don't like people!

Kate: You say you are a loner. Did you have any friends growing up, Grendel? Why don't you tell us about your childhood?

Grendel: My life as a kid was hard. I grow up without a father: my mother was a single parent. The only place we could afford to live was little better than a swamp. No electricity. We had running water, but, unfortunately, it was running through the roof. I would have to say my childhood wasn't typical. I was always a loner; didn't have any friends growing up. I was always jealous when I saw the other kids having fun together. I tried to steal their toys and scare them. I guess I just wanted to make their life miserable because I was miserable.

Kate: Were you—forgive me if this sounds crude—were you a bully growing up?

Grendel: Yeah, you could probably say that.

Kate: How would you characterize your relationship with your mother?

Grendel: She taught me everything I know. Always stuck up for me. Still does. In fact, as we speak she's on her way to pay back the fellow who did this to my arm. Pity the poor wretches she gets her hands on. Raising me alone like she did taught her to be every bit as tough as I am myself.

Kate: We're running out of time, and I can see that shoulder is giving you a lot of pain. One more question: who's your hero?

Grendel: That's a hard one... Frankenstein's Creature is someone I really look up to, but on the other hand, there's a lot I admire in Gollum as well...

Editor's Note: Shortly after this interview with Forbode Magazine, Grendel passed away due to complications from the injury to his arm. Correspondent Kate Corrnie was the last person to interview him before his death.

More Than a Monster: The Symbolic Meaning of Grendel

“In off the moors, down through the mist-bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping” (Beowulf Lines 710-11).

In this way the anonymous author of the epic Beowulf poem offers us a glimpse of the blood-chilling monster Grendel just before he attacks the mead-hall of Heorot. Leaving terror in his wake, Grendel ranges out from the wild swamps of Scandinavia with the express intention of seeking out men and doing them harm. But who is Grendel? On one level, Grendel is a Gothic forerunner of Frankenstein's Creature, worthy to take his place among the terrifying monsters who inhabit the world of fiction. Yet, like Frankenstein's Creature, Grendel is more than just an inhuman monster. He is a symbol of the jealousy and hate that seeks to destroy others' happiness and can ultimately cripple a civilization.

The physical description of Grendel is vague, an indication that his fictional existence in time and space is less important than the idea that he represents. The author of the poem has fleshed out Grendel just enough to show us that while misshapen and abhorrent, Grendel is not really alien to the race of men. The text indicates that he is essentially human in form. Huge and misshapen, but having “hands,” “arms” (Lines 833, 835), and a mother who is familiar enough with tools to use a dagger (L 1545-6). What places him solidly in the role of a human—albeit, disfigured—is his relation to Cain. It is this relationship to Cain that needs to be explored to fully understand Grendel.

Like Cain who killed his brother, Grendel is a “restless wanderer on the earth” alienated from the rest of mankind (Genesis 4:12). Unable to join the community of men, Grendel becomes envious and “nursed a hard grievance. It harrowed him/ to hear the din of the loud banquet/ everyday in the hall, the harp being struck/ and the clear song of a skilled poet” (L 88-90). Grendel's jealousy and hate finds outlet in destroying the good things he envies. In this way, Grendel personifies the destructive nature of jealousy.

The object of his envy is the mead-hall of Heorot. This is the center of the Danish community's civilization, and—giving the story universal application—this mead-hall is, “the greatest house in the world” (L 145-46). No civilization is free from the attacks of envy and strife which Grendel represents, since even “the greatest house in the world” is thrown into confusion. Clearly, Grendel is no backwater freak-show scaring some villagers, he is a cunning force that even the greatest civilizations must wrestle with. It is telling that Grendel only cares about terrorizing the main hall of Heorot, the center of civilization. To escape him, a man could leave the mead-hall, “shifting himself to a safer distance/ to bed in the bothies [outlying buildings]” (L 139-40). Since any building would be within the range of Grendel, it is clear that he represents a community problem more than just an individual problem. He purposefully strikes at the social and political heart of Danish civilization: the mead-hall.

This disruption at the heart of the community has serious implications. The feasting and fellowship that are synonymous with the traditional mead-hall are interrupted, crippling the harmony of society. It is a bad sign when men no longer feel safe in the place where traditionally safety and trust are paramount. And this breakdown of the community is long lasting. The text tells us that for “twelve winters” the mead-hall of king Hrothgar is terrorized by Grendel (L 147).

During this entire time, the coming of Grendel is unpredictable. He always attacks at night when the warriors are sleeping. Even on the night Beowulf hopes to encounter Grendel, “the hall guards were slack, asleep at their posts” (L 704). From the standpoint of realism it is unbelievable that a roomful of warriors—fearful of their lives and with a knowledge of Grendel's habits—would all fall asleep. When seen in the context of Grendel's personification of lurking envy in society, however, their sleep mirrors the vulnerability of society to those who hate what is good in it.

When the warriors do wake up to their danger they find that Grendel can not be hurt by traditional weapons of war, illustrating yet again that he is not just a physical enemy but a moral one as well that must be “wrestled” with. “There was something they could not have known at the time,/ that no blade on earth, no blacksmith's art/ could ever damage their demon opponent” (L 800-802). Swords cannot cut through the feelings of jealousy and hate that disturb the harmony of the mead-hall.

Grendel is not the only illustration of this. Reinforcing the point that this is an inner human problem, the text gives lengthy space to the envy of Unferth. Whereas all the other Danes welcome Beowulf, Unferth is left feeling, “sick with envy:/ he could not brook or abide the fact/ that anyone else alive under heaven/ might enjoy greater regard than he did” (L 502-505). Unferth is the fully human counterpart of Grendel in the text, mirroring in real life what Grendel represents symbolically. Unferth is envious of Beowulf''s glory in the mead-hall, just as Grendel is envious of the glory and happiness of all men in the mead-hall. Unferth is a murderer of his “own kith and kin” as Beowulf points out (L 587), just as Grendel is a bloody killer. Unferth seeks to humiliate Beowulf, just as Grendel seeks to humiliate all men. We are surprised to learn that Unferth is an unpunished killer, but this is precisely because he does on a small scale what Grendel does for a living: Grendel we are told—but it applies equally well on a personal level to Unferth—“knows he can trample down you Danes/ to his hearts content, humiliate and murder/ without fear of reprisal” (L 599-601). Happily, after Beowulf conquers the monster, Unferth is reconciled to Beowulf and they exchange presents, representing once again that when the monster of envy and hate is destroyed, peace and harmony are possible.

We end with the question we began with: Who is Grendel? Grendel is the rapacious envy of man given living shape. He cannot stand the happiness or glory of others in the mead-hall. If he cannot share it, he must destroy it. Grendel may or may not have lived in the forgotten past of Northern Europe but it doesn't matter. What matters is that Grendel still lives—lives and lurks outside our own mead-hall. But he may do more than lurk on the outside—on a personal level, we must beware of becoming Grendel. What God told Cain (the first ancestor of Grendel) before his envy caused him to kill his brother, is a good warning: “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it” (Genesis 4:7).

Works Cited

Beowulf. Seamus Heaney, Trans. M.H. Abrams, Editor. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: the Major Authors Edition. 7^th ed. W.W. Norton and Co. 2001

Envy

In off the moors, down through the mist-bands
God-cursed Grendel came greedily loping. (Beowulf 710-11)

This has got to be one of the best lines from Seamus Heaney's translation of Beowulf. One can almost see a huge misshapen form lurching across the cold moor; the wafting mist now concealing, now half revealing the monstrous descendant of banished Cain.

Who is Grendel? Grendel is the rapacious envy of man given living shape. He cannot stand the happiness of others in the mead-hall. If he cannot share it, he must destroy it.

Lord and Thane

The relationship of the Christian to Christ is often portrayed as that of a servant to a master. The parallel is good and true, but for those who find the metaphor of slaves either stale or repellent, consider this description of old Germanic kings and their followers taken from The Norton Anthology of English Literature:

When a warrior vowed loyalty to his lord, he became not so much his servant as his voluntary companion, one who would take pride in defending him and fighting in his wars. In return, the lord was expected to take care of his thanes and to reward them richly for their valor; a good king, one like Hrothgar or Beowulf, is referred to by such poetic epithets as “ring-giver” and as the “helmet” and “shield” of his people (25).

Abrams, M.H. The Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors 7th. ed. W.W.Norton and Co. 2001

The Revelation of King Arthur

The allure of Arthurian stories has held people spellbound since before the time of the printing press. Thomas Malory brought King Arthur and the Round Table to English readers in the 15^th century with his famous Le Morte D' Arthur, but the stories are much older than he and known in many other lands and languages. Today, the list of stories and poems that have taken King Arthur and his knights as their subject is inexhaustible. The fascination has led Robert Bruce Fruehling to write a book that equates the enduring appeal of the “once and future king” with the appeal that the Antichrist will have in the future. Fruehling's book, The Revelation of King Arthur: Deceit, Intrigue, and the Guards' Account explores the possibility of the future Antichrist aligning himself in the popular imagination with the messianic King Arthur.

The Revelation of King Arthur opens by explaining the innate need of humanity for a hero-king to look up to and follow. This need historically has led entire nations to be deceived into following men who claim to be the hero and national leader the people are looking for. Adolf Hitler in Germany is an example of someone able to deceive “even the elect.”

But the great deception of the Antichrist during the end-times and how this deception will be accomplished is the focus of the book. A principle part of the deception, according to Fruehling, is to de-legitimize the messiah-ship of Jesus and his status as the hero who has come to save us. If Christ is not our savior then we still need “another Christ,” the Antichrist, to save us. One popular heresy that is seeing a reemergence today is that Jesus did not die on the cross but instead married Mary Magdalene and fled Judea. In this heresy Jesus himself becomes unimportant and instead the “Holy Grail” takes on significance. Those familiar with The Da Vinci Code know that in this heresy, “the 'Grail' became a code word for the womb of Mary Magdalene, who carried the 'holy child of Christ.' The quest itself was the search for the holy bloodline” (60). What better leader to elevate to the status of Antichrist than one who claims to be a living descendant of Jesus?

The real meat of the book starts on page 51 when Fruehling describes this heresy and traces some of the subsequent stories about where the supposed descendants and relatives of Jesus settled. According to one of these legends, Mary Magdalene traveled to France where the Merovingian line of Frankish kings were descended from her. In true Da Vinci Code style, Fruehling includes photos of religious artwork depicting Mary with the Fleur-de-lys—the French emblem of the royal line—on them. Laugh if you will, but the point is that even the most ludicrous deceptions are believed by some.

Where does King Arthur fit into all this? Robert Fruehling quotes a published genealogist of Scottish royalty, Laurence Gardner. Writing about the house of Steward, Gardner makes the incredible claim: “this senior Steward descent goes all the way back to King Arthur's father, King Aedan of the Scots (notice not Uther Pendragon of England or Wales), on the one hand and to Prince Nascien of the Septimanian Midi on the other... The Midi succession stems from the Merovingians' male ancestral line through the Fisher Kings to Jesus and Mary Magdalene (104). Fruehling explains what this means: “amazing as it sounds, the whole legend of King Arthur and the Holy Grail refers to Arthur himself! He is in the Grail lineage, as we will see, and is known as the Grail King... the story of the Holy Grail connects the bloodline of Jesus to King Arthur and on through Arthur's descendants” (103). It is important to remember that the author does not believe any of these heresies about descendants of Jesus, he is merely warning that people are being deceived by heresies such as this one about the descent of Arthur and the related one in The Da Vinci Code.

What Fruehling does believe is that the prophesies about “the once and future king” Arthur are disturbingly similar to the prophesies about the Antichrist in the book of Revelation. Anyone familiar with their Malory knows that Arthur's last wound is a wound to the head. Compare to Rev. 13:3, 12, 13. The “red dragon” of Rev 12: 3 was embossed on King Arthur's standard as it still is on the flag of Wales today. When Arthur was born the midwife exclaimed: “Here is a Dragon!” Fruehling notes: “Coupled with the surname 'Pendragon' or 'Chief dragon' the prophetic significance will become apparent” (98). “He once was, now is not, and yet will come.” Rev. 17:8 “The once and future king.” Coincidence? Maybe. If you ask Fruehling, the similarity is more than coincidence (127-128).

When I received my copy of the book from WinePress Publishing, I was overjoyed to see—tucked away near the end of the book—a chapter on two of my favorite authors: C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Not surprisingly in a book that equates Arthurian myth with the end-times and Antichrist, the treatment of Lewis and Tolkien is not as blindly enthusiastic as most Christian readers. Fruehling examines their interest in the Arthurian legends in light of their friendship with the heterodox authors Charles Williams and Owen Barfield. Charles Williams, whose supernatural thrillers have a small but ardent readership, had an unhealthy interest in the occult. The influence of these men—particularly on Lewis—is a little mentioned fact and I was pleased to see it addressed in the book.

Fruehling explores what he finds to be a disturbing openness to the pagan elements of the Arthurian legends on the part of Christians. Christians are proud to heap accolades on C.S. Lewis, Charles Williams, and Steven R. Lawhead for their novels and poems in the Arthurian genre; however, Fruehling warns that these “Christian” authors veer dangerously into the pagan and occult in their writings on the theme. Speaking of Lewis's novel That Hideous Strength, which tells of a reincarnated Arthur and a magical Merlin in twentieth century England who save the world from a diabolical evil, he states his opinion that, “combining Christianity with esoteric thought and myth destroys the message rather than makes it easier to take” (145). Such a view about myth and story is completely opposite to that of Lewis himself who thought that myths could be used to convey valuable truths.

Fruehling accurately pegs the important contribution of That Hideous Strength to the corpus of Arthuriana and raises a valid argument about the use of pagan elements in a “Christian” book, but why he includes The Lord of the Rings in that corpus is not clear. To classify it as Arthurian literature is a stretch, although it would be hard for any fantasy writer to entirely escape the shadow of the Round Table. There are bound to be superficial similarities and Fruehling gives but three. Perhaps strongest of the three is the mentor/apprentice relationship of Gandalf and Aragorn compared to Merlin and Arthur (147). What Mr. Fruehling fails to mention, however, is that the motif of a mentor guiding a hero is common throughout heroic literature and could be equally applied to many works in the genre. Theorist Joseph Campbell points this out as one of the defining features of mythic quest stories.

Anyone interested in Arthuriana or the end-times will find The Revelation of King Arthur very interesting. At only 164 pages it is a quick read but the 8 pages of endnotes makes it feel like a full meal rather than an appetizer. Not all of Fruehling's points convinced me, but the mystery around King Arthur has always intrigued me and he offers a thought provoking scenario to tie up the mysteriously open-ended story of King Arthur.

Robert Bruce Fruehling, The Revelation of King Arthur: Deceit, Intrigue and the Guard's Account. WinePress Publishing, 2009.

The Character of a Hero

Ancient literature is filled with heroes. Epic tales of epic quests abound. People were looking for role-models to look up to in the past as much as people are looking for role-models today. Two pieces of literature from antiquity that follow the exploits of incredible heroes are The Epic of Gilgamesh and The Ramayana of Valmiki. Both portray a hero of larger than life exploits. Gilgamesh and Rama both have the prowess and courage to face fierce adversaries and defeat them in battle. But while physical strength and an indomitable spirit may be two of the most recognized characteristics of a hero, other qualities are just as important. Two of these qualities include moral virtue and the self-sacrifice of doing one's duty whatever the cost. Rama exemplifies these secondary qualities to a greater extent than arrogant Gilgamesh; therefore, Rama succeeds in his role of hero and establishes himself as a role-model for posterity.

In the Ramayana Rama is described as a model son whose entire life is guided by the Hindu principle of Dharma. Dharma corresponds to the Chinese Tao or Western philosophy's “law of nature” which believes an ultimate reality based on law and harmony in the universe calls for certain actions of right conduct. A hero is often forced to go on a quest for the common good or perform an action of Dharma that appears to be counter to self-interest. This means giving up comfort and security in favor of one's duty. Rama's duty, and hence, his Dharma, is to accept the authority of his father and the rule of law rather then assert his own interest.

Gilgamesh, on the other hand, is on a quest for something that is frankly contrary to the laws of nature and Dharma: physical immortality. In the end Gilgamesh sees that his quest is futile and that he has been fighting against order and the laws of the universe. Belatedly, Gilgamesh understands that his duty is not to seek after physical immortality but to be the leader of his people for the time he is alive.

In the Ramayana the moral virtue of Rama is also praised. His exemplary life wins him the respect of his father the king and all his peers. The grief and sadness they experience at his exile testifies to the goodness they see in him. By contrast, the hero's nemesis Ravana is a villain because,

The bonds of law and right he spurned:
To others’ wives his fancy turned. (Valmiki 394).

Interestingly enough, this description of a villain in the Ramayana is remarkable similar to the description of Gilgamesh. The Epic of Gilgamesh records that Gilgamesh,

Has altered the unaltered way,
Abused, changed the practices.
Any new bride from the people is his (Epic of Gilgamesh).

Clearly, when it comes to morality--respecting the rights of other people--Gilgamesh falls far short of the heroic ideal set by Rama.

Gilgamesh cannot match Rama's adherence to the duty inherent in the order of the universe nor can he match Rama's moral virtue. Gilgamesh fights against the order of the universe presented in The Epic of Gilgamesh that asserts a man cannot attain physical immortality. Also, his selfish and arrogant behavior demeans his otherwise remarkable exploits. In contrast, Rama, through his adherence to Dharma, fights on the side of order and righteousness. He sets a heroic example of selflessness and duty. Prince Rama is endowed with heroic virtues whose ultimate worth far exceeds those of arrogant Gilgamesh.

Works cited

The Epic of Gilgamesh. Trans. Robert Temple. Tablet II “Gateways To Babylon” http://www.angelfire.com/tx/gatestobabylon/temple1.html

Valmiki, The Ramayana of Valmiki. Trans. Ralph T. H. Griffith. Project Gutenberg. http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/24869

Early Christians Speak

My last post on the growth of the early church was an essay for my Western Civilization class (Thankfully now over). While writing it I scoured my bookshelves for material and had quite a little pile of reference works on my desk. Some of them I had read before and some of them I don't plan on ever reading; however, one book is particularly handy to have around when dealing with the history of the early church. The book is Early Christians Speak: Faith and Life in the First Three Centuries by Everett Ferguson.

Although I wasn't able to glean much from it during the writing of this essay, it has been invaluable in the past. I first stumbled across it at the Simpson University library a few years ago while researching a high school paper on early Christian poetry. After that I put it on my Christmas list and received my own copy. It is more of a reference resource than something to read through. The book is divided into chapters, each one dealing with an issue of early church life and practice such as baptism, worship services, the Lord's Supper, military service, etc. The thing that makes this book great is that it is a collection of quotes. The title says it all: Early Christians Speak, not some historian almost two thousand years later. Each chapter has 10-20 relevant quotes from early church fathers and Christian apocrypha from the first three centuries. But never fear, if this seems too simple and straightforward there is also a heavily footnoted “discussion” of the material at the end of each chapter which regurgitates the information and gives some helpful historical scholarship.

A list of relevant New Testament passages are given at the beginning of each chapter so that the quotes of the fathers can be compared to them. Everett Ferguson explains in his forward that “there is, thus, a stress on historical continuity. We are talking about the same community of people, the same church, as existed in the New Testament. We are tracing out some features of its historical development through the second century” (vii). Other features of the book include a glossary, time chart, and extensive index of references.

I have not read it all but, as I mentioned before, the chapter on “Some Early Christian Hymns and Poetry” was invaluable. Other chapters I've found fascinating are: “Christian Assemblies,” “Early Worship Services,” “The Love Feast,” and “Women in the Early Church.” With each of the nineteen chapters an average of twelve pages long it is possible to get a fairly good understanding of what the early church's position on these topics were without spending a great deal of time reading and studying. Building the book around what early Christians actually said in primary documents makes this an authoritative reference. It is also interesting to hear the very words that early Christians speak.

Everett Ferguson, Early Christians speak: Faith and Life in the First Three Centuries. 3^rd edition, ACU Press, Abilene, Texas, 1999.

Literature in the High Middle Ages

This post and the last one are parts of a paper on the intellectual and artistic achievements of the High Middle Ages I worked on in my Western civ. class. I included the missing footnotes in my last post in case anyone cares. This fragment ends somewhat abruptly because it was part of a longer essay I worked on. You'll just have to use your imagination to envision a nice concluding paragraph that wraps the topic up.

The High Middle Ages also placed great importance on books. Medieval historian C. S. Lewis shows that culture in, “the Middle Ages depended primarily on books. Though literacy was of course far rarer then than now, reading was in one way a more important ingredient of the total culture.”1 Literature from the past—particularly Greek and Latin—was looked upon reverently by the authors of the Middle Ages. Consequently, they modeled much their own work on previously written manuscripts. They embellished familiar stories, expanded on old subjects, and wrote down the legends of their fore bearers. To lend credence to their writing, authors from the Middle Ages would often claim they got their subject from an “auctour”--an author from Greek or Roman antiquity.2

The greatest work of literature from the High Middle Ages shows this tendency. The Divine Comedy of Dante not only borrows from earlier authors but goes to the extreme of actually including the Roman poet Virgil as one of the Characters who inhabit the Inferno. All the other characters Dante meets on his dream journey are also from history or legend. There is ample space in this huge poem about the after-life to retell the well-known stories of the people he meets.

One of the most easily recognized types of literature from the High Middle Ages is the epic romance. The tales of King Arthur and the Round Table are the most famous of these. Again, the earliest authors of these stories, such as the Frenchman Christien De Troyes, did not try to claim credit for inventing the tales but tried to show that they were ancient histories with just a little embellishment. The Arthurian stories were picked up by numerous authors in the middle ages. Intellectual property rights were not what they are today nor was this "plagiarism" seen as anything but flattery. Besides the “Matter of Britain” dealing with King Arthur, numerous other romances of chivalry were written. The “Matter of France” is another cycle of stories dealing with another king; this time the French Charlemagne. Called “chanson de geste,” these epic poems written by mostly unknown authors extolled the mythical exploits of Charlemagne against the Muslim invaders of Europe in the Early Middle Ages. The Song of Roland written around 1100 3 retells the simi-historical ambush on Charlemagne's rear-guard in the pass of Rounceval.

In Northern Europe a similar body of national epic literature was being developed during the same period. The German Nibelungenlied has been compared to The Song of Roland or even the Greek Iliad.4 The tragic death of Sigfried and the terrible revenge of his wife Kriemhild set among the forests and mead-halls of Germany has been the inspiration for stories and operas even into recent times. This corpus of German literature borrows from the same legends as the thirteenth century Eddas and tales of Scandinavia.

An important development in literature during the High Middle Ages came with the troubadour poets. The troubadours wrote and performed lyrical songs--often about love. Practicing a form of oral literature, delivered much like the famous bards of antiquity, troubadours usually had a rich patron who payed a troubadour to entertain his guests although some troubadours were nobles themselves. An important aspect of troubadour poetry that is characteristic of the literature of the High Middle Ages was “courtly love.” This term is both a literary and a real life characteristic of the period. The literary meaning is a lyrical poem written to an idealized lady whom the poet loves. But C. S. Lewis points out that this poet, “is no light-hearted gallant: his love is represented as a despairing and tragical emotion.” (sic)5

1. C. S. Lewis. The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature. (Canto Books, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1995). 5

2. Ibid. 5

3. Jackson J. Spielvogel. Western Civilization: A Brief History, 3rd. ed. (Thomson-Wadsworth, 2005). 166

4. Arthur Thomas Hatto, editor. The Nibelungenlied. (Penguin Classics, Penguin Books, 1669). 8

5. C. S. Lewis. The Allegory of Love: A Study in Medieval Tradition. (Oxford University Press, 1968). 3

Philosophy in the High Middle Ages

The philosophy of the High Middle Ages was a mix of Aristotle and Christianity. While the Early Middle Ages were dominated by platonic thought, Aristotle's philosophical system had a resurgence in the writings of such celebrated philosophers and university teachers from the High Middle Ages as Thomas Aquinas, John Duns Scotus, and William of Ockham. According to Paul Vincent Spade: “This 'recovery' of Aristotle in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was a momentous event in the history of medieval philosophy.”1

To understand why a Greek philosopher who died some fifteen hundred years before should have such a great influence on the philosophy of the High Middle Ages it is necessary to understand the attitude of the period to the past. Previous philosophers and writers were looked upon with near reverence. Greek and Latin authors in particular were treasured by the philosophers of Western Europe.2 These previous writers were “authorities,” whether on history, literature, science or philosophy. Albert Ascoli explains the unchallenged influence the past had on medieval intellectuals: “In the Middle Ages an “author” (Latin auctor and autor; Italian autore) was not any old writer of literature, but was instead, and against the modern definition, a person who possessed auctoritas [authority], and who might also have produced texts that were known as auctoritates.”3 He explains further that they are almost exempt from challenge and believed to have a corner on the truth.4

Unfortunately, since they considered a wide range of authors to all be right they ran into a problem. C.S. Lewis explains: “they find it hard to believe that anything an old auctor has said is simply untrue. And they inherit a very heterogeneous collection of books; Judaic, pagan, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoical, Primitive Christian, Patristic... Obviously their auctors will contradict one another.”5 Trying to remedy the blatant contradictions between the pagan philosophers and the Christian Patriarchs became the overarching goal of the philosophers in the High Middle Ages. This attempt came to be called scholasticism.

Scholasticism was not so much a philosophy itself as a framework in which to look at and compare different philosophies. The medieval mind loved to organize things so when the jumbled mass of Greek and Roman philosophy tumbled into the Christian edifice, the scholastics picked up the pieces and constructed a new building that recycled elements from both. On the one hand, points out Paul Vincent Spade, classical pagan philosophy—particularly Aristotle—was “crucial for the development of medieval philosophy.” On the other hand, Spade reveals that the early Christian philosopher Augustine from the fifth century who had such a crucial role in orthodox church doctrine was “an authority who simply had to be accommodated. He shaped medieval thought as no one else did.”6 The self-appointed task of the scholastics was to synthesize these two philosophical systems.

At this point it should be clear that philosophy during the middle ages cannot be separated from theology. The philosophers of that time were theologians and vise versa. St. Thomas Aquinas is indisputably the greatest of these philosopher churchmen. He called philosophy the handmaiden of theology. His book written in Latin called the Summa Theologiae was “the first completed attempt to establish Christian theology as a scientific discipline.”7 Aquinas's life and work was the high point of philosophy in the High Middle Ages. He embodied the thinking of the scholastics when he wrote: “it is impossible that those things which are of philosophy can be contrary to those things which are of faith.”8

Some other distinctive philosophical questions from the High Middle Ages include the problem of evil and the possibility of freewill. In addition, the High Middle Ages were famous for the development of logic that took place at this time. I. M. Bocheński, in his study on the history of logic classified this period as one of the three greatest periods in the development of logic throughout history.9

The philosophical contribution of the High Middle Ages should not be underestimated. It was one of the most sophisticated mental climates in history. Thomas Aquinas, the leading philosopher of the period, is considered one of the greatest philosophers of all time. Gorge Gracia asserts that, “In intensity, sophistication, and achievement, the philosophical flowering in the thirteenth century could be rightly said to rival the golden age of Greek philosophy in the fourth century B.C.”10

1. Paul Vincent Spade: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “Medieval Philosophy.” http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/medieval-philosophy/

2. Jackson J. Spielvogel Western Civilization: A Brief History, 3^rd ed. (Thomson-Wadsworth, 2005). 164

3. Albert Russel Ascoli. Dante and the Making of a Modern Author. http://www.cambridge.org/catalogue/catalogue.asp?isbn=9780511380464&ss=exc

4. Ibid.

5. C. S. Lewis. The Discarded Image: An Introduction to Medieval and Renaissance Literature. (Canto Books, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1995). 11

6. Paul Vincent Spade: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “Medieval Philosophy.” http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/medieval-philosophy/

7. Thomas Gilby, editor. Summa Theologiae, Volume 1: The Existence of God. (Image Books, Doubleday and Company, 1969). 12

8. As quoted in Jackson J. Spielvogel. Western Civilization: A Brief History, 3^rd ed. (Thomson-Wadsworth, 2005) 166

9. As cited in Paul Vincent Spade: The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “Medieval Philosophy.” http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/medieval-philosophy/).

10. Gorge Gracia and T.B. Noone. A Companion to Philosophy in the Middle Ages, London 2003 pg. 1

The Aura Around Marcus Aurelius

An emperor, a general, a philosopher; someone who has been described as “modest, unselfish, high-minded, and with the highest sense of duty.”1 Not many people fit this description. The Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius may be the only one. Born in A.D. 121, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was adopted by Emperor Antoninus so that he could succeed him as ruler of the Roman Empire. He was called one of “the good emperors.” The reason for this epithet can be seen in his philosophical memoir, Meditations.

Marcus Aurelius' Meditations were written, in a way, for himself. He addresses himself and gives himself encouragement and advice. The Meditations are “the private thoughts of a man communing with his own soul.”2 These private thoughts, however, are far from the sappy or sentimental ramblings of a diary. They are instead filled with calm reflections on man's place in the universe and how to live a virtuous, serene life. In consequence, the Meditations would appeal to any civic-minded Roman.

The document would also appeal to any Stoic. Marcus Aurelius is one of the most famous and oft quoted Stoic philosophers. The Meditations are a philosophical exploration of the principles of Stoicism. The topics covered are varied and are not really organized in any particular order. Some general categories covered are: living in harmony with nature, reason, duty, morality, and patience. For a Stoic, everything in nature is interconnected so it is important to live in harmony with it. Nature for Marcus Aurelius has a larger meaning than just physical things, it includes: “one universe made up of all things, one god who pervades all things, one substance, one law, one reason common to all intelligent beings, and one truth.”3

This interconnected order is the sum total of the universe for a Stoic. For them, and for Marcus Aurelius, the universe operates smoothly like a vast machine. All things go as planned. There are no accidents. “Everything which happens has been apportioned and spun out to you.”4 Because they believe reason is universal in humans and that there is “one law” and “one truth,” Stoics believe in certain norms of behavior from humans. While evil, too, has been fated to exist, the best way to live is according to “reason and Justice”5 Reason makes it clear what a person should, and should not, do.

The emphasis on moral laws was characteristic of Stoics in the Roman Empire. Marcus Aurelius places the foundation of a moral law on reason. This “natural law” is common to all people because—as Marcus Aurelius explains it--“If our intellectual part is common, the reason also, because of which we are rational beings, is common: if this is so, common also is the reason which commands us what to do, and what not to do; if this is so, there is a common law also.”6 This “common law” was important for a Roman because they had a high regard for law and order in society. People are social beings but when they live together they need some form of governance. If universal laws could be arrived at then all people in the world could live together in peace. Under a common law, “we are fellow-citizens; if this is so, we are members of some political community; if this is so, the world is in a manner a state. For of what other common political community will any one say that the whole human race are members?”7 The Roman Empire that spanned much of the known world in the time of Marcus Aurelius was the outgrowth of this philosophy put into practice.

Within Roman society--with its firm insistence on law and order--was the complementary emphasis on duty. Marcus Aurelius admonishes to, “every moment think steadily as a Roman and a man to do what you have in hand with perfect and simple dignity.”8 He goes on to say that “if you work at that which is before you, following right reason seriously, calmly, without allowing anything else to distract you... if you hold to this, expecting nothing, fearing nothing, but satisfied with your present activity according to nature, and with heroic truth in every word and sound which you utter, you will live happy. And there is no man who is able to prevent this.”9 In fact, this quote embodies the core of Stoicism; the idea that if a person does his or her duty, nothing should disturb or cause unhappiness.

Marcus Aurelius would have much to say about the hectic American lifestyle if he were alive today. Living a simple life of duty is his ideal. The easiest way to achieve tranquility is to keep a free schedule10 “For the greater part of what we say and do being unnecessary, if a man takes this away, he will have more leisure and less uneasiness. Accordingly, on every occasion a man should ask himself, is this one of the unnecessary things?”11

Although Marcus Aurelius was a hardened soldier inured to brutality and also known for persecuting Christians, this aspect of his life is not shown in the Meditations. For a pagan without divine revelation, he has a sharp perception of reality. From reading his Meditations alone it is very easy to see why he was called a “good emperor.” The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius are filled with commonsense advice. His commonsense came from exercising his reason. With a right reason, he believed, would come happiness and the ability to cope with anything life threw in his way. He gives this challenge: “have you reason? I have.--Why then not use it?12

Notes

1. Donald S. Gochberg. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 511

2. Marcus Aurelius, Thoughts. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. Ed Donald S. Gochberg. (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 510

3. Ibid. 511

4. Ibid. 516

5. Ibid. 516

6. Ibid. 512

7. Ibid. 512

8. Ibid. 513

9. Ibid. 514

10. Ibid. 515

11. Ibid. 515

12. Ibid. 513

The Life of Lucretius and His Lawless Outlook

Lucretius was a philosopher and poet from the first century B.C. He died around 55 B.C. still in his 40's—some say through suicide. He was a writer who, contrary to the custom of the time, withdrew from public life in Roman society and instead devoted himself to a pastoral pursuit of philosophy. Lucretius modeled much of his own philosophy on the Epicurean philosophical system. Its founder, Epicurus, was a Greek philosopher from the third century B.C. who posited that pleasure and the absence of pain are the highest good.

Lucretius was in a minority of Romans who held this view. His writings had an uphill battle to convince people that a life away from public service and any other thing that could cause worry leading to pain was to be avoided. His book De Rerum Natura (On The Nature of Things), therefore, was an apology or defense of his views to a largely skeptical audience of first century B.C. Romans. Yet the quest for happiness, so important to the Greeks and Romans, was reason enough to propel Lucretius to write. He believed that Epicureanism had a corner on happiness and he wished to proclaim this to the world. In fact, “Lucretius gave himself with missionary fervor to proclaiming Epicurus' 'liberating' gospel.”1

The mode of writing that Lucretius used to present his materialist “gospel” in the De Rerum Natura, was a long poem. It seems a strange vehicle to discuss deep matters of philosophy, but the Romans liked poetry. Just as their liberal arts schooling demanded that young Romans learn rhetoric to speak with eloquence, so they expected writers to argue eloquently and persuasively. The way it was said was just as important as what was said. This long treatise poem set forth Lucretius's views on, among other things, the physical universe, the soul, and death.

Perhaps most interesting to many today are his views on the natural world. He believed that all things were made up of tiny particles called “atoms.” The size, order, and arrangement of these atoms determined the shape and properties of all visible things. Water for instance is formed:

Of tiny round motes, adaptable
Most easily for rolling. Honey, though,
Is more cohesive, less disposed to flow,
More sluggish, for its whole supply of matter
Is more condensed; its motes are not as smooth,
As round, as delicate.2

Empty spaces or “voids” between atoms account for differences in weight and texture. His views on the elemental properties of objects, although imprecise and simplistic, do resemble modern discoveries in Chemistry in some ways.

The insights into society raised by Lucretius are not unique to Roman society in the first century B.C. Religion was a big part of their culture as it has been in all cultures. Lucretius tries to use Dawkinesque examples of how, “religion mothers crime and wickedness”3 to prove that religion is bad. He also admits that all people, “seem to feel some burden on their souls, some heavy weariness.”4 The insights into Roman society are interesting because of the insights they give us into our own society and human society in general. It is man's preoccupation with God and immortality; his attempts through studying the visible universe to explain (or explain away) the invisible parts like the soul, or God. Lucretius tries to show that humanity's inner restlessness that leaves “each one ignorant of what he wants, except a change, some other place to lay his burden down...hat[ing] himself because he does not know the reason for his sickness,” is a foolish waste of time because the sickness is imaginary and the soul will not live on after death.5 An opposing view on humanity's restlessness presented 400 years later by Augustine is that the soul is an immortal creation of God seeking its meaning from that Creator. Augustine cries out: “you have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds rest in you.”6

What makes Lucretius so relevant today is his early advocacy of Darwinian evolution 1900 years before Darwin. His position is essentially that of evolutionary atheists like Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens. He imagines a world that came about purely by chance. If it is by chance then there is no need for an intelligent designer, who might go about by the name “God.” Without a god there could be no immortality of the soul, an idea that was fundamental to both previous Greco/Roman philosophy and most religions. With no immortality of the soul, upon death the particles of the body separated and that was indeed the end. This left Lucretius free of worry about what was “beyond.” There was nothing beyond. Therefore life on earth had no meaning and the best one could do was avoid pain and enjoy pleasure during the short time one was alive. One did not have to be constrained by a platonic doctrine of immortality whereby, “as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another... [and] when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from our earthly professors of justice, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there.”7 Without the fear of judgment after death restraining his actions as it did in part for Plato, Lucretius could do away with the idea of morality. Virtue, instead of being a universal reality that transcended nature, as it was for Plato, became merely whatever brought pleasure and safety to the temporary swarm of atoms called Lucretius. In other words: “since the universe is ultimately material, Lucretius believed, pleasure and pain are the only real guides of conduct.”8

While in naiveté one could fail to see a problem with this, a closer inspection will show that the whole basis of law, an essential component of civil society, is compromised. Criminal law could no longer be universally applied. One's actions could always be defended on the principle that “it brought me pleasure:” “Stealing brought me pleasure;” or “murdering brought me pleasure.” Further, to abandon one's duty at the first hint of pain or danger, could not be reprimanded, because that too is perfectly natural and acceptable. In a civil society, however, it is necessary to think of others. One person's pleasure may be in the way of another person's; by Darwinian standards one will eliminate the other in a process of “survival of the fittest.” Without an objective law code outside of nature, such as Plato and other philosophers of the Western tradition have recognized, society will crumble into chaos and arbitrary force.

Endnotes

1. Donald S. Gochberg. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 450

2. Lucretius. On the Nature of Things. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. ed. Donald S. Gochberg (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 463

3. Ibid. 452

4. Ibid. 465

5. Ibid 465-6

6. Augustine. The Confessions of St. Augustine. (Garden City, New York. Doubleday and Company, Image books, 1960) Book 1, ch. 1. pg. 43

7. Plato. Apology. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. ed. Donald S. Gochberg (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 312

8. Donald S. Gochberg. Classics of Western Thought: The Ancient World. (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, Fourth ed. 1988) 451

The Day Philosophy Died?

The comment below is taken from an online encyclopedia I was reading during research for an essay on the artistic and intellectual achievements of the High Middle Ages. It is unrelated to my essay but I thought it was interesting. What good is a subject that only a select few can even understand?

“Prior to Abelard, philosophy in the Middle Ages had not been an exclusively academic affair. It had been addressed for the most part to any well educated reader interested in the topics being discussed. Boethius's Consolation, for instance, or almost any of Augustine's or Anselm's writings, could profitably be read by any literate person. Soon, however, this all changes. Philosophy becomes an increasingly specialized discipline, pursued by and for those whose livelihood is found only in educational institutions.”

Paul Vincent Spade. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy: “Medieval Philosophy.” http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/medieval-philosophy/)

The Pride in Monkey

I am currently taking a world literature class. (Who would have guessed.) Anyway, I am. Despite my early fears that its primarily non-western selection of readings would make for a terrible class, I have been pleasantly surprised. We read a few chapters from a long Chinese novel. (At a few thousand pages, longer than a Russian novel even.) I don't think "novel" is even the best way to describe it; it is more like an epic or something. Journey to the West or Monkey as it is more often called, chronicles the journey of a Buddhist priest named Tripitaka from China who is commissioned to find "scriptures" in India. Along the way he picks up a number of helpers or "disciples" to assist him. The first and most important of these is the title character: Monkey.

The story is definitely fantastic (I mean like a fantasy, but it's pretty good too). Monkey really is a monkey, and along with him a whole host of other talking monsters make their appearance in the tale. My class is an on-line course so for this 16th century story by Wu Ch'eng-en we were asked to examine the flaws in Monkey's character. The thing that most struck me and that relates to my last post on C.S.Lewis is how Monkey is consumed by pride and a desire to show off. He says himself: “I only care for fame” (56). This leads him into conflict with supposed monsters rather than stating his mission as he was ordered. If he had done everything right, things would have gone better for the pilgrims but, of course, we also would not have much of a story to read.

Monkey's pride is his greatest fault. At the very beginning he wishes to elevate himself over all the other monkeys and be their king(12). It is a desire to “show off his own powers” that goads him to many of his actions, as the heavenly buddha Kuan-yin points out (27). It is his pride that makes him leave Tripitaka in a huff when rebuked for killing the robbers and for pursuing his own will in so many other episodes. But what shows this better than anything else is what Monkey calls himself: “The Great Sage Equal to Heaven.” The arrogance of this is stunning. Monkey is basically saying that he (remember, a monkey) is on the same footing as all the deities of heaven. Was not this the same over-weaning pride of Satan when he set himself up in opposition to God? For this sin, of which we only get a flashback of because it happens before the opening of the story, Monkey is imprisoned and later put on probation to learn humility under the care of Tripitaka, a common buddhist priest.

The fact that Monkey acknowledges Tripitaka as his “master” is a sign that Monkey is on the right path to learning humility. Before he “had no master and indeed refused obedience to any power in heaven or earth” (26). The examples above, however, along with many other illustrations of his actions, show that he still has a long way to go. The Dragon King admonishes: “You must learn to control yourself and submit to the will of others, if you are not to spoil all your chances (22). We only read a few chapter from the start of the tale so I only got to see an itty-bitty improvement in Monkey but supposedly by the end (and remember it's a long story) he does indeed learn to control his pride and, in Buddhist fashion, reach "enlightenment." There is a dual quest in Monkey that makes it worthwhile reading; the outward exciting journey to India for "scriptures" and the inward delineation of a character on a personal journey.

Wu Ch'eng-en. Monkey (Journey to the West). The Norton Anthology of World Literature: Volume D: 1650-1800. Ed. Sarah Lawall and Maynard Mack. New York: W.W.Norton and Co, 2002. 2nd ed.

If an Imagination Is so Great...

Having shown the prevalence and usefulness of imagination in the first half of his book The Educated Imagination, Northrop Frye uses the second half to briefly outline the order literature should be approached to best train the imagination. Frye says, interestingly enough, that:

“the Bible forms the lowest stratum in the teaching of literature. It should be taught so early and so thoroughly that it sinks straight to the bottom of the mind, where everything that comes along later can settle on it” (110).

I find it somewhat ironic that a secular scholar should say something like this at a time when even many Christians have almost forgotten about the Bible. Literature aside, shouldn't all Christians be taught what the Bible says, “so early and so thoroughly that it sinks straight to the bottom of the mind, where everything that comes along later may settle on it”?

Just like Victor Davis Hanson, Frye also advocates early training in Greek and Latin authors before exploring later modern writers. Biblical and classical knowledge is foundational to understanding both the allusions of later authors and basic literary forms, yet Frye states that there is “a deficiency in the earliest stages of literary teaching for both poet and reader” (113). A few hundred years ago authors were taught the Bible and the classics, today, “modern poets don't get the same kind of education, as a rule: they have to educate themselves” (113). In case you think this is a slightly too dismal accusation of our education system, consider the Ancient World Literature course at my community college. The catalogue reads: “a majority of the works will be selected from a non-Western literary tradition.” As if this were not bad enough, the course isn't even offered this semester so I am stuck with World Literature After 1500 (again, the majority of works in this are from a non-Western tradition). (Plus, they canceled the only American Literature course when I tried to register. Does anyone have a conspiracy theory I can subscribe to that will explain this or should I make one up?)

Fry, Northrop. The Educated Imagination. Indiana University Press, Bloomington, Indiana, 1964, (2006?).

My Four Christmas Reads

I've finished up my annual Christmas reading. No, not A Christmas Carol, believe it or not I haven't even read that once. There are a few short Christmas pieces, though, that I like well enough to read every year.

Not surprisingly, C.S.Lewis makes it to this list. I find Lewis's “Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter From Herodotus” to be hilarious. It's a parody that makes fun of the “Niatirbians” (Niatirb spelled backwards is Britain). The imaginary historian gravely describes what “in their barbarian speech is called the Exmas Rush.” The descriptions of sending cards and buying gifts are exquisite fun.

Second on my list is also an essay by Lewis: “What Christmas Means To Me.” He must have had a bone to pick with the “commercial racket” that has become Christmas because he takes no pains to soften his condemnation of it.

Next is the Second Shepherds' Play. It's a little more obscure than C.S.Lewis but only slightly less funny than Lewis's ridiculous Niatirbians. The shepherds are those that the angels appeared to at the birth of Christ; however, this only happens at the very end of the play. Most of the action centres around the thieving Mak and three shepherds who are sure he stole one of their lambs in the night. Adding to the humor, I think, are all the references the shepherds make to saints that haven't lived yet. Maybe no one else would think it funny that a Jewish shepherd in 1 B.C. would refer to English locales and exclaim: “by the Rood these nights are long!” Showing that not much has changed over the years, the 15th century playwright has one shepherd mutter in the dark:

But my mood is ill-sent;
As I walk on this bent,
I may lightly repent,
If I stub my toe.

Lastly is the passage on the birth of Christ in Luke 2. This is what Christmas is all about; let's not forget it.

Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy that shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a SAVIOUR, which is Christ the Lord. (Luke 2:10,11).
He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5).

Merry CHRISTmas!

Gorgias (No, Not Georgia)

My first tentative reconnoiter into the field of Greek literature after reading Who Killed Homer, was with the playwright Aeschylus. While all went well, I did not learn much, and subsequently, have nothing to report. But though my first foray was unfruitful, the adventure I am currently in the middle of has already yielded a wealth of interesting things. I am, as it were, still on the front lines, in that I have not yet finished exploring Plato's Gorgias. I only have a partial picture of Socrates' dialogue (did the spelling change to dialog recently and I missed it? Spell check isn't happy with me and I'm not happy with it.) with Gorgias and Callicles on the purpose of oratory.

Even though I started with the intent to learn what Plato thought about public speaking because I am enrolled in a public speaking class, my interest has been taken captive by the discussion of good and evil that he creates. Basically, Plato, speaking through Socrates, claims that the evil man who inflicts harm is more miserable than the good man who unjustly receives it. Also, the wrongdoer who escapes harm is more miserable than the wrongdoer brought to justice.

Even if, like Callicles, we disagree with what Plato says about a disciplined and upright life being a happier state to live in than unrestrained immorality, where does the differentiation between good and evil come from? In other words, why does Plato (a pre-christian) even recognize the existence of good and evil, right and wrong? And further, see the two alternatives as the most important choice a person can make?

O.k. I want to read a few more pages of this dialogue (or dialog) before bed.

Who Killed Homer?

"Until the fog of classicism has lifted, the greater classics are invisible.”--C.S.Lewis (28).

Occasionally (translate, once in a great while) I will read a book with a more substantive content than my usual fair of “fluff in fiction.” When this does happen I am often surprised both by the inscrutable, unfathomable content and by how much I enjoy it. The latest instance of this is Victor Davis Hanson and John Heath’s inquiry into Who Killed Homer. To be honest, I didn’t actually read it (that would be impressive!); I listened to it, so it may have gone in one ear and out the other.

If you haven’t heard of Victor Davis Hanson yet--you have now. A good way to meet him is through his blog, Works and Days, that right now is devoted to national politics. That he could be one of the best political commentators as well as one of the best Greek historians and educators is strong testimony to his intellect.

Who Killed Homer seeks to do three primary things: (1.) discover why the Iliad and Odyssey and other Greek and Latin classics are so little studied, (2.) Shame classics professors into actually teaching their students instead of seeking tenure and grants to spend on “esoteric” research projects, and (3.) Warn that Western culture will be lost if we forget “the Greek way of thinking.”

A number of factors have contributed to “the demise of classical education” (that happens to be part of the subtitle). A proliferation of degrees in fields such as “gender studies,” psychology, and so on, have sapped students and resources from classics departments. Students are too lazy to devote their time to learning Latin and Greek when easier courses are available (I don’t blame them, I’m unilingual too). These and other factors, Hanson and Heath argue, have made it so that today most colleges do not even have a classics department and those that do…. Well, this calls for a new paragraph on the second point listed above.

Classics professors often do not teach their students the foundations of Greek language, literature, and history. In their place classes that make the student feel good, or that do not require the teacher to prepare, or, just as bad, classes on esoteric topics are substituted. Hanson and Heath seem to take great relish in lampooning the titles of “esoteric” (seemingly one of Hanson’s favorite words) papers and theses written by less than admired colleagues. “Feminism in Greek Culture” takes precedence over actually teaching about Greek culture and “Homosexuality and Gender Issues in Such and Such an Author” trumps teaching what that author actually wrote. Hanson and Heath feel so strongly about poor teaching quality that they advocate abolishing the tenure system, cutting grants for research projects, and increasing teaching loads across the country.

So far I have been summarizing some pretty specialized topics in Who Killed Homer, those not interested in the decline of education standards over the past few decades and who have no power to change it anyway, may ask the not unimportant question: “what’s in it for me?” Hanson and Heath point out that Western culture is directly descended from the Greeks and Romans. All our most important institutions and ideals—Western culture itself—are from that ancient world. Individual freedom, constitutional government, free speech, you name it, were all patronized and defended by the Greeks. Hanson and Heath claim that never has a country been so influenced by the Greeks and yet (increasingly) so ignorant of them. They warn that if “the Greek way of thinking” is lost, Western culture, as we know it, will disappear. So there’s your answer, if you live in America or any country that still claims to be part of the ideological “West.”

The concluding half of Who Killed Homer’s subtitle is: The Recovery of Greek Wisdom. Hanson and Heath argue that “the Greek way of thinking” must be encouraged through teaching people the basics of Classical history and thought. More than just a few musty old professors and irritatingly brilliant students need to know about the principles of Greek culture to be able to recover its wisdom. Every citizen of the Polis should “think like a Greek.”

For a sample chapter modified into an essay by the authors click here.

C.S.Lewis, English Literature in the 16th Century, Oxford Univ. Press, 1954.

13th. Century Literature: Part II

I was going to begin with a grand paean in praise of The Nibelungenlied, extolling it as the great epic of German legendary history. But that sort of thing is boring to most people including myself. In fact, the very name of The Nibelungenlied, if it sparks any recognition at all, is not likely to kindle a flame of interest. Stories with Homeric battles, lengthy and improbable speeches, all written in (or translated into) archaic language, are not likely to rivet the attention of most people. So instead I’ll briefly describe some of the characters.

Though my knowledge of ancient and medieval literature is limited, it seems to me that Sigfried, Kriemhild and others are delineated with a clearness and realism lacking in most old texts. A notable exception is Hagen, but of him later. First, who is Sigfried? Before this story opens in the mythical past of Germanic Europe he was reputed to have won a fabulous treasure by killing a dragon. Those who have read The Hobbit or the end of Beowulf will have a good grasp on this dragon/treasure principle in literature. Unlike Beowulf, who is slain, Sigfried survives and rubs the blood of the dragon all over his skin. Except for a small spot on his back. If you reach one arm over your shoulder and twist the other behind your back you will notice that (besides being uncomfortable and looking stupid) it is extremely difficult to make your hands touch somewhere between your shoulder blades. This is Sigfried’s Achilles Heel; the one spot not made invulnerable by virtue of the dragon’s blood. It is though this, and the cunning of Hagen, that Sigfried is treacherously murdered.

From the beginning his death is hinted at. It is really the focus of the whole story. It seems odd that the hero of a story should die halfway through the book, but if Sigfried had not died early on in the story there would be no Nibelungenlied; his death sets into motion a host of other evils: lies, greed, revenge, and lastly, war. Sigfried's death is a tragedy but it is not the last, nor even, I think, the greatest, tragedy in this story.

Who is most grieved over the death of Sigfried? Who but his wife, the lovely Kriemhild. And good reason she has to be grieved; not only over Sigfried, but also over the way her kinsmen and Hagen treat her after his death. How right it is to sympathize with Kriemhild yet how wrong to support her later actions. To understand this claim will require explaining the further events of the story. Kriemhild eventually remarries a distant king; however, rather than causing her to forget Sigfried, this only elevates her into a position powerful enough to avenge his death. It takes awhile, but finally she lures Hagen and her kinsmen to her new husband’s realm with pretended overtures of friendliness. Her intention is to start a conflict on some pretext and slaughter them. Her kinsmen and Hagen seem almost equally inclined to belligerence and demonstrate it by their disrespect and arrogance. It is, therefore, almost irrelevant who struck the first blow.

The men of Hagen and Günther (Kriemhild’s brother) easily get the upper hand in the first bout. They barricade themselves into the main hall and fight off every assault launched against them. All day they fight till Kriemhild, with the logic (and cruelty) of a woman, orders the hall burnt down. Somehow a few of them survive the flames and fight on the next day amid the charred rubble. At this point the fighting reaches Hollywood quality but it tops Hollywood (as most books do) by searching out what drives good and bad men to war. Rudiger and Dietrich, unwilling warriors, are perhaps the most human and the most heroic, and therefore the best, characters in the story apart from Sigfried himself. How and why they fight is both tragic and glorious, but mostly tragic. Even Dietrich’s victory over Hagen is no cause for joy.

So who is the hero in this tale? All through the book I was looking for a hero (after Sigfried died anyway). While there are many noble and heroic characters scattered throughout, the main conflict centers between Kriemhild and Hagen. Hagen, as the murderer of Sigfried, was obviously out, but the bloodthirsty revenge of Kriemhild went beyond simply a desire for justice as well. In the end I did not know what to think. I tinkered with the idea that this was a postmodern book (written, of course, around 1200 A.D) with no good guy/bad guy distinctions. Yet while no one was right, it does not follow postmodern epistemology that no one was wrong. Both were wrong. There may be different degrees of wrongness, but the central fact remains: both Hagen and Kriemhild were wrong. The consequence of their actions was the slaughter and decimation of entire Kingdoms.

13th. Century Literature: Part I

Among the small backlog of unreviewed books on my desk, The Mabinogion is probably most obscure. This collection of ancient Welsh tales and Arthurian legends was written down around the 13th century but is, like Beowulf and many other early European manuscripts, derived from a much older source, probably oral. The authors or compilers (most likely many) are likewise veiled in obscurity. Mabinogi are the traditional stories of the ancient Celtic people that all bards and most people would have known; something like what the legends of Johnny Appleseed and George Washington chopping down the cherry tree are to Americans.

The nearest definition I can give of these stories as a whole would be fantasy. About half of them in some way mention Arthur or are versions of the better-known Arthurian canon. Having just read Chretien De Troyes a few months ago helped in navigating the maze of outlandish adventurers. Unfortunately, names in my edition are translated with what is evidently a near approximation to their Gaelic originals so even a comparatively easy to recognize name like Guinever is spelled Gwenhwyvar. Among the many long lists of names are ones like: “Adaon the son of Taliesin, Llary the son of Kasnar Wledig, Fflewddur Fflam, and Greidant Galldovydd, Gilbert the son of Kadgyffro, Menw the son of Teirgwaedd,” and so on, and on, and on.

My high expectations were tolerably met in the first story or “branch” of The Mabinogion that recounts the tale of Pwyll, prince of Dyved who exchanges kingdoms for one year with another king he meets while hunting. As I continued reading, though, my interest waned. Long lists of funny names (spanning multiple pages Old Testament style), events that lacked any verisimilitude, and flat undeveloped characters that all appeared the same, must have been what did it for me. I am, however, being unfair to a book from the Middle Ages. Of course it is not going to compare to a novel by Dickens or Austen. But it did little good to tell myself this while drifting into a doze.